Kafka on the Shore (13 page)

The sky was covered with a layer of clouds, but from their color he could tell the sun was almost directly overhead.

The man is very tall, and wears a strange tall hat and long leather boots.

Nakata tried to picture this man, but had no idea what a strange tall hat and long leather boots looked like. In his whole life he'd never encountered any tall hats and long leather boots. Kawamura had told Mimi that you'd know him when you saw him. So, Nakata decided, I suppose I'll just have to wait until I see him. That's definitely the best plan. He stood up and relieved himself in the weeds—a long, honest pee—and then went over to a clump of weeds in a corner of the vacant lot, where he had the best chance of remaining hidden from sight, and sat out the rest of the afternoon, waiting for that strange man to show up.

Waiting was a boring task. He had no clue when the man might next appear—maybe tomorrow, maybe not for a week. Or maybe he'd never show up again—there was that possibility. But Nakata was used to aimless waiting and spending time alone, doing nothing. He wasn't bothered in the least.

Time wasn't the main issue for him. He didn't even own a watch. Nakata operated on his own sense of time. In the morning it got light, in the evening the sun set and it got dark. Once it got dark he'd go to the nearby public bath, and after coming home from his bath he'd go to sleep. The public bath was closed on certain days of the week, and when that happened he'd just give up and go back home. His stomach told him when it was time to eat, and when the time came for him to go pick up his sub city (somebody was always nice enough to tell him when that day was near) he knew another month had passed. The next day he'd always go for a haircut at the local barber shop. Every summer someone from the ward office would treat him to eel, and every New Year they'd bring him rice cakes.

Nakata let his body relax, switched off his mind, allowing things to flow through him. This was natural for him, something he'd done ever since he was a child, without a second thought. Before long the borders of his consciousness fluttered around, just like the butterflies. Beyond these borders lay a dark abyss. Occasionally his consciousness would fly over the border and hover over that dizzying, black crevass. But Nakata wasn't afraid of the darkness or how deep it was. And why should he be? That bottomless world of darkness, that weighty silence and chaos, was an old friend, a part of him already. Nakata understood this well. In that world there was no writing, no days of the week, no scary Governor, no opera, no BMWs. No scissors, no tall hats. On the other hand, there was also no delicious eel, no tasty bean-jam buns. Everything is there, but there are no parts. Since there are no parts, there's no need to replace one thing with another. No need to remove anything, or add anything. You don't have to think about difficult things, just let yourself soak it all in. For Nakata, nothing could be better.

Occasionally he dozed off. Even when he slept, though, his senses, ever vigilant, kept watch over the vacant lot. If something happened, if somebody came, he could wake up and do what needed to be done. The sky was covered with a flat line of gray clouds, but at least it wasn't going to rain. The cats all knew it. And so did Nakata.

When I finish talking it's pretty late. Sakura listens intently the whole time, resting her head in her hands on the kitchen table. I tell her that I'm actually fifteen, in junior high, that I stole my father's money and ran away from my home in Nakano Ward in Tokyo.

That I'm staying in a hotel in Takamatsu and spending my days reading at a library. That all of a sudden I found myself collapsed outside a shrine, covered with blood.

Everything. Well, almost everything. Not the important stuff I can't talk about.

"So your mother left home with your older sister when you were just four. Leaving you and your father behind."

I take the photo of my sister and me at the shore from my wallet and show her.

"This is my sister," I say. Sakura looks at the photo for a while, then hands it back without a word.

"I haven't seen her since then," I say. "Or my mom. She's never gotten in touch, and I have no idea where she is. I don't even remember what she looks like. There aren't any photos of her left. I remember her smell, her touch, but not her face."

"Hmm," Sakura says. Head still in her hands, she narrows her eyes and looks at me. "Must have been hard on you."

"Yeah, I guess...."

She continues to gaze at me silently. "So you didn't get along with your dad?" she asks after a while.

Didn't get along? How am I supposed to answer that? I don't say anything, just shake my head.

