I'm not doing any one thing in particular, I said, facing upward. I haven't got time to explain now, but I cant move my body, and the water is rising in here. This isn't a dry well anymore. I might drown.
Poor Mr. Wind-Up Bird! said May Kasahara. You emptied yourself out trying so hard to save Kumiko. And you probably did save her. Right? And in the process, you saved lots of people. But you couldn't save yourself. And nobody else could save you. You used up your strength and your fate saving others. All your seeds were planted somewhere else, and now your bag is empty. Have you ever heard of anything so unfair? I feel sympathy for you, Mr. Wind-Up Bird, from the bottom of my heart. Its true. But finally, it was a choice you made yourself. Do you know what I mean?
I do, I said.
I felt a dull throb in my right shoulder. It really happened, then, I told myself. The knife really cut me. It cut me as a real knife.
Are you afraid to die, Mr. Wind-Up Bird? asked May Kasahara.
Sure I am, I said. I could hear my voice reverberating in the well. It was my voice, and at the same time it wasn't. Sure I'm afraid when I think about dying down here in a dark well.
Goodbye, then, poor Mr. Wind-Up Bird, said May Kasahara. Sorry, theres nothing I can do for you. I'm far, far away.
Goodbye, May Kasahara, I said. You looked great in a bikini. May Kasahara's voice was very quiet as she said, Goodbye, poor Mr. Wind-Up Bird. The well cover closed tightly again. The image faded. But nothing happened. The image was not linked to anything. I shouted toward the well mouth, May Kasahara, where are you now when I need you?
The water was up to my throat. Now it was wrapped around my neck like a noose. In anticipation, I was beginning to find it difficult to breathe. My heart, now underwater, was working hard to tick off the time it had remaining. At this rate, I would have another five minutes or so before the water covered my mouth and nose and started filling my lungs. There was no way I could win. I had brought this well back to life, and I would die in its rebirth. It was not a bad way to die, I told myself. The world is full of much worse ways to die.
I closed my eyes and tried to accept my impending death as calmly as I could. I struggled to overcome my fear. At least I was able to leave a few things behind. That was the one small bit of good news. I tried to smile, without much success. I am afraid to die, though, I whispered to myself. These turned out to be my last words. They were not very impressive words, but it was too late to change them. The water was over my mouth now. Then it came to my nose. I stopped breathing. My lungs fought to suck in new air. But there was no more air. There was only lukewarm water.
I was dying. Like all the other people who live in this world.
36 The Story of the Duck People
Shadows and Tears
(May Kasahara's Point of View: 6)
Hi, again, Mr. Wind-Up Bird.
Hey, are these letters really getting to you?
I mean, I've been writing you tons and tons of letters, and I'm really starting to wonder if they ever reach you. The address I've been using is a kind of kind of thing, and I don't put a return address on the envelope, so maybe they're just piling up on the little letter lost shelf in a post office somewhere, unread and all covered with dust. Up to now, I figured: OK, if they're not getting through, they're not getting through, so what? I've been scratching away at these things, but the important thing was for me to put my thoughts down on paper. Its easy for me to write if I think I'm writing to you, Mr. Wind-Up Bird, I don't know why. Hey, yeah, why is that?
But this letter is one I really want you to read. I hope and pray it gets to you.
Now I'm going to write about the duck people. Yes, I know this is the first time I've mentioned them, but here goes.
I told you before how this factory I'm working in has this huge property, with woods and a pond and stuff. Its great for taking walks. The ponds a pretty big one, and thats where the duck people live, maybe twelve birds altogether. I don't know how their family is organized. I suppose they've got their internal arrangements, with some members getting along better with some and not so well with others, but I've never seen them fight.
Its December, so ice has started to form on the pond, but not such thick ice. Even when its cold, theres still enough open water left so the ducks can swim around a little bit. When its cold enough for thick ice, I'm told, some of the girls cone here to ice-skate. Then the duck people (yes, I know its a weird expression, but I've gotten in the habit of using it, so it just comes out) will have to go somewhere else. I don't like ice-skating, so I'm kind of hoping there wont be any ice, but I don't think its going to do any good. I mean, it gets really cold in this part of the country, so as long as they go on living here, the duck people are going to have to resign themselves to it.
I come here every weekend these days and kill time watching the duck people. When I'm doing that, two or three hours can go by before I know it. I go out in the cold, armed head to foot like some kind of polar-bear hunter: tights, hat, scarf, boots, fur-trimmed coat. And I spend hours sitting on a rock all by myself, spacing out, watching the duck people. Sometimes I feed them old bread. Of course, theres nobody else here with the time to do such crazy things. You may not know this, Mr. Wind-Up Bird, but ducks are very pleasant people to spend time with. I never get tired of watching them. I'll never understand why everybody else bothers to go somewhere way far away and pay good money to see some stupid movie instead of enjoying these people. Like sometimes they'll come flapping through the air and land on the ice, but their feet slide and they fall over. Its like a TV comedy! They make me laugh even with nobody else around. Of course, they're not clowning around trying to make me laugh. They're doing their best to live very serious lives, and they just happen to fall down sometimes. I think thats neat.
The duck people have these flat orange feet that are really cute, like they're wearing little kids rain boots, but they're not made for walking on ice, I guess, because I see them slipping and sliding all over the place, and some even fall on their bottoms. They must not have nonslip treads. So winter is not a really fun season for the duck people, probably. I wonder what they think, deep down inside, about ice and stuff. I bet they don't hate it all that much. It just seems that way to me from watching them. They look like they're living happily enough, even if its winter, probably just grumbling to themselves, Ice again? Oh, well... That's another thing I really like about the duck people.
The pond is in the middle of the woods, far from everything. Nobody (but me, of course!) bothers to walk all the way over here at this time of year, except on unusually warm days. I walk down the path through the woods, and my boots crunch on the ice thats left from a recent snowfall. I see lots of birds all around. When I've got my collar up and my scarf wrapped round and round under my chin, and my breath makes white puffs in the air, and I've got a chunk of bread in my pocket, and I'm walking down the path in the woods, thinking about the duck people, I get this really warm, happy feeling, and it hits me that I haven't felt happy like this for a long, long time.
OK, thats enough about the duck people.
To tell you the truth, I woke up an hour ago from a dream about you, Mr. Wind-Up Bird, and I've been sitting here, writing you this letter. Right now its (I look at my clock) exactly 2:18 a.m. I got into bed just before ten o'clock, as usual, said Good night, everybody to the duck people, and fell fast asleep, but then, a little while ago, I woke up-bang! Actually, I'm not sure it was a dream. I mean, I don't remember anything I was dreaming about. Maybe I wasn't dreaming. But whatever it was, J heard your voice right next to my ear. You were calling to me over and over in this really loud voice. That's what shocked me awake.