murakami, haruki - Norwegian wood

it for you soon.
I went to the university every day, worked in the restaurant two or
three times a week, talked with Itoh about books and music, read a
few Boris Vian novels he lent me, wrote letters, played with Seagull,
made spaghetti, worked in the garden, masturbated thinking of Naoko,
and saw lots of films.
It was almost the middle of June by the time Midori started talking to
me. We hadn't said a word to each other for two months. After the end
of one lecture, she sat down next to me, propped her chin in her hand,
and sat there, saying nothing.
Beyond the window, it was raining - a really rainy-season rain,
pouring straight down without any wind, soaking every single thing
beneath. Long after the other students had filed out of the classroom,
Midori went on sitting next to me without a word. Then she took a
Marlboro from the pocket of her jeans jacket, put it between her lips,
and handed me her matches. I struck a match and lit her cigarette.
Midori pursed her lips and blew a gentle cloud of tobacco in my face.
"Like my hairstyle?" she asked.
"It's great."
"How great?"
"Great enough to knock down all the trees in all the forests of the
world."
"You really think so?"
"I really think so."
She kept her eyes on mine for a while, then held her right hand out to
me. I took it. She looked even more relieved than I felt. She tapped
her ashes onto the floor and rose to her feet.
"Let's eat. I'm starving," she said.
"Where do you want to go?" I asked.
"To the restaurant of the Takashimaya department store in
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