murakami, haruki - Norwegian wood

magazines had been tied in bundles for returns. That hollow, chilly
feeling I had experienced on my first visit had only deepened. The
place looked like a hulk abandoned on the shore.
"You're not planning to open shop again?" I asked.
"Nah, we're going to sell it," said Midori. "We'll divide the money and
live on our own for a while without anybody's "protection'. My sister's
getting married next year, and I've got three more years at university.
We ought to make enough to see us through that much at least. I'll
keep my part-time job, too. Once the place is sold, I'll live with my
sister in a flat for a while."
"You think somebody'll want to buy it?
"Probably. I know somebody who wants to open a wool shop, She's
been asking me recently if I want to sell. Poor Dad, though. He
worked so hard to get this place, and he was paying off the loan he
took out little by little, and in the end he hardly had anything left. It all
melted away, like foam on a river."
"He had you, though," I said.
"Me?!" Midori said with a laugh. She took a deep breath and let it out.
"Let's go upstairs. It's cold down here."
Upstairs, she sat me at the kitchen table and went to warm the bath
water. While she busied herself with that, I put a kettle on to boil and
made tea. Waiting for the tank to heat up, we sat across from each
other at the kitchen table and drank tea. Chin in hand, she took a long,
hard look at me. There were no sounds other than the ticking of the
clock and the hum of the fridge motor turning on and off as the
thermostat kicked in and out. The clock showed that midnight was fast
approaching.
"You know, Watanabe, study it hard enough, and you've got a pretty
interesting face."
"Think so?" I asked, a bit hurt.
"A nice face goes a long way with me," she said. "And yours ... well,
the more I look at it, the more I get to thinking, "He'll do'."
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