"Dumb question—of course you didn't. Otherwise you wouldn't have run away," Sakura says. "So anyway, you left your home, and today you suddenly lost consciousness or your memory or something."

"Yeah."

"Did that ever happen before?"

"Sometimes," I tell her honestly. "I fly into a rage, and it's like I blow a fuse. Like somebody pushes a switch in my head and my body does its thing before my mind can catch up. It's like I'm here, but in a way it's not me."

"You lose control and do something violent, you mean?"

"It's happened a few times, yeah."

"Have you hurt anybody?"

I nod. "Twice I did. Nothing serious."

She thinks about this.

"Is that what happened this time?"

I shake my head. "This is the first time something this bad's happened. This time...

I don't know how it started, and I can't remember at all what happened. It's like my memory was wiped clean. It never was this bad before."

She looks over the T-shirt I haul out of my backpack, carefully checking the blood I couldn't wash out. "So the last thing you remember is eating dinner, right? At a restaurant near the station?"

I nod.

"And everything after that's a blank. The next thing you knew, you were lying in the bushes behind that shrine. About four hours later. Your shirt covered in blood and your left shoulder aching?"

I give her another nod. She brings over a city map from somewhere and checks out the distance between the station and the shrine.

"It's not so far, but it would take a while to walk. But why would you have been over there in the first place? It's the opposite direction from your hotel. Have you ever gone there before?"

"Never."

"Take off your shirt for a minute," she says.

I strip bare to the waist, and she walks behind me and grabs my left shoulder hard.

Her fingers dig into my flesh, and I can't help but gasp. This girl's pretty strong.

"Does it hurt?"

"You bet it does," I say.

"You hit something pretty hard. Or something hit you."

"I don't remember a thing."

"Anyway, nothing's broken," she says. She proceeds to prod around the sore spot, and aside from the pain, her fingers feel really nice. When I tell her so she smiles.

"I've always been good at giving massages. It's a useful skill for a hairdresser."

She keeps on massaging my shoulder. "Doesn't look like anything major. Give it a good night's sleep and you should feel better."

She picks up my T-shirt, puts it in a plastic bag, and tosses it in the garbage. My dungaree shirt she gives a once-over and throws in the washing machine. She rummages around in her dresser and comes up with a white T-shirt. She hands it to me, a brand-new white shirt that says Maui Whale Watching Cruise on it, with a picture of a fluke sticking out of the water.

"This is the biggest shirt I could find. It's not mine, but don't worry about it. It's just a souvenir from somebody. Might not be your style, but give it a try."

I tug the shirt on, and it fits perfectly.

"You can keep it if you want," she says.

I thank her.

"So you never had such a total memory loss before?" she asks.

I nod, then close my eyes, feeling the T-shirt, taking in its new smell. "Sakura, I'm really scared," I tell her. "I don't know what to do. I don't have any memory of hurting anybody. Whatever it was got me covered in blood, but I can't remember anything. If I committed a crime, I'm still legally responsible, right, whether I have a memory of it or not?"

"Maybe it was just a nosebleed. Somebody was walking down the street, bumped into a telephone pole, and got a bloody nose. And all you did was help them out. See? I understand why you're worried, but let's try not to think about worst-case scenarios, okay? At least not tonight. In the morning we can look in the paper, watch the news on TV. If something terrible really happened, we'll know about it. Then we can consider our options. There're plenty of reasons why someone might get bloody, and most of the time it's not nearly as bad as it looks. I'm a girl, so I'm used to seeing blood—I see that much every month. You know what I mean?"

I nod, and feel myself blushing a little. She scoops a little Nescafé into a big cup and heats up some water in a small pan. She smokes, waiting for the water to boil. She takes a couple of puffs, then extinguishes the cigarette with tap water. I catch a whiff of menthol.

"I don't mean to pry, but there's something I want to ask you. Do you mind?"

"I don't mind," I tell her.

"Your older sister was adopted. They got her from somewhere before you were born, right?"

"That's right," I reply. "I don't know why, but my parents adopted her. After that I was born. Not exactly what they had in mind, I imagine."

