Haruki Murakami - Kafka on the Shore

"That's enough," I say. "Let's just forget it. I'm making too much of it."

"It's all right-go ahead and say what's on your mind," he says. "Then the two of us can decide if you're making too much of it or not."

Oshima's shadow on the floor moves in time with his movements, though it's slightly more exaggerated.

"There are an amazing amount of coincidences between me and Miss Saeki," I say. "They're like pieces of a puzzle that fit together. I understood this when I listened to 'Kafka on the Shore.' First off is the fact that I was drawn to this library, like fate reeling me in. A straight line from Nakano to Takamatsu. Very strange, when you think about it."

"Like the plot of a Greek tragedy," Oshima comments.

"Plus," I add, "I'm in love with her."

"With Miss Saeki?"

"Yeah, probably."

"Probably?" Oshima repeats, frowning. "Do you mean it's probably Miss Saeki you're in love with? Or that you're probably in love with her?"

I turn red. "I can't really explain it," I reply. "It's complicated and there's a lot of stuff I still don't get."

"But you're probably in love, probably with Miss Saeki?"

"Right," I say. "Very much."

"Probably, but also very much."

I nod.

"At the same time it's possible she's your mother?"

Another of my patented nods.

"For a fifteen-year-old who doesn't even shave yet, you're sure carrying a lot of baggage around." Oshima takes a sip of his coffee and carefully places the cup back on its saucer. "I'm not saying that's wrong. Just that everything has a critical point."

I don't say anything.

Oshima touches his temples and is lost in thought for a time. He crosses his slim fingers together in front of his chest. "I'll try to find that sheet music as soon as I can. I can finish up here, so why don't you go back to your room."

At lunchtime I take over from Oshima at the front counter. There are fewer visitors than usual, probably due to the steady rain. When he comes back from his break, he hands me a large envelope with a computer printout of the sheet music for "Kafka on the Shore."

"Convenient world we live in," he says.

"Thanks," I tell him.

"If you don't mind, why don't you take a cup of coffee upstairs. No cream or sugar. You make really good coffee."

I make a fresh cup and take it on a tray to the second floor. As always, the door to Miss Saeki's room is open and she's at her desk, writing. When I put the cup of coffee on her desk, she looks up at me and smiles, then puts the cap back on her fountain pen and rests it on top of the paper.

"So, are you getting used to things around here?"

"Bit by bit," I answer.

"Are you free now?"

"Yes, I am," I tell her.

"Why don't you sit down, then." Miss Saeki points to the wooden chair beside her desk. "Let's talk for a while."

It's starting to thunder again. Still far away, but gradually getting closer. I do what she says and take a seat.

"How old are you again? Sixteen?"

"Fifteen. I just turned fifteen," I respond.

"You ran away from home, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did."

"Was there some reason you had to do that?"

I shake my head. What should I say?

Miss Saeki picks up the cup and takes a sip while she waits for my answer.

"I felt like if I stayed there I'd be damaged beyond repair," I say.

"Damaged?" Miss Saeki says, narrowing her eyes.

"Yes," I say.

After a pause she says, "It sounds strange for a boy your age to use a word like damaged, though I must say I'm intrigued. What exactly do you mean by damaged?"

I search for the right words. First I look for the boy named Crow, but he's nowhere to be found. I'm left to choose them on my own, and that takes time. But Miss Saeki waits there patiently. Lightning flashes outside, and after a time thunder booms far away.

"I mean I'd change into something I shouldn't."

Miss Saeki looks at me with great interest. "As long as there's such a thing as time, everybody's damaged in the end, changed into something else. It always happens, sooner or later."

"But even if that happens, you've got to have a place you can retrace your steps to."

"A place you can retrace your steps to?"

"A place that's worth coming back to."

Miss Saeki stares straight at me.

I blush, then summon my courage and look up at her. She has on a navy blue dress with short sleeves. She must have a whole closet of dresses in different shades of blue. Her only accessories are a thin silver necklace and a smallish wristwatch with a black leather band. I look for the fifteen-year-old girl in her and find her right away. She's hidden, asleep, like a 3-D painting in the forest of her heart. But if you look carefully you can spot her. My chest starts pounding again, like somebody's hammering a long nail into the walls surrounding it.

"For a fifteen-year-old, you make a lot of sense."

I have no idea how to respond to that. So I don't say anything.

"When I was fifteen," Miss Saeki says with a smile, "all I wanted was to go off to some other world, a place beyond anybody's reach. A place beyond the flow of time."

"But there's no place like that in this world."

"Exactly. Which is why I'm living here, in this world where things are continually damaged, where the heart is fickle, where time flows past without a break." As if hinting at the flow of time, she's silent for a while. "But you know," she goes on, "when I was fifteen, I thought there had to be a place like that in the world. I was sure that somewhere I'd run across the entrance that would take me to that other world."

"Were you lonely when you were fifteen?"

"In a sense, I guess. I wasn't alone, but I was terribly lonely. Because I knew that I would never be happier than I was then. That much I knew for sure. That's why I wanted to go-just as I was-to some place where there was no time."

"What I want is to grow up faster."

Miss Saeki pulls back to study my expression. "You must be much stronger and more independent than I am. At your age I was filled with illusions of escaping reality, but you're standing right up to the real world and confronting it head-on. That's a big difference."

Strong and independent? I'm neither one. I'm just being pushed along by reality, whether I like it or not. But I don't say anything.

"You know, you remind me of a fifteen-year-old boy I used to know a long time ago."

"Did he look like me?" I ask.

"You're taller and more muscular than he was, but there is a resemblance. He didn't enjoy talking with other kids his age-they were on a different wavelength-so he spent most of his time holed up in his room, reading or listening to music. He'd get the same frown lines, too, whenever the topic got difficult. And you love to read as well."

I nod.

Miss Saeki glances at her watch. "Thank you for the coffee."

Taking that as my signal to leave, I stand up and head for the door. Miss Saeki picks up her black fountain pen, slowly twists off the cap, and goes back to her writing. There's another flash of lightning outside, bathing the room for an instant in a weird color. The clap of thunder hits a moment later. This time it's closer than before.

"Kafka," Miss Saeki says.

I stop at the doorway and turn around.

"I just remembered that I wrote a book on lightning once."

I don't say anything. A book on lightning?

"I went all over Japan interviewing people who'd survived lightning strikes. It took me a few years. Most of the interviews were pretty interesting. A small publisher put it out, but it barely sold. The book didn't come to any conclusion, and nobody wants to read a book that doesn't have one. For me, though, having no conclusion seemed perfectly fine."

A tiny hammer in my head is pounding on a drawer somewhere, persistently. I'm trying to remember something, something very important-but I don't know what it is. By this time Miss Saeki's gone back to her writing and I go back to my room.