Kafka on the Shore

by Haruki Murakami

"Are you tired of the mountains?"

  "No, I like it there. It's quiet, and I can get a lot of reading done."

  "Good," Oshima says.

  "So what was the problem you mentioned?"

  Oshima shoots a sullen look at the rearview mirror, glances over at me, then faces forward again. "First of all, the police got back in touch with me. Phoned my place last night. Sounds like they're getting serious about tracking you down. They seemed pretty intense about the whole thing."

  "But I have an alibi, don't I?"

  "Yes, you do. A solid alibi. The day the murder took place you were in Shikoku.

  They don't doubt that. What they're thinking is you might've conspired with somebody else."

  "Conspired?"

  "You might have had an accomplice."

  Accomplice? I shake my head. "Where'd they get that idea?"

  "They're pretty tight-lipped about it. They're pushy about asking questions, but get all low key when you try turning the tables on them. So I spent the whole night online, downloading information about the case. Did you know there're a couple of websites up already about it? You're pretty famous. The wandering prince who holds the key to the puzzle."

  I give a small shrug. The wandering prince?

  "With online information it's hard to separate fact from wishful thinking, but you could summarize it like this: The police are now after a guy in his late sixties. The night of the murder he showed up at a police box near the Nogata shopping district and confessed to just having murdered somebody in the neighborhood. Said he stabbed him.

  But he spouted out all kinds of nonsense, so the young cop on the beat tagged him as crazy and sent him on his way without getting the whole story. Of course when the murder came to light, the policeman knew he'd blown it. He hadn't taken down the old man's name or address, and if his superiors heard about it there'd be hell to pay, so he kept quiet about it. But something happened—I have no idea what—and the whole thing came to light. The cop was disciplined, of course. Poor guy'll probably never live it down."

  Oshima downshifts to pass a white Toyota Tercel, then nimbly slips back into the lane. "The police went all out and were able to identify the old man. They don't know his background, but he appears to be mentally impaired. Not retarded, just a teeny bit off.

  He lives by himself on welfare and some support from relatives. But he's disappeared from his apartment. The police traced his movements and think he was hitchhiking, heading for Shikoku. An intercity bus driver thinks he might've ridden his bus out of Kobe. He remembered him because he had an unusual way of talking and said some weird things. Apparently he was with some young guy in his mid-twenties. The two of them got out at Tokushima Station. They've located the inn where they stayed, and according to a housekeeper, they took a train to Takamatsu. The old man's movements and yours overlap exactly. Both of you left Nogata in Nakano Ward and headed straight for Takamatsu. A little too much of a coincidence, so naturally the police are reading something into it—thinking that the two of you planned the whole thing together. The National Police Agency's even getting in the act, and now they're scouring the city. We might not be able to hide you at the library anymore, so I decided you'd better lie low in the mountains."

  "A mentally impaired old man from Nakano?"

  "Ring any bells?"

  I shake my head. "None."

  "His address isn't far from your house. A fifteen-minute walk, apparently."

  "But tons of people live in Nakano. I don't even know who lives next door."

  "There's more," Oshima says, and glances at me. "He's the one who made all those mackerel and sardines rain down from the sky in the Nogata shopping district. At least he predicted to the police that lots of fish would fall from the sky the day before it happened."

  "That's amazing," I say.

  "Isn't it?" Oshima says. "And the same day, in the evening, a huge amount of leeches rained down on the Fujigawa rest stop on the Tomei Highway. Remember?"

  "Yeah, I do."

  "None of this slipped past the police, of course. They're guessing there's got to be some connection between these events and this mystery man they're after. His movements parallel everything so closely."

  The Mozart piece ends, and another begins.

  Hands on the steering wheel, Oshima shakes his head a couple of times. "A really strange turn of events. It started out weird and is getting even weirder as it goes along. Impossible to predict what'll happen next. One thing's for sure, though. Everything seems to be converging right here. The old man's path and yours are bound to cross."

  I close my eyes and listen to the roar of the engine. "Maybe I should go to some other town," I tell him. "Apart from anything else, I don't want to cause you or Miss Saeki any more trouble."

