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《村上春树短篇集》
四月一个晴朗的早晨，遇见一个百分之百的女孩
四月里一个睛朗的早晨,我在原宿的一条巷子里,和一位100%的女孩擦肩而过.
并不是怎样漂亮的女孩,也没穿什么别致的衣服,头发在后面,甚至还残留着睡觉压扁的痕迹,年龄很可能已经接近三十了.可是从五十公尺外,我已经非常肯定,她对我来说,正是100%的女孩.从第一眼望见她的影子的瞬息开始,我的心胸立刻不规则的跳动起来,嘴巴像沙漠一样火辣辣地乾渴.
或许你有你喜欢的女孩类型,例如你说小腿纤细的女孩子好,也许非要手指漂亮的女孩才行,或者不知道为什么,老是被吃东西慢吞吞的女孩子所吸引,就是这种感觉.我当然也有这一类的偏好.在餐厅一面用餐的时候,就曾经为邻座女孩的鼻子轮廓,看傻眼过.
可是谁也无法把100%具体描述出来.她的鼻子到底长成什么样子?我是绝对想不起来.不,甚至到底有没有有鼻子,我都搞不清楚.现在我能记得的,顶多只是:她不怎么漂亮.如此而已.真是有点不可思议.
"昨天我在街上遇到一个100%的女孩子."我跟某一个人这样说.
"喔?"他回答说:"漂亮吗?"
"不,不算漂亮."
"那么该九九藏书是你喜欢的类型吧?"
"这个我也不记得了.眼睛长的什么模样,或者胸部是大是小,我可是一点都想不起
来唷."
"真是奇怪啊."
"实在奇怪喔."
"那么....."他有点没趣的问说:"你做了什么吗?开口招呼她,或者从后面跟踪她?"
"什么也没做."我说:"只不过擦身而过而已."
她从东边往西走,我从西边往东走.真是一个非常舒服的四月早晨.
我想,就算三十分钟也好,跟她谈谈看.想问一问她的身世,也想告诉他我的一些事.
而且,更重要的,是想解开一九八一年四月里,我们在原宿得巷子里,擦肩而过为止的类似命运经纬的东西.那期中必然充满了像是和平时代的古老机器似的温暖的秘密.
我们谈完这些后,就到什么地方去吃午餐,甚至看一场伍迪艾伦的电影,再经过饭店的酒吧,喝个鸡尾酒什么的,如果顺利的话,接下来或许会跟她睡一觉.
可能性正敲响我的心门.
我和她之间的距离,已经只剩下十五公尺了.
接下来,我到底该怎么开口向她招呼才好呢?
"你好!只要三十分钟就好,能不能跟我谈一谈?"
好驴!简直像在拉保险嘛.
"对不起!这附近有没有二十四小时营业的洗衣店?"
这也驴!首先我就没拎一袋要洗的东西呀.
或者乾脆单刀直入地坦白说:"你好!你对我来说是100%的女孩唷."
她或许不会相信这种对白.而且就算她相信也好,很可能她并不想跟我说话.对你来说,虽然我是100%的女孩子,可是对我来说,你并不是100%的男孩子啊.她或许会这样
说.如果事态落入这个地步,那我一定会变的极端混乱,我已经三十二了,年纪大了,结果就是这么回事.
在花店前面,我和她擦肩而过.一个九九藏书微小而温暖的空气团拂过我的肌肤.柏油路面洒了水,周围飘溢着玫瑰的芬芳.我竟然对她开不了口.她穿着白毛衣,右手拿着一封还没贴邮票的白色信封.她不晓得写信给谁?她看来眼睛非常睏的样子,或许她花了整个晚上写完那封信?而那信封里面很可能收藏着她一切的秘密吧?
走过几步再回头看时,她的影子已经消失在人群里了.
现在当然,我非常知道那时候应该怎么像她开口才好.可是不管怎么说,总会变成冗长的对白,所以一定不可能说的很好.就像这样,我所想到的事情总是不实用.
总之那对白从"从前从前"开始,以"你不觉得很悲哀吗?"结束.
从前从前,有一个地方,有一位少年和一位少女.少年十八岁,少女十六岁.少年并不怎么英俊,少女也不怎么漂亮.是任何地方都有的孤独而平凡的少年和少女.不过他们都坚决地相信,在这世界上的某个地方,一定有一位100%和自己相配的少女和少男.
有一天,两个人在街角偶然遇见了.
"好奇怪啊!我一直都在找你,也许你不会相信,不过你对我来说,正是100%的女孩? 子呢?"少年对少女说.
少女对少男说:"你对九九藏书我来说才正是100%的男孩子呢,一切的一切都跟我想像的一模一样.简直向在作梦嘛."
两个人在公园的长椅上坐下,好像有永远谈不完的话,一直谈下去,两个人再也不孤独了,追求100%的对象,被100%的对象追求,是一件多么美妙的事啊!
可是两个人心里,却闪现一点点的疑虑,就那么一点点----梦想就这么简单地实现,是不是一件好事呢?
谈话忽然中断的时候,少年这么说道:"让我们再试一次看看.如果我们两个真的是100%的情侣的话,将来一定还会在某个地方再相遇,而且下次见面的时候,如果互相还觉得对方是100%的话,那我们马上就结婚,你看怎么样?"
"好哇."少女说.
于是两个人就分手了.
其实说真的,实在没有任何需要考验的地方:因为他们是名符其实100%的情侣.而且命运的波涛是注定要捉弄有情人的.
有一年冬天,两个人都得了那年流行的恶性流行性感冒,好几个星期都要一直在生死边缘挣扎的结果,往日的记忆已经完全丧失,当他们醒过来的时候,他们脑子里已经像少年时代的D.H.劳伦斯的钱筒一样空空如也.
不过因为两个人都是聪明而有耐心的少年和少女,因此努力再努力的结果,总算又获得了新的知识何感情.并且顺利地重回社会.他们也能好好地搭地下铁换车,也能到邮局去发限时专送.而且也经历了75%的恋爱,或85%的恋爱.
就这样少年长成三十二岁,少女也有三十岁了.时光已惊人的速度流逝而过.
于是在一个四月的晴朗早晨,少年为了喝一杯M Service的咖啡,而在原宿的一条巷子正中央擦肩而过,失去的记忆的微弱之光,瞬间再两人心中一闪.
她对我来说,正是100%的女孩啊!
他对我而言,真是100%的男孩啊!
可是他们的记忆之光实在太微弱了,他们的声音也不再十四年前那么清澈了,两个人一语不发地擦肩而过,就这样消失到人群里去了.
你不觉得很悲哀吗?
On seeing the 100% perfect girl one beautiful Apri
Oiful April m, on a narrow side street in Tokyos fashionable Harujuku neighborhood, I walked past the 100% perfect girl.
Tell you the truth, shes not that good-looking. She doesnt stand out in any way. Her clothes are nothing special. The back of her hair is still bent out of shape from sleep. She isnt youher - must be hirty, not even close to a "girl," properly speaking. But still, I know from fifty yards away: Shes the 100% perfect girl for me. The moment I see her, theres a rumbling in my chest, and my mouth is as dry as a desert.
Maybe you have your own particular favorite type of girl - oh slim ankles, say, eyes, raceful fingers, or youre drawn for no good reason to girls who take their time with every meal. I have my own preferences, of course. Sometimes in a restaurant Ill catch myself staring at the girl at the able to mine because I like the shape of her nose.
But no one insist that his 100% perfect girl correspond to some preceived type. Much as I like noses, I t recall the shape of hers - or even if she had one. All I remember for sure is that she was no great beauty. Its weird.
"Yesterday oreet I passed the 100% girl," I tell someone.
"Yeah?" he says. "Good-looking?"
"Not really."
"Your favorite type, then?"
"I dont know. I t seem to remember anything about her - the shape of her eyes or the size of her breasts."
"Strange."
"Yeah. Strange."
"So anyhow," he says, already bored, "what did you do? Talk to her? Follow her?"
"Nah. Just passed her oreet."
Shes walki to west, and I west to east. Its a really nice April m.
Wish I could talk to her. Half an hour would be plenty: just ask her about herself, tell her about myself, and - what Id really like to do - explain to her the plexities of fate that have led to our passing each other on a side street in Harajuku on a beautiful April m in 1981. This was something sure to be crammed full of warm secrets, like an antique clock build when peace filled the world.
After talking, wed have lunewhere, maybe see a Woody Allen movie, stop by a hotel bar for cocktails. With any kind of luck, we might end up in bed.
Potentiality knocks on the door of my heart.
Now the distaween us has narrowed to fifteen yards.
How I approach her? What should I say?
"Good m, miss. Do you think you could spare half an hour for a little versation?"
Ridiculous. Id sound like an insurance salesman.
"Pa9９ｌiｂ?rdon me, but would you happen to know if there is an all-night ers in the neighborhood?"
No, this is just as ridiculous. Im not carrying any laundry, for ohing. Whos going to buy a line like that?
Maybe the simple truth would do. "Good m. You are the 100% perfect girl for me."
No, she wouldnt believe it. Or even if she did, she might not want to talk to me. Sorry, she could say, I might be the 100% perfect girl for you, but youre not the 100% boy for me. It could happen. And if I found myself in that situation, Id probably go to pieces. Id never recover from the shock. Im thirty-two, and thats what growing older is all about.
We pass in front of a flower shop. A small, warm air mass touches my skin. The asphalt is damp, and I catch the st of roses. I t bring myself to speak to her. She wears a white sweater, and in her right hand she holds a crisp white envelope lag only a stamp. So: Shes written somebody a letter, ma九九藏书ybe spent the whole night writing, to judge from the sleepy look in her eyes. The envelope could tain every secret shes ever had.
I take a few more strides and turn: Shes lost in the crowd.
Now, of course, I kly what I should have said to her. It would have been a long speech, though, far too long for me to have delivered it properly. The ideas I e up with are never very practical.
Oh, well. It would have started "Once upon a time" and ended "A sad story, dont you think?"
Once upon a time, there lived a boy and a girl. The boy was eighteen and the girl sixteen. He was not unusually handsome, and she was not especially beautiful. They were just an ordinary lonely boy and an ordinary lonely girl, like all the others. But they believed with their whole hearts that somewhere in the world there lived the 100% perfect boy and the 100% perfect girl for them. Yes, they believed in a miracle. And that miracle actually happened.
One day the two came upon each other on the er of a street.
"This is amazing," he said. "Ive been looking for you all my life. You may not believe this, but youre the 100% perfect girl for me."
"And you," she said to him, "are the 100% perfect boy for me, exactly as Id pictured you in every detail. Its like a dream."
They sat on a park bench, held hands, and told each other their stories hour after hour. They were not lonely anymore. They had found and been found by their 100% perfect other. What a wonderful thing it is to find and be found by your 100% perfect other. Its a miracle, a ic miracle.
As they sat and talked, however, a tiny, tiny sliver of doubt took root in their hearts: Was it really all right for ones dreams to e true so easily?
And so, when there came a momentary lull in their versation, the boy said to the girl, "Lets test ourselves - just once. If we really are each others 100% perfect lovers, then sometime, somewhere, we will meet again without fail. And when that happens, and we know that we are the 100% perfees, well marry then and there. What do you think?"
"Yes," she said, "that is exactly what we should do."
And so they parted, she to the east, ao the west.
The test they９9ｌｉb? had agreed upon, however, was utterly unnecessary. They should never have uaken it, because they really and truly were each others 100% perfect lovers, and it was a miracle that they had ever met. But it was impossible for them to know this, young as they were. The cold, indifferent waves of fate proceeded to toss them unmercifully.
One winter, both the boy and the girl came down with the seasons terrible inluenza, and after drifting for weeks between life ah they lost all memory of their earlier years. When they awoke, their heads were as empty as the young D. H. Lawrences piggy bank.
They were twht, determined young people, however, and through their uing efforts they were able to acquire once again the knowledge and feeling that qualified them to return as full-fledged members of society. Heaven be praised, they became truly upstanding citizens who knew how to transfer from one subway lio another, who were fully capable of sending a special-delivery letter at the post office. Ihey even experienced love again, sometimes as much as 75% or even 85% love.
Time passed with shog swiftness, and soon the boy was thirty-two, the girl thirty.
Oiful April m, in search of a cup of coffee to start the day, the boy was walking from west to east, while the girl, intending to send a special-delivery letter, was walking from east to west, but along the same narrow street in the Harajuku neighborhood of Tokyo. They passed each other in the very ter of the street. The fai gleam of their lost memories glimmered for the brief九九藏书est moment in their hearts. Each felt a rumbling in their chest. And they knew:
She is the 100% perfect girl for me.
He is the 100% perfect .９9lib.boy for me.
But the glow of their memories was far too weak, and their thoughts no longer had the clarity of fouteen years earlier. Without a word, they passed each other, disappearing into the crowd. Forever.
A sad story, dont you think?
Yes, thats it, that is what I should have said to her.
呕吐1979
他每天都坚持写日记一天不落，这样的人极少。因此他能清楚地指出他的呕吐从哪天开始一直到哪天结束。呕吐始于1979年6月4日（晴），于同年的7月15日（多云）结束。他是一名年轻的插图画家，我们俩有一次曾经一起为一份杂志工作。
和我一样他也是一位旧唱片收藏者，还有他还喜欢和朋友的女人——女朋友或是妻子睡觉。他比我小两三岁，事实上，在此之前他已经和好几个朋友的女友或是妻子睡过觉了。他曾经在朋友家，趁朋友去附近的酒馆买啤酒或是朋友冲澡的时候和他们的妻子做爱。他经常跟我讲起这些。
“匆匆忙忙地做爱倒也不错。”他说，“我们基本上都穿着衣服，尽量速战速决。一般人们在做爱的时候都喜欢时间能长一点，所以偶尔尝试一下相反的方式，只稍稍改变一下视点，也是很有意思的。”
当然不仅仅是这种冒险的性爱游戏，他也曾花时间去享受正常性生活的快乐。总之他喜欢和朋友的恋人或妻子睡觉这件事。
“我从来没有私通这种不正常的想法，和她们睡觉的时候我总有一种亲近感，总之是一种家的感觉。当然那只不过是单纯的做爱，只要不暴露就不会伤害到谁。”
“从来就没露过馅儿吗？”
“当然没有。”他多少有些意外，“这种事只要当事人不想暴露就不会暴露。只要小心一点，不去说也不去做某种暗示，就不会怎样。还有最重要的是一开始就必须明确基本方针，也就是要说清楚了这只是一种单纯的亲密的游戏，我既不打算将它深入发展下去，也不打算伤害谁。当然我会以一种更加委婉的语气说明白。”我虽然怎么也不能相信那种事一切都能像他所说的那样顺利，但也看不出他是那种自吹自擂的人，所以有些半信半疑，觉得也许事情正如他所说。
“事实上她们中的大多数所追求的也是这一点。她们的丈夫或是恋人也就是我的朋友们，大多数都比我出色得多，长得比我精神，脑子也比我好使，或者那玩意儿也比我的大。但那一切对她们来说都是无所谓的，对她们来说只要对方还算正经，亲切，彼此知根知底就行了。她们追求的是一种超越恋人、夫妻那种从某种意义上来说是静止关系的东西，这是最根本的原则，当然表面上的动机是各种各样的。”
“比如说？”
“比如说有的是因为丈夫有了外遇，想以牙还牙，还有的是为了消遣，满足一下自己的虚荣心，证明自己还能吸引除丈夫以外的男人。这种事，我一般只要看看对方的脸就能知道，没有什么技术，就这一点绝对是与生俱来的能力。这种能力有的人就是有，没有的人就是没有。”
他自己没有一个固定的恋人。
前面也说过了，我们俩都是唱片收藏者，经常互相交换各自的唱片。我们都是收藏五十年代到六十年代前半期的爵士乐唱片，不过收藏的对象又稍有不同，所以能够互相交换唱片。我主要收藏美国西海岸的白人乐队作品，而他则以戈尔曼·霍金斯、莱昂内尔·汉普顿等偏中间派的后期音乐为主要收集对象。所以如果他手里有彼得·约里·托里奥的盘，而我手里又恰好有维克·迪更孙的《主河流·爵士》的话，我们俩就能如愿以偿地进行交换了。我们俩会花上一天一边喝着啤酒，一边鉴赏盘的品质和演奏水平，我们已经进行过好几次这样的交换了。
他向我讲起呕吐的事时，就是在这样的唱片交换会后。我们坐在他的公寓里，一边喝着威士忌一边聊音乐，然后聊喝酒，最后从喝酒聊到醉酒。“我曾经持续呕吐长达四十天之久。每天都吐，一天不落，但不是因为喝酒，也不是因为身体不好，没有任何原因只是吐，并且持续了四十天。四十天呀！厉害吧。”
他最先开始呕吐是6月4日。关于这次呕吐他没有留下什么记录，因为就在头一天晚上，他喝了大量的威士忌和啤酒，而且和往常一样他和朋友的妻子睡了觉，那是1979年6月3日晚上。
所以当他6月4日早上八点将胃里的堆积物如数吐到马桶里时，他从一般常识考虑，并没觉得有什么不妥。虽然这是大学毕业以后第一次因为喝酒呕吐，但也不是什么奇怪的事。他按下按钮用水将那一堆污秽的呕吐物冲走，然后坐到桌前开始工作。身体并没有什么异样，应该说是很愉快的一天，工作进展得非常顺利，中午时分肚子也已经很饿了。
午饭他吃了火腿加黄瓜的三明治，还喝了一罐啤酒。半小时以后，开始了第二次呕吐，刚刚吃下的三明治全部都吐到了马桶里，已经变得稀烂的面包和火腿飘浮在水面上，但是身体没有丝毫的不适，也没有什么难受的感觉，只是吐出去了。他觉得喉咙里有什么东西卡着，于是弯腰伏在马桶上想试试是不是能弄出来，结果仿佛是魔术师变戏法从帽子里往外拽鸽子、兔子、万国旗似的，食物哧溜哧溜全都吐了出来，仅此而已。
“在酗酒的学生时代我也曾经吐过好几次，也曾因为晕车吐过。但是，那种呕吐的滋味和这次完全不一样。这次甚藏书网至连呕吐会引起的那种独特的胃被勒紧的感觉都没有。胃只是索然无味地将食物顶起，没有什么东西被卡住的感觉，既没有任何不快，也没有那种恶心的味道。因此我觉得很奇怪，因为不是一次，而是两次。总之我有些担心，所以决定一段时间内不沾任何含酒精的东西。”
但是，翌日清晨第三次呕吐又准时开始了。前一晚吃的鳗鱼的残留物和早上吃的英式果酱松饼又如数从胃里吐出。
吐完以后在浴室刷牙时电话响了。他拿起电话，一个男人的声音响起，叫了一声他的名字后，就啪地挂断了电话，仅此而已。
我说：“会不会是和你睡过觉的女人的丈夫或者恋人打来的骚扰电话。”
“不会吧。”他说：“他们的声音我都很熟悉，那绝对是一个我从没听见过的声音，电话里的声音给人感觉很不好。结果这电话每天都打来，从6月5日开始一直到7月14日。怎么样？基本上和我呕吐的时间相一致吧。”
“不过，我一点也搞不明白骚扰电话和你的呕吐有什么关联。”
“就连我自己也不明白。”他说，“正因为如此直到现在我还摸不着头脑。总之，每次电话都一个样，说完我的名字以后，啪的一声挂断电话。每天一个，时间并不固定，有时早上，有时傍晚，甚至半夜还来过电话。说实话不接电话就好了，可我的工作性质又不允许，而且有时还有女孩子的话……”
“那倒是。”我说。
“与此同时，呕吐也是一天不落。几乎是吃什么吐什么，吐光了肚子又饿，饿了就吃饭吧，吃了又如数吐出，形成了一种恶性循环。不过，平均起来说，三顿饭中有一顿能完全消化，所以现在我还能保住小命。如果三顿全吐光的话那我就得靠注射营养液了。”
“你去看病了吗？”
“看病？当然去了。而且我去了附近一家设备比较齐全的综合医院。拍了X光，还做了尿检，而且因为也有可能是癌症，.99lib.所以也做了一下那方面的检查，不过什么事也没有，非常健康。最后诊断是慢性胃疲劳，也有可能是精神紧张，于是给我开了一些胃药，还告诫我说要早睡早起，少喝酒，不要为一些小事想不开。但也不能太糊弄人了，我也知道慢性胃疲劳是怎么回事，如果自己得了慢性胃疲劳而不知道，那人简直就是个呆子。慢性胃疲劳的症状是胃沉、反胃、没有食欲，即使呕吐那也是在这些症状之后，不会单独出现呕吐的现象。而我只是单纯呕吐，其他没有任何症状，除了老觉得肚子饿外，感觉非常良好，头脑也很清楚。
“还说什么精神紧张，我自己一点感觉也没有。当然手头是压了不少工作，但也不到累得不行了的地步，女人方面没得说一切顺利，每三天我还要去游一次泳，彻底放松一下……哎，你不觉得没什么可说的吗？”
“那倒是。”我点点头。
“就只是吐。”他说。
他连续吐了两周，电话铃也响了两周。第十五天他实在是受不了了，遂决定把工作抛到一边到饭店开一间房，每天看看电视读读书。吐就让它吐吧，能躲开电话也好。刚开始这计划好象还可行。早上他美美地吃了一顿牛排三明治和芦笋沙拉，也许是环境改变了，食物很好地进入到了他的胃里，而且很好地被消化了。下午三点半他和好友的恋人在饭店的咖啡厅见面，吃了樱桃派，喝了黑咖啡，一切都没问题。然后，他和好友的恋人睡觉，在性方面也没任何问题。把女人送走后，他自己一个人吃了晚饭，是在饭店附近的小饭馆吃的豆腐、烤鲅鱼、醋拌凉菜和大酱汤，外加一碗米饭，仍是滴酒未沾，当时是六点半。
然后他回到自己的房间，看完电视新闻又开始看艾德·马克维恩的新作《87分署》。晚上九点还没吐，他松了一口气，终于能够好好体味一下吃饱饭的感觉了，这两个星期一直都是食不知味。他暗自企盼，也许一切就此好转，一切都会恢复原状。他合上书打开电视，拿遥控器找了一圈台，最后决定看一部旧西部片。十一点电影放完了，后面是当日的最后一次新闻，看完新闻，他关掉电视，有一种冲动特别想喝威士忌，他考虑是不是直接到楼上的酒吧喝一杯睡前酒，想了想最后还是忍住了，因为他不想这来之不易的一天让酒精给毁了。他关掉床头灯，钻进被窝。
电话铃响起是在半夜，他睁眼看看表，凌晨两点一刻，刚开始他还有些迷糊，怎么这时候会有电话呢？他怎么也想不通。不过，他摇摇头几乎是无意识地拿起了电话：
“喂。”一个熟悉的声音响起来，像往常一样先是说了他的名字，然后立刻挂断了电话，耳边只剩下嘟嘟的电流声。
“不过，你不是没有告诉任何人你住进饭店了吗？”我问。
“当然。我谁也没告诉，除了那个和我睡觉的女孩。”
“是不是她漏给谁了？”
“那她又是为什么呢？”
说的也是。
“接完电话，我又在浴室里吐了个精光，什么鱼呀饭呀统统吐了出来。简直是电话在前面开门开路，呕吐紧随其后。
“吐完了我坐在浴缸边，想把发生的一切好好清理清理。首先我想的是这个电话是谁的杰作，是开玩笑还是恶作剧。也不知那家伙是如何知道我住在那家饭店的，这些问题先放在一边，总之是人为的勾当。第二个可能性是我的幻听。一想到我会发生幻听，我觉得很是愚蠢，但是冷静地分析一下也不是完全没有可能。也就是说我觉得‘电话响了’，于是拿起了电话，又觉得‘别人在叫我的名字’，其实什么也没发生。从理论上说是可能成立的吧？”
“也是。”
“于是我给饭店前台打电话，想让他们查一下刚才是不是有人给我屋里打电话了，但是没用，因为饭店的管理系统对从饭店打出去的电话都有记录，但从外面打进来的电话则没有任何的记录，所以这方面也无从下手。
“从那一夜起，我开始认真地思考各种问题，呕吐和电话，首先这两件事全部也好部分也好，总之在某个点上是相关联的。因为我渐渐发现无论哪一方面都不像我起初想象的那么简单。
“我在饭店住了两夜，回到自己的公寓后，呕吐和电话还是一直持续着。我又试着到朋友家住了几夜，电话居然还打到了那儿，而且来电话的时候肯定是朋友不在我一个人呆着的时候。这样一来我渐渐觉得有些害怕，开始觉得仿佛有什么看不见的东西一直站在我身后，监视着我的一举一动，瞅个空子就给我打电话，找准机会就戳进我胃里搅和一下。这完全是精神分裂症的初期症状。没错吧？”
“不过很少有精神分裂的患者担心自己得了精神分裂，不是吗？”我说。
“你说的也对，而且分裂症和呕吐同时发生的例子好象也没有，这是大学附属医院精神科大夫说的，他们完全不把我的情况当回事，他们只诊断那些症状明显的病人。据说像我这样的人，在满员的山手线的电车里每一节车厢都有两个半人到三个人，医院可顾不过来去一一检查这些人。他们还说，看呕吐呢，你就上内科，至于骚扰电话呢，你就去找警察。
“可是，你可能也知道，社会上有两种犯罪警察是不管的。一是骚扰电话，一是偷自行车。哪个都是多得不得了，作为犯罪来说又小了点。如果这些小事都一一去查，警察的机能就会麻痹了，所以他们根本就不好好听我的话。骚扰电话？那对方说了些什么？只说了你的名字？他还说了些什么？那好吧，在这个表上填一下你的名字，如果再发生什么异常情况请与我们联系——基本上就是这样。为什么对方会对我的行踪知道得一清二楚呢？关于这一点我说了多少遍，他们也不理会，如果我再执意说下去的话，他们肯定会觉得我有些不正常。
“我总算知道医生和警察都是靠不住的，只能靠自己一个人去解决。我产生这种想法大约是在‘呕吐电话’开始后的第二十天。我自我感觉无论是肉体上还是精神上都是相当坚强的，这时候终于开始有些败阵了。”
“那，你和你好友的恋人还很顺利吧。”
“还行。刚好那个朋友因公去菲律宾出差两星期，趁此机会我们俩好好享受了一番。”
“你和她寻欢时，电话来过吗？”
“没有。看一下日记就知道了，应该是没有。电话总是在我一个人的时候打来的，呕吐也是一个人的时候才发生，所以当时我就想，怎么我一个人的时候这么多呢？其实仔细想想，一天二十四小时，平均起来有二十三个多小时我都是自己一个人呆着。一个人生活，工作也不用和人打什么交道，工作上的事基本上在电话里就能解决。说是恋人吧那也是别人的，吃饭90%是在外面吃，就是运动也是自己一个人没完没了地游泳，爱好就是听听这些几近古董的唱片，就连工作都是必须一个人才能集中精力干的事，朋友也有，但到这岁数，大家都在忙自己的事，不可能经常见面……这种生活你知道吧？”
“嗯，知道的。”
他往冰块上倒威士忌，用手指搅搅冰块，然后喝了一口：“所以我想坐下来好好想想。今后我该怎么办，难道就一直一个人为骚扰电话和呕吐烦恼吗？”
“你找一个对象就好了，你自己的。”
“我当然也想过。我当时也有二十七岁了，就此稳定下来也不错。但最后还是不成，我不是那种人。我不甘心就这么服输。我不会向荒唐的呕吐、骚扰电话投降并因此轻易改变自己的生活方式，我决心和它们斗争到底，直到耗尽最后一点体力和精神。”
“嗯。”“如果这事发生在村上你的身上，你怎么办呢？”
“我该怎么办呢，想不出来。”我回答，我真是想不出来。
“那以后呕吐和骚扰电话一直持续着。体重也降了不少。我来看看——嗯——在这儿——6月4日的体重是64公斤，6月21日61公斤，到7月10日是58公斤，只有58公斤！和我的身高相比，这体重简直令人难以置信，害得我的西服都大了，得提着裤子走路。”
“我有一个问题，你干吗不装录音电话什么的呢？”
“我当然是不想当逃跑者。如果装录音电话，就等于告诉对方我投降了。这是一场较量，不是他放弃就是我死。呕吐也是这样，我想把它当成一种理想的减肥方法。所幸的是体力并没有过分衰弱，日常生活、工作都和平时一样，所以我又开始喝酒。早上喝啤酒，晚上喝威士忌，反正喝不喝都一样，总是要吐的，还不如喝来得痛快。
“然后我又去银行取钱，到西服店按照新体型买了一套西服和两条裤子。我站在服装店的镜子前照了照，发现瘦一点也不错。想一想呕吐也没什么了不起的，至少呕吐不像痔疮和虫牙那么痛苦，又比拉肚子来得高雅，当然只是做比较时才能这样说。只要解决了营养问题，又没有得癌的可能性，呕吐本质是无害的。你看人美国还发明了减肥用的人工呕吐剂。”
“那——”我接着问了一句，“结果呕吐和骚扰电话一直持续到了7月14日吗？”
“准确地说——你稍等一下——准确地说，最后的呕吐藏书网是7月14日早晨九点半，这次吐的是烤面包、西红柿沙拉和牛奶。最后一次骚扰电话是当晚十点二十五分打来的，当时我正一边喝着人给的威士忌，一边听唱片——怎么样，坚持日记，查的时候还是很方便的吧？”
“确实是。”我应了一句，“那以后呕吐和电话就完全没有了吗？”
“完全没有了，跟希区柯克的电影《鸟》似的，早上起来打开门一看，一切都过去了。什么呕吐呀骚扰电话呀统统再也没有了，我的体重又恢复到了63公斤，新买的西服和裤子都被挂到衣柜里，把它们当做一种纪念品。”
“打电话的人始终都是一种腔调吗？”
他摇了摇头，有点呆呆地看着我，“不是，最后一次电话和平时都不一样。对方先说了我的名字，这和平时一样，然后他这么说了一句：‘知道我是谁吗？’接着是一阵沉默，我也不说话，大概有十秒、十五秒吧，我们谁也不说话，然后电话就被挂断了，只剩下嘟嘟的电流声。”
“‘知道我是谁吗？’他真那么说的？”
“一字不差，就这么说的，而且说得很慢、很认真。他说这话时的声音我一点印象也没有，至少不是最近五六年有来往的人。是不是孩提时代认识的或是没说过话的人就不知道了，但我想不出我有什么值得他们恨的，我也想不起做过什么得罪他们的事，而且我也不是那种值得同行嫉恨的热门画家。也就是在女性关系方面有些理亏，这一点我承认，可活了二十七年我也不可能像婴儿那么纯洁呀。不过前面我也说过，那些男人的声音我都很熟悉，一听就能听出来。”
“但正经人不会专门和朋友的恋人睡觉偷情。”
“那么，村上你是说我心中的某种罪恶感——一种自己也没意识到的罪恶感——影像成了呕吐和幻听的形式吗？”
“我没说，是你自己说的。”我订正了一句。
“哼哼，”他嘴里含着威士忌，望着天花板。
“还有一种可能性就是和你偷情的某个对象的男人雇了一个私家侦探跟踪你，为了惩罚你或者是警告你，所以给你打电话。而呕吐只是单纯体质方面的原因，这两件事偶尔碰到了一块儿。”
“哪种可能性都有。”他似乎很是感慨，“到底是作家。不过对于第二个假说我有点疑议，我现在还在和她睡觉，可为什么突然不来电话了呢？这好象不太合乎逻辑吧。”
“可能是烦了吧，也可能是没钱再雇侦探了吧。不管怎么说，这些都只是假说，如果允许的话，可以找出一两百。问题是你看是哪一个，还有你从中学到什么了？”
“学习？”他有些意外，把杯底往自己额头上靠了靠，“学，学什么？”
“我说的是如果这事再来一次怎么办，当然下次可能就不只四十天了，毫无理由地开始，毫无理由地结束，完全反过来说的可能性也有。”
“你这话真不让人爱听。”他笑了笑，马上认真起来：“说也奇怪，在你说之前我还从来没想过这个问题……真是，没准还会再来一次。你真觉得还会再来这么一回？”
“那谁能知道。”我说。
他时不时地转动着杯子，一点点呷着威士忌，然后把空了的杯子放在桌子上，又用面巾纸揪揪鼻子。
“或者，”他开口道，“或者这事下次可能发生在别人身上，比如说村上你身上吧。你村上也不是白纸一张吧。”
那以后，我们又见过好多次，喝威士忌，交换那些难以说是前卫的唱片，基本上一年要见两三次。因为我不是那种认真记日记的人，所以很难记清准确的数字。值得庆幸的是，到现在为止，无论是他还是我都还没有呕吐，也没有接到骚扰电话。
下雨天的女人#241
下午四点左右，一个中年肥胖的女人，拎着黑色塑料皮手提公文包，走到我家门口按门铃。她一按门铃，空寂的家里响着音乐门铃声，听来彷佛人坐在一个巨人的空胃底，听着谁的笑声似的。
那个中年女人跟她随身带的黑色塑料皮手提公文包，看来不搭配，事实上，那皮包跟她完全不相配。我从百叶窗缝隙里悄悄观察那女人，她年纪大约四十到四十五岁，到处都有的极普通的中年女人。她的身材不高，穿着粉红色套装，淡茶色雨鞋，带一把绿色乙烯塑料伞，伞的颜色很鲜，水果糖般廉价的绿色。奇异的颜色配合。
下雨天里那个穿粉红色套装的女人，看起来像一颗吸了水分不自然地膨胀的心脏似的。膨胀的心脏寻找着失落了的窝，而在四月里雨天的街上无目的地彷徨。对不起，我眼睛看不大清楚，也许这里是我的家吧？不，妳弄错了，对不起，这里是我的家。
但实际上，那个是中年女人，不是一颗膨胀的心脏寻找着失落了的窝。当她第二次按门铃时我发现，她只是一个化妆品推销员。她进入我家门廊，便把手提公文包换右手拿，把原用右手拿的雨仵收起来立于墙边，用左手按门铃。我便看到手提公文包侧面附着的化妆品公司的商标。商标下用字带贴着 #241 号码。那么她是 #241 号女人。
拉下百叶窗光线暗淡的室内，再度响起门铃，这时她没有表情地望着四周的风景。没什么优美的风景。任何住宅区都有的景致。只看见房屋和道路和街路树。她大概天天都看够了这样的风景吧。她的脸显露出这种神情。她一直看着门索然了，不由得看看四周的风景。并不是被四周的什么吸引而望着的样子。
门铃响，我没有回答，也没有走到门口。我走出去拒绝也可以：妻子不在家，我对化妆品完全不懂。但那时我的心情不想跟谁搭讪。所以我没有从这室内光线暗淡的椅子上挪动身子。她的手拎着装化妆品样品的提包站在玄关的门前，继续按门铃。雨一直下着。从早上一直不停地下着雨。她看来疲惫。我坐在窗边，把双脚翘在小桌子上，喝着加冰冲淡的威士忌。下午四点就喝酒有点过早。我平常并不在这么早的时刻就喝酒。但那一天，我喝酒有理由。
那几天，我千头万绪，可以说是困惑。老实说，我不大了解自己的心情。好像道路拐弯错了，在同一个地方转来转去的心情。或是时间的接续有什么失常，无法顺利前进的样子。加上从早上就一直下着雨。我进入暗室冲洗底片显像。正在工作着，妻子从办公室打来电话。而跟她谈过电话后我不想再做任何事，便坐在窗边的椅子上喝起酒来。于是我想着死亡的问题。我并不是想死。我毫无想死的理由。我只是认真地想着死亡的问题。
我躺在厂房的地板上，装着死了。我想象着我已经死了，训练着死。我仰面闭着眼睛，在黑暗中一直停止呼吸。当然我无法一直停止呼吸，只是尽可能地停止呼吸，呼吸一下，马上又停止呼吸。我的身体一动也不动。从外表上看来会被认为我已经死亡。我让头脑空空的。这就是死亡啦，我想。这就是死亡啦。
然而这并非死亡，只是闭着眼睛的黑暗。
我不再假装死亡，爬起来，又喝着威士忌。这都是因为做了那个怪梦，我才这样。
天空阴沉沉的下午，做什么事，或心里想到什么，都感觉黯淡，我打开收音机听音乐。我想看看书。不过做什么都没有心情。于是我慢慢喝着威士忌。
这时门铃响了。我一直看着那女人。
那女人究竟期待着什么呢？我想。我觉得听她按第二次的门铃声很有一会儿了，大概三十秒或四十秒吧，她仍然不动，不走开，也没有第二次按门铃，仍然面无表情地望着水木花树的枝子。水木花树枝子上爬着一只蜗牛，她并没有看着蜗牛。她并非特别地看着什么。
她似乎竖耳谛听着，所以我屏息着，这好像假装死亡的延长样子。
无奈她没有听见动静，她的右手仍然拿着 #241 手提公文包，于是用左手取起绿色的塑料伞，按下伞柄的按钮便啪地开了。她再度确认般地对门一瞥便离去走在雨中。来的时候是左手拿公文包，右手拿伞，回去的时候相反。即右手拿提包，左手拿伞。这没有什么意味，只不过?葭M伞与提包的位置调换了。
于是我觉得心情很感伤。不知道为什么。没有清楚的理由，而我感到很无趣。使她沮丧地离去好像是我的责任似的。那伞和提包位置的转换，我便给那女人无法弥补的伤害似的。我无意伤到她，我自己对自己辩解，我只是懒得跟陌生人说话。
