Haruki Murakami - Dance Dance Dance

«Everything's on expense account?» I couldn't believe it.

«Maybe not everything, but as long as you get receipts, it should be fine. That's my job. Please get receipts for what­ever you spend,» he laughed good-naturedly.

I promised I would.

«Take care of yourselves and have a good trip,» he said.

«Thanks,» I said.

At nightfall I rummaged through the refrigerator and made dinner.

Then I quickly threw together some things for the trip. Was I forgetting anything?

Nothing I could think of.

Going to Hawaii's no big deal. You need to take a lot more stuff going to Hokkaido.

I parked my travel bag on the floor and laid out what I'd wear the next day. Nothing more to do, I took a bath, then drank a beer while watching the news. No news to speak of, except for a not-too-promising weather forecast. Great, we'll be in Hawaii. I lay in bed and had another beer. And I thought of Mei. Extremely, irrevocably dead Mei. She was in a very cold place now. Unidentified. Without customers. Without Dire Straits or Bob Dylan. Tomorrow Yuki and I were going to Hawaii, on someone else's expense account. Was this any way to run a world?

I tried to shake Mei's image from my head.

I tried to think about my receptionist friend at the Dol­phin Hotel. The one with the glasses, the one whose name I didn't know. For some reason the last couple of days I'd been wishing I could talk to her. I'd even dreamed about her. But how could I even ring her up? What was I supposed to say—»Hello, I'd like to talk to the receptionist with glasses at the front desk»? They'd probably think I was some joker. A hotel is serious business.

There had to be a way. Where there's a will, et cetera.

I rang up Yuki and set a time to meet the next day. Then asked if by chance she knew the name of the receptionist in Sapporo, the one who'd entrusted her to me, the very one with the glasses.

«I think so,» she said, «because it was an odd name. I'm sure I wrote it in my diary. I don't remember it, but I could check.»

«Would you, right now?» I asked.

«I'm watching TV.»

«Forgive me, but it's urgent. Very urgent.»

She grumbled, but fetched her diary. «It's Miss Yumiyoshi,» she said.

«Yumiyoshi?» I repeated.

«I told you it was an odd name. Sounds Okinawan, doesn't it?»

«No, they don't have names like that in Okinawa.»

«Well, anyway, that's her name. Yu-mi-yo-shi,» Yuki pro­nounced. «Okay? Can I watch TV now?»

«What are you watching?»

She hung up without responding.

Next I rang up the Dolphin Hotel and asked to speak to my receptionist friend by name. I didn't know how far this would go, but the operator connected us and Miss Yumiyoshi even remembered me. I hadn't been written off entirely.

«I'm working,» she spoke in a low voice, cool and clean. «I'll call you later.»

«Fine then, later,» I said.

While waiting for her call back, I rang up Gotanda and was just leaving a message that I was going to Hawaii when he came on the line.

«Sounds great. I'm envious,» he said. «Wish I could go too.»

«Why not? What's stopping you?» I asked.

«Not as easy as you think. It looks like I'm loaded, but I'm so deep in debt you wouldn't believe.»

«Oh?»

«The divorce, the loans. You think I do all these ridicu­lous commercials for fun? I can write off expenses, but I can't pay off my debts. Tell me you don't think that's odd.» «You owe that much?»

«I owe a lot,» he said. «I'm not even sure how much. Not as smart as I look, am I? Money gives me the creeps. The way I was brought up. Vulgar to think about it, you know. Didn't your mother ever tell you that? All I had to do was work hard, live modestly, look at the big picture. Good advice—for then maybe. Whoever heard of living modestly these days? Whoever heard of the big picture? What my mother never told me was where the tax accountant fit in. Maybe my mother never heard about debts and deductions. Well, I got plenty of both. Which means I gotta work and I can't go to Hawaii with you. Sorry, once you get me going I can't stop.» «That's okay, I don't mind,» I said.

«Anyway, it's my problem, not yours. We'll go together the next time, okay? I'm going to miss you. Take care of

yourself.»

«It's just Hawaii,» I laughed. «I'll be back in a week.»

«Still. Give me a call when you get back, will you?»

«Sure thing,» I said.

«And while you're lying on the beach at Waikiki, think of me. Playing dentist to pay my debts.»

Miss Yumiyoshi called a little before ten. She was back at her apartment. Ah yes—simple building, simple stairs, sim­ple door. Her nervous smile. It all came back so poignantly. I closed my eyes, and the snowflakes danced silently in the depths of the night. I almost felt like I was in love.

«How did you know my name?» was the first thing she

asked.

«Don't worry. I didn't do anything I shouldn't have. Didn't pay anyone off. Didn't tap your phone. Didn't work anybody over until they talked.» I explained that Yuki had told me.

«I see,» she said. «How did it go with her, by the way? Did you get her to Tokyo safe and sound?»

«Safe and sound,» I said. «I got her to her front door. In fact I still see her now and then. She's fine. Odd, but fine.»

«Kind of like you,» said Yumiyoshi matter-of-factly. She spoke as if she were relating the most commonly known fact in the world. Monkeys like bananas, it doesn't rain much in the Sahara. «Tell me, why did you want to keep me in the dark about your name?» I asked.

«I didn't mean to, honest. I meant to tell you the next time we met,» she said. «If you have an unusual name, you tend to be careful about it.»

«I checked the telephone directory. Did you know that there are only two Yumiyoshis in all of Tokyo?»

«I know,» she said. «I used to live in Tokyo, remember? I used to check the telephone book all the time. Wherever I went, I checked the phone book. There's one Yumiyoshi in Kyoto. Anyway, what did you want?»

«Nothing special,» I said. «I'm going on a trip from tomorrow. And I wanted to hear your voice before I left. That's all. Sometimes I miss your voice.»

She didn't respond, and in her silence I could hear the slight cross talk of a woman speaking, as if at the end of a long corridor. Quiet yet crisp, strangely charged electricity, with what I took to be a tone of bitterness. There were pained breaks and jags in her voice.

«You know how I told you about the sixteenth floor in total darkness?» Yumiyoshi spoke up.

«Uh-huh,» I said.

«Actually, it happened again,» she said.

It was my turn not to respond.

«Are you still there?» she asked.

«I'm here,» I said. «Go on.»

«First, you have to tell me the truth. Did you honestly believe what I told you that time? Or were you just humor­ing me?»

«I honestly believed you,» I said. «I didn't have the

chance to tell you, but the very same thing happened to me. I took the elevator, stepped out into total darkness. I experi­enced the very same thing. So I believe you, I believe you.» «You went there?»

«I'll give you the whole story next time. I still don't know how to put it into words. Lots of things I don't understand. So you see, I really do need to talk to you again. But never mind that, tell me what happened to you. That's much more important.»

Silence. The cross talk had died.

«Well, about ten days ago,» Yumiyoshi began, «I was rid­ing in the elevator down to the parking garage. It was around eight at night. The elevator went down, the door opened, and suddenly I was in that place again. Exactly like before. It wasn't in the middle of the night, and it wasn't on the sixteenth floor. But it was the same thing. Totally dark, moldy, kind of dank. The smell and the air were exactly the same. This time, I didn't go looking around. I stood still and waited for the elevator to come back. I ended up waiting a long time, I don't know how long. When the elevator finally got there, I got in and left. That was it.» «Did you tell anyone about it?» I asked. «You think I'm crazy?» she said. «After the way they reacted the last time? Not on your life.» «Yeah, better not tell a soul.»