murakami, haruki - Norwegian wood
murakami, haruki - Norwegian wood murakami, haruki - Norwegian wood
somebody in the dorm had taken down Storm Trooper's Amsterdam canal scene and put up a photo of the Golden Gate Bridge instead. He told me he wanted to know if Storm Trooper could masturbate to the Golden Gate Bridge. "He loved it," I reported later, which prompted someone else to put up a picture of an iceberg. Each time the photo changed in his absence, Storm Trooper became upset. "Who-who-who the hell is doing this?" he asked. "I wonder," I said. "But what's the difference? They're all nice pictures. You should be grateful." "Yeah, I s'pose so, but it's weird." My stories of Storm Trooper always made Naoko laugh. Not many things succeeded in doing that, so I talked about him often, though I was not exactly proud of myself for using him this way. He just happened to be the youngest son in a not-too-wealthy family who had grown up a little too serious for his own good. Making maps was the one small dream of his one small life. Who had the right to make fun of him for that? By then, however, Storm-Trooper jokes had become an indispensable source of dormitory talk, and there was no way for me to undo what I had done. Besides, the sight of Naoko's smiling face had become my own special source of pleasure. I went on supplying everyone with new stories. Naoko asked me one time - just once - if I had a girl I liked. I told her about the one I had left behind in Kobe. "She was nice," I said, "I enjoyed sleeping with her, and I miss her every now and then, but finally, she didn't move me. I don't know, sometimes I think I've got this hard kernel in my heart, and nothing much can get inside it. I doubt if I can really love anybody." "Have you ever been in love?" Naoko asked. "Never," I said. She didn't ask me more than that. When autumn ended and cold winds began tearing through the city, 34
Naoko would often walk pressed against my arm. I could sense her breathing through the thick cloth of her duffel coat. She would entwine her arm with mine, or cram her hand in my pocket, or, when it was really cold, cling tightly to my arm, shivering. None of this had any special meaning. I just kept walking with my hands shoved in my pockets. Our rubber-soled shoes made hardly any sound on the pavement, except for the dry crackling when we trod on the broad, withered sycamore leaves. I felt sorry for Naoko whenever I heard that sound. My arm was not the one she needed, but the arm of someone else. My warmth was not what she needed, but the warmth of someone else. I felt almost guilty being me. As the winter deepened, the transparent clarity of Naoko's eyes seemed to increase. It was a clarity that had nowhere to go. Sometimes Naoko would lock her eyes on to mine for no apparent reason. She seemed to be searching for something, and this would give me a strange, lonely, helpless sort of feeling. I wondered if she was trying to convey something to me, something she could not put into words - something prior to words that she could not grasp within herself and which therefore had no hope of ever turning into words. Instead, she would fiddle with her hairslide, dab at the corners of her mouth with a handkerchief, or look into my eyes in that meaningless way. I wanted to hold her tight when she did these things, but I would hesitate and hold back. I was afraid I might hurt her. And so the two of us kept walking the streets of Tokyo, Naoko searching for words in space. The guys in the dorm would always tease me when I got a call from Naoko or went out on a Sunday morning. They assumed, naturally enough, that I had found a girlfriend. There was no way to explain the truth to them, and no need to explain it, so I let them think what they wanted to. I had to face a barrage of stupid questions in the evening - what position had we used? What was she like down there? What colour underwear had she been wearing that day? I gave them the 35
- Page 2 and 3: HARUKI MURAKAMI was born in Kyoto i
- Page 4 and 5: First published as Normeei no marl
- Page 6 and 7: The stewardess came to check on me
- Page 8 and 9: a kick to some part of my mind. Wak
- Page 10 and 11: "I just know," she said, increasing
- Page 12 and 13: along the path. "I'm sorry," she sa
- Page 14 and 15: Once upon a time, many years ago -
- Page 16 and 17: national anthem, too, of course. Yo
- Page 18 and 19: for ashtrays held mounds of cigaret
- Page 20 and 21: anything about the others myself, I
- Page 22 and 23: "But that's impossible," he said ma
- Page 24 and 25: Almost a year had gone by since I h
- Page 26 and 27: eally wouldn't be any bother to you
- Page 28 and 29: occupying that central position. Tr
- Page 30 and 31: wiper. Kizuki had left no suicide n
- Page 32 and 33: Naoko called me the following Satur
- Page 36 and 37: answers they wanted. And so I went
- Page 38 and 39: hesitation. "Not exactly fashionabl
- Page 40 and 41: he said. "Swallowed 'em whole." "Wh
- Page 42 and 43: and while she was putting on her st
- Page 44 and 45: That winter I found a part-time job
- Page 46 and 47: arrived at Naoko's room the cake wa
- Page 48 and 49: trying to go on, but had come up ag
- Page 50 and 51: I picked up my clothes and dressed.
