Haruki Murakami - Kafka on the Shore

"A mentally impaired old man from Nakano?"

"Ring any bells?"

I shake my head. "None."

"His address isn't far from your house. A fifteen-minute walk, apparently."

"But tons of people live in Nakano. I don't even know who lives next door."

"There's more," Oshima says, and glances at me. "He's the one who made all those mackerel and sardines rain down from the sky in the Nogata shopping district. At least he predicted to the police that lots of fish would fall from the sky the day before it happened."

"That's amazing," I say.

"Isn't it?" Oshima says. "And the same day, in the evening, a huge amount of leeches rained down on the Fujigawa rest stop on the Tomei Highway. Remember?"

"Yeah, I do."

"None of this slipped past the police, of course. They're guessing there's got to be some connection between these events and this mystery man they're after. His movements parallel everything so closely."

The Mozart piece ends, and another begins.

Hands on the steering wheel, Oshima shakes his head a couple of times. "A really strange turn of events. It started out weird and is getting even weirder as it goes along. Impossible to predict what'll happen next. One thing's for sure, though. Everything seems to be converging right here. The old man's path and yours are bound to cross."

I close my eyes and listen to the roar of the engine. "Maybe I should go to some other town," I tell him. "Apart from anything else, I don't want to cause you or Miss Saeki any more trouble."

"But where would you go?"

"I don't know. But I can figure it out if you take me to the station. It doesn't really matter."

Oshima sighs. "I don't think that's such a smart idea. The station has to be crawling with cops, all on the lookout for a cool, tall, fifteen-year-old boy lugging a backpack and a bunch of obsessions."

"So why not take me to a station far away that they're not staking out?"

"It's all the same. In the end they'll find you."

I don't say anything.

"Look, they haven't issued a warrant for your arrest. You're not on the most-wanted list or anything, okay?"

I nod.

"Which means you're still free. So I don't need anybody's permission to take you anywhere I want. I'm not breaking the law. I mean, I don't even know your real first name, Kafka. So don't worry about me. I'm a very cautious person. Nobody's going to nab me so easily."

"Oshima?" I say.

"Yes?"

"I didn't plan anything with anybody. If I had to kill my father, I wouldn't ask anybody to do it."

"I know."

He stops at a red light and checks the rearview mirror, then pops a lemon drop into his mouth and offers me one.

I slip it in my mouth. "What comes after that?"

"What do you mean?" Oshima asks.

"You said first of all. About why I have to go hide in the hills. If there's a first reason, there's got to be a second."

Oshima stares at the red light, but it doesn't change. "Compared to the first, the second isn't very important."

"I still want to hear it."

"It's about Miss Saeki," he says. The light finally turns green and he steps on the gas. "You're sleeping with her, right?"

I don't know how to answer that.

"Don't worry, I'm not blaming you or anything. I just have a sense for these things, that's all. She's a wonderful person, a very attractive lady. She's-special, in all sorts of ways. She's a lot older than you, sure, but so what? I understand your attraction to her. You want to have sex with her, so why not? She wants to have sex with you? More power to her. It doesn't bother me. If you guys are okay with that, it's fine by me." Oshima rolls the lemon drop around in his mouth. "But I think it's best if you two keep your distance for a while. And I don't mean because of that bloody mess in Nakano."

"Why, then?"

"She's in a very delicate place right now."

"How so?"

"Miss Saeki…," he begins, searching for the rest. "What I mean is, she's dying. I've felt it for a long time."

I raise my sunglasses and look at him closely. He's looking straight ahead as he drives. We've turned onto the highway to Kochi. This time, surprisingly, he keeps to the speed limit. A Toyota Supra whooshes past us.

"When you say she's dying…," I begin. "You mean she's got an incurable disease? Cancer or leukemia or something?"

Oshima shakes his head. "That could be. But I don't know anything about her health. For all I know she might be saddled with a disease like that. I think it's more of a psychological issue. The will to live-something to do with that."

"You're saying she's lost the will to live?"

"I think so. Lost the will to go on living."

"Do you think she's going to kill herself?"

"No, I don't," Oshima replies. "It's just that very quietly, very steadily, she's heading toward death. Or else death is heading toward her."

"Like a train heading toward the station?"

"Something like that," Oshima said, and stopped, his lips taut. "But then you showed up, Kafka. Cool as a cucumber, mysterious as the real Kafka. The two of you were drawn together and, to use the classic expression, you have a relationship."

"And then?"

For a brief moment Oshima lifts both hands off the wheel. "That's it."

I slowly shake my head. "I bet you're thinking I'm the train."

Oshima doesn't say anything for a long time. "Exactly," he finally says. "That's it, exactly."

"That I'm bringing about her death?"

"I'm not blaming you for this, mind you," he says. "It's actually for the best."

"Why?"

He doesn't answer this. You're supposed to find the answer to that, his silence tells me. Or maybe he's saying, It's too obvious to even think about.

I lean back in my seat, shut my eyes, and let my body go limp. "Oshima?"

"What is it?"

"I don't know what to do anymore. I don't even know what direction I'm facing in. What's right, what's wrong-whether I should keep on going ahead or turn around. I'm totally lost."

Oshima keeps silent, no answer forthcoming.

"You've got to help me. What am I supposed to do?" I ask him.

"You don't have to do anything," he says simply.

"Nothing?"

He nods. "Which is why I'm taking you to the mountains."

"But what should I do once I get there?"

"Just listen to the wind," he says. "That's what I always do."

I mull this over.

He gently lays a hand over mine. "There are a lot of things that aren't your fault. Or mine, either. Not the fault of prophecies, or curses, or DNA, or absurdity. Not the fault of Structuralism or the Third Industrial Revolution. We all die and disappear, but that's because the mechanism of the world itself is built on destruction and loss. Our lives are just shadows of that guiding principle. Say the wind blows. It can be a strong, violent wind or a gentle breeze. But eventually every kind of wind dies out and disappears. Wind doesn't have form. It's just a movement of air. You should listen carefully, and then you'll understand the metaphor."

I squeeze his hand back. It's soft and warm. His smooth, sexless, delicately graceful hand. "So you think it's better for me to be away from Miss Saeki for the time being?"

"I do, Kafka. It's the best thing right now. We should let her be by herself. She's bright, and tough. She's managed to put up with a terrible kind of loneliness for a long time, a lot of painful memories. She can make whatever decisions she needs to make alone."

"So I'm just a kid who's getting in the way."

"That's not what I mean," Oshima says softly. "That's not it at all. You did what you had to do. What made sense to you, and to her. Leave the rest up to her. This might sound cold, but there's nothing you can do for her now. You need to get into the mountains and do your own thing. For you, the time is right."