我又想着那个梦。三天前我梦见了一条白蛇。一条巨大的白蛇，眼睛是绿色的（像那女人的绿伞之色）。蛇住在大树上。一棵非常大的树，树名不知道。但那棵树跟我结合在一起，树根与我的根连结在一起。蛇一动，我的根也动。这使我心里很不安，因此我在树根泼根了石油点火。蛇燃烧起来发出嘶嘶的声音，那烟非常臭。那臭烟升上空中蚀了空气。空气全部成为蛇，牠们想从我的嘴进入我的身体里。因此我拚命跑着逃入地下铁。地下铁的列车中摆着几个大型冷冻库，冷冻库中装满了松鼠的尸体，全冻得硬梆梆的。蛇追着我，我便向蛇投掷那冰?嶊涨漯Q鼠，但那松鼠没有打中蛇，中途分解成像霉一般的胞子99lib.在空中飘浮。
做了这样的梦。
我平常不大做梦，即使做了梦也立刻忘了。所以我对梦没有兴趣，不只是对自己的梦，别人做的梦，或梦这现象我都没有兴趣。但只有这个梦我醒了经过久久的时间，我仍然清晰地记得，而且挂心。我还清楚地记得抓冻松鼠时手的触觉感。而虽然没有什么具体的根据，但我觉得它似乎是与死亡有关联的梦。我的妻子则不同，她梦有兴趣，懂得分析梦和算命，也许我该告诉她我做的梦，她会告诉我那个梦的意义。不过，我不想让她知道我做了这样的梦。她弟弟因为疑难的骨科疾病正住院治疗，而弟弟的病有遗传性，已经使她很烦恼，这时我不[email protected]意来扰乱她的心情，所以我没有告诉她我做的梦。
梦的疙瘩，像不吉的预言似的，一直残留在我心里，我希望很快就忘了它。但过了三天那沉重依然还在我的心里没有消失。就像是在睡眠中，有什么东西进入了嘴里，而却误吞下那样，令人感觉很不舒服。
而那个梦又使我想起种种事情，都是一些平常不会想起的事情。例如，我想起高中时代一位导师，他是物理老师，右手的手腕有一块青紫色的烧伤疤痕。每当他用粉笔在黑板上写方程式时，我们便看到他那烧伤的疤痕。我现在仍然能够清晰地回想得出那颜色：黑的黑板、白的粉笔、青紫色的烧伤疤痕。
我对这位老师也不是有什么特别的好感，他讲的话令人发闷，他穿的衣服没有品味。而我本来就最讨厌物理。不过公平地看来，他是不错的人。有一天却被发现他在学校后面的山林中自缢而死。大家都说，他因为教师会的纠纷烦恼而想不开，他留下的简短遗书也带有这个意味。自绝生命的人都有种种理由，我们不难了解，但是为了教师会的事情，竟然想不开而自缢，实在出禾我的想象力之外，为什么有人会为这种事情而自杀呢？
我坐在窗边的椅子上望着外面的风景，一边想着那位物理老师的事。他在世时的样子我几乎已完全想不起来，我所记得的只有他手腕上火伤的疤痕，和他的葬礼。他有妻子和两个读小学的儿子。我们班上的同学都参加了那葬礼。那是夏天，非常炎热，大家身上的汗水滴滴流。站在外面的女生有几个因中暑而晕倒了。
我把那冰已溶化的威士忌慢慢啜饮一口，杯子拿在手上注视着窗外。不一会
儿一辆出租车驶来，在我家门口停下，一个穿深蓝色风衣的中年男子下车。他下车便撑开伞，然后看着我家，目光锐利的大块头男子，但他过了马路，对着跟我家相反的方向走去。
其次我想起来的是，放在桌子上的两个腐烂的苹果。苹果已经变成黑色，果皮处处如被火烧肿般软软地鼓起来。那苹果是我认识的一个年轻女子留下的。她有一天忽然失踪，没有跟任何人说什么。
她住的单身公寓，依然留着一些家具（不是很好的）和日常用具。我走访时，公寓管理员对我说，她已经三个月没有回来，积欠房租，问我能不能帮忙。她喜欢流浪，常常忽然出游不见了，不过三个月未免出去太久了。管理员开了锁，我和他进去看看，窗户微开，空气虽然并非全未流通，但还是清楚地闻到垃圾的腐臭味。洗物槽堆着盘子或咖啡杯、餐具沾着的食物干透了。电已经被停了，冰箱中的牛奶和一些蔬菜腐坏了。厨房的桌子上放着的两个苹果变黑腐烂了。苹果旁边摊开着一册文库本。电唱机的转盘上放着一张 LP 唱片。室内的样子平常，像是出去附近购物未回的光景。管理员说，若无法代垫付房租，就要把她所有的东西全部处理掉，可以吗？我无法表示意见。我进入她房间时开窗放入新鲜空气，离去时再把窗户关小，收拾清理腐烂了的食?哄A垃圾袋拿出去，我能够做的只是这些。
不过她的行踪不明，我向管区的警方报案，警察问到我跟她的关系，我说是朋友。便问我的姓名、地址、职业。然后询问有关她的事情。但我几乎不清楚她的一切情形。她是哪里人？她从事何种工作维持生活？我完全不清楚。所以我对警方毫无用处。
首先要填写搜索书。但她是成人，也许会突然回来，这种情形屡见不鲜。我办完了报案手续，盖章、签名，作了影印副本，装入卷宗里，这样便结束了。
两周后，我再走访她住处时，她的房间已有新的房客住进去。她的家具大概被代替为房租适当地被处置了。
过了两个月，我又去警铃门前经过。没有风。毛毛细雨无声地直落地面，雨伞像生长在平地上的可动式蘑菇般水平地移动着。我敞开着门，想让那穿着粉红色衣服的女人，再走回来时知道这户人家，有人在家。当她看见门开着——如果她再从同一条路折回，绝对会看见的——那女人一定会再度走到我家门口。但我一直等着，却仍然不见那女人折回。如果去车站一定要经过我家门前的路，我没有一刻离开窗前，目光一直注意着路过的人，不会看遗漏的。但不见那女人折回。我没有看见撑着一把绿色的伞。撑着黑色伞、藏青、蓝色、红色、?婴漇B伞的人不断地过去了，就是没有看到一把绿色的塑料雨伞C彷佛由于某种原因，那 2499lib.1 号的女人离开我家门前时， 绿色的雨伞便从世界上一把不剩地消失似的。
附近有一所高中女子学校，放学后学生经过我家门前走向车站。她们几个人走在一起，从左边向右边移动，这些女学生也没有人撑着一把绿色的伞。她们都穿着黑皮鞋、白短袜，没有一个穿雨鞋。那些女学生为了避免弄湿皮鞋，她们都像挑除肉里的脂肪部分那样小心翼翼的避开路上的积水走。她们那样的走法非常美，我从窗户内久久地看着那些移动的脚。她们背后住宅的篱笆内连翘花、辛夷花醒目的颜色渗入春雨里，春花悄无声息。
水木花树的细枝子上，点点雨滴像刚死的鱼的牙齿般美观地排成行。那水滴的白亮里好像有一种暴力的记忆似的东西。那些牙齿彷佛想起了什么事情似的忽然离开树枝滴落，无声地被吸入黑而柔软的地面，只有时而驶过柏油路的汽车轮胎声传入我耳膜，彷佛用手指摩擦质地细致有光泽的布料似的丝丝声。
夕暮的微暗渐渐增加了苍青色，我一直望着外面，手上还拿着空酒杯，路灯是自动点灯式的，这时无声地一齐亮了。而我仍然等着那一眼就可以看出的，拿着绿色雨伞的 241 号女人会不会再经过我家门前。 但那女人终于没有再出现。于是我关门，打开室内的电灯，慢慢环顾室内一周。看来不可思议的屋子。其实也没什么不可思议。跟原来一样的屋子。很普通的起居间。有沙发椅、桌子、三维效果的一套音响设备，唱片和书籍。我除了工作的时间之外，都在这里消磨?不过我觉得这是九九藏书一间很不可思议的屋子，它好像是地球破灭后所残存的唯一场所似的。我想这大概是下雨天那女人使我引起的感触。那膨胀的心脏，那锦簇的春花吸收了周围的声音引起的心情，以及大概会从这世界上永远消失的那把绿色的伞引起的感觉。我以那环顾室内的姿势站立了一会，然后把空酒杯拿到厨房洗物槽。于是把早上剩的咖啡热来喝。
不久静静的夜晚来临。但雨天的女人#241永远没有折回。永远。
32岁的 DAY TRIPPER
我三十二岁，而她十八岁……一想到这里，就觉得一切都很烦。
我才三十二岁，她已经十八岁……这样倒还好。
我们是不错的朋友，不比这多，也不比这少。我已经有太太，而她的男朋友至少也有六个。她在平常 weekday里跟六个男朋友约会，每个月只有一个星期天跟我约会。其他的星期天她在家里看电视，在看电视时的她就像海象一样可爱。
她生于一九六三年，那年甘乃迪总统被枪杀，而我则第一次和女孩子约会。流行的曲子好像是 Ciff Richard的（SulnmrHoidcyg）？
其实是不是都无所谓。
总之她生在那样的年份。
跟那种年份出生的女孩子约会，那时候是想都没想到过。到现在还一直觉得不可思议，就像跑到月球背面去抽烟一样的感觉。
年经女孩子很无聊，这是我们这些伙伴们的一致见解。尽管如此，他们还是有人跟年轻女孩子约会。那么他们是否终于找到不无聊的女孩子了？不，没这回事。简单地说，是她们的无聊吸引了他们，他们一面把满满一桶无聊之水从自己头上淋下来，一面让女孩子一滴水也没沾上，他们极纯粹地对这种麻烦的游戏乐在其中。
至少我是这样想。
事实上，年轻女孩子里面，十个有九个是无聊的化身。不过，当然她们并没有注意到这一点。她们年轻、漂亮，又充满了好奇心，她们觉得无聊是和自己无缘的存在。
唉呀，总算过去了。
我可不是在责备年轻女孩子，也并不讨厌她们，而且我还蛮喜欢她们的。她们使我想起，我还是个无聊青年时.99lib.的事。这怎么说呢，可以说是一件极为美妙的一件事。
“你想不想再回到十八岁一次？”她问我。
“不。”我回答：“我可不想回去。”
她好像不太能.99lib.理解我的答案似的。
“你说不想回去……真的吗？”
“那当然。”
“为什么？”
“因为现在这样子很好啊。”
她把手放在桌上托着下巴沉思起来，一面沉思一面用茶匙在咖啡杯里咋呼咋呼地绕着。
“我才不相信。”
“你最好是相信。……
我们那个时代的民间爱情传说
这是真实的故事，同时也是寓言。而且也是我们生存的一九六○年代的民间传说。
我生於一九四九年。一九六一年进中学，一九六七年上大学。然後在那个混乱的环境中迎接二十岁的来临。所以，我们正如文字所示的，是六○年代的孩子们。
在人生当中最容易受伤、最幼稚，也是最重要的时期里，我们充分吸收了六○年代顽强而狂野的空气，然後，理所当然地，命中注定般地沉醉於其中。从多亚斯到披头四到鲍伯狄伦，其BGM(幕後音乐)都很精致。
在所谓一九六○年代的时代里，的确有某些特别的事物。如今回想起来果然不错，而当时我也是那麽想的。那个时代确实有些特别的东西。
我并不是要让什麽都变成回顾式的，也不是以自己所生长的时代自豪 (究竟是身居何处的某人，又为了什麽原因，而必须为某一个时代感到骄傲呢？) 。我只是把事实照实陈述而已。对，那里确实有某些特别的事物。当然—我个人认为—那时代的事物本身并不是什麽特别珍贵的事物。由时代的运转所产生的狂热，当时所揭示的约东，以及某种事物在某种时期，所产生的某种被限制的光辉。还有，像把望远镜倒过来所看到的宿命式的焦虑，英雄与无赖、陶醉与幻灭、殉道与得道、结论 与个论、沉默与雄辩，以及无聊的等待等等、等等。无论那个时代都有这些东西，即使现在也有。但是，在我们那个时代(也许这样说有点自负，请见谅！)，这些东
西，一个一个地以伸手即可取得的形式清清楚楚地存在着。一个个都好好地披在架子上。而且，当时不像现在。现在是你要伸手拿某样东西，都会有许多夸大、虚伪的广告、有用的相关资讯、折扣优待券，以及为了提升企业形象而出现的选择权，这些复杂的事物，就会一个接一个地向你逼近。在我们那个时代，也没有多得抱不下的各种说明书(好的，这是初级的使用说明书，这是中级的，这是高级的应用编。
还有，这是如何和高级机种连接的说明书……) 。我们只是很单纯地伸手去拿自己想要的东西，然後把它带回家就行了。就像在夜市买小鸡一样。非常简单，也非常粗鲁。而且，那也许是适用这种做法的最後的时代。
高度资本主义前史。
接下来，我想谈谈有关女孩子的事。我想谈的是关於，拥有近乎新品的男性生殖器的我们，和当时仍然是青春少女的她们，两者之间所发生的既愉快又感伤的性关系。那是这个故事的主题之一。
首先，我想谈谈有关处女。 (『处女』这个字眼给人的感觉，令我联想到艳阳高照的午後的初春原野。为什麽会这样呢？)
在一九六○年代，所谓的处女，和现在比较起来，具有更深刻的意义。就我的感觉而言;当然是没有经过意见调查，只能说是大概的看法 在我们那个时代，在二十岁以前失去童贞的女子大约将近五成。至少，在我周围的女子的比率大约是如此。
换句话说，有将近一半的女性，不知是否出於下意识，依然尊重所讲的『处女』。
现在想起来，我们那个时代大多数的女子(也可以称之为中间派吧)，对於将来结婚时是否仍然保持处女之身，内心想必也经过一番挣扎吧！到了现在，尽管人们已经不再重视处女。可是，我个人认为，也不能因此就断言处女是亳无意义的事，或重视处女的人就是傻瓜。总而言之—老实说—最重要的应该是过程的问题。也就是说，该视情况而定，依对象而定。我个人认为，这是非常妥当的想法，以及生活方式。
而且，那些被夹在中间的，比较『沉默的大众』等女性之中，也有个性开放与生性保守的女性。女性之中有从认为『性』只是一种运动的新潮女性，也有坚持直到结婚为止都得保持处女之身的保守女性。男性当中，也有人认为将来和他结婚的对象必须是处女才行。
虽然任何时代都有各式各样的人，和不一而足的价值观。可是一九六○年代和其前後的年代所不同之处，则在於一九七○年代的我们都坚信，假如照这样，让时代顺利地进行下去，那麽这种价值观的差异总有一天会逐渐消失。
和平。
这是我的朋友的故事。
他和我是高中的同学。简单地说，他是个样样精通的人。他的成绩总是名列前茅，运动也样样拿手，待人随和又亲切，而且很有领导能力。他虽然不是很英俊，可是却有着一张清秀、讨人喜欢的脸蛋。他总是顺理成章地担任班级委员。他有一副好嗓子，歌声十分悦耳。此外，他的口才也很好。每当班上有辩论比赛时，他总是在最後发表结论。当然，那都是颇具独创性且含意深远的意见。可是，究竟有谁 想在同学发生争论时，去寻求那种颇具创意的意见呢？当时，我们所要求的，只是希望能尽早结束那些争论罢了。於是，只要他一开口，就正好恰如其时地结束一场纷争。就那个意义而言，也许可以说他是无价之宝。在这个世界上，不需要有创意的意见的场合也比比皆是—说起来，那种场合还是占大多数。
此外，他也是个对规律和良心充满敬意的男子。在自习时间里，只要有人不守秩序、吵闹不休，他就会很有威仪地注意他们。没有人会提出异议。可是，这个男人的脑中究竟在想什麽， 我 却无法想像。不过，他很有女孩子缘。在教室里，只要他一站起来说话， 那些女孩子都会用那种充满仰慕的眼光望着他， 彷佛在说：
『嗯，好棒哦！』一旦有不了解的数学问题，也都会去问他。他的人缘大约比我好二十七倍。他确实是那样的一个男子。
我想，如果你念的是公立高中，大概会了解那种典型的男子确实存在於现实生活中。无论那一班都会有一个那种『品学兼优』的学生，如果没有的话，就表示那个班的素质太差了。我们长期接受学校教育，自然地学会各种生活的手段。不过，不论你喜不喜欢，只要生活於团体之中，就得承认有这种人的存在，并试着接受他，这是我从团体生活中学会的智慧之一。
但是，不用说，站在个人的立场，我当然不大喜欢这一型的人。我和这种人合不来，我喜欢的是……这怎麽说呢？就是那种比较不完美的，更具有真实感的人。
因此，尽管我们同学了一年，我和他却几乎没有打过交道，就连说话的机会也很少。
我和他初次认真地交谈，是在大学一年级的暑假。我们都在同一所汽车驾驶训练班上课，在那里碰过几次面，也说过几次话。在等待上课时，我们也曾一起喝过茶。
汽车驾驶训练班真是个既乏味又无聊的地方，只要遇到熟人，不管他是谁，我都很想和他说说话。我已经忘了和他说了些什麽！不过对他并未留下什麽不好的印象。
奇怪的是，不管99ｌiｂ?好或坏，我对他实在没什麽印象。(不过，我在取得临时驾照之前，就和汽车教练打了一架。於是被开除，所以我们那段时间的交往算起来也很短。)
後来，我之所以记得他，是由於他交了个女朋友。她是别班的女生，在学校里也是数一数二的美女。她长得漂亮，成绩又好，运动又拿手，而且领导能力也很强，班上的辩论会，她总是最後一个发表结论。无论那一班，都会有一、两个这种女生。
总而言之，他们是天生的一对。
我常常在不同的地方看到他们的身影。中午休息时，他们时常并肩坐在校园的一角，喁喁的私语。此外; 他们也经常相约一起回家。他们搭乘同一班电车，而後在不同的车站下车。他是足球队的选手，而她则是ESS的成员。(我不知道现在是否还有ESS的说法。总之，就是英语会话社。)当他们的下课时间不一致时，早下课的那个人就先到图书馆念书。看来，他们只要一有空就会在一起。而且，他们总是有说不完的话。我记得自己曾经为他们居然有那麽多的话可说，而暗自佩服不已。
我们（我的意思是指我和我那些不够完美的朋友们）谁也没有嘲笑过他们。我们也不曾以他们做话题。如果问我为什麽，我想那是因为我们不会为那种微不足道的小事发挥想像力。那己经变成存在於那里，理所当然的事。清纯先生与清纯小姐，就像牙膏的商标一样。我们对於他们在想些什麽，或做些什麽，根本毫无兴趣。我们所感兴趣的是更加重要的世界。例如，政治、摇滚乐、性以及药物。我记得我们厚着脸皮到药局买保险套，还用一只手脱掉女生的胸罩。我们制做了听说可以取代LSD（迷幻乐） 的香蕉粉，然後用吸管吸食。此外，我们也发现了类似大麻的草，把它晒乾後用纸卷起来吸食。当然，并没有什麽效果。不过，那也就够了。那只是一种庆祝仪式。我们对於庆祝的本身，一直保持着高昂的兴致。
在那种时期，谁还有兴趣去管清纯先生和清纯小姐那清纯的一对呢？
当然，我们是既无知又傲慢的，我们完全不了解所谓的人生究竟是怎麽一回事。在我们的现实世界里，也没有清纯先生与清纯小姐的存在。他们是一种幻想，只存在於狄斯耐乐园和牙膏的广告世界。不过，就某种程度而言，我们所拥有的幻想，和他们所拥有的幻想，并无多大差异。
这就是他们的故事。虽然并不是什麽愉快的故事，也不是什麽寓言式的故事。
不过，那既是他们的故事，又是在我们亲身经历的时代。所以，也可以说是所谓的民间传说。
这个故事是从他口中说出来的。那是在杯觥交错之馀，一阵胡扯之後，无意中说出来的故事。因此，严格地说来，也许不能算是真实故事。其中有一些部分，由於当时并未认真听而忘了。因此，在细节部分我加入了适度的想像。而且，为了不让真实的人物受到困扰，其中有一部分我是根据事实而改写（是在完全不影响故事的完整性内稍做修改）。我想，实际上的情形大概也和这个差不多。因为，就算我忘掉故事的细节部分，但是他说话的语调我至今记忆犹新。把从别人那儿听到的故事改写成文章时，最重耍的是，耍重视说故事者当时说话的语调。只要能掌握住那个语气，那个故事就会变成真的。就算和事实有些出入，仍然是真实的故事。有时，甚至和事实本身有所差异，反而更能提高故事的真实性。相反的，在这个世界上，也有和事实完全吻合，却根本不是真实的故事。那种故事多半都很乏昧，而艮在某种情况下也会有危险。不管怎麽说，那种束西一听便知。
另外，我想事先声明的一点就是，做为一个说故事者，他只能算是个二流的角色。不知道为什麽，在某他方面亳不吝惜地赋予他各种优异的能力的神，却似乎并未赋予他说故事的能力。（唉！其实那种牧歌式的技能，在亲实生活并不能发挥多少作用。）所以，老实说，我在听他说话时，有好几次都不禁想打呵欠（当然我并没有那事做）。说着说着，有时候他会把话题扯远了。
有时候却一直在同样的地方打转。然後，他也花了很多时间去回忆往事。他彷佛手上拿箸故事的片段，经过慎重的审视，直到确定那些资料无误之後，才一个接一个地按照顺序把他们排列到桌面上。我身为小说家 身为职业的说故事者 只得先把那些片段前後对调，再小心翼翼地黏上接着剂，把他们拼凑成一个完整的东西。
我和他是在义大利中部的城镇碰面的，那个城镇好像就叫做鲁卡。
意大利中部。
那时我在罗马租了一楝公寓。由於妻正好有事回到日本，於是在那段时间里，我独自悠闻地享受火车之旅。我从杂内吉亚出发，沿途经过维洛那、曼德维、莫迪那，然後停留在鲁卡。这是我第二次来到鲁卡。那是个安静、舒适的小镇，镇郊有家以鲜菇料理闻名的餐厅。
他是来鲁卡洽商的。我们很偶然地住在同一家旅馆。
这世界真是太小了。
那一晚，我们在餐厅一起吃饭。我们部是独自旅行，也都觉得很无聊。随着年岁的增长，一个人旅行也变得很无聊。年轻时就不同了。不管是不是一个人，无论到什麽地方，都能充分享受旅行的乐趣。可是，年纪一大，就不行了。只有刚开始的两、叁天还能享受单独旅行的乐趣，到了後来就渐渐觉得景色不再优美，人声也变得嘈杂不堪。一闭上眼睛，就会想起一些不愉快的往事。到餐厅吃饭也觉得很麻烦。等待电车的时间也变得特别长，总是频频看钟。使用外国语言也觉得很麻烦。
因此，我想我们一见到彼此的身影时，顿时放心不少。我们坐在餐厅的暖炉前的座位上，叫了一瓶上等的红酒，还吃了鲜菇做的前菜、鲜菇羹，以及美味的烤菇。
他是为了采购家具而到鲁卡来的。他现在经营一家专门进口欧洲家具的公司，而且当然是经营得有声有色。虽然他并不骄傲，也没有暗示什麽（他只递给我一张名片，说他开了一家小公司）。不过，我一眼就看出他己经得到世俗社会中所谓的成功。从他的穿箸、说话方式、表情、动作，以及从他身上所散发的气息，我早已心里有数。所谓的『成功』，和他那种人，倒是十分相称的。令人感觉很舒服。
他说他看过我的所有小说。『我想，或许我和你的观念不同，所追求的目标也不一致。可是，我认为，能对人述说自己的故事，毕竟还是一件很愉快的事！』他说。
的确是相当中肯的意见。『假如能够说得好的话。』我说。
起先，我们谈了许多有关义大利这个国家的话题。例如，列车总是误点，吃饭的时间太长等等。可是，我也忘了为什麽会那样，在第二瓶义大利红葡萄酒送来时，他已经开始述说那个故事了。於是，我一边侧耳倾听，一边在旁边接腔。我想，他大约很多以前就想告诉别人那个故事了，可是，一直没有找到适当的对像。而且，我认为，如果当时不是在义大利中部小镇里一家气氛极佳的餐厅、如果那瓶酒不是香醇可口的八叁年份的红酒、如果当时壁炉没有燃着熊熊烈火，或许直到那天晚上我们分手为止，他也不会对我说出那段故事。
可是，他终究还是说了。
『以前，我一直认为自己是个很无趣的人，』他说：『从很小的特候起，我就是个规规矩矩的小孩。我总觉得自己的周围彷佛有个无形的框框，我一直小心冀翼的生活，不敢起越那个范围。我一直觉得自己的眼前有一个清楚的指标。那种感觉有点类似行走在标示清楚的高速公路上。例如，公路上有在那个方向要转向右侧车道、前面有弯道、禁止超车等等的标示，只要照着那个指示前进，一切都会非常顺利。无论什麽事都一样。只要那麽做，每个人都会夸奖我。大家都会佩服我。我想，小时候和我一样乖巧懂事的人，想必也都有同样的想法吧！可是，不久，我却发现了事实并非如此。』
他把酒杯拿到火光下照着，然後楞楞地看了一会儿。
『说起来，从那个角度来看，至少我的人生在最初的部分，确实是相当顺利的。我几乎没有遭遇过任何问题。可是，从另一方面来说，我根本无法好好掌握住自己生存的意义。随着年岁的增长，那种郁闷的感觉也愈来愈强烈。我不知道自己究竟在追求什麽。我想，我是得了「全能症候群」。换句话说，也就是说数学、英语、体育等，样样拿手。这样一来，就能得到父母的称赞，老师也说，没问题！你可以考上好的大学。『然而，我自己究竟适合什麽，自己究竟想做什麽，我却毫无概念。至於上了大学之後，究竟应该选那一系比较好，我也完全不知道。到底应该念法学系、还是工学院、抑或医学院呢？我觉得每一种都好，自己也都能胜任。可是，事实却不能这样。於是，我遵照父母及老师的意思，进了东京大学的法学系。因为他们说那是最适当的。我自己完全没有一个明确的意识。』
他又喝了一口酒。『你还记得我高中时代的女朋友吗？』
『你是说藤泽小姐吗？』我想起了她的姓氏。虽然没什麽自信，幸好说对了。
他点点头。『对！藤泽森子，她的情况也是一样。我很喜欢她，我喜欢和她在一起，毫无拘束地聊天。我把自己心中的秘密全部岩诉她，对於我所说的话，她也完全能够体会我的心情。因此，我们总是有说不完的话。那真是很棒的事！因为，在认识她以前，我几乎没有一个可以尽情倾诉心事的朋友。』
他和藤泽嘉子可以说是精神上的双胞胎。他们两人的生长环境十分相似。两个人都是眉清目秀，成绩优异，天生的颂导人才，也都是班上的『超级巨星』。他俩的家庭也都十分富裕，父母的感情却都不好。他们的母亲都比父亲年长几岁，父亲在外面金屋藏娇，几乎很少回家。他们只是为了维持体面才没有离缯。他们的家庭都是由母亲掌权。母亲认为无论做任何事，当然都得争取第一为目标。他们两人郁交不到亲密的朋友。虽然他们都很得人缘得可是也不知道为什麽却都
没什麽朋友。或许，通常不大完美的普通人，都喜欢选择和自己一样不大出色的人效朋友吧！他们一向是孤独的，也总是充满紧张感。
然而，在一个偶然的机会下，他们成了好朋友。彼此两心相许，不久就成为情侣。 他们总是 一起共进午餐，一起放学。只要一有空，就并肩细语。他们共同感兴趣的话题多得不得了。星期日他们一起念书。两个人都觉得只有他们两个人在一起的时候得才是最安逸的时刻。对於彼此的心情，他们都感同身受。他们总是不厌其烦地倾听对方诉说以前所拥有的孤独感、失落感、不安，以及某种梦幻般的事物。
他们开始每周爱抚一次，大概是在其中一人的家里进行。因为，他们的家庭都是人口简单(父亲经常不在，母亲也常常因事外出)，那麽做是很容易的。他们的规则是不脱衣服，而且只用手指。他们用那种方式，贪婪而激情地拥抱了十或十五分钟之後，便并肩坐在一张桌子前用功。
『暧， 这样够了嗯！赶快开始念书吧！』她边把裙子的下 拉好边说。由於他们的成绩不相上下，於是两人可以像竞赛一般地把念书当成一种乐趣。解答数学问题时，他们用计时的方式来竞争。念书对他们而言，一点也不痛苦。对他们来说，念书好像是他们的第二天性，是一件非常快乐的事！他说：也许你会说我是傻瓜，不过我确实很快乐。那种乐趣，大概只有像我们这种人才体会得到吧！
不过，他对那样的关系却完全不满足。他总觉得还欠缺什麽。对: ，他想和她上床。他想要真实的性行为。『肉体上的一体感』，他是这麽说的。我觉得那是必要的。由於已经进展到那种程度，我想，我们应该更解放，更进一步增进彼此的了解。对我而言，那是一种极其自然的情绪的推移。
然而，她却站在完全不同的观点来看待这件事。她咬住嘴唇，轻轻地摇摇头。
『我非常喜欢你。可是，我想保持处女之身，直到结婚为止。『她以十分平静的语气说。然後，不论他再怎麽说尽好话，极力说服她，她都不为所动。『我很爱你，非常地爱你！. 可是，那个和这个完全是两回事。对我而言，这是早就决定好的。我觉得很抱歉，但是，请你忍耐。如果你真心爱我，应该可以忍耐吧！』
既然她那样说，只得尊重她的意思了！他对我说：那是生活方式的问题，不过也不能说它毫无道理。其实，我本身对於对方是不是处女，倒不那麽重视。我想，万一将来和我结婚的对象不是处女的话，我也不会特别在意。我并不是个思想很前卫的人，也不是喜爱幻想的人。所以说，我的意想并不十分保守，我只是很实际。至於对方是不是处女，对我而言，并非特别重要的现实问题。最重要的是，男女之间是否相亘、完全的了解。我是那麽想的。可是，那完全是我个人的意见，不能勉强别人也要有如此想法的，她自然也有依照自己的想法，描绘自己的人生的权利。所以我只九九藏书能忍耐，只能还是把手伸进她的衣服下面爱抚她。你大概知道是怎麽回事吧！
大概知道，我说。我也有这种经验。
他有点脸红，然後露出微笑。又说：
其实，那样也不错。只是，一直停留在爱抚的阶段，不管爱抚多久，我都无法得到心灵上的平静。对我而言，爱抚只是一个过程。我所渴求的，是完全没有任何辽掩地和她融为一体。拥有对方，也被对方拥有。我所想要的，就是那种象徵。当然，那其中也有我个人性欲的成分。不过，并不完全只是那样，我要的是两个肉体上的一体感。自我出生以来，我从末经验过那种形式的一体感。我一直是独自一人，又因为一直被限制在某个范围内，而紧张不安。我想要自我解放。我认为，透过自我的解放，应该可以读我发现到目前为止，一直显得很模糊的真实的自我。我想透过和她紧紧地结合为一体这件事，来解开我为自己所设置的『框框『。
『可是你并没有成功？』我问。
『嗯，我失败了。『他说。然後，他静静地看着在壁炉中燃烧的木材。
过了一会儿，他说：『一直到最後，我都没有成功。』他的眼光出奇地平静。
他也曾认真地考虑过和她结婚，而且明白地向她求婚。他说：大学一毕业，我们可以马上结婚，一切都没问题。而且，我们可以早一点订婚。她盯着他看了好一会儿，然後浮现出淡淡的微笑。那真是一个十分迷人的笑靥。她确实很高兴听到他那番话。可是，同时，她的笑容也像一般饱经世故的人，在听到比自己年轻的人的不成熟的言论时，所露出的有几分寂寞，也有点多馀的笑容。至少，当时他有那种感觉。暧，那是不行的！我不能和你结婚。我要和比我大几岁的人结婚，而你得和比你小几岁的人结婚。那是社会上的一般潮流。因为女人比男人早熟，同样地也比男人老得快。你对於这个世界还不大了解。即使我们大学一毕业就结婚，将来也不会幸福的。我们一定不可能永远像现在这样。当然，我是很喜欢你。自出生以来，我从来没有喜欢过别人。可是，那个和这个是两回事（『那个和这个是两回事』是
她的口头禅〕。我们现在还是高中生，有许多事情都受到严密的保护。但是，外面的世界却不一样了。外面的世界更大、更现实。我们必须先做好心理准备。
对於她所说的，他都可以理解。因为和同年龄的男孩比较起来，他是拥有比较现实的想法的人。因此，如果把别的机会当做一般论来说，或许他也会同意这种说法。不过，这并不是一般的情况。那是他本身的问题。
『我实在不了解！』他说：『我是那麽地爱你，我很想和你融为一体。这是非常清楚的感觉，而且，对我来说也是非常重要的事。比方说，就算其中含有不大切合实际的部分，老实说，我认为那韭不是很大的问题。反正，我就是非常喜劝你。我爱你！』
她仍然摇摇头，只是一个劲儿地说：『没有办法！』然後，她抚摸着他的头发，说:『对於爱，我们究竟有多少了解呢?我们的爱尚未经过任何考验！我们也没有负起任何责任！我们都还是小孩子，你和我都是！』
他一句话也说不出来。只是觉得很悲哀，他为自己无法突破围绕在他周围的墙壁而感到悲哀。不久以前，他还觉得那个墙壁是为了保护他而存在的。然而，现在他却认为是它阻碍了他的去路。他对自己充满无力感。他想，我已经什麽都做不成了。我大概会永远像现在这样，永远被困在这个坚固的框框里，一步也跨不出去，只畏徒增年纪罢了。
结果，两人直到高中毕业，都一直维持着那获的关系。先在图书馆会合，再一起念书，然後穿着衣服爱抚。她对於两人关系的不完整，似乎一点也不在意。或许，她是以那种不完整的关系为乐呢？周团的人也一直深信他们会毫无问题地度过这段青春期。只有他一个人抱着一个无法割舍的意念。
於是，在一九六七年的春天，他进了东京大学，她则考上神户着名的女子大学。就女子大学而言，那所大学确实是一流的。不过，若以她的成绩来说，却是退而求其次的选择。其实，只要她有那个意愿，她也能考上东京大学。可是她却没有参加考试，她认为那是不必要的。『我并不想继续研究学问，将来也不想到财政部上班。我是个女孩子，我和你不一样。你是必须不断地往上爬的人，而我想悠闲地度过今後的四年。暧，我想梢微休息一下。因为，一旦结了婚，不就什麽也做不成了吗?』她说。
这件事也令他感到十分沮丧。他本来想，两个人一起到东京之後，再重新建立起两人之间的新关系。你也过来念东京的大学吧！他那麽说。然而，她还是摇摇头。
他在大学一年级的暑假回到神户，和她几乎每天约会（我和他就是在那一年的暑假，在汽车驾驶训练班重逢的）。她开车载他到各地避玩，然後像往常一样地爱抚。可是，对於两人之间开始产生的某种变化，他也不是毫无感觉。现实的空气开始悄无声息地潜入他们之间。
其实，他们之间并没有什麽具体的改变。不，与其这麽说，不如说就是太缺乏变化了。她的说话方式、穿着习惯，以及对话题的选择方式和意见！都几乎和以前完全一样。可是，他却觉得自己无法再像以前那样地融入那个世界中。他觉得有些不一样了。那或许只是极小的幅度的改变，却一点点地逐渐失去原来的面貌。这种情形本身并不坏，不过他却无法掌握改变的方向。
大概是我自己变了吧！他想。
他在东京的生活很孤独。即使在大学里，也没交到什麽朋友。街道满是垃圾，十分脏乱， 食物难以下 ，人们的谈吐也很低俗。至少他是那麽想的。因此，在东京的那段时间里，他一直在想她。到了晚上，他总是窝在房间里写情书。她也有回信(虽然回信的次数比他写给她的少得多)。她把自己目前过着怎麽样的生活详详细细地告诉他，他反覆地看着那些信。他曾想，要是没有她的信，自己也许会发疯呢！
他开始学会抽烟、喝酒，有时甚至也会跷课。
不过，当他好不容易盼到暑假，回到神户一看，却对许多事情感到失望。奇怪的是，虽然仅仅离开了叁个月，在故乡所见到的一切事物却都彷佛蒙上一层灰，失去了生气。和母亲的对话也变得十分乏味。在东京一直怀念着的四周风景，也变得难以形容的古旧。归根究底，神户的街道只不过是一个自我满足的乡下小镇。他变得讨厌和别人说话，就迈童年时经常光顾的理发店，都令他厌烦。甚至连以前每天带着狗去散步的海岸，看在眼里也只是空荡荡的一片，而且到处都是垃圾。
此外，和她的约会也无法提高他的兴致。约会完回到家之後，他总是独自陷入深深的沉思。到底有什麽不对劲呢？他当然还是爱着她，他的心意一点也没有改变。
可是，光是那样还不够，必须再加一点热劲才行，他想。所谓的热情，长在某个时期里，藉箸发自内在的力量来加以推动。不过，那却无法一直持续下去。如果现在不加把劲，那麽，我们的关系总有一天会停滞不前，那股热情也可能会逐渐停息终至完全消失。
他打算有一天要再次提出冻结已久的性问题。同时，他预定那是最後一次向她要求。
『我一个人在东京待了叁个月，我一直想着你。我想，我实在太爱你了。不论我们相隔多远，我对你的感情永远不变。可是，如果我们一直相隔两地，有很多事会变得令人十分不安。我对你的相思会日渐膨胀。人在单独一人的时候，是相当脆弱的。你一定不知道。以前，我从未像这样地孤独过。所以说，那种滋味是相当难
受的。因此，我希望我们之间有一个明碓的结合为一体般的关系。我希望，即使隔得再远，也能够拥有已经结合为一体的把握。』
但是，她还是摇摇头。然後叹了一口气，轻轻地吻了他一下。十分优雅地。
『对不起！但是，我不能把自己的处女之身献给你。这个是这个，那个是那个。只要我做得到的，我什麽都可以给你。可是，只有那个不行，如果你真心爱我，就请别再对我说这种话了！求求你！』
但是，他又再度提出结婚的要求。
『我们班上的同学也有已经订婚的，虽然只有两个。』她说。『可是她们的对象都已经在工作了。所谓的「订婚」，就是那麽一回事。结婚是一种责任，表示你必须自立，而且能够接受他人。要是不负责任，就不会得到任何东西。』
『我愿意负责任。』他很肯定地说。『我已经考上很好的大学，今後我将努力争取好的成绩。那样一来，我将来就有希望进入一流的公司或政府某个机构服务。我什麽都做得到，只要是你喜欢的地方，我一定以最好的成绩考进去。我相信，只里我肯做，无论做什麽都会成功。到底还有什麽问题呢?』
她闭上眼睛，把头靠在车子的椅背上。然後，半晌都不作声。『我好害怕哦！』她说。於是把脸埋在两只手里，低声啜泣。『我真的好害怕哦！我害怕得不得了！我害怕人生！我害怕活下去！我也害怕几年之後必须踏入现实的社会中。你为什麽不明白这一点呢? 你为什麽一点也不能体谅我呢?你为何要如此折磨我?』他不禁将她拥入怀中。『只要有我在，你就不用怕了！』他说。『其实，我也真的很害怕。
我和你一样害怕。不过，我想只要能和你在一起，就能毫不畏惧地跨出成功的脚步。只要我们团结起来，就什麽也不怕了！』
她摇摇头。『你还是不明白！我是女生啊！我和你不一样。你根本完全不了解这一点！』
事己至此，再说什麽也无济於事了。她一直在哭泣，等她终於止住哭泣之後，她说了一段很奇怪的话。
『嗳，如果……，我是说如果我和你分手了，我还是会永远记得你。真的！我绝对不会忘了你！我真的好爱你！你是我第一个爱上的人，而且，只要和你在一起，我就觉得很快乐。希望一你了解这一点。可是，那个和这个是两回事。如果你希望我保证对你的爱，那我们就在此约定。我会和你上床。不过，现在还不行。等我和某人结婚以後，我再和你上床。我不骗你！我保证！』
『那时候，我完全不知道她究竟想说些什麽。』他一边望着壁炉的火，一边说。服务生端来主餐，然後又在壁炉添了些木柴，火花辟哩叭啦地四处飞舞。邻座的中年夫绵正专心地挑选甜点。『我不知道为什麽，简直像打哑谜一样。我回到家，想起她说过的话，我再度认真地考虑，还是根本无法理解她的想法。你了解吗?』
『换句话说，她是想在结婚之前保持处女之身，不过，一旦结了婚，就没必要再做处女了，所以，即使和你上床也无所谓，因此，她才要等到那个时候吧?』
『大概是那样吧！否则实在令人想不通。』
『虽说是她独特的想法，不过仟细想起来，也不无道理。』
他的嘴角泛起一个斯文的微笑。『就是那样，果然有道理。』
『她希望以处女之身结婚，身为人妻之後再风流。犹如以前的法国小说一般，只是缺少了舞会和身边的女仆。』
『那是她所能想得到，唯一能解决现实问题的方法！』他说。
『真可怜！』我说。
他凝视着我，过了一会儿才慢慢地点点头。『真可怜！的确是那样，正如你所说的。你也完全了解了！』他再度点点头。『到了现在，我也是那麽想，因为栽现在已经老了。可是，当时我却怎麽样也想不通，困为那时候我还只是个孩子，我还不能够完全体会出人类心灵中某些微妙的震撼。所以，我只是十分惊讶。老实说，我当时真是震惊得连话都说不出来。』
『我非常了解你的感受。』我说。
接下来，我们只是默默地吃着眼前的美食。『正如我当初所预料的。』过了一会儿，他说..『我和她最後还是分手了。我们都没有对对方提出分手的要求。认真地说起来，我们的恋情可说是自然而然地结束了。我们都非常冷静，大概是我和她都觉得继续维持那种关系实在太累了。在我眼中看来，她的生活方式嘛，应该怎麽说呢 我认为是不大诚实。 不，不对，正确地说，是我觉得她应该可以选择更理想的生活方式。所以，我对她觉得有点失望。我想，如果她不再老是想着处女或结婚那些事情，她的人生应该可以过得更有意义吧！』
『不过，我想她无法做到那一点。』我说。
他点点头。『说的也是，我也是那麽想。』他切了一块很厚的鲜菇，送入口中。『因为她的人生缺乏弹性。对於这一点，我非常了解。她整个人失去弹性了。我们
从小就被鞭策往前走！往前走！於是，尽管只有几分的能力，也得依照别人所说的，硬着头皮往前走！然而，自我的实现却不能只靠别人的鞭策。这样一来，总有一天会变成「弹性疲乏」。就像那些道德规范一般。』
『你的情况不是那样吗?』我试着问道。
『我想，我已经突破了那种障碍。』他考虑了半晌才说。接着，他把刀、叉放下，用餐巾擦擦嘴。『我和她分手之後，又在东京交了一个女朋友。她是个很好的女孩，我们认识不久就同居了。老实说，我和她的关系，并不像和藤泽嘉子在一起时那麽心动。不过，我还是非常喜欢她。我们彼此互相了解，而且可以坦诚地交往。
我从她那里学到了很多事，比方说，人类究觅是怎麽样的一种动物，以及一般人拥有什事优点和什麽弱点。於是，我也开始交了一些朋友，对於政治问题也开始关心。不过，我的本性并末因此而骤然改变，我一直是很实际的人，大概现在也还是
一样。就像我不会写小说，而你也不会去进口家具。可是，我在大学裹学到这个世异上有着各式各样的现实性。这是个很宽广的世界，各式各样的价值观平行地存在於其中。身为一个人，其实并不需要样样精通。而後，我开始踏入社会。』
『然後，终於成功了。』
『还好啦！』他说。然後，他似乎有点不好意思地叹了一口气。接着，用好像在看阴谋的共犯般的眼光看着我。『我想，和同年龄的人比较起来，我的收入的确多得多。不过，如果说到实际性，』他只说到这里，便又陷入短暂的沉默。
我知道他的话还没有说完，所以，我什麽也没说，只是静静地等他继续说下去。
『从那以後，我一直没和藤泽嘉子碰过面。』他接着说。『一直没有。我大学毕某後，进入一家贸易公司工作。然後，大约在那里待了五年。我也曾被派驻到国外，我每天都很忙碌。大约在大学毕业後两年，我听到了她结婚的消息，是我母亲告诉我的，我连对方是谁都没问。我听到那个消息以後，第一个想到的是，她是否真的直到结婚前夕依然保持处女之身呢? 我首先想到的，就是这个问题，後来又觉得有点伤心。第二天，我更伤心了。因为我隐隐觉得所有的事情都结束了。我也觉得在我背後的那扇门永远关上了。嗳，其实那也是理所当然的，因为我是真心爱她。况且我们也谈了将近四年的恋爱。我，至少在我这方面，也曾认真地考虑过和她结婚的问题。她在我的青春期占了相当大的部分。我为她嫁给别人而感到伤心，也是极其自然的。不过，我又转念一想..算了！只要她将来能够幸福也就够了，我真的是那麽想。因为 怎麽说呢?我对她有点担心。因为她在某些方面非常脆弱。』
服务生把我们的盘子端下去。然後推来摆着各式甜点的餐车，我们不要甜点，只各叫了一杯咖啡。
『我很晚婚。我结婚时，已经卅二岁了。所以，藤泽嘉子打电话给我时，我还是单身。那时，我学约二十八岁吧！嗯，没错！现在回想起来，已经是十多年前的事情了。那时，我刚辞去原来的工作，开始独立创业。我请父亲担保，向银行贷了一笔钱，开始经营一家小公司。我下定决心，从此将在进口家具市场上一展长才。尽管我有那种抱负，但是，创业初期，各方面的进展都不大顺利。交货延误、产品滞销、仓库费用愈积愈多，贷款的偿还又迫在眉睫。老实说，那段时期我也感到有点疲倦，而且逐渐对自己失去信心。那段时间，也许可以说是我有生以来最凄惨、落魄的时候。就在那个时候，她来了电话，我也不知道她是如何打听到我的电话号码的。可是，某一天晚上的八点左右，她突然打电话给我。我马上就听出那是藤泽嘉子的声音，那是我永远无法忘怀，而且十分怀念的声音。正当我最沮丧的时侯，能听到昔日恋人的声音，真是太好了！』
他彷佛在回忆什麽似地，楞楞地看着壁炉中的木柴。等他回过神来时，餐厅早已客满了。餐厅襄，到处洋溢着人们的谈话声、欢笑声以及餐具的碰撞声。看来这家餐厅的客人几乎都是本地人，很多客人都十分热络地对侍者直呼其名。例如：裘瑟比！保罗！
『我也不知道她是听谁说的，不过，她对於我的事情倒是了如指掌。例如，我至今仍然单身，我一直被派驻在国外，甚至一年前我辞去工作自行创业之事，她全部都知道。她说，放心吧！你一定会做得很好，你一定要对自己有信心！我相信你将来一定会成功！你没有理由放弃，不是吗? 她的话令我感到十分欣慰。她的声音非常温柔。我一定做得到！我不禁蛋新考虑。她的声音重新唤起我以前所拥有的自信。我想，只要在现实的生活中，我绝对有办法继续生存下去。「因为现实的世界是为我这种人而造的。」』他笑着说。『然後，我也开始询问她的近况。我问她和什麽样的人结婚，有没有小孩，现在住在那里等。她说她没有小孩，先生大她四岁，在电视公司上班，在当导演。我说，那他一定恨忙吧！对呀！他非常忙，忙得连生小孩的时间都没有，她说，说完自己也笑了。她说她住在东京品川的一栋大厦。那
时候， 我住在白金台。我们的住处虽 然不是很近，却也相距不远。「真是想不到啊！ 」我说。我们就那样聊了起来。因为以前是高中 时的情侣，所以在那种情况下，几乎是无所不谈。虽然，彼此都觉得有点生疏，不过还是聊得很开心。结果，我们就像一对早已分手，如今各自走在不同的道路上的老朋友般地聊个不停。我已经好久没有像那麽直率地说话了，我们聊了很久很久。然後，等我们把想要说的话
全部说完以後，沉默就来了。怎麽说呢……那是一种几乎令人窒息的沉默。彷佛只要一闭上眼睛，所有东西的影像就会清清楚楚地浮现眼前的那种沉默。』他看了一会儿放在桌上的自己的手。然後，他仰起脸，看着我的眼睛。『站在我的立场，如果可能的话，我想就此挂断电话。我会对她说，谢谢你打电话给我，和你聊天真的很愉快。你了解我的心情吗?』
『从现实的观点来看，那样做的确是最实际的。』我同意他的说法。
『可是，她却没有挂断电话。而且还邀我去她家做客。她说: 你现在就可以过来，我先生出差去了，我一个人好无聊哦！我不知道该说什麽，只好保持沉默。她也默不作声。於是，短暂的沉默在我们之间持续着。片刻之後，她忽然这麽说: 我还记得以前对你许下的承诺呢！』
『我还记得以前对你许下的承诺。』她说。他楞了一下，不知道她在说什麽。然後，他忽然想起来，有一次她曾经说过，等我结婚之後，我再和你上床。他记得很清楚。可是，他从未把那个当做一种承诺。他以为，她之所以会说出那种话，只是因为当时她的脑筋己经一片混乱。她已经混乱到分不清什麽是什麽了，以至於胡言乱语。
然而，她并不是乱说的。对她而言，那就是一种承诺。那是一项清晰而肯定的誓约。
他在一瞬间迷失了方向。他不知道，究竟怎麽做才是最正确的。他顿时觉得束手无策，於是不经意地环顾四周。可是，他到处都找不到那个『框框』，已经没有什麽可以引导他了。当然，他很想和她上床，那是不用再说的。他自从和她分手之後，也曾多次想过和她做爱的情景。就算和她恋爱时，他也曾多次偷愉地想像过那种事情。仔细回想起来，他连她的裸体都没见过。他对於她的肉体的认识，只限於
把手探进衣服里面时指尖的触感而已。她连内衣都没脱掉，她只让他把手指伸进内衣里面。
不过，他也知道在现在这个阶段和她上床，将是多麽危险的事。或许，他将因此事而损失许多东西。因此，他不想把自己过去弃置於黑暗之中的东西，在此再度唤醒。他觉得，那是不适合自己的行为。很明显的，那里掺杂了许多非现实性的因素，而那种浪漫的想法和他的个性并不符合。
不过，当然他并未拒绝。为什麽要拒绝呢? 那是个永远的童话。那或许是一生之中仅有一次的美丽神话故事。他那位随着最容易受伤的青春期而消失的美丽女友对他说：我想和你上床，你现往就来我家。而她就住在附近。那个是很久以前在森林深处，彼此悄悄地交换的传说般的承诺。
有好一会儿，他只是静静地问上眼睛，默默无语。
『喂……喂……』她说，『………你，还在那里吗?』
『我还在！』他说。『我明白了。我现在就去，我想大约半小时之内就可以到，请你告诉我府上的住扯。』
他把大厦的名字、房间号码和电号号码都记下来。然後很快地刮了胡子，换过衣服，叫了部计程车赶到她家。
『如果换成你，你会怎麽做?』他问我。
我摇摇头。这麽难的问题，实在很难回答。
他笑着看看放在桌上的咖啡杯。『我真希望可以不必回答这个问题。可是，事实却不行。我必须当场下定决心。究竟是去，还是不去呢? 我只能选释其中一个。９９ｌｉｂ.
