murakami, haruki - Norwegian wood

"You're very clear about what you like and what you don't like," she
said.
"Maybe so," I said. "Maybe that's why people don't like me. Never
have."
"It's because you show it," she said. "You make it obvious you don't
care whether people like you or not. That makes some people angry."
She spoke in a near mumble, chin in hand. "But I like talking to you.
The way you talk is so unusual. "I don't like having something control
me that way'."
I helped her wash the dishes. Standing next to her, I wiped as she
washed, and stacked everything on the worktop. "So," I said, "your
family's out today?"
"My mother's in her grave. She died two years ago." "Yeah, I heard
that part."
"My sister's on a date with her fiancé. Probably on a drive. Her
boyfriend works for some car company. He loves cars. I don't love
cars."
Midori stopped talking and washed. I stopped talking and wiped.
"And then there's my father," she said after some time had gone by.
"Right," I said.
"He went off to Uruguay in June last year and he's been there ever
since."
"Uruguay?! Why Uruguay?"
"He was thinking of settling there, believe it or not. An old army
buddy of his has a farm there. All of a sudden, my father announces
he's going, too, that there's no limit to what he can do in Uruguay, and
he gets on a plane and that's that. We tried hard to stop him, like,
"Why do you want to go to a place like that? You can't speak the
language, you've hardly ever left Tokyo.' But he wouldn't listen.
Losing my mother was a real shock to him. I mean, it made him a
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