  "But where would you go?"

  "I don't know. But I can figure it out if you take me to the station. It doesn't really matter."

  Oshima sighs. "I don't think that's such a smart idea. The station has to be crawling with cops, all on the lookout for a cool, tall, fifteen-year-old boy lugging a backpack and a bunch of obsessions."

  "So why not take me to a station far away that they're not staking out?"

  "It's all the same. In the end they'll find you."

  I don't say anything.

  "Look, they haven't issued a warrant for your arrest. You're not on the most-wanted list or anything, okay?"

  I nod.

  "Which means you're still free. So I don't need anybody's permission to take you anywhere I want. I'm not breaking the law. I mean, I don't even know your real first name, Kafka. So don't worry about me. I'm a very cautious person. Nobody's going to nab me so easily."

  "Oshima?" I say.

  "Yes?"

  "I didn't plan anything with anybody. If I had to kill my father, I wouldn't ask anybody to do it."

  "I know."

  He stops at a red light and checks the rearview mirror, then pops a lemon drop into his mouth and offers me one.

  I slip it in my mouth. "What comes after that?"

  "What do you mean?" Oshima asks.

  "You said first of all. About why I have to go hide in the hills. If there's a first reason, there's got to be a second."

  Oshima stares at the red light, but it doesn't change. "Compared to the first, the second isn't very important."

  "I still want to hear it."

  "It's about Miss Saeki," he says. The light finally turns green and he steps on the gas. "You're sleeping with her, right?"

  I don't know how to answer that.

  "Don't worry, I'm not blaming you or anything. I just have a sense for these things, that's all. She's a wonderful person, a very attractive lady. She's—special, in all sorts of ways. She's a lot older than you, sure, but so what? I understand your attraction to her. You want to have sex with her, so why not? She wants to have sex with you? More power to her. It doesn't bother me. If you guys are okay with that, it's fine by me."

  Oshima rolls the lemon drop around in his mouth. "But I think it's best if you two keep your distance for a while. And I don't mean because of that bloody mess in Nakano."

  "Why, then?"

  "She's in a very delicate place right now."

  "How so?"

  "Miss Saeki...," he begins, searching for the rest. "What I mean is, she's dying. I've felt it for a long time."

  I raise my sunglasses and look at him closely. He's looking straight ahead as he drives. We've turned onto the highway to Kochi. This time, surprisingly, he keeps to the speed limit. A Toyota Supra whooshes past us.

  "When you say she's dying...," I begin. "You mean she's got an incurable disease? Cancer or leukemia or something?"

  Oshima shakes his head. "That could be. But I don't know anything about her health. For all I know she might be saddled with a disease like that. I think it's more of a psychological issue. The will to live—something to do with that."

  "You're saying she's lost the will to live?"

  "I think so. Lost the will to
go on living."

  "Do you think she's going to kill herself?"

  "No, I don't," Oshima replies. "It's just that very quietly, very steadily, she's heading toward death. Or else death is heading toward her."

  "Like a train heading toward the station?"

  "Something like that," Oshima said, and stopped, his lips taut. "But then you showed up, Kafka. Cool as a cucumber, mysterious as the real Kafka. The two of you were drawn together and, to use the classic expression, you have a relationship."

  "And then?"

  For a brief moment Oshima lifts both hands off the wheel. "That's it."

  I slowly shake my head. "I bet you're thinking I'm the train."

  Oshima doesn't say anything for a long time. "Exactly," he finally says. "That's it, exactly."

  "That I'm bringing about her death?"

  "I'm not blaming you for this, mind you," he says. "It's actually for the best."

  "Why?"

  He doesn't answer this. You're supposed to find the answer to that, his silence tells me. Or maybe he's saying, It's too obvious to even think about.

  I lean back in my seat, shut my eyes, and let my body go limp. "Oshima?"

  "What is it?"

  "I don't know what to do anymore. I don't even know what direction I'm facing in. What's right, what's wrong—whether I should keep on going ahead or turn around. I'm totally lost."

  Oshima keeps silent, no answer forthcoming.

