murakami, haruki - Norwegian wood

That winter I found a part-time job in a little record shop in Shinjuku.
It didn't pay much, but the work was easy - just watching the place
three nights a week - and they let me buy records cheap. For
Christmas I bought Naoko a Henry Mancini album with a track of her
favourite "Dear Heart". I wrapped it myself and added a bright red
ribbon. She gave me a pair of woollen gloves she had knitted. The
thumbs were a little short, but they did keep my hands warm.
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, blushing, "What a bad job!"
"Don't worry, they fit fine," I said, holding my gloved hands out to
her.
"Well, at least you won't have to shove your hands in your pockets, I
guess."
Naoko didn't go home to Kobe for the winter break. I stayed in Tokyo,
too, working in the record shop right up to the end of the year. I didn't
have anything especially fun to do in Kobe or anyone I wanted to see.
The dorm's dining hall was closed for the holiday, so I went to
Naoko's flat for meals. On New Year's Eve we had rice cakes and
soup like everybody else.
A lot happened in late January and February that year, 1969.
At the end of January, Storm Trooper went to bed with a raging fever.
Which meant I had to stand up Naoko that day. I had gone to a lot of
trouble to get my hands on some free tickets for a concert. She had
been especially eager to go because the orchestra was performing one
of her favourites: Brahms' Fourth Symphony. But with Storm Trooper
tossing around in bed on the verge of what looked like an agonizing
death, I couldn't just leave him, and I couldn't find anyone stupid
enough to nurse him in my place. I bought some ice and used several
layers of plastic bags to hold it on his forehead, wiped his sweating
brow with cold towels, took his temperature every hour, and even
changed his vest for him. The fever stayed high for a day, but the
following morning he jumped out of bed and started exercising as
though nothing had happened. His temperature was completely
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