除此之外，别无选择。於是，我到了她家，我敲了她家的大门。我想，如果她不在那裹，那该有多好呢！可是，她却在那里。她依然如往昔一般美丽，也如往日一般充满魅力。而且如往日一般，浑身散发着迷人的香味。我们两人喝了点酒，顺便叙叙旧，我们还听了古典音乐。你猜，後来怎麽样了?』
我一点也想不出来。『我猜不到！』我直截了当地说。
我记得好久以前，我曾经看过一篇童话。』他一直看着对面的墙壁，一边说。
『我已经忘掉那是什事内容了。不过，只有最後一段，我还记得很清楚。因为，我还是第一次看到那麽奇怪的结束方式的童话。那个故事的结尾是这麽写的..『当一切事惰都结束之後，国王和侍从们都捧腹大笑。』你不认为那样的结束方式有点奇怪吗?』
『不错！』我说。
『我一直拚命地想那个故事的内容，可是却怎麽也想不起来。我只记得最後那一段不可思议的文字。「当一切事情都结束之後，国王和待从们都摔腹大笑。」那究竟是怎麽样的内容呢?』
那时，我的咖啡已经喝完了。
『我们互相拥抱。』他说。『可是并没有上床。我没有把她的衣服脱掉，我们像以前一样，只用手爱抚。我想那是最好的，她似乎也认为那是最好的方式。我们什麽话也没说，只是爱抚了很长一段时间。我们应该理解的事情，是那种只有那样做才能彼此了解的事。当然，如果是在以前，我或许不会那麽想。我想，我们会很自然地透过「性行为」，来增进彼此的了解。也许，我们可以经由「做爱」，而更加幸福也未可知。不过，那一切都已经结束了。那是已经封印，已经冻结了的事情，谁也无法再将那个封印撕开了。』
他把空咖啡杯放在盘子上转来转去。他一直持续着那个动作，後来侍者也忍不住走过来看。不过，不久他便把咖啡杯放回原处。然後招来侍者，又叫了一杯。
『我想，我在她那里前後大约待了一小时。我已经记不大清楚了。不过，我觉得大约是那麽久。我想，如果再待久一点，也许会变得神志不清呢！』他说着，露出微笑。『於是，我对她说了再见就走了，她也对我说「再见」。於是那就是真正最後一次的再见了，我了解那一点，她也了解那一点。我最後看到她时，她交抱着双臂，站在门口。她似乎想要说什麽，可是终究没有开口。其实，她想说什麽，我不听也知道。我觉得非常……非常空虚，好像有一种十分空洞的感觉。四周的声音变得非常怪异，所有的东西看起来都歪歪斜斜的。我在那附近漫无目的地徘桐。我觉得自己到目前为止所花费的时间都是亳无意义的，完全浪费了。我好想马上回到她的住处，不顾一切地紧紧拥抱她。可是，我却做不出那样的事，我没有理由那麽做。』
他闭上眼睛，摇摇头。然後啜饮着侍者送上来的第二杯咖啡。
『说起来很难为情，那天晚上我就去街上找女人。召妓陪宿，在我来说是生平第一次。而且我想那大慨也是最後一次了！』
我楞楞地看着自己的咖啡杯。然後想着自己以前是多麽傲慢的人。我很想告诉他一些关於自已的事。然而，却怎麽也说不出口。
『像我这样说话，你不觉得事情妤像是发生在别人身上吗?』他笑着说。然後，好像在想什麽心事似地默默不语。我也默不作声。
『当一切事情都结束之後， 国王和待从们都捧腹大笑。 』不久，他这麽说。『每次当我回忆起那时的情景时，总是会联想到那段文字，简直就像反射作用一样。我仔细想想，在深深的悲哀里总是包含着些许的滑稽。』
我想，正如我刚开始时说过的，这个故事里面并没有足以称为『教训』的事。可是，这是发生在他身上的事，也是可能发生在你我身上的事。所以，我听了这个故事却无法捧腹大笑，直到今天依然如故。
asparagus─芦笋
真不凑巧99lib.，我们在芦笋田的正中央迷了路。本来我们预定在中午过后到达下一个村庄，因此一大早就开始上路了，可是当我们发现自己正在一片广大的芦笋田中央时，太阳却已经偏西了。吹过来的风明显地夹带着冷气，周遭开始弥漫着一股不祥的芦笋味。
我从帆布背袋里拿出罗盘和地图，试着找出现在的位置，结果完全弄不清楚到底怎么回事，地图上根本没提到这地方有芦笋田。
「总之先找看看哪边有村庄。只要知道正确方向，总会有办法穿出这片芦笋田的。」我说。
体重最轻的弟弟轻盈地爬上高耸的芦笋巨木，像猴子一样单手抓着树干，向四周张望了一圈。
「看不出什么，什么也看不见，连一盏灯也看不见。」弟弟一面摇头一面说。
「怎么办？哥？」妹妹的声音就像快哭出来似的。
「没问题，不用担心。」我拍拍妹妹的肩膀说：「你们去找很多枯枝来。要够烧一个晚上噢，你们去找的时候我就在四周挖壕沟。」
弟弟和妹妹照我的话，一面用毛巾掩着口鼻以防止身体麻痹，一面拼命捡芦笋枯枝。而我则用铁锹挖着一公尺深左右的壕沟。虽然没有水的一公尺深沟只不过聊以安慰自己，不过总比什么也没有好。至少可以让害怕的弟弟妹妹安心。
满月清晰地浮上空中。那月光把从芦笋根部吹上来的白浊气息染成蓝色。来不及逃走的几只小鸟跌落在地上， 痛苦地拍着翅膀 。 再过一会99lib.儿－－月亮就要升到正上方了－－也许牠们将被芦笋的触手纠缠住。不巧，今夜是满月。
「身体再趴低一点，头要钻到白气下面才行。绝对不可以睡着。一睡着触手就会伸出来哟！」我说。漫长的黑夜才正开始。藏书网
The Second Bakery Attack
Did you ever try to share something that impresses you very much with someone who impresses you very much, only to receive an impressive lack of appreciation?
Its like taking landscape pictures from your vacation, and then showing them around. Just dont bother.
This happeo me with Haruki Murakami. Murakami is a very talented, abs, inspiring writer who wrote the best short story I have ever read, "Sleep." He also wrote the following story (which is shorter than "Sleep" and thus more transcription-friendly), which I numbed my little fiyping out one day at work, risking my job, eyesight and circulation for the sake of e-mailing it to three ingrates whose puzzled, lackluster reaade them unworthy of my suffering. (I mean, I was also really bored and, irospect, potentially a bit touched that day; but thats beside the point.)
I guess we must choose our cultural battles carefully.
But if at least one person is searg for some eleic Murakami and is gratified by this page, my labor will not have been in vain.
=============================================
The Sed Bakery Attack, by Haruki Murakami
Im still not sure I made the right choice when I told my wife about the bakery attack. But then, it might not have been a question ht and wrong. Which is to say that wrong choices produce right results, and vice versa. I myself have adopted the position that, in fact, we never choose anything at all. Things happen. Or not.
If you look at it this way, it just so happens that I told my wife about the bakery attack. I hadnt been planning t it up--I had fotten all about it--but it wasnt one of those now-that-you-mention-it kind of things, either.
What reminded me of the bakery attack was an unbearable hunger. It hit just before two oclo the m. We had eaten a light supper at six, crawled into bed at hirty, and goo sleep. For some reason, we woke up at exactly the same moment. A few minutes later, the pangs struck with the force of the tornado in The Wizard of Oz. These were tremendous, overp hunger pangs.
Our refrigerator tained not a siem that could be teically categorized as food. We had a bottle of French dressing, six s of beer, two shriveled onions, a stick of butter, and a box of refrigerator deodorizer. With only two weeks of married life behind us, we had yet to establish a precise jugal uanding with regard to the rules of dietary behavior. Let alone anything else.
I had a job in a law firm at the time, and she was doiarial work at a design school. I was either twe or twenty-nine--why t I remember the exact year we married?--and she was two years a months younger. Groceries were the last things on our minds.
We both felt too hungry to go back to sleep, but it hurt just to lie there. Oher hand, we were also too hungry to do anything useful. We got out of bed and drifted into the kit, ending up across the table from each other. What could have caused such violent hunger pangs?
We took turns opening the refrigerator door and hoping, but no matter how many times we looked ihe tents never ged. Beer and onions and butter and dressing and deodorizer. It might have been possible to saute the onions iter, but there was no ce those two shriveled onions could fill our empty stomachs. Onions are meant to be eaten with other things. They are not the kind of food you use to satisfy an appetite.
"Would madame care for some French dressing sauteed in deodorizer?"
I expected her to ignore my attempt at humor, and she did. "Lets get in the car and look for an all-night restaurant," I said. "There must be one on the highway."
She rejected that suggestion. "We t. Youre not supposed to go out to eat after midnight." She was old-fashioned in that way.
I breathed ond said, "I guess not."
Whenever my wife expressed su opinion (or thesis) back then, it reverberated in my ears with the authority of a revelation. Maybe thats what happens with newlyweds, I dont know. But when she said this to me, I began to think that this ecial hunger, not ohat could be satisfied through the mere expedient of taking it to an all-night restaurant on the highway.
A special kind of hunger. And what might that be?
I present it here in the form of a ematic image.
One, I am in a little boat, floating on a quiet藏书网 sea. Two, I look down, and ier, I see the peak of a volo thrusting up from the o floor. Three, the peak seems pretty close to the waters surface, but just how close I ot tell. Four, this is because the hypertransparency of the water interferes with the perception of distance.
This is a fairly accurate description of the image that arose in my mind during the two or three seds betweeime my wife said she refused to go to an all-night restaurant and I agreed with my "I guess not." Not being Sigmund Freud, I was, of course, uo analyze with any precision what this image signified, but I knew intuitively that it was a revelation. Which is why--the almost grotesque iy of my hunger notwithstanding--I all but automatically agreed with her thesis (or declaration).
We did the only thing we could do: opehe beer. It was a lot better thaing those onions. She didnt like beer much, so we divided the s, two for her, four for me. While I was drinking the first one, she searched the kit shelves like a squirrel in November. Eventually, she turned up a package that had four butter cookies itom. They were leftovers, soft and soggy, but we each ate two, sav every crumb.
It was no use. Upon this hunger of ours, as vast and boundless as the Sinai Peninsula, the butter cookies and beer left not a trace.
Time oozed through the dark like a lead weight in a fishs gut. I read the print on the aluminum beer s. I stared at my watch. I looked at the refrigerator door. I turhe pages of yesterdays paper. I used the edge of a postcard to scrape together the cookie crumbs oabletop.
"Ive never been this hungry in my whole life," she said. "I wonder if it has anything to do with being married."
"Maybe," I said. "Or maybe not."
While she hunted for more fragments of food, I leaned over the edge of my boat and looked down at the peak of the uer volo. The clarity of the o water all around the boat gave me an uled feeling, as if a holloened somewhere behind my solar plexus--a hermetically sealed cavern that had her entranor exit. Something about this weird sense of absehis sense of the existential reality of ence--resembled the paralyzing fear you might feel when you climb to the very top of a high steeple. This e between hunger and acrophobia was a new discovery for me.
Which is when it occurred to me that I had once before had this same kind of experience. My stomach had been just as empty then...When?...Oh, sure, that was--
"The time of the bakery attack," I heard myself saying.
"The bakery attack? What are you talking about?"
And so it started.
"I oacked a bakery. Long time ago. Not a big bakery. Not famous. The bread was nothing special. Not bad, either. One of those ordinary little neighborhood bakeries right in the middle of a block of shops. Some old guy ran it who did everything himself. Baked in the m, and when he sold out, he closed up for the day."
"If you were going to attack a bakery, why that one?"
"Well, there was no point in attag a big bakery. All we wanted was bread, not money. We were attackers, not robbers."
"We? Whos we?"
"My best friend back then. Ten years ago. We were so broke we couldnt buy toothpaste. Never had enough food. We did some pretty awful things to get our hands on food. The bakery attack was one."
"I do." She looked hard at me. Her eyes could have been searg for a faded star in the m sky. "Why didnt you get a job? You could have worked after school. That would have been easier than attag bakeries."
"We didnt want to work. We were absolutely clear on that."
"Well, youre w now, arent you?"
I nodded and sucked some more beer. Then I rubbed my eyes. A kind of beery mud had oozed into my brain and was struggling with hunger pangs.
"Times ge. People ge," I said. "Lets go back to bed. Weve got to get up early."
"Im not sleepy. I want you to tell me about the bakery attack."
"Theres nothing to tell. No a. ement."
"Was it a success?"
I gave up on sleep and ripped open another beer. Once she gets ied in a story, she has to hear it all the way through. Thats just the way she is.
"Well, it was kind of a success. And kind of not. We got what we wanted. But as a holdup, it didnt work. The baker gave us the bread before we could take it from him."
"Free?"
"ly, no. Thats the hard part." I shook my head. "The baker was a classical-music freak, and whe there, he was listening to an album of Wagner overtures. So he made us a deal. If we would listen to the record all the way through, we could take as much bread as we liked. I talked it over with my buddy and we figured, Okay. It wouldnt be work in the purest sense of the word, and it wouldnt hurt anybody. So we put our knives ba , pulled up a couple of chairs, and listeo the overtures to Tannhauser and The Flying Dut."
"And after that, you got your bread?"
&quht. Most of what he had in the shop. Stuffed it in and took it home. Kept us fed for maybe four or five days." I took another sip. Like soundless waves from an undersea earthquake, my sleepiness gave my boat a long, slow rog.
"Of course, we aplished our missio the bread. But you couldnt say we had itted a crime. It was more of an exge. We listeo Wagner with him, and iur our bread. Legally speaking, it was more like a ercial transa."
"But listening to Wagner is not work," she said.
"Oh, no, absolutely not. If the baker had insisted that we wash his dishes or his windows or something, we would have turned him down. But he didnt. All he wanted from us was to listen to his Wagner LP from beginning to end. Nobody could have anticipated that. I mean--Wagner? It was like the baker put a curse on us. Now that I think of it, we should have refused. We should have threatened him with our knives and taken the damn bread. Then there wouldnt have been any problem."
"You had a problem?"
I rubbed my eyes again.
"Sort of. Nothing you could put your finger on. But things started to ge after that. It was kind of a turning point. Like, I went back to the uy, and I graduated, and I started w for the firm and studying the bar exam, and I met you and got married. I never did anything like that again. No more bakery attacks."
"Thats it?"
"Yup, thats all there was to it." I drank the last of the beer. Now all six s were gone. Six pull-tabs lay in the ashtray like scales from a mermaid.
Of course, it wasnt true that nothing had happened as a result of the bakery attack. There were plenty of things that you could have easily put your finger on, but I didnt want to talk about them with her.
"So, this friend of yours, whats he doing now?"
"I have no idea. Something happened, some nothing kind of thing, aopped hanging around together. I havent seen him since. I dont know what hes doing."
For awhile, she didnt speak. She probably sehat I wasnt tellihe whole story. But she wasnt ready to press me on it.
"Still," she said, "thats why you two broke up, isnt it? The bakery attack was the direct cause."
"Maybe so. I guess it was more intehaher of us realized. We talked about the relationship of bread to Wagner for days after that. We kept asking ourselves if we had made the right choice. We couldnt decide. Of course, if you look at it sensibly, we did make the right choiobody got hurt. Everybody got what he wahe baker--I still t figure out why he did what he did--but anyway, he succeeded with his Wagner propaganda. And we succeeded in stuffing our faces with bread.
"But even so, we had this feeling that we had made a terrible mistake. And somehow, this mistake has just stayed there, unresolved, casting a dark shadow on our lives. Thats why I used the word curse. Its true. It was like a curse."
"Do you think you still have it?"
I took the six pull-tabs from the ashtray and arrahem into an aluminum ring the size of a bracelet.
"Who knows? I dont know. I bet the world is full of curses. Its hard to tell which curse makes any ohing g."
"Thats not true." She looked right at me. "You tell, if you think about it. And unless you, yourself, personally break the curse, itll stick with you like a toothache. Itll torture you till you die. And not just you. Me, too."
"You?"
"Well, Im your best friend now, arent I? Why do you think were both so hungry? I never, ever, on my life felt a hunger like this until I married you. Dont you think its abnormal? Your curse is w ooo."
I hen I broke up the ring of pull-tabs and put them ba the ashtray. I didnt know if she was right, but I did feel she was onto something.
The feeling of starvation was back, strohan ever, and it was giving me a deep headache. Every twinge of my stomach was being transmitted to the core of my head by a clutch cable, as if my insides were equipped with all kinds of plicated maery.
I took another look at my undersea volo. The water was clearer than before--much clearer. Unless you looked closely, you might not even notice it was there. It felt as though the boat were floating in midair, with absolutely nothing to support it. I could see every little pebble otom. All I had to do was reach out and touch them.
"Weve only been living together for two weeks," she said, "but all this time Ive been feeling some kind of weird presence." She looked directly into my eyes and brought her hands together oabletop, her fingers interlog. "Of course, I didnt know it was a curse until now. This explains everything. Youre under a curse."
"What kind of presence?"
"Like theres this heavy, dusty curtain that hasnt been washed for years, hanging down from the ceiling."
"Maybe its not a curse. Maybe its just me," I said, and smiled.
She did not smile.
"No, its not you," she said.
"Okay, supposed youre right. Suppose it is a curse. What I do about it?"
"Attaother bakery. Right away. Now. Its the only way."
"Now?"
"Yes. Now. While youre still hungry. You have to finish what you left unfinished."
"But its the middle of the night. Would a bakery be open now?"
"Well find ookyos a big city. There must be at least one all-night bakery."
We got into my old Corolla and started drifting around the streets of Tokyo at 2:30 a.m., looking for a bakery. There we were, me clutg the steering wheel, she in the navigators seat, the two of us sing the street like hungry eagles in search of prey. Stretched out on the backseat, long and stiff as a dead fish, was a Remington automatic shotgun. Its shells rustled dryly in the pocket of my wifes windbreaker. We had two black ski masks in the glove partment. Why my wife owned a shotgun, I had no idea. Or ski masks. her of us had ever skied. But she didnt explain and I didnt ask. Married life is weird, I felt.
Impeccably equipped, we were heless uo find an all-night bakery. I drove through the empty streets, from Yoyogi to Shinjuku, on to Yosuya and Akasaka, Aoyama, Hiroo, Roppongi, Daikanyama, and Shibuya. Late-night Tokyo had all kinds of people and shops, but no bakeries.
Twice we entered patrol cars. One was huddled at the side of the road, trying to look inspicuous. The other slowly overtook us and crept past, finally moving off into the distance. Both times I gre uhe arms, but my wifes tration never faltered. She was looking for that bakery. Every time she shifted the angle of her body, the shotgun shells in her pocket rustled like buckwheat husks in an old-fashioned pillow.
"Lets fet it," I said. "There arent any bakeries open at this time of night. Youve got to plan for this kind of thing or else--"
"Stop the car!"
I slammed on the brakes.
"This is the place," she said.
The shops along the street had their shutters rolled down, f dark, silent walls oher side. A barbershop sign hung in the dark lik９9ｌiｂ?e a twisted, chilling glass eye. There was a bright Malds hamburger sign some two hundred yards ahead, but nothing else.
"I dont see any bakery," I said.
Without a word, she opehe glove partment and pulled out a roll of cloth-backed tape. Holding this, she stepped out of the car. I got out on my side. Kneeling at the front end, she tore off a length of tape and covered the numbers on the lise plate. Then she went around to the bad did the same. There racticed efficy to her movements. I stood on the curb staring at her.
"Were going to take that Malds," she said, as coolly as if she were announg what we would have for dinner.
"Malds is not a bakery," I pointed out to her.
"Its like a bakery," she said. "Sometimes you have to promise. Lets go."
I drove to the Malds and parked i. She handed me the bla-ed shotgun.
"Ive never fired a gun in my life," I protested.
"You dont have to fire it. Just hold it. Okay? Do as I say. We walk right in, and as soon as they say, Wele to Malds, we slip on our masks. Got that九九藏书?"
"Sure, but--"
"Then you shove the gun in their faces and make all the workers and ers get together. Fast. Ill do the rest."
"But--"
"How many hamburgers do you think well hirty?"
"I guess so." With a sigh, I took the shotgun and rolled back the bla a little. The thing was as heavy as a sandbag and as black as a dark night.
"Do we really have to do this?" I asked, half to her and half to myself.
"Of course we do."
Wearing a Malds hat, the girl behind the ter flashed me a Malds smile and said, "Wele to Malds." I hadnt thought that girls would work at Malds late at night, so the sight of her fused me for a sed. But only for a sed. I caught myself and pulled on the mask. fronted with this suddenly masked duo, the girl gaped at us.
Obviously, the Malds hospitality manual said nothing about how do deal with a situation like this. She had been starting to form the phrase that es after "Wele to Malds," but her mouth seemed to stiffen and the words wouldnt e out. Even so, like a crest moon in the dawn sky, the hint of a professional smile li the edges of her lips.
As quickly as I could manage, I uned the shotgun and aimed it in the dire of the tables, but the only ers there were a young couple--students, probably--and they were facedown on the plastic table, sound asleep. Their two heads and two strawberry-milk-shake cups were aligned oable like an avant-garde sculpture. They slept the sleep of the dead. They didnt look likely to obstruct our operation, so I swung my shotgun back toward the ter.
All together, there were three Malds workers. The girl at the ter, the manager--a guy with a pale, egg-shaped face, probably in his late twenties--and a student type i--a thin shadow of a guy with nothing on his face that you could read as an expression. They stood together behind the register, staring into the muzzle of my shotgun like tourists peering down an In well. No one screamed, and no one made a threatening move. The gun was so heavy I had to rest the barrel on top of the cash register, my finger origger.
"Ill give you the money," said the manager, his voice hoarse. "They collected it at eleven, so we dont have too much, but you have everything. Were insured."
"Lower the front shutter and turn off the sign," said my wife.
"Wait a minute," said the manager. "I t do that. Ill be held responsible if I close up without permission."
My wife repeated her order, slowly. He seemed torn.
"Youd better do what she says," I warned him.
He looked at the muzzle of the gun atop the register, then at my wife, and then back at the gun. He finally resigned himself to the iable. He turned off the sign and hit a swit arical pahat lowered the shutter. I kept my eye on him, worried that he might hit a burglar alarm, but apparently Malds dont have burglar alarms. Maybe it had never occurred to anybody to attae.
The front shutter made a huge racket when it closed, like ay bucket being smashed with a baseball bat, but the couple sleeping at their table was still out cold. Talk about a sound sleep: I hadnt seen anything like that in years.
"Thirty Big Macs. For takeout," said my wife.
"Let me just give you the money," pleaded the manager. "Ill give you more than you need. You go buy food somewhere else. This is going to mess up my ats and--"
"Youd better do what she says," I said again.
The three of them went into the kit area together and started making the thirty Big Macs. The student grilled the burgers, the manager put them in buns, and the girl ed them up. Nobody said a word.
I leaned against a big refrigerator, aiming the gun toward the griddle. The meat patties were lined up on the griddle like brown polka dots, sizzling. The sweet smell of grilli burrowed into every pore of my body like a swarm of microscopic bugs, dissolving into my blood and circulating to the farthest ers, then massing together inside my hermetically sealed hunger cavern, ging to its pink walls.
A pile of white-ed burgers was growing nearby. I wao grab and tear into them, but I could not be certain that su act would be sistent with our objective. I had to wait. I kit area, I started sweating under my ski mask.
The Malds people sneaked gla the muzzle of the shotgun. I scratched my ears with the little finger of my left hand. My ears always get itchy when Im nervous. Jabbing my finger into ahrough the wool, I was making the gun barrel wobble up and down, which seemed to bother them. It couldnt have gone off actally, because I had the safety on, but they didnt know that and I wasnt about to tell them.
My wife ted the finished hamburgers and put them into two small shopping bags, fifteen burgers to a bag.
"Why do you have to do this?" the girl asked me. "Why dont you just take the money and buy something you like? Whats the good of eating thirty Big Macs?"
I shook my head.
My wife explained, "Were sorry, really. But there werent any bakeries open. If there had been, we would have attacked a bakery."
That seemed to satisfy them. At least they didnt ask any more questions. Then my wife ordered twe Cokes from the girl and paid for them.
"Were stealing bread, nothing else," she said. The girl responded with a plicated head movement, sort of like nodding and sort of like shaking. She robably trying to do both at the same time. I thought I had some idea how she felt.
My wife then pulled a ball of twine from her pocket--she came equipped--and tied the three to a post as expertly as if she were sewing on buttons. She asked if the cord hurt, or if anyone wao go to the toilet, but no one said a word. I ed the gun in the bla, she picked up the shopping bags, and out we went. The ers at the table were still asleep, like a couple of deep-sea fish. What would it have taken to rouse them from a sleep so deep?
We drove for a half hour, found ay parking lot by a building, and pulled in. There we ate hamburgers and drank our Cokes. I sent six Big Macs down to the cavern of my stomach, and she ate four. That left twenty Big Ma the back seat. Our huhat huhat had felt as if it could go on forever--vanished as the dawn was breaking. The first light of the suhe buildings filthy walls purple and made a giant SOA ad tlow with painful iy. Soon the whine of highway truck tires was joined by the chirping of birds. The Ameri Armed Forces radio laying usic. We shared a cigarette. Afterward, she rested her head on my shoulder.
"Still was it really necessary for us. to do this?" I asked.
"Of course it was!" With one deep sigh, she fell asleep against me. She felt as soft and as light as a kitten.
Alone now, I leaned over the edge of my boat and looked down to the bottom of the sea. The volo was gohe waters calm surface reflected the blue of the sky. Little waves--like silk pajamas fluttering in a breeze--lapped against the side of the boat. There was nothing else.
I stretched out itom of the boat and closed my eyes, waiting for the rising tide to carry me where I belonged.
出租车上的吸血鬼
坏事往往是赶一块儿来的。
这当然属于泛论。但如果真有几桩坏事赶在一起，就不是什么泛论了。同约好见面的女孩失之交臂，上衣扣脱落不见，电车中见到不愿见的熟人，虫牙开始作痛，雨不期而至，搭出租车因交通事故受阻——这种时候若有哪个混蛋说什么坏事要来就一块儿来，我肯定把他打翻在地。
你也一定这样吧？
说到底，泛论就是这么个东西。
所以同别人和睦相处相当不易。我不时心想：要是能作为门口蹭鞋垫什么的躺着度过一生该有何等美妙。
然而，门口蹭鞋垫的世界也自有其门口蹭鞋垫式的泛论，自有其辛苦。也罢，怎么都无所谓。
总之，我在堵塞的路面上被关在了出租车里。秋雨在车顶“吧嗒吧嗒”响个不停。计程表起跳时“咔嚓”声如火药枪筒射出的霰弹一样直捅我的脑门。
罢了罢了！
何况我戒烟才第三天。有心想点儿开心事，却一件也想不出来。无奈，只好想脱女孩衣服的顺序。首先眼镜，其次手表，“哗啦哗啦”响的手镯，再往下……
“我说先生，”司机突然开口了，正是我好不容易赶到衬衫第一个纽扣的时候。“你认为真有吸血鬼？”
“吸血鬼？”我九九藏书愕然地看着司机的脸。司机也看着后视镜中我的脸。
“吸血鬼，就是喝血的……？”
“是的。果真存在？”
“不是吸血鬼式的存在或作为比喻的吸血鬼什么的？不是吸血蝙蝠或科幻小说里的吸血鬼之类？而是真真正正的吸血鬼？”
“那自然。”说着，司机把车往前开了大约五十厘米。
“不清楚啊，”我说，“不清楚的。”
“不清楚可不好办。信还是不信，二者选其一。”
“不信。”我说。
“不信吸血鬼的存在喽？”
“不信。”
我从衣袋里掏出烟叼上，也不点炎，只管把烟叼在唇间转动。
“幽灵如何？相信？”
“幽灵倒觉得有。”
“不是觉得，用Yes或No回答好吗？”
“Yes。”我无可奈何，“相信。”
“相信幽灵的存在喽？”
“Yes。”
“但不相信吸血鬼的存在？”
“不相信。”
“那我问你：幽灵与吸血鬼究竟有何区别？”
“幽灵嘛，大约是肉体式存在的对立面吧。”我信口开河道。这方面我非常拿手。
“嗬。”
“然而吸血鬼是以肉体为轴心的价值转换。”
“就是说，你承认对立面，不承认价值转换，嗯？”
“莫名其妙的东西一旦承认起来，就收不了场了。”
“先生真是知识分子。”
“哈哈哈，大学念了七年之久。”
司机眼望前方蜿蜒而去的车列，叼起一支细细的香烟，用打火机点燃。薄荷味儿在车内荡漾开来。
“不过么，若是真有吸血鬼你怎么着？”
“怕是伤透脑筋。”
“光伤脑筋？”
“你是说不行？”
“是不行的。信念这东西可是崇高的，认为有山就有山，认为没山就没山。”
有点像托诺帕古老的民谣。
“是那样的吗？”
“是那样的。”
我口叼着没点火的烟叹了口气：“那么，你相信吸血鬼的存在？”
“相信。”
“为什么？”
“为什么？信就是信。”
“可有实证？”
“信念同实证没有关系。”
“那么说倒也是。”
我无心恋战，回头再去解女孩衬衫的纽扣，一个、两个、三个……
“有实证。”司机说。
“真的？”
“真的。”
“证证看。”
“我就是吸血鬼。”
我们沉默有顷。车只比刚才前进了五米。雨依然“吧嗒吧嗒”响个不停。计费表已超过一千五百元。
“抱歉，能把打火机借我一九九藏书用？”
“可以。”
我用司机递过来的大大的白色打火机点燃香烟，把三天没吸的尼古丁吸入肺腑。
“堵得够厉害的了。”司机说。
“昏天黑地。”我说，“不过，吸血鬼的事……”
“呃。”
“你真是吸血鬼？”
“９９ｌiｂ?是的。说谎也没意思的嘛。”
“那，什么时候成为吸血鬼的？”
“已经九年了。正是慕尼黑奥运会那年。”
“时间停止吧，你永远美丽。”
“对对，一点不错。”
“再问一句好么？”
“请请。”
“为什么当出租车司机？”
“因为不愿意受吸血鬼这一概念的束缚。披斗篷、坐马车、住城堡——那样是不好的。我可是规规矩矩纳税的，印鉴也做了登记。迪斯科也跳，弹子机也玩。不正常？”
“不，没什么不正常。只是，总有点想不通。”
“您是不信喽？”
“不信？”
“不信我是吸血鬼，是吧？”
“信当然信。”我慌忙说道，“认为有山就有山。”
“那就行了么。”
“那么，要时不时吸血？”
“这——，吸血鬼嘛。”
“不过，血也有味道好的和味道糟的吧？”
“有的。您的就不成，吸烟过量。”
“戒了些日子了，怕还是不行。”
“吸血嘛，不管怎么说都是女孩好。就像一拍即合似的。”
“似乎可以理解。以女演员来说，大致什么样的好喝呢？”
“岸本加世子——她的估计够味儿；真行寺君枝也不赖；叫人提不起兴致的是桃井馨。大致这样子吧。”
“但愿吸得成。”
“是啊。”
十五分钟后我们告别。我打开房间门按亮灯，从电冰箱拿出啤酒喝了。喝罢给不巧没碰上的女孩打电话。一问之下，失之交臂自有失之交臂的充足理由。就那么回事。
“告诉你，暂时最好不要坐练马区番号的黑漆出租车。”
“为什么？”她问。
“有个吸血鬼司机。”
“是吗？”
“是的。”
“为我担心？”
“还用说。”
“练马区番号的黑漆车？”
“嗯。”
“谢谢。”
“不客气。”
“晚安。”
“晚安。”
A Long Way from The Stuffed Cabbage
Sometimes I meet a person who says " Ive had so many iing experiehat I write lots of books about them." I think Ive heard quite a few people say the same thing especially since I came here. This doeshat Ameris say such a thing, but that many Japanese living in America often do. What they say might be probably true, because its quite challenging to live away from their home try, and they must have entered various kinds of exg happenings in this try. Its quite natural that they should have a strong wish to tell their story to someone else.
