Haruki Murakami - Kafka on the Shore

Only amounts up to fifty dollars or so had any meaning to him. Anything above that-a thousand dollars, ten thousand, a hundred thousand-was all the same to him. A lot of money, that's all it meant. He might have savings, but he'd never seen it. They just told him, "This is how much you have in your account," and told him an amount, which to him was an abstract concept. So when it all vanished he never had the sense that he'd actually lost something real.

So Nakata lived a contented life in the small apartment his brother provided, receiving his monthly subsidy, using his special bus pass, going to the local park to chat with the cats. This little corner of Nakano became his new world. Just like dogs and cats, he marked off his territory, a boundary line beyond which, except in unusual circumstances, he never ventured. As long as he stayed there he felt safe and content. No dissatisfactions, no anger at anything. No feelings of loneliness, anxieties about the future, or worries that his life was difficult or inconvenient. Day after day, for more than ten years, this was his life, leisurely enjoying whatever came along.

Until the day that Johnnie Walker showed up.

Nakata hadn't seen the sea in years, for there was no sea in Nagano Prefecture, or in Nakano Ward. Now for the first time, he realized that he'd lost the sea for so long. He hadn't even thought about it all those many years. He nodded several times to himself, confirming this fact. He took off his hat, rubbed his closely-cropped head with his palm, put his hat back on, and gazed out at the sea. This is the extent of his knowledge of the sea: it was very big, it was salty, and fish lived there.

He sat there on the bench, breathing in the scent of the sea, watching seagulls circle overhead, gazing at ships anchored far offshore. He didn't tire of the view. An occasional white seagull would alight on the fresh summer grass in the park. The white against the green was beautiful. Nakata tried calling out to the seagull as it walked over the grass, but it didn't reply and just stared at him coolly. There were no cats around. The only animals in the park were seagulls and sparrows. As he sipped hot tea from his thermos, rain began pelting down, and Nakata opened up his precious umbrella.

By the time Hoshino came back to the park, just before twelve, it had stopped raining. Nakata was seated on the bench just as he'd left him, umbrella folded, staring out at the sea. Hoshino had parked his truck somewhere and arrived in a taxi.

"Hey, I'm sorry it took so long," he apologized. A vinyl Boston bag hung from his shoulder. "I thought I'd be finished sooner but all kinds of things came up. It's like every department store has one guy who's got to be a pain in the butt."

"Nakata didn't mind at all. I was just sitting here, looking at the sea."

"Hmm," Hoshino murmured. He looked out in the same direction, but all he saw was a shabby old pier and oil floating on the surface of the water.

"I haven't seen the sea in a long time."

"That right?"

"The last time I saw it was in elementary school. I went to the seaside at Enoshima."

"I bet that was a long time ago."

"Japan was occupied by the Americans back then. The seashore at Enoshima was filled with American soldiers."

"You gotta be kidding."

"No, I'm not kidding."

"Come on," Hoshino said. "Japan was never occupied by America."

"Nakata doesn't know the details, but America had planes called B-29s. They dropped a lot of bombs on Tokyo, so I went to Yamanashi Prefecture. That's where I got sick."

"Yeah? Whatever… I told you I don't like long stories. Anyway, let's head on out. It took longer than I thought, and it's gonna be dark soon if we don't get a move on."

"Where are we going?"

"Shikoku, of course. We'll cross the bridge. You said you're going to Shikoku, didn't you?"

"I did. But what about your job?"

"Don't worry about it. It'll still be there when I get back. I've been putting in some long hours and was thinking I should take a few days off. To tell the truth, I've never been to Shikoku either. Might as well check it out. Plus you can't read, right? So it'll be a whole lot easier if I'm with you to help buy the tickets. Unless you don't want me along."

"No, Nakata would be happy to have you along."

"Then let's do it. I already checked out the bus schedule. Shikoku-here we come!"

I don't know if ghost is the right word, but it definitely isn't something of this world-that much I can tell at a glance.

I sense something and suddenly wake up and there she is. It's the middle of the night but the room is strangely light, moonlight streaming through the window. I know I closed the curtains before going to bed, but now they're wide open. The girl's silhouette is clearly outlined, bathed by the bone white light of the moon.

She's about my age, fifteen or sixteen. I'm guessing fifteen. There's a big difference between fifteen and sixteen. She's small and slim, holds herself erect, and doesn't seem delicate at all. Her hair hangs down to her shoulders, with bangs on her forehead. She's wearing a blue dress with a billowing hem that's just the right length. She doesn't have any shoes or socks on. The buttons on the cuffs of her dress are neatly done up. Her dress has a rounded, open collar, showing off her well-formed neck.

She's sitting at the desk, chin resting in her hands, staring at the wall and thinking about something. Nothing too complex, I'd say. It looks more like she's lost in some pleasant, warm memory of not so long ago. Every once in a while a hint of a smile gathers at the corners of her mouth. But the shadows cast by the moonlight keep me from making out any details of her expression. I don't want to interrupt whatever it is she's doing, so I pretend to be asleep, holding my breath and trying not to be noticed.

She's got to be a ghost. First of all, she's just too beautiful. Her features are gorgeous, but it's not only that. She's so perfect I know she can't be real. She's like a person who stepped right out of a dream. The purity of her beauty gives me a feeling close to sadness-a very natural feeling, though one that only something extraordinary could produce.

I'm wrapped in my covers, holding my breath. She continues to sit there at the desk, chin propped in her hands, barely stirring. Occasionally her chin shifts a fraction, changing the angle of her head ever so slightly. As far as anything moving in the room, that's it. I can see the large flowering dogwood just outside the window, glistening silently in the moonlight. There's no wind, and I can't hear a sound. The whole thing feels like I might've died, unknowingly. I'm dead, and this girl and I have sunk to the bottom of a deep crater lake.

All of a sudden she pulls her hands away from her chin and places them on her lap. Two small pale knees show at her hemline. She stops gazing at the wall and turns in my direction. She reaches up and touches the hair at her forehead-her slim, girlish fingers rest for a time on her forehead, as if she's trying to draw out some forgotten thought. She's looking at me. My heart beats dully in my chest, but strangely enough I don't feel like I'm being looked at. Maybe she's not looking at me but beyond me.

In the depths of our crater lake, everything is silent. The volcano's been extinct for ages. Layer upon layer of solitude, like folds of soft mud. The little bit of light that manages to penetrate to the depths lights up the surroundings like the remains of some faint, distant memory. At these depths there's no sign of life. I don't know how long she looks at me-not at me, maybe, but at the spot where I am. Time's rules don't apply here. Time expands, then contracts, all in tune with the stirrings of the heart.

And then, without warning, the girl stands up and heads toward the door on her slender legs. The door is shut, yet soundlessly she disappears.