Haruki Murakami - Dance Dance Dance

Yuki went to the restroom, came back, changed the bat­teries in her Walkman. Thirty minutes later the announce­ment came: The flight to Tokyo, Haneda Airport, was delayed four hours due to continued poor visibility. Great, just great. More agony sitting here.

Look on the bright side, I tried cheering myself up. Use the power of positive thinking. Give yourself five minutes to consider how you can turn a miserable situation to your benefit and that little light bulb is going to click on. Maybe it will, and then again maybe it won't. But something had to beat sitting and killing time in this noisy, smoke-filled hole.

I told Yuki to stay put while I went back into the lobby. I walked over to a car rental and the woman behind the counter quickly did the paperwork for a Toyota Corolla Sprinter, complete with stereo. A microbus gave me a lift to the lot, where I was handed the keys to a white car with brand-new snow tires. I drove ten minutes back to the air­port and went to fetch Yuki in the coffee shop. «Let's go for a three-hour ride.»

«In the middle of a blizzard? What are we going to see? And where are we going anyway?»

«Nowhere. Just around,» I said. «But the car's got a stereo and you can play your music as loud as you want. Better for your ears than listening to that Walkman.»

A you-gotta-be-kidding shake of the head this time. All the same, as I got up to go, she stood up too.

I got her suitcases into the trunk, then pointed the car out into the snow-swept no-man's-land. Yuki fished a cassette tape out of her bag, popped it into the stereo, and David Bowie was singing. Followed by Phil Collins, Jefferson Star-ship, Thomas Dolby, Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers, Hall & Oates, Thompson Twins, Iggy Pop, Bananarama. Typical teenage girl's stuff.

Then the Stones came on with «Goin' to a Go-Go.» «I know this one,» I boasted. «The Miracles did it ages ago. Smokey Robinson and the Miracles. Years ago when I was fifteen or sixteen.»

«Oh,» said Yuki with not a flicker of interest.

Next it was Paul McCartney and Michael Jackson singing «Say Say Say.»

The wipers were going full force, batting away at the flakes. Few cars on the road. Almost none in fact. We were warm, riding around in the car, and the rock music pleasant. I even didn't mind Duran Duran. Singing along, I kept our wheels on the straight roads. We did this for ninety minutes, when she noticed the cassette I'd borrowed from the car rental.

«What's that?» she asked.

«Oldies,» I said.

«Put it on.»

«Can't guarantee you'll like it.»

«That's okay. I can handle it. I've been listening to the same tapes for the last ten days.»

No sooner had I punched the PLAY button than Sam Cooke's «Wonderful World» came on. Don't know much about history . . . Sam the Man, killed when I was in ninth grade. Then it was «Oh Boy,» by Buddy Holly, another dead man. Airplane crash. Bobby Darin, «Beyond the Sea.» He was gone, too. Elvis «Hound Dog» Presley. A drugged stiff. Everyone dead and gone. Everyone except maybe Chuck Berry with his «Sweet Little Sixteen.» And me, singing along.

«You really remember the words, don't you!» Yuki said, genuinely impressed.

«Who wouldn't? I was just as crazy about rock as you are,» I said. «I used to be glued to the radio every day. I spent all my allowance on records. I thought rock 'n' roll was the best thing ever created.»

«And now?»

«I still listen sometimes. I like some songs. But I don't lis­ten so carefully, and I don't memorize all the lyrics anymore. They don't move me like they used to.»

«How come?»

« How come ?»

«Yeah, how come ? Tell me.»

«Maybe it's because after all this time I think that really good songs—or really good anything—they're hard to find,» I said. «Like if you listen to the radio for a whole hour, there's maybe one decent song. The rest is mass-produced garbage. But back then I never thought about it, and it was great just listening. Didn't matter what it was. I was a kid. I was in love. And when you're a kid you can relate to any­thing, even if it's silly. Am I making sense to you?»

«Kind of.»

The Del Vikings' «Come Go with Me» came on, and I sang along on the chorus. «Are you bored?» I asked Yuki.

«Uh-uh, not so much,» she answered.

«Not so much at all,» I threw in.

«Now that you're not young anymore, do you still fall in love? «asked Yuki.

I had to think about that one. «Difficult question,» I said finally. «You got any boy you like?»

«No,» she said flatly. «But there sure are a lot of creeps out there.»

«I know what you mean,» I said.

«I'd rather just listen to music.»

«I know what you mean.»

«You do?» she said, surprised.

«Yeah, I really do,» I said. «Some people say that's escapism. But that's fine by me. I live my life, you live yours. If you're clear about what you want, then you can live any way you please. I don't give a damn what people say. They can be reptile food for all I care. That's how I looked at things when I was your age and I guess that's how I look at things now. Does that mean I have arrested development? Or have I been right all these years? I'm still waiting on the answer to that one.»

Jimmy Gilmer's «Sugar Shack.» I whistled the riff during the refrain. A huge expanse of pure white snow spread out to the left of the road. Just a little shack made out of wood . Espresso coffee tastes mighty good .... 1964.

«You know,» remarked Yuki, «anyone ever tell you you're . . . different?»

«Hmmph.» My response.

«Are you married?»

«I was once.»

«So you're not married now?»

«That's right.»

«Why?»

«Wife walked out on me.»

«Are you telling the truth?»

«Yeah, I'm telling the truth. She went to live with some­one else.»

«Oh.»

«You can say that again,» I said.

«But I think I can see how your wife must've felt.»

«What do you mean?»

She shrugged her shoulders but didn't say anything. I made no effort to probe further.

«Want some gum?» she asked after a bit.

«No thanks.»

By now, the two of us were chiming in on the back chorus of the Beach Boys' «Surfin' U.S.A.» All the dumb parts. Inside — outside—U . S . A . Maybe I wasn't entirely relegated to the dustheap of «old men» after all.

The snow was starting to lighten. We headed back to the airport, turned in the keys at the car rental, checked in, and thirty minutes later were at the gate.

In the end, the plane took off five hours late. Yuki fell asleep as soon as we left the ground. She was beautiful, sleeping next to me. Finely made, exquisite, and fragile. The stewardess brought around drinks, looked over at Yuki, and smiled broadly at me. I had to smile too. I ordered a gin and tonic. And as I drank, I thought about Kiki. The scene played over and over again in my head. Kiki and Gotanda are in bed, making love. The camera pans around. And there she is. «What was that all about?» she says.

Yes, what was that all about ?

After collecting our bags at Haneda, Yuki told me where she lived. Hakone.

«That's a pretty long haul,» I said. It was already past eight in the evening, and even if I got a taxi to take her, she'd be wiped out by the time she reached there. «Do you know anybody in Tokyo? A relative or a friend?»

«No one like that, but we have a place in Akasaka. It's small, but Mama uses it when she comes to town. I can stay there. Nobody's there now.»

«You don't have any family? Besides your mother?»

«No,» answered Yuki. «Just Mama and me.»

«Hmm,» I said. Unusual family situation, but what busi­ness was it of mine? «Why don't we go to my place first? Then we can eat dinner somewhere. Then afterward, I'll drive you to your Akasaka apartment. That okay with you?»