Of course, I dont know if they are really going to write their own novels someday. But I only say this after all; despite the background as a writer who has written quite a number of novels so far, Ive almost never had any "truly exg" is in my private life. No doubt I might have had somethiing as a person living more than 40 years, such as meeting a strange and mysterious person or being greatly shocked by a sudden ge of destiny. Some memory, I t tell you what it is though, makes me smile and some still makes me so sore. Thrilling things once quivered me with excitement. heless I guess you must also have gohrough such things as I have experienced in my life. Ive never met anyone who be said to have?9９lｉｂ. experienced "su unbelievable happening as no one ever had even in this large world." If I were quite a strao writing novels and asked if I declare to people that "Ive got so much stock of iing topiy writing, " then my ao this question will be "No." Definitely "No." What I could do is just fess holy that "My life was somewhat iing in its way, but not iing enough to write a novel about it."
For all this, in a very rare occasioumble upon people who entered incredible experiences in this world. I like their story telling since a boy, and I often ask them to tell their own episode. I have no idea of using their story as a subjey novel, but I just feel like listening to them. Various tales exist; some of them are stunning, moving, heartily laughable, and chillih fear. Their narrative is sometimes so enting as to make me fet to go to bed. It is true that "Fact is strahan fi. " But it is not always true that the person, who has gohrough su excitement, write a novel as stimulating as his experiehere might be a writer like Jack London (an Ameriovelist 1878-1916) who makes up extraordinarily iing books from his plentiful, extraordinary experiences, but judging from my knowledge, such a is rather exceptional.
Though this is my private opinion, people are ined to be captured by the keen sense of helplessness while actually writing them down ohey suffer overwhelming experiences. Painful is the stress when one ot reproduce or vey vividly to others, however hard he tries, what hes experienced so intensely. In my case, the stronger is the iion to "write about a particular subje a particular way," the harder it bees to start writing and to express myself. This stress somewhat resembles the irritation one feels when he ot describe to another person what he experienced so vividly and realistically in his dreams. All words I use to narrate my feeling of the moment fail incessantly to describe what I wish to, and then they begin to betray me.
To the trary, there are some people, despite their lack of experiences, who find out something funny and something pitiful in a trivial i from their unique viewpoint which is quite different from that of others. They recreate their findings into a different form and tell other people more prehensibly about them. These people are standing much closer to s.
Anyway I have no experien my life which is really worth telling you about. I uand why John Irving said something to the effect that "If I write my books based on my personal experiences, my readers will probably fall asleep after the first 20 pages." In my case, less than 20 pages. It is generally believed that writers create their works uhe influence of various real experiehough. For instance, when I published my first novel, my acquaintances around me suddenly started to bee restless and nervous. They began to keep a distance from me though we had been enjoying a casual relationship until that time. At first I couldnt make out why, but after talking to them, I noticed they gave the cold shoulder to me for fear that I might use them as the models for my book. Weve beeing along with one another sihey found that I had no iion to write such kind of novels.
Since I came to the States, Ive visited lots of uies and talked with many Ameri students. Ive talked publicly before a large audieoo. But I feel more fortable when speaking face to fa a small class, using my own words and following my own casual style. Sometimes after class, all of us went to a pub and enjoyed an open and frank versation lass of beer. In su atmosphere, there is no differeween Ameri and Japaudents. Students, who assumed an affected attitude in the presence of a teacher during the session, now get relaxed and recover the childish sparkle in their eyes.
They are usually the students ied in Japaerature or Japanese, but for many of them, this is the first time in their life to meet a novelist. Therefore they are very eager to know something very realistic about a , for instance, what kind of creature a writer is, what kind of ideas he has, and what kind of life he is living. Some of them wish to write a hemselves, too. These -orieudents are keenly ied to know how they start writing a novel or bee a . Most typical questions asked by them are as follows:
1. What did you want to write in your uy days?
2. How did you publish your first novel?
3. What do you think is the most essential for writing novels?
From my standpoint as a private writer, I find it almost impossible to expand my case into the level of all writers and to teach them that "s are sud-such people" or "This is the way to write a novel" or "You bee a writer in this way." I also find it meanio suggest to them knowingly some "correct" theory of being a . So I show them my crete example, saying that "In my case I am like this." Besides, they much prefer the quick, descriptively "colorful" start-up example to the logical, abstract theory or cept.
In this "crete and colorful" way, wherever I went, I explaio the students how I became a , and I happeo notice that it was nearly good luck itself that made me a writer. Sometimes I am deeply impressed by the fact that I could bee a writer.
When a student, I was certainly thinking of writing something. More specifically, I wao write film sarios. Sarios first, and then novels, for I felt ied in films. That is why I chose to ehe Film & Drama Course in Waseda Uy, but I gave up writing sarios halfway, thinking it didnt fit me. I didnt have the slightest idea of what to write or how to write in those days. her any material nor any theme did I have to write about. Such a person could art writing a script ( or anything else), which was a self-evident fact. But I liked to read film scripts anyway, so I went to the Drama Museum on campus almost everyday, if not attending classes, and devoured all the film scripts in the West and in the East through all ages. Looking bay student days now, I think this dev helped me so much. Therefore, I think I give a piece of advice to younger people, having a wish to write something, that "you need not force yourself to write something when you ot." I wonder if this might help them or not though.
Then I graduated from Waseda, got married, and started w. (No, it is opposite. I married, started w, and then graduated from uy.) Driven by the severe everyday life, I totally fot my wish to write something. To clear off my debts, I had to work from early in the m till late at night like "a whipped carriage-horse," which sounds like a non-literary clich?, though. I ti for seven years. As my bar served the "stuffed cabbage" , for instance, I had to cut a full bag of onions into tiny pieces every m. Still now I mao cut plenty of onions in a short time even without shedding tears. My hands automatically and swiftly move as if they knew how to do it.
"Do you know the knack of slig onions without tears?" I ask my students sometimes.
"No," they say.
"Finish cutting them before tears start dropping." A big laughter occurs.
When it es to the topic like this, a lively sparkle appears in my students eyes. That might be partly because theyve rarely heard such a story in their regular classes, and partly because they more or less have a sort of vague ay about their future: "What kind of life course am I going to follow?" "What kind of possibility I find there?" I uand their sense of instability about their present position and their future. Around the age of twenty, I was as unstable as they are now, or my case must have been far worse than what the word "unstable" means. If a god appears here and asks me if Id like to go back to the age of twenty again, I will probably dee by saying "I appreciate your offer, but I am quite satisfied with the way I am now." If you pardon me, I want to say frankly "To hell with my twenties."
Then at the age of 29, a sudden impulse of writing a novel knocked on me. Now Ill explain about it more. It was an early afternoon in spring and I went to see a baseball game between Yakult Swallows and Hiroshima Carp in Jingu Baseball Stadium. Lying down ifield bleacher, drinking beer, and when a player named Hilton hit a double, I made a sudden resolution that "Now its time for me to start writing a novel." This is how I started to write a novel.
When I give su explanation to my students, all of them make a stunned face. "That means ah...the ball game meant something very special to you?" "I dont think so. The spring sunshihe taste of beer, the flying two-base-hit ball, all these elements got together and they stimulated something in me, I guess," I explain. "All I needed was the time and the experieo identify myself. It doesnt have to be a special experie doesnt matter that they are just a series of ordinary experiences. But they have to be the experiehat are embedding themselves deeply in my body. When a student, I couldnt find out what to write despite the itch for writing something. I he seven years and hardships to discover the theme for my writing, I guess." "If you hadnt goo the ball game stadium on that April afternoon, you would not be a writer now, Mr. Murakami?"
"Who knows?"
I really mean it; "Who knows?" If I hadnt been iadium that afternoon, I might have lived my ordinary life without writing any novels. But as a matter of fact, I was in the empty outfield bleacher of Jingu Stadium on that spring afternoon - yes the stadium was really empty in those days - and lying down, watg Dave Hilton hit a beautiful double into left field, I came to write my first book "Hear The Wind Sing." It might have been the only "extraordinary" i in my life.
"Mr. Murakami, do you think something similar will happen in everybody elses life?"
"I have no idea." That is the only answer I give. "But I imagine something similar, if ly the same, will more or less happen to anybody else. The instance of revelation must sometime visit you when various things suddenly get ected to each other. Well, at least, dont you think our life would be happier if we believed such a moment is sure to e?"
Anyway I think I learned quite a few things from my job. A few years ago a book titled "All I Really o Know I Learned in Kindergarten" became a big bestseller here in the U.S., and in my case the same thing be said: "All I o know I learned in my jazz bar." I acquired various knowledge at the schools that I attended, but frankly speaking, this kind of knowledge didnt help me very much when writing a novel. I have no idea of maintaining that the school education is meaningless, but I rarely met a situatio came home to me how important my school education was. When I was a small boy, my mother told me that "If you dont work hard now, you will have regrets for not having studied harder after having grown up." Her advice gave me a vague feeling that she might be right, but still I t uand what she really meant. Thats because after grown up, Ive never regretted that "I should have studied harder when young." It is my twehat taught me some truth about how I should live, and in those days I was literally engaged in physical labor day after day. I spent every day in my twenties w both physically and desperately hard in order to pay my debts every month. I could not think about anything else even if I tried. But as a result, that kind of hard labor nourished me most. Labor was the best teacher to me and my "true uy."
For instance, managing a bar, I have a lot of ers every day, and not everybody necessarily likes my plaore accurately, just a few of themdo. But strao say, you mao carry on your business if one or two ers out of ten really like your plad if they wish to "drop by this bar again." Sometimes you have a better result when only a few out of ten really love your place rather than whe, or nine ers merely feel that "it is not bad." This lesson came home to me, while I was running my bar, through the pains as if to have all the bones in my body crushed. Even when many people speak harshly about my book, I believe, firmly and in the daily sense brewed through my own experiehat it doesnt matter so long as one or two of them intuitively uand what I want to express. It became an invaluable lesson to me. Without these experiences, it might have been much harder for me to live as a and some malicious ents on my book might have disturbed my own pace. When I talked about these things with Ryu Murakami (one of the porary writers in Japan; his novel "Almost Transparent Blue" in 1976 won the coveted Akutagawa Award and the Gunzou Award for New Writers), he was impressed and exclaimed that "You are really great, Haruki. Ill get mad by not being praised by all of the ten critics." But his ent, on the trary, impresses me because it certainly sounds like himself.
Though I have no idea of boasting of myself - it isnt even worth boasting of, Im not a person to think by using my brain, but rather a person to do so by actually moving my body. I am a person who learn or write only through the body. That is because I used to make my living by making use of my body from m till night. That is everything the word work meant to me. This charac?９9ｌｉｂ?ter of mine sometimes makes me feel out of pla "the world of literature." Partly this sense of "out of place" might have urged me to go abroad and live away from Japan for such a long time. The reason I ot do without my favorite jogging and swimming may have the same in.
About writing a novel, I have almost nothing to "teach" to my students. "All you have to do is live actually. If you really wish from the bottom of your heart to write something 藏书网or to express yourself to somebody else, the time is sure to e when you write somethie the fact that you t write anything well now. Until that time you carefully tio pile up your daily experiences one by one as if to lay bricks oer another. For example, love someone seriously, " I say, and then some student responds that "I do it, too," which makes all of them laugh. Audent asks "What shall I do, if such a time doesnt e to me?" Some giggle. In su instance, without aation, I quote a vocal teachers cruel line from Orson Welless "Citizen Kane"; "Some people sing, others t"
When I won the Gunzo Award for New Writers with my first novel, and I said to all the people arouhat "My first book Ive writtely wohe Gunzo Award for New Writers," none of them believed my words. Instead, they thought I was joking. Probably some of them, Im vinced, still have a deep doubt about the fact that Im called a . In their eyes, I guess, I look something different from a .
Away from those days, away from Japan, and a long way from the stuffed cabbage, now I look bay past life and I think that our life is very hard to explain, whether we have "exg experiences" or not.
coffee cup─咖啡杯
人生最凄凉的时刻，也许就是送女朋友上了.99lib.出租车回家之后的一小时吧？
床上还留着些许她的余温，桌上还留有她喝剩一半的咖啡杯，那种感觉，简直就像枯坐在抽干9９ｌiｂ.了水的水族馆水槽底下一小时似的。不管看书也好、听唱片也好、脑子９９ｌib.里总是一片空白，什么也没留下，不，什么也进不去。
不过因为肚子有点饿，于是白饭拌黄豆吃，或者可以加个蛋，对了！还剩下一点萝卜尾巴，顺便煮个萝卜汤，那么总要加一点参鱼干吧，福神渍泡菜也不宜冷落，嗯，中元节送礼的海苔还剩一点．．．就这样。
吃完这些之后藏书网，无聊的感觉已经烟消雾散，真是不可思议啊。
condor─兀鹰
「七月二十六日不要出门，踏出一步都不行。」算命的说。
「手呢？」我战战兢兢地试着提出问题。
「手？」
「手不伸出门外就不能拿报纸啊。」
「手没关系，只要脚不踏出去就行了。」
「如果脚踏出去．．．嗯，会怎么样呢？」
「会发生意想不到的事。」
「意想不到的事？」
「是啊。」
「比方说，会被食蚁兽咬到吗？」
「这倒不会。」
「为什么？」
「为什么吗？因为你已经想到了啊。」
原来如此。
我并没有特别相信算命的，不过七月二十六日我还是把大门锁上，窝在家里，一面一罐又一罐地喝着冰箱里的啤酒，一面把 Doors 合唱团的唱片全部听完。并且把能够想到的各种意想不到的灾难都尽可能想了一遍。我越想得多，我所意想不到的灾难数目越减少。不过仔细想想，这实在没什么意义，因为不管灾难的数目如何减少，最后还是一定会有「我所意想不到的灾难」留在后头。
管他的。
七月二十六日天气非常好。阳光普照大地，连人们脚底形而上的部份都晒红了。从附近游泳池9９ｌｉｂ?不断传来小孩们嘻笑的声音。
凉凉的二十五公尺长游泳池。
不，那里面有蟒蛇潜伏着正在等我。
「蟒蛇」我写在笔记上。
于是蟒蛇的可能性消失了。虽然觉得有点可惜，可是也没办法。
时针绕过十二点，太阳的影子拉长了，黄昏来临了。桌上排着十七个啤酒空罐头，迭着二十七张唱片。而我对这些都已经受够了。
七藏书网点钟电话铃响。
「过来喝一杯吧！」有藏书网人说。
「不行。」我说。
「可是今天很特别哟。」
「我这边也是。」
「急性酒精中毒」，我写进笔记，然后挂上电话。
十一点十五分电话铃响起。是女人的声音。
「上次跟你分手以后，我一直在想着你的事。」
「哦。」
「然后，我终于好像了解你那时说的意思了。」
「原来如此。」
「晚上能见个面吗？」
性病和怀孕，我在笔记上这样写完然后挂上电话。
十一点五十五分算命的打电话来。
「你没出门吧？」
「那当然」，我说「不过，我想请教你一件事，我所意想不到的灾难是什么，你能不能举一个例子？」
「例如兀鹰怎么样？」
「兀鹰？」
「你有没有想到兀鹰？」
「没有。」我说。
「说不定兀鹰会突然飞过来，从你背后把你捉起来，飞到空中，再把你丢到太平洋正中央去。」
噢，原来是兀鹰啊。
然后时钟敲了十二下。
看袋鼠的好日子
栅栏里面有四只袋鼠。一只是雄的，两只是雌的，还有一只是刚生下来的小袋鼠。
袋鼠栅栏前面，只有我和她。本来就不是很热闹的动物园，再加上又是星期一早晨，入场的客人数，还远不如动物数来得多。
我们的目标当然是袋鼠的婴儿。除此之外实在想不起有什么值得看的。
我们从一个月前报纸的地方版上，知道了袋鼠婴儿诞生的消息。并在一个月里，一直继续等待一个参观袋鼠婴儿的适当早晨的来！伤。可是，这种早晨总是不肯来。有一天是下雨，第二天也还是下雨，再藏书网过来一天地上还是湿湿的，接下来连着两天都刮着讨厌的风。有一天早晨她的蛀牙痛了，另外一天早晨我又不得不去区公所办点事。
就这样过了一个月。
一个月，真是一转眼就过去了。我在这一个月里到底做了什么，我真是一点都想不起来。好像觉得做了好多事，又觉得什么也没做。要不是月底，收报费的人来了，我连一个月已经过去了都没注意到。
可是不管怎么样，专为看袋鼠的早晨终于降临了。我们早上六点醒过来，打开窗帘一看，立刻确定这就是看袋鼠的好日子了。我们洗了脸、吃过东西、喂了猫、洗了衣服，戴上遮太阳的帽子便出门了。
“你说，那袋鼠的婴儿还活着吗？”在电车上她问我。
“我想还活着吧；因为没看到死掉的消息呀。”
“说不定生病了，住到哪里的医院去了呢。”
“那也应该会登出来呀。”
“会不会太紧张躲在里面不出来？”
“你说婴儿？”
‘谁说的，我说妈妈啦。说不定带着婴儿藏在后面黑黑的房间里呢。”
女孩子实在真会想，什么可能性都想得到，我真服了。
“我总觉得，如果错过这个机会，就再也不可能看到第二次袋鼠婴儿了。”
“会这样吗？”
“你想想看，你以前有没有看过袋鼠婴儿？”
“没有。”
“你有信心，从今以后还会再看到吗？”
“不晓得会不会。”
“所以我很担心哪。”
“不过，’我抗议道：“虽然或许正如你所说的一样，可是我也没看过长颈鹿生产，也没看过鲸鱼游泳，为什么偏偏袋鼠的婴儿，现在会成问题呢？”
“因为是袋鼠的婴儿啊。”她说。
我干脆看报纸。向来跟女孩子辩论就一次也没赢过。
袋鼠的婴儿不用说是活着的。他（或许是她）比报纸上所看到的大得多了，很有力气地在地上跑来跑去，那与其说是婴儿，不如说是小型袋鼠来得更恰当。这件事实使她有点失望。
“好像已经不是婴儿了。”
还是像婴儿啊，我安慰她。
“我们真该早一点来啊。”
我走到贩卖店去，买了两个朱古力冰淇淋回来时，她还靠在栅栏达，一直望着袋鼠。
“已经不是婴儿了啦。”她重复着说。
“真的吗？”说着我把一个冰淇淋递给她。
“因为如果是婴儿，就应该在母亲的肚袋里呀。”
我点点头舔着冰淇淋。
“可是不在肚袋里嘛。”
我们于是开始找寻袋鼠的妈妈。袋鼠爸爸倒是一眼就看出来了，长得最巨大、最安静的，是袋鼠爸爸。他一副像才华已经枯竭的作曲家似的脸色，正盯着食物箱里的绿叶出神。剩下来的两只雌的，体型长得一样，毛色也长得一样，连脸上表情都一样，说哪一只是母亲都不奇怪。
“不过，有一只是母亲，有一只不是母亲噢。’戏说。
“嗯”
“那么，不是母亲的袋鼠是什么呢？”
不知道，她说。
袋鼠婴儿并不理会这些，只顾在地面跑来跑去，并不停地到处无意义地用前脚挖着洞。他或她看来是个不知道无聊是什么的生物。不停地在父亲周围团团转、只吃一点点绿草、挖挖地面、在两只雌袋鼠之间玩把戏，一会儿躺在地上打滚，一会儿又爬起来开始跑。
“袋鼠为什么跑得那么快？”她问。
“为了逃避敌人哪。”
“敌人？什么样的敌人？”
“人类呀。”我说：“人类用弯刀杀袋鼠，吃它们的肉。”
“为什么小袋鼠要.99lib.躲在母亲的袋子里？”
“为了一起逃走啊。因为小袋鼠跑不了那么快。”
“你是说被保护着吗？”
“嗯。”我说：“小孩子都是被保护着的。”
“要保护多久呢？”
我应该在动物图鉴上，把袋鼠的一切都先调查清楚再来才对的。因为这种事早在预料之中。
“一个月或两个月吧。”
“这家伙才一个月呀。”她指着袋鼠婴儿说。
“应该留在母亲的袋子里的嘛。”
“嗯。”我说：“大概吧。”
“你不觉得躲在那袋子里很美妙吗？”
“对呀。”
“所谓小叮当的口袋，是不是具有回归舱内的愿望？”
“不晓得。”
“一定是啊。”
太阳已经升得好高了。从附近的游泳池传来孩子们的欢笑声，天上飘浮着清晰的夏云。
“想不想吃点什么？”我问她。
“热狗。”她说：“还有可乐。”
卖热狗的是个年轻的工读生，五门车式的摊子里面，放着一部大型的收录音机。在热狗还没烤好之前，史提芬温达（stevieWOnder）和比利祖（Billy JOe）唱歌给我们听。
我回到袋鼠栅栏外时，她说：“你看！”指着一只雌袋鼠。
“你看！你看！跑进肚袋里去了。”
真的！那袋鼠婴儿已经钻进母亲的袋子里了。肚袋胀大起来，只有尖尖的小耳朵和尾巴末端往上翘出来。
“会不会太重啊？”
“袋鼠很有力气的。”
“真的吗？”
“所以才能活到今天哪。”
母亲在强烈的日光下，并没有流一滴汗。就像从青山道路的超级市场买完午后的菜，正在咖啡室里小坐片刻舒藏书网服地喝一杯的那种感觉。
“在被保护着噢。”
“嗯”
“睡着了吗？”
“大概99lib.吧。”
我们吃了热狗，喝了可乐，然后离开袋鼠的栅栏。
我们要离开的时候，袋鼠爸爸还在食物箱里寻找着失落的音符。袋鼠妈妈和袋鼠婴儿正合为一体，在时光之流里休息片刻。神秘的雌袋鼠则像要试试尾巴的状况似的，在栅栏里不停地反复跳跃。
今天可能会是很久以来最热的一天。
“你要不要喝啤酒？”我说。
“好啊。”我说。
意大利面工厂的秘密
他们把我的书房叫做义大利面工厂。「他们」是指羊男和双胞胎美少女。而所谓的义大利面工厂 ，并没有什么非常了不起的意义，不过是控制沸水的温度、放点盐、设定定时器，诸如此类的工作而已。
有一天，我正在写稿子的时候，羊男跑了过来，耳朵啪哒耳朵啪哒作响。
「喂，我不喜欢这样的文章。」
「是吗！？」我说。
「你总是这么臭屁，」
「哼！」我回了一声。这可是我辛辛苦苦写好的。
「盐好像放得多了一点喔！」双胞胎中的208说道。
「已经修正了。」209说。
「我也可以帮忙喔！」羊男说道。
不必了。如果让羊男帮忙，一定会把一切都弄得乱七八糟。9９lib.
「你去拿啤酒来。」我对208说。
然后又对209说：
「帮我削三枝铅笔。」
我趁209俐落地用水果刀削着铅笔的时候喝着啤酒，羊男则嚼着乾蚕豆。
我一把抓起三枝削好的铅笔，然后叫他们三个人离开书房。工作、工作。
在我写着稿子的时候，他们在院子里手牵手唱着歌。歌词是：
99lｉｂ?"
我们的故乡是al dente（香Ｑ够劲，或是说有点硬又不会太硬）
不会太早也不会太迟
也叫做durum?semolina的
闪闪发光的金黄色面粉
"
春光从他们的头上照下来，这是多么美妙的风景啊！
我的呈奶酪蛋糕形状的贫穷
我们都管那个地方叫“三角地带”。此外我琢磨不出如何称呼是好。因为那的的确确是个三角形，画上画的一般。我和她就住在那个地方，一九七三年藏书网或七四年的事了。
虽说是“三角地带”，可你不要想成是所谓的delta(希腊语：三角洲，三角形的。）形状。我们住的“三角地带”细细长长，状如楔子。若说得再具体点，请你首先想像出一个正常尺寸的圆圆的奶酪蛋糕，再用厨刀将它均匀地切成十二份，也就是切成有十二道格的钟表盘那个样子。其结果，当然出现十二块尖角为三十度的蛋糕。那顶端尖尖的、细细长长的蛋糕片就是我们“三角地带”的准确形状。
怎么会形成如此形状不自然的地带呢——你也许会问，也许不问，都无所谓。问不问反正我都不清楚。问本地人也问不出个究竟，他们知道的不外乎是很早很早以前是三角形，现在是三角形，将来定然也是三角形。总的说来，本地人好像都不大愿意谈也不大愿意想“三角地带”。何以“三角地带”被如此——像耳后疣一样——漠然置之，缘由不得而知，大概是因为形状怪异吧。“三角地带”两侧有两条铁路通过，一条是国营线，一条是私营线。两条铁路齐头并进了一阵子，以楔尖为分歧点，简直就像被撕裂开来一般以不自然的角度各奔南北，景观十分了得。每次目睹电气列车在“三角地带”的尖端南来北往，我就恍惚觉得自己是站在驱逐舰舰桥之上，而那驱逐舰正在海上破浪前进。
但是，从居住舒适度和居住功能来看，“三角地带”实在是一塌糊涂。首先噪音厉害。也难怪，毕竟两条铁路左右相夹，不可能不吵。一开前门，眼前一列电车呼啸而过；一开后窗，眼前又一列电车咆哮而至。用眼前这种说法决不夸张，实际上两列电车也近得乘客可以对视致意，如今想起来都觉得叹为观止。
你或许要说末班车过去后总该安静了吧。通常都那么想，搬来之前其实我也那么想来着。然而压根儿就不存在什么末班车。旅客列车凌晨一时全部运行结束后，深夜班次的货物列车接踵而至；天明时分货车大体告一段落，翌日的客车又杀上门来。如此日复一日无尽无休。
呜呼！
我们所以特意选住这里，第一第二都是因为房租便宜。独门独院三个房间，有浴室，甚至有个小花园，而房租仅相当于公寓里一个六张榻榻米大小的房间。既是独门独院，那么猫也能养。简直就像专为我们准备的房子。我们刚刚结婚，非我自吹，穷得上吉尼斯记录都绰绰有余。我们是在站前不动产中介店的贴约上发现这房子的。仅就条件和租金和房子结构来看，堪称奇迹性发掘。
“便宜得很哟！”秃脑瓜子中介商说，“啊，吵倒是相当吵的，不过只消忍耐一下，未尝不可说是拾来的大元宝。”
“反正先看看好么？”我问。
“好好。不过，你们自己去可好？我嘛，一去那里就头疼。”
他借给钥匙，画出去那座房子的路线图。好个爽快的中介商。
从火车站看去，“三角地带”似乎近在眼前，但实际走起来，到那里花的时间相当惊人。在铁道上“咕噜”绕一圈，过天桥，沿脏兮兮的坡路上上下下，好歹从后面兜到了“三角地带”。周围商店之类形影皆无，寒伧得近乎完美。
我和她走进“三角地带”尖头的一座孤零零的房子，在里面逗留了一个小时。这时间里有相当之多的电车从房子两侧通过。特快通过时，窗玻璃“咔咔”作响。过车时间里听不到对方说话。正说着有车开来，我们便闭嘴等车过完。静下来刚开始说话，又一列电车尾随而至。那情形，不知该称为unication(思想交流，通讯，传播）的中断还是分裂，总之是十分让·吕克·戈达尔式的。
不过除99ｌiｂ?去噪音，房子格调本身相当可以。式样古色古香，整体上没有硬伤，壁龛和檐廊也有，很够味道。从窗口泻进的春日阳光在榻榻米上做出小小的方形光照，很像我小时候住过的房子。
“租吧。”我说，“的确很吵，不过我想总可以习惯的。”
“你这么说，就这样吧。”她应道。
“在这里这么待着不动，觉得就像自己结婚成家了似的。”
“实际上不也结婚了？”
“那是，那倒是。”我说。
我们折回不动产中介店，说想租。
“不吵？”秃脑瓜子中介商询问。
“吵当然吵，可总能习惯。”我说。
中介商摘下眼镜，用纱布擦拭镜片，啜一口茶杯里的茶，重新戴回，看我的脸。
“噢，年轻嘛，到底。”他说。
“嗯。”我应道。
接着我们签了租约。
搬家用朋友一辆轻型客货两用车足矣。被褥和衣服和餐具和台灯和几册书和一只猫——这便是我们的全部家当。既无组合音响又无电视机，洗衣机没有电冰箱没有餐桌没有煤气灶没有电话没有电热水瓶没有吸尘器没有电烤箱没有，一无所有。我们就是穷到这个地步。所以虽说是搬家，三十分钟都没花上。没钱也好，人生简洁至极。
帮忙搬家的朋友看到我们夹在两条铁路之间的新居，显得相当惊愕。搬完家他想朝我们说什么，碰巧特快驶过，什么也没听见。
“你说什么来着？”
“这样的地方真的也能住人！”他一副敬佩的神情。
最终，我们在那房子里住了两年。
房子建得极其马虎，到处有空隙来风。夏天自是开心惬意，冬天就成了地狱。买取暖炉的钱都没有，天一黑，我就和她和猫钻进被窝，那才叫不折不扣的相抱而眠。早上起来看到厨房洗涤槽已经结冰的事也屡见不鲜。
冬去春来。春天美妙无比。春天一到，我也好她也好猫也好无不如释重负。四月间铁路有几天罢工。一有罢工，我们真是欢欣鼓舞。一整天一列车都没有。我和她抱着猫到路轨上晒太阳。安静得简直像坐在湖底。我们年轻，新婚不久，阳光免费（喜欢这四个字：阳光免费）。
至今每次听到“贫穷”二字，我都会想起那块三角形的细长土地。那房子现在到底住着什么人呢？
电视国民
『电视国民』闯进我的家里，是在星期日的黄昏。季节是春天。我想大概是春天吧！总之，那是个既不冷也不热的季节。
不过，老实说，季节在这件事上并不是重要的问题。重要的是那是个星期日的黄昏。
我不喜欢星期日的黄昏。因为，随之而来的一切事物－－特别是星期日黄昏－－总是令我心烦气躁。每当接近星期日的黄昏时，我的头就开始痛。至於疼痛的程度则因时而异。不过，尽管程度有别，疼痛依然如故。通常都是从感觉到两边的太阳穴里面一公分或一公分半的地方，有柔软的白色肉团产生奇妙的痉挛，那种感觉简直就像从那团肉的中心抽出一条无形的线，有个人在远处拉住线的一端，轻轻地拉紧一般。虽然并不很痛，但是那种感觉就好像在深度麻醉的部分，缓缓地刺进一根长针。
然後我听到一种声音。不，与其说是声音，不如说是极度的沉戾在黑暗中发出的吱轧声。那种声音听起来好像『克鲁兹嗄－－答、克鲁兹嗄－－答』，那是最初的症状。接着，头疼便随之而至。然後，视野也随着略微倾斜。恰似乱潮一般，预感牵引记忆，记忆又触动预感。一弯新月高挂天空，疑问的根苗却在黝黑的土地里匍匐前进。人们像在讽刺我似地，故意大声地走过走廊。耳边不断传来『劈哩叭啦』
的脚步声。
正因为如此，『电视国民』才利用星期日的黄昏闯入我的房子。宛如忧郁的思绪，或略带神 ，无声飘落的雨丝一般，他们自时间的暗处悄悄地潜入。
首先，我要说明一下『电视国民』的外表。『电视国民』的体形，比一般人略小。并不是小很多，只是稍微小了一点。大概嘛，对了，大约小个二成或叁成左右。
而且身体的各个部位都很均匀的成比例缩小。所以嘛，与其说是比较小，不如用缩小两字来得更贴切。
或许，即使你在某处见过『电视国民』，一开始也不会注意到他们比较小这一点。不过，假如你曾经见过他们，应该会留下一个很奇特的印象。也许可以说是令人感觉不舒服的印象吧！『总觉得有点不对劲！』你一定会这麽想。於是，你忍不住想再仔细地看看他们。乍见之下虽然没什麽不自然，不过，却愈想愈不对劲。换句话说，『电视国民」的『小』和儿童或侏儒的『小』完全不一样。我们看到小孩或侏儒时，之所以觉得他们小，多半来自对他们体藏书网形的不均衡。他们的确很小，不过并不是身体的每个部位都均匀地缩小。也有人的手虽然很小，头部在比例上却显得很大。那是很普遍的现象。可是，『电视国民』的小却和这麽完全不同。『电视国民』简直像用缩小影像复制的，一切的一切，都按照实际的尺寸，机械化、规则化的缩小。比方说，身高缩小为○．七，肩宽也缩小为○．七。同样地，脚的大小，头围、耳朵的大小，乃至於手指的长度，也一律依照○．七的比例缩小。看起来就像做成比实物略小的精致塑胶制模型。
或者，也可以说他们看起来像利用远近法制成的模型。分明就在眼前，看起来却像在远处；犹如假画一般，应碰得到的地方，却无法触及。应该拿不到的东西，却伸手可及。
那就是『电视国民』 。 那就是『电视国民』。那就是『电视国民』。那就是『电视国民』。他们总共有叁个人。
他们既没有敲门，也没有按门钤。更没有说『你好吗？』便稍稍地潜入房子。也听不见他们的脚步声。其中一个人打开房门，另外两个人则抱着电视机。那是一架并不很大的电视机。是新力牌，外形很普通的彩色电视。我以前房门大概是锁着的，却又没什麽把握。或许是我忘了上锁。因为那时候我并没有特别注意门锁的事，所以对於门是否上锁，也没有把握。我只是想大概是锁着的吧！
他们进来时，我正躺在沙发上望着天花板发呆。家里只剩下我一个人。那天下午，妻说要和她的女友们聚会。她说有几个高中时代的老同学想叙叙旧，然後一起到某家餐厅共进晚餐。『你要不要先点东西来吃？』妻出发前这麽说。
『冰箱里有青菜和各种冷冻食品。你自已应该会弄吧！还有，天黑之前只要把洗好的衣服收进来就好了。』
『好啊！』我说。
根本没什麽嘛！顶多只是弄顿晚餐、收收衣服，这些都是小事，两叁下就能摆平了。
『你说什麽？』妻问。
『没什麽！』我答道。
於是，下午我就一个人躺在沙发上发呆。没有别的事可做，我看了一会儿书－－葛歇尔麦克斯的新小说，听了点音乐，又喝了一点啤酒。然而，我怎麽样也无法精神集中地看书。於是我想不甘躺在沙发上睡个午觉吧！可是，我连睡觉也无法专心。於是只好躺在沙发上望着天花板。
我这个人呀！星期日的下午总是这样磨磨蹭蹭地挨过去。无论做什麽事，都会半途而废，无法贯彻始终。虽然早上时还觉得今天做什麽事都会很顺利。我想今天这本书，听这张唱片，回一封信。今天一定要好好整理抽屉，出去买些东西，把好久没洗的车子洗一洗。可是，两点过去了，叁点也过去了，眼看夕阳即将西沉，我却依然一事无成。於是，我只是在沙发上束手无策。时钟的声音在耳边回响。滴－－答、滴－－答，那种声音就像屋檐滴落的雨水一样，会把周围的事物逐渐削去。滴－－答、滴－－答。星期日的下午，一切事物看起来都像用缩尺缩小般地慢慢变小。简直就像『电视国民』一般。
「电视国民」从一开始就无视於我的存在。看他们叁个人的表情，彷佛躺在那里的我，是根本不存在的。他们打开门，把电视搬到房间里面。其中两个把电视放在角落的餐具架上，另外一个则把插头插进插座里。那个餐具架上原本放着一个时钟和堆积如山的杂志。时钟是朋友送给我和妻子的结婚礼物。钟身大又重，宛如时间本身一般巨大而笨重，声音也很大，当时针走动时，整个屋子都听得到那巨大的滴答声。「电视国民」把那时钟从架子上移开，放在地板上。我立刻想到，妻一定会因此而大发雷霆。她最讨厌房子里的东西被任意移动。只要同样的东西不放在
原来的地方，她就非常不高兴。而且，把时钟放在地板上，我半夜一定会被它绊倒。
我每天半夜两点多，总会起床上厕所，由於睡意仍然很浓，很容易撞到东西或被东西绊倒。接下来。「电视国民」也把杂志从架上移开，放到桌子上。那些全部都是妻的杂志（我几乎不看杂志，我只看书。我私下认为世界上所有称为杂志的东西，最好全部消失殆尽）。不管是「耶鲁」也好，「玛丽克列尔」也罢，或者「家庭画报」，全都属於同一类的杂志。那些杂志整齐地叠放在餐具架上。妻也不喜欢别人碰她的杂志。只要她排好的顺序被弄乱，她也会大发雷霆。所以我从来不去碰她的杂志。甚至连翻都不曾翻过。可是「电视国民」却根本不管这些，他们粗鲁地挪动那些杂志，完全不珍惜那些杂志。虽然他们只是把杂志从餐具架搬到别的地方而已。
但是叠好的杂志上下的次序，都被弄乱了。例如「玛丽克列尔」被放在「新月形面包」上面，而「家庭画报」又被放到「安安」里下面，那就错了。而且，他们还把妻夹在某些杂志里的书签弄得散落一地。夹有书签之处，对妻而言就是刊有重要情报的书页。至於那是什麽样的情报或究竟有多麽的重要性，我则一概不知。我想可能是和她的工作有关，抑或个人方面的事。不过，不管怎麽说，对她而言，那都是
很重要的情报。我想她一定会大发雷霆！她一定会说，我难得和朋友聚聚，心情满愉快的，没想到你却把家里弄得乱七八糟……。她要说的台词，我几乎可以全部背出来。这下可糟了！我想。然後摇摇头。餐具架上终於空无一物了。然後，『电视国民』把电视放在那里，再把插头插进墙壁的插座里，打开开关。电视随即发出沙沙的声响，画面一片空白。等了一会儿，依然没有影像出现。他们用遥控器依次转
换频道。可是，无论是那个频道的画面，都是一片空白。也许是没有接天线的关系吧！我想。房子里的某个地方应该有天线的接口吧！记得刚搬进这栋公寓时，管理员好像对我说过如何安装天线。我似乎记得他曾说过：就在这里，这样接就可以了。
可是我却想不起那个地方在那里？因为我们家没有电视，所以我几乎完全忘了那回事。
不过，『电视国民』好像对於接收广播一事，完全不感兴趣。他们竟连查看一下天线接口的表情都没有。尽管画面依然一片空白，影像也没有出现，他们仍毫不在意。看起来，他们似乎只要按下开关，将电源转到『ON』的位置，就已经达成目的了。
那架电视是新的。虽然它并没有被放在箱子里，但却一眼即可看出是全新的。
使用说明书和保证书都装在塑胶袋里，机器的两旁还贴着透明胶带。电源线就像刚捕获的鱼一般闪闪发光。
那叁个电视国民从房间的九九藏书各个角落，检视般地眺望电视的白色画面。其中一个电视国民走近我身边，好像要确认从我坐的位置看到的电视画面是怎麽样的。电视刚好摆乡我的正前方。距离也恰到好处。他们似乎感到很满意，而且有一种工作到此告一段落的气氛。其中一个『电视国民』（就是走到我身边确认电视画面的那个），顺手把遥控器放在桌子上。
在那段时间里，『电视国民』始终不发一言。他们似乎只是正确地依照既定的步骤行动。所以压根儿没有开口的必要。那叁个人都是按部就班，且极有效率地完成自已的任务。他们的手法乾净俐落，作业的时间也很短。最後，一个『电视国民』把刚才随手搁在地板上的座钟拿在手上，想在屋子里寻找一个适当的放置场所，结果却没找到，只好放弃，又把它放回地板上。滴－－答、滴－－答，座钟在地板上继续重重地报时。我住的公寓十分狭窄，而且我的书和妻所收集的资料，已经把屋子堆得几乎没有立足之地了。总有一天我一定会被那个座钟绊倒。我这麽想着，不由得叹了一口气。不错！我绝对会被绊倒。我敢打赌。
那叁个『电视国民』都穿着深蓝色的上衣。我虽然不知道那是什麽料，却看得出是一种很光滑的布料。他们的下半身则穿着蓝色牛仔裤网球鞋。他们的衣服和鞋子也是略微缩小的尺寸。由於长时间看着他们活动的身姿，我逐渐感到自已的缩小尺寸的说法，似乎也不太正确。那种感觉就像戴着深度的眼镜，背着身搭乘高速滑行车的感觉。四周的风景扭曲变形且上下颠倒。於是这才憬悟到：以前自已无意识地置身其中的世界之平衡感，并非是绝对的。『电视国民』便能使看到他们的人产生这种感觉。
直到最後，『电视国民』仍然叁缄其口。他们叁人再度检视电视的画面，再次确定毫无问题之後，使用遥控器关掉电源。画面的白色一下消失了，那轻微的沙沙声也随之消失。画面又回复到原来毫无表情，略带黑灰色。窗外已经开始变了。外面传在叫谁的声音。 公寓的走有人地走过。 如往常一样，故意发出很大的声音。
『咯咯咯』的皮鞋声清晰可闻。这是星期天的黄昏。
那些『电视国民』再次环视室内，似乎在做最後的检查，然後打开门走了出去。
就像来时一般，他们对我一点儿也不注意。他们的举止就像我这个人根本不存在。
从「电视国民」 进来到出去为止，我一直动也不动，从头到尾都没说过半个字。我只是躺在沙发上，看着他们工作的情形。也许你会说那太不自然了。房间里突有陌生人闯进来，而且是叁个人一起来，又擅自放了一台电视，我居然什麽也没说，只是默默地看着这一切。这岂不是有点奇怪吗？然而，我确实什麽也没有说。只是默默地注视着事情的进展。我想这也许是由於他们彻底地无视於我存在的缘故
吧！如果别人站在和我同样的立场时，大概也会这麽做吧！这麽说，并不是要为自己辩解。只是，当眼前的人以那种方式完全漠视你的存在时，你也会逐渐对於自己是否真的在那里之事失去把握，就连无意间看到自己的手，都觉得那只手彷佛是透明的。那是一种无力感，也像是被符咒定住身。自己的身体与自我的存在渐渐变得透明。於是我无法动弹，也无法言语。只能眼睁睁地看着那叁个「电视国民」把电
视摆在我的房间。我无法开口。因为我怕听到自己的声音。
「电视国民」出去之後，房里又剩下我一个人。我的存在感又恢复了。我的手又再次变回自己的手。待回过神来，才发现暮色早已被黑暗吞没。我打开房间的电灯，然後闭上眼睛。电视依旧摆在那里。座钟也仍然在计时。滴——答、滴——答.
