Kafka on the Shore (7 page)

"How is it? Feel like you could write something?"

I blush a little and shake my head. Miss Saeki laughs and goes back to the couple.

From the chair I watch how she carries herself, every motion natural and elegant. I can't express it well, but there's definitely something special about it, as if her retreating figure is trying to tell me something she couldn't express while facing me. But what this is, I haven't a clue. Face it, I remind myself—there're tons of things you don't have a clue about.

Still seated, I give the room a once-over. On the wall is an oil painting, apparently of the seashore nearby. It's done in an old-fashioned style, but the colors are fresh and alive. On top of the desk is a large ashtray and a lamp with a green lampshade. I push the switch and, sure enough, the light comes on. A black clock hangs on the opposite wall, an antique by the looks of it, though the hands tell the right time. There are round spots worn here and there into the wooden floor, and it creaks slightly when you walk on it.

At the end of the tour the Osaka couple thanks Miss Saeki and disappears. It turns out they're members of a tanka circle in the Kansai region. I wonder what kind of poems they compose—the husband, especially. Grunts and nods don't add up to poetry. But maybe writing poetry brings out some hidden talent in the guy.

I return to the reading room and pick up where I'd left off in my book. Over the afternoon a few other readers filter in, most of them with those reading glasses old people wear and that everybody looks the same in. Time passes slowly. Nobody says a word, everyone lost in quiet reading. One person sits at a desk jotting down notes, but the rest are sitting there silently, not moving, totally absorbed. Just like me.

At five o'clock I shut my book and put it back on the shelf. At the exit I ask,

"What time do you open in the morning?"

"Eleven," Oshima replies. "Planning on coming back tomorrow?"

"If it's no bother."

Oshima narrows his eyes as he looks at me. "Of course not. A library's a place for people who want to read. I'd be happy if you came back. I hope you don't mind my asking, but do you always carry that backpack with you? It looks pretty heavy. What in the world could be inside? A stack of Krugerrands, perhaps?"

I blush.

"Don't worry—I'm not really trying to find out." Oshima presses the eraser end of his pencil against his right temple. "Well, see you tomorrow."

"Bye," I say.

Instead of raising his hand, he lifts his pencil in farewell.

I take the train back to Takamatsu Station. For dinner I stop inside a cheap diner near the station and order chicken cutlet and a salad. I have a second helping of rice and a glass of warm milk after the meal. At a mini-mart outside I buy a bottle of mineral water and two rice balls in case I get hungry in the middle of the night, then start for my hotel. I walk not too fast or too slow, at an ordinary pace just like everybody else, so no one notices me.

The hotel is pretty large, a typical second-rate business hotel. I fill in the register at the front desk, giving Kafka instead of my real first name, a phony address and age, and pay for one night. I'm a little nervous, but none of the clerks seem suspicious.

Nobody yells out, Hey, we can see right through your ruse, you little fifteen-year-old runaway! Everything goes smooth as silk, business as usual.

The elevator clanks ominously to the sixth floor. The room is minuscule, outfitted with an uninviting bed, a rock-hard pillow, a miniature excuse for a desk, a tiny TV, sun-bleached curtains. The bathroom is barely the size of a closet, with none of those little complimentary shampoo or conditioner bottles. The view out the window is of the wall of the building next door. I shouldn't complain, though, since I have a roof over my head and hot water coming out of the tap. I plunk my backpack on the floor, sit down on the chair, and try to acclimatize myself to the surroundings.

I'm free, I think. I shut my eyes and think hard and deep about how free I am, but I can't really understand what it means. All I know is I'm totally alone. All alone in an unfamiliar place, like some solitary explorer who's lost his compass and his map. Is this what it means to be free? I don't know, and I give up thinking about it.

I take a long, hot bath and carefully brush my teeth in front of the sink. I flop down in bed and read, and when I get tired of that I watch the news on TV. Compared to everything I've gone through that day, though, the news seems stale and boring. I switch off the TV and get under the covers. It's ten p. m., but I can't get to sleep. A new day in a brand-new place. And my fifteenth birthday, besides—most of which I spent in that charming, offbeat library. I met a few new people. Sakura. Oshima. Miss Saeki. Nobody threatening, thank God. A good omen?

