Kafka on the Shore (24 page)

"I wonder if I've heard that song."

"Do you listen to the radio much?"

I shake my head. I hardly ever listen to the radio.

"You probably haven't heard it, then. Unless it's on some oldies station, chances are you haven't. But it's a wonderful song. I have it on a CD and listen to it every once in a while. When Miss Saeki's not around, of course. She hates any mention of the song.

She doesn't like anyone bringing up the past."

"What's the name of the song?"

"'Kafka on the Shore.'" Oshima says.

"'Kafka on the Shore'?"

"That's correct, Kafka Tamura. The same name as you. A strange coincidence, don't you think?"

"But Kafka isn't my real name. Tamura is, though."

"But you chose it yourself, right?"

I nod. I'd decided a long time ago that this was the right name for the new me.

"That's the point, I'd say," Oshima says.

Miss Saeki's boyfriend died when he was twenty, Oshima goes on. Right when

"Kafka on the Shore" was a hit. His college was on strike during the period of student unrest and shut down. He went to bring supplies to a friend of his who was manning the barricades, just before ten one night. The students occupying the building mistook him for a leader of an opposing faction—he did resemble him a lot—and grabbed him, tied him to a chair, and interrogated him as a spy. He tried to explain that they'd made a mistake, but every time he did they smashed him with a steel pipe or baton. When he fell to the floor they'd kick him with their boots. By dawn he was dead. His skull was caved in, his ribs broken, his lungs ruptured. They tossed his corpse out on the street like a dead dog. Two days later the college asked the national guard to come in, and within a couple of hours the student revolt was put down and several of them were arrested and charged with murder. The students confessed what they'd done and were put on trial, but since it wasn't premeditated two of them were convicted of involuntary manslaughter and given short prison sentences. His death was totally pointless.

Miss Saeki never sang again. She locked herself in her room and wouldn't talk to anybody, even on the phone. She didn't go to his funeral, and dropped out of college.

After a few months, people suddenly realized she was no longer in town. Nobody knows where she went or what she did. Her parents refused to discuss it. Maybe even they didn't know where she'd been. She vanished into thin air. Even her best friend, Oshima's mother, didn't have a clue. Rumors flew that she'd been committed to a mental hospital after a failed suicide attempt in the deep forests surrounding Mount Fuji. Others said a friend of a friend had spotted her on the streets of Tokyo. According to this person she was working in Tokyo as a writer or something. Other rumors had it she was married and had a child. All of these, though, were groundless, with nothing to back them up.

Twenty years passed.

No matter where she was or what she was doing all this time, Miss Saeki didn't hurt for money. Her royalties for "Kafka on the Shore" were deposited in a bank account, and even after taxes still amounted to a substantial sum. She got royalties every time the song was played on the radio or included in an oldies compilation. So it was simple for her to live far away, out of the limelight. Besides, her family was rich and she was their only daughter.

Suddenly, twenty-five years later, Miss Saeki reappeared in Takamatsu. The ostensible reason was her mother's funeral. (Her father had died five years before, but she hadn't come to the funeral.) She held a small service for her mother and then, after things had quieted down, sold the house she'd been born and raised in. She moved into an apartment she'd purchased in a quiet part of the city and seemed to settle down again.

After a time she had some talks with the Komura family. (The head of the family, after the death of the eldest son, was his younger brother, three years younger. It was just the two of them, and no one knows what they talked about, exactly.) The upshot was Miss Saeki became head of the Komura Library.

Even now she's slim and beautiful and has the same neat, smart look you see on the record jacket of "Kafka on the Shore." But there's one thing missing: that lovely, innocent smile. She still smiles from time to time, definitely a charming smile, but it's always limited somehow, a smile that never goes beyond the moment. A high, invisible wall surrounds her, holding people at arm's length. Every morning she drives her gray Volkswagen Golf to the library, and drives it back home in the evening.

Back in her hometown, she had very little to do with former friends and relatives.

