Haruki Murakami - Dance Dance Dance

«You're tired too,» I said. «But listen, with someone who's dead, there's no rush to make amends. She'll be dead for a long time. Let's think things over when we're in better spirits. You hear what I'm saying? She's dead. Extremely, irrevocably dead. Feel guilt, feel whatever you like, she's not coming back.»

Gotanda nodded. «I hear you.»

«Good night,» I said.

«Thanks again,» he said.

«Light a Bunsen burner for me next time, and we'll call it even.»

He smiled as he got out of the car. «Strange to say, but you're the only friend I have who'd say that. Not another soul. We meet after twenty years, and the thing you chose to remember!»

At that he was off. He turned up the collar of his trench coat and headed through the spring drizzle into the New Grand. Almost like Casablanca . The beginning of a beautiful friendship . . .

The rain kept coming down, steadily, evenly. Soft and gentle, drawing new green shoots up into the spring night. Extremely, irrevocably dead, I said aloud.

I should have stayed overnight and drunk with Gotanda, it occurred to me. Gotanda and I had four things in com­mon. One, we'd been in the same science lab unit. Two, we were both divorced. Three, we'd both slept with Kiki. And four, we'd both slept with Mei. Now Mei was dead. Extremely, irrevocably . Worth a drink together. Why didn't I stay and keep him company? I had time on my hands, I had nothing planned for tomorrow. What prevented me? Maybe, somehow, I didn't want it to seem like a scene from a movie. Poor guy. He was just so unbearably charming. And it wasn't his fault. Probably.

When I got back to my Shibuya apartment, I poured myself a whiskey and watched the cars on the expressway through the blinds.

A week passed. Spring made solid advances, never once retreated. A world away from March. The cherries bloomed and the blossoms scattered in the evening showers. Elections came and went, a new school year started. Bjorn Borg retired. Michael Jackson was number one in the charts the whole time. The dead stayed dead.

It was a succession of aimless days. I went swimming twice. I went to the barber. I bought newspapers, never saw an article about Mei. Maybe they couldn't identify her.

On Tuesday and Thursday Yuki and I went out to eat. On Monday we went for a drive with the music playing. I enjoyed these times. We shared one thing. We had time to waste.

When I didn't see her, Yuki stayed indoors during the day, afraid that truant officers might nab her. Her mother had yet to return.

«Why don't we go to Disneyland then?» I asked.

«I don't want to go,» she sneered. «I hate those places.»

«You hate all that gooey Mickey Mouse kid stuff, I take it?»

«Of course I hate it,» she said.

«But it's not good for you to stay indoors all the time,» I said.

«So why don't we go to Hawaii?» she said.

«What? Hawaii?»

«Mama phoned up and asked if I wanted to come to Hawaii. That's where she is right now, taking pictures. She leaves me alone all this time and then suddenly she gets wor­ried about me. She can't come home yet, and since I'm not going to school anyway, she said to get on a plane and come see her. Hawaii's not such a bad idea, yeah? Mama said she'd pay your way. I mean, I can't go alone, right? Let's go, please. Just for one week. It'll be fun.»

I laughed. «What exactly is the difference between Disneyland and Hawaii?»

«No truant officers in Hawaii.»

«Well, you got a point there.»

«Then you'll go?»

I thought it over, and the more I thought about it the more I liked it. Getting out of Tokyo had to be a good idea. I'd reached a dead end here. My head was stuck. I was in a funk. And Mei was extremely, irrevocably dead.

I'd been to Hawaii once. For one day only. I was going to Los Angeles on business and the plane had engine trouble, so we set down in Hawaii overnight. I bought a pair of sun­glasses and swim trunks in the hotel and spent the day on the beach. A great day. No, Hawaii was not such a bad idea.

Swim, drink fruit drinks, get a tan, and relax. I might even have a good time. Then I could reset my sights and get on with whatever I had to do.

«Okay, let's go,» I said.

«Goody!» Yuki squealed. «Let's go buy the tickets.»

But before doing that, I made a call to Hiraku Makimura and explained the offer that was on the table.

He was immediately positive. «Might do you some good too, son. You need to stretch your legs,» he said, «take a break from all that shoveling you do. It'd also put you out of harm's way with the police. That mess isn't cleared up yet, is it? They're bound to knock on your door again.»

«Maybe so,» I said.

«Go. And don't worry about money,» he said. Any dis­cussions you had with this guy always turned to money. «Go for as long as you like.»

«I figure on a week at the most. I still have a pile of things to get back to.»

«As you like,» Makimura said. «When are you going? Probably the sooner the better. That's how it is with vaca­tions. Go when the mood strikes. That's the trick. You hardly need to take anything with you anyway. I tell you what—we'll get you tickets for the day after tomorrow. How's that?»

«Fine, but I can buy my own ticket.» «Details, details, always fussing. This is in my line of work. I know how to get the best seats for the cheapest price. Let me do this. Each to his own abilities. Don't say anything. I don't want to hear your-system-this your-system-that. I'll take care of the hotel too. Two rooms. What do you think—you want something with a kitchenette?»

«Well, I like to be able to cook my own sometimes, but it's—»

«I know just the place. I stayed there once myself. Near the beach, quiet, clean.» «But I—»

«Just leave it all to me, okay? I'll get the word to Ame. You just go to Honolulu with Yuki, lie on the beach and have a good time. Her mother's going to be busy anyway. When she's working, daughter or whoever doesn't exist. So don't worry. Just make sure Yuki eats well. And, oh yes, you got a visa?» «Yes, but—»

«Good. Day after tomorrow, son. Don't forget your pass­port. Whatever you need, get it there. You're not going to Siberia. Siberia was rough, let me tell you. Horrible place. Afghanistan wasn't much better either. Compared to them, Hawaii's like Disneyland. And you're there in no time. Fall asleep with your mouth open and you're there. By the way, son, you speak English?»

«In normal conversation I—»

«Good,» he said. «Perfect in fact. There's nothing more to say. Nakamura will meet you with the tickets tomorrow. He'll also bring the money I owe you for Yuki's flight down from Hokkaido.»

«Who's Nakamura?»

«My assistant. The young man who lives with me.»

Boy Friday.

«Any other questions?» asked Makimura. «You know, I like you, son. Hawaii. Wonderful place. Wonderful smells. A playground. Relax. No snow to shovel over there. I'll see you whenever you get back.»

Then he hung up.

The famous writer.

When I reported to Yuki that all systems were go, she squealed again.

«Can you get ready by yourself? Pack your swimsuit and whatever you need?»

«It's only Hawaii,» she said patronizingly. «It's like going to the beach at Oiso. We're not going to Kathmandu, you know.»

The next day I ran errands: to the bank for cash, to the bookstore for a few paperbacks, to the cleaners for my shirts. At three o'clock, I met Boy Friday at a coffee shop in Shibuya, where he handed me a thick envelope of cash, two first-class open tickets to Hawaii, two packets of American Express travelers cheques, and a map to the hotel in Hono­lulu.

«It's all been arranged. Just give them your name when you get there,» Nakamura said. «The reservation's for two weeks, but it can be changed for shorter or longer. Don't for­get to sign the travelers cheques when you get home. Use them as you please. It's all on expense account. That's the word from Mr. Makimura.»