Haruki Murakami - Kafka on the Shore

Smiling, Miss Saeki nodded. "You're quite right, it does. No matter how much money you accumulate, you can't buy time. Well, we'll begin our tour on the second floor."

They toured the rooms upstairs one by one. Miss Saeki gave her usual talk about the various literati who had stayed there, and showed the two men the calligraphy and paintings these artists had left behind. During the tour Nakata seemed to turn a deaf ear to what she was saying, instead curiously examining each and every item. In the study Miss Saeki used as her office, a fountain pen was sitting on the desk. It was up to Hoshino to follow along and make all the appropriate noises. All the while he was on pins and needles, worried the old man would suddenly do something bizarre. But all Nakata did was continue to scrutinize the items they passed by. Miss Saeki didn't seem to care what Nakata did. Smiling all the while, she briskly showed them around. Hoshino was impressed by how calm and collected she was.

The tour ended in twenty minutes, and the two men thanked their guide. Miss Saeki's smile never failed the entire time. The more Hoshino watched her, though, the more confused he grew. She smiles and looks at us, he told himself, but she doesn't see anything. She's looking at us, but she's seeing something else. Though all the time she was giving the tour, even if her mind was elsewhere, she was perfectly polite and kind. Whenever he asked a question, she gave a kind, easy-to-follow response. It's not like she's doing this against her will or anything. A part of her enjoys doing a meticulous job. But her heart isn't in it.

The two men returned to the reading room and settled down on the sofa with their books. But as he turned the pages, Hoshino couldn't get Miss Saeki out of his mind. There was something very unusual about that beautiful woman, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He gave up and went back to reading.

At three o'clock, totally without warning, Nakata stood up. His movements were uncharacteristically decisive. He held his hat firmly in his hand.

"Hey, what's up? Where are you going?" Hoshino whispered.

But there was no response. Lips set in a determined look, Nakata was already hurrying toward the main entrance, his belongings left behind on the floor.

Hoshino shut his book and stood up. Something was definitely wrong. "Hey, wait up!" he called. Realizing the old man wasn't about to, he scrambled after him. The other readers looked up and watched him leave.

Before he got to the entrance, Nakata turned left and without hesitating started up to the second floor. A NO VISITORS ALLOWED BEYOND THIS POINT sign at the foot of the stairs didn't deter him, since he couldn't read. His worn tennis shoes squeaked on the floorboards as he climbed up the stairs.

"Excuse me," Oshima said, leaning over the counter to call out to the retreating figure. "That area is closed now."

Nakata didn't seem to hear him.

Hoshino ran up the stairs after him. "Gramps. It's closed. You can't go there."

Oshima came out from behind the counter and followed them up the stairs.

Undaunted, Nakata strode down the corridor and into the study. The door was open. Miss Saeki, her back to the window, was sitting at the desk reading a book. She heard the footsteps and looked up. When he got to the desk, Nakata stood there looking down at her face. Neither one of them said a word. A moment later Hoshino arrived, soon followed by Oshima.

"There you are," Hoshino said, tapping the old man on the shoulder. "You're not supposed to be here. It's off-limits. We have to leave, okay?"

"Nakata has something to say," Nakata said to Miss Saeki.

"And what would that be?" Miss Saeki asked quietly.

"I want to talk about the stone. The entrance stone."

For a while Miss Saeki silently studied the old man's face. Her eyes shone with a noncommittal light. She blinked a few times, then silently closed her book. She rested both hands on the desk and looked up again at Nakata. She looked undecided about how to proceed, but then gave a small nod.

She looked over at Hoshino, then at Oshima. "Would you mind leaving us alone for a while?" she said to Oshima. "We're going to have a talk. Please close the door on your way out."

Oshima hesitated, then nodded. He gently took Hoshino's arm, led him out to the corridor, and shut the door.

"Are you sure it's okay?" Hoshino asked.

"Miss Saeki knows what she's doing," Oshima said as he escorted Hoshino back down the stairs. "If she says it's all right, it's all right. No need to worry about her. So, Mr. Hoshino, why don't we go have a cup of coffee while we're waiting?"

"Well, when it comes to Mr. Nakata, worrying's a total waste of time," Hoshino said, shaking his head. "That I can guarantee."

When I go into the woods this time I've outfitted myself with everything I might need: compass, knife, canteen, some emergency food, work gloves, a can of yellow spray paint, and the small hatchet I'd used before. I stuff all this into a small nylon daypack that was also in the tool shed, and head off into the forest. I'm wearing a long-sleeved shirt, a towel wrapped around my neck, and the cap Oshima gave me, and I've sprayed insect repellent over all the exposed parts of my body. The sky's overcast, and it's hot and sticky like it could rain any minute, so I throw a poncho into the pack just in case. A flock of birds screech at each other as they cut across the low, leaden sky.

I make it easily to that round clearing in the forest. Checking my compass to make sure I'm generally heading north, I step deeper into the woods. This time I spray yellow markings on tree trunks to mark the route. Unlike Hansel and Gretel's bread crumbs, spray paint's safe from hungry birds.

I'm better prepared, so I'm not as afraid. I'm nervous, sure, but my heart's not pounding. Curiosity's what's leading me on. I want to know what lies down this path. Even if there's nothing there, I want to know that. I have to know. Memorizing the scenery as I pass by, I move steadily forward, step by careful step.

Occasionally there's some weird sound. A thud like something hitting the ground, a creak like floorboards groaning under weight, and others I can't even describe. I have no idea what these mean, since there's no knowing what they are. Sometimes they sound far away, sometimes right near by-the sense of distance expanding and contracting. Bird wings echo above me, sounding louder, more exaggerated, than they should. Every time I hear this I stop and listen intently, holding my breath, waiting for something to happen. Nothing does, and I walk on.

Besides these sudden, unexpected sounds, everything else is still. There's no wind, no rustle of leaves in the treetops, just my own footsteps as I push through the brush. When I step on a fallen branch, the snap reverberates through the air.

I grasp the hatchet, which I'd sharpened, and it feels rough in my gloveless hands. Up to this point it hasn't come in handy, but its heft is comforting, and makes me feel protected. But from what? There aren't any bears or wolves in this forest. A few poisonous snakes, perhaps. The most dangerous creature here would have to be me. So maybe I'm just scared of my own shadow.

Still, as I walk along I get the feeling something, somewhere, is watching me, listening to me, holding its breath, blending into the background, watching my every move. Somewhere far off, something's listening to all the sounds I make, trying to guess where I'm headed and why. I try not to think about it. The more you think about illusions, the more they'll swell up and take on form. And no longer be an illusion.

I try whistling to fill in the silence. The soprano sax from Coltrane's "My Favorite Things," though of course my dubious whistling doesn't come anywhere near the complex, lightning-quick original. I just add bits so what I hear in my head approximates the sound. Better than nothing, I figure. I glance at my watch-it's ten-thirty. Oshima must be getting the library ready to open. Today would be… Wednesday. I picture him sprinkling water in the garden, wiping off the desks with a cloth, boiling water and brewing up some coffee. All the tasks I normally take care of. But now I'm here, deep in the forest, heading even deeper. Nobody has any idea I'm here. The only ones who do are me, and them.