murakami, haruki - Norwegian wood

After checking to make sure I hadn't written anything personal in it, I
handed it to Midori.
"Thanks," she said. "Are you coming to lectures the day after
tomorrow?"
"Yeah."
"Meet me here at noon. I'll give you back your notebook and buy you
lunch. I mean ... it's not as if you get an upset stomach or anything if
you don't eat alone, right?"
"No," I said. "But you don't have to buy me lunch just because I'm
lending you my notebook."
"Don't worry," she said. "I like buying people lunch. Anyway,
shouldn't you write it down somewhere? You won't forget?"
"I won't forget. Day after tomorrow. Twelve o'clock. Midori. Green."
From the other table, somebody called out, "Hurry up, Midori, your
food's getting cold!"
She ignored the call and asked me, "Have you always talked like
that?"
"I think so," I said. "Never noticed before." And in fact no one had
ever told me there was anything unusual about the way I spoke.
She seemed to be mulling something over for a few seconds. Then she
stood up with a smile and went back to her table. She waved to me as
I walked past their table, but the three others barely glanced in my
direction.
At noon on Wednesday there was no sign of Midori in the restaurant. I
thought I might wait for her over a beer, but the place started to fill up
as soon as the drink arrived, so I ordered lunch and ate alone. I
finished at 12.35, but still no Midori. Paying my bill, I went outside
and crossed the street to a little shrine, where I waited on the stone
steps for my head to clear and Midori to come. I gave up at one
o'clock and went to read in the library. At two I went to my German
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