Haruki Murakami - Kafka on the Shore

The woods don't scare me as much as they used to, either, and I've started to feel a kind of closeness and respect. That said, I don't venture too far from the cabin, and stay on the path. As long as I follow these rules, it shouldn't get too precarious. That's the important thing-follow the rules and the woods will wordlessly accept me, sharing some of their peace and beauty. Cross the line, though, and beasts of silence lay in wait to maul me with razor-sharp claws.

I often lie down in the round little clearing and let the sunlight wash over me. Eyes closed tight, I give myself up to it, ears tuned to the wind whipping through the treetops. Wrapped in the deep fragrance of the forest, I listen to the flapping of birds' wings, to the stirring of the ferns. I'm freed from gravity and float up-just a little-from the ground and drift in the air. Of course I can't stay there forever. It's just a momentary sensation-open my eyes and it's gone. Still, it's an overwhelming experience. Being able to float in the air.

It rains hard a couple times, but doesn't last, and each time I run outside, naked, to wash myself. Sometimes I get all sweaty exercising, rip off my clothes, and sunbathe on the porch. I drink a lot of tea, and concentrate on reading, sitting on the porch or by the stove. Books on history, science, folklore, mythology, sociology, psychology, Shakespeare, you name it. Instead of racing straight through, I reread parts I think are most important till I understand them, to get something tangible out of them. All sorts of knowledge seeps, bit by bit, into my brain. I imagine how great it'd be to stay here as long as I wanted. There are lots of books on the shelf I'd like to read, still plenty of food. But I know I'm just passing through and will have to leave before long. This place is too calm, too natural-too complete. I don't deserve it. At least not yet.

On the fourth day Oshima shows up late in the morning. I'm stark naked, sprawled on the chair on the porch, dozing in the sun, and don't hear him approach. I don't hear the sound of his car. Shouldering a backpack, he's walked here up the road. He quietly steps up on the porch, sticks out his hand, and lightly brushes my head. Startled, I leap to my feet and scramble around for a towel. There isn't one handy.

"Don't sweat it," Oshima says. "When I stayed here I used to sunbathe nude all the time. It feels great, having the sun on places it never reaches."

Naked like this in front of him, I feel totally defenseless and vulnerable, my pubic hair, penis, balls all exposed. I have no idea what to do. It's a little too late to cover up. "Hey," I say, straining to sound casual. "So you walked up?"

"It's such a nice day I decided to," he says. "I left my car down by the gate." He takes a towel draped over the railing and hands it to me. I wrap it around my waist and can finally relax.

Singing a song in a low voice he boils water, then takes out flour, eggs, and milk from his pack and whips up some pancakes in the frying pan. Tops these with butter and syrup. He then takes out lettuce, tomatoes, and an onion. He's very careful with the kitchen knife as he chops up everything for a salad. We have all this for lunch.

"So how were your three days here?" he asks, cutting a piece of pancake.

I tell him what a wonderful time I had. I omit the part about going into the woods. Somehow, it's better not to talk about it.

"I'm glad," Oshima says. "I was hoping you'd like it here."

"But we're going back to the city now, aren't we?"

"That's right. It's time to go back."

Getting ready to leave, we briskly straighten up the cabin. Wash the dishes and put them away in the shelves, clean up the stove. Empty the water pail, shut the valve in the propane tank. Store the food that will last in the cupboard, throw the rest away. Sweep the floor, wipe off the tops of the tables and chairs. Dig a hole outside to bury the garbage.

As Oshima locks up the cabin, I turn to look one last time. Up till a minute ago it felt so real, but now it seems imaginary. Just a few steps is all it takes for everything associated with it to lose all sense of reality. And me-the person who was there until a moment ago-now I seem imaginary too. It takes thirty minutes to walk to where Oshima parked the car, and we hardly exchange a word as we go down the mountain road. Oshima's humming some melody. I let my mind wander.

At the bottom, the little green sports car blends into the background of the forest. Oshima closes the gate to discourage trespassers, wraps the chain around it twice, and locks the padlock. Like before, I secure my backpack to the rack on the back of the car. The top's down.

"Back to the city," Oshima says.

I nod.

"I'm sure you enjoyed living all alone with nature like that, but it's not easy to live there for a long time," Oshima says. He puts on sunglasses and fastens his seatbelt.

I sit down beside him and snap on my seatbelt.

"In theory it's not impossible to live like that, and of course there are people who do. But nature is actually kind of unnatural, in a way. And relaxation can actually be threatening. It takes experience and preparation to really live with those contradictions. So we're going back to the city for the time being. Back to civilization."

Oshima steps on the gas and we start down the mountain road. This time he's in no hurry and drives at a leisurely pace, enjoying the scenery and the rush of wind that whips through his bangs. The unpaved road ends and we start down the narrow paved road, passing villages and fields.

"Speaking of contradictions," Oshima suddenly says, "when I first met you I felt a kind of contradiction in you. You're seeking something, but at the same time running away for all you're worth."

"What is it I'm seeking?"

Oshima shakes his head. He glances in the rearview mirror and frowns. "I have no idea. I'm just saying I got that impression."

I don't reply.

"From my own experience, when someone is trying very hard to get something, they don't. And when they're running away from something as hard as they can, it usually catches up with them. I'm generalizing, of course."

"If you generalize about me, then, what's in my future? If I'm seeking and running at the same time."

"That's a tough one," Oshima says, and smiles. A moment passes before he goes on. "If I had to say anything it'd be this: Whatever it is you're seeking won't come in the form you're expecting."

"Kind of an ominous prophecy."

"Like Cassandra."

"Cassandra?" I ask.

"The Greek tragedy. Cassandra was the princess of Troy who prophesied. She was a temple priestess, and Apollo gave her the power to predict fate. In return he tried to force her to sleep with him, but she refused and he put a curse on her. Greek gods are more mythological than religious figures. By that I mean they have the same character flaws humans do. They fly off the handle, get horny, jealous, forgetful. You name it."

He takes a small box of lemon drops out of the glove compartment and pops one in his mouth. He motions for me to take one, and I do.

"What kind of curse was it?"

"The curse on Cassandra?"

I nod.

"The curse Apollo laid on her was that all her prophecies would be true, but nobody would ever believe them. On top of that, her prophecies would all be unlucky ones-predictions of betrayals, accidents, deaths, the country falling into ruin. That sort of thing. People not only didn't believe her, they began to despise her. If you haven't read them yet, I really recommend the plays by Euripides or Aeschylus. They show a lot of the essential problems we struggle with even today. In koros."

"Koros? What's that?"

"That's what they called the chorus they used in Greek plays. It stands at the back of the stage and explains in unison the situation or what the characters are feeling deep down inside. Sometimes they even try to influence the characters. It's a very convenient device. Sometimes I wish I had my own chorus standing behind me."