按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
thank you for today；〃 Midori said to me when she saw me to
reception。
〃I didn't do that much；〃 I said。 〃But if I can be of any help； I'll e
next week； too。 I'd like to see your father again。〃
〃Really？〃
〃Well； there's not that much for me to do in the dorm； and if I e
here I get to eat cucumbers。〃
Midori folded her arms and tapped the linoleum with the heel of her
shoe。
〃I'd like to go drinking with you again；〃 she said； cocking her head
slightly。
〃How about the porno movies？〃
〃We'll do that first and then go drinking。 And we'll talk about all the
usual disgusting things。〃
〃I'm not the one who talks about disgusting things；〃 I protested。 〃It's
you。〃
〃Anyway； we'll talk about things like that and get plastered and go to
bed。〃
〃And you know what happens next；〃 I said with a sigh。 〃I try to do it；
and you don't let me。 Right？〃 She laughed through her nose。
〃Anyway；〃 I said； 〃pick me up again next Sunday morning。 We'll
e here together。〃
〃With me in a little longer skirt？〃
〃Definitely；〃 I said。
I didn't go to the hospital that next Sunday； though。 Midori's father
died on Friday morning。
She called at 6。30 in the morning to tell me that。 The buzzer letting me
know I had a phone call went off and I ran down to the lobby with a
cardigan thrown over my pyjamas。 A cold rain was falling silently。
〃My father died a few minutes ago；〃 Midori said in a small； quiet
voice。 I asked her if there was anything I could do。 〃Thanks；〃 she said。
〃There's really nothing。 We're used to funerals。 I just wanted to let you
know。〃
A kind of sigh escaped her lips。
〃Don't e to the funeral； OK？ I hate stuff like that。 I don't want to
see you there。〃
〃I get it；〃 I said。
〃Will you really take me to a porno movie？〃 〃Of course I will。〃
〃A really disgusting one。〃
〃I'll research the matter thoroughly。〃 〃Good。 I'll call you；〃 she said and
hung up。
A week went by without a word from Midori。 No calls； no sign of her
in the lecture hall。 I kept hoping for a message from her whenever I
went back to the dorm； but there were never any。 One night； I tried to
keep my promise by thinking of her when I masturbated； but it didn't
work。 I tried switching over to Naoko； but not even Naoko's image
was any help that time。 It seemed so ridiculous I gave up。 I took a
swig of whisky； brushed my teeth and went to bed。
I wrote a letter to Naoko on Sunday morning。 One thing I told her
about was Midori's father。 I went to the hospital to visit the father of a
girl in one of my lectures and ate some cucumbers in his room。 When
he heard me crunching on them； he wanted some too； and he ate his
with the same crunching sound。 Five days later； though； he died。 I still
have a vivid memory of the tiny crunching he made when he chewed
his pieces of cucumber。 People leave strange； little memories of
themselves behind when they die。 My letter went on：
I think of you and Reiko and the aviary while I lie in bed after waking
up in the morning。 I think about the peacock and pigeons and parrots
and turkeys … and about the rabbits。 I remember the yellow raincapes
you and Reiko wore with the hoods up that rainy morning。 It feels
good to think about you when I鎶Αarm in bed。 I feel as if you're
curled up there beside me； fast asleep。 And I think how great it would
be if it were true。
I miss you terribly sometimes； but in general I go on living with all the
energy I can muster。 Just as you take care of the birds and the fields
every morning； every morning I wind my own spring。 I give it some
36 good twists by the time I've got up； brushed my teeth； shaved； eaten
breakfast； changed my clothes； left the dorm； and arrived at the
university。 I tell myself； 〃OK； let's make this day another good one。〃 I
hadn't noticed before； but they tell me I talk to myself a lot these days。
Probably mumbling to myself while I wind my spring。
It's hard not being able to see you； but my life in Tokyo would be a lot
worse if it weren't for you。 It's because I think of you when I'm in bed
in the morning that I can wind my spring and tell myself I have to live
another good day。 I know I have to give it my best here just as you are
doing there。
Today's Sunday； though； a day I don't wind my spring。 I've done my
laundry； and now I'm in my room； writing to you。 Once I've finished
this letter and put a stamp on it and dropped it into the postbox； there's
nothing for me to do until the sun goes down。 I don't study on
Sundays； either。 I do a good enough job on weekdays studying in the
library between lectures； so I don't have anything left to do on
Sundays。 Sunday afternoons are quiet； peaceful and； for me； lonely。 I
read books or listen to music。 Sometimes I think back on the different
routes we used to take in our Sunday walks around Tokyo。 I can e
up with a pretty clear picture of the clothes you were wearing on any
particular walk。 I remember all kinds of things on Sunday afternoons。
Say 〃Hi〃 from me to Reiko。 I really miss her guitar at night。
When I had finished the letter； I walked a couple of blocks to a
postbox； then bought an egg sandwich and a Coke at a nearby bakery。
I had these for lunch while I sat on a bench and watched some boys
playing baseball in a local playground。 The deepening of autumn had
brought an increased blueness and depth to the sky。 I glanced up to
find two vapour trails heading off to the west in perfect parallel like
tram tracks。 A foul ball came rolling my way； and when I threw it
back to them the young players doffed their caps with a polite 〃Thank
you； sir〃。 As in most junior baseball； there were lots of walks and
stolen bases。
After noon I went back to my room to read but couldn't concentrate。
Instead I found myself staring at the ceiling and thinking about
Midori。 I wondered if her father had really been trying to ask me to
look after her when he was gone； but I had no way of telling what had
been on his mind。 He had probably confused me with somebody else。
In any case； he had died on a Friday morning when a cold rain was
falling； and now it was impossible to know the truth。 I imagined that；
in death； he had shrivelled up smaller than ever。 And then they had
burned him in an oven until he was nothing but ashes。 And what had
he left behind？ A nothing …much bookshop in a nothing…much
neighbourhood and two daughters； at least one ofwhom was more
than a little strange。 What kind of life was that？ I wondered。 Lying in
that hospital bed with his cut…open head and his muddled brain； what
had been on his mind as he looked at me？
Thinking thoughts like this about Midori's father put me into such a
miserable mood that I had to bring the laundry down from the roof
before it was really dry and set off for Shinjuku to kill time walking
the streets。 The Sunday crowds gave me some relief。 The Kinokuniya
bookshop was as jampacked as a rush…hour train。 I bought a copy of
Faulkner's Light in August and went to the noisiest jazz caf茅 I could
think of； reading my new book while listening to Ornette Coleman and
Bud Powell and drinking hot； thick； foul…tasting coffee。 At 5。30 I
clo