Haruki Murakami - Kafka on the Shore

"So The Miner's structured very differently from, say, Soseki's Sanshiro, your typical modern bildungsroman?"

I nod. "I don't know about that, but you might be right. Sanshiro grows up in the story. Runs into obstacles, ponders things, overcomes difficulties, right? But the hero of The Miner's different. All he does is watch things happen and accept it all. I mean, occasionally he gives his own opinions, but nothing very deep. Instead, he just broods over his love affair. He comes out of the mine about the same as when he went in. He has no sense that it was something he decided to do himself, or that he had a choice. He's like totally passive. But I think in real life people are like that. It's not so easy to make choices on your own."

"Do you see yourself as sort of like the hero of The Miner?"

I shake my head. "No, I never thought of it that way."

"But people need to cling to something," Oshima says. "They have to. You're doing the same, even though you don't realize it. It's like Goethe said: Everything's a metaphor."

I mull this over for a while.

Oshima takes a sip of coffee. "At any rate, that's an interesting take on The Miner. Especially since you're both runaways. Makes me want to read it again."

I finish the sandwich, crush the now empty milk carton, and toss it in the waste can. "Oshima," I say, deciding to come right out with it, "I'm sort of in a fix and you're the only one I can ask for advice."

He opens both hands wide with a go-right-ahead gesture.

"It's a long story, but I don't have anywhere to stay tonight. I've got a sleeping bag, so I don't need a futon or bed or anything. Just a roof over my head. Do you know of any place around here like that?"

"I'm guessing that you're not thinking of a hotel or inn?"

I shook my head. "Money's a factor. But I'm also hoping not to be too conspicuous."

"To the juvenile section of the police, I bet."

"Yeah."

Oshima thinks it over for a time and says, "Well, you could stay here."

"In the library?"

"Sure. It has a roof, and a vacant room, too, that nobody uses at night."

"But do you think it's all right?"

"Of course we'll have to make some arrangements first. But it is possible. Or not impossible, I should say. I'm sure I can manage it."

"How so?"

"You like to read good books, to figure things out on your own. You look like you're in good shape physically, and you're an independent kind of guy. You like to lead a well-regulated life and have a lot of willpower. I mean, even the willpower to make your stomach smaller, right? I'll talk with Miss Saeki about you becoming my assistant and staying in the empty room here at the library."

"You want me to be your assistant?"

"You won't have to do much," Oshima says. "Basically help me open and close the place. We hire professionals to do the heavy cleaning or to input things on the computer. Apart from this, there's not a whole lot to do. You can just read whatever you like. Sound good?"

"Yeah, of course it does…" I'm not sure what to say. "But I don't think Miss Saeki's going to go for it. I'm only fifteen, and a runaway she doesn't know anything about."

"But Miss Saeki's… how should I put it?" Oshima begins, then uncharacteristically comes to a halt, searching for the right word. "A little different."

"Different?"

"She has a different take on things than other people."

I nod. A different take on things? What does that mean? "You mean she's an unusual person?"

Oshima shakes his head. "No, I wouldn't say that. If you're talking about unusual, that would be me. She just isn't bound by conventional ways of doing things."

I'm still trying to figure out the difference between different and unusual, but decide to hold off on any more questions. For the time being.

After a pause Oshima says, "Staying here tonight, though, is a problem. So I'll take you someplace else, where you can stay for a couple of days till we get things settled. You don't mind, do you? It's a little far away."

"No problem," I tell him.

"The library closes at five," Oshima says, "and I have to straighten things up, so we'll leave around five-thirty. I'll drive you there in my car. Nobody's staying there now. And not to worry-the place has a roof."

"I appreciate it."

"You can thank me after we get there. It might not be what you're imagining."

I go back to the reading room and pick up where I left off in Poppies. I'm not a fast reader. I like to linger over each sentence, enjoying the style. If I don't enjoy the writing, I stop. Just before five I finish the novel, put it back on the shelf, then sit back down on the sofa, close my eyes, and think about what happened last night. About Sakura. About her room. What she did to me. All the twists and turns as events take their course.

At five-thirty I'm standing outside the library waiting for Oshima. He leads me to the parking lot out around back and we get into his green sports car. A Mazda Miata with the top down. My backpack's too big for the little trunk, so we tie it down tight on the rear rack.

"It's a long drive, so we'll stop along the way for dinner," Oshima says. He turns the ignition key and starts up the engine.

"Where are we headed?"

"Kochi," he replies. "Ever been there?"

I shake my head. "How far is it?"

"It'll take us about two and a half hours to get where we're going. Toward the south, over the mountains."

"You don't mind going so far?"

"It's okay. It's a straight shot, and it's still light out. And I've got a full tank."

We drive through the twilit city streets, then get on the highway heading west. Oshima changes lanes smoothly, slipping in between other cars, effortlessly shifting gears. Each time the hum of the engine changes slightly. When he shifts gears and floors it, the little car's soon zipping along at over ninety.

"The car's specially tuned, so it's got a lot of pickup. This isn't your ordinary Miata. Do you know much about cars?"

I shake my head. Cars are definitely not my specialty. "Do you enjoy driving?" I ask.

"The doctor made me give up any risky sports. So instead I drive. Compensation."

"Is something wrong with you?"

"The medical name's kind of long, but it's a type of hemophilia," Oshima says casually. "Do you know what that is?"

"I think so," I say. I learned about it in biology class. "Once you start bleeding you can't stop. It's genetic, where the blood doesn't coagulate."

"That's right. There're all kinds of hemophilia, and the type I have is pretty rare. It's not such a bad type of the disease, but I have to be careful not to get injured. Once I start bleeding I have to go to the hospital. Besides, these days there're problems with the blood supply in hospitals. Dying a slow death from AIDS isn't an option for me. So I've made some connections in town to supply me with safe blood, just in case. Because of my disease I don't go on trips. Except for regular checkups at the university hospital in Hiroshima, I hardly ever leave town. It's not so bad, though-I never did like traveling or sports all that much anyway. I can't use a kitchen knife, so doing any real cooking's out, which is kind of a shame."

"Driving's a risky enough sport," I tell him.

"It's a different kind of risk. Whenever I drive I try to go as fast as I can. If I'm in an accident driving fast I won't just wind up getting a cut finger. If you lose a lot of blood, there's no difference between a hemophiliac and anybody else. It evens things out, since your chances of survival are the same. You don't have to worry about things like blood coagulation or anything, and can die without any regrets."

"I see."

"Don't worry," Oshima laughs. "I'm not going have an accident. I'm a careful driver and don't push it. I keep my car in top condition, too. Besides, when I die I want to die quietly, all by myself."