If they happen to meet she makes polite conversation, but this seldom goes beyond a few standard topics. If the past happens to come up-especially if it involves her—she makes a quick, smooth segue to another topic. She's always polite and kind, but her words lack the kind of curiosity and excitement you'd normally expect. Her true feelings—assuming such things exist—remain hidden away. Except for when a practical sort of decision has to be made, she never gives her personal opinion about anything.

She seldom talks about herself, instead letting others talk, nodding warmly as she listens.

But most people start to feel vaguely uneasy when talking with her, as if they suspect they're wasting her time, trampling on her private, graceful, dignified world. And that impression is, for the most part, correct.

So even after settling back into her hometown, she remained a cipher. A stylish woman wrapped in refined mystery. Something about her made it hard to approach her.

Even her nominal employers, the Komura family, kept their distance.

Eventually Oshima became her assistant and started to work in the library. At the time Oshima wasn't working or going to school, just staying at home reading and listening to music. Except for a few people he exchanged e-mails with, he hardly had any friends. Because of his hemophilia, he spent a lot of time going to see a specialist at the hospital, riding around town in his Mazda Miata, and except for his regular appointments at the University Hospital in Hiroshima and the occasional stay at the cabin in the Kochi mountains, he never left town. Not to imply that he was unhappy with this life. One day Oshima's mother happened to introduce him to Miss Saeki, who took an instant liking to him. The feeling was mutual, and the notion of working in a library intrigued him. Oshima soon became the only person Miss Saeki normally dealt with or spoke to.

"Sounds to me like Miss Saeki came back here in order to become head of the library," I say.

"I'd have to agree. Her mother's funeral was just the opportunity that brought her back. Her hometown must be so full of bittersweet memories that I imagine it was a hard decision to return."

"Why was the library so important to her?"

"Her boyfriend used to live in a building that's part of the library now. He was the eldest Komura son, and a love of reading was in his blood, I suppose. He liked to be alone—another family trait. So when he went into junior high he insisted on living apart from the main house, in a separate building, and his parents gave their okay. The whole family loved reading, so they could understand where he was coming from. If you want to be surrounded by books, it's fine with us—that kind of thing. So he lived in that annex, with nobody bothering him, coming back to the main house only for meals. Miss Saeki went to see him there almost every day. The two of them studied together, listened to music, and talked forever. And most likely made love there. The place was their own bit of paradise."

Both hands resting on top of the steering wheel, Oshima looks over at me. "That's where you'll be living now, Kafka. In that room. As I said, the library's been renovated, but it's the very same room."

Silence on my part.

"Miss Saeki's life basically stopped at age twenty, when her lover died. No, maybe not age twenty, maybe much earlier.... I don't know the details, but you need to be aware of this. The hands of the clock buried inside her soul ground to a halt then.

Time outside, of course, flows on as always, but she isn't affected by it. For her, what we consider normal time is essentially meaningless."

"Meaningless?"

Oshima nods. "Like it doesn't exist."

"What you're saying is Miss Saeki still lives in that frozen time?"

"Exactly. I'm not saying she's some living corpse or anything. When you get to know her better you'll understand."

Oshima reaches out and lays a hand on my knee in a totally natural gesture.

"Kafka, in everybody's life there's a point of no return. And in a very few cases, a point where you can't go forward anymore. And when we reach that point, all we can do is quietly accept the fact. That's how we survive."

We're about to merge onto the main highway. Before we do, Oshima stops the car, puts up the top, and slips a Schubert sonata into the CD player.

"There's one other thing I'd like you to be aware of," he goes on. "Miss Saeki has a wounded heart. To some extent that's true of all of us, present company included. But Miss Saeki has a special individual wound that goes beyond the usual meaning of the term. Her soul moves in mysterious ways. I'm not saying she's dangerous—don't get me wrong. On a day-to-day level she's definitely got her act together, probably more than anybody else I know. She's charming, deep, intelligent. But just don't let it bother you if you notice something odd about her sometimes."

"Odd?" I can't help asking.

Oshima shakes his head. "I really like Miss Saeki, and respect her. I'm sure you'll come to feel the same way."

