murakami, haruki - Norwegian wood

"I really can't say until the time comes," said the doctor. "Wow, that's
some short skirt you're wearing!"
"Nice, huh?"
"What do you do on stairways?" the doctor asked.
"Nothing special. I let it all hang out," said Midori. The nurse
chuckled behind the doctor.
"Incredible. You ought to come and let us open your head one of these
days to see what's going on in there. Do me a favour and use the lifts
while you're in the hospital. I can't afford to have any more patients.
I'm way too busy as it is."
Soon after the doctor's rounds it was lunchtime. A nurse was
circulating from room to room pushing a trolley loaded with meals.
Midori's father was given pottage, fruit, boiled, deboned fish, and
vegetables that had been ground into some kind of jelly. Midori turned
him on his back and raised him up using the handle at the foot of the
bed. She fed him the soup with a spoon. After five or six swallows, he
turned his face aside and said (No more>.
You've got to eat at least this much." Midori san he said.
"You're hopeless - if you don't eat properly, you'll never get your
strength back," she said. "Don't you have to pee yet?" he said.
"Hey, Watanabe, let's go down to the cafeteria."
I agreed to go, but in fact I didn't much feel like eating. The cafeteria
was packed with doctors, nurses and visitors. Long lines of chairs and
tables filled the huge, windowless underground cavern where every
mouth seemed to be eating or talking - about sickness, no doubt, the
voices echoing and re-echoing as in a tunnel. Now and then the PA
system would break through the reverberation with calls for a doctor
or nurse. While I laid claim to a table, Midori bought two set meals
and carried them over on an aluminium tray. Croquettes with cream
sauce, potato salad, shredded cabbage, boiled vegetables, rice and
miso soup: these were lined up in the tray in the same white plastic
dishes they used for patients. I ate about half of mine and left the rest.
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