murakami, haruki - Norwegian wood
murakami, haruki - Norwegian wood murakami, haruki - Norwegian wood
First published as Normeei no marl by Kodansha, Tokyo in 1987 First published in Great Britain in 2000 by The Harvill Press 2 Aztec Row, Berners Road, London N10PW This paperback edition first published in 2001 www.harvill.com 1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2 © Haruki Murakami, 1987 English translation © Haruki Murakami, 2000 Haruki Murakami asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work A CIP catalogue record is available from the British Library ISBN 186046 818 7 Designed and typeset in Iowan Old Style at Libanus Press, Marlborough, Wiltshire Printed and bound by Mackays of Chatham Half title photograph by John Banagan/ Image Bank CONDITIONS OF SALE All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser 4
I was 37 then, strapped in my seat as the huge 747 plunged through dense cloud cover on approach to Hamburg airport. Cold November rains drenched the earth, lending everything the gloomy air of a Flemish landscape: the ground crew in waterproofs, a flag atop a squat airport building, a BMW billboard. So - Germany again. Once the plane was on the ground, soft music began to flow from the ceiling speakers: a sweet orchestral cover version of the Beatles' "Norwegian Wood". The melody never failed to send a shudder through me, but this time it hit me harder than ever. I bent forward, my face in my hands to keep my skull from splitting open. Before long one of the German stewardesses approached and asked in English if I were sick. "No," I said, "just dizzy." "Are you sure?" "Yes, I'm sure. Thanks." She smiled and left, and the music changed to a Billy Joel tune. I straightened up and looked out of the window at the dark clouds hanging over the North Sea, thinking of all I had lost in the course of my life: times gone for ever, friends who had died or disappeared, feelings I would never know again. The plane reached the gate. People began unfastening their seatbelts and pulling luggage from the overhead lockers, and all the while I was in the meadow. I could smell the grass, feel the wind on my face, hear the cries of the birds. Autumn 1969, and soon I would be 20. 5
- Page 2 and 3: HARUKI MURAKAMI was born in Kyoto i
- 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 34 and 35: somebody in the dorm had taken down
- 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
I was 37 then, strapped in my seat as the huge 747 plunged through<br />
dense cloud cover on approach to Hamburg airport. Cold November<br />
rains drenched the earth, lending everything the gloomy air of a<br />
Flemish landscape: the ground crew in waterproofs, a flag atop a squat<br />
airport building, a BMW billboard. So - Germany again.<br />
Once the plane was on the ground, soft music began to flow from the<br />
ceiling speakers: a sweet orchestral cover version of the Beatles'<br />
"<strong>Norwegian</strong> Wood". The melody never failed to send a shudder<br />
through me, but this time it hit me harder than ever.<br />
I bent forward, my face in my hands to keep my skull from splitting<br />
open. Before long one of the German stewardesses approached and<br />
asked in English if I were sick.<br />
"No," I said, "just dizzy."<br />
"Are you sure?"<br />
"Yes, I'm sure. Thanks."<br />
She smiled and left, and the music changed to a Billy Joel tune. I<br />
straightened up and looked out of the window at the dark clouds<br />
hanging over the North Sea, thinking of all I had lost in the course of<br />
my life: times gone for ever, friends who had died or disappeared,<br />
feelings I would never know again.<br />
The plane reached the gate. People began unfastening their seatbelts<br />
and pulling luggage from the overhead lockers, and all the while I was<br />
in the meadow. I could smell the grass, feel the wind on my face, hear<br />
the cries of the birds. Autumn 1969, and soon I would be 20.<br />
5
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