murakami, haruki - Norwegian wood

Once most of my exams were out of the way, I started looking for a
flat in earnest. After a week of searching, I came up with the right
place way out in the suburbs of Kichijoji. The location was not exactly
convenient, but it was a house: an independent house - a real find.
Originally a gardener's shack or some other kind of cottage, it stood
by itself in the corner of a good-sized plot of land, separated from the
main house by a large stretch of neglected garden. The landlord would
use the front gate, and I the back, which would make it possible for
me to preserve my privacy. It had one good-sized room, a little
kitchen and bathroom, and an unimaginably huge closet.
It even had a veranda facing the garden. A nice old couple were
renting the house at way below market value on condition that the
tenant was prepared to move out the following year if their grandson
decided to come to Tokyo. They assured me that I could live as I
pleased there; they wouldn't make any demands.
Nagasawa helped me with the move. He managed to borrow a van to
transfer my stuff, and, as promised, he gave me his fridge, TV, and
oversize thermos flask. He might not need them any more, but for me
they were perfect. He himself was scheduled to move out in two days,
to a flat in the Mita neighbourhood.
"I guess we won't be seeing each other for a long time," he said as he
left me, "so keep well. I'm still sure we'll run across each other in
some strange place years from now."
"I'm already looking forward to it," I said.
"And that time we switched girls, the funny-looking one was way
better."
"Right on," I said with a laugh. "But anyway, Nagasawa, take care of
Hatsumi. Good ones like her are hard to find. And she's a lot more
fragile than she looks."
"Yeah, I know," he said, nodding. "That's why I was hoping you
would take her when I was through. The two of you would make a
287