Haruki Murakami - Dance Dance Dance

Like a bird returning to the nest? Well, it did have that feel about it. Maybe my life had been following this unspo­ken course all this time.

«Sonow, yourturn,» said the Sheep Man. «Tellus'boutyourself. Thishere'syourworld. Noneedstandingonceremony. Takeyourtime. Talkallyouwant.»

There in the dim light, staring at the shadow on the wall, I poured out the story of my life. It had been so long, but slowly, like melting ice, I released each circumstance. How I managed to support myself. Yet never managed to go any­where. Never went anywhere, but aged all the same. How nothing touched me. And I touched nothing. How I'd lost track of what mattered. How I worked like a fool for things that didn't. How it didn't make a difference either way. How I was losing form. The tissues hardening, stiffening from within. Terrifying me. How I barely made the connection to this place. This place I didn't know but had this feeling that I was part of. ... This place that maybe I knew instinctively I belonged to....

The Sheep Man listened to everything without saying a word. He might even have been asleep. But when I was through talking, he opened his eyes and spoke softly. «Don'tworry. Youreallyarepartofhere, really. Alwayshavebeen, alwayswillbe. Itallstartshere, itallendshere. Thisisyour-place. It'stheknot. It'stiedtoeverything.»

«Everything?»

«Everything. Thingsyoulost. Thingsyou'regonnalose. Everything. Here'swhereitalltiestogether.»

I thought about this. I couldn't make any sense of it. His words were too vague, fuzzy. I had to get him to explain. But he was through talking. Did that mean explanation was impossible? He shook his woolly head silently. His sewed-on ears flapped up and down. The shadow on the wall quaked. So massively I thought the wall would collapse.

«It'llmakesense. Soonenough, it'llallmakesense. Whenthe-timecomes, you'llunderstand,» he assured me.

«But tell me one thing then,» I said. «Why did the owner of the Dolphin Hotel insist on the name for the new hotel?»

«Hediditforyou,» said the Sheep Man. «Theyhadtokeep-thename, soyou'dcomeback. Otherwise, youwouldn'tbehere. Thebuildingchanges, theDolphinHotelstays. Likewesaid, it'sallhere. Webeenwaitingforyou.»

I had to laugh. «For me? They called this place the Dol­phin Hotel just for me?»

«Darntootin'. Thatsostrange?»

I shook my head. «No, not strange, just amazing. It's so out-of-the-blue, it's like it's not real.»

«Oh, it'sreal,» said the Sheep Man softly. «RealastheDolphinHotelsigndownstairs'sreal. Howrealdoyouwant?» He tapped the tabletop with his fingers, and the flame of the candle shuddered. «Andwe'rereallyhere. Webeenwaiting. Foryou. Wemadearrangements. Wethoughtofeverything. Everything, soyoucouldreconnect, witheveryone.»

I gazed into the dancing candle flame. This was too much to believe. «I don't get it. Why would you go to all the trou­ble? For me ?»

«Thisisyourworld,» said the Sheep Man matter-of-factly. «Don'tthinktoohardaboutit. Ifyou'reseekingit, it'shere. The-placewasputhereforyou. Special. Andweworkedspeciallhard-togeyoubackhere. Tokeepthingsfromfallingapart. Tokeep-youfromforgetting.»

«So I really am part of something here?»

«'Courseyoubelonghere. Everybody'sallinhere, together. Thisisyourworld,» repeated the Sheep Man.

«So who are you? And what are you doing here?»

«WearetheSheepMan,» he chortled. «Can'tyoutell? Wewearthesheepskin, andweliveinaworldhumanscan'tsee. Wewerechasedintothewoods. Longtimeago. Long, long-timeago. Canhardlyrememberwhatwewerebefore. Butsince-thenwebeenkeepingoutofsight. Easytodo, ifthat'swhatyou-want. Thenwecamehere, tolookaftertheplace. It'ssomewhere, outoftheelements. Thewoodsgotwildanimals. Knowwhatwemean?»

«Sure,» I said.

«Weconnectthings. That'swhatwedo. Likeaswitchboard, weconnectthings. Here'stheknot. Andwetieit. We'rethelink. Don'twantthingstogetlost, sowetietheknot. That'sourduty. Switchboardduty. Youseekforit, weconnect, yougotit. Getit?»

