1q84

by Haruki Murakami

  “A company?”

  “Company, office, firm—call it anything you like. To handle Fuka-Eri’s literary activities. A paper company, of course. Officially, Fuka-Eri will be paid by the company. We’ll have Professor Ebisuno be her representative and you’ll be a company employee. We can make up some kind of title for you, it doesn’t matter, but the main thing is the company will pay you. I’ll be in on it, too, but without revealing my name. If people found out that I was involved, that would cause some serious trouble. Anyway, that’s how we divide up the profits. All I need is for you to put your seal on a few documents, and I’ll take care of the rest. I know a good lawyer.”

  Tengo thought about what Komatsu was telling him. “Can you please just drop me from your plan? I don’t need to be paid. I enjoyed rewriting Air Chrysalis, and I learned a lot from it. I’m glad that Fuka-Eri got the prize and I’ll do my best to prepare her for the press conference. But that’s all. I don’t want to have anything to do with this convoluted ‘company’ arrangement. That would be straight-up fraud.”

  “You can’t turn back now, Tengo,” Komatsu said. “Straight-up fraud? Maybe so. But you must have known that from the start when we decided to pull the wool over people’s eyes with this half-invented author, Fuka-Eri. Am I right? Of course something like this is going to involve money, and that’s going to require a sophisticated system to handle it. This is not child’s play. It’s too late to start saying you don’t want to have anything to do with it, that it’s too dangerous, that you don’t need money. If you were going to get out of the boat, you should have done it before, while the stream was still gentle. You can’t do it now. We need an official head count to set up a company, and I can’t start bringing in new people now who don’t know what’s going on. You have to do it. You’re right in the thick of what’s happening now.”

  Tengo racked his brain without producing a single useful thought. “I do have one question, though,” he said to Komatsu. “Judging from what you’re saying, Professor Ebisuno intends to give his full approval to the plan. It sounds as if he’s already agreed to set up the fake company and act as a representative.”

  “As Fuka-Eri’s guardian, the Professor understands and approves of the entire situation and has given us the green light. I called him as soon as you told me about your talk with him. He remembered me, of course. I think he didn’t say anything about me because he wanted to get your uncensored opinion of me. He said you impressed him as a sharp observer of people. What in the world did you tell him about me?”

  “What does Professor Ebisuno have to gain from participating in this plan? He can’t possibly be doing it for the money.”

  “You’re right about that. He’s not the kind of guy to be influenced by a little spare change.”

  “So why would he let himself get involved in such a risky plan? Does he have something to gain from it?”

  “I don’t know any better than you do. He’s a hard one to read.”

  “And so are you. That gives us a lot of deep motives to guess about.”

  “Well, anyway,” Komatsu said, “the Professor may look like just another innocent old guy, but in fact he’s quite inscrutable.”

  “How much does Fuka-Eri know about the plan?”

  “She doesn’t know—and she doesn’t need to know—anything about the behind-the-scenes stuff. She trusts Professor Ebisuno and she likes you. That’s why I’m asking you for more help.”

  Tengo shifted the phone from one hand to the other. He felt a need to trace the progress of the current situation. “By the way, Professor Ebisuno is not a scholar anymore, is he? He left the university, and he’s not writing books or anything.”

  “True, he’s cut all ties with academia. He was an outstanding scholar, but he doesn’t seem to miss the academic world. But then, he never did want much to do with authority or the organization. He was always something of a maverick.”

  “What sort of work is he doing now?”

  “I think he’s a stockbroker,” Komatsu said. “Or, if that sounds too old-fashioned, he’s an investment consultant. He manages money for people, and while he moves it around for them, he makes his own profit on the side. He stays holed up on the mountaintop, issuing suggestions to buy or sell. His instinct for it is frighteningly good. He also excels at analyzing data and has put together his own system. It was just a hobby for him at first, but it became his main profession. So that’s the story. He’s pretty famous in those circles. One thing’s for sure: he’s not hurting for money.”