电视人(1)
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电视人来到我房间是在周日的傍晚。
季节是春天，大概是春天，我想。反正是不太热也不很冷的时节。
不过坦率说来，季节在这里并不关键。关键是周日傍晚这点。
我不喜欢周日傍晚这一时分，或者说不喜欢它所附带的一切——总之不喜欢带有周日傍晚意 味的状况。每当周日傍晚姗姗而至，我的脑袋必定开始作痛。痛的程度每次固然轻重有别， 但终究是痛。两侧太阳穴1～15厘米左右的深处，柔软白嫩的肉块无端地绷得很紧，俨然 肉块中间伸出无数条细线，而有人从辽远的地方握住那线头悄悄拉曳。不是特别痛。本来痛 也无妨，却偏偏不很痛，不可思议。就像有根长针一下子长进严重麻醉的部位一样。
而且可以听见声响，不，与其说是声响，莫如说类似厚重的沉默在黑暗中隐约发出的呻吟： 哎哟哎哟哟，哎哟哟哎哟哟，哎哟哎哟哟，声声入耳。这是最初征兆，随即痛感出现，继而 视野开始一点点扭曲变形。预感引发记忆，记忆引发预感，犹如流向紊乱的潮水。空中浮现 出半轮崭新剃刀样的白月，将疑问的光须拉满黑 的大地。人们仿佛奚落我似的故意大 声从走廊走过：咯噔、咯噔、咯噔、咯噔。
唯有如此，电视人才选在周日傍99lib.晚来我房间。恰如一场无声降落的抑郁而有无神秘意味的雨 ，轻手轻脚地在这苍茫暮色中潜入房间。
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先描述一下电视人的外形。
电视人身体的尺寸比你我小一些。不是明显地小，而是小一些。对了，大约小2/10～3/10。 而且各部位均衡地小。所以在措词上，与其是小，莫如说缩小更为准确。
也许你在什么地方见到过电视人，只是一开始没有注意到他们的相形见小。不过即使如此， 恐怕他们也会给你留下某种奇异的印象，或许可以谙不快之感。有点奇怪呀——你肯定这样 想，并且势必再次定定注视他们。初看并没有什么特别不自然的地方，但这反而显得不自然 。就是说，电视人的不同小孩和小人的小全然不同。看到小孩和小人，我们是会感到他们小 ，但这种感觉大多是其体形的不谐调所引发的。他们小固然小，但不是一切均衡地小。比如 手小脑袋大。这是一情况。然而电视人的小完全是另一码事。身高缩小为0.7，肩宽也缩小 为0.7，脚、头、耳朵和手指的大小长短统统缩小为0.7。犹如略小于实物的精密塑料组合模 型。
也可以说他们看上去好像用远近法画出的模特。虽说在眼前，却似远在天边。又如一幅幻灯 片，平面扭曲、腾跃，本应伸手可触，然而无法触及。触及的是无可触及的物体。
这便是电视人。
这便是电视人。
这便是电视人。
这便是电视人。
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他们一共三人。
他们既不敲门，又不按门铃，也不问声你好。只管悄然进屋，亦不闻足音。一人开门，另两 人抱着电视机。电视机不很大，索尼彩电，极其普通。门我想该是锁上的，记不确切。忘锁 也未可知，当时本没注意什么门锁，说不准锁与没锁。只是觉得大概是锁上的。
他们进来时，我正歪在沙发上怅怅地看天花板。家里仅我一人。下午妻子去会同伴了，几个 高中同学相聚畅谈一番，然后去某处的饭店吃惊晚饭。
“你就随便吃点什么好么?”妻子临出门时说，“冰箱里有好多青菜和冷冻食品，自然可以 做一点吧?另外可别忘了天圉前把洗的衣服收回来。”
“好的。”我说。
无非是做晚饭，无非是收衣服，鸡毛蒜皮，保足挂齿，举手之劳罢了。哎哟哎哟哟，哎哟哎 哟哟。
“你说什么了?”妻子问。
“没说什么呀。”我回答。
这么着，整个下午我都一个人歪在沙发上愣愣发呆。此外无事可干。看了会书——马尔克斯 新出的小说。听了一段音乐。喝了一点啤酒。但对哪样都神思恍惚。也想上床睡一觉，可是 对睡觉也集中不起精神，因而只好歪在沙发上眼望天花板。
就我来说，星期天的午后有很多事情便是这样一点点滑过。无论干什么都半途而废，都无法 投入全副身心。我觉得若是上午恐怕一切都会遂心如意。本打算今天看这本书，听这张唱片 ，写这封回信，本打算今天要整理一下抽屉，买几样必需的东西，冲一冲久未冲洗的车身。 然而随着时针转过两点过三点，随着黄昏的逐渐临近，哪一样也未能落在实处，归终还是在 沙发上来日暮。时钟的声音直冲耳鼓：咔嚓、咔嚓、咔嚓、咔嚓。其声如雨帘一般将四周物 件一点一点削去。咔嚓、咔嚓、咔嚓、咔嚓。在星期天的午后，一切看上去都被一点点磨损 ，一层层缩小，如同电视人本身。
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电视人完全不把我放在眼里。从三个人的表情看来，仿佛我根本不在此处。他们打开门，把 电视搬入房间。两人把电视放在地柜上面，另一个把插头按进插座。地柜上放着座钟和一大 堆杂志。钟是结婚时朋友们送的贺礼，非常之大非常之重。大得重得俨然时间本身。声音也 响，咔嚓、咔嚓、咔嚓、咔嚓，传遍整个房间。电视人把它从地柜移到地板。老婆定会发怒 无疑，我想。她最讨厌别人乱动房间里的什物。况且把钟摆在地板上面，半夜里肯定撞在我 脚上。两点一过我准保醒来上厕所，加之睡得晕晕乎乎，每次都碰上或撞上什么。
接着，电视人把杂志堆到茶几上。全是妻子的杂志(我几乎不看杂志，非书不看。对我来说 ，世间所有的杂志统统报废消失才好)。杂志有《自我》、《婚事》、《家庭画报》，一丘 之貉。便是这些货色齐整整堆在地柜上来着。妻子不喜欢别人碰自己的杂志。一旦堆放的顺 序出现变化，难免来一阵咆哮。所以我索性不靠近妻子的杂志，一页都没翻。岂料电视人全 然无所顾忌，一古脑儿把杂志撤得干干净净。他们丝毫没有爱护的意思，弄得杂志上下颠倒 。《自我》跑到《婚事》上边，《家庭画报》钻在《安安》下面，简直一塌糊涂。不仅如此 ，他们还将妻子夹在杂志中的书签折腾得遍地都是。夹书签的地方，对于妻子是载有重要信 息的位置。至于是何信息重要到何种程度，我自是不得而知。或许与其工作有关，或许纯属 私人性质。但不管怎样，对她无疑是重要信息。我猜想这回她必然大发牢骚。我甚至可以排 列出她要说的台词，诸如偶尔出去见次同学高高兴兴地回家，家里就闹得天翻地覆等等。我 暗暗叫苦，连连摇头。
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总而言之，地柜上已空无一物。电视人随即把电视放了上去。他们把插进墙上的插座，按动 开关。随着“滋滋”几声，荧屏变得惨白。等了好一阵子，还是没出来图像。他们用遥控器 逐个变换频道。但哪个频道都白惨惨一片。我估计怕是因为没接天线。而房间某个地方是应 该有天线接孔的。住进公寓之时，好像听管理员介绍过电视天线的接法，说是“接在这里就 行”。可是我想不起在哪里。家里没有电视，早把那玩艺儿忘到脑后。
不过看样子电视人对接收信号全地兴致，甚至看不出他们有寻找天线接孔的意向。荧屏上白 花花也罢，没有图像也罢，他们毫不介意，似乎只消按键接通电源，就算大功告成。
电视机是新的。虽说没放在包装箱里，但一眼即可看出是不折不扣的新货。机身一侧还用透 明胶带粘着一个塑料袋，袋里装有使用说明书和质量保证书。电源软线如同刚出水的活鱼银 光熠熠。
三个电视人分别从房间不同的地方检验似的凝视电视白色的画面。其中一个来我身旁，确认 从我坐的位置如何才能看清画面。电视机正好安放在我的正面，距离也远近恰到好处。他们 仿佛对此心满意足。看情形作业已告一段落，一个电视人(来我身旁确认画面的那个)把遥控 器放在茶几上。
这时间里，电视人一句话也没说。他们只是正确地按顺序操作，无须特意交换语言。三个人 分别卓有成效地圆满完成了各自的任务。心灵手巧，动作麻利。作业所用时间也短。最后， 一个电视人拿起一直放在地板上的座钟，满房间物色合适的摆放位置，但半天也没物色出来 。归终又放回地板。咔嚓、咔嚓、咔嚓、咔嚓，钟在地板吃力地拖着时间的脚步，我住的这 间公寓相当窄小，加上堆有我的书和妻子的资料，几乎边落脚处也没有。我迟早非给这钟绊 倒不可。想着，叹了口气。毫无疑问，绝对绊倒，我敢打赌。
三个电视人一律身穿藏青色上衣。不知是何布料，反正像是滑溜溜的。下身是蓝牛仔裤，脚 上是网球鞋。服装和鞋都被缩小一些。看他们忙这忙那的时间里，良久我竟开始怀疑自己其 小的看法存在问题，觉得好像自己是戴一副高度数的眼镜倒坐在冲浪船上。风景前后变形， 从中认识到自己迄今无意识置身的世界的平衡并非绝对的。而使我产生如此心情的便是电视 人。
直到最后，电视人也一言未发。他们三个再次检查了一遍电视画面，再次确认没有问题之后 。荧屏恢复到原来冷漠的深灰色。窗外已开始发黑，传来某人叫某人的声音。公寓走廊里有 人缓缓走过，一如往常地故意发出一阵很大的皮鞋声：咯噔、咯噔、咯噔、咯噔。周日的傍 晚。
电视人再次巡视似的在房间里转一圈，开门出去了。同进来时一样，对我根本不理不睬，仿 佛压根儿就没我这个人。
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从电视人进来到其出门离去，我身体一动未动，一声未吭，始终倒在沙发上观看他们作业。 哐许你会说这不自然——房间里突然闯进生人且是三个生人，又自作主张地放下一台电视机 ，居然不声不响地只是默默观看，未免有点荒唐!
不过我确实什么也没说，只是默默注视情况的发展。这恐怕是因为他们彻底无视我的存在所 使然，我想。你如果处于我这个位置，想必也是同样做法。不是自我辩解，任何人假如被近 在眼前的他人如此彻头彻尾地不放在眼里，想必连自己都对自身是否存在产生疑念。蓦然看 见自己的手，甚至觉得手是透明的。这属于某种虚脱感，某种着魔状态。自己的身体自身的 存在迅速变得透明，随后我动弹不得，言语不得，只能眼睁睁看着三个电视人将电视放在房 间里扬长而去。没有办法开口，害怕听见自己的声音。
电视人离开后，又剩我孤身一人，于是存在的感卷土重来，手失而复得。一看，原来暮色早 已被夜色整个吞没。我打开房间电灯，闭上眼睛。电视仍在那里。座钟继续走动，咔嚓、咔 嚓、咔嚓、咔嚓。
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也真是不可思议，妻子对电视机出现在房间中居然未置一词，居然毫无反应，完全无动于衷 ，甚至好像没有察觉。这实在奇妙至极。因为——前面也已交代过——妻子这个人对家具等 物件的位置安排十分神经兮兮。哪怕自己不在时房间里某种件东西有一点点移动或变化，她 都会一瞬间看在眼里，她就有这个本事。随即蹙起眉头，毫不含糊地矫正过来。和我不同。 对我来说，《家庭画报》压在《安安》下面也罢，铅笔插里混进圆珠笔也罢，全都不以为然 。恐怕注意都没注意到。我猜想，她那种活法一定活得很辛苦。但那是她的问题，不是我的 问题。所以我概不说三道四。悉听尊便。这也是我的主导思想。她则不然，动辄大发雷霆。 于是我说自己虽神经迟纯但有时也会忍受不住，忍受不住重力、圆周率以及e=mc2的麻木 不仁。实际上也是如此。我如此一说，她顿时缄口不语。或许她以为这是对其个人的侮辱。 但并非如此。我没有那种对她进行个人侮辱的念头，而仅仅直言自己所感。
这天夜里她也是回来就首先巡视一圈房间。我早已准备好了解释的词句：电视人来了，把一 切弄得乱七八糟。向她说明电视人是十分困难的。很可能不信。但我还是打算一一如实相告 。
不料她什么也没说，只是在房间里转圈巡视。地柜上有电视。杂志颠三倒四地堆在茶几上。 座钟移至地板。然而妻子什么也没说，我自然无须做任何说明。
“晚饭真的吃了?”她边脱连衣裙边问：
“没吃。”我说。
“为什么?”
“肚子不怎么饿。”
妻子把连衣裙脱至一半，沉吟片刻。又盯了一会我的脸，似乎不知说什么好。座钟以滞重的 声响分割着沉默：咔嚓、咔嚓、咔嚓、咔嚓。我不想听这声音，不想使其入耳，但那声音还 是那么大那么重，径自入耳，无可救药。她看上去也像对那声音耿耿于怀，摇摇头，问：
“简单做点什么?”
“也好。”我说。虽不特别想吃，但如果有什么可吃，吃也未尝不可，我觉得。
妻子换上便于活动的衣服，一边在厨房里做凉拌菜和煎蛋，一边向我叙述同学聚会的情景： 谁在做什么，谁说了什么，谁换发型变漂亮了，谁同交往的男子分手了等等。他们的事我也 大致晓得，便喝着啤酒随声附和。其实几乎充耳不闻。我一直在考虑电视人，推想她何以对 电视机的出现默不作声。是没注意到?不至于，她不可能对突然出现的电视机视而不见。那 么为什么保持沉默呢?真是怪事，奇事!是有什么出了错，可我又不知如何改错。
凉拌菜做好后，我坐在厨房餐桌前吃了。又务必了煎蛋，吃了梅干饭。
吃罢饭，妻子收拾餐具，我接着喝啤酒。她也喝了几口。蓦地，我抬眼往地柜上看了看。电 视机仍在上面。电源已拔掉。茶几放着遥控器。我从椅子上站起身，将遥控器拿在手里，按 了下启动键。荧屏倏地变白，响起“滋滋”声响，依然没出来任何图像，唯有白光浮现于显 像管。我按键加大音量，得到地无非“嗄——”一声大大的噪音。我注视了20～30秒白光， 按下关闭键，噪音与白光即刻消失。这时间里妻子坐在地毯上啪啦啪啦翻动《自我》杂志。 至于电视机启动关闭，她一概没有兴致，似乎意识都没意识到。
我把遥控器放在茶几上，又坐回沙发。我打算接着看马尔克斯的长篇小说。我总是在晚饭后 看书。有时看30分钟即扔在一边，也有时连看两个钟头。总之每天必看。但这天边一页的一 半也看不去。无论怎么往书集中精力，思路也还是马上回到电视上去。终于抬起眼睛盯着电 视不动。荧屏同我面面相觑。
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深夜两点半醒来，电视机仍在那里。我爬起床，期待电视机转瞬消失。但它依然好端端地位 于原处。我去卫生间小便，然后从而在沙发把脚搭在茶几上面。接着又用遥控器打开电视。 没有任何新的发现。依旧故伎重演：白光，噪单，如此而已。我观望了一会，按键关掉，消 去光与音。
我折回床准备入睡。困得厉害，却偏偏睡不着。一闭上眼睛，电视人便浮现出来——搬电视 机的电视人，撤掉座钟的电视人，把杂志移到茶向的电视人，把插头插进插座的电视人，检 查图像的电视，默然开门走出的电视。他们始终在我的脑海里，在脑海里走来窜去。我再次 下床，走进厨房，往水槽边上的咖啡杯里倒两份白兰地喝了。喝完重新歪倒在沙发上打开马 尔克斯的作品。但还是一行也进不到脑袋里去，根本搞不清所云何物。
无奈，我只好扔开马尔克斯，翻阅《自我》。偶尔看一下《自我》怕也并不碍事。可《自我 》没有刊载任何吸引我的内容。上面不外乎是新发型啦，高档白绸衬衣啦，可以吃到美味炖 牛排的小食店啦，看歌剧时穿什么服装合适，等等，不一而足。我对这些百分之百感到索然 无味，便抛开《自我》，端详地柜上的电视机。
终归，我一事无成地一直坐到天亮。6点钟我用壶烧了开水，冲咖啡喝了。由于无所事事， 就在妻子起床前做好了三明治。
“起床可真够早的。”妻子没睡醒似的说。
我“噢”了一声。
我们寡言少语地用完餐，一起走出家门，去各自单上班。妻子在一家小出版社工作，编一种 关于天然食品方面的专门杂志，主要介绍香菇有利于预防关节红肿、有机农业技术展望等等 。杂志内容的专业性很强。销量不大，但由于几乎不花制作费，又有热心得乎教徒的固定读 者，因此不至于关门大吉。我在电视公司的广告宣传部供职，制作电烤箱、洗衣机、微波炉 等电气品的广告。
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上班时，在公司楼梯同一个电视人擦肩而。我想是昨天搬来电视机的电视人中的一个，大概 是最先开门进屋的家伙，没扛电视机的家伙。他们硷上没有明显特下，要分辨出每一个人是 极其困难的。所以我没有确切的把握。不过十有八九不至认错。他仍穿和昨天同样的上衣， 两手空空，只是在迈步下楼梯。我则上楼梯。我不喜欢乘电梯，总是步行上下。我的办公室 在9楼，因此这并非轻易之举。有特殊急事时便累得大汗淋漓。但作为我，大汗淋漓也比乘 电梯惬意得多。众人因之开我的玩笑。我一无电视机二无录像机，又不乘电梯，他们都认定 我是个怪人，或认为在某种意义上我还处于未成熟的阶段。莫名其妙!我不大理解他们何以 有如此想法。
不管怎样，此时我还是一如既往地步行上楼。步行上楼者舍我无他。几乎无人利用楼梯，在 四五楼之间的楼梯我同一个电视人擦肩而过。由于太事出突然，我不知如何应付，本想打声 招呼来着。
但终归什么也没说。一来一时想不起说什么合适，二来电视人看样子很难容人打招呼。他非 常机械地步行下楼。以同样的频率精确而有规则地移动脚步。仍像昨天那样根本无视我的存 在，眼睛中全然没有我这个人。我便是如此不知所措地同其擦肩而过。那一瞬间我恍惚觉得 周围的重力都倏然一晃。
这天，公司一上班就开会。会很重要，研究新产品的扎伊尔战略。几个职员宣读了报告。黑 板上排列着数字，电脑荧屏推出图表。讨论气氛热烈。我也参加了，但我有会议上的立场无 足轻重，因为我不直接参与这项计划。开会时间里我一直想别的。但我还是发了一次言。无 所谓的发言，讲的不过是作为出席者的极为常识性意见。毕竟我不能一言不发。我这人虽说 对工作热情不是很高，但终究在这里拿工资，也还是感到肩负一定的责任。我将前面的意见 大致归纳一下，甚至讲了顺活跃会场气氛的笑话。有几个人笑了。一旦发过一次言，往下我 只管装作看材料的样子，而继续思考电视人。至于为新生产的微波炉取什么名字，与我毫不 相关。我头脑里有的只是电视人，时刻念念不忘。那台电视机到底有何含义呢?为何故意把 它搬进我的房间呢?为什么妻子对电视机的出现不置不词呢?为什么电视人潜入我们公司来呢 ?
会议开得没完没了。12点因吃午饭才短时.99lib.休会，短得没有时间去外面吃饭，便为每人发了一 份三明治。会议室烟味呛人，我拿回自己办公桌来吃。正吃着，科长走到我身边。说实在话 ，我不大喜欢这小子。若问何以不喜欢，原因我也说不明白。其实他并没有什么令人反感之 处。风度翩翩，显得富有教养。脑袋瓜也不笨。领带情趣也还可以。而又从不洋洋自得，对 部下也不吆五喝六。对我甚至高看一眼，还不时邀我吃饭。然而我对他就是看不顺眼。这大 概因为他过于亲昵触摸谈话对象有身体所致，我想。无论是男是女，交谈当中他总是轻轻触 摸对方的身体。虽说是触摸，但并不使人特别生厌。触摸方式十分潇洒十分自然，以致几乎 所有的人恐怕都不会有被触摸的感觉。可不知什么缘故，我却是非常耿耿于怀。所以我一瞧 见他的身影，便本能地感到紧张。如果说此事微不足道倒也微不足道，但反正我是耿耿于怀 。
他弓下身子，把手搭在我肩上。“刚才你在会上的发言，发得不错。”科长亲切地说，“非 常简明扼要，我都心悦诚服。一针见血，满座皆惊。时间也选择得正是火候。以后也这样发 扬下去!”
说罢，科长迅速转身不见，大概找地方吃自己午饭去了。当场我是真心道谢来着，不过坦率 说来，她完全弄得我丈二和尚摸不着头脑。因为会场上说了什么我早已忘到了九宵云外。不 过是由于不便一言不发而顺口敷衍风句而已。科长何苦为这点事特意跑来我身旁赞赏一番呢 ?发言更堂而皇之的人本来有的是!莫名其妙!我继续吞食午饭。忽然，我想起妻子。她现在 做什么呢?到街上吃午饭去了不成?我很想给她单位打个电话，很想聊上三言两语，聊什么都 好。我拨动开头的三位数字，转而作罢。没有什么事值得特意打电话。我固然觉得这世界有 点扭曲变形，但又没有必要就在此午休时间往妻子单位打电话——我能说什么呢?况且她不 大喜欢我往单位打电话。我放下话筒，喟叹一声，喝干剩下的咖啡，把塑料杯投进垃圾箱。
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下午会场里，我又见到了电视人。这回人数增加了两人。他们仍像昨天那样抬着索尼彩电视机进来,旁边的人闪开为其让路便是明证。可是对电视人再无更多的 反应。这种反应同他们在附近咖啡馆的女侍送来预订的咖啡时的反应相差无几。原则上他们 是将电视人作为不存在之人加以对待的。明明知道存在于此，却待之为存在之人。
我感到蹊跷。莫非他们全都知道电视人?而唯独我自己被排除于有关电视人的情报之外不成? 说不定妻子也对电视人的情况了然于心，我想。大有可能。惟其如此，她才对房间里突如其 来的电视机无动于衷，缄口不语。此外找不出第二种解释。我头脑乱糟糟一团。电视人到底 是怎么回事?他们为什么总搬电视机?
一个同事离座去厕所小便时，我也跟踪追击似的钻进厕所。此人和我同期进入公司，关系颇 佳，下班后两人还偶尔喝几杯，我并非同任何人都吃吃喝喝。我们并肩站着小便。他用无可 奈何的语气说：真是见鬼，看这样子非开到晚上不可，开会开会老是开会!我也表示赞同。 两人洗了洗手。他也夸奖我在上午会议的发言，我说谢谢。
“不过，刚才搬电视机进来的那两人……”我若无其事似的提起话话题。
他默不作声，使劲拧紧水龙头，从纸箱里抽出两张纸巾擦手，看都没看我一眼。他不紧不慢 地擦罢手，把纸巾揉成一团扔进垃圾箱。或许没听见我的话也未可知。这点无从判断。不过 从气氛年来，我觉得还是不要问下去为好。所以我也默默用纸巾擦了手。空气似乎一时凝固 起来。我们不声不响地从走廊返回会议室。往下的会议时间里，我感觉他在躲避我的视线。
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从公司回来，房间里黑幽幽的。外面开始下雨。从阳台窗口，可以望见低垂的乌云。房间充 满雨的息。天也开始黑了。妻子还没下班。我解下领带，按平皱纹塔在领带架上。用衣刷刷 去西服的灰尘。衬衣扔进脏衣篓。头发沾上了香烟味儿，便打开淋浴冲了冲。经常如此。每 次开罢长会，身上都熏得满是烟味儿。妻子最厌恶这气味。婚后她做的第一件事，就是使我 禁烟。已是4年前的事了。
淋浴出来，坐在沙发上一边用毛巾擦头发一边喝蝗拉罐啤酒。电视人搬来的电视机仍在地柜 上。我拿起茶几上的遥控器，按下启动健，按了好几次也没有接通电源。完全无动于衷，荧 屏一片黑暗。我仔细看了看电源软线。插头端端正正地接在插座上。我拔下插头，重新用力 插入。无济于事。任凭怎么按启动键画面也不变白。为慎重起见，我打开遥控器后盖，取出 电池，用简易电笔检查一下。电池是新的。我无可奈何地扔开遥控器，把啤酒倒进喉咙深处 。
为什么如此执著呢?不可思议。纵使接通电源又怎么样呢?还不是只能见到白光，只能听到“ 嗄嗄”的噪音!因此启动也罢不启动也罢，何必计较呢!
但我偏偏觉得是个问题。昨晚本来可以好好启动来着，而那以后又没动它一手指。岂有此理 。
我又一次拿遥控器试了试，慢慢往指尖用力，结果如出一辙，毫无反应，荧屏彻底呜呼哀哉 ，彻底僵化。
彻底僵化。
我从冰箱取出第二听啤酒，打开盖喝着。又吃了塑料容器里的土豆色拉。时针已过6点。我 在沙发上浏览一遍晚报。报纸比往常还无聊，几乎没有值得一读的报道。连篇累牍全是哗众 取宠的消息。可是又想不出其他可干之事，便花了很长时间细细阅读起来。读罢，还是要干 点别的事才行。但我懒得就此思考，又像故意拖延时间似的继续读报。对了，写封回信如何 ?表妹寄来了婚礼请柬。对此我必须写信谢绝。她结婚那天我要同妻子两人外出旅行，去冲 绳。这是早就定好了的。两 为此同时休假。事到如今，不可能变更。如果变更，下次能否 同时请下长时间休假，只有神仙晓得。再说我和表妹也没什么亲密交往，差不多有10年没见 面。不管怎样，我想得尽早回信才是。人家还要考虑预订婚礼场所。然而硬是不成。现在根 本写不了信，怎么也没这份情绪。
我又端起报纸，看第二遍同样的报道。蓦地，我想起该帮晚饭了。可是妻子由于工作关系很 可能吃过晚饭才回来，那一来，做好的那份势必剩下浪费。而我一个人的饭，怎么都能对付 一顿，无须大动干戈。倘若她还有什么也没吃，两人一起到外面吃就是。
我觉得不大对头。我们回家可能迟于6点的时候，必定事先取得联系。这是常规。也可使用 录音电话留下口信。这样对方便可以依此调整行动——或者自己一个人先吃，或者把对方那 份做好留下，或者先上床上寝。由于工作性质方面的原因，我难免晚归，好也因商谈事情或 校对清校而有时姗姗归迟。双方的工作均不属于早上准时9点上班傍晚准时5点下班那种类型 。两人都忙起来时甚至三天五天不怎么说话的事也是有的。别无他法，已经不知不觉地成了 这个样子。所以我总是注意坚守常规，尽量不给对方增加现实性的麻烦。一察觉可能晚归， 即用电话通知对方，也时不时地忘掉，但她是一次也没有忘过的。
然而录音电话没留下口信。
我松开报纸，歪倒地沙发上，闭起双眼。
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梦见开会：我站起来发言，自己都不知所云，徒然摇唇鼓舌而已。话一中断我就要死去。所 以不能住口，只能永远不知所云地喋喋不休。周围人尽皆死去，化为石头，化为硬邦邦的石 像。风在吹。窗上的玻璃七零八乱，风从空中吹入室内。电话人，增加到三个，一如当初。 他们仍在搬运索尼彩电。荧屏上映出电视人。我正在失去语言，手指也随这渐次变硬。我将 慢慢变成石头。
睁眼醒来，房间里白雾，恰似水族馆走廊。电视机开着。四下黑尽，唯独电视荧屏发着 “滋滋”低音闪着光。我在沙发上坐起身，用指尖按住太阳穴。手指依然是柔软的肉。口中 残留着睡前喝的啤酒味。我咽了口唾液。喉咙深处干燥得不行，好半天才咽下去。每次做完 富有现实感的梦，都必定觉得梦境比清醒时还近乎现实。但那是错觉。这才是现实。谁也没 变成什么石头，几点了?我觑一眼仍在地板上的钟。咔嚓、咔嚓、咔嚓、咔嚓。快8点了。
不料，电视荧屏竟如梦境那样映出一个电视人，就是那个同我在公司楼梯擦肩而过的那个。 一点不错。就是他，就是最先开门进来的他，百分之百地准确无误。他以荧光灯那样的白光 为背景，定定站着看我的脸，仿佛审入现实中来的梦的尾声。我闭起眼睛又睁开，恍惚觉得 这场景倏然逝去。但是不然，荧屏上的电视人反而越来越大。整个荧屏推出一张面孔，渐渐 成为特写镜头，似乎一步步由远而近。
继而，电视人跳到荧屏外面，宛如从窗口出来似的手扶边框一跃而出。于是荧屏便只剩下作 为背景的白光。
他用右手指摸了一会左手，似乎想使身体适应电视外面的世界。他一点也不着急。一副悠然 自得的派头，仿佛时间多得不能再多，俨然电视节目久经沙场的主持人。他接着看我的脸。
“我们在制造飞机。”电视人说。其声无远近之感，平板板的，如写在纸上一般。
随着他的话音，荧屏出现了黑乎乎的机器。真是很像新闻节目。首先出现的是大型工厂一样 的空间，其次是位于其正中的车间的特写镜头。两个电视人摆弄那台机器。他们或用扳手拧 螺栓，或调整仪表，全神贯注。那机器很是不可思议：圆筒形，上端细细长长，到处有流线 型鼓出的部位。与其说是飞机，莫如更像一架巨大的榨汁机。既无机翼，又无座席。
“怎么也看不出是飞机。”我说。听起来不像我的声音。声音极其古怪，似乎被厚厚的过滤 器彻底滤去了养分。我觉得自己已老态龙钟。
“那怕是因为还没涂颜色的缘故。”电视人说，“明天就把颜色涂好。那一来，就可以清楚 地看出是飞机。”
“问题不在颜色，而在形状。形状不是飞机。”
“如果不是飞机，那是?”电视人问我。
我也弄不明白。那么说它到底算什么呢?
“所以问题在于颜色。”电视人和和气气地说，“只消涂上颜色，就是地地道道的飞机。”
我再无心机辩论下去。是什么都无所谓。是榨橘子汁的飞机也好，是在空中飞的榨汁机也好 ，随便它是什么，是什么都与我不相干。老婆怎么还不回来!我再次用指尖按在太阳穴。座 钟继续作响：咔嚓、咔嚓、咔嚓、咔嚓。茶几上放着遥控器。旁边堆着妇女杂志。电话始终 悄无声息。电视隐隐约约的光亮照着房间。
荧屏上，两个电视人仍在一心一意忙个不停。图像比刚才清晰多了。现在可以清楚看到机器 仪表上的数字。其声音也能听到，尽管微乎其微。机器轰鸣不止：隆隆、轰隆隆，隆隆、轰 隆隆。时而响起金属相互撞击的干涩而有节奏的声音：啊咿咿、啊咿咿。此外还混杂着各种 各样的声响，我无法再一一分辨清楚。总而言之，两个电视人在荧屏中干得甚卖力气。这是 图像主题。我目不转睛地看着两人作业的情景。荧屏外的电视人也默默注视荧屏中的两个同 伴。那莫名其妙的黑漆漆的机器——我怎么看都不像飞机装置浮现在白光之中。
“太太不回来了。”荧屏外的电视人对我说。
我看着他的脸，一时摘不清他说了什么。我像盯视雪白的显像管一样盯住他的脸不放。
“太太不回来了。”电视人以同样的语调说道。
“为什么?”我问。
“为什么?因为关系破裂。”电视人说。其声音仿佛宾馆里使用的卡式塑料钥匙牌的动静， 呆板的、没有抑扬顿挫的声音如刀刃一般从狭窄的缝隙钻了进去。“因为关系破裂所以不回 来了。”
因为关系破裂所以不回来了——我在脑袋里复述一遍。平铺直叙，毫不生动。我无法准确把 握这个句式。原因衔着结果的尾巴，试图将其吞进腹去。我起身走进厨房，打开冰箱，做了 个深呼吸，取出一罐啤酒折回沙发。 电视人依旧在电视机前木然伫立，看着我揪掉易拉环。 他将右肘搭在电视机上。我其实并不怎么想喝啤酒。只是若不找点事干很难打发时间，只好 去拿啤酒。喝了一口，啤酒索然无味。我一直把啤酒罐拿在手上。后来觉得重，便置于茶几 。
接下去我开始思考电视人的声明——关于妻子不回来的声明。他声称我们已经关系破裂，并 且这是她不回来的缘由。然而我们无论如何也不认为我们的关系已经破裂。诚然，我们并非 美满夫妻。4年时间里吵了好几天。我们之间确实有些问题，时常就此对话。既有解决的， 也有未解决的。未解决的大多搁置一旁，等待合适的时机。ok，我们是有问题的夫妻。这并 不错。但我们的关系并不至于因此而破裂。不对吗?哪里去找没有问题的夫妻?何况现在才刚 过8点，她不过因为某种原因而怎么也打不成电话而已。这样的原因任凭多少都想得出来。 例如……可我却一个也无从想出。我陷入极度困惑迷乱之中。
我深深地缩进沙发靠背。
那架飞机——如果是飞机的话——到底将怎样飞行吗?动力是什么?窗口在哪里?关系是哪头 是前端哪头为后尾呢?
