murakami, haruki - Norwegian wood

"Do you know somewhere we could play pool around here?" Hatsumi
asked me without warning.
"Pool? You play?"
"Yeah, I'm pretty good. How about you?"
"I play a little. Not that I'm very good at it."
"OK, then. Let's go."
We found a pool hall nearby and went in. It was a small place at the
far end of an alley. The two of us - Hatsumi in her chic dress and I in
my blue blazer and regimental tie - clashed with the scruffy pool hall,
but this didn't seem to concern Hatsumi at all as she chose and chalked
her cue. She pulled a hairslide from her bag and clipped her hair aside
at one temple to keep it from interfering with her game.
We played two games. Hatsumi was as good as she had claimed to be,
while my own game was hampered by the thick bandage I still wore
on my cut hand. She crushed me.
"You're great," I said in admiration.
"You mean appearances can be deceiving?" she asked as she sized up
a shot, smiling.
"Where did you learn to play like that?"
"My grandfather - my father's father - was an old playboy. He had a
table in his house. I used to play pool with my brother just for fun, and
when I got a little bigger my grandfather taught me the right moves.
He was a wonderful guy - stylish, handsome. He's dead now, though.
He always used to boast how he once met Deanna Durbin in New
York."
She got three in a row, then missed on the fourth try. I managed to
squeeze out a point, then missed an easy shot.
"It's the bandage," said Hatsumi to comfort me.
"No, it's because I haven't played for so long," I said. "Two years and
five months."
"How can you be so sure of the time?"
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