murakami, haruki - Norwegian wood

each other's bodies in the darkness without words. I kissed her and
held her soft breasts in my hands. She clutched at my erection. Her
opening was warm and wet and asking for me.
And yet, when I went inside her, Naoko tensed with pain. Was this her
first time? I asked, and she nodded. Now it was my turn to be
confused. I had assumed that Naoko had been sleeping with Kizuki all
that time. I went in as far as I could and stayed that way for a long
time, holding Naoko, without moving. And then, as she began to seem
calmer, I allowed myself to move inside her, taking a long time to
come to climax, with slow, gentle movements. Her arms tightened
around me at the end, when at last she broke her silence. Her cry was
the saddest sound of orgasm I had ever heard.
When everything had ended, I asked Naoko why she had never slept
with Kizuki. This was a mistake. No sooner had I asked the question
than she took her arms from me and started crying soundlessly again. I
pulled her bedding from the closet, spread it on the mat floor, and put
her in beneath the covers. Smoking, I watched the endless April rain
beyond the window.
The rain had stopped when morning came. Naoko was sleeping with
her back to me. Or maybe she hadn't slept at all. Whether she was
awake or asleep, all words had left her lips, and her body now seemed
stiff, almost frozen. I tried several times to talk to her, but she would
not answer or move. I stared for a long time at her naked shoulder, but
in the end I lost all hope of eliciting a response and decided to get up.
The floor was still littered with record jackets, glasses, wine bottles
and the ashtray I had been using. Half the caved-in birthday cake
remained on the table. It was as if time had come to a halt. I picked up
the things off the floor and drank two glasses of water at the sink. On
Naoko's desk lay a dictionary and a French verb chart. On the wall
above the desk hung a calendar, one without an illustration or photo of
any kind, just the numbers of the days of the month. There were no
memos or marks written next to any of the dates.
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