  "You've got to help me. What am I supposed to do?" I ask him.

  "You don't have to do anything," he says simply.

  "Nothing?"

  He nods. "Which is why I'm taking you to the mountains."

  "But what should I do once I get there?"

  "Just listen to the wind," he says. "That's what I always do."

  I mull this over.

  He gently lays a hand over mine. "There are a lot of things that aren't your fault. Or mine, either. Not the fault of prophecies, or curses, or DNA, or absurdity. Not the fault of Structuralism or the Third Industrial Revolution. We all die and disappear, but that's because the mechanism of the world itself is built on destruction and loss. Our lives are just shadows of that guiding principle. Say the wind blows. It can be a strong, violent wind or a gentle breeze. But eventually every kind of wind dies out and disappears. Wind doesn't have form. It's just a movement of air. You should listen carefully, and then you'll understand the metaphor."

  I squeeze his hand back. It's soft and warm. His smooth, sexless, delicately graceful hand. "So you think it's better for me to be away from Miss Saeki for the time being?"

  "I do, Kafka. It's the best thing right now. We should let her be by herself. She's bright, and tough. She's managed to put up with a terrible kind of loneliness for a long time, a lot of painful memories. She can make whatever decisions she needs to make alone."

  "So I'm just a kid who's getting in the way."

  "That's not what I mean," Oshima says softly. "That's not it at all. You did what you had to do. What made sense to you, and to her. Leave the rest up to her. This might sound cold, but there's nothing you can do for her now. You need to get into the mountains and do your own thing. For you, the time is right."

  "Do my own thing?"

  "Just keep your ears open, Kafka," Oshima replied. "Just listen. Imagine you're a clam."

  Chapter 36

  When he got back to the inn, Hoshino found Nakata—no surprise—still fast asleep. The sack he'd put next to him with bread and orange juice was untouched. The old man hadn't shifted an inch, probably hadn't woken up once the whole time. Hoshino counted up the hours. Nakata had gone to sleep at two the previous afternoon, which meant he'd been asleep for thirty solid hours. What day is it, anyway? Hoshino wondered. He was completely losing track of time. He took his memo book out of his bag and checked.

  Let's see, he told himself, we arrived in Tokushima on a Saturday on the bus from Kobe, then Nakata slept till Monday. On Monday we left Tokushima for Takamatsu, Thursday was all that ruckus with the stone and thunder, and that afternoon he went to sleep. So skip ahead one night and that would make today... Friday. It's like the old guy came to Shikoku to attend some Sleep Festival or something.

  Like the night before, Hoshino took a bath, watched TV for a while, then climbed into his futon. Nakata was still breathing peacefully, sound asleep. Whatever, Hoshino thought. Just go with the flow. Let him sleep as much as he wants. No need to worry about that. And he himself fell asleep, at ten-thirty.

  At five the next morning the cell phone in his bag went off, jolting him awake.

  Nakata was still out like a light.

  Hoshino reached for the phone. "Hello."

  "Mr. Hoshino!" A man's voice.

  "Colonel Sanders?" Hoshino said, recognizing the voice.

  "The very one. How's it hanging, sport?"

  "Fine, I guess.... But how'd you get this number? I didn't give it to you, and the phone's been turned off all this time so those clowns from work won't bother me. So how could you call me? You're kind of freaking me out here."

  "It's like I told you, I'm neither a god nor a Buddha, not a human being. I'm something else again—a concept. So making your phone ring is a cinch. Piece of cake. Whether it's turned on or not makes not one jot of difference, my friend. Don't let every little thing get to you, okay? I could've run over and been right there beside you when you woke up, but I figured that'd be a bit of a shock."

  "You bet it would."

  "Which explains the phone call. I'm a well-mannered person, after all."

  "I appreciate it," Hoshino said. "So anyway, what're we supposed to do with the stone? Nakata and I managed to flip it over so that entrance thing opened up. Lightning was flashing like crazy outside, and the stone weighed a ton. Oh, that's right—I haven't told you about Nakata yet. He's the guy I'm traveling with."