I think about my home back in Nogata, in Tokyo, and my father. How did he feel when he found I'd suddenly disappeared? Relieved, maybe? Confused? Or maybe nothing at all. I'm betting he hasn't even noticed I'm gone.

I suddenly remember my father's cell phone and take it out of my backpack. I switch it on and dial my home number. It starts ringing, 450 miles away, as clearly as if I were calling the room next door. Startled by this, I hang up after two rings. My heart won't stop pounding. The phone still works, which means my father hasn't canceled the contract. Maybe he hasn't noticed the phone's missing from his desk. I shove the phone back in the pocket of my backpack, turn off the light, and close my eyes. I don't dream.

Come to think of it, I haven't had any dreams in a long time.

Hello there," the old man called out.

The large, elderly black tomcat raised its head a fraction and wearily returned the greeting in a low voice.

"A very nice spell of weather we're having."

"Um," the cat said.

"Not a cloud in the sky."

"... for the time being."

"Is the weather going to take a turn for the worse, then?"

"It feels like it'll cloud up toward evening." The black cat slowly stretched out a leg, then narrowed its eyes and gave the old man another good long look.

With a big grin on his face, the man stared right back. The cat hesitated for a time, then plunged ahead and spoke. "Hmm... so you're able to speak."

"That's right," the old man said bashfully. To show his respect, he took off his threadbare cotton hiking hat. "Not that I can speak to every cat I meet, but if things go well I can. Like right now."

"Interesting," the cat said simply.

"Do you mind if I sit down here for a while? Nakata's a little tired from walking."

The black cat languidly rose to its feet, whiskers atwitch, and yawned so tremendously its jaw looked almost unhinged. "I don't mind. Or perhaps I should say it's not up to me. You can sit anywhere you like. Nobody's going to bother you for that."

"Thank you kindly," the man said, lowering himself down beside the cat. "Boy oh boy, I've been walking since six this morning."

"Um... I take it, then, that you're Mr. Nakata?"

"That's right. Nakata's the name. And you would be?"

"I forget my name," the cat said. "I had one, I know I did, but somewhere along the line I didn't need it anymore. So it's slipped my mind."

"I know. It's easy to forget things you don't need anymore. Nakata's exactly the same way," the man said, scratching his head. "So what you're saying, Mr. Cat, is that you don't belong to some family somewhere?"

"A long time ago I did. But not anymore. Some families in the neighborhood give me food to eat now and then, but none of them own me."

Nakata nodded and was silent for a time, then said, "Would you mind very much, then, if I called you Otsuka?"

"Otsuka?" the cat said, looking at him in surprise. "What are you talking about? Why do I have to be Otsuka?"

"No special reason. The name just came to me. Nakata just picked one out of a hat. It makes things a lot easier for me if you have a name. That way somebody like me, who isn't very bright, can organize things better. For instance, I can say, On this day of this month I spoke with the black cat Otsuka in a vacant lot in the 2-chome neighborhood. It helps me remember."

"Interesting," the cat said. "Not that I totally follow you. Cats can get by without names. We go by smell, shape, things of this nature. As long as we know these things, there're no worries for us."

"Nakata understands completely. But you know, Mr. Otsuka, people don't work that way. We need dates and names to remember all kinds of things."

The cat gave a snort. "Sounds like a pain to me."

"You're absolutely right. There's so much we have to remember, it is a pain.

Nakata has to remember the name of the Governor, bus numbers. Still, you don't mind if I call you Otsuka? Maybe it's a little unpleasant for you?"

"Well, now that you mention it, I suppose it isn't all that pleasant.... Not that it's particularly unpleasant, you understand. So I guess I don't really mind. You want to call me Otsuka, be my guest. I'll admit, though, that it doesn't sound right when you call me that."

"Nakata's very happy to hear you say that. Thank you so much, Mr. Otsuka."

"I must say that for a human you have an odd way of talking," Otsuka commented.

