Haruki Murakami - Kafka on the Shore

Kawamura was nowhere to be seen. Two scrawny cats with rough coats were there, but when Nakata called out a friendly greeting they just glanced at him coldly and disappeared into the weeds. Which made sense-none of them wanted to get caught and have his tail chopped off. Nakata himself certainly didn't want to have that happen to him, not that he had a tail. It was no wonder the cats were wary of him.

Nakata stood on higher ground and took a good look around. No one else was there, just the butterflies, searching for something, fluttering above the weeds. He found a good spot to sit down, lowered his canvas bag from his shoulder, took out two bean-jam buns, and had his usual lunch. He drank hot tea from a thermos, eyes narrowed as he quietly sipped. Just a quiet early afternoon. Everything was at rest, placid, harmonious. Nakata found it hard to believe that somebody might be lying in wait to torment and torture cats.

He rubbed his cropped salt-and-pepper hair as he chewed. If somebody else was with him he could explain-Nakata's not very bright-but unfortunately he was alone. All he could do was nod a few times to himself and continue chewing. Once he finished the buns he folded up the cellophane they'd been wrapped in into a compact square and put it in his bag. He screwed the lid back on the thermos tight and put it in his bag as well. The sky was covered with a layer of clouds, but from their color he could tell the sun was almost directly overhead.

The man is very tall, and wears a strange tall hat and long leather boots.

Nakata tried to picture this man, but had no idea what a strange tall hat and long leather boots looked like. In his whole life he'd never encountered any tall hats and long leather boots. Kawamura had told Mimi that you'd know him when you saw him. So, Nakata decided, I suppose I'll just have to wait until I see him. That's definitely the best plan. He stood up and relieved himself in the weeds-a long, honest pee-and then went over to a clump of weeds in a corner of the vacant lot, where he had the best chance of remaining hidden from sight, and sat out the rest of the afternoon, waiting for that strange man to show up.

Waiting was a boring task. He had no clue when the man might next appear-maybe tomorrow, maybe not for a week. Or maybe he'd never show up again-there was that possibility. But Nakata was used to aimless waiting and spending time alone, doing nothing. He wasn't bothered in the least.

Time wasn't the main issue for him. He didn't even own a watch. Nakata operated on his own sense of time. In the morning it got light, in the evening the sun set and it got dark. Once it got dark he'd go to the nearby public bath, and after coming home from his bath he'd go to sleep. The public bath was closed on certain days of the week, and when that happened he'd just give up and go back home. His stomach told him when it was time to eat, and when the time came for him to go pick up his sub city (somebody was always nice enough to tell him when that day was near) he knew another month had passed. The next day he'd always go for a haircut at the local barber shop. Every summer someone from the ward office would treat him to eel, and every New Year they'd bring him rice cakes.

Nakata let his body relax, switched off his mind, allowing things to flow through him. This was natural for him, something he'd done ever since he was a child, without a second thought. Before long the borders of his consciousness fluttered around, just like the butterflies. Beyond these borders lay a dark abyss. Occasionally his consciousness would fly over the border and hover over that dizzying, black crevass. But Nakata wasn't afraid of the darkness or how deep it was. And why should he be? That bottomless world of darkness, that weighty silence and chaos, was an old friend, a part of him already. Nakata understood this well. In that world there was no writing, no days of the week, no scary Governor, no opera, no BMWs. No scissors, no tall hats. On the other hand, there was also no delicious eel, no tasty bean-jam buns. Everything is there, but there are no parts. Since there are no parts, there's no need to replace one thing with another. No need to remove anything, or add anything. You don't have to think about difficult things, just let yourself soak it all in. For Nakata, nothing could be better.

Occasionally he dozed off. Even when he slept, though, his senses, ever vigilant, kept watch over the vacant lot. If something happened, if somebody came, he could wake up and do what needed to be done. The sky was covered with a flat line of gray clouds, but at least it wasn't going to rain. The cats all knew it. And so did Nakata.

When I finish talking it's pretty late. Sakura listens intently the whole time, resting her head in her hands on the kitchen table. I tell her that I'm actually fifteen, in junior high, that I stole my father's money and ran away from my home in Nakano Ward in Tokyo. That I'm staying in a hotel in Takamatsu and spending my days reading at a library. That all of a sudden I found myself collapsed outside a shrine, covered with blood. Everything. Well, almost everything. Not the important stuff I can't talk about.

"So your mother left home with your older sister when you were just four. Leaving you and your father behind."

I take the photo of my sister and me at the shore from my wallet and show her. "This is my sister," I say. Sakura looks at the photo for a while, then hands it back without a word.

"I haven't seen her since then," I say. "Or my mom. She's never gotten in touch, and I have no idea where she is. I don't even remember what she looks like. There aren't any photos of her left. I remember her smell, her touch, but not her face."

"Hmm," Sakura says. Head still in her hands, she narrows her eyes and looks at me. "Must have been hard on you."

"Yeah, I guess…"

She continues to gaze at me silently. "So you didn't get along with your dad?" she asks after a while.

Didn't get along? How am I supposed to answer that? I don't say anything, just shake my head.

"Dumb question-of course you didn't. Otherwise you wouldn't have run away," Sakura says. "So anyway, you left your home, and today you suddenly lost consciousness or your memory or something."

"Yeah."

"Did that ever happen before?"

"Sometimes," I tell her honestly. "I fly into a rage, and it's like I blow a fuse. Like somebody pushes a switch in my head and my body does its thing before my mind can catch up. It's like I'm here, but in a way it's not me."

"You lose control and do something violent, you mean?"

"It's happened a few times, yeah."

"Have you hurt anybody?"

I nod. "Twice I did. Nothing serious."

She thinks about this.

"Is that what happened this time?"

I shake my head. "This is the first time something this bad's happened. This time… I don't know how it started, and I can't remember at all what happened. It's like my memory was wiped clean. It never was this bad before."

She looks over the T-shirt I haul out of my backpack, carefully checking the blood I couldn't wash out. "So the last thing you remember is eating dinner, right? At a restaurant near the station?"

I nod.

"And everything after that's a blank. The next thing you knew, you were lying in the bushes behind that shrine. About four hours later. Your shirt covered in blood and your left shoulder aching?"

I give her another nod. She brings over a city map from somewhere and checks out the distance between the station and the shrine.

"It's not so far, but it would take a while to walk. But why would you have been over there in the first place? It's the opposite direction from your hotel. Have you ever gone there before?"

"Never."

"Take off your shirt for a minute," she says.