我实在疲惫不堪，而又非常浅薄。一定要给表妹回信谢绝：因工作关系委实无法出席，不胜 遗憾之至，祝贺新婚之喜。
电视中的两个电视人对我毫不理会，只管一劲地造飞机，一刻也没有停手，仿佛为了完成飞 机制造任务而有无数道工序要做。一道工序完后，马上着手下一道，连续作战。没有像样的 工程进度表和图纸之类，他们对自己现在应做和往下将做的事了如指掌。摄像机迅速而准确 地将其感人的作业情景捕捉下来。镜头富有概括力和说服力，明白易懂。大概是其他电视人 (第四个第五个)在负责摄像和操纵控制盘。
说来奇怪，在凝神注视电视人堪称无懈可击的工作情形的时间里，我也开始一点点觉得那东 西像是飞机，至少说是飞机也没什么离奇。至于何为前端何为后尾，这点全然不在话下。既 然从事的是那般精密的工作且干得那般漂亮，肯定是制造飞机无疑。即使看上去不像，对我 也是飞机。的确如其所言。
如果不是飞机，那是什么?
荧屏外的电视人纹丝不动地保持原来姿势，右肘搭在电视机上看着我。我则被看。荧屏中的 电视人劳作不止。钟声清晰可闻：咔嚓、咔嚓、咔嚓、咔嚓。房间幽暗。有人拖着皮鞋通过走廊。
或许，我猛然想道，妻子或许真的不返回这里了。妻子已经跑了到很远很远的地方去了，使 用所有的交通工具，跑到我无法追及的远处去的。的确，我们的关系或许已破裂得无可挽回 ，成为泡影了。只不过自己没意识到而已。纷纭的思绪松懈开来，又合而为一。或许如此， 我说出声来。我的声音在自己体内往来徘徊。
“明天涂上颜色，就可一目了然了。”电视人说，“只消涂上颜色，就是一架完美无缺的飞 机。”
我看着自己的手心。手心看起来似乎比平日缩小了一点，一点点。也许神经过敏。也许光的 角度所使然。也许远近感的平衡多少出了问题。不过手心看起来缩小倒是千真万确。等等， 我想发言，我必须说点什么，我有要说的话，否则我就将萎缩干瘪，化为石头，一如其他人 。
“马上会有电话打来。”电视人说。然后像在运算似的停了一会，“5分钟后。”
我看着电话机。我思考电话机上的软线，连接天涯海角的软线，妻子便在这可怕的迷宫般的 线路的某个末梢。那里远得很，远得我望尘莫及。我感觉到了她心脏的跳动。5分钟后，我 想，哪头是前端哪头为后尾呢?我站起身，准备说出口。然而在站起的一瞬间，我竟失去了语言。
电视人(2)
电视人
1
电视人来到我房间是在周日的傍晚。
季节是春天，大概是春天，我想。反正是不太热也不很冷的时节。
不过坦率说来，季节在这里并不关键。关键是周日傍晚这点。
我不喜欢周日傍晚这一时分，或者说不喜欢它所附带的一切——总之不喜欢带有周日傍晚意 味的状况。每当周日傍晚姗姗而至，我的脑袋必定开始作痛。痛的程度每次固然轻重有别， 但终究是痛。两侧太阳穴1～15厘米左右的深处，柔软白嫩的肉块无端地绷得很紧，俨然 肉块中间伸出无数条细线，而有人从辽远的地方握住那线头悄悄拉曳。不是特别痛。本来痛 也无妨，却偏偏不很痛，不可思议。就像有根长针一下子长进严重麻醉的部位一样。
而且可以听见声响，不，与其说是声响，莫如说类似厚重的沉默在黑暗中隐约发出的呻吟： 哎哟哎哟哟，哎哟哟哎哟哟，哎哟哎哟哟，声声入耳。这是最初征兆，随即痛感出现，继而 视野开始一点点扭曲变形。预感引发记忆，记忆引发预感，犹如流向紊乱的潮水。空中浮现 出半轮崭新剃刀样的白月，将疑问的光须拉满黑 的大地。人们仿佛奚落我似的故意大 声从走廊走过：咯噔、咯噔、咯噔、咯噔。
唯有如此，电视人才选在周日傍晚来我房间。恰如一场无声降落的抑郁而有无神秘意味的雨 ，轻手轻脚地在这苍茫暮色中潜入房间。
2
先描述一下电视人的外形。
电视人身体的尺寸比你我小一些。不是明显地小，而是小一些。对了，大约小2/10～3/10。 而且各部位均衡地小。所以在措词上，与其是小，莫如说缩小更为准确。
也许你在什么地方见到过电视人，只是一开始没有注意到他们的相形见小。不过即使如此， 恐怕他们也会给你留下某种奇异的印象，或许可以谙不快之感。有点奇怪呀——你肯定这样 想，并且势必再次定定注视他们。初看并没有什么特别不自然的地方，但这反而显得不自然 。就是说，电视人的不同小孩和小人的小全然不同。看到小孩和小人，我们是会感到他们小 ，但这种感觉大多是其体形的不谐调所引发的。他们小固然小，但不是一切均衡地小。比如 手小脑袋大。这是一情况。然而电视人的小完全是另一码事。身高缩小为0.7，肩宽也缩小 为0.7，脚、头、耳朵和手指的大小长短统统缩小为0.7。犹如略小于实物的精密塑料组合模 型。
也可以说他们看上去好像用远近法画出的模特。虽说在眼前，却似远在天边。又如一幅幻灯 片，平面扭曲、腾跃，本应伸手可触，然而无法触及。触及的是无可触及的物体。
这便是电视人。
这便是电视人。
这便是电视人。
这便是电视人。
3
他们一共三人。
他们既不敲门，又不按门铃，也不问声你好。只管悄然进屋，亦不闻足音。一人开门，另两 人抱着电视机。电视机不很大，索尼彩电，极其普通。门我想该是锁上的，记不确切。忘锁 也未可知，当时本没注意什么门锁，说不准锁与没锁。只是觉得大概是锁上的。
他们进来时，我正歪在沙发上怅怅地看天花板。家里仅我一人。下午妻子去会同伴了，几个 高中同学相聚畅谈一番，然后去某处的饭店吃惊晚饭。
“你就随便吃点什么好么?”妻子临出门时说，“冰箱里有好多青菜和冷冻食品，自然可以 做一点吧?另外可别忘了天圉前把洗的衣服收回来。”
“好的。”我说。
无非是做晚饭，无非是收衣服，鸡毛蒜皮，保足挂齿，举手之劳罢了。哎哟哎哟哟，哎哟哎 哟哟。
“你说什么了?”妻子问。
“没说什么呀。”我回答。
这么着，整个下午我都一个人歪在沙发上愣愣发呆。此外无事可干。看了会书——马尔克斯 新出的小说。听了一段音乐。喝了一点啤酒。但对哪样都神思恍惚。也想上床睡一觉，可是 对睡觉也集中不起精神，因而只好歪在沙发上眼望天花板。
就我来说，星期天的午后有很多事情便是这样一点点滑过。无论干什么都半途而废，都无法 投入全副身心。我觉得若是上午恐怕一切都会遂心如意。本打算今天看这本书，听这张唱片 ，写这封回信，本打算今天要整理一下抽屉，买几样必需的东西，冲一冲久未冲洗的车身。 然而随着时针转过两点过三点，随着黄昏的逐渐临近，哪一样也未能落在实处，归终还是在 沙发上来日暮。时钟的声音直冲耳鼓：咔嚓、咔嚓、咔嚓、咔嚓。其声如雨帘一般将四周物 件一点一点削去。咔嚓、咔嚓、咔嚓、咔嚓。在星期天的午后，一切看上去都被一点点磨损 ，一层层缩小，如同电视人本身。
4
电视人完全不把我放在眼里。从三个人的表情看来，仿佛我根本不在此处。他们打开门，把 电视搬入房间。两人把电视放在地柜上面，另一个把插头按进插座。地柜上放着座钟和一大 堆杂志。钟是结婚时朋友们送的贺礼，非常之大非常之重。大得重得俨然时间本身。声音也 响，咔嚓、咔嚓、咔嚓、咔嚓，传遍整个房间。电视人把它从地柜移到地板。老婆定会发怒 无疑，我想。她最讨厌别人乱动房间里的什物。况且把钟摆在地板上面，半夜里肯定撞在我 脚上。两点一过我准保醒来上厕所，加之睡得晕晕乎乎，每次都碰上或撞上什么。
接着，电视人把杂志堆到茶几上。全是妻子的杂志(我几乎不看杂志，非书不看。对我来说 ，世间所有的杂志统统报废消失才好)。杂志有《自我》、《婚事》、《家庭画报》，一丘 之貉。便是这些货色齐整整堆在地柜上来着。妻子不喜欢别人碰自己的杂志。一旦堆放的顺 序出现变化，难免来一阵咆哮。所以我索性不靠近妻子的杂志，一页都没翻。岂料电视人全 然无所顾忌，一古脑儿把杂志撤得干干净净。他们丝毫没有爱护的意思，弄得杂志上下颠倒 。《自我》跑到《婚事》上边，《家庭画报》钻在《安安》下面，简直一塌糊涂。不仅如此 ，他们还将妻子夹在杂志中的书签折腾得遍地都是。夹书签的地方，对于妻子是载有重要信 息的位置。至于是何信息重要到何种程度，我自是不得而知。或许与其工作有关，或许纯属 私人性质。但不管怎样，对她无疑是重要信息。我猜想这回她必然大发牢骚。我甚至可以排 列出她要说的台词，诸如偶尔出去见次同学高高兴兴地回家，家里就闹得天翻地覆等等。我 暗暗叫苦，连连摇头。
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总而言之，地柜上已空无一物。电视人随即把电视放了上去。他们把插进墙上的插座，按动 开关。随着“滋滋”几声，荧屏变得惨白。等了好一阵子，还是没出来图像。他们用遥控器 逐个变换频道。但哪个频道都白惨惨一片。我估计怕是因为没接天线。而房间某个地方是应 该有天线接孔的。住进公寓之时，好像听管理员介绍过电视天线的接法，说是“接在这里就 行”。可是我想不起在哪里。家里没有电视，早把那玩艺儿忘到脑后。
不过看样子电视人对接收信号全地兴致，甚至看不出他们有寻找天线接孔的意向。荧屏上白 花花也罢，没有图像也罢，他们毫不介意，似乎只消按键接通电源，就算大功告成。
电视机是新的。虽说没放在包装箱里，但一眼即可看出是不折不扣的新货。机身一侧还用透 明胶带粘着一个塑料袋，袋里装有使用说明书和质量保证书。电源软线如同刚出水的活鱼银 光熠熠。
三个电视人分别从房间不同的地方检验似的凝视电视白色的画面。其中一个来我身旁，确认 从我坐的位置如何才能看清画面。电视机正好安放在我的正面，距离也远近恰到好处。他们 仿佛对此心满意足。看情形作业已告一段落，一个电视人(来我身旁确认画面的那个)把遥控 器放在茶几上。
这时间里，电视人一句话也没说。他们只是正确地按顺序操作，无须特意交换语言。三个人 分别卓有成效地圆满完成了各自的任务。心灵手巧，动作麻利。作业所用时间也短。最后， 一个电视人拿起一直放在地板上的座钟，满房间物色合适的摆放位置，但半天也没物色出来 。归终又放回地板。咔嚓、咔嚓、咔嚓、咔嚓，钟在地板吃力地拖着时间的脚步，我住的这 间公寓相当窄小，加上堆有我的书和妻子的资料，几乎边落脚处也没有。我迟早非给这钟绊 倒不可。想着，叹了口气。毫无疑问，绝对绊倒，我敢打赌。
三个电视人一律身穿藏青色上衣。不知是何布料，反正像是滑溜溜的。下身是蓝牛仔裤，脚 上是网球鞋。服装和鞋都被缩小一些。看他们忙这忙那的时间里，良久我竟开始怀疑自己其 小的看法存在问题，觉得好像自己是戴一副高度数的眼镜倒坐在冲浪船上。风景前后变形， 从中认识到自己迄今无意识置身的世界的平衡并非绝对的。而使我产生如此心情的便是电视 人。
直到最后，电视人也一言未发。他们三个再次检查了一遍电视画面，再次确认没有问题之后 。荧屏恢复到原来冷漠的深灰色。窗外已开始发黑，传来某人叫某人的声音。公寓走廊里有 人缓缓走过，一如往常地故意发出一阵很大的皮鞋声：咯噔、咯噔、咯噔、咯噔。周日的傍 晚。
电视人再次巡视似的在房间里转一圈，开门出去了。同进来时一样，对我根本不理不睬，仿 佛压根儿就没我这个人。
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从电视人进来到其出门离去，我身体一动未动，一声未吭，始终倒在沙发上观看他们作业。 哐许你会说这不自然——房间里突然闯进生人且是三个生人，又自作主张地放下一台电视机 ，居然不声不响地只是默默观看，未免有点荒唐!
不过我确实什么也没说，只是默默注视情况的发展。这恐怕是因为他们彻底无视我的存在所 使然，我想。你如果处于我这个位置，想必也是同样做法。不是自我辩解，任何人假如被近 在眼前的他人如此彻头彻尾地不放在眼里，想必连自己都对自身是否存在产生疑念。蓦然看 见自己的手，甚至觉得手是透明的。这属于某种虚脱感，某种着魔状态。自己的身体自身的 存在迅速变得透明，随后我动弹不得，言语不得，只能眼睁睁看着三个电视人将电视放在房 间里扬长而去。没有办法开口，害怕听见自己的声音。
电视人离开后，又剩我孤身一人，于是存在的感卷土重来，手失而复得。一看，原来暮色早 已被夜色整个吞没。我打开房间电灯，闭上眼睛。电视仍在那里。座钟继续走动，咔嚓、咔 嚓、咔嚓、咔嚓。
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也真是不可思议，妻子对电视机出现在房间中居然未置一词，居然毫无反应，完全无动于衷 ，甚至好像没有察觉。这实在奇妙至极。因为——前面也已交代过——妻子这个人对家具等 物件的位置安排十分神经兮兮。哪怕自己不在时房间里某种件东西有一点点移动或变化，她 都会一瞬间看在眼里，她就有这个本事。随即蹙起眉头，毫不含糊地矫正过来。和我不同。 对我来说，《家庭画报》压在《安安》下面也罢，铅笔插里混进圆珠笔也罢，全都不以为然 。恐怕注意都没注意到。我猜想，她那种活法一定活得很辛苦。但那是她的问题，不是我的 问题。所以我概不说三道四。悉听尊便。这也是我的主导思想。她则不然，动辄大发雷霆。 于是我说自己虽神经迟纯但有时也会忍受不住，忍受不住重力、圆周率以及e=mc2的麻木 不仁。实际上也是如此。我如此一说，她顿时缄口不语。或许她以为这是对其个人的侮辱。 但并非如此。我没有那种对她进行个人侮辱的念头，而仅仅直言自己所感。
这天夜里她也是回来就首先巡视一圈房间。我早已准备好了解释的词句：电视人来了，把一 切弄得乱七八糟。向她说明电视人是十分困难的。很可能不信。但我还是打算一一如实相告 。
不料她什么也没说，只是在房间里转圈巡视。地柜上有电视。杂志颠三倒四地堆在茶几上。 座钟移至地板。然而妻子什么也没说，我自然无须做任何说明。
“晚饭真的吃了?”她边脱连衣裙边问：
“没吃。”我说。
“为什么?”
“肚子不怎么饿。”
妻子把连衣裙脱至一半，沉吟片刻。又盯了一会我的脸，似乎不知说什么好。座钟以滞重的 声响分割着沉默：咔嚓、咔嚓、咔嚓、咔嚓。我不想听这声音，不想使其入耳，但那声音还 是那么大那么重，径自入耳，无可救药。她看上去也像对那声音耿耿于怀，摇摇头，问：
“简单做点什么?”
“也好。”我说。虽不特别想吃，但如果有什么可吃，吃也未尝不可，我觉得。
妻子换上便于活动的衣服，一边在厨房里做凉拌菜和煎蛋，一边向我叙述同学聚会的情景： 谁在做什么，谁说了什么，谁换发型变漂亮了，谁同交往的男子分手了等等。他们的事我也 大致晓得，便喝着啤酒随声附和。其实几乎充耳不闻。我一直在考虑电视人，推想她何以对 电视机的出现默不作声。是没注意到?不至于，她不可能对突然出现的电视机视而不见。那 么为什么保持沉默呢?真是怪事，奇事!是有什么出了错，可我又不知如何改错。
凉拌菜做好后，我坐在厨房餐桌前吃了。又务必了煎蛋，吃了梅干饭。
吃罢饭，妻子收拾餐具，我接着喝啤酒。她也喝了几口。蓦地，我抬眼往地柜上看了看。电 视机仍在上面。电源已拔掉。茶几放着遥控器。我从椅子上站起身，将遥控器拿在手里，按 了下启动键。荧屏倏地变白，响起“滋滋”声响，依然没出来任何图像，唯有白光浮现于显 像管。我按键加大音量，得到地无非“嗄——”一声大大的噪音。我注视了20～30秒白光， 按下关闭键，噪音与白光即刻消失。这时间里妻子坐在地毯上啪啦啪啦翻动《自我》杂志。 至于电视机启动关闭，她一概没有兴致，似乎意识都没意识到。
我把遥控器放在茶几上，又坐回沙发。我打算接着看马尔克斯的长篇小说。我总是在晚饭后 看书。有时看30分钟即扔在一边，也有时连看两个钟头。总之每天必看。但这天边一页的一 半也看不去。无论怎么往书集中精力，思路也还是马上回到电视上去。终于抬起眼睛盯着电 视不动。荧屏同我面面相觑。
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深夜两点半醒来，电视机仍在那里。我爬起床，期待电视机转瞬消失。但它依然好端端地位 于原处。我去卫生间小便，然后从而在沙发把脚搭在茶几上面。接着又用遥控器打开电视。 没有任何新的发现。依旧故伎重演：白光，噪单，如此而已。我观望了一会，按键关掉，消 去光与音。
我折回床准备入睡。困得厉害，却偏偏睡不着。一闭上眼睛，电视人便浮现出来——搬电视 机的电视人，撤掉座钟的电视人，把杂志移到茶向的电视人，把插头插进插座的电视人，检 查图像的电视，默然开门走出的电视。他们始终在我的脑海里，在脑海里走来窜去。我再次 下床，走进厨房，往水槽边上的咖啡杯里倒两份白兰地喝了。喝完重新歪倒在沙发上打开马 尔克斯的作品。但还是一行也进不到脑袋里去，根本搞不清所云何物。
无奈，我只好扔开马尔克斯，翻阅《自我》。偶尔看一下《自我》怕也并不碍事。可《自我 》没有刊载任何吸引我的内容。上面不外乎是新发型啦，高档白绸衬衣啦，可以吃到美味炖 牛排的小食店啦，看歌剧时穿什么服装合适，等等，不一而足。我对这些百分之百感到索然 无味，便抛开《自我》，端详地柜上的电视机。
终归，我一事无成地一直坐到天亮。6点钟我用壶烧了开水，冲咖啡喝了。由于无所事事， 就在妻子起床前做好了三明治。
“起床可真够早的。”妻子没睡醒似的说。
我“噢”了一声。
我们寡言少语地用完餐，一起走出家门，去各自单上班。妻子在一家小出版社工作，编一种 关于天然食品方面的专门杂志，主要介绍香菇有利于预防关节红肿、有机农业技术展望等等 。杂志内容的专业性很强。销量不大，但由于几乎不花制作费，又有热心得乎教徒的固定读 者，因此不至于关门大吉。我在电视公司的广告宣传部供职，制作电烤箱、洗衣机、微波炉 等电气品的广告。
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上班时，在公司楼梯同一个电视人擦肩而。我想是昨天搬来电视机的电视人中的一个，大概 是最先开门进屋的家伙，没扛电视机的家伙。他们硷上没有明显特下，要分辨出每一个人是 极其困难的。所以我没有确切的把握。不过十有八九不至认错。他仍穿和昨天同样的上衣， 两手空空，只是在迈步下楼梯。我则上楼梯。我不喜欢乘电梯，总是步行上下。我的办公室 在9楼，因此这并非轻易之举。有特殊急事时便累得大汗淋漓。但作为我，大汗淋漓也比乘 电梯惬意得多。众人因之开我的玩笑。我一无电视机二无录像机，又不乘电梯，他们都认定 我是个怪人，或认为在某种意义上我还处于未成熟的阶段。莫名其妙!我不大理解他们何以 有如此想法。
不管怎样，此时我还是一如既往地步行上楼。步行上楼者舍我无他。几乎无人利用楼梯，在 四五楼之间的楼梯我同一个电视人擦肩而过。由于太事出突然，我不知如何应付，本想打声 招呼来着。
但终归什么也没说。一来一时想不起说什么合适，二来电视人看样子很难容人打招呼。他非 常机械地步行下楼。以同样的频率精确而有规则地移动脚步。仍像昨天那样根本无视我的存 在，眼睛中全然没有我这个人。我便是如此不知所措地同其擦肩而过。那一瞬间我恍惚觉得 周围的重力都倏然一晃。
这天，公司一上班就开会。会很重要，研究新产品的扎伊尔战略。几个职员宣读了报告。黑 板上排列着数字，电脑荧屏推出图表。讨论气氛热烈。我也参加了，但我有会议上的立场无 足轻重，因为我不直接参与这项计划。开会时间里我一直想别的。但我还是发了一次言。无 所谓的发言，讲的不过是作为出席者的极为常识性意见。毕竟我不能一言不发。我这人虽说 对工作热情不是很高，但终究在这里拿工资，也还是感到肩负一定的责任。我将前面的意见 大致归纳一下，甚至讲了顺活跃会场气氛的笑话。有几个人笑了。一旦发过一次言，往下我 只管装作看材料的样子，而继续思考电视人。至于为新生产的微波炉取什么名字，与我毫不 相关。我头脑里有的只是电视人，时刻念念不忘。那台电视机到底有何含义呢?为何故意把 它搬进我的房间呢?为什么妻子对电视机的出现不置不词呢?为什么电视人潜入我们公司来呢 ?
会议开得没完没了。12点因吃午饭才短时休会，短得没有时间去外面吃饭，便为每人发了一 份三明治。会议室烟味呛人，我拿回自己办公桌来吃。正吃着，科长走到我身边。说实在话 ，我不大喜欢这小子。若问何以不喜欢，原因我也说不明白。其实他并没有什么令人反感之 处。风度翩翩，显得富有教养。脑袋瓜也不笨。领带情趣也还可以。而又从不洋洋自得，对 部下也不吆五喝六。对我甚至高看一眼，还不时邀我吃饭。然而我对他就是看不顺眼。这大 概因为他过于亲昵触摸谈话对象有身体所致，我想。无论是男是女，交谈当中他总是轻轻触 摸对方的身体。虽说是触摸，但并不使人特别生厌。触摸方式十分潇洒十分自然，以致几乎 所有的人恐怕都不会有被触摸的感觉。可不知什么缘故，我却是非常耿耿于怀。所以我一瞧 见他的身影，便本能地感到紧张。如果说此事微不足道倒也微不足道，但反正我是耿耿于怀 。
他弓下身子，把手搭在我肩上。“刚才你在会上的发言，发得不错。”科长亲切地说，“非 常简明扼要，我都心悦诚服。一针见血，满座皆惊。时间也选择得正是火候。以后也这样发 扬下去!”
说罢，科长迅速转身不见，大概找地方吃自己午饭去了。当场我是真心道谢来着，不过坦率 说来，她完全弄得我丈二和尚摸不着头脑。因为会场上说了什么我早已忘到了九宵云外。不 过是由于不便一言不发而顺口敷衍风句而已。科长何苦为这点事特意跑来我身旁赞赏一番呢 ?发言更堂而皇之的人本来有的是!莫名其妙!我继续吞食午饭。忽然，我想起妻子。她现在 做什么呢?到街上吃午饭去了不成?我很想给她单位打个电话，很想聊上三言两语，聊什么都 好。我拨动开头的三位数字，转而作罢。没有什么事值得特意打电话。我固然觉得这世界有 点扭曲变形，但又没有必要就在此午休时间往妻子单位打电话——我能说什么呢?况且她不 大喜欢我往单位打电话。我放下话筒，喟叹一声，喝干剩下的咖啡，把塑料杯投进垃圾箱。
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下午会场里，我又见到了电视人。这回人数增加了两人。他们仍像昨天那样抬着索尼彩电视机进来,旁边的人闪开为其让路便是明证。可是对电视人再无更多的 反应。这种反应同他们在附近咖啡馆的女侍送来预订的咖啡时的反应相差无几。原则上他们 是将电视人作为不存在之人加以对待的。明明知道存在于此，却待之为存在之人。
我感到蹊跷。莫非他们全都知道电视人?而唯独我自己被排除于有关电视人的情报之外不成? 说不定妻子也对电视人的情况了然于心，我想。大有可能。惟其如此，她才对房间里突如其 来的电视机无动于衷，缄口不语。此外找不出第二种解释。我头脑乱糟糟一团。电视人到底 是怎么回事?他们为什么总搬电视机?
一个同事离座去厕所小便时，我也跟踪追击似的钻进厕所。此人和我同期进入公司，关系颇 佳，下班后两人还偶尔喝几杯，我并非同任何人都吃吃喝喝。我们并肩站着小便。他用无可 奈何的语气说：真是见鬼，看这样子非开到晚上不可，开会开会老是开会!我也表示赞同。 两人洗了洗手。他也夸奖我在上午会议的发言，我说谢谢。
“不过，刚才搬电视机进来的那两人……”我若无其事似的提起话话题。
他默不作声，使劲拧紧水龙头，从纸箱里抽出两张纸巾擦手，看都没看我一眼。他不紧不慢 地擦罢手，把纸巾揉成一团扔进垃圾箱。或许没听见我的话也未可知。这点无从判断。不过 从气氛年来，我觉得还是不要问下去为好。所以我也默默用纸巾擦了手。空气似乎一时凝固 起来。我们不声不响地从走廊返回会议室。往下的会议时间里，我感觉他在躲避我的视线。
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从公司回来，房间里黑幽幽的。外面开始下雨。从阳台窗口，可以望见低垂的乌云。房间充 满雨的息。天也开始黑了。妻子还没下班。我解下领带，按平皱纹塔在领带架上。用衣刷刷 去西服的灰尘。衬衣扔进脏衣篓。头发沾上了香烟味儿，便打开淋浴冲了冲。经常如此。每 次开罢长会，身上都熏得满是烟味儿。妻子最厌恶这气味。婚后她做的第一件事，就是使我 禁烟。已是4年前的事了。
淋浴出来，坐在沙发上一边用毛巾擦头发一边喝蝗拉罐啤酒。电视人搬来的电视机仍在地柜 上。我拿起茶几上的遥控器，按下启动健，按了好几次也没有接通电源。完全无动于衷，荧 屏一片黑暗。我仔细看了看电源软线。插头端端正正地接在插座上。我拔下插头，重新用力 插入。无济于事。任凭怎么按启动键画面也不变白。为慎重起见，我打开遥控器后盖，取出 电池，用简易电笔检查一下。电池是新的。我无可奈何地扔开遥控器，把啤酒倒进喉咙深处 。
为什么如此执著呢?不可思议。纵使接通电源又怎么样呢?还不是只能见到白光，只能听到“ 嗄嗄”的噪音!因此启动也罢不启动也罢，何必计较呢!
但我偏偏觉得是个问题。昨晚本来可以好好启动来着，而那以后又没动它一手指。岂有此理 。
我又一次拿遥控器试了试，慢慢往指尖用力，结果如出一辙，毫无反应，荧屏彻底呜呼哀哉 ，彻底僵化。
彻底僵化。
我从冰箱取出第二听啤酒，打开盖喝着。又吃了塑料容器里的土豆色拉。时针已过6点。我 在沙发上浏览一遍晚报。报纸比往常还无聊，几乎没有值得一读的报道。连篇累牍全是哗众 取宠的消息。可是又想不出其他可干之事，便花了很长时间细细阅读起来。读罢，还是要干 点别的事才行。但我懒得就此思考，又像故意拖延时间似的继续读报。对了，写封回信如何 ?表妹寄来了婚礼请柬。对此我必须写信谢绝。她结婚那天我要同妻子两人外出旅行，去冲 绳。这是早就定好了的。两 为此同时休假。事到如今，不可能变更。如果变更，下次能否 同时请下长时间休假，只有神仙晓得。再说我和表妹也没什么亲密交往，差不多有10年没见 面。不管怎样，我想得尽早回信才是。人家还要考虑预订婚礼场所。然而硬是不成。现在根 本写不了信，怎么也没这份情绪。
我又端起报纸，看第二遍99lib.同样的报道。蓦地，我想起该帮晚饭了。可是妻子由于工作关系很 可能吃过晚饭才回来，那一来，做好的那份势必剩下浪费。而我一个人的饭，怎么都能对付 一顿，无须大动干戈。倘若她还有什么也没吃，两人一起到外面吃就是。
我觉得不大对头。我们回家可能迟于6点的时候，必定事先取得联系。这是常规。也可使用 录音电话留下口信。这样对方便可以依此调整行动——或者自己一个人先吃，或者把对方那 份做好留下，或者先上床上寝。由于工作性质方面的原因，我难免晚归，好也因商谈事情或 校对清校而有时姗姗归迟。双方的工作均不属于早上准时9点上班傍晚准时5点下班那种类型 。两人都忙起来时甚至三天五天不怎么说话的事也是有的。别无他法，已经不知不觉地成了 这个样子。所以我总是注意坚守常规，尽量不给对方增加现实性的麻烦。一察觉可能晚归， 即用电话通知对方，也时不时地忘掉，但她是一次也没有忘过的。
然而录音电话没留下口信。
我松开报纸，歪倒地沙发上，闭起双眼。
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梦见开会：我站起来发言，自己都不知所云，徒然摇唇鼓舌而已。话一中断我就要死去。所 以不能住口，只能永远不知所云地喋喋不休。周围人尽皆死去，化为石头，化为硬邦邦的石 像。风在吹。窗上的玻璃七零八乱，风从空中吹入室内。电话人，增加到三个，一如当初。 他们仍在搬运索尼彩电。荧屏上映出电视人。我正在失去语言，手指也随这渐次变硬。我将 慢慢变成石头。
睁眼醒来，房间里白雾，恰似水族馆走廊。电视机开着。四下黑尽，唯独电视荧屏发着 “滋滋”低音闪着光。我在沙发上坐起身，用指尖按住太阳穴。手指依然是柔软的肉。口中 残留着睡前喝的啤酒味。我咽了口唾液。喉咙深处干燥得不行，好半天才咽下去。每次做完 富有现实感的梦，都必定觉得梦境比清醒时还近乎现实。但那是错觉。这才是现实。谁也没 变成什么石头，几点了?我觑一眼仍在地板上的钟。咔嚓、咔嚓、咔嚓、咔嚓。快8点了。
不料，电视荧屏竟如梦境那样映出一个电视人，就是那个同我在公司楼梯擦肩而过的那个。 一点不错。就是他，就是最先开门进来的他，百分之百地准确无误。他以荧光灯那样的白光 为背景，定定站着看我的脸，仿佛审入现实中来的梦的尾声。我闭起眼睛又睁开，恍惚觉得 这场景倏然逝去。但是不然，荧屏上的电视人反而越来越大。整个荧屏推出一张面孔，渐渐 成为特写镜头，似乎一步步由远而近。
继而，电视人跳到荧屏外面，宛如从窗口出来似的手扶边框一跃而出。于是荧屏便只剩下作 为背景的白光。
他用右手指摸了一会左手，似乎想使身体适应电视外面的世界。他一点也不着急。一副悠然 自得的派头，仿佛时间多得不能再多，俨然电视节目久经沙场的主持人。他接着看我的脸。
“我们在制造飞机。”电视人说。其声无远近之感，平板板的，如写在纸上一般。
随着他的话音，荧屏出现了黑乎乎的机器。真是很像新闻节目。首先出现的是大型工厂一样 的空间，其次是位于其正中的车间的特写镜头。两个电视人摆弄那台机器。他们或用扳手拧 螺栓，或调整仪表，全神贯注。那机器很是不可思议：圆筒形，上端细细长长，到处有流线 型鼓出的部位。与其说是飞机，莫如更像一架巨大的榨汁机。既无机翼，又无座席。
“怎么也看不出是飞机。”我说。听起来不像我的声音。声音极其古怪，似乎被厚厚的过滤 器彻底滤去了养分。我觉得自己已老态龙钟。
“那怕是因为还没涂颜色的缘故。”电视人说，“明天就把颜色涂好。那一来，就可以清楚 地看出是飞机。”
“问题不在颜色，而在形状。形状不是飞机。”
“如果不是飞机，那是?”电视人问我。
我也弄不明白。那么说它到底算什么呢?
“所以问题在于颜色。”电视人和和气气地说，“只消涂上颜色，就是地地道道的飞机。”
我再无心机辩论下去。是什么都无所谓。是榨橘子汁的飞机也好，是在空中飞的榨汁机也好 ，随便它是什么，是什么都与我不相干。老婆怎么还不回来!我再次用指尖按在太阳穴。座 钟继续作响：咔嚓、咔嚓、咔嚓、咔嚓。茶几上放着遥控器。旁边堆着妇女杂志。电话始终 悄无声息。电视隐隐约约的光亮照着房间。
荧屏上，两个电视人仍在一心一意忙个不停。图像比刚才清晰多了。现在可以清楚看到机器 仪表上的数字。其声音也能听到，尽管微乎其微。机器轰鸣不止：隆隆、轰隆隆，隆隆、轰 隆隆。时而响起金属相互撞击的干涩而有节奏的声音：啊咿咿、啊咿咿。此外还混杂着各种 各样的声响，我无法再一一分辨清楚。总而言之，两个电视人在荧屏中干得甚卖力气。这是 图像主题。我目不转睛地看着两人作业的情景。荧屏外的电视人也默默注视荧屏中的两个同 伴。那莫名其妙的黑漆漆的机器——我怎么看都不像飞机装置浮现在白光之中。
“太太不回来了。”荧屏外的电视人对我说。
我看着他的脸，一时摘不清他说了什么。我像盯视雪白的显像管一样盯住他的脸不放。
“太太不回来了。”电视人以同样的语调说道。
“为什么?”我问。
“为什么?因为关系破裂。”电视人说。其声音仿佛宾馆里使用的卡式塑料钥匙牌的动静， 呆板的、没有抑扬顿挫的声音如刀刃一般从狭窄的缝隙钻了进去。“因为关系破裂所以不回 来了。”
因为关系破裂所以不回来了——我在脑袋里复述一遍。平铺直叙，毫不生动。我无法准确把 握这个句式。原因衔着结果的尾巴，试图将其吞进腹去。我起身走进厨房，打开冰箱，做了 个深呼吸，取出一罐啤酒折回沙发。 电视人依旧在电视机前木然伫立，看着我揪掉易拉环。 他将右肘搭在电视机上。我其实并不怎么想喝啤酒。只是若不找点事干很难打发时间，只好 去拿啤酒。喝了一口，啤酒索然无味。我一直把啤酒罐拿在手上。后来觉得重，便置于茶几 。
接下去我开始思考电视人的声明——关于妻子不回来的声明。他声称我们已经关系破裂，并 且这是她不回来的缘由。然而我们无论如何也不认为我们的关系已经破裂。诚然，我们并非 美满夫妻。4年时间里吵了好99ｌib?几天。我们之间确实有些问题，时常就此对话。既有解决的， 也有未解决的。未解决的大多搁置一旁，等待合适的时机。ok，我们是有问题的夫妻。这并 不错。但我们的关系并不至于因此而破裂。不对吗?哪里去找没有问题的夫妻?何况现在才刚 过8点，她不过因为某种原因而怎么也打不成电话而已。这样的原因任凭多少都想得出来。 例如……可我却一个也无从想出。我陷入极度困惑迷乱之中。
我深深地缩进沙发靠背。
那架飞机——如果是飞机的话——到底将怎样飞行吗?动力是什么?窗口在哪里?关系是哪头 是前端哪头为后尾呢?
我实在疲惫不堪，而又非常浅薄。一定要给表妹回信谢绝：因工作关系委实无法出席，不胜 遗憾之至，祝贺新婚之喜。
电视中的两个电视人对我毫不理会，只管一劲地造飞机，一刻也没有停手，仿佛为了完成飞 机制造任务而有无数道工序要做。一道工序完后，马上着手下一道，连续作战。没有像样的 工程进度表和图纸之类，他们对自己现在应做和往下将做的事了如指掌。摄像机迅速而准确 地将其感人的作业情景捕捉下来。镜头富有概括力和说服力，明白易懂。大概是其他电视人 (第四个第五个)在负责摄像和操纵控制盘。
说来奇怪，在凝神注视电视人堪称无懈可击的工作情形的时间里，我也开始一点点觉得那东 西像是飞机，至少说是飞机也没什么离奇。至于何为前端何为后尾，这点全然不在话下。既 然从事的是那般精密的工作且干得那般漂亮，肯定是制造飞机无疑。即使看上去不像，对我 也是飞机。的确如其所言。
如果不是飞机，那是什么?
荧屏外的电视人纹丝不动地保持原来姿势，右肘搭在电视机上看着我。我则被看。荧屏中的 电视人劳作不止。钟声清晰可闻：咔嚓、咔嚓、咔嚓、咔嚓。房间幽暗。有人拖着皮鞋通过走廊。
或许，我猛然想道，妻子或许真的不返回这里了。妻子已经跑了到很远很远的地方去了，使 用所有的交通工具，跑到我无法追及的远处去的。的确，我们的关系或许已破裂得无可挽回 ，成为泡影了。只不过自己没意识到而已。纷纭的思绪松懈开来，又合而为一。或许如此， 我说出声来。我的声音在自己体内往来徘徊。
“明天涂上颜色，就可一目了然了。”电视人说，“只消涂上颜色，就是一架完美无缺的飞 机。”
我看着自己的手心。手心看起来似乎比平日缩小了一点，一点点。也许神经过敏。也许光的 角度所使然。也许远近感的平衡多少出了问题。不过手心看起来缩小倒是千真万确。等等， 我想发言，我必须说点什么，我有要说的话，否则我就将萎缩干瘪，化为石头，一如其他人 。
“马上会有电话打来。”电视人说。然后像在运算似的停了一会，“5分钟后。”
我看着电话机。我思考电话机上的软线，连接天涯海角的软线，妻子便在这可怕的迷宫般的 线路的某个末梢。那里远得很，远得我望尘莫及。我感觉到了她心脏的跳动。5分钟后，我 想，哪头是前端哪头为后尾呢?我站起身，准备说出口。然而在站起的一瞬间，我竟失去了语言。
面包屋再袭击!!
