Haruki Murakami - Dance Dance Dance

«I don't know,» my voice issued from somewhere and blurred out into the distance like those echoing footsteps. I pulled a handkerchief from my pocket and slowly wiped the sweat from my brow. «I don't know.»

Yuki squinted and reached out to touch my cheek. Her

fingertips were soft and smooth. She sniffed the air around me, her tiny nostrils swelling slightly. She gave me another long look. «You saw something, didn't you?»

I nodded.

«But you can't say what. You can't put it into words. Can't explain, not to anyone. But I can see it.» She leaned over and grazed her cheek against mine. «Poor thing,» she said.

«How come?» I asked, laughing. There was no reason to laugh, but I couldn't not laugh. «All things considered, I'm the most ordinary guy you could hope to find. So why do these weird things keep happening to me?»

«Yeah, why?» said Yuki. «Don't look at me. I'm just a kid. You're the adult here.»

«True enough.»

«But I understand how you feel.»

«I don't.»

«At times like this, adults need a drink.»

We went to the Halekulani bar. The one indoors, not the one by the pool. I ordered a martini this time, and Yuki got a lemon soda. We were the only customers in the place. The balding pianist, with a Rachmaninoff scowl, was at the con­cert grand running through old standards—»Stardust,» «But Not for Me,» «Moonlight in Vermont.» Flawlessly, with lackluster. Then he finished off with a very serious Chopin prelude. Yuki clapped for this, and the pianist forced a smile.

On my third martini, I shut my eyes and that room came to mind again. The sort of scene where you wake up drenched in sweat, relieved that it was just a dream. But it hadn't been a dream. I knew it and so did Yuki. She knew I'd seen something. Those six skeletons. What did they mean? Who were they? Was that one-armed skeleton sup­posed to be Dick North?

What was Kiki trying to tell me?

I remembered the scrap of paper in my pocket, the scrap

of paper I'd found on the windowsill. I went to the phone and dialed the number. No answer. Only endless ringing, like plumb bobs hanging in bottomless oblivion. I returned to my bar stool and sighed. «I'm thinking about going back to Japan tomorrow. If I can get a seat, that is,» I said. «I've been here a little too long. It's been great, but time to go back. I've got things I got to clear up back home.»

Yuki nodded, as if she'd known this all along. «It's okay, don't worry about me. Go back if you think you should.»

«What are you going to do? Stay here? Or do you want to go back with me?»

Yuki shrugged her shoulders. «I think I'll go stay with Mama for a while. I don't think she'd mind. I'm not in the mood to go back yet.»

I finished up the last of my martini.

«We'll do this then: I'll drive you out to Makaha tomor­row. That way I get to see your mother one more time. And then I'll head off to the airport.»

That night we had our last dinner together at a seafood restaurant near Aloha Tower. Yuki didn't talk much, and nei­ther did I. I was sure I would drift off at any moment, mouth full of fried oysters, to join those skeletons in the attic.

Yuki gave me meaningful glances throughout the meal. After we were done, she said, «You better go home to bed. You look terrible.»

Back in my room I poured myself some wine and turned on the television. The Yankees vs. the Orioles. I had no desire to watch baseball, but I left the game on anyway. It was a link to reality.

The wine had its effect. I got sleepy. And then I remem­bered the slip of paper in my pocket and tried the number again. No answer again. I let the telephone ring fifteen times. I glared at the tube to see Winfield step into the batter's box, when something occurred to me.

What was it? My eyes were fixed on the screen.

Something resembled something. Something was con­nected to something.

Nah, unlikely. But what the hell, check it out. I took the slip of paper and went to get the notepad where June had written her phone number. I compared the two numbers.

Good grief. They were the same.

Everything, everything, was linking up. Except I didn't have a clue what it meant.

The next morning I rang up JAL and booked a flight for the afternoon. I paid our bills, and Yuki and I were on our way to Makaha. For once, the sky was overcast. A squall was brewing on the horizon.

«Sounds like there's a Pacman crunching away at your heart,» said Yuki. « Bip-bip-bip-bip-bip-bip-bip-bip .» «I don't understand.» «Something's eating you.»

I thought about that as I drove on. «Every so often I glimpse this shadow of death,» I began. «It's a very dense shadow. As if death was very close, enveloping me, holding me down by the ankles. Any minute now it could happen. But it doesn't scare me. Because it's never my death. It's always someone else's. Still, each time someone dies it wears me down. How come?» Yuki shrugged.

«Death is always beside me, I don't know why. And given the slightest opening, it shows itself.»

«Maybe that's your key. Maybe death's your connection to the world,» Yuki said.

«What a depressing thought,» I said.

Dick North seemed sincerely sad to see me leave. Not that we had a great deal in common, but we did enjoy a certain ease with each other. And I respected him for the poetry he brought to practical concerns. We shook hands. As we did,

the one-armed skeleton came to mind. Could that really be this man?

«Dick, do you ever think about death? How you might die?» I asked him, as we sat around one last time.

He smiled. «I thought about death a lot during the War. There was death all around, so many ways you could get killed. But lately, no, I don't have time to worry about what I don't have control over. I'm busier in peace than in war,» he laughed. «What makes you ask?»

No reason, I told him.

«I'll think about it. We'll talk about it next time we meet,» he said.

Then Ame asked me to take a walk with her, and we strolled along a jogging path.

«Thanks for everything,» said Ame. «Really, I mean it. I'm not very good at saying these things. But—umm—well, I mean it. You've really helped smooth things out. Yuki and I have been able to talk. We've gotten closer. And now she's come to stay with me.»

«Isn't that nice,» I said. I couldn't think of anything less banal to say. Of course Ame barely heard me.

«The child seems to have calmed down considerably since she met you. She's not so irritable and nervous. I don't know what it is, but you certainly have a way with her. What do you have in common with her?»

I assured her I didn't know.

What did I think ought to be done about Yuki's schooling?

«If she doesn't want to go to school, then maybe you should think of an alternative,» I said. «Sometimes it's bad to force school on a kid, especially a kid like Yuki who's extra sensitive and attracts more attention than she likes. A tutor might be a good idea. I think it's pretty clear Yuki isn't cut out for all this cramming for entrance exams and all the silly competition and peer pressure and rules and extracur­ricular activities. Some people can do pretty well without it. I'm being idealistic, I know, but the important thing is that Yuki finds her talent and has a chance to cultivate it. Maybe

she'll decide to go back to school. That would be okay too, if that's her decision.»

«You're right, I suppose,» Ame said after a moment's thought. «I'm not much of a group person, never kept up with school either, so I guess I understand what you're saying.»

«If you understand, then there shouldn't be anything to

think about. Where's the problem?»

She swiveled her head, going from side to side, popping