"So you're definitely the child of your mother and father."

"As far I know," I tell her.

"But when your mother left, she didn't take you, but took your sister, who's unrelated to her," Sakura says. "Not what you'd normally expect a woman to do."

I don't say anything.

"Why'd she do that?"

I shake my head. "I have no idea," I tell her. "I've asked myself the same question a million times."

"That must have hurt."

Did it? "I don't know. But if I get married someday I don't think I'll have any kids. I wouldn't have any idea how to get along with them if I did."

"My situation wasn't as complicated as yours," she says, "but I didn't get along with my folks for a long time, and I got mixed up in a lot of stupid things because of it. So I know how you feel. But it's not a good idea to make decisions so soon. There's no such thing as absolutes."

She stands in front of the kitchen stove and sips her Nescafé, steam rising from the large cup. The cup has a drawing of the Moomin cartoon characters on it. She doesn't say anything, and neither do I.

"Do you have anybody, relatives or someone, who can help?" she asks after a while.

"No," I say. "My father's parents died a long time ago, and he doesn't have any brothers, sisters, uncles, or aunts. Not a one. Not that I can prove this. But I do know he never had anything to do with any relatives. And I never heard anything about relatives on my mother's side. I mean, I don't even know my mother's name—so how was I supposed to know about her relatives?"

"Your father sounds like an alien from outer space or something," Sakura says.

"Like he came from some far-off planet, took on human form, kidnapped an Earth woman, and then had you. Just so he could have more descendants. Your mother found out, got frightened, and ran away. Like in some film noir science-fiction flick."

I have no idea what to say.

"All joking aside," she says, and smiles broadly to show that she means it, "my point is, in this whole wide world the only person you can depend on is you."

"I guess so."

She stands there leaning against the sink, drinking her coffee.

"I have to get some sleep," she says, as if suddenly remembering. It's past three.

"I have to get up at seven-thirty so I won't get much, but a little's better than none. I hate going to work on no sleep at all. So what're you going to do?"

"I have my sleeping bag with me," I tell her, "so if it's no bother I'll just sack out in a corner." I take my tightly rolled-up sleeping bag out of my backpack, spread it out, and fluff it up.

She watches, impressed. "A regular Boy Scout," she says.

After she turns out the light and gets in bed, I climb into my sleeping bag, shut my eyes, and try to go to sleep. But I can't stop picturing that bloody white T-shirt. I still feel that burning sensation in my palm. I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling. A floor creaks somewhere. Somebody turns on a faucet. And again I hear an ambulance in the night, far off but echoing sharply in the darkness.

"Can't fall asleep?" she whispers in the dark.

"No," I say.

"Me neither. Shouldn't have had that coffee. That was dumb." She switches on her bedside light, checks the time, then turns the light off. "Don't get me wrong," she says, "but if you'd like to come over here you can. I can't get to sleep either."

I slip out of my sleeping bag and climb in bed with her. I'm wearing boxers and the T-shirt. She has on a pair of light pink pajamas.

"I have a steady boyfriend in Tokyo," she tells me. "He's not much to brag about, but he's my guy. So I don't have sex with anybody else. I might not look like it, but when it comes to sex I'm pretty straightlaced. Call me old-fashioned. I wasn't always that way—I used to be pretty wild—but I don't fool around anymore. So don't get any ideas, okay? Just think of us as brother and sister. You understand?"

"Gotcha," I tell her.

She puts her arms around me, hugs me close, and rests her cheek on my forehead.

"You poor thing," she says.

I don't need to tell you that I get a hard-on right away. Big time. And it couldn't help rubbing up against her thigh.

"My oh my!" she says.

"Sorry," I tell her. "I didn't mean to."

"It's okay," she says. "I know what an inconvenience it is. Nothing you can do to stop it."

I nod in the darkness.

She hesitates for a moment, then lowers my boxers, pulls out my rock-hard cock, and cradles it gently in her hand. Like she's making sure of something, the way a doctor takes a pulse. With her soft hand touching me, I feel something—a stray thought, maybe—spring up in my crotch.