Haruki Murakami - Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage

“Shiro said you raped her,” Ao said, as if reluctant to even say it. “She said you forced her to have sex.”

Tsukuru started to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. Despite the water, the back of his throat felt so dry that it ached.

“I couldn’t believe you’d do something like that,” Ao continued. “I think the other two felt the same way, both Kuro and Aka. You weren’t the type to force someone to do something they didn’t want to do. You weren’t violent, we knew that. But Shiro was totally serious about it, obsessed even. You had a public face and a hidden, private face, she said. You had a dark, hidden side, something unhinged and detached from the side of you that everyone knew. When she said that, there was nothing we could say.”

Tsukuru bit his lip for a time. “Did Shiro explain how I supposedly raped her?”

“She did. Very realistically, and in great detail. I didn’t want to hear any of it. Frankly, it was painful to hear. Painful, and sad. It hurt me, I guess I should say. Anyway, she got very emotional. Her body started trembling, and she was so enraged that she looked like a different person. According to Shiro, she traveled to Tokyo to see a concert by a famous foreign pianist and you let her stay in your apartment in Jiyugaoka. She told her parents she was staying in a hotel, but by staying with you, she saved money. Normally she might have hesitated to stay alone in a man’s place, but it was you, so she felt safe. But she said that in the middle of the night you forced yourself on her. She tried to resist, but her body was numb and wouldn’t move. You both had a drink before bedtime, and you might have slipped something into her glass. That’s what she told us.”

Tsukuru shook his head. “Shiro never visited my place in Tokyo once, let alone stay over.”

Ao shrugged his shoulders a touch. He made a face like he’d bitten into something bitter, and glanced off to one side. “The only thing I could do was believe what she said. She told us she’d been a virgin. That you’d deflowered her by force, and it was painful and she’d bled. Shiro was always so shy and bashful, and I couldn’t imagine a reason why she’d make up such a graphic story.”

Tsukuru turned to look at Ao’s profile. “Granted, but why didn’t you ask me? Shouldn’t you have given me a chance to explain? Instead of trying me in absentia like that?”

Ao sighed. “You’re absolutely right. In retrospect, yes, that’s what we should have done. We should have listened to your side of the story. But at the time, we couldn’t. It was impossible. Shiro was agitated and confused like you wouldn’t believe. We had no idea what might happen. So our first priority was to calm her down. It wasn’t like we believed every single thing she said. Some parts didn’t add up. But we didn’t think it was all fiction, either. It was so detailed, what she told us, that we figured there had to be some truth to it.”

“So you went ahead and cut me off.”

“You’ve got to understand, Tsukuru, that we were in shock ourselves, totally disoriented. We were hurt, too. We had no idea who to believe. In the midst of all this, Kuro stood by Shiro. She wanted us to cut you off, just like Shiro had asked. I’m not trying to excuse our actions, but Aka and I were sort of swept along, and we did what Kuro wanted.”

Tsukuru sighed. “Whether or not you believe me, I never raped Shiro, and never had a sexual relationship with her. I don’t remember doing anything even close to that.”

Ao nodded but didn’t say anything. Whatever he believed or didn’t believe, too much time had passed since then. That’s what Tsukuru figured. For the other three as well. And for Tsukuru himself.

Ao’s cell phone rang again. He checked the name and turned to Tsukuru.

“Sorry, but do you mind if I take this?”

“Go right ahead,” Tsukuru said.

Ao stood up from the bench, walked a little ways away, and began talking into his cell phone. His body language and expression made clear that it was a customer. Tsukuru suddenly remembered the ringtone melody. Elvis Presley’s “Viva Las Vegas!” No matter what sort of spin you put on it, it was not exactly the right ringtone for a shrewd Lexus salesman. Ever so slowly, Tsukuru felt reality drain from things around him.

Ao returned and sat back down on the bench.

“Sorry about that,” he said. “I’m done.”

Tsukuru looked at his watch. It was close to the end of the thirty minutes Ao said he could spare.

“But why would Shiro claim such a ridiculous thing?” Tsukuru asked. “And why did it have to be me she accused?”

“I couldn’t say,” Ao said. He shook his head weakly a couple of times. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you. Back then, and even now, I’m totally in the dark about the whole thing.”

Doubts about what was true, and what he should believe, had taken hold of Ao, and he was not the type of person who could handle being confused. He always worked best on a set field, with set rules and a set team.

“Kuro must know more,” Ao said. “I got that impression. Like there were details we weren’t told about. You know what I mean? Women open up more to each other.”

“Kuro’s living in Finland now,” Tsukuru said.

“I know. She sends me a postcard every once in a while,” Ao said.

They fell silent again. A group of three high school girls in school uniforms were cutting across the park. The hems of their short skirts swished perkily, and they laughed loudly as they passed in front of the bench. The girls still looked like children. White socks and black loafers, and innocent expressions. It gave Tsukuru a strange feeling to think that not so long ago he and Ao and his friends were that age.

“You really look different now, you know that?” Ao said.

“Well, of course I’ve changed. You haven’t seen me for sixteen years.”

“No, not just because it’s been so long. At first I didn’t recognize you. When I took a good look, of course I knew who you were. You look sort of—I don’t know—gaunt and fearless-looking. You have these sunken cheeks, piercing eyes. Back then you had a rounder, softer kind of face.”

Tsukuru couldn’t tell him how a half year spent obsessing over death, over destroying himself, had changed him, how those days had permanently transformed the person he was. He had the feeling he couldn’t get across even half the despair he’d felt at the time. It was probably better not to bring it up at all. Tsukuru was silent, waiting for Ao to continue.

“In our group you were always the handsome one, the boy who made a good impression. Clean, neat, well dressed, and polite. You always made sure to greet people nicely, and never said anything stupid. You didn’t smoke, hardly touched alcohol, were always on time. Did you know that all our mothers were big fans of yours?”

“Your mothers?” Tsukuru said in surprise. He hardly remembered a thing about their mothers. “And I’ve never been handsome. Not then or now. I’ve got this kind of blah look.”

Ao shrugged his wide shoulders a touch. “Well, at least in our group you were the best-looking. My face has personality, I suppose—the personality of a gorilla—and Aka is the stereotypical nerd with glasses. What I’m trying to say is, we all took on our different roles pretty well. While the group lasted, I mean.”

“We consciously played those roles?”

“No, I don’t think we were that aware of it,” Ao replied. “But we did sense which position each of us played. I was the happy-go-lucky jock, Aka the brilliant intellectual, Shiro the sweet young girl, Kuro the quick-witted comedian. And you were the well-mannered, handsome boy.”

Tsukuru considered this. “I’ve always seen myself as an empty person, lacking color and identity. Maybe that was my role in the group. To be empty.”