  “I don’t see any connection between cultural anthropology and stock trading,” Tengo said.

  “In general, there is no connection, but there is for him.”

  “And he’s a hard one to read.”

  “Exactly.”

  Tengo pressed his fingertips against his temples. Then, resigning himself to his fate, he said, “I’ll meet Fuka-Eri at the usual café in Shinjuku at six o’clock the day after tomorrow, and we’ll prepare for the press conference. That’s what you want me to do, right?”

  “That’s the plan,” Komatsu said. “You know, Tengo, don’t think too hard about this stuff for the time being. Just go with the flow. Things like this don’t happen all that often in one lifetime. This is the magnificent world of a picaresque novel. Just brace yourself and enjoy the smell of evil. We’re shooting the rapids. And when we go over the falls, let’s do it together in grand style!”

  Tengo met Fuka-Eri at the Shinjuku café in the evening two days later. She wore a slim pair of jeans and a thin summer sweater that clearly revealed the outline of her breasts. Her hair hung down long and straight, and her skin had a fresh glow. The male customers kept glancing in her direction. Tengo could feel their gazes. Fuka-Eri herself, though, seemed totally unaware of them. When this girl was announced as the winner of a literary magazine’s new writers’ prize, it would almost certainly cause a commotion.

  Fuka-Eri had already received word that she had won the prize, but she seemed neither pleased nor excited by it. She didn’t care one way or the other. It was a summerlike day, but she ordered hot cocoa and clutched the cup in both hands, savoring every drop. No one had told her about the upcoming press conference, but when Tengo explained, she had no reaction.

  “You do know what a press conference is, don’t you?”

  “Press conference …” Fuka-Eri repeated the words.

  “You sit up on the podium and answer questions from a bunch of newspaper and magazine reporters. They’ll take your picture. There might even be TV cameras. The whole country will see reports on the questions and answers. It’s very unusual for a seventeen-year-old girl to win a literary magazine’s new writers’ award. It’ll be big news. They’ll make a big deal of the fact that the committee’s decision was unanimous. That almost never happens.”

  “Questions and answers,” Fuka-Eri asked.

  “They ask the questions, you give the answers.”

  “What kind of questions.”

  “All kinds of questions. About the work, about you, about your private life, your hobbies, your plans for the future. It might be a good idea to prepare answers now for those kinds of questions.”

  “Why.”

  “It’s safer that way. So you aren’t at a loss for answers and don’t say anything that might invite misunderstanding. It wouldn’t hurt to get ready for it now. Kind of like a rehearsal.”

  Fuka-Eri drank her cocoa in silence. Then she looked at Tengo with eyes that said, “I’m really not interested in doing such a thing, but if you think it’s necessary …” Her eyes could be more eloquent—or at least speak more full sentences—than her words. But she could hardly conduct a press conference with her eyes.

  Tengo took a piece of paper from his briefcase and unfolded it on the table. It contained a list of questions that were likely to come up at the press conference. Tengo had put a lot of time and thought into compiling it the night before.

  “I’ll ask a question, and you answer me as if I
’m a newspaper reporter, okay?”

  Fuka-Eri nodded.

  “Have you written lots of stories before?”

  “Lots,” Fuka-Eri replied.

  “When did you start writing?”

  “A long time ago.”

  “That’s fine,” Tengo said. “Short answers are good. No need to add anything extra. Like, the fact that Azami did the writing for you. Okay?”

  Fuka-Eri nodded.

  “You shouldn’t say anything about that. It’s just our little secret, yours and mine.”

  “I won’t say anything about that,” Fuka-Eri said.

  “Did you think you’d win when you submitted your work for the new writers’ prize?”

  She smiled but said nothing.

  “So you don’t want to answer that?”

  “No.”

  “That’s fine. Just keep quiet and smile when you don’t want to answer. They’re stupid questions, anyway.”

  Fuka-Eri nodded again.

  “Where did you get the story line for Air Chrysalis?”

  “From the blind goat.”

  “Good answer. What are your friends at school saying about your winning the prize?”

