Haruki Murakami - Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage

Ao showed up at the Starbucks at five to twelve.

“It’s too noisy here, so let’s grab some drinks and go somewhere else,” Ao said. He ordered a cappuccino and a scone for himself. Tsukuru bought a bottle of mineral water. They walked to a nearby park and sat down on an unoccupied bench.

The sky was covered with a thin layer of clouds, not a patch of blue visible anywhere, though it did not look like rain. There was no wind, either. The branches of a nearby willow tree were laden with lush foliage and drooping heavily, almost to the ground, though they were still, as if lost in deep thought. Occasionally a small bird landed unsteadily on a branch, but soon gave up and fluttered away. Like a distraught mind, the branch quivered slightly, then returned to stillness.

“I might get a call on my cell while we’re talking,” Ao said. “I hope you’ll forgive me. I have a couple of business-related things I’m working on.”

“No problem. I can imagine how busy you must be.”

“Cell phones are so convenient that they’re an inconvenience,” Ao said. “So tell me, are you married?”

“No, still single.”

“I got married six years ago and have a child. A three-year-old boy. Another one’s on the way, and my wife’s getting bigger by the day. The due date’s in September. A girl this time.”

Tsukuru nodded. “Life’s moving along smoothly, then.”

“I don’t know about smoothly, but it’s moving along, at least. ‘There’s no going back now’ might be another way of putting it. How about you?”

“Not so bad,” Tsukuru said, taking a business card out of his wallet and passing it to Ao, who took it and read aloud.

“[——] Railroad Company. Facilities Department, Construction Division.”

“Mostly we build and maintain railroad stations,” Tsukuru said.

“You always liked stations, didn’t you,” Ao said, sounding impressed. He took a sip of cappuccino. “So you got a job doing what you like.”

“But I work for a company, so I can’t just do what I like. There are all kinds of boring things I have to do.”

“It’s the same everywhere,” Ao said. “As long as you work for somebody you have to put up with a lot of crap.” He shook his head a couple of times, as if remembering examples.

“So, are Lexuses selling well?” Tsukuru asked.

“Not bad. This is Nagoya, after all. Toyota’s hometown. Toyotas practically sell themselves. But our competitors now aren’t Nissan and Honda. We’re targeting consumers who buy high-end imported cars, your Mercedes and your BMWs, trying to turn them into Lexus buyers. That’s why Toyota’s created a flagship brand. It might take time, but I’m sure it’ll work out.”

“Losing is not an option.”

An odd look passed over Ao’s face for a second and then he grinned broadly. “Ah—my little rugby pep talk. You picked a strange thing to remember.”

“You were really good at boosting morale.”

“Yeah, but we lost most of the time. Business is actually going smoothly. The economy’s still in bad shape, of course, but the rich manage to hold on to their money. Amazingly well.”

Tsukuru nodded, and Ao continued.

“I’ve driven a Lexus myself for quite a while. They’re wonderful cars. Quiet, never need repairs. I took one out on a test course and got it up to 125 miles an hour. The steering wheel was stable, no vibration whatsoever. The brakes are solid, too. It’s an amazing car. It’s nice to be able to sell people something you believe in yourself. No matter how smooth-talking I might be, I could never sell something that I didn’t actually like.”

Tsukuru agreed.

Ao looked him right in the eye. “I bet I sound like a car salesman?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Tsukuru said. He knew Ao was being honest about how he felt. Still, the fact remained that he had never talked like this back in high school.

“Do you drive?” Ao asked.

“I do, but I don’t have a car. In Tokyo you can get by with trains, buses, and taxis. I get around by bike a lot. When I absolutely need a car, I rent one. It’s different from Nagoya.”

“Yeah, that would be easier, and cost less,” Ao said. He let out a small sigh. “People can get by without a car. So, how do you like living in Tokyo?”

“Well, my job’s there, and I’ve lived there long enough to get used to it. I don’t really have anywhere else to go. That’s all. It’s not like I’m that crazy about the place.”

They were silent for a while. A middle-aged woman with two border collies walked past, then a few joggers, heading toward the castle.

“You said there was something you wanted to talk about,” Ao said, as if addressing someone in the distance.

“During summer vacation in my sophomore year in college I came back to Nagoya and called you,” Tsukuru began. “You told me then that you didn’t want to see me anymore, not to ever call again, and that all four of you felt the same way. Do you remember that?”

“Of course I do.”

“I want to know why,” Tsukuru said.

“Just like that, after all this time?” Ao said, sounding a little surprised.

“Yes, after all this time. I wasn’t able to ask you back then. It was too unexpected, too much of a shock. And I was afraid to hear the reason you guys so flat-out rejected me. I felt like if you told me, I’d never recover. So I tried to forget about all of it, without finding out what was going on. I thought time would heal the pain.”

Ao tore off a small piece of scone and popped it in his mouth. He chewed it slowly, washing it down with the cappuccino. Tsukuru went on.

“Sixteen years have gone by, but it feels like the wound is still there inside me. Like it’s still bleeding. Something happened recently, something very significant to me, that made me realize this. That’s why I came to Nagoya to see you. I apologize for showing up out of the blue like this.”

Ao stared for a time at the heavy, sagging branches of the willow. “You have no idea why we did that?” he said, finally.

“I’ve thought about it for sixteen years, but I have no clue.”

Ao narrowed his eyes, seemingly perplexed, and rubbed the tip of his nose—his habit, apparently, when he was thinking hard. “When I told you that back then you said, I see , and hung up. You didn’t object or anything. Or try to dig deeper. So naturally I thought you knew why.”

“Words don’t come out when you’re hurt that deeply,” Tsukuru said.

Ao didn’t respond. He tore off another piece of scone and tossed it toward some pigeons. The pigeons swiftly flocked around the food. He seemed to be used to doing this. Maybe he often came here on his break and shared his lunch with the birds.

“Okay, so tell me. What was the reason?” Tsukuru asked.

“You really don’t have any idea?”

“I really don’t.”

Just then a cheery melody rang out on Ao’s cell phone. He slipped the phone from his suit pocket, checked the name on the screen, impassively pressed a key, and returned it to his pocket. Tsukuru had heard that melody somewhere before. An old pop song of some kind, probably popular before he was born, but he couldn’t recall the title.

“If you have something you need to do,” Tsukuru said, “please feel free to take care of it.”

Ao shook his head. “No, it’s okay. It’s not that important. I can handle it later.”

Tsukuru took a drink of mineral water from the plastic bottle. “Why did I have to be banished from the group?”

Ao considered this for some time before he spoke. “If you’re saying that you have no idea why, it means—what?—that you—didn’t have any sexual relationship with Shiro?”

Tsukuru’s lips curled up in surprise. “A sexual relationship? No way.”