- Page 52 and 53: at the end I added: Waiting for you
- Page 54 and 55: etter. As you say, this is probably
- Page 56 and 57: Maybe this firefly was on the verge
- Page 58 and 59: During the summer holidays the univ
- Page 60 and 61: dust covered his desk and radio. Hi
- Page 62 and 63: she said. "I had a perm this summer
- Page 64 and 65: omantic company? New women in far-o
- Page 66 and 67: lecture. When it was over I went to
- Page 68 and 69: Watanabe, I have this feeling like,
- Page 70 and 71: problems far more urgent and releva
- Page 72 and 73: ain." "Shouldn't you go home and ge
- Page 74 and 75: expensive school trips. For instanc
- Page 76 and 77: esting on her lap. "That was the pr
- Page 78 and 79: you." "I'd like that," I said. Mido
- Page 80 and 81: the shutter and stepped a few paces
- Page 82 and 83: "Thanks," I said. It suddenly dawne
Naoko would often walk pressed against my arm. I could sense her<br />
breathing through the thick cloth of her duffel coat. She would<br />
entwine her arm with mine, or cram her hand in my pocket, or, when<br />
it was really cold, cling tightly to my arm, shivering. None of this had<br />
any special meaning. I just kept walking with my hands shoved in my<br />
pockets. Our rubber-soled shoes made hardly any sound on the<br />
pavement, except for the dry crackling when we trod on the broad,<br />
withered sycamore leaves. I felt sorry for Naoko whenever I heard that<br />
sound. My arm was not the one she needed, but the arm of someone<br />
else. My warmth was not what she needed, but the warmth of<br />
someone else. I felt almost guilty being me.<br />
As the winter deepened, the transparent clarity of Naoko's eyes<br />
seemed to increase. It was a clarity that had nowhere to go. Sometimes<br />
Naoko would lock her eyes on to mine for no apparent reason. She<br />
seemed to be searching for something, and this would give me a<br />
strange, lonely, helpless sort of feeling.<br />
I wondered if she was trying to convey something to me, something<br />
she could not put into words - something prior to words that she could<br />
not grasp within herself and which therefore had no hope of ever<br />
turning into words. Instead, she would fiddle with her hairslide, dab at<br />
the corners of her mouth with a handkerchief, or look into my eyes in<br />
that meaningless way. I wanted to hold her tight when she did these<br />
things, but I would hesitate and hold back. I was afraid I might hurt<br />
her. And so the two of us kept walking the streets of Tokyo, Naoko<br />
searching for words in space.<br />
The guys in the dorm would always tease me when I got a call from<br />
Naoko or went out on a Sunday morning. They assumed, naturally<br />
enough, that I had found a girlfriend. There was no way to explain the<br />
truth to them, and no need to explain it, so I let them think what they<br />
wanted to. I had to face a barrage of stupid questions in the evening -<br />
what position had we used? What was she like down there? What<br />
colour underwear had she been wearing that day? I gave them the<br />
35
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