  “I don’t go to school.”

  “Why don’t you go to school?”

  No answer.

  “Do you plan to keep writing fiction?”

  Silence again.

  Tengo drank the last of his coffee and returned the cup to the saucer. From the speakers recessed in the café’s ceiling, a string performance of soundtrack music from The Sound of Music played at low volume.

  Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens …

  “Are my answers bad,” Fuka-Eri asked.

  “Not at all,” Tengo said. “Not at all. They’re fine.”

  “Good,” Fuka-Eri said.

  Tengo meant it. Even though she could not speak more than a sentence at a time and some punctuation marks were missing, her answers were, in a sense, perfect. The best thing was her instant response to every question. Also good was the way she looked directly into the eyes of the questioner without blinking. This proved that her answers were honest and their shortness was not meant as a put-down. Another bonus was that no one was likely to be able to grasp her precise meaning. That was the main thing that Tengo was hoping for—that she should give an impression of sincerity even as she mystified her listeners.

  “Your favorite novel is …?”

  “The Tale of the Heike.”

  Tengo was astounded. To think that a thirteenth-century samurai war chronicle should be her favorite “novel”! What a great answer!

  “What do you like about The Tale of the Heike?”

  “Everything.”

  “How about another favorite?”

  “Tales of Times Now Past.”

  “But that’s even older! Don’t you read any new literature?”

  Fuka-Eri gave it a moment of thought before saying, “ ‘Sansho the Bailiff.’ ”

  Wonderful! Ogai Mori must have written that one around 1915. This was what she thought of as “new literature.”

  “Do you have any hobbies?”

  “Listening to music.”

  “What kind of music?”

  “I like Bach.”

  “Anything in particular?”

  “BWV 846 to 893.”

  Tengo mulled that one over. “The Well-Tempered Clavier, Books I and II.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why did you answer with the BWV numbers?”

  “They’re easier to remember.”

  The Well-Tempered Clavier was truly heavenly music for mathematicians. It was composed of prelude and fugue pairs in major and minor keys using all twelve tones of the scale, twenty-four pieces per book, forty-eight pieces in all, comprising a perfect cycle.

  “How about other works?” Tengo asked.

  “BWV 244.”

  Tengo could not immediately recall which work of Bach’s had a BWV number of 244.

  Fuka-Eri began to sing.

  Buß’ und Reu’

  Buß’ und Reu’

  Knirscht das Sündenherz entzwei

  Buß’ und Reu’

  Buß’ und Reu’

  Knirscht das Sündenherz entzwei

  Knirscht das Sündenherz entzwei

  Buß’ und Reu’ Buß’ und Reu’

  Knirscht das Sündenherz entzwei

  Buß’ und Reu’

  Knirscht das Sündenherz entzwei

  Daß die Tropfen meiner Zähren

  Angenehme Spezerei

  Treuer Jesu, dir gebären.

  Tengo was momentarily dumbstruck. Her singing was not exactly on key, but her German pronunciation was amazingly clear and precise.

  “ ‘St. Matthew Passion,’ ” Tengo said. “You know it by heart.”

  “No I don’t,” the girl said.

  Tengo wanted to say something, but the words would not come to him. All he could do was look down at his notes and move on to the next question.

  “Do you have a boyfriend?”

  Fuka-Eri shook her head.

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t want to get pregnant.”

  “It’s possible to have a boyfriend without getting pregnant.”

  Fuka-Eri said nothing but instead blinked several times.

  “Why don’t you want to get pregnant?”

  Fuka-Eri kept her mouth clamped shut. Tengo felt sorry for having asked such a stupid question.

  “Okay, let’s stop,” Tengo said, returning the list to his briefcase. “We don’t really know what they’re going to ask, and you’ll be fine answering them any way you like. You can do it.”

  “That’s good,” Fuka-Eri said with apparent relief.

  “I’m sure you think it’s a waste of time to prepare these answers.”

  Fuka-Eri gave a little shrug.

