Haruki Murakami - Kafka on the Shore

"I really don't know," I answer honestly. "But I've always tried to get stronger."

"That's very important," the brawny one says, turning in my direction again. "Very important-to do your best to get stronger."

"I can tell you're pretty strong," the tall one says. "Most kids your age wouldn't make it this far."

"Yeah, it is pretty impressive," the brawny one pipes in.

The two of them come to a halt at this point. The tall soldier takes off his glasses, rubs the sides of his nose a couple of times, then puts his glasses on again. Neither one's out of breath or has even worked up a sweat.

"Thirsty?" the tall one asks me.

"A little," I reply. Actually, my canteen gone along with my daypack, I'm dying of thirst. He unhooks the canteen from his waist and hands it to me. I take a few gulps of the lukewarm water. The liquid quenches every pore of my body. I wipe the mouth of the canteen off and hand it back. "Thanks," I say. The tall soldier nods silently.

"We've reached the ridge," the brawny soldier says.

"We're going to go straight to the bottom without stopping, so watch your footing," the tall one says.

I follow them carefully down the tricky, slippery slope. We get about halfway down, then turn a corner and cut through some trees, and all of a sudden a world opens up below us. The two soldiers stop, and turn around to look at me. They don't say a thing, but their eyes speak volumes. This is the place, they're telling me. The place you're going to enter. I stand there with them and gaze out at that world.

The whole place is a basin neatly carved out of the natural contours of the land. How many people might be living there I have no idea, but there can't be many-the place isn't big enough. There're a couple of roads, with buildings here and there along either side. Small roads, and equally small buildings. Nobody's out on the roads. The buildings are all expressionless, built less for beauty than to withstand the elements. The place is too small to be called a town. There aren't any shops as far as I can tell. No signs or bulletin boards. It's like a bunch of buildings, all the same size and shape, just happened to come together to make up a little community. None of the buildings have gardens, and not a single tree lines the roads. Like with the forest all around there's no need for any extra plants or trees.

A faint breeze is cutting through the woods, making the leaves of the trees around me tremble. That anonymous rustling forms ripples on the folds of my mind. I rest a hand against a tree trunk and close my eyes. Those ripples seem to be a sign, a signal of some sort, but it's like a foreign language I can't decipher. I give up, open my eyes, and gaze out again at this brand-new world before me. Standing there halfway down the slope, staring down at this place with two soldiers, I feel those ripples shifting inside me. These signs reconfigure themselves, the metaphors transform, and I'm drifting away, away from myself. I'm a butterfly, flitting along the edges of creation. Beyond the edge of the world there's a space where emptiness and substance neatly overlap, where past and future form a continuous, endless loop. And hovering about there are signs no one has ever read, chords no one has ever heard.

I try to calm my ragged breathing. My heart still isn't back in one piece, but at least I'm not afraid.

Without a word the soldiers start walking again, and silently I follow along. As we go farther down the slope, the town draws closer. I see a small stream running alongside a road, with a stone wall as an embankment. The beautiful clear water gurgles pleasantly. Everything here is simple, and cozy. Slim poles with wires strung between them dot the area, which means they must have electricity. Electricity? Out here?

The place is surrounded by a high, green ridge. The sky's still a mass of gray clouds. The soldiers and I walk down the road but don't pass a single person. Everything's completely still, not a sound to be heard. Maybe they're all shut up inside their homes, holding their breath, waiting for us to go.

My companions take me to one of the dwellings. Strange thing is, it's the same size and shape as Oshima's cabin. Like one was the model for the other. There's a porch out front, and a chair. The building has a flat roof with a stovepipe sticking out the top. There's a plain single bed in the bedroom, all neatly made up. The only differences are that the bedroom and living room are separate from each other, and there's a toilet inside and the place has electricity. There's even a fridge in the kitchen, a small, old-fashioned model. A light hangs down from the ceiling. And there's a TV. A TV?

"For the time being, you're supposed to stay here till you get settled," the brawny soldier says. "It won't be for that long. For the time being."

"Like I said before, time isn't much of a factor here," the tall one says.

The other one nods in agreement. "Not a factor at all."

"Where could the electricity be coming from?"

They look at each other.

"There's a small wind-power station farther on in the forest," the tall one explains. "The wind's always blowing there. Gotta have electricity, right?"

"No electricity and you can't use the fridge," the brawny one says. "No fridge and you can't keep food for long."

"You'd manage somehow without it," the tall one says. "Though it sure is a nice thing to have."

"If you get hungry," the brawny one adds, "help yourself to whatever's in the fridge. There isn't much, I'm afraid."

"There's no meat here, no fish, coffee, or liquor," the tall one says. "It's hard at first, but you'll get used to it."

"But you do have eggs and cheese and milk," the brawny soldier says. "Gotta have your protein, right?"

"They don't make those other things here," the tall one explains, "so you have to go somewhere else to get them. And swap something for them."

"Somewhere else?"

The tall one nods. "That's right. We're not cut off from the world here. There is a somewhere else. It might take a while, but you'll understand."

"Someone will be along in the evening to make dinner for you," the brawny soldier says. "If you get bored before then, you can watch TV."

"They have shows on the TV?"

"Well, I don't know what's on," the tall one replies, a bit flustered. He tilts his head and looks at his companion.

His brawny friend tilts his head too, a doubtful look on his face. "To be honest with you, I don't know much about TV. I've never watched it."

"They put the TV there for people who've just come here," the tall one says.

"But you should be able to watch something," the brawny one says.

"Just rest up for a while," the tall one says. "We have to get back to our post."

"Thanks for bringing me here."

"No problem," the brawny one says. "You have much stronger legs than the others we've brought here. Lots of people can't keep up. Some we even have to carry on our backs. So you were one of the easy ones."

"If memory serves," the tall soldier says, "you said there's somebody you want to see here."

"That's right."

"I'm sure you'll meet whoever that is before long," he says, nodding a couple of times for emphasis. "It's a small world here."

"I hope you get used to it soon," the brawny soldier says.

"Once you get used to it, the rest is easy," the tall soldier adds.

"I really appreciate it."

The two of them stand at attention and salute, then shoulder their rifles and leave, walking quickly down the road back toward their post. They must guard the entrance there day and night.

I go to the kitchen and check out what's in the fridge. There are some tomatoes, a chunk of cheese, eggs, carrots, turnips even, and a large porcelain jug of milk. Butter, too. A loaf of bread's on a shelf, and I tear off a piece and taste it. A little hard, but not bad.