Haruki Murakami - Kafka on the Shore

Hoshino went to the window, opened the curtain, and gazed up at the sky from the veranda. The sky was the same as the day before, a mass of drab gray clouds. But it didn't look like it was going to rain, much less thunder. He perked up his ears and sniffed the air, but everything seemed the same as yesterday. Steady as she goes seemed to be today's theme for the world.

"Hey, Gramps," he said aloud to the dead man. "Guess I just have to wait here with you for something out of the ordinary to happen. What the heck that could be, I have no idea. Or even when it might take place. Plus it's June, and your body's gonna decay and start to stink pretty soon. I know you don't want to hear this, but that's nature for you. And the more time that passes, and the later I get in touch with the cops, the worse it'll get for me. I mean, I'll do whatever I can, but I just wanted you to know the situation, okay?"

There was no reply, of course.

Hoshino wandered around the room. That's it! Colonel Sanders might get in touch! He'd know what to do with the stone. Him you could always count on for some warmhearted, practical advice. But no matter how long he stared at the phone, it just sat there, a silent, unnecessarily introspective object. Nobody knocked on the door, not a single letter arrived. And nothing out of the ordinary happened. The weather stayed the same, and no flashes of inspiration struck him. One expressionless moment after another ticked by. Noon came and went, the afternoon quietly reeling into twilight. The hands of the electric clock on the wall skimmed smoothly over the surface of time like a whirligig beetle, and on the bed Mr. Nakata was still dead. Hoshino didn't feel hungry at all. He had a third can of Pepsi and dutifully munched on some crackers.

At six p. m. he sat down on the sofa, picked up the remote, and switched on the TV. He watched the NHK evening news, but nothing caught his attention. It had been an ordinary day, a slow news day. The announcer's voice started to grate on his nerves, and when the program was over he turned off the TV. It was getting darker outside, and finally night took over. An even greater stillness and quiet enveloped the room.

"Hey, Gramps," Hoshino said to Nakata. "Could you get up, just for a few minutes? I don't know what the hell to do. And I miss your voice."

Naturally Nakata didn't reply. He was still on the other side of the divide. Wordlessly he continued as he was, dead. The silence grew deeper, so deep that if you listened carefully you might very well catch the sound of the earth revolving on its axis.

Hoshino went out to the living room and put on the Archduke Trio. As he listened to the first theme, tears came to his eyes, then the floodgates opened. Jeez, he thought, when was the last time I cried? He couldn't remember.

As advertised, the path from the "entrance" on is hard to follow. Actually, it's pretty much given up on trying to be a path. The farther we go, the deeper and more enormous the forest gets. The slope gets a whole lot steeper, the ground more overgrown with bushes and undergrowth. The sky has just about disappeared, and it's so dim that it seems like twilight. Thick spiderwebs loom up all over the place, and the air's thick with the smell of plants. The silence gets even deeper, like the forest is trying to reject this invasion of its territory by human beings. The soldiers, rifles slung across their backs, seem oblivious as they easily cut through openings in the thick foliage. They're amazingly fast as they slip past the low-hanging branches, clamber up rocks, leap over hollows, neatly avoiding all the thorns.

I scramble to keep up and not lose sight of them as they forge on ahead. They never check to see if I'm still there. It's like they're testing me, to see how much I can handle. I don't know why, but it almost feels like they're angry with me. They don't say a word, not just to me but to each other. They're totally focused on walking. Without a word between them, they take turns in the lead. The black barrels of the rifles on their backs swing back and forth in front of me, as regular as a metronome. The whole thing starts to get hypnotic after a while. My mind starts to wander, like it's slipping on ice, to somewhere else. But I still have to focus on keeping up with their relentless pace, so I march on, the sweat pouring off me now.

"We going too fast for you?" the brawny soldier finally turns around and asks. He's not out of breath at all.

"No, I'm fine," I tell him. "I'm hanging in there."

"You're young, and look like you're in good shape," the tall one comments without looking around.

"We know this path real well, so sometimes we speed up too much," the brawny one explains. "So tell me if we're going too fast. Don't be shy, okay? Just say the word and we'll slow down. But understand we don't want to go any slower than we have to. You know what I'm saying?"

"I'll let you know if I can't keep up," I tell him, forcing myself not to breathe too hard, so they won't have any idea how tired this is making me. "Do we have far to go?"

"No, not really," the tall one answers.

"We're almost there," the other one adds.

I'm not sure I really believe him. Like they said, time's not much of a factor here.

So we walk on for a while without talking, at a less blistering pace than before. It seems like they've finished testing me.

"Are there any poisonous snakes in this forest?" I ask, since it's been worrying me.

"Poisonous snakes, eh?" the tall one with the glasses says without turning around. He never turns around when he talks, always facing forward like something absolutely critical's about to leap out in front of us at any moment. "I never thought about it."

"Could be," the brawny one says, turning to look at me. "I haven't seen any, but there might be some. Not that it matters even if there are."

"What we're trying to say," the tall one adds casually, "is that the forest isn't out to harm you."

"So you don't need to worry about snakes or anything," the brawny one says. "Feel better now?"

"Yes," I reply.

"No other here-poisonous snakes or mushrooms, venomous spiders or insects-is going to do you any harm," the tall soldier says, as always without turning around.

"Other?" I ask. I can't get a mental picture of what he means. I must be tired.

"An other, no other thing," he says. "No thing's going to harm you here. We're in the deepest part of the forest, after all. And no one-not even yourself-is going to hurt you."

I try to figure out what he means. But what with the exhaustion, sweat, and hypnotic effect of this repetitive journey through the woods, my brain can't form a coherent thought.

"When we were soldiers they used to force us to practice ripping open the enemy's stomach with a bayonet," the brawny one says. "You know the best way to stab someone with a bayonet?"

"No," I reply.

"Well, first you stab your bayonet deep into his belly, then you twist it sideways. That rips the guts to ribbons. Then the guy dies a horrible, slow, painful death. But if you just stab without twisting, then your enemy can jump up and rip your guts to shreds. That's the kind of world we were in."

Guts. Oshima told me once that intestines are a metaphor for a labyrinth. My head's full of all kinds of thoughts, all intertwined and tangled. I can't tell the difference between one thing and another.

"Do you know why people have to do such cruel things like that to other people?" the tall soldier asks.

"I have no idea," I reply.

"Neither do I," he says. "I don't care who the enemy is-Chinese soldiers, Russians, Americans. I never wanted to rip open their guts. But that's the kind of world we lived in, and that's why we ran away. Don't get me wrong, the two of us weren't cowards. We were actually pretty good soldiers. We just couldn't put up with that rush to violence. I don't imagine you're a coward, either."