murakami, haruki - Norwegian wood

She took the lead, hurrying down a corridor and a flight of stairs to the
first-floor dining hall. It was a large room, with enough space for
perhaps 200 people, but only half was in use, the other half partitioned
off, like a resort hotel out of season. The day's menu listed a potato
stew with noodles, salad, orange juice and bread. The vegetables
turned out to be as delicious as Naoko had said in her letter, and I
finished everything on my plate.
"You obviously enjoy your food!" said my female companion.
"It's wonderful," I said. "Plus, I've hardly eaten anything all day."
"You're welcome to mine if you like. I'm full. Here, go ahead."
"I will, if you really don't want it."
"I've got a small stomach. It doesn't hold much. I make up for what
I'm missing with cigarettes." She lit another Seven Star. "Oh, by the
way, you can call me Reiko. Everybody does."
Reiko seemed to derive great pleasure from watching me while I ate
the potato stew she had hardly touched and munched on her bread.
"Are you Naoko's doctor?" I asked.
"Me?! Naoko's doctor?!" She screwed up her face. "What makes you
think I'm a doctor?"
"They told me to ask for Doctor Ishida."
"Oh, I get it. No no no, I teach music here. It's a kind of therapy for
some patients, so for fun they call me "The Music Doctor' and
sometimes "Doctor Ishida'. But I'm just another patient. I've been here
seven years. I work as a music teacher and help out in the office, so
it's hard to tell any more whether I'm a patient or staff. Didn't Naoko
tell you about me?"
I shook my head.
"That's strange," said Reiko. "I'm Naoko's room-mate. I like living
with her. We talk about all kinds of things. Including you."
"What about me?"
"Well, first I have to tell you about this place," said Reiko, ignoring
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