Haruki Murakami - Dance Dance Dance

There was some unspoken communication going on between mother and daughter. There was no «How are you?» or «You doing okay?» Just the mussing of hair and the touch of the nose. Then Ame came over and sat down next to me, pulled out a pack of Salems and lit up. The poet

ferreted out an ashtray and placed it ceremoniously on the table. Ame deposited the matchstick in it, exhaled a puff of smoke, wrinkled up her nose, then put her cigarette to rest.

«Sorry. I couldn't get away from my work,» she began. «You know how it is with pictures. Impossible to stop mid­way.»

The poet brought Ame a beer and a glass, and poured for her.

«How long are you going to be in Hawaii?» Ame turned to me and asked.

«About a week,» I said. «We don't have a fixed schedule. I'm on a break right now, but I'm going to have to get back to work one of these days.»

«You should stay as long as you can. It's nice here.»

«Yes, I'm sure it's nice here,» I responded, but her mind was already somewhere else.

«Have you eaten?» she then asked.

«I had a sandwich along the way,» I answered, «but not Yuki.»

«What are we doing for lunch?» she directed her question toward the poet.

«I seem to remember us fixing spaghetti an hour ago,» he spoke slowly and deliberately. «An hour ago would have been twelve-fifteen, so that probably would qualify as what we did for lunch.»

«Is that right?» she commented vaguely.

«Yes, indeed,» said the poet, smiling in my direction. «When Ame gets wrapped up in her work, she loses all track of everything. She forgets whether she's eaten or not, what she'd been doing where. Her mind goes blank from concen­trating so intensely.»

I smiled politely. But intense concentration? This seemed more in the realm of psychopathology.

Ame eyed her beer glass absently for a while before pick­ing it up. «That may be so, but I'm still hungry. After all, we didn't eat any breakfast,» she said. «Or did we?»

«Let me relate the facts as I remember them. At seven-thirty this morning you had a fairly large breakfast of grapefruit and toast and yogurt,» Dick recounted. «In fact, you were rather enthusiastic about it, saying how a good break­fast is one of the pleasures in life.»

«Did I?» said Ame, scratching the side of her nose. She stared off into space thinking it over, like a scene out of Hitchcock. Reality recedes until you can't tell who's sane and who's not.

«Well, it doesn't matter. I'm incredibly hungry,» she said. «You don't mind if I've already eaten, do you?»

«No, I don't mind,» laughed her poet lover. «It's your stomach, not mine. And if you want to eat, I say you should eat as much as you want. Appetite's a good thing. It's always that way with you. When your work's going well, you get an appetite. Shall I fix you a sandwich?»

«Thanks. And could you get me another beer?»

«Certainly,» he said, disappearing into the kitchen.

«And you, have you had lunch?» Ame asked me.

«I had a sandwich en route,» I repeated.

«Yuki?»

No, was Yuki's terse reply.

«Dick and I met in Tokyo,» Ame spoke to me as she crossed her legs. But she could have as well been explaining things to Yuki. «He's the one who suggested I go to Kath­mandu. He said it would inspire me. Kathmandu was won­derful, really. Dick lost his arm in Vietnam. It was a land mine. A 'Bouncing Betty,' the ones that fly up into the air and explode. Boom! The guy next to him stepped on it and Dick lost his arm. Dick's a poet. He speaks good Japanese too, don't you think? We stayed in Kathmandu a while, then we came here to Hawaii. After Kathmandu, we wanted somewhere warm. That's when Dick found this place. The cottage belongs to a friend of his. I use the guest bathroom as a darkroom. Nice place, don't you think?»

Then she exhaled deeply, as if she'd said all there was to say. She stretched and was quiet. The afternoon silence deep­ened, particles of light flickered like dust, drifting freely in all directions. The white pithecanthropus skull cloud still

floated above the horizon. Obstinate as ever. Ame's Salem lay burning in the ashtray, hardly touched.

How did Dick manage to make sandwiches with just one arm? I found myself wondering. How did he slice the bread? How did he keep the bread in place? Was it a matter of meter and rhyme?

When the poet emerged bearing a tray of beautiful ham sandwiches, well-made, well-cut, there was no end to my admiration. Then he opened a beer and poured it for Ame.

«Thanks, Dick,» she said, then turned to me. «Dick's a great cook.»

«If there were a cooking competition for one-armed poets, I'd win hands down,» he said with a wink. And then he was back in the kitchen, making coffee. Despite his lack of an arm, Dick was far from helpless.

Ame offered me a sandwich. It was delicious, and some­how lyrical in composition. Dick's coffee was good too.

«It's no problem, you with Yuki, just the two of you?» Ame picked up the conversation again.

«Excuse me?»

«I'm talking about the music, of course. That rock stuff. It doesn't give you a headache?»

«No, not especially,» I said.

«I can't listen to that stuff for more than thirty seconds before I get a splitting headache. Being with Yuki is fine, but the music is intolerable,» she said, screwing her index finger into her temple. «The kinds of music I can put up with are very limited. Some baroque, certain kinds of jazz. Ethnic music. Sounds that put you at ease. That's what I like. I also like poetry. Harmony and peace.»

She lit up another cigarette, took one puff, then set it down in the ashtray. I was sure she would forget about it too, and she did. Amazing that she hadn't set the house on fire. I was beginning to understand what Hiraku Makimura meant about Ame's wearing him down. Ame didn't give anything. She only took. She consumed those around her to sus­tain herself. And those around her always gave. Her talent was manifested in a powerful gravitational pull. She believed it was her privilege, her right. Harmony and peace . In order for her to have that, she had everyone waiting on her hand and foot.

Not that it made any difference to me, I wanted to shout. I was here on vacation. I had my own life, even if it was doing you-know-what. Let all this weirdness reach its natu­ral level. But maybe it didn't matter what I thought? I was a member of the supporting cast.

Ame finished her sandwich and walked over to Yuki, slowly running her fingers through the girl's hair again. Yuki stared at the coffee cups on the table, expressionless. «Beau­tiful hair,» said Ame. «The hair I always wanted. So shiny and silky straight. My hair's so unmanageable. Isn't that right, Princess?» Again she touched the tip of her nose to Yuki's temple.

Dick cleared away the dishes. Then he put on some Mozart chamber music. He asked me if I wanted another beer, but I told him I'd already had enough.

«Dick, I'd like to discuss some family matters with Yuki,» Ame spoke with a snap in her voice. «Mother and daughter talk. Why don't you show this gentleman the beach? We should be about an hour.»

«Sure,» the poet answered, rising to his feet. He gave Ame a loving peck on the forehead, donned a white canvas hat and green Ray-Bans. «See you in an hour. Have a nice chat.» Then he took me by the arm and led me out. «We've got a great beach here,» he said.

Yuki shrugged and gave me a blank look. Ame was about to light up another Salem. Leaving the women on their own, we stepped out into the afternoon sun.

As I drove the Lancer down to the beach, Dick mentioned that with a prosthetic arm, driving would be no problem.

Still, he preferred not to wear one. «It's unnatural,» he explained. «I wouldn't feel at ease. It might be more conve­nient having one, but I'd be so self-conscious with it. It wouldn't be me. I'm trying to train myself to live one-armed. I'm limited in what I can do, but I do okay.»