murakami, haruki - Norwegian wood

tiny flowers in the grass, the subtle reverberations that accompanied
sounds: all these told me that autumn had come again, increasing the
distance between me and the dead with each cycle of the seasons.
Kizuki was still 17 and Naoko 21: for ever.
"Oh, what a relief to come to a place like this!" Reiko said, looking all
around as we stepped off the bus.
"Because there's nothing here," I said.
As I led her through the back gate through the garden to my cottage,
Reiko was impressed by everything she saw.
"This is terrific!" she said. "You made these shelves and the desk?"
"Yep," I said, pouring tea.
"You're obviously good with your hands. And you keep the place so
clean!"
"Storm Trooper's influence," I said. "He turned me into a cleanliness
freak. Not that my landlord's complaining."
"Oh, your landlord! I ought to introduce myself to him.
That's his place on the other side of the garden, I suppose." "Introduce
yourself to him? What for?"
"What do you mean "what for'? Some weird old lady shows up in your
place and starts playing the guitar, he's going to wonder what's going
on. Better to start out on the right foot. I even brought a box of tea
sweets for him." "Very clever," I said.
"The wisdom that comes with age. I'm going to tell him I'm your aunt
on your mother's side, visiting from Kyoto, so don't contradict me.
The age difference comes in handy at times like this. Nobody's going
to get suspicious."
Reiko took the box of sweets from her bag and went off to pay her
respects. I sat on the veranda, drinking another cup of tea and playing
with the cat. Twenty minutes went by, and when Reiko finally came
back, she pulled a tin of rice crackers from her bag and said it was a
present for me.
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