"Yes, everybody tells me that. But this is the only way Nakata can speak. I try to talk normally but this is what happens. Nakata's not very bright, you see. I wasn't always this way, but when I was little I was in an accident and I've been dumb ever since. Nakata can't write. Or read a book or a newspaper."

"Not to boast or anything, but I can't write either," the cat said, licking the pads of his right paw. "I'd say my mind is average, though, so I've never found it inconvenient."

"In the cat world that's to be expected," Nakata said. "But in the human world if you can't read or write you're considered dumb. Nakata's father—he passed away a long time ago—was a famous professor in a university. His specialty was something called theery of fine ants. I have two younger brothers, and they're both very bright. One of them works at a company, and he's a depart mint chief. My other brother works at a place called the minis tree of trade and indus tree. They both live in huge houses and eat eel. Nakata's the only one who isn't bright."

"But you're able to talk with cats."

"That's correct," Nakata said.

"Then you're not so dumb after all."

"Yes. No... I mean, Nakata doesn't really know about that, but ever since I was little people said You're dumb, you're dumb, so I suppose I must be. I can't read the names of stations so I can't buy a ticket and take a train. If I show my handycap pass, though, they let me ride the city bus."

"Interesting...," Otsuka said without much interest.

"If you can't read or write you can't find a job."

"Then how do you make a living?"

"I get a sub city."

"Sub city?"

"The Governor gives me money. I live in a little room in an apartment in Nogata called the Shoeiso. And I eat three meals a day."

"Sounds like a pretty good life. To me, at least."

"You're right. It is a pretty good life. Nakata can keep out of the wind and rain, and I have everything I need. And sometimes, like now, people ask me to help them find cats. They give me a present when I do. But I've got to keep this a secret from the Governor, so don't tell anybody. They might cut down my sub city if they find out I have some extra money coming in. It's never a lot, but thanks to it I can eat eel every once in a while. Nakata loves eel."

"I like eel too. Though I only had it once, a long time ago, and can't really recall what it tastes like."

"Eel is quite a treat. There's something different about it, compared to other food. Certain foods can take the place of others, but as far as I know, nothing can take the place of eel."

On the road in front of the empty lot a young man walked by with a large Labrador retriever with a red bandanna tied around its neck. It glanced over at Otsuka but walked on by. The old man and the cat sat there in the lot, silently waiting for the dog and his master to disappear.

"You said you look for cats?" Otsuka asked.

"That's correct. I search for lost cats. I can speak with cats a little, so I go all over tracking down ones that have gone missing. People hear that Nakata's good at this, so they come and ask me to look for their lost cats. These days I spend more days than not out searching for cats. I don't like to go too far away, so I just look for them inside Nakano Ward. Otherwise I'll be the one lost and they'll be out looking for me."

"So right now you're searching for a lost cat?"

"Yes, that's correct. Nakata's looking for a one-year-old tortoiseshell cat named Goma. Here's a photo of her." Nakata pulled a color copy out of his canvas shoulder bag and showed it to Otsuka. "She's wearing a brown flea collar."

Otsuka stretched out to gaze at the photograph, then shook his head.

"No, 'fraid I've never run across this one. I know most of the cats around here, but this one I don't know. Never seen, or heard, anything about her."

"Is that right?"

"Have you been looking for her for a long time?"

"Well, today is, let me see... one, two, three... the third day."

Otsuka sat there thinking for a time. "I assume you're aware of this, but cats are creatures of habit. Usually they live very ordered lives, and unless something extraordinary happens they generally try to keep to their routine. What might disrupt this is either sex or an accident—one of the two."

"Nakata's thinking the same thing."

"If it's sex, then you just have to wait till they get it out of their system and they'll be back. You do understand what I mean by sex?"

"I haven't done it myself, but I think I understand. It has to do with your weenie, right?"

"That's right. It's all about the weenie." Otsuka nodded, a serious look on his face.

"But if we're talking about an accident, you might never see her again."

"That's true."

"Also, sometimes when a cat's on the prowl for sex it might wander off and have trouble finding its way back home again."