Kafka on the Shore (53 page)

But still no luck.

What are you searching for? Hoshino sang again in a listless voice: Haven't you found it yet? / We've gone everywhere in town. / My butt's aching, so can't we go home?

After he finished, he said, "We keep this up much longer, I'll turn into a regular singer-songwriter," Hoshino said.

"What would that be?" Nakata asked.

"Never mind. Just a harmless joke."

Calling it a day, they left the city, got on the highway, and headed back to the apartment. Lost in thought, Hoshino failed to turn left when he should. He tried to get back on the highway, but the road curved off at a strange angle into a maze of one-way streets and he was soon totally lost. Before he realized it they were in a residential area they'd never seen before, an old-looking, elegant neighborhood with high walls surrounding the homes. The road was strangely quiet, with not a soul in sight.

"I don't think we're too far from our apartment, but I have no idea where we are," Hoshino admitted. He parked the car in an empty lot, cut the engine, set the parking brake, and spread out his map. He checked the name of the neighborhood and street number on a nearby lightpole and looked for it on the map. Maybe his eyes were too tired, but he couldn't find it.

"Mr. Hoshino?" Nakata asked.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry to bother you, but what does it say on that sign over there on that gate?"

Hoshino looked up from his map and glanced where Nakata was pointing, down a high wall with an old-fashioned gate, and next to it a large wooden sign. The black gate was shut tight. "Komura Memorial Library," Hoshino read. "Huh, a library in this deserted part of town? Doesn't even look like a library. More like an old mansion."

"Ko-mu-ra-Me-mori-al-Li-bra-ry?"

"You got it. Must be made to commemorate somebody named Komura. Who this Komura guy is, though, I have no idea."

"Mr. Hoshino?"

"Yup?"

"That's it."

"What do you mean—that?"

"The place Nakata's been searching for."

Hoshino looked up from his map again and gazed into Nakata's eyes. He frowned, looked at the sign, and slowly read it again. He patted a Marlboro out of the box, put it between his lips, and lit it with his plastic lighter. He slowly inhaled, then blew smoke out the open window. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, this is it."

"Chance is a scary thing, isn't it?" Hoshino said.

"It certainly is," Nakata agreed.

My second day on the mountain passes by leisurely, seamlessly. The only thing that distinguishes one day from the next is the weather. If the weather was the same I couldn't tell one day from another. Yesterday, today, tomorrow—they'd all blur into one.

Like an anchorless ship, time floats aimlessly across the broad sea.

I do the math and come up with today as Tuesday. The day Miss Saeki gives a tour of the library, provided there are any people who want to take it. Just like the very first day I came to the place.... Spike heels clicking on the stairs, she walks up to the second floor, the sound reverberating through the stillness. Her glistening stockings, bright white blouse, tiny pearl earrings, her Mont Blanc pen on top of her desk. Her calm smile, tinged with the long shadow of resignation. All these details seem so far away now—and no longer real.

Sitting on the sofa in the cabin, the odor of the faded fabric all around me, memories of our lovemaking rise up in my head. Miss Saeki slowly removing her clothes, getting into bed. My cock, not surprisingly, is rock hard as these thoughts filter through my mind, but the tip's not red or sore anymore and doesn't sting.

Tiring of these sexual fantasies, I wander outside and go into my usual exercise routine. I hang on to the porch railing and go through an ab workout. Then I do some quick squats, followed by hard stretching. By this time I'm covered in sweat, so I wet my towel in the stream and wipe myself off. The cold water helps calm my nerves. I sit down on the porch and listen to Radiohead on my Walkman. Since I ran away I've been listening to the same music over and over—Radiohead's Kid A, Prince's Very Best of.

Sometimes Coltrane's My Favorite Things.

At two p.m.—just when the library tour is starting—I head out into the forest. I follow the same path, walk for a while, and arrive at the clearing. I sit down on the grass, lean back against a tree trunk, and gaze up at the round opening of sky through the branches. The edges of white summer clouds are visible. Up to this point, I'm safe. I can find my way back to the cabin. A maze for beginners—if this were a video game I've easily cleared Level 1. If I go any farther, though, I'll enter a more elaborate, more challenging labyrinth. The path gets narrower and I'll get swallowed up by the sea of ferns.

I ignore this and forge on ahead.