«Sort of,» I said.

«So,» resumed the Sheep Man, «sonowyouneedus. Else, youwouldn'tbehere. Youlostthings, soyou'relost. Youlostyour-way. Yourconnectionscomeundone. Yougotconfused, think-yougotnoties. Buthere'swhereitalltiestogether.»

I thought about what he said. «You're probably right. As you say, I've lost and I'm lost and I'm confused. I'm not anchored to anything. Here's the only place I feel like I belong to.» I broke off and stared at my hands in the candle­light. «But the other thing, the person I hear crying in my dreams, is there a connection here? I think I can feel it. You know, if I could, I think I want to pick up where I left off, years ago. That must be what I need you here for.»

The Sheep Man was silent. He didn't seem to have more to say. The silence weighed heavily, as if we'd been plunged to the bottom of a very deep pit. It bore down on me, pin­ning my thoughts under its gravity. From time to time, the candle sputtered. The Sheep Man turned his gaze toward the flame. Still the silence continued, interminably. Then slowly, the Sheep Man raised his eyes toward me.

«We'lldowhatwecan,» said the Sheep Man. «Though-we'regettingoninyears. Hopewestillgotthestuffinus, hehheh. We'lltry, butnoguarantees, nopromisesyou'regonnabe-happy.» He picked at a snag in his fleece and searched for words. «Wejustcan'tsay. Inthatotherworld, mightnotbeany-placeanymore, notanywhereforyou. You'restartingtolook-prettyfixed, maybetoofixedtopryloose. You'renotsoyoung-anymore, either, yourself.»

«So where does that leave me?»

«Youlostlotsofthings. Lostlotsofpreciousthings. Notany-body'sfault. Buteachtimeyoulostsomething, youdroppeda-wholestringofthingswithit. Nowwhy? Why'dyouhavetogo-anddothat?»

«I don't know.»

«Hardtododifferent. Yourfate, orsomethinglikefate. Ten­dencies.»

«Tendencies?»

«Tendencies. Yougottendencies. Soevenifyoudidevery-thingoveragain, yourwholelife, yougottendenciestodojust-whatyoudid, alloveragain.»

«Yes, but where does that leave me?»

«Likewesaid, we'lldowhatwecan. Trytoreconnectyou, towhatyouwant,» said the Sheep Man. «Butwecan'tdoitalone. Yougottaworktoo. Sitting'snotgonnadoit, thinking's-notgonnadoit.»

«So what do I have to do?»

«Dance,» said the Sheep Man. «Yougottadance. Aslong-asthemusicplays. Yougotta dance. Don'teventhinkwhy. Start-tothink, yourfeetstop. Yourfeetstop, wegetstuck. Wegetstuck, you'restuck. Sodon'tpayanymind, nomatterhowdumb. You-gottakeepthestep. Yougottalimberup. Yougottaloosenwhat-youbolteddown. Yougottauseallyougot. Weknowyou're tired, tiredandscared. Happenstoeveryone, okay? Justdon't-letyourfeetstop.»

I looked up and gazed again at the shadow on the wall.

«Dancingiseverything,» continued the Sheep Man. «Danceintip-topform. Dancesoitallkeepsspinning. Ifyoudo-that, wemightbeabletodosomethingforyou. Yougottadance. Aslongasthemusicplays.»

Dance . As long as the music plays, echoed my mind.

«Hey, what is this world you keep talking about? You say that if I stay fixed in place, I'm going to be dragged from that world to this world, or something like that. But isn't this world meant for me? Doesn't it exist for me? So what's the problem? Didn't you say this place really exists?»

The Sheep Man shook his head. His shadow shook a hur­ricane. «Here'sdifferent. You'renotready, notforhere. Here's-toodark, toobig. Hardtoexplain. Likewesaid, wedon't-knowmuch. Butit'sreal, allright. Youandustalkinghere'sreal-ity. Butit'snottheonlyonereality. Lotsofrealitiesoutthere. Wejustchosethisone, because, well, wedon'tlikewar. Andwe-hadnothingtolose. Butyou, youstillgotwarmth. Sohere'stoo-cold. Nothingtoeat. Nottheplaceforyou.»

No sooner had the Sheep Man mentioned the cold than I noticed the temperature in the room. I burrowed my hands in my pockets, shivering.