murakami, haruki - Norwegian wood

comes we have to treat them to sushi deluxe - home delivered. Let me
tell you, though, my father never once cheated on his taxes. That's just
how he is, a real old-fashioned straight arrow. But tell that to the
taxman. All he can do is dig and dig and dig and dig. "Income's a little
low here, don't you think?' Well, of course the income's low when
you're not making any money! I wanted to scream: "Go do this where
they've got some money!' Do you think the taxman's attitude would
change if there was a revolution?"
"Highly doubtful, highly doubtful."
"That does it, then. I'm not going to believe in any damned revolution.
Love is all I'm going to believe in."
"Peace," I said.
"Peace," said Midori.
"Hey, where are we going?" I asked.
"The hospital," she said. "My father's there. It's my turn to stay with
him all day."
"Your father?! I thought he was in Uruguay!"
"That was a lie," said Midori in a matter-of-fact tone. "He's been
screaming about going to Uruguay forever, but he could never do that.
He can hardly get himself out of Tokyo."
"How bad is he?" I asked.
"It's just a matter of time," she said.
We walked on in silence.
"I know what I'm talking about. It's the same thing my mother had. A
brain tumour. Can you believe it? It's hardly been two years since she
died of a brain tumour, and now he's got one."
The University Hospital corridors were noisy and crowded with
weekend visitors and patients who had less serious symptoms, and
everywhere hung that special hospital smell, a cloud of disinfectant
and visitors' bouquets, and urine and mattresses, while nurses surged
back and forth with a dry clattering of heels.
Midori's father was in a semi-private room in the bed nearest the door.
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