murakami, haruki - Norwegian wood

new place for lunch once. It was a sunny, handsome flat, and Midori
seemed to enjoy living there far more than she had above the
Kobayashi Bookshop.
Every once in a while, Nagasawa would suggest that we go out on one
of our excursions, but I always found something else to do instead. I
just didn't want the hassle. Not that I didn't like the idea of sleeping
with girls: it was just that, when I thought about the whole process I
had to go through - drinking in town, looking for the right kind of
girls, talking to them, going to a hotel - it was all too much effort. I
had to admire Nagasawa all the more for the way he could continue
the ritual without ever getting sick and tired of it. Maybe what
Hatsumi had said to me had had some effect: I could make myself feel
far happier just thinking about Naoko than sleeping with some stupid,
anonymous girl. The sensation of Naoko's fingers bringing me to
climax in a grassy field remained vivid inside me.
I wrote to her at the beginning of December to ask if it would be all
right for me to come and visit her during the winter holidays. An
answer came from Reiko saying they would love to have me. She
explained that Naoko was having trouble writing and that she was
answering for her. I was not to take this to mean that Naoko was
feeling especially bad: there was no need for me to worry. These
things came in waves.
When the holidays came, I stuffed my things into my rucksack, put on
snow boots and set out for Kyoto. The odd doctor had been right: the
winter mountains blanketed in snow were incredibly beautiful. As
before, I slept two nights in the flat with Naoko and Reiko, and spent
three days with them doing much the same kind of things as before.
When the sun went down, Reiko would play her guitar and the three
of us would sit around talking. Instead of our picnic, we went crosscountry
skiing. An hour of tramping through the woods on skis left us
breathless and sweaty. We also joined the residents and staff
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