到目前为止我仍然不敢确定，将抢劫面包店的事情，告诉妻子，到底是不是正确的选择。 问题大概是出在缺少一个推断正确的基准吧！ 换句话说，这个世界上有很多正确的结果， 是由於不正确的选择所造成的， 相反的，有很多不正确的结果， 却是正确的选择所造成的。 为了回避这种不合理性——我想这样说应该无妨——我们有必要站在一个不做任何选择的立场上， 大致说来， 我是依据这样的思考来过生活的。发生的事情就已经发生了。尚未发生的事情仍然未发生。
如果以这个立场来思考每一件事情的话，我将抢劫面包店的事情告诉妻子，这是已经发生的事情。 已经说出去的话就像覆水一样难收，如果会因为这些话而 发生某个事件， 那也是既定的事实，永远无法改变。如果人们会以奇异的眼光来 看这个事件的话， 我认为应该到事件整体的状况去探求。但是，不管我是如何来 想这件事情，事情永远是不会改变。这麽说也只不过是一种想法罢了！
我在妻子面前提起抢劫面包这件事情， 是因为我肚子实在饿得受不了， 时间是在深夜两点钟前，我和妻子在六点钟时吃了简便的晚餐，九点半就钻进被窝里 ，闭上眼睛呼呼大睡。 但是，在那个时候，不知道为了什麽，两人同时睁开眼睛 。一醒来时，就立刻觉得肚子饿得令人难以忍受，非得吃点什麽东西不可。
但是冰箱里可以称之为食物的东西一点也没有， 只有沙拉酱、 六瓶啤酒、两颗乾透的洋葱、 奶油和除臭剂。 我们在两个星期前结婚，尚未明确的确立饮食生活的共识，除了饮食问题之外，我们当时尚未确立的事情还很有很多。
我当时在法律事务所上班， 妻子在服装设计学校负责事务方面的工作。 我大概是二十八、 九岁（不知道为什麽我老是想不起来结婚那年是几岁） 她比我小两年八个月。 我们的生活都非常忙碌， 家对我们而言只不过是一座立体洞窟。家里一团乱七八糟，当然是不会想到需要准备食物的问题。
我们起床进了厨房， 不知道该怎麽辨的围着餐桌坐， 我们两个都饿得再也睡不着了——身体躺下来， 肚子更饿——只好起床找点事情做， 但是没想到这样肚子更饿。这种强烈的饥饿感到底是怎麻产生的，我们一点儿也找不到原因。我和妻子仍抱着一缕希望， 频频轮流的去打开冰箱的门，但是，不论打开来 看几次，冰箱的内容都没有改变， 依旧只是啤酒、洋葱、奶油和除臭剂。虽然洋 葱炒奶油也是一道颇可口的佳肴， 但是我不认为两颗乾透的洋葱足以填饱我们的 肚子。洋葱应该是和别的东西一起吃的，它不能算得上是能够充饥的食物。
「除臭剂炒除臭剂怎麽样？」
我开玩笑地提出这个建议，妻子不屑地看了我一眼，不说半句话。
「开车出去，找一家二十四小时营业的餐馆吧！」我说。
「只要离开了国道，一定可以找到餐馆的。」
但是妻子拒绝了我的建议，她说讨厌这个在这个时候外出吃饭。
「晚上过了十二点以後，为吃饭而外出，总觉得不太对劲。」她说。
在这个方面她是非常守旧的。
「算了！就让肚子饿下去吧！」
我叹了一口气说。
这大概是刚结婚时才有的事情， 妻子的意见（甚至可以说是主张） 竟然像某种启示似的， 在我的耳边响起。 听她这麽一说，我觉得我的饥饿感，并不是开车沿着国道找一家二十四小时营业的餐馆， 任意买一些便宜食品充饥的饥饿感， 这实在可以说是一种很特殊的饥饿。
特殊的饥饿到底是什麽呢?
我在这里可以将它提示为一种映象。
我乘着一艘船，漂浮在平静的海面上；往下一看，在水中可以看见海底火山的山顶； 虽然海面和山顶之间看起来好像并没有多少距离， 但是不知道下确到底有多远；水因为太透明了，以至於找不到丝毫的距离感。妻子不想上二十四小时营业的餐馆，我只好无可奈何地同意：「算了！就让肚子饿下去吧！」
在这之後，短短的二到叁秒之间，我的脑海里所浮现大致上就是这些事情。因为我不是心理学家佛洛依德， 所以这些映象到底具有什麽意义，我无法做明确 的分析， 但是，这些属於启发性的映象，可以用直觉来加以理解。因此，我不管 肚子饥饿的感觉如此地强烈， 对於她不肯外出用餐的主张（甚至於可以说是声明 ）半自动地表示同意。
毫无办法， 我们只好喝起啤酒来了， 因为，与其吃洋葱，不如喝啤酒来得方便。 妻子并不怎麽喜欢喝啤酒， 我喝了六瓶中的四瓶，她只喝其馀的两瓶。我正在喝啤酒的时候， 妻子像只饿昏了头的栗鼠似的， 不断地翻弄着厨房橱架上的东西， 最後好容易在一个塑胶袋底找到了四块奶油饼乾， 这是在做冷冻蛋糕时用剩下的，因为潮 而变软了，但是我们仍然很慎重的一人分两块，将它吃下。
但是非常遗憾的，啤酒和奶油对我们饥饿的肚子并没有丝毫的助益。
我们不断的读着印在啤酒罐上的字，频频眺望时钟，轮流去打开冰箱的门，翻弄着作天的晚报， 将掉到桌上的饼乾屑用明信片扫一堆。时间像是吞进鱼肚的 铅锤，昏暗而沉重。
「我的肚子从来没有这麽饿过！」妻子说。
「这种现象和结婚有没有关系？」
不知道！我心里想着。或许有关系，或许没有关系！
妻子又到厨房去， 想要找出一点点可以填饱肚子的食物时， 我从小船上探出的身子， 俯视海底火山的山顶， 围绕小船四周，海水的透明，使我的心情极度的不安， 好像心窝深处突然生出一个大窟窿， 没有出口，也没有入口，只是一个纯粹的空洞。 这种体内奇妙的失落感—存在与不存在混淆不清的感觉， 和爬到高耸的尖塔顶端， 恐惧得颤抖的感觉， 似乎有点儿类似。饥饿和惧高症竟然会有相通
的地方，这是一项新的发现。
这个时候， 我突然想起以前有过相同的经验。 当时和现在一样，肚子饿得难以忍受。那时候——
「我曾经去抢劫面包店！」
我不知不觉地说出这句话。
「抢劫面包店是怎麽一回事？」
妻子立刻就问。
於是我开始回想抢劫面包店的经过。我说着，又啜了一口啤酒。
睡意就像从海底地震所产生的无声波浪，使我的船受到猛烈的摇晃。
「当然啦！我们是如期的拿到希望获得的面包！」我继续说，「但是不管怎麽说，那都是称不上是犯罪，只能算是一种交换。因为我们听了华格那的音乐，才获得所需的面包，从法律的角度来，这是一种交易行为。」
「但是，听华格那的音乐并不能算是工作！」妻子说。
「说得也是！」我说。
「如果当时面包店的老板要我们洗盘、或者是擦玻璃，我们一定会断然拒绝，然後毫不犹豫的就抢走了面包。但他并没有那样的要求，只是要我们听听华格纳的唱片而已，因此我和同伴感到非常困惑。可是当华格纳的音乐一放出来时，我才发觉和原先预想的完全不一样，这些音乐厅起来好像是对我们所下的咒语一样。即使是现在回想起来，我还是认为当初实在不应该接受面包店老板的要求，只要依照最初的计画，拿起刀子威胁他，单纯地抢走面包。如果这麽做的话，应该就不会再有问题了。」
「发生什麽问题了吗？」
我再度用手腕的内侧揉揉眼睛。
「是这样的。」我回答着说。
「虽然这不是眼睛所能清楚看见的具体问题，但是，很多事情都因这事件而慢慢的有所变化，而且发生一次变化之後，就很难再恢复原状了。最後，我回到大学里，把该修的课程修完，平安无事的毕业，然後便在法律事务所工作，一边准备司法考试，接着就和你结婚，以後我再也不会去抢劫面包店了。」
「就这麽结束了吗？」
「是的！就只有这些而已。」
我说着，将剩下的啤酒一饮而尽，於是六瓶啤酒全都喝光了，烟灰缸里剩下六个易开罐的拉环，好像美人鱼被杀掉後所留下的鳞片。
当然不会什麽是都不发生的，眼前清清楚楚看得见的具体事情就发生了好几件，但是，这些事情我并不想对她说。
「你的夥伴现在怎麽了呢？」妻子问。
「不知道！」我回答。「後来发生了一点点小事，我们就分道扬镳了，从此以後再也没有见过他，连他现在在做些什麽也不知道了！」
妻子沉默了好一会儿，或许她从我的语气中听出了什麽令她感到不太明了的事情，但是，她对这点并不再提及。
「抢劫面包店会是你们分手的直接原因吗？」
「大概是吧！这个事件使我们受到的震惊，比表面上看起来还要严重数倍，我们後来连续好几天一直讨论着面包和华格纳的相关问题，谈得最多的还是我们所做的选择是否正确这件事，但是，始终没有结论。如果仔细的想一想，这样的选择应该是正确的。不伤到任何人，而且每一个人都对自己的需求感到满足，虽然面包店的主人——他为什麽要这麽做，到目前为止我仍然无理解，但是，他可以宣扬华格纳的音乐，而我们获得所需的面包，填饱肚子，这不一件两全其美的事情吗？可是我们一直觉得这其中存着一项很大的错误，而且个错误莫名其妙的在我们的生活中，留下了一道非常黑暗的阴影。刚才我所说的咒语就是这个缘故，毫无疑问地我们是被诅咒了！」
「那个咒语已经消失了吗？」
我用烟灰缸里的六个拉环做成一个手表，套在手 上。
「这个我也不太清楚，世界上到处充满咒语，那一件不愉快的事情，是因为那一个咒语的缘故而产生的，这实在非常难以了解。」
「不！不会有这种事情的！」妻子瞪大眼睛看着我说。「仔细想一想你就会了解！而且，除非是你自己亲手将这个咒语解除，否则会像蛀牙一样。一直折磨到你死为止，不只是你，我也包括在内！」
「你？」
「是呀！因为我现在是你的妻子！」她说。
「例如我们现在所感到的饥饿，就是这个缘故。结婚之前，我从来不曾这麽饿过，你不觉得这其中有些异常吗？这一定是你所受到的诅咒，也加临在我的身上了。」
我点点头，将套在手 上的拉环丢回烟灰缸中，她所说的话到底有多少真实度，我也不太清楚，但是，有觉得她的话好像很有道理。
已经渐渐远去的饥饿感，这时又重新回头，而且，这回的饥饿比以前更加强烈，使得我的脑袋瓜隐隐作痛。胃里每一个抽痛，都会迅速的传到脑袋的中央。我的体内好像是由各式各样复杂的机能所组合成似的。
我又看见了海底火山，海水比刚还要清澈，如果不是很仔细的观察，连水的存在都感觉不出来，好像小船没有受到任何的支撑，漂浮在半空中似的。而且海底的石头一粒粒轮廓非常清楚，好像一伸手就可以将它捡起。
「虽然我和你生活在一起不过半个月左右的时间，但是，我确实感觉身边一直存在着某种诅咒。」
她说着，眼睛仍一直瞪着我看，双手交握在桌上。
「当然啦！在你还没有说之前，我并不知道那是诅咒，但是，现在我已经非常清楚了，你确实是受到了诅咒！」
「你从什地方可以感觉到诅咒呢？」我问。
「我觉得好像是许多年不曾清洗，沾满了灰尘的窗 ，从天花板上垂下来似的。」
「那大概不是诅咒，而是我自己本身吧！」我笑着说。
她却没有笑。
「不是这样的，我非常清楚不是这样的！」
「如果真的如你所说，现在还存在有咒语，那我该怎麽办呢？」我说。
「再去抢劫面包店，而且，现在立刻就去！」
她非常肯定的说。「除此之外，没有更好的方法可以去除咒语！」
「现在立刻就去？」我反问她。
「是的，现在立刻就去，趁肚子还饿着的时候，把以前没有完成的事情都完成。」
「但是，有面包店半夜还营业的吗？」
「东京这麽大，一定可以找到一家二十四小时营业的面包店。」妻子坐进中古的丰田汽车，穿梭在凌晨两点半的东京街上，寻找面包店。我手握着方向盘，妻子坐在前座，好像道路两旁的猫头鹰，在深夜里露出尖锐的视线。後座上横躺着一把硬直、细长的自动式散弹枪，车子每一震动，装在妻子口袋里预备用的子弹就会发出乾裂的碰撞声，除此之外，行李箱里还放着两个黑色的滑雪面罩。妻子为什麽会有散弹枪，我也不太清楚。滑雪面罩也是一样，我和她从来不曾去滑过雪。但是，关於这些她并没有一一说明，我也不想询问，只是觉得结婚生活真是非常奇妙。
可是，尽管我们的装备如此齐全，我们还是未曾发现一间二十四小时营业的面包店。我在深夜里开着车子，从代代木到新宿，然後再到四谷、赤阪、青山、广尾、六本木、代官山、涩谷，看到了深夜东京里各式各样的人和商店，就是没有看见一家面包店，大概是他们在半夜里都不烤面包吧！
在途中我们遇到两次警察的巡逻车，有一辆静静的躲在道路旁边，另外一辆则以比较缓慢的速度，从我们的背後超车而过，这时候我警张得腋下沁满了汗，妻子则根本不把警车放在眼里，一心只想找一家面包店。每当她身体的角度一改变，口袋里的子弹就发出碰撞的声音。
「算了！放弃吧！」我说。「在这麽深的夜里不会有面包店仍然营业的，这件事情我们应该事先调查清楚。」
「停车！」
妻子突然大叫。
我慌慌张张的踩下车子的煞车器。
「就是这里了！」
她用平静的口气说。
我手仍然放在方向盘上，向四周打量一下，在这附近没有看到一间向面包店的商店，路旁的每一家商店都拉下了铁门，四处一片静悄悄的，只有理发店的霓虹灯在黑暗中仍然旋转不定，好像一双足以洞彻这个诡异的深夜的大眼睛。除此之外，在二百公尺左右的前方，还可以看见麦当劳明亮的看板。
「没有看见面包店呀！」我说。
但是妻子一言不发的打开行李箱，取出了布制的贴布，然後走下车来，我也打开另一侧的车门，下了车。妻子蹲在车子的前面，用贴布将车子的车牌号码贴了起来，大概是预防被人偷记下车牌号码，然後转到车子後面，将那里的车牌也同样贴起来，手法非常的熟练。我站在一旁看着她，脑子里一片混乱。
「到那家麦当劳去吧！」妻子说。
语气轻松得好像晚饭用餐时选择合适的餐馆似的。
「麦当劳不是面包店！」
我反驳地说。
「不过和面包店差不多！」
妻子说着就回到车子上。
「该通融的地方最好能够通融一下，反正我们已经来到麦当劳前面了。」
我只好照着她的话，将车子往前开二百公尺左右，停进麦当劳的停车场。停车场里只停着一辆红色闪闪发亮的 Blue Bird。妻子将包裹着毛巾的散弹枪交给了我。
「我从来没有射过这种玩意儿，我也不想射它！」
我抗议的说。
「你没有必要开枪啊！只要拿着它就好了，因为没有人敢和你抵抗的。」
妻子说。
「可以吗？照我的话去做，首先，两个人正大光明的走进店里，等店员说「欢迎光临麦当劳」，就立刻将滑雪面罩戴上，清楚了吗？」
「这一点是非常清楚，但是...」
「然後你拿起枪对准店员，叫所有的作业人员和客人都集中在一个地方，动作一定要快，接下的事情就全部看我的。」
「但是...」
「你想需要几个汉堡呢？」
她问我，但没等我开口就说：
「叁十个应该够了吧？」
「大概够了！」我说。
我摒气凝神地街过了散弹枪，稍微打开毛巾一看，这把枪像沙袋一样重，像暗夜一样漆黑。
「真的需要拿着这个玩意吗？」我说。
有一半是问着她，有一半是问着我自己。
「当然要！」她说。
「欢迎光临麦当劳！」
一位年轻的柜台小姐戴着麦当劳的帽子，脸上挂着麦当劳式的微笑对我说。
因为我一直认为这麽深的夜里在麦当劳不该有女孩子在上班，所以看到她的那一刹那，我感到脑子里一阵混乱；还好立刻救回过神来，赶紧戴上滑雪的帽子。
柜台小姐看我们突然戴上滑雪的帽子，脸上露出了讶异的表情。
这种状况的应对方法， 在「麦当劳待客手册」 中应该没有写吧！她在说完：
「欢迎光临麦当劳！」之後，虽然还想继续说下去，但是张大了嘴巴，一个字也说不出来。脸上还挂着供作用的微笑，可是两片嘴唇却惨白得不停颤抖。
我急忙的取下毛巾，拿起了枪，对准顾客席位。在顾客席上只有一对学生式的情侣，趴在塑胶桌子上，睡得非常沈稳。桌子上他们两个人的头和草莓雪客的杯子整齐的排列，彷佛式一个前卫的艺术品。因为两个人都睡得和死人一样，所以我想大概不会对我们的作业发生什麽障碍吧！因此，我就将枪对准柜台边。
麦当劳的柜员总共有叁人，柜台的小姐大约二十来岁，鹅蛋型的脸蛋；气色不太好的店长；以及在厨房里打工的学生。叁个人都聚集在收银机前，瞪大眼睛，看着枪口，没有人大声嚷嚷，也没有人要出来抓我们的模样。因为枪实在太重了，我只好将手指放在扣板机的地方，枪身放在柜台上。
「钱可以统统给你！」
店长用沙哑的声音说。
「不过十一点十已经全部回收了，现在这里所剩不多，请你统统拿走吧！我们有保险，没有关系！」
「请你拉下前面的铁门，把看板的电灯关掉！」妻子说。
「请等一下！」店长说。
「这一点我不能答应你，因为任意关闭店门我会受到上级的处罚。」
妻子又将相同的命令重复了一次。
「你最好照着她的话去做！」我对他忠告说。
店长满脸的茫然，看着柜台上的枪口，又看看妻子的脸，最後只好死心的关掉善板上的电灯，把正面的拉们放了下来。我一直提高警觉以防他趁忙乱之际去按警报装置，可是照目前的情形看来，麦当劳汉堡连锁店似乎没有非常报警装置，或许他们没想到会有人想抢劫汉堡店吧！
正面的拉门卷到地面上时，啪. ..的一声巨响，自动地上锁了，可是趴在桌上的一对学生仍然沈沈的地睡着。我已经有好长一段时间不曾如此安稳地睡了。
「外带叁十个汉堡！」妻子说。
「这里的钱足够你买叁十个汉堡，请你拿这些钱到别的地方去买，好吗？」店长说。
「否则我们的帐簿会非常麻烦，换句话说...」
「你最好照着她的话做！」
我又重复了一次。
叁个人一起进入了厨房，开始做起叁十个汉堡来。打工的学生烤着汉堡肉，店长将它夹进面包中，柜台小姐用白色的纸将它包装起来。这时候四下静悄悄的，没有一个人开口说话。
我身体倚靠在大型的冰箱上，散弹枪的枪口对准烤汉堡的铁板，铁板上并排着一块快深褐色圆形的汉堡肉，因为煎烤而发出吱吱的声响。烤肉所发出甜美的香气好像一群眼睛看不见的小虫，钻进我全身的毛孔里，混入血液中，在我全身的每个角落巡逻，然後最终目的是集结在我身体中心所产生饥饿的空洞中，使我四只无力，身心疲惫得几乎要昏厥过去。
真想立刻就抓起一、二个包裹着白色包装纸，堆积在一旁的汉堡来痛快的大吃一顿，但是，如果我这麽做的话，我们的目的会立刻就被识破，因此，我们只好等叁十个汉堡全部做好之後再说了。
厨房里非常炽热，而我们又戴着滑雪面罩，只好频频挥汗了。
叁个人一边做汉堡，偶尔抬起头来偷偷地描枪口一眼。
我不时地用左手小拇指的指尖挖两边的耳朵，因握每当我一紧张起来时，耳朵就会发痒。可是我一挖耳朵，枪身就会不稳定的上下摇动，使得他们叁个人的情绪也随之混乱起来。虽然枪的安全锁一直牢牢地锁住，不用担心会有爆发的情形产生，但是他们叁个人并不知道这件事，而我也不打算刻意去告诉他们。
叁个人正在做汉堡，而我将枪口对准铁板看守着，妻子则注意顾客席位那两位沈沈睡着的顾客，一边属着做好的汉堡，她将包装纸包裹好的汉堡整齐的排放在纸袋中，每一个纸袋装着十五个汉堡。
「你们为什麽非这麽做不可呢？」年轻的柜台小姐对我说。
「你们可以把钱抢走，去买你们喜欢的东西，这样不是更好？可是你们却偏偏要吃叁十个汉堡，你们的用意到底在哪里呢？
我一句也回答不出来，只好对她摇摇头。
“虽然我们的作为有些恶劣，但是谁叫面包店晚上都不开呢？”妻子对她说明。
“如果面包店开着的话，我们一定去抢面包店的。”
这样的说明是否能样他们理解，我觉得非常怀疑，但是，他们从此就不再开口，静静地烤着汉堡肉，将汉堡肉夹在面包里，然后用包装纸包起来。两个纸袋里装满了三十个汉堡之后，妻子99ｌｉｂ?又向柜台小姐点了两大杯的可乐，不过可乐的钱却是一毛也不差的付清。
“除了面包以外，我们什么也不抢。”妻子对她说明。
她的头动了一动，既像是在摇头，又像是在点头，大概是两个动作同时进行吧！我觉得自己非常能够体会她的心情。
妻子接着从口袋里拿出绑东西用的细绳子——-她准备得实在太齐全了——-将三个人一起绑在柱子上，三个人大概也领悟了多说无益，乖乖得听由她摆布了。虽然妻子体贴的询问他们：“会痛吗？”
“想去上厕所吗？”但是他们始终不再说一句话。
我用毛巾包好了枪，妻子两手提起印有麦当劳标志的纸袋，打开正面的拉门一起走出去。顾客席位上的两个人这时仍然向深海里的鱼一样，沈睡在梦中。倒底什么事情才能够将他们俩个人从沈睡中唤起，这个问题令我觉得非常纳闷。
车子开了三十分钟后，停进了一栋适当的大厦停车场，我们轻松愉快地吃着汉堡，喝着可乐。我一共塞了六个汉堡进入空洞的胃里，妻子吃了四个，车子的后座上还留下二十个汉堡。
随个黎明的到临，我们认为或许会永远持续着的饥饿也消失了。太阳最初的光芒将大厦骯脏的墙面染成了腾黄色，“新力牌高传真音响组合”的巨大广告塔依旧发出耀眼的闪烁，在不时响起大卡车经过的轰隆声中，似乎还混杂着鸟叫声，fen电台播放着乡村音乐。我们两人合抽一根香烟，香烟抽完之后，妻子将头靠在我的肩上。
“你真的认为有必要做这件事吗？”我在一次问她。
“当然！”她回答。
然后我只深呼吸了一口气就睡着了。她的身体像只小猫一样的轻柔。
剩下我一个人之后，我又再度从船上探出身来，窥着海底的景观，但是，这时候却在也看不见海底火山的模样了。水面一片平静，倒映着蓝色的天空，小小的波浪像清风吹拂缓缓摇曳的绢质睡袍似的，轻扣着小船的侧板。
我横躺在船底，闭上了眼睛，等待涨潮将我在运到最适合的地方。
elevator─电梯
「请问到几楼？」电梯小姐问。
「一七六楼。」中年男人说。
「一七六楼，好的。」
「三二八楼。」年轻女孩说，她的脚非常漂亮。
「三二八楼，好的。」
「四一三楼。」我说。
「对不起。」电梯小姐一付真的很抱歉的样子说。
「这部电梯只到三九０楼停。」
「糟糕。」我说「我有三双袜子掉在四一三楼啊。」
「那么你到我那里来好了。」脚很漂亮的女孩娇滴滴的低声说「虽然在三二八楼，不过袜子倒是有的。」
正中下怀。
她的房间非常别致。灯光、家具的品味，背景音乐、空调设备、和地毯的柔软度，一切都再理想不过?9９liｂ?。简直就像事先调查过我的偏好似的，完全都合我的意。 如果我是詹姆斯庞德的话 ， 可能会怀疑这其中有什么玄机，不过幸亏我不是詹姆斯庞德。也不是麦克哈马、也不是理尤阿查、也不是菲利浦马罗、也不是马特里姆。只不过是个平凡的小市民，这是多么
美妙的事啊。
我们一边啜着冰得凉凉的香槟，一面谈了好几个钟头的音乐、文学、运动、和热带鱼的99lib?养法。她的兴趣和我的兴趣好像奇迹似的完全吻合。只有对那三双还留在四一三楼的袜子，我还有点生气。
「对了，你说袜子噢。」她说着拉起我的手，把我带到另一个房间， 一个桃花心木的衣橱前，其中的一个抽屉被平滑无声地拉开，里面将近两百双各色各样的袜子，简直就像宝石一样整整齐齐地排列着。
「九九藏书你喜欢吗？」
「哇！好棒。」我叹了一口气。「怎么这么漂亮啊。」
「如果你要，这些全部都是你的。」
我把她一把拉过来，嘴唇凑上去。她的睡袍滑落地上。
就这样，我现在拥有了两百双袜子。
飞机 ——或许，他是如何地像念诗般地自言自语
那个午後，她问道：「嗳，你是不是从以前开始就有自言自语的习惯？」她完全像是突然想到那般，静静地把头从桌上抬起来说道。不过，很明显的，那并不是一时心血来潮所想到的问题。关於这个问题，她或许已经想了很久了。在她的声音里，有着配合那个场合，略微沙哑而生硬的响声。由此可见，到实际说出口为止，那句话已经在她的舌尖上犹豫不决地打过好几次转了。
他们两人隔着厨房的桌子，面对面坐着。如果撇开附近线路上的电车时常经过这件事，这一带可说是十分幽静，有时候简直静得过份。没有电车经过时的铁路，更是静得出奇。厨房的地板上铺着塑胶瓷砖，冰凉的瓷砖令他赤裸的脚底冷飕飕地，非常舒服。他把袜子脱下来，塞进长裤的口袋里。那是个在四月来讲，略嫌炎热的午後。她把浅色格子衬衫的袖子，挽到手肘处。然後用白皙、纤细的手指一再地拨弄咖啡匙的柄。他凝视着她的手指。一旦静静地凝视，心绪也很奇妙地平静下来。她看起来好像举起世界的一端，然後一点一点地把它解开。虽然很花时间，她却不得不从那里慢慢地把它解开，像那样地，就像在执行公务一般，毫无感动地。
他默默地注视那个动作。他之所以不说话，实在是因为不知道该说什麽。他杯中剩下的少许咖啡已经冷了，而开始混浊了。
他才刚满二十岁。她比他大七岁，她已经结婚了，也有小孩。总之，对他而言，她就像月球背面的东西。
她的先生在专办海外旅游的旅行社工作。因此，每个月大约有半个月的时间都不在家。他经常出差到伦敦、罗马或新加坡。他先生似乎很喜欢歌剧，家里放满了维尔迪、普西尼、多尼塞迪，以及李怀特、史特劳斯等名家的叁张一组或四张一组的厚唱片，全部依作曲家分类，整齐地排列着。与其将这说是唱片收集，不如说看起来更像是某种世界观的象徵。那些唱片看起来既肃静又相当稳重。他在词穷或闷得发慌时，总是用眼睛追逐着唱片背面的文字。从右看到左，然後再从左看到右。
於是，他在脑中逐一朗读那些主题。例如「波希米亚人」、「托斯卡」、「托兰铎特」、「诺尔曼」、「费迪奥」等．．．。
那种音乐他连一次也没听过，在说喜欢或讨厌以前，连入耳的机会也没有。不论家人也好，朋友也罢，在他周围的人，没有一个人喜欢歌剧。他知道世界上有一种所谓「歌剧」的音乐存在，也知道有人喜欢听歌剧。但是，若论及实际地接触到世界的另一面，那却是第一次。至於那个女的嘛，她并不特别喜欢歌剧。「我并不讨厌歌剧！」她说。「不过，它太长了！」
在唱片架旁边有一套相当豪华的立体音响设备。那外国制的大型真空管扩音器，宛如被严格统御的甲壳动物一般，蜷曲着沉重的躯体在那里待命。不管怎麽说，在那些 实的家俱当中，那套音响确实显得格外突出。它凸显了本身的存在感。於是，他把目光停留在那里。不过，他却不曾听过那套音响实际的声音。因为她连电源开关的位置都不知道，他也不敢用手去触摸它。
我的家庭并没有问题！她对他说。她一再告诉他：我先生是个很体贴的人，他也很爱孩子，我想我大概是个幸福的人吧！她用平稳的语气淡淡地说，她的话里并没有类似辩解的成份。她好像在谈论交通规则或国际换日线般地，很客观地述说自己的婚姻生活。例如，我想我是幸福的，我们没有可称之为问题的问题等等。
那麽，你为什麽要和我上床呢？他想。他想了很久很久，依然得不到答案。大概他连在婚姻生活中，究竟会有何问题也不太清楚。他也曾想过直接问她，可是却怎麽也开不了口。应该怎麽问才好呢？
「你既然那麽幸福，为何还要和我上床呢？」可以这样直接了当地发问吗？可是，如果真的那样问，她一定会哭泣吧！他想。
就算不问那种问题，她也经常哭泣。她总是用很小的声音、很长的时间来哭泣。
在大部份的情况下，他根本不了解她哭泣的原因。女人一旦开始哭泣就很难停止，无论他怎麽安慰，不到一定的时间，她绝不会停止哭泣。相反地，即使他什麽也不做，只要过了一定的时间，她也会自然而然地停止哭泣。人啊！为什麽每个人都不一样呢？他想。他以前曾经交过几个女朋友，她们有的喜欢哭，有的爱生气。不过，她们哭泣的样子、笑脸、怒容都各自不同。虽然有些相似之处，但是不一样的地方
却更多。那似乎和年龄完全无关。他是第一次和比自己年长的女人交往，不过，他并不如想像中那麽在乎年龄。毋宁说他觉得每个人所拥有的倾向之差异更是意味深长。所以，那才是解开人生之谜的重要关键。
每次她一停止哭泣，就开始和他享受鱼水之欢。只有在哭泣之後，女人才会主动要求他。除此之外，总是由他向她求欢。女人也曾经拒绝过他。她一句话也不说，只是默默地摇摇头。那个时候，她的眼睛看起来就像浮现在天空一端，黎明时的白色月亮。破晓时分，被鸟的啼声吓得直打哆嗦的月。一看到那样的眼睛，他就什麽话也说不出来了。尽管她拒绝和他燕好，却不会令他感到焦躁或不快。只是会想她
大概是这个意思吧！心里也松了一口气。那时候，两人是坐在厨房的餐桌一边喝咖啡一边小声地有一搭没一搭地交谈着。大部份都是零零碎碎的话题。他们都不是爱说话的人，而且共同的话题也不多。当时究竟说了些什麽，他已经想不起来了。只记得是断断续续地说着。在他们的谈话当中，电车从窗外经过了好几次。
两人的肉体接触时，总是冷静又安静的。其实，正确的说法是他们并未享受肉体的欢愉。当然，如果说他们之间并没有肉体的欢愉，那也是骗人的。只是，在那之间还掺杂了许多别的意念、要素与形式。那和他以前所经验过的任何一种性生活都不一样。那令他想起一间小房间，一间整理得很乾净的小房间，令人心旷神怡的小房间。从天花板垂下许多五彩缤纷的彩带，每一条的形状都不相同，长度也不一致。每一条彩带都牵动着他的情绪，令他战栗。他想拉动其中的一条，那些彩带也在等待他来拉动。然而，他却不知道应该拉哪一条才好。他想，也许只要拉动其中一条，霎时眼前就会展现绮丽的光景。相反的，只要拉动其中一条，或许一瞬间一切都将化为乌有！於是，他陷入极度的迷惑中。於是，他就在迷惑中度过了那一天。
对他而言，那种状况并不是不可思议的。以前，他一直想带着自己的价值观生活下去。可是，待在这个房间里，一边听着电车的声音，一边抱着比自己年长而文静的女人时， 偶尔也会感到极度的迷惑，而 徨不已。我大概爱着这个女人吧！他不只一次如此自问。可是，他并没有得到肯定的答案。他所能理解的，只有从那个小房间的天花板垂下来的彩带而已。那个确实在那里。
一结束那种奇妙的燕好，她总是很快地看看时钟。她在他的臂弯中稍微转过身，看着枕边的时钟。那是附在调频收音机里的黑色闹钟。当时的收音机闹钟的文字盘并不是数字的，而是发出微弱的「啪答、啪答」声，藉此计算时间的样式。只要她一看时钟，窗口附近的电车就会经过。说也奇怪，每次只要她把视线移向时钟，就会听到电车的声音。简直就像宿命式的条件反射，她看时钟 —— 电车通过。
她之所以要看时钟，是为了要确定四岁的女儿从幼稚园回来的时间。他只有一次在偶然的机会下看到那个小女孩。他对她的印象只有「多麽乖巧懂事的小女孩！」
至於那个喜爱歌剧，在旅行社任职的丈夫，他一次也没见过。真值得庆幸。
她问起自言自语一事，是在五月的一个晌午。她那天也哭过，所以他们也做了爱。至於她为什麽哭泣，他却想不起来了。大概女人只是为了想哭而哭的吧！也许，她只是为了想被人拥在怀里尽情哭泣才和我交往的吧！他甚至有过那种念头，说不定她不能忍受孤独地哭泣的滋味，所以才需要我的吧！
房门的锁牢牢地锁住，窗户的窗帘也拉下来，电话也拿到枕边。於是，两人尽情地温存。如同往常一般，周围一片寂静。途中，门铃曾经响过一次，她却没有去应门。她一点也不吃惊或害怕。「放心吧！没事的。」她彷佛这麽说似地默默地摇摇头。门铃响了好几声，不久对方终於死心地离开了。她的表情彷佛在说，那是个无关紧要的人。可能是推销员什麽的。只是，她怎麽知道呢？他觉得很不可思议。
窗外不时传来电车的声音，远处传来钢琴的音乐声，对於那个旋律，他有着模糊的记忆。那是以前在学校的音乐教室听过的某种音乐。不过，那首曲名他却怎麽也想不起来。有一辆卖菜的卡车发出「喀哒喀哒」的声音经过外面。她闭上眼睛，深深地吸了一口气。他射精了。四下静悄悄地。
他走进浴室，开始淋浴。他边用浴巾擦拭着身体，走回卧室一看，她正闭着眼睛趴在床上。 他在她身边坐下来，然後像每一次一样地，一面用眼睛 巡.99lib.着歌剧唱片背面的文字，一面用手指轻轻地抚着她的背。
然後她站起身， 穿戴整齐， 接着走进厨房泡咖啡。过了一会儿，她这麽说：「嗳，你是不是从以前就有自言自语的习惯？」
「自言自语？」他惊讶地反问。「自言自语，你是说在『那个』的时候？」
「不是啦！不是那个时候，是普通的时候。例如，你在浴室淋浴时，或者我在厨房，而你一个人在看报纸时。」
他摇摇头：「不知道耶！我根本没发觉我在自言自语。」
「可是你真的说了，真的！」她边用手把玩着打火机边说。
「我并不是不相信你！」他没好气地说。然後，叼了一根烟，再从她手中拿过打火机把烟点着。他在不久前开始改抽「七星」牌的香烟。因为她先生抽的是「七星」。以前他一直都抽短的「希望」牌香烟。并不是她叫他改抽同样牌子的香烟，而是他自愿改变的。他想，这样一来不是一切都很方便吗？电视的通俗剧似乎演得正精采。
「我在童年时也经常自言自语呢！」
「是吗？」
「不过，後来被我妈妈改过来了。因为她说那样很不像话。因此，我只要一自言自语，就会被她狠狠地骂一顿。有时候，她会把我关在衣橱里，衣橱里好恐怖哦！
里面又黑又臭。我也曾经被打过，用尺打膝盖耶！於是，後来我就不再自言自语了，再也不说了。不知不觉间，即使想说也不会说出来。」
他不知道该怎麽说，只好保持沉默。她咬咬嘴唇。
「即使到了现在还是一样， 即使突然想要说什麽，也会反射性地马上把它 回去。可能是因为童年时被骂怕了。可是，我实在不明白！自言自语究竟有什麽不好。
那只是很自然地把想说的话说出来而已吧！如果妈妈现在还活着，我真想问问她，究竟为什麽不行？」
「令堂去世了？」
「嗯。」她说。「可是，我真想好好地问问她，为什麽要那样对我？」
她继续拨弄着咖啡匙。然後突然瞥了一眼挂在墙上的时钟。她一看时钟，窗外又有电车经过。
她等着电车通过。接着又说：「我觉得，人的心啊！就像一口深井，不是吗？
到底哪里是底？谁也不知道。只能透过时常从那里浮上来的事物的外形加以想像。」
两个人想了一会儿有关深井的事。
「你说说看，我是怎麽样自言自语的？」他试着问。
「这个嘛！」她慢慢地摇了几次头。彷佛要偷偷地确定颈部关节的情况。「比方说，飞机啦！」
「飞机？」他说。
嗯，她说。在空中飞的飞机。
他笑了。怎麽又是有关飞机的自言自语呢？
她也笑了。然後用右手的食指和左手的食指，量一量浮在空中的虚构物体的长度。那是她的习惯，有时候他也会做同样的动作。
「你说得很清楚耶！你真的不记得了吗？」
「不记得了。」
她伸手拿起桌子上的原子笔，放在手上把玩了一阵子，不久又抬头看看时钟。在那五分钟里，时钟的指针也恰好前进了五分钟。
「你简直像在念诗一般地自言自语。」
她说完之後，脸颊微微泛红。为什麽我的自言自语会令她脸红，这麽一想，他不禁觉得很奇怪。
「我简直
像在念诗一般地
自言自语。」
他试着那样说。
她再度拿起原子笔，那是一支黄色的塑胶制原子笔，上面印着「某银行的分行十周年纪念」的文字。
她似乎要望进他眼睛深处般地凝视着他。「你真的想知道吗？」
他点点头。
她拿了一张便条纸，开始用原子笔在那上面写字。她的动作很慢，可是中间既未停顿也不曾休息，她继续挥动着原子笔。在那段时间里，他两手托腮，静静地看着她的长睫毛。大约几秒钟一次，她不规则地眨眨眼。他愣愣地看着那样的睫毛—— .99lib.刚才还沾着泪珠的睫毛 —— 过了一会儿，他又开始迷惑了。和她上床这件事，究竟意味着什麽呢？一种彷佛把复杂的系统抽离一部份之後，却剩下令人恐惧的单
纯那般的奇妙失落感袭击着他。照这样下去，也许我哪里也去不了了。这样一想，他觉得害怕得不得了。他觉得自己的存在似乎就那样地被融化了。对，他就像刚塑成的泥土一般年轻，他用念诗一般的语调自言自语。
写完之後，她隔着桌子，把便条纸递过去，他顺手接过来。
厨房里，似乎有某种残像正在屏息倾听。只要和她在一起，他常常会感觉到那个残像的存在。不知在何处失落的某种残像，他记不清的某个残像。
「你看！我全部都记得耶！」她说。「这是有关飞机的自言自语。」
他试着朗读那段文字。
飞机
飞机在飞翔
我，坐在飞机上
飞机
在飞翔
然而，在飞的
是飞机
抑或天空
「只有这些？」他有点哑然地说。
「是啊！只有这些。」
「我实在无法相信，我说了那麽多话，自己居然完全不记得。」他说。
她轻轻地咬住下唇，然後露出一个浅浅的微笑。「可是，你真的说了，真的！」
他叹了一口气：「奇怪！我一次也没有想过飞机的事。我完全没有那种印象。为什麽会突然说出有关飞机的事呢？」
「可是，你刚才在浴室时，明明那麽说的。所以，就算你从来没有想过飞机的事，你的心却在想着在远处的某个森林深处的飞机！」
「也许你曾经在某个森林的深处制造过飞机！」
她「叭哒」一声把原子笔搁在桌子上，然後抬起眼睛静静地望着他。
两人沉默了一阵子，桌子上的咖啡愈来愈混浊，愈来愈冷。地轴在旋转，月亮悄悄地使重力产生变化化作潮汐。时间在沉默中流逝，电车通过轨道往前飞驰。
他和女人都在想着同样的事情。那是飞机的事。他的心在森林深处制造飞机。还有，那架飞机究竟有多大？是什麽形状？上面漆什麽颜色？究竟要飞往何处？等等。此外，究竟谁要搭乘那架飞机？那架飞机究竟一直在森林深处等谁？
不久，她又哭了。她在一天之内哭两次，这倒是第一次。而且，那也是最後一次。对她而言，那是一件相当特别的事。他隔着桌子，伸手摸摸她的头发。那是一种非常光滑的触感，宛如人生一般地，既坚牢又光滑，而且很遥远。
他思索着。对了，那个时候，我宛如念诗一般地自言自语。
Landscape with Flatiron
Junko was watg televisiohe ph a few minutes before midnight. Keisuke sat in the er of the room wearing headphones, eyes half-closed, head swinging bad forth as his long fingers flew over the strings of his electric guitar. He ractig a fast passage and obviously had no idea the phone was ringing. Junko picked up the receiver.
