Haruki Murakami - Kafka on the Shore

I pull up Sakura's T-shirt and fondle her soft breasts. I tweak her nipples like I'm adjusting a radio dial. My rock-hard cock slaps against the back of her thigh, but she doesn't make any noise and her breathing stays the same. She must be dreaming deeply, I figure. Again the crow cries out, sending me a message, but I can't figure out what it's trying to tell me.

Sakura's body is warm, and as sweaty as mine. I decide to pull her around toward me, slowly pulling her closer so she's faceup. She exhales deeply but still doesn't show any signs of waking. I rest my ear against her paper-flat stomach, trying to catch the echoes of the dreams within that labyrinth.

My erection's not letting up, so rigid it looks like it'll last forever. I slip off her small cotton panties, taking my time to get them down her legs and off. I rest my palm against her pubic hair, gently letting my finger go in deeper. It's wet, invitingly wet. I slowly move my finger. Still she doesn't wake up. Lost in her dream, she merely exhales deeply again.

At the same time, in a hollow inside me, something struggles to break out of its shell. Before I realize what's happening, there's a pair of eyes turned in on me, and I can observe this whole scene. I don't yet know if this thing inside me is good or bad, but whichever it is, I can't hold it back or stop it. It's still a slimy, faceless being, but it will soon break free of its shell, show its face, and slough off its jelly-like coating. Then I'll know what it really is. Now, though, it's just a formless sign. It's reaching out its hands-that-won't-be-hands, breaking apart the shell at its softest point. And I can see each and every one of its movements.

I make up my mind.

No, actually I haven't made up my mind about anything. Making up your mind means you have a choice, and I don't. I strip off my boxers, releasing my cock. I hold Sakura, spread her legs, and slip inside her. It's easy-she's so soft and I'm so hard. My cock no longer hurts. In the past few days the tip's become even harder. Sakura's still dreaming, and I bury myself inside her dream.

Suddenly she snaps awake and realizes what's going on.

"Kafka, what are you doing?!"

"It would seem that I'm inside you," I reply.

"But why?" she asks in a dry, raspy voice. "Didn't I tell you that's off limits?"

"I can't help it."

"Stop already. Get it out of me."

"I can't," I say, shaking my head emphatically.

"Listen to me. First of all, I've got a steady boyfriend, okay? And second, you've come into my dream without permission. That's not right."

"I know."

"It's still not too late. You're inside me, but you haven't started moving, you haven't come yet. It's just quietly inside me, like it's thinking about something. Am I right?"

I nod.

"Take it out," she admonishes me. "And let's pretend this never happened. I can forget it, and so should you. I'm your sister, and you're my brother. Even if we're not blood related, we're most definitely brother and sister. You understand what I'm saying? We're part of a family. We shouldn't be doing this."

"It's too late," I tell her.

"Why?"

"Because I decided it is."

"Because you decided it is," says the boy named Crow.

You don't want to be at the mercy of things outside you anymore, or thrown into confusion by things you can't control. You've already murdered your father and violated your mother-and now here you are inside your sister. If there's a curse in all this, you mean to grab it by the horns and fulfill the program that's been laid out for you. Lift the burden from your shoulders and live-not caught up in someone else's schemes, but as you. That's what you want.

She covers her face with her hands and cries a little. You feel sorry for her, but there's no way you're going to leave her body. Your cock swells up inside her, gets even harder, like it's set down roots.

"I understand," she says. "I won't say any more. But I want you to remember something: You're raping me. I like you, but this isn't how I want it to be. We might never see each other again, no matter how much we want to meet later on. Are you okay with that?"

You don't respond. Your mind's switched off. You draw her close to you and start to move your hips. Carefully, cautiously, in the end violently. You try to remember the shapes of the trees to help you get back, but they all look the same and are soon swallowed up in the anonymous sea. Sakura closes her eyes and gives herself up to the motion. She doesn't say a word or resist. Her face is expressionless, turned away from you. But you feel the pleasure rising up in her like an extension of yourself. Now you understand it. The entwined trees stand like a dark wall blocking your view. The bird no longer sends its message. And you come.

I come.

And I wake up. I'm in bed, alone. It's the middle of the night. The darkness is as deep as it can be, all clocks lost within. I get out of bed, strip off my underpants, go over to the kitchen, and rinse the semen off them. Gooey, white, and heavy, like some illegitimate child born of the darkness. I gulp down glass after glass of water, but nothing slakes my thirst. I feel so alone I can't stand it. In the darkness, in the middle of the night, surrounded by a deep forest, I couldn't be more alone. There are no seasons here, no light. I walk back to the bed, sit down, and breathe a huge sigh. The darkness wraps itself around me.

The thing inside you has revealed itself. The shell is gone, completely shattered, nowhere to be seen, and it's there, a dark shadow, resting. Your hands are sticky with something-human blood, by the look of it. You hold them out in front of you, but there's not enough light to see. It's far too dark. Both inside, and out.

Next to the sign that read Komura Memorial Library was an information placard informing them that the library's hours were eleven to five, except for Monday, when it was closed, that admission was free, and that tours were conducted every Tuesday at two p. m. Hoshino read all this aloud for Nakata.

"Today's Monday, so it's closed," Hoshino said. He glanced at his watch. "Not that it matters much, since it's way past their closing time anyway. Same difference."

"Mr. Hoshino?"

"Yeah?"

"This place doesn't look at all like the library we went to before," Nakata said.

"That was a large public library and this one's private. So the scale's different."

"When you say a private library, what does that mean?"

"It means some man of property who likes books puts up a building and makes all the books he's collected available to the public. This guy must have really been something. You can tell from the gate he had to be pretty impressive."

"What is a man of property?"

"A rich person."

"What's the difference between the two?"

Hoshino tilted his head in thought. "I don't know. Seems to me a man of property's more cultured than just a regular rich guy."

"Cultured?"

"Anybody who has money is rich. You or me, as long as we had money, we'd be rich. But becoming a man of property isn't so easy. It takes time."

"It's difficult to become one?"

"Yeah, it is. Not that we need to worry about it. I don't see either of us becoming rich, let alone cultured."

"Mr. Hoshino?"

"Yeah?"

"Since they're closed on Monday, if we come here tomorrow morning at eleven they should be open, right?" Nakata asked.

"I suppose so. Tomorrow's Tuesday."

"Will Nakata be able to go inside the library?"

"The sign says it's open to everybody. Of course you can."

"Even if I can't read?"

"No problem," Hoshino said. "They don't quiz people at the entrance about whether they can read or not."

"I want to go inside, then."

"We'll come back tomorrow, first thing, and go in together," Hoshino said. "I got a question for you first, though. This is the place you were looking for, right? And the thing you're looking for's inside?"