murakami, haruki - Norwegian wood

eak, without a sound, soaking her hair and mine, running like tears
down our cheeks, down to her denim jacket and my yellow nylon
windcheater, spreading in dark stains.
"How about going back under the roof?" I said.
"Come to my place. There's nobody home now. We'll both catch colds
like this."
"It's true."
"It's as if we've just swum across a river," Midori said, smiling. "What
a great feeling!"
We bought a good-sized towel in the linen department and took turns
going into the bathroom to dry our hair. Then we took the subway,
with the necessary top-up tickets, to her flat in Myogadani. She let me
shower first and then she showered. Lending me a bathrobe to wear
while my clothes dried, Midori changed into a polo shirt and skirt. We
sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee.
"Tell me about yourself," Midori said.
"What about me?"
"Hmm, I don't know, what do you hate?" "Chicken and VD and
barbers who talk too much." "What else?"
"Lonely April nights and lacy telephone covers." "What else?"
I shook my head. "I can't think of anything else."
"My boyfriend - which is to say, my ex-boyfriend - had all kinds of
things he hated. Like when I wore too-short skirts, or when I smoked,
or how I got drunk too quickly, or said disgusting things, or criticized
his friends. So if there's anything about me you don't like, just tell me,
and I'll fix it if I can."
"I can't think of anything," I said after giving it some thought. "There's
nothing."
"Really?"
"I like everything you wear, and I like what you do and say and how
you walk and how you get drunk. Everything."
"You mean I'm really OK just the way I am?"
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