  "I know all about Mr. Nakata," Colonel Sanders said. "No need to explain."

  "You know about him?" Hoshino said. "Okay.... Anyhow, Nakata went into hibernation after that, and the stone's still here. Don't you think we should get it back to the shrine? We might be cursed for taking it without permission."

  "You never give up, do you? How many times did I tell you there's no curse?" Colonel Sanders said disgustedly. "Keep the stone there for the time being. You opened it up, and eventually you'll have to close it again. Then you can take it back. But it's not time for that yet. Get it? We okay here?"

  "Yeah, I get it," Hoshino said. "Things that are open have to be shut. Things you have, you gotta return the way they were. All right already! Anyhow, I've decided not to think about things so much. I'll go along with whatever you want, no matter how crazy it sounds. I had a kind of revelation last night. Taking crazy things seriously is—a serious waste of time."

  "A very wise conclusion. There's that saying, 'Pointless thinking is worse than no thinking at all.'"

  "I like that."

  "Very suggestive, don't you think?"

  "Have you heard the saying 'Sheepish butlers' surgical bottle battles'?"

  "What on earth is that supposed to mean?"

  "It's a tongue-twister. I made it up."

  "Your point being?"

  "No point, really. I just felt like saying it."

  "Can the stupid comments, all right? I don't have much patience with inanity. You'll drive me nuts if you keep it up."

  "Sorry," Hoshino said. "But why'd you call me, anyway? You must have had a reason to call so early."

  "That's right. It completely slipped my mind," Colonel Sanders said. "Here's the thing—I want you to leave that inn right this minute. No time to eat breakfast. Just wake up Mr. Nakata, grab the stone, and get out. Get a cab, but don't have the inn call one for you. Go out to the main street and flag one down. Then give the driver this address. Do you have something to write with?"

  "Yep, just a sec," Hoshino replied, grabbing a pen and his notebook from his bag.

  "Broom and dustpan, check."

  "Enough with t
he stupid jokes already!" Colonel Sanders yelled into the phone.

  "I'm serious here. Not a minute to lose."

  "Okay, okay. Go ahead."

  Colonel Sanders recited the address and Hoshino wrote it down, repeating it to make sure he got it right: "Apartment 308, Takamatsu Park Heights 16-15, 3-chome. Is that it?"

  "That's fine," Colonel Sanders replied. "You'll find the key under a black umbrella stand at the front door. Unlock the door and go inside. You can stay there as long as you like. There's a stock of food and things, so you won't have to go out for the time being."

  "That's your place?"

  "It is indeed. I don't own it, though. It's rented. So make yourself at home. I got the place for you two."

  "Colonel?"

  "Yeah?"

  "You told me you're not a god, or a Buddha, or a human being, correct?"

  "Correct."

  "So I'm assuming you're not of this world."

  "You got it."

  "Then how could you rent an apartment? You're not human, so you don't have all the papers and stuff you need, right? A family register, local registration, proof of income, official stamp and seal and all that. If you don't have those, nobody's gonna rent you a place. Did you cheat or something? Like change a leaf by magic into an official stamp? Enough underhanded stuff's gone on already, I don't want to get mixed up in any more."

  "You just don't get it, do you?" Colonel Sanders said, clicking his tongue. "You are one major dimwit. Is your brain made out of jello, you spineless twit? A leaf? What do you think I am, one of those magical raccoons? I'm a concept, get it? Con-cept! Concepts and raccoons aren't exactly the same, now are they? What a dumb thing to say.... Do you really think I went over to the real estate agent's, filled out all the forms, bargained with them to lower the rent? Ridiculous! I have a secretary take care of temporal things. My secretary gets all the necessary documents and things together. What do you expect?"

  "Ah—so you have a secretary!"

  "Damn right I do! Who do you think I am, anyway? You're way out of line. I'm a busy man, so why shouldn't I have a secretary?"

  "All right, all right—don't blow a gasket. I was just pulling your leg. Anyway, why do we have to leave so fast? Can't we at least have a bite before we go? I'm starved, and Mr. Nakata's out like a light. I couldn't wake him up no matter how hard I try."