Haruki Murakami - Kafka on the Shore

Nakata removed his cap and rubbed his close-cropped hair vigorously. "Yes. I think it's here."

"So we can give up our search?"

"That's right. The search is over."

"Thank God," Hoshino said. "I was starting to wonder if we'd really be driving around till fall."

The two of them drove back to Colonel Sanders's apartment, slept soundly, and set off at eleven the next morning for the library. It was only a twenty-minute walk from the apartment, so they decided to stroll over. Hoshino had already returned the rental car.

The gate of the library was open wide when they arrived. It looked like it was going to be a hot, humid day, and someone had splashed water on the pavement to keep the dust down. Past the gate was a neat, well-kept garden.

"Mr. Nakata?" Hoshino said in front of the gate.

"Yes, how can I help you?"

"What do we do after we go inside the library? I'm always afraid you're all of a sudden gonna come up with some off-the-wall idea, so I'd like to know about it ahead of time. I have to prepare myself."

Nakata gave it some thought. "Nakata has no idea what to do once we get in. This is a library, though, so I thought we might start by reading books. I'll find a photo collection or book of paintings, and you can pick whatever you'd like to read."

"Gotcha. Starting off by reading-that makes sense."

"Then after a while we can think about what to do next."

"Okay," Hoshino said. "We'll think about what comes later-later. Sounds like a plan."

They walked through the beautiful garden and into the antique-looking entrance. There was a reception area right inside, with a handsome, slim young man seated behind the counter. He had on a white button-down shirt and small glasses. Long, fine hair hung over his forehead. Someone you might expect to see in a black-and-white Truffaut film, Hoshino thought.

The young man looked up at them and beamed.

"Good morning," Hoshino said cheerfully.

"Good morning," the young man replied. "Welcome to the library."

"We'd, uh-like to read some books."

"Of course," Oshima nodded. "Feel free to read whatever you like. We're open to the public. The stacks are completely open, so take any books you'd like to read. You can look books up in our card catalog or online. And if you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask. I'd be more than happy to help."

"That's very kind of you."

"Is there a particular field or book you're looking for?"

Hoshino shook his head. "Not really. Actually we're more interested in the library itself than books. We happened to pass by and thought the place looked interesting. It's a beautiful building."

Oshima gave a graceful smile and picked up a neatly sharpened pencil. "A lot of people just stop by like that."

"Glad to hear it," Hoshino said.

"If you have the time, you might consider the short tour of the place that takes place at two. We have one every Tuesday, as long as there are people who'd like to join in. The head of the library explains the background of the library. And today just happens to be Tuesday."

"That sounds like fun. Hey, what d'ya say, Mr. Nakata?"

All the time Hoshino and Oshima had been talking at the counter, Nakata stood off to one side, cap in hand, gazing vacantly at his surroundings. At the sound of his name, he came out of his daze. "Yes, how can I help you?"

"They have a tour of the library at two. You want to go on it?"

"Yes, Mr. Hoshino, thank you. Nakata would like to."

Oshima watched this exchange with great interest. Messrs. Hoshino and Nakata-what sort of relationship did they have to each other? They didn't seem like relatives. A strange combo, these two-with a vast difference in age and appearance. What could they possibly have in common? And this Mr. Nakata, the older one, had an odd way of speaking. There was something about him Oshima couldn't quite pin down. Not anything bad, though. "Have you traveled far to get here?" he asked.

"We came from Nagoya," Hoshino said hurriedly before Nakata could open his mouth. If he started in about being from Nakano, things could get a little sticky. The TV news had already put out the word that an old man like Nakata was connected with the murder there. Fortunately, though, as far as Hoshino knew, Nakata's photograph hadn't been made public.

"That's quite a journey," Oshima commented.

"Yes, we crossed a bridge to get here," Nakata said. "A long, wonderful bridge."

"It is pretty long, isn't it?" Oshima said. "Though I've never been over it myself."

"Nakata had never seen such a long bridge in all his life."

"It took a lot of time and a tremendous amount of money to build it," Oshima went on. "According to the newspaper, each year the public corporation that operates the bridge and the highway over it is a billion dollars in the red. Our taxes make up the shortfall."

"Nakata has no idea how much a billion is."

"I don't either, to tell you the truth," Oshima said. "After a certain point amounts like that aren't real anymore. Anyway, it's a huge amount of money."

"Thanks so much," Hoshino butted in. There was no telling what Nakata might say next, and he had to nip that possibility in the bud. "We should be here at two for the tour, right?"

"Yes, two would be fine," Oshima said. "The head librarian will be happy to show you around then."

"We'll be reading until then," Hoshino said.

Twirling his pencil in his hand, Oshima watched the retreating figures and then went back to work.

They picked some books from the stacks, Hoshino going for Beethoven and His Generation. Nakata picked out some photo collections and placed them on the table. Next, much like a dog might, he circled the room, carefully checking out everything, touching things, sniffing their odor, stopping at select spots to stare fixedly. They had the reading room to themselves until past twelve, so no one else noticed the old man's eccentric behavior.

"Hey, Gramps?" Hoshino whispered.

"Yes, how may I help you?"

"This is kind of sudden, but I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't mention to anyone that you're from Nakano."

"Why is that?"

"It's a long story, just take my word for it. If people find out that's where you're from, it might cause them some trouble."

"I understand," Nakata said, nodding deeply. "It's not good to trouble others. Nakata won't say a word about being from Nakano."

"That'd be great," Hoshino said. "Oh-did you find whatever it is you're looking for?"

"No, nothing so far."

"But this is definitely the place?"

Nakata nodded. "It is. Last night I had a good talk with the stone before I went to bed. I'm sure this is the place."

"Thank God."

Hoshino nodded and returned to his biography. Beethoven, he learned, was a proud man who believed absolutely in his own abilities and never bothered to flatter the nobility. Believing that art itself, and the proper expression of emotions, was the most sublime thing in the world, he thought political power and wealth served only one purpose: to make art possible. When Haydn boarded with a noble family, as he did most of his professional life, he had to eat with the servants. Musicians of Haydn's generation were considered employees. (The unaffected and good-natured Haydn, though, much preferred this arrangement to the stiff and formal meals put on by the nobility.)

Beethoven, in contrast, was enraged by any such contemptuous treatment, on occasion smashing things against the wall in anger. He insisted that as far as meals went he be treated with no less respect than the nobility he ostensibly served. He often flew off the handle, and once angry was hard to calm down. On top of this were radical political ideas that he made no attempt to hide. As his hearing deteriorated, these tendencies became even more pronounced. As he aged his music also became both more expansive and more densely inward looking. Only Beethoven could have balanced these two contrasting tendencies. But the extraordinary effort this required had a progressively deleterious effect on his life, for all humans have physical and emotional limits, and by this time the composer had more than reached his.