To that I did not reply. Tell me, Mr. Wind-Up Bird, did you sleep with her? I hesitated a moment and said, No, I didn't. Really? Really. I don't have that kind of physical relationship with her. So why were you holding her? Women feel that way sometimes: they want to be held. Maybe so, said May Kasahara, but an idea like that can be a little dangerous. Its true, I said. Whats her name? Creta Kano. May Kasahara fell silent at her end. You're kidding, right? she said at last. Not at all. And her sisters name is Malta Kano.
Malta?! That cant be her real name. No, it isn't. Its her professional name. What are they, a comedy team? Or do they have some connection with the Mediterranean Sea? Actually, there is some connection with the Mediterranean.
Does the sister dress like a normal person? Pretty much, I said. Her clothing is a lot more normal than Cretas, at least. Except she always wears this red vinyl hat.
Something tells me shes not exactly normal, either. Why do you always have to go out of your way to hang around with such off-the-wall people?
Now, that really would be a long story. If everything settles down sometime, I may be able to tell you. But not now. My head is too messed up. And things are even more messed up.
Yeah, sure, she said, with a note of suspicion in her voice. Anyway, your wife hasn't come back yet, has she?
No, not yet.
You know, Mr. Wind-Up Bird, you're a grown man. Why don't you use your head a little bit? If your wife had changed her mind and come home last night, she would have seen you with your arms locked around this woman. Then what?
True, that was a possibility.
And if she had been the one making this call, not me, and you started talking about telephone sex, what would she have thought about that?
You're right, I said. I'm telling you, you've got a problem, she said, with a sigh. Its true, I do have a problem. Stop agreeing with everything I say! Its not as if you're going to solve everything by admitting your mistakes. Whether you admit them or not, mistakes are mistakes. Its true, I said. It was true. I cant stand it anymore! said May Kasahara. Anyway, tell me, what did you want last night? You came to my house looking for something, right? Oh, that. Never mind. Never mind? Yeah. Finally, its ... never mind.
In other words, she gave you a hug, so you don't need me anymore. No, thats not it. It just seemed to me- At which point May Kasahara hung up. Terrific. May Kasahara, Malta Kano, Creta Kano, the telephone woman, and Kumiko. May Kasahara was right: I had just a few too many women around me these days. And each one came packaged with her own special, inscrutable problem.
But I was too tired to think. I had to get some sleep. And there was something I would have to do when I woke up.
I went back to bed and fell asleep.
When I did wake up, I took a knapsack from the drawer. It was the one we kept for earthquakes and other emergencies that might require evacuation. Inside was a water bottle, crackers, a flashlight, and a lighter. The whole was a set that Kumiko had bought when we moved into this house, just in case the Big One should hit. The water bottle was empty, though, the crackers were soggy, and the flashlights batteries were dead. I filled the bottle with water, threw away the crackers, and put new batteries in the flashlight. Then I went to the neighborhood hardware store and bought one of those rope ladders they sell as emergency fire escapes. I thought about what else I might need, but nothing came to mind- besides lemon drops. I went through the house, shutting windows and turning off lights. I made sure the front door was locked, but then I reconsidered. Somebody might come looking for me while I was gone. Kumiko might come back. And besides, there was nothing here worth stealing. I left a note on the kitchen table: Gone for a while. Will return. T.
I wondered what it would be like for Kumiko to find this note. How would she take it? I crumpled it up and wrote a new one: Have to go out for a while on important business. Back soon. Please wait. T. Wearing chinos, a short-sleeved polo shirt, and the knapsack, I stepped down into the yard from the veranda. All around me were the unmistakable signs of summer-the genuine article, without reservations or conditions. The glow of the sun, the smell of the breeze, the blue of the sky, the shape of the clouds, the whirring of the cicadas: everything . announced the authentic arrival of summer. And there I was, a pack on my back, scaling the garden wall and dropping down into the alley.
Once, as a kid, I had run away from home on a beautiful summer morning just like this. I couldn't recall what had led up to my decision to go. I was probably mad at my parents. I left home with a knapsack on my back and, in my pocket, all the money I had saved. I told my mother I would be hiking with some friends and got her to make a lunch for me. There were good hills for hiking just above our house, and kids often went climbing in them without adult supervision. Once I was out of the house, I got on the bus that I had chosen for myself and rode it to the end of the line. To me, this was a strange and distant town. Here I transferred to another bus and rode it to yet another strange and distant-still more distant-town. Without even knowing the name of the place, I got off the bus and wandered through the streets. There was nothing special about this particular town: it was a little more lively than the neighborhood where I lived, and a little more run-down. It had a street lined with shops, and a commuter train station, and a few small factories. A stream ran through the town, and facing the stream stood a movie house. A signboard out front announced they were showing a western. At noon I sat on a park bench and ate my lunch. I stayed in the town until early evening, and when the sun began to sink, my heart did too. This is your last chance to go back, I told myself. Once it gets completely dark, you might never be able to leave here. I went home on the same buses that had brought me there. I arrived before seven, and no one noticed that I had run away. My parents had thought I was out in the hills with the other kids.
I had forgotten all about that particular event. But the moment I found myself scaling the wall wearing a knapsack, the feeling came back to me-the indescribable loneliness I had felt, standing by myself amid unfamiliar streets and unfamiliar people and unfamiliar houses, watching the afternoon sun lose its light bit by bit. And then I thought of Kumiko: Kumiko, who had disappeared somewhere, taking with her only her shoulder bag and her blouse and skirt from the cleaners. She had passed her last chance to turn back. And now she was probably standing by herself in some strange and distant town. I could hardly bear to think of her that way.
But no, she couldn't be by herself. She had to be with a man. That was the only way this made sense.
I stopped thinking about Kumiko.
I made my way down the alley.
The grass underfoot had lost the living, breathing greenness it had seemed to possess during the spring rains, and now it wore the frankly dull look typical of summer grass. From among these blades a green grasshopper would leap out now and then as I walked along. Sometimes even frogs would jump away. The alley had become the world of these little creatures, and I was simply an intruder come to upset the prevailing order.
When I reached the Miyawaki's vacant house, I opened the gate and walked in without hesitation. I pressed on through the tall grass to the middle of the yard, passed the dingy bird statue, which continued to stare at the sky, and walked around to the side of the house, hoping that May Kasahara had not seen me come in.
The first thing I did when I got to the well was to remove the stones that held the cap on, then take off one of the two wooden half-circles. To make sure there was still no water at the bottom, I threw in a pebble, as I had done before. And as before, the pebble hit with a dry thud. There was no water. I set down the knapsack, took the rope ladder out, and tied one end of it to the trunk of the nearby tree. I pulled on it as hard as I could to be sure it would hold. This was something on which it was impossible to lavish too much care. If, by some chance, the ladder somehow got loose or came undone, I would probably never make it back to the surface.