  “I agree with you. I’m not doing this because I want to. Mr. Komatsu asked me to do it.”

  Fuka-Eri nodded.

  “But,” Tengo said, “please don’t tell anyone that I rewrote Air Chrysalis. You understand that, don’t you?”

  Fuka-Eri nodded twice. “I wrote it by myself.”

  “In any case, Air Chrysalis is your work alone and no one else’s. That has been clear from the outset.”

  “I wrote it by myself,” Fuka-Eri said again.

  “Did you read my rewritten Air Chrysalis?”

  “Azami read it to me.”

  “How did you like it?”

  “You’re a good writer.”

  “Which means you liked it, I suppose?”

  “It’s like I wrote it,” Fuka-Eri said.

  Tengo looked at her. She picked up her cocoa cup and took a sip. He had to struggle not to look at the lovely swell of her chest.

  “I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “I really enjoyed rewriting Air Chrysalis. Of course, it was very hard work trying not to destroy what you’d done with it. So it’s very important to me to know whether you liked the finished product or not.”

  Fuka-Eri nodded silently. Then, as if trying to ascertain something, she brought her hand up to her small, well-formed earlobe.

  The waitress approached and refilled their water glasses. Tengo took a swallow to moisten his throat. Then, screwing up his courage, he gave voice to a thought that he had been toying with for a while.

  “I have my own request to make of you now, if you don’t mind.”

  “What’s that.”

  “I’d like you to go to the press conference in the same clothes you’re wearing today.”

  Fuka-Eri gave him a puzzled look. Then she looked down to check each article of clothing she had on, as if she had been unaware until this moment of what she was wearing.

  “You want me to go wearing this,” she asked.

  “Right. I’d like you to go to the press conference wearing exactly what you’re wearing now.”

  “Why.”

  “It looks good on you. It shows off the shape of your chest beauti
fully. This is strictly my own hunch, but I suspect the reporters won’t be able to stop themselves from looking down there and they’ll forget to ask you tough questions. Of course, if you don’t like the idea, that’s fine. I’m not insisting.”

  Fuka-Eri said, “Azami picks all my clothes.”

  “Not you?”

  “I don’t care what I wear.”

  “So Azami picked your outfit today?”

  “Azami picked it.”

  “Even so, it looks great on you.”

  “So this outfit makes my chest look good,” she asked without a question mark.

  “Most definitely. It’s a real attention-getter.”

  “This sweater and bra are a good match.”

  Fuka-Eri looked straight into his eyes. Tengo felt himself blushing.

  “I can’t tell what kind of matching is involved, but the, uh, effect is excellent.”

  Fuka-Eri was still staring into Tengo’s eyes. Gravely, she asked, “You can’t stop yourself from looking down there.”

  “It’s true, I must confess,” Tengo said.

  Fuka-Eri pulled on the collar of her sweater and all but stuck her nose inside as she looked down, apparently to check out what kind of bra she had on today. Then she focused her eyes on Tengo’s bright red face for a moment as if looking at some kind of curiosity. “I will do as you say,” she said a moment later.

  “Thank you,” Tengo said, bringing their session to an end.

  Tengo walked Fuka-Eri to Shinjuku Station. Many people on the street had their jackets off. A few women wore sleeveless tops. The bustle of people combined with the traffic created the liberated sound unique to the city. A fresh early-summer breeze swept down the street. Tengo was mystified: where could such a wonderful-smelling wind come from to reach the crowded streets of Shinjuku?

  “Are you going back to your house in the country?” Tengo asked Fuka-Eri. The trains were jammed; it would take her forever to get home.

  Fuka-Eri shook her head. “I have a room in Shinano-machi. Just a few minutes away from here.”

  “You stay there when it gets too late to go home?”

  “Futamatao is too far away.”

  As before, Fuka-Eri held Tengo’s left hand while they were walking to the station. She did it the way a little girl holds a grown-up’s hand, but still it made Tengo’s heart pound to have his hand held by such a beautiful girl.