murakami, haruki - Norwegian wood

Reiko sat alone on the carpet, playing her guitar. She pointed towards
the bedroom door to let me know Naoko was in there. Then she set
down the guitar on the floor and took a seat on the sofa, inviting me to
sit next to her and dividing what wine was left between our two
glasses.
"Naoko is fine," she said, touching my knee. "Don't worry, all she has
to do is rest for a while. She'll calm down. She was just a little worked
up. How about taking a walk with me in the meantime?"
"Good," I said.
Reiko and I ambled down a road illuminated by street lamps. When
we reached the area by the tennis and basketball courts, we sat on a
bench. She picked up a basketball from under the bench and turned it
in her hands. Then she asked me if I played tennis. I knew how to
play, I said, but I was bad at it.
"How about basketball?"
"Not my strongest sport," I said.
"What is your strongest sport?" Reiko asked, wrinkling the corners of
her eyes with a smile. "Aside from sleeping with girls."
"I'm not so good at that, either," I said, stung by her words. "Just
kidding," she said. "Don't get angry. But really, though, what are you
good at?"
"Nothing special. I have things I like to do." "For instance?"
"Hiking. Swimming. Reading."
"You like to do things alone, then?"
"I guess so. I could never get excited about games you play with other
people. I can't get into them. I lose interest."
"Then you have to come here in the winter. We do crosscountry
skiing. I'm sure you'd like that, tramping around in the snow all day,
working up a good sweat." Under the street lamp, Reiko stared at her
right hand as though she were inspecting an antique musical
instrument.
"Does Naoko often get like that?" I asked.
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