I want to see how deep this forest really is. I know it's dangerous, but I want to see—and feel—what kind of danger lies ahead, how dangerous it really is. I have to.

Something's shoving me forward.

I cautiously go down a kind of path. The trees tower higher and higher, the air growing denser by the minute. Up above, the mass of branches nearly blots out the sky.

All signs of summer have vanished, and it's like seasons never existed. Soon I no longer know if what I'm following is a path or not. It looks like a path, is shaped like one—but then again it doesn't, and isn't. In the middle of all this stuffy, overgrown greenery all definitions start to get a bit fuzzy around the edges. What makes sense, and what doesn't, it's all mixed up. Above me, a crow gives out a piercing caw that sounds like a warning, it's so jarring. I stop and cautiously survey my surroundings. Without the proper equipment it's too dangerous to go any farther. I have to turn around.

Which isn't easy. Like Napoleon's army on the retreat, going back is more difficult than going forward, I discover. The path back is misleading, the dense vegetation forming a dark wall in front of me. My own breathing sounds loud in my ears, like a wind blowing at the edge of the world. A huge black butterfly about the size of my palm appears from the shade of the trees and flutters into my line of sight, its shape reminding me of that bloodstain on my T-shirt. It flies slowly across an open space, then disappears among the trees again, and once it vanishes everything suddenly seems even more oppressive, the air chillier. I'm seized by panic—not knowing how to get out of here. The crow squawks out shrilly again—the same bird as before, sending the same message. I stand still and look up, but can't see it. A breeze, a real one, blows up from time to time, ominously rustling the dark leaves at my feet. I sense shadows racing past behind me, but when I spin around they've hidden themselves.

Somehow I'm able to make it back to my safety zone—the little round clearing in the forest. I plop down on the grass and take a deep breath. I look up at the patch of real sky above me a couple of times, just to convince myself I've made it back to the world I came from. Signs of summer—so precious now—surround me. Sunlight envelopes me like a film, warming me up. But the fear I felt clings to me like a clump of unmelted snow in the corner of a garden. My heart beats irregularly from time to time, and my skin still has a slightly creepy feeling.

That night I lie there in the darkness, breathing quietly with my eyes wide open, hoping to catch a figure appearing in the dark. Praying for it to appear, and not knowing if prayers have any effect. Concentrating for all I'm worth, wanting badly for it to happen. Hoping that wanting it so badly will make my wish come true.

But my wish doesn't come true, my desires are shot down. Like the night before, Miss Saeki doesn't show up. Not the real Miss Saeki, not an illusion, not her as a fifteen-year-old girl. The darkness remains just that—darkness. Right before I fall asleep I have a massive erection, harder than any I've ever had, but I don't jack off. I've made up my mind to hold the memory of making love with Miss Saeki untouched, at least for now.

Hands clenched tight, I fall asleep, hoping to dream of her.

Instead, I dream of Sakura.

Or is it a dream? It's all so vivid, clear, and consistent, but I don't know what else to call it, so dream seems the best label. I'm in her apartment and she's asleep in bed. I'm in my sleeping bag, just like that night I spent at her place. Time's been rewound, setting me down at a turning point.

I wake up in the middle of the night dying of thirst, get out of my sleeping bag, and drink some water. Glass after glass—five or six. My skin's covered with a sheen of sweat, and the front of my boxers is tented in another huge erection. My cock's like some animal with a mind of its own, operating on a different wavelength from the rest of me. When I drink some water my cock automatically absorbs it. I can hear the faint sound of it soaking up the water.

I put the glass next to the sink and lean back against the wall. I want to check the time but can't find the clock. In this, the deepest hour of the night, even the clock's been swallowed up in the depths. I'm standing beside Sakura's bed. Light from a streetlight filters in through the curtain. She's facing away from me, fast asleep, her small, shapely feet sticking out from under the thin covers. Behind me I hear a small, hard sound, like someone's turned on a switch. Thick branches cut off my field of vision. There is no season here. I make a decision and crawl in next to Sakura. The single bed creaks with the extra weight. I breathe in the smell of the faintly sweaty back of her neck. Gently I wrap my arms around her. She makes a small sound but continues to sleep. The crow squawks loudly. I glance up but can't spot the bird. I can't even see the sky.

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.