Haruki Murakami - Dance Dance Dance

«Three in the afternoon?» I repeated. It didn't make much sense even to me. «Why?» I asked myself.

«What time did you get to bed? Really!»

I tried to think. It took real effort. Nothing came.

«It's okay, don't bother,» she said, shaking her head. Then she plopped down on the sofa, adjusted the frame of her glasses, and looked at me straight in the face. «You look ter­rible.»

«Yeah, I bet I do,» I said.

«You're pale and puffed up. Are you okay? Do you have a fever?»

«I'm okay. I just need some sleep. Don't worry. I'm gener­ally pretty healthy. Are you on break?»

«Yes,» she said. «I wanted to see you. I hope I'm not intruding.»

«Not at all,» I said, sitting down on the bed. «I'm zonked, but no, you're not intruding.»

«You won't try anything funny?»

«I won't try anything funny.»

«Everyone says they won't, but they all do.»

«Maybe everyone does, but I don't,» I said.

She thought it over and tapped her finger on her temple as if to verify the mental results. «Well, I guess probably not. You're kind of different from other people.»

«Anyway, I'm too sleepy right now,» I added.

She stood up and peeled off her light blue blazer, draping it over the back of the chair like the day before. This time, though, she didn't sit next to me. She walked over to the window and stood, gazing out at the sky. Maybe she was surprised to find me in such a haggard state, in only a bath­robe—but you can't have everything. I don't make my living looking great all the time.

«Listen,» I spoke up. «I didn't tell you, but I think we have a few things in common.»

«Oh?» she said without emotion. «For instance?»

«For instance—,» I began, but right then my mental transmission stalled. I couldn't think of a thing. I couldn't get words to come. Maybe it was only a feeling. But if it was a feeling between the two of us, however slight, that at least meant something. No for instance or even so . Knowing it was enough.

«I don't know,» I picked up again. «I need to put my thoughts in order. A method to the madness. First organize, then ascertain.»

«Wow, that's really something,» she addressed the windowpane. While her voice didn't she entirely cynical, it didn't quite have the ring of enthusiasm either.

I got into bed, leaned back against the headboard, and observed her. That wrinkle-free white blouse. Navy blue tight skirt. Stockinged legs. Yet, even she was tinged gray, like an old photograph. Actually quite wonderful. I felt like I'd connected to something. Next thing I knew I had an erec­tion. Not bad. Gray sky, exhaustion, hard-on at three in the afternoon.

I continued to watch her. Even when she turned around and saw me looking, I kept looking.

«Why are you staring at me like that?» she demanded. «I'm jealous of your swim club,» I said. She shook her head, then broke into a smile. «You're a strange guy, you know?»

«Not strange,» I said. «Confused. I need to put my thoughts in order.»

She drew close and felt my forehead. «Well, no fever,» she said. «You should get some sleep. Pleasant dreams.»

I wanted her to stay here with me. By my bedside, while I slept. But I knew that was impossible, so I didn't say any­thing. I watched her put on her light blue blazer and leave. And then the gray gorilla entered the room with his sledge­hammer again. «That's okay, I was falling asleep anyway,» I started to tell him. But the words weren't out of my mouth before another blow fell.

«What comes after 25?» somebody asks. «71,» I answer. «He's out,» says the gray gorilla, Surprise, surprise, I thought. Hit me that hard and I'm not going to be in a coma? Darkness overcame me once again.

Knots. It was nine P.M. I was eating dinner alone, having awakened from a deep sleep at eight. I got up and was awake, about as abruptly as I'd fallen asleep. There was no middle ground between sleeping and waking. And my head seemed to be back in working order. All postcranial gray gorilla lesions had vanished. I wasn't drowsy or sluggish and I had no shivers. I remembered everything with great clarity. I had an appetite—I was ravenous. So I headed out to the local watering hole I'd gone to the first night and had a few nibbles with drinks. Drinks and grilled fish and simmered vegetables and crab and potatoes. The place was packed, thick with smoke and smells and noise, everybody and his neighbor screaming at each other.

Need to organize, I thought.

Knots? I queried myself in the midst of the chaos. I brought the words softly to my lips: You have but to seek and the Sheep Man shall connect.

Not that I completely understood what that meant. It was a bit too figurative, metaphoric. But maybe it was the sort of thing you had to express metaphorically. For one thing, I could hardly believe the Sheep Man had chosen to speak that way for his amusement. Maybe it was the only way.

Through that world of the Sheep Man—via his switchboard—all sorts of things were connected. Some connections led to confusion, he'd said. Because I lost track of what I wanted. So were all my ties meaningless?

I drank and stared at the ashtray in front of me.

What had become of Kiki? I'd felt her presence very strongly in dreams. It was she who'd called me here. It was she who needed me. She was the reason I'd come to the Dol­phin Hotel. But I had yet to hear her voice. Her message was cut off. As if someone had pulled the plug.

Why was everything so vague?

Perhaps the lines were crossed. I had to get clear what it was she wanted from me. Enlist the help of the Sheep Man and link things up one by one. No matter how out of focus the picture, I had to unravel each strand patiently. Unravel, then bind all together. I had to recover my world.

But where to begin? Not a clue. I was flat against a high wall. Everything was mirror-slick. No place for the hand, no place to reach out and grab. I was at wit's end.

I paid my bill and left. Big flakes of snow tumbled down from the sky. It wasn't really coming down yet, but the sound of the town was different because of the snow. I walked briskly around the block to sober up. Where to begin? Where to go? I didn't know. I was rusting, badly. Alone like this, I would gradually render myself useless. Great, just great. Where to begin? My receptionist friend? She seemed nice. I did like her. I did feel a bond between us. I could sleep with her if I tried. But then what? Where would I go from there? Nowhere, probably. Just another thing to lose. I don't know what I want .And, if that's the case, as my ex-wife said, I'd only hurt people.

Once more around the block. Snow quietly coming down. Sticking to my coat, lingering a brief instant, then disappear­ing. I tried to put my thoughts in order. People walked past, puffing white breaths into the air. It was so cold the skin of my face hurt. Still, I kept going around the block, kept trying to think. My ex-wife's words stuck in my head like a curse. Worse, because it was true. I hurt everybody. If I kept going like this, I'd go on losing them too.

«Go home to the moon!» were my last girlfriend's parting words. No, not departing— returning . She was braving it back to the big, bad, real world.

Then along comes Kiki. Yes! Kiki's got to be the touch­stone. But her message had vaporized midway.

So where to begin?

I closed my eyes and struggled for an answer. But in my head no one was at home. No Sheep Man, no gulls, no gray gorilla. I was abandoned, sitting in a vast empty chamber, alone. No one could give me the answer. I'd sit, grow old, and shrivel in that room. No dancing here. Very sad.

Why couldn't I read the station signs?

The answer was to come the following afternoon. As usual, with no prior warning, out of nowhere. Like a gorilla whack out of the gray.