This doesn't really answer my question, but Oshima doesn't say anything. With perfect timing he shifts gears, steps on the gas, and passes a small van just before we enter a tunnel.

Nakata found himself faceup in a clump of weeds. As he awakened he slowly opened his eyes. It was night, but he couldn't see any stars or the moon. Still, the sky was faintly light. He could smell the strong scent of summer grasses and hear insects buzzing around. Somehow he was back in the vacant lot he'd been staking out every day. Feeling something rough and warm brush against his face, he turned and saw two cats eagerly licking both his cheeks with their tiny tongues. It was Goma and Mimi. Nakata slowly sat up, reached out, and petted them. "Was Nakata asleep?" he asked.

The cats cried out like they were complaining about something, but Nakata couldn't catch the words. He had no idea what they were trying to tell him. They were just two cats meowing.

"I beg your pardon, but I can't understand what you're trying to say." He stood up and checked his body to make sure there was nothing out of the ordinary. He felt no pain, and his arms and legs were working fine. His eyes took some time to adjust to the darkness, but once they did he saw that there wasn't any blood on his arms or clothes.

His clothes weren't rumpled or messed up, either, and looked the same as when he'd left his apartment. His canvas bag was right beside him, lunch and thermos inside, and his hat was inside his trouser pocket where it belonged. Everything was in order. Nakata couldn't figure out what was going on.

In order to save the two cats, he'd stabbed Johnnie Walker—the cat-killer—to death.

That much he remembered all too clearly. He could still feel the knife in his hands. It wasn't a dream—blood had spurted out of Johnnie Walker and he'd collapsed to the floor, curled up, and died. Then Nakata had sunk back on the couch and lost consciousness.

And the next thing he knew, here he was lying among the weeds in the vacant lot. But how did he get back here? He didn't even know the road back. And his clothes had no blood on them at all. Seeing Mimi and Goma beside him proved it wasn't a dream, but for some strange reason now he couldn't understand a word they said.

Nakata sighed. He couldn't think straight. But never mind—he'd figure it all out later. He slung the bag over his shoulder, picked up the two cats, and left the vacant lot.

Once outside the fence, Mimi started to squirm as if she wanted to be let down.

Nakata lowered her to the ground. "Mimi, you can go back home on your own, I imagine. It's nearby."

That's right, Mimi's wagging tail seemed to say.

"Nakata doesn't understand what's happened, but for some reason I can't talk with you anymore. But I was able to find Goma, and I'd better take her back to the Koizumis.

Everyone's waiting for her. Thank you so much for everything, Mimi."

Mimi meowed, wagged her tail again, then scurried off and disappeared around the corner. There was no blood on her, either. Nakata decided to remember that.

The Koizumis were overjoyed by Goma's return. It was past ten p. m. but the children were still up, brushing their teeth before bed. Their parents were drinking tea and watching the news on TV, and they welcomed Nakata warmly. The two little girls, in pajamas, jostled each other to be the first to hug their precious pet. They quickly gave Goma some milk and cat food, which she eagerly tucked into.

"My apologies for stopping by so late at night. It would be much better to come earlier, but Nakata couldn't help it."

"That's all right," Mrs. Koizumi said. "Please don't worry about it."

"Don't worry about the time," her husband said. "That cat is like a member of the family. I can't tell you how happy we are you could find her. How about coming in and having a cup of tea?"

"No thank you, Nakata must be going. I just wanted to get Goma back to you as soon as possible."

Mrs. Koizumi went to another room and returned with Nakata's pay in an envelope, which her husband handed to Nakata. "It's not much, but please accept this token for all you've done. We're very grateful."

"Thank you very much. Much obliged," Nakata said, and bowed.

"I'm surprised, though, you could find her in the dark like this."

"Yes, it's a long story. Nakata can't tell the whole thing. I'm not too bright, and not so good at giving long explanations."

"That's quite all right. We are so grateful to you, Mr. Nakata," Mrs. Koizumi said.

"I'm sorry it's just leftovers, but we have some grilled eggplant and vinegared cucumbers we'd like you to take home with you."