murakami, haruki - Norwegian wood

different from other people's. I'm not trying to be different. But when I
speak out honestly, everybody thinks I'm kidding or play-acting.
When that happens, I feel like everything's such a pain!"
"And you want to let yourself die in a fire?"
"Hey, no, that's different. It's just a matter of curiosity."
"What? Dying in a fire?"
"No, I just wanted to see how you'd react," Midori said. "But, I'm not
afraid of dying. Really. Like here, I'd just be overcome with smoke
and lose consciousness and die before I knew it. That doesn't frighten
me at all, compared to the way I saw my mother and a few relatives
die. All my relatives die after suffering from some terrible illness. It's
in the blood, I guess. It's always a long, long process, and at the end
you almost can't tell whether the person is alive or dead. All that's left
is pain and suffering."
Midori put a Marlboro between her lips and lit it.
"That's the kind of death that frightens me. The shadow of death
slowly, slowly eats away at the region of life, and before you know it
everything's dark and you can't see, and the people around you think
of you as more dead than alive. I hate that. I couldn't stand it."
Another half hour and the fire was out. They had apparently kept it
from spreading and prevented any injuries. All but one of the fire
engines returned to base, and the crowd dispersed, buzzing with
conversation. One police car remained to direct the traffic, its blue
light spinning. Two crows had settled on nearby lamp-posts to observe
the activity below.
Midori seemed drained of energy. Limp, she stared at the sky and
barely spoke.
"Tired?" I asked.
"Not really," she said. "I just sort of let myself go limp and spaced out.
First time in a long time."
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