“Did I wake you?” Miyake asked in his familiar muffled Osaka at.
“Nah,” Junko said. “We’re still up.”
“I’m at the beach. You should see all this driftwood! We make a big ohis time. you e down?”
“Sure,” Junko said. “Let me ge clothes. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
She slipped on a pair of tights and then her jeans. On top she wore a turtleneck sweater, and she stuffed a pack of cigarettes into the pocket of her woolen coat. Purse, matches, key ring. She nudged Keisuke in the back with her foot. He tore off his headphones.
“I’m going for a bonfire on the beach,” she said.
“Miyake again?” Keisuke asked with a scowl. “You’ve got to be kidding. It’s February, you know. Twelve o’clock at night! Yoing to go make a bonfire now?”
“That’s okay, you don’t have to e. I’ll go by myself.”
Keisuke sighed. “Nah, I’ll e. Give me a mio ge.”
He turned off his amp, and over his pajamas he put on pants, a sweater, and a down jacket, which he zipped up to his . Junko ed a scarf around her ned put on a knitted hat.
“You guys are crazy,” Keisuke said as they took the path down to the beach. “What’s so great about bonfires?”
The night was cold, but there was no wind at all. Words left their mouths to hang frozen in midair.
“What’s so great about Pearl Jam?” Junko said. “Just a lot of noise.”
“Pearl Jam has ten million fans all over the world,” Keisuke said.
“Well, bonfires have had fans all over the world for fifty thousand years,” Junko said.
“You’ve got something there,” Keisuke said.
“People will be lighting fires long after Pearl Jam is gone.”
“You’ve got something there, too.” Keisuke pulled his right hand out of his pocket and put his arm around Junko’s shoulders. “The trouble is, I don’t have a damn thing to do with anything fifty thousand years ago—or fifty thousand years from now, either. Nothing. Zip. What’s important is now. Who knows when the world is going end? Who think about the future? The only thing that matters is whether I get my stomach full right now a up right nht?”
They climbed the steps to the top of the breakwater. Miyake was down in his usual spot on the beach, colleg driftwood of all shapes and sizes and making a pile. One huge log must have taken a major effort t to the spot.
The light of the moon transformed the shorelio a sharpened sword blade. The winter waves were strangely hushed as they washed over the sand. Miyake was the only one on the beach.
“Pretty good, huh?” he said with a puff of white breath.
“Incredible!” Junko said.
“This happens every on a while. You know, we had that stormy day with the big waves. Lately, I tell from the sound, like, ‘Today some great firewood’s going to wash up.’ ”
“Okay, okay, we know how good you are,” Keisuke said, rubbing his hands together. “Now let’s get warm. It’s so damn cold, it’s enough to shrivel your balls.”
“Hey, take it easy. There’s a right way to do this. First you’ve got to plan it. And when you’ve got it all arranged so it’ll work without a hitch, you light it slow-like. You ’t rush it. ‘The patient beggar earns his keep.’ ”
“Yeah,” Keisuke said. “Like the patient hooker earns her keep.”
Miyake shook his head. “You’re too young to be making such crummy jokes all the time,” he said.
Miyake had done a skillful job of interlag the bigger logs and smaller scraps until his pile had e to resemble some kind of avant-garde sculpture. Stepping back a few paces, he would examine iail the form he had structed, adjust some of the pieces, then circle around to the other side for another look, repeating the process several times. As always. All he had to do was look at the way the pieces of wood were bio begin havial images of the subtlest movement of the rising flames, the way a sculptor imagihe pose of a figure hidden in a lump of stone.
Miyake took his time, but once he had everything arrao his satisfa, he nodded as if to say to himself, That’s it: perfeext, he bunched up sheets of neer that he had brought along, slipped them through the gaps at the bottom of the pile, and lit them with a plastic cigarette lighter. Junko took her cigarettes from her pocket, put one in her mouth, and struck a matarrowing her eyes, she stared at Miyake’s hunched bad balding head. This was it: the o-stopping moment of the whole procedure. Would the fire catch? Would it erupt in giant flames?
The three stared in sile the mountain of driftwood. The sheets of neer flared up, rose swaying in flames for a moment, then shriveled a out. After that there was nothing. It didn’t work, thought Junko. The wood must have beeer than it looked.
She was on the verge of losing hope when a plume of white smoke shot up from the pile. With no wind to disperse it, the smoke became an unbroken thread rising straight toward the sky. The pile must have caught fire somewhere, but still there was no sign of flames.
No one said a word. Evealkative Keisuke kept his mouth shut tight, hands shoved in coat pockets. Miyake hunkered down on the sand. Junko folded her arms across her chest, cigarette in hand. She would puff on it occasionally, as if suddenly recalling that it was there.
As usual, Junko thought about Jack London’s “To Build a Fire.” It was the story of a man traveling alohrough the snowy Alaskan interior and his attempts to light a fire. He would freeze to death unless he could make it catch. The sun was going down. Junko hadn’t read much fi, but that one short story she had read again and again, ever since her teacher had assig as an essay topic during the summer vacation of her first year in high school. The se of the story would always e vividly to mind as she read. She could feel the man’s fear and hope and despair as if they were her own; she could sehe very pounding of his heart as he hovered on the brink of death. Most important of all, though, was the fact that the man was fually longing for death. She khat for sure. She couldn’t explain how she knew, but she k from the start. Death was really what he wanted. He khat it was the right ending for him. A he had to go on fighting with all his might. He had to fight against an overwhelming adversary in order to survive. What most shook Junko was this deep-rooted tradi.
The teacher ridiculed her view. “Death is really what he wahat’s a new one for me! And strange! Quite ‘inal,’ I’d have to say.” He read her clusion aloud before the class, and everybody laughed.
But Junko knew. All of them were wrong. Otherwise, how could the ending of the story be so quiet aiful?
“Uh, Mr. Miyake,” Keisuke ventured, “don’t you think the fire has go?”
“Don’t worry, it’s caught. It’s just getting ready to flare up. See how it’s smoking? You know what they say: ‘Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.’ ”
“Well, you know what else they say: ‘Where there’s blood, there’s a hard-on.’ ”
“Is that all you ever talk about?”
“No, but how you be so sure it hasn’t go?”
“I just know. It’s going to flare up.”
“How did you e to master su art, Mr. Miyake?”
“I wouldn’t call it an ‘art.’ I lear when I was a Boy Scout. When you’re a Scout, like it or not, you learhing there is to know about building a fire.”
“I see,” said Keisuke. “A Boy Scout, huh?”
“That’s not the whole story, of course. I have a kind of talent, too. I don’t mean t, but when it es to making a bonfire I have a special talent that most folks just don’t have.”
“It must give you a lot of pleasure, but I don’t suppose this talent of yours makes you lots of money.”
“True. all,” Miyake said with a smile.
As he had predicted, a few small flames began to flicker at the ter of the pile, apanied by a faint crag sound. Junko let out a long-held breath. Now there was nothing to worry about. They would have their bonfire. Fag the newborn flames, the three began to stretch out their hands. For the few mihere was nothing more to be do to wat silence as, little by little, the flames gained in strength. Those people of fifty thousand years ago must have felt like this when they held their hands out to the flames, thought Junko.
“I uand you’re from Kobe, Mr. Miyake,” Keisuke said in a cheery voice, as if the thought had suddenly popped into his head. “Did you have relatives or something in the Kansai earthquake last month?”
“I’m not sure,” said Miyake. “I don’t have any ties with Kobe anymore. Not for years.”
“Years? Well, you sure haven’t lost your Kansai at.”
“No? I ’t tell, myself.”
“I do declare, you must be joking,” said Keisuke in exaggerated Kansai tones.
“Cut the shit, Keisuke. The last thing I want to hear is some Ibaragi asshole trying to talk to me in a phony Kansai at. You eastern farm boys would be better off tearing around on your motorcycles during the slack season.”
“Whoa, I sure rubbed you the wrong way! You look like a nice quiet guy, but you’ve got one hell of a mouth. And this place is Ibaraki, not ‘Ibaragi.’ All you Kansai types are ready to put us eastern ‘farm boys’ down at the drop of a hat. I give up,” Keisuke said. “But seriously, though, did anybody get hurt? You must have had somebody you know in Kobe. Have you seen the news on TV?”
“Let’s ge the subject,” Miyake said. “Whiskey?”
“You bet.”
“Jun?”
“Just a little,” Junko said.
Miyake pulled a thial flask from the pocket of his leather jacket and ha to Keisuke, who twisted off the cap and poured some whiskey into his mouth without toug his lips to the rim. He glugged it down and sucked in a sharp breath.
“That is great!” he said. “This has got to be a twenty-one-year-old single malt! Super stuff! Aged in oak. You hear the roar of the sea and the breath of Scottish angels.”
“Give me a break, Keisuke. It’s the cheapest Suntory you buy.”
it was Junko’s turn. She took the flask from Keisuke, poured a little into the cap, and tried a few tiny sips. She grimaced, but chased after that special warm feeling as the liquid moved down from her throat to her stomach. The core of her body grew a touch warmer. , Miyake took one quiet swallow, and Keisuke followed him with anulp. As the flask moved?９９ｌib? from hand to hand, the brew in size and strength—not all at once, but in slow, gradual stages. That was the great thing about Miyake’s bohe spread of the flames was soft ale, like an expert caress, with nothing rough or hurried about it—their only purpose was to eople’s hearts.
Junko never said mu the presence of the fire. She hardly moved. The flames accepted all things in silence, drank them in, uood, and fave. A family, a real family, robably like this, she thought.
Junko came to this town in May of her third year in high school. With her father’s seal and passbook, she had taken three huhousand yen from the bank, stuffed all the clothes she could into a Boston bag, and run away from home. She transferred from orain to the at random until she had e all the way from Tokorozawa to this little seaside spot in Ibaraki Prefecture, a town she had never even heard of. At the realtor’s across from the station she found a one-room apartment, and the followiook a job at a venieore on the coast highway. To her mother she wrote: Don’t worry about me, and please don’t look for me, I’m doing fine.
She was sick to death of school and couldn’t stand the sight of her father. She had gotten on well with him when she was little. On weekends and holidays the two of them had gone everywhere together. She felt proud and strong to walk dowreet holding his hand. But when her periods started he end of elementary school, and her pubic hair began to grow, and her chest began to swell, he started to look at her in a strange new way. After she passed five-foot-six ihird year of junih, he hardly spoke to her at all.
Plus, her grades were nothing to boast about. he top of her class wheered middle school, by graduation time it would have been easier to t her place from the bottom, and she barely made it into high school. Which is not to say that she was stupid: she just couldn’t trate. She could never finish anything she started. Whenever she tried to trate, her head would ache deep i hurt her to breathe, and the rhythm of her heart became irregular. Attending school was absolute torture.
Not long after she settled in this own, she met Keisuke. He was two years older, and a great surfer. He was tall, dyed his hair brown, and had beautiful straight teeth. He had settled in Ibaraki for its good surf, and formed a rock band with some friends. He was registered at a sed-rate private college, but hardly ever went to campus and had zero prospects of graduating. His parents ran an old respected sweetshop iy of Mito, and he could have carried on the family business as a last resort, but he had no iion of settling down as a sweetshop owner. All he wanted was to ride around with his friends in his Datsun truck, surf, and play the guitar in their amateur band—an easygoing lifestyle that anyone could see was not going to last forever.
Junko got friendly with Miyake after she moved in with Keisuke. Miyake seemed to be in his mid-forties—a small, slim guy with glasses, a long, narrow face, and short hair. He was -shaven, but he had such a heavy beard that by sundown each day his face was covered in shadows. He liked to wear a faded dungaree shirt or aloha shirt, which he ucked into his baggy old os, and on his feet he wore white, worn-out sneakers. In winter, he would put on a creased leather jacket and sometimes a baseball cap. Junko had never seen him in any other kind of outfit. Everything he wore, though, otlessly .
Speakers of the Kansai dialect were all but ent in this place, so people noticed Miyake. “He lives alone in a rented house near here,” one of the girls at work told Junko. “He paints pictures. I don’t think he’s famous or anything, and I’ve never seen his stuff. But he lives okay. He seems to manage. He goes to Tokyo sometimes and es back late in the day with painting supplies or something. Gee, I don’t know, he’s maybe been here five years or so. You see him on the beach all the time making bonfires. I guess he likes them. I mean, he always has this intense look in his eyes when he’s making one. He doesn’t talk much, and he’s kind of weird, but he’s not a bad guy.”
Miyake would e to the venieore at least three times a day. In the m he’d buy milk, bread, and a neer. At noon, he’d buy a box lunch, and in the evening he’d buy a cold of beer and a snack—the same thing, day after day. He and Junko never exged more than the barest civilities, but she found herself drawn to him after a while.
When they were alone iore one m, she took a d asked him about himself. Why did he e in so often, even if he did live close-by? Why didn’t he just buy lots of milk and beer and keep it in the refrigerator? Wouldn’t that be more ve? Of course, it was all the same to the store people, but still . . .
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he said. “It’d make more seo stock up, but I ’t.”
“Why not?” Junko asked.
“Well, it’s just, like—I ’t, that’s all.”
“I didn’t mean to pry or anything,” Junko said. “Please don’t let it bother you. It’s just the way I am. I ’t help asking questions when I don’t know something. I don’t mean any harm by it.”
Miyake hesitated a moment, scratg his head. Then, with some difficulty, he said, “Tell you the truth, I don’t have a refrigerator. I don’t like refrigerators.”
Junko smiled. “I don’t like refrigerators myself, but I do have one. Isn’t it kind of inve not having one?”
“Sure it’s inve, but I hate the things, so what I do? I ’t sleep at night when there’s a refrigerator around.”
What a weird guy, thought Junko. But now she was more ied in him than ever.
Walking on the beae evening a few days later, Junko saw Miyake tending a bonfire, alo was a small fire made of driftwood he had collected. Junko spoke to Miyake, then joined him at the fire. Standing beside him, she was a good couple of ialler. The two of them traded simple greetings, then said nothing at all as they stared at the fire.
It was the first time that Junko felt a certain “something” as she watched the flames of a bonfire: “something” deep down, a “wad” of feeling, she might have called it, because it was too raw, too heavy, too real to be called an idea. It coursed through her body and vanished, leaving behind a sweet-sad, chest-gripping, strange sort of feeling. For a time after it had gone, she had goose flesh on her arms.
“Tell me, Mr. Miyake, when you see the shapes that a bonfire makes, do you ever feel kind of strange?”
“How so?”
“I don’t know, it’s like all of a sudden you get very clear about something people don’t usually noti everyday life. I don’t know how to put it, I’m not smart enough, but watg the fire now, I get this deep, quiet kind of feeling.”
Miyake thought about it awhile. “You know, Jun,” he said, “a fire be any shape it wants to be. It’s free. So it look like anything at all depending on what’s ihe person looking at it. If you get this deep, quiet kind of feeling when you look at a fire, that’s because it’s showing you the deep, quiet kind of feeling you have inside yourself. You know what I mean?”
“Uh-huh.”
“But it doesn’t happen with just any fire. For something like this to happen, the fire itself has to be free. It won’t happen with a gas stove or a cigarette lighter. It won’t even happen with an ordinary bonfire. For the fire to be free, you’ve got to make it in the right kind of place. Which isn’t easy. Not just anybody do it.”
“But you do it, Mr. Miyake?”
“Sometimes I , sometimes I ’t. Most of the time, I . If I really put my mind to it, I pretty much .”
“You like bonfires, don’t you?”
Miyake nodded. “It’s almost a siess with me. Why do you think I came to live in this navel-lint nothing of a town? It’s because this place gets more driftwood than any other beach I know. That’s the only reason. I came all the way out here to make bonfires. Kind of pointless, huh?”
Whenever she had the ce after that, Junko would join Miyake for his bonfires. He made them all year long except for midsummer, when the beach was full of people far into the night. Sometimes he would make two a week, and sometimes he would go a month without one. His pace was determined by the amount of driftwood that washed ashore. And wheime came for a fire, he would be sure to call Junko. Keisuke had an ugly jealous streak, but Miyake was the one exception. He would rib Junko about her “bonfire buddy.”
The flames finally found their way to the biggest log, and now at last the bonfire was settling in for a long burn. Junko lowered herself to the sandy bead stared at the flames with her mouth shut tight. Miyake adjusted the progress of the fire with great care, using a long branch to keep the flames from either spreading too quickly or losing strength. From his small pile of spare fuel, he would occasionally pick a length of driftwood and toss it in where it was needed.
Keisuke annouhat he had a stomachache: “Must’ve caught a chill. Think I just need a crap.”
“Why don’t you go home a?” Junko said.
“Yeah, I really should,” Keisuke said, looking sorry for himself. “How about you?”
“Don’t worry about Jun,” Miyake said. “I’ll see her home. She’ll be fine.”
“Okay, then. Thanks.” Keisuke left the beach.
“He’s su idiot,” Junko said, shaking her head. “He gets carried away and drinks too much.”
“I know what you mean, Jun, but it’s no good being too sensible when you’re young. It just spoils the fun. Keisuke’s got his good points, too.”
“Maybe so, but he doesn’t use his brain for anything.”
“Some things your brain ’t help you with. It’s not easy being young.”
The two fell silent for a while in the presence of the fire, each lost in private thoughts aing time flow along separate paths.
Then Junko said, “You know, Mr. Miyake, something’s been kind of b me. Do you mind if I ask you about it?”
“What kind of something?”
“Something personal.”
Miyake scratched his stubbly cheeks with the flat of his hand. “Well, I don’t know. I guess it’d be okay.”
“I was just w if, maybe, you had a wife somewhere.”
Miyake pulled the flask from the pocket of his leather jacket, ope, and took a long, slow drink. The on the cap, slipped the flask into his pocket, and looked at Junko.
“Where did that e from all of a sudden?”
“It’s not all of a sudden. I kind of got the feeling before, when Keisuke started talking about the earthquake. I saw the look on your face. And you know what you oold me, about how people’s eyes have something ho about them when they’re watg a fire.”
“I did?”
“And do you have kids, too?”
“Yup. Two of ’em.”
“In Kobe, right?”
“That’s where the house is. I suppose they’re still living there.”
“Where in Kobe?”
“The Higashi-Nada se. Up in the hills. Not much damage there.”
Miyake narrowed his eyes, raised his face, and looked out at the dark sea. Theurned his eyes back to the fire.
“That’s why I ’t blame Keisuke,” he said. “I ’t call him an idiot. I don’t have the right. I’m not using my brain any more than he is. I’m the idiot king. I think you know what I mean.”
“Do you want to tell me more?”
“No,” Miyake said. “I really don’t.”
“Okay, I’ll stop, then. But I will say this. I think you’re a good person.”
“That’s not the problem,” Miyake said, shaking his head again. He drew a kind of design in the sand with the tip of a branch. “Tell me, Jun, have you ever thought about how yoing to die?”
Junko pohis for a while, then shook her head.
“Well, I think about it all the time,” Miyake said.
“How are you going to die?”
“Locked inside a refrigerator,” he said. “You know. It happens all the time. Some kid is playing around inside a refrigerator that somebody’s thrown away, and the door closes, and the kid suffocates. Like that.”
The big log dipped to the side, scattering sparks. Miyake watched it happen but did nothing. The glow of the flames spread strangely unreal shadows across his face.
“I’m in this tight space, in total darkness, and I die little by little. It might not be so bad if I could just plain suffocate. But it doesn’t work that way. A tiny bit of air mao get in through some crack, so it takes a really long time. I scream, but nobody hear me. And nobody notices I’m missing. It’s so cramped in there, I ’t move. I squirm and squirm, but the door won’t open.”
Junko said nothing.
“I have the same dream over and over. I wake up in the middle of the night drenched i. I’ve been dreaming about dying slowly in pitch-blaess, but even after I wake up, the dream doesn’t end. This is the scariest part of the dream. I open my eyes, and my throat is absolutely dry. I go to the kit and open the refrigerator. Of course, I don’t have a refrigerator, so I ought to realize it’s a dream, but I still don’t notice. I’m thinking there’s something strange going on, but I open the door. Ihe refrigerator is pitch-dark. The light’s out. I wonder if there’s been a power failure and stick my head inside. Hands shoot out from the darkness and grab me by the neck. Cold hands. Dead people’s hands. They’re incredibly strong, and they start dragging me inside. I let out a huge scream, and this time I wake up for real. That’s my dream. It’s always the same. Always. Every little detail. And every time I have it, it’s just as scary as the last.”
Miyake poked the big log with the tip of a brand pushed it ba place.
“It’s so real, I feel as if I’ve already died hundreds of times.”
“When did you start having the dream?”
“Way, way back there. So long ago I ’t remember when,” Miyake said. “I have had periods when it’s left me alone. A year . . . no, two years when I didn’t have it at all. I had the feeling things were going to be okay for me. But no. The dream came back. Just as I was beginning to think, I’m okay now, I’m saved, it started up again. And o gets going, there’s nothing I do.”
Miyake shook his head.
“I’m sorry, Jun, I really shouldn’t be telling you these dark stories.”
“Yes you should,” Junko said. She put a cigarette between her lips and struck a match, inhaling a deep lungful of smoke. “Go on.”
The bonfire was nearing its end. The big pile of extra driftwood was gone now. Miyake had thrown it all into the fire. Maybe she was imagining things, but Junko thought the o sounded louder.
“There’s this Ameri writer called Jack London,” Miyake began.
“Sure, the guy who wrote about the fire.”
“That’s him. For a long time, he thought he was going to die by drowning in the sea. He was absolutely sure of it. He’d slip and fall into the o at night, and nobody would notice, and he’d drown.”
“Did he really drown?”
Miyake shook his head. “Nope. Killed himself with morphine.”
“So his premonition didn’t e true. Or maybe he did something to make sure it wouldn’t e true.”
“On the surface, at least, it looks like that,” Miyake said, pausing for a moment. “But in a sense, he was right. He did drown alone in a dark sea. He became an alcoholic. He soaked his body in his own despair—right to the core—and he died in agony. Premonitions stand for something else sometimes. And the thing they stand for be a lot more intehay. That’s the scariest thing about having a premonition. Do you see what I mean?”
Junko thought about it for a while. She did not see what he meant.
“I’ve never ohought about how I was going to die,” she said. “I ’t think about it. I don’t even know how I’m going to live.”
Miyake gave a nod. “I know what you mean,” he said. “But there’s such a thing as a way of living that’s guided by the erson’s going to die.”
“Is that how you’re living?” she asked.
“I’m not sure. It seems that way sometimes.”
Miyake sat dowo Junko. He looked a little more wasted and older than usual. The hair over his ears was uncut and stig out.
“What kind of pictures have you been painting?” she asked.
“That would be tough to explain.”
“Okay, then, what’s the hing you’ve painted?”
“I call it Landscape with Flatiron. I fi three days ago. It’s just a picture of an iron in a room.”
“Why’s that so tough to explain?”
“Because it’s not really an iron.”
She looked up at him. “The iron is not an iron?”
“That’s right.”
“Meaning it stands for something else?”
“Probably.”
“Meaning you only paint it if you use something else to stand for it?”
Miyake nodded in silence９9ｌｉb..
Junko looked up to see that there were many more stars in the sky than before. The moon had covered a long distance. Miyake threw the last piece, the long branch he was holding, into the fire. Junko leaoward him so that their shoulders were just toug. The smoky smell of a hundred fires g to his jacket. She took in a long, deep breath of it.
“You know something?” she said.
“What?”
“I’m pletely empty.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
She closed her eyes, and before she k, tears were flowing down her cheeks. With her right hand, she gripped Miyake’s knee as hard as she could through his os. Small chills ran through her body. He put his arm around her shoulders and drew her close, but still her tears would not stop.
“There’s really nothing at all in here,” she said much later, her voice hoarse. “I’m ed out. Empty.”
“I know what you mean,” he said.
“Really?”
“Yeah. I’m an expert.”
“What I do?”
“Get a good night’s sleep. That usually fixes it.”
“What I’ve got is not so easy to fix.”
“You may be right, Jun. It may not be that easy.”
Just then a long, steamy hiss annouhe evaporation of water trapped in a log. Miyake raised his eyes and, narrowing them, peered at the bonfire for a time.
“So, what should I do?” Junko asked.
“I don’t know. We could die together. What do you say?”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Are you serious藏书网?”
“I’m serious.”
His arm still around her shoulders, Miyake kept silent for a while. Junko buried her fa the soft worn-out leather of his jacket.
“Anyhow, let’s wait till the fire burns out,” Miyake said. “We built it, so we ought to keep it pany to the end. O goes out, and it turns pitch-dark, then we die.”
“Good,” Junko said. “But how?”
“I’ll think of something.”
“Okay.”
ed in the smell of the fire, Junko closed her eyes. Miyake’s arm across her shoulders was rather small for that of a grown man, and strangely bony. I could never live with this man, she thought. I could never get inside his heart. But I might be able to die with him.
She felt herself growing sleepy. It must be the whiskey, she thought. Most of the burning driftwood had turo ash and crumbled, but the biggest piece still glowed e, and she could feel its gentle warmth against her skin. It would be a while before it burnt itself out.
“Mind if I take a little nap?” she asked.
“Sure, go ahead.”
“Will you wake me when the fire’s out?”
“Don’t worry. When the fire goes out, you’ll start feeling the cold. You’ll wake up whether you want to or not.”
She repeated the words in her mind: When the fire goes out, you’ll start feeling the cold. You’ll wake up whether you want to or not. Then she curled herself against him and dropped into a fleeting, but deep, sleep.
cool mint gum─薄荷口香糖
好久好.９９ｌｉb.久以前，我偶然看过一个开一辆炭灰色ＶＷ车的年轻女孩。她穿着粉红色的单薄夏衫，形状美好的乳房就像喷射机引擎还是什么似的，往前突出。然后穿一双白色凉鞋。如果你要问为什么知道她穿的是什么凉鞋的话，那是因为她就把车子停在我正坐着的长椅前面，然后脚在那儿摩摩蹭蹭地穿上凉鞋（原来她是光着脚ㄚ子开车的），下了车，从我面前走过，走到商藏书网店去买薄荷口香糖。
在那之间，我一直盯着她瞧，因为她的衣服非常贴身，所以说起来，那倒也是相当美妙的风景。肩膀滑溜溜的，肚皮就像一张图画纸一样笔直单薄，而且身段苗条。总括一?９９lib?句话，她就像是一个人把一九六七年的整个夏天都照单全收的那种女孩，让你觉得她房间的衣橱里，一定已经把整个一九六七年夏天有关的一切，就像折迭整齐的内衣一样，全都收藏齐全了。
她撕开薄荷口香糖的包装纸，放一片在嘴里，一面非常有魅力而起劲地上下左右咀嚼起来，一面又从我面前走过。然后那辆炭灰色的ＶＷ车，就像一尾鳟鱼似的，在夏之流水中优雅地川游而去。
从此以后，虽然已经过了十四年了，但每次看见炭灰色的ＶＷ车，我就会想起她。
1963／1982年的伊帕内玛姑娘
苗条的身段晒黑的肌肤
年轻又漂亮的伊帕内玛姑娘
向前走着
踏着森巴的舞步
冷冷地摇着
柔柔地摆着
想说我喜欢她
想献上我的心
她却没注意我
只顾望着那大海出神
1963年，伊帕内玛姑娘就这样望着大海出神。而现在，1982年的伊帕内玛姑娘，依然同样地望着大海出神。她自从那时候以来一直没有变老。她被封闭在印象之中，静静地飘浮在时光之海里。如果她会变老的话，现在应该也将近四十了。当然也有可能不是这样，不过她应该已经不再苗条、也不再晒得那么黑吧？她已经有三个孩子，肌肤也多少被阳光晒伤了。也许还勉强算漂亮，却不比二十年前年轻----了吧。
但是唱片中的她，当然不会老。在史坦盖茨（Staz）吹的天鹅绒般的次中音色土风里，她永远是十八岁，又冷又温柔的伊帕内玛姑娘。我把唱片放在唱盘上，唱针一接触，她的姿态立刻出现了。
“想说我喜欢她
想献上我的心……”
每次我一听这首曲子，就会想起高中学校的走廊。暗暗
的、有点潮湿的高中的走廊。天花板报高，走在水泥地上会发出咯吱咯吱的回音。北侧有几扇窗，但是因为紧靠着山，所以走廊永远是暗的。而且大都静悄悄的。至少在我的记忆里，走廊大都是静悄悄的。
为什么每次听到“伊帕内场姑娘”就会想起高中的走廊，我也不清楚，简直没有一点脉络可寻。到底1963年的伊帕内玛姑娘，在我意识的深井里，投下了什么样的小石头呢？
一提起高中的走廊，又使我想起综合沙拉。生菜、番茄。小青瓜、青辣椒、芦笋、切成圆圈圈的洋葱，还有粉红色的千岛沙拉酱。当然高中走廊尽头并没有生菜沙拉的专门店。高中
走廊的尽头有一道门，门外是一个不太起眼的二十五公尺的游泳池。
为什么高中走廊会使我想起综合沙律呢？这也一样无脉络可寻。综合沙律，让我想起从前认识的一个女孩子。不过这联想倒是十分有道理，因为她每次都只吃生菜沙拉。
“你的、咯啦咯啦、英语报告、咯啦咯啦、写完没？”
“咯啦咯啦、还没有、咯啦咯啦、还剩下、哈啦咯啦咯啦。一点点。因为我蛮喜欢吃青菜的，因此只要跟她见面，就那样老是吃着青菜。她是一个所谓信念型的人，她绝对相信只要均衡地摄取青菜，其他一切都会顺利。人类如果继续吃青菜，世界就永远和平美丽、健康而充满爱心。就好像“草莓白书”（Strawerry White Pap。）似地。
“从前、从前，”一个哲学家这样写道：“有一个时代，物质和记忆被形而上学的深渊所隔开。”
1963／1982年的伊帕内玛姑娘无声地继续走在形而上学的热沙滩上。非常长的沙滩，而白色的浪花和缓地翻着，几乎没有风，水平线上什么也看不见。有海浪的气味，太阳非常热。
我躺在海滩太阳伞下，从冰箱拿出罐头啤酒，拉开盖子。不知道已经喝了几罐？五罐？六罐99lib?？唉呀！算了。反正马上就会化成汗流出来的。
她还继续走着，她被晒黑的修长的身上，紧紧贴着原色的比基尼。
“晦！”我开口招呼。
“你好。”她说。
“要不要喝一点啤酒？”我试着邀她。
“好哇。”她说。
于是我们躺在沙滩太阳伞下一起喝啤酒.99lib.。
“嗯----”我说：“1963年我确实看过你哟。在同一个地方、同一个时间赠。”
“那不是很久以前了吗？”
“对呀。
她一口气喝掉半罐啤酒，然后望着罐头开口的洞。
“不过或许真的见过。你说1963年对吗？噢----1963年……
嗯，可能见过。’
“你的年龄不会增加，对吗？”
“因为我是形而上学的女孩呀。”
“那时候你根本就没注意我，老是一直望着海。”
“很可能噢。”她说，然后笑笑：“晦，再来一罐啤酒好吗？”
“好哇。”我说，我把罐头盖子拔掉。“从那以后一直在沙滩上走吗？”
“是啊。”
“脚底不热吗？”
“没问题。因为我的脚底长得非常形而上学，你要不要看一看？”
“嗯”
她把苗条的腿伸直，让我看她的脚底。那确实是美妙的形而上学的脚底。我在那上面用手指轻轻摸一下，既不热、也不冷。摸到她的脚底时，传来一阵轻微的海浪声，连那海浪声，都非常形而上学。
她和我什么也没说，只喝着啤酒。太阳一动也不动，连时间都停止了，简直像被吸进镜子里去了似的。
“我每次想到你，就想起高中学校的走廊。”我说。“不晓得为什么？”
“因为人的本质是复合性的啊。”她说：“人类科学的对象不在于客体，而在于身体内部的主体。”
“哦！”我说。
“总之好好活吧！活着、活着、活着，如此而已。我只不过是，拥有形而上学脚底的女孩而已。”
然后1963／1982年的伊帕内玛姑娘，拍拍屁股上放着的沙，站了起来。“谢谢你的啤酒。”
“不客气。”
偶尔，我会在地下铁的车厢里遇见她。她总是送我一个上次谢谢你的啤酒式的微笑。自从那次以后，我们没有再交谈过，虽然如此，却觉得内心某个地方是相连的。至于什么地方是相连的，我也不清楚。一定在某个遥远的世界一个奇妙的场所有那么一个结存在吧？而那个结又在另外某个地方和高中的走廊、或综合沙律、或素食主义者的“草莓白书”的女孩子互相联系着吧。这样一想，很多事情，很多东西都渐渐令人怀念起来。一定在某个地方，我和我自己也有一个互相联系的结存在。相信总有一天，我会在遥远的世界一个奇妙的场所遇见我自己。而且，希望那最好是一个温暖的场所，如果那里也有几罐冰啤酒的话，那就更没话说了。在那里我就是我自己，我自己就是我。两者之间没有任何种类的间隙。一定在某个地方有这样一个奇妙的场所。
1963／1982年的伊帕内玛姑娘，如今依然继续走在灼热的沙滩上，直到最后一张唱片磨平为止，她会永远不停地继续走着。
high-heeled─高跟鞋
那头象穿着非常时髦的高跟鞋，搭上地下铁的电车。左手紧紧握着车票，右手抱着两册畅销小说。我以前不知道象也会读畅销小.99lib.说，因此非常惊讶。
不过总之那是尖峰时间，因此乘客都觉得象的存在很添麻烦。尤其如果被象的高跟鞋跟踩到的话，简直受不了。噢！噢！光是这样一面喊痛，一面在地上打滚，还是吃不消。因此象的四周，便空出像甜甜圈一样的圆形。也许象自己也感觉到这情形了，因此满脸抱歉的表情。
确实一头象穿着高跟鞋在尖峰时间搭地下铁电车，总是一件非比寻常的事。然而即使如此，那头象还是有某种令人无法讨厌的地方。因此我还对着象稍稍微笑了一下。倒也没意思和象睡觉。
象好像因为我对牠一笑而大大松了一口气。
「御茶水还很远吗？」象问我。
「噢，还有四站。」我回答。
「哦，是吗？」象立刻涨红了脸。「谢谢。」
「对不起。」我大胆地鼓起勇气问象 。 「你那双高跟鞋是在哪儿买的？」
象剎那间哑然望着我的脸：「您为什么会问这问题呢？」
「噢，也没什么，只是这双高跟鞋太漂亮了，我想买一双给我妹妹。」
不用说我根本没有妹妹。
象好像放下心来似的微微笑一下。牠大概以为我要责怪牠穿这双高跟鞋吧。
「这双嘛，在银九九藏书座的吉野屋有得卖。」
象在御茶水站下了地下铁。下车以前牠在车门前站定，朝我挥挥手。
看不见象以后，我打了一个呵欠，然后继续看书。看起来我在象的.99lib.世界还颇受欢迎的样子。
blueberry icecream─蓝草莓冰淇淋
「我想吃蓝草莓冰淇淋。」半夜两点她宣布。
真不知道女孩子为什么会专挑这种莫名其妙的时刻，想到一些莫名其妙的事。我一面没什么特别理由地任思绪驰骋于蒋介石和国民政府所遭遇的命运，一面穿上衬衫，走出马路上，逮到一部出租车。
「随便到哪里 ， 只要有卖蓝草莓冰淇淋的店就行 。 」我对司机说完，闭起眼睛，打个哈欠。大约十五分钟后，出租车停在一个陌生的街上，陌生的楼房前。是一栋古老的三层楼建筑，只有玄关特别大，屋顶立着七根旗杆，挂着七面莫名其妙的旗子。
「这里面真的卖冰淇淋吗？」我问司机。
「所以才来到这里呀。」司机说。
回答得倒真是符合戏剧原理。我付了钱，下了车，走进楼房。楼房里的服务台，坐着一个二十岁左右的年轻女子。她实际上明明身体一动也没动一下，却一付忙得不得了的脸色。我说「我要蓝草莓冰淇淋」。她脸上露出为什么偏偏挑上这个时候的不愉快表情。然后递给我一张粉彩纸片。「在这上面写姓名住址到３号门去。」
我借了铅笔，在纸片上填进姓名住址。沙沙沙沙。然后走上棺材一样的楼梯，推开３号门。屋里正中央有一张乒乓球桌那么大的桌子，一个年轻人坐在上面，右手和左手各拿着一张文件，正交替对照地看着。
「蓝草莓冰淇淋」我说着把纸片递出去，他也不看我一眼，便在上面砰！地盖一个章。
「６号。」
要跋涉到６号门之前，我必须先渡过一条深河。白色探照灯光，在河面左右来回巡射，远方偶而响起砰、砰的枪声。
６号门和８号门之间，有一所利用旧教室改成的野战医院，中庭的草地上，躺满了缺手或断腿的士兵。野战医院的餐厅里，有三个汽油桶的葡萄干冰淇淋，可是却没有蓝草莓冰淇淋。
「蓝草莓在14号啊。」厨师告诉我。
14号门被夜间炮击轰得已经完全垮了。只剩下一个门框。门框上用图钉钉着一张便条纸。「有事请到17号」。
17号门前，骆驼大军正展开一场反叛混战。黑夜里充满了骆驼队的高声喊叫和小便的气味。我终于好不容易找到一头友好的骆驼，帮我开了17号门。
17号门是最后一道门。
我打开门，里面有两个穿着体面的中年男人，正在和食蚁兽摔跤。他们身上流着血淋淋的血，他们都是为了得到蓝草莓冰淇淋而到这里来的。
被诅咒的蓝草莓冰淇淋。
然而我并不是一个容易感伤的人。我用曼陀林的背后，像「Ｙ的悲剧」那样，把两个中年男人和大食蚁兽一一打死，打开冷冻金库，拿到了九九藏书蓝草莓冰淇淋。
「要放多少干冰？」
卖场的女孩子这样问。
「三十分」我冷静地回答。
拿到冰淇淋，回到家时，是黎明时分的五点。她已经睡得沉沉的。
The Ice Man
Until about a month ago, I was occasionally submitting translations that I had done of various yet-to-be translated Murakami short stories. Most of those were very, very short, and I thought maybe I should try something a little longer. I started paging through a book called "Lexington no Yuurei" (The Lexington Ghosts), and it seemed like the stories therein were in my range. Ive now fiwo of them. The following is the first one, called Koori Otoko (The Ice Man). Its a weird little story, and I dont know quite what to make of it. Ill be curious to see what other people think. SIs fairly long, Im going to divide it up into pieces, and serialize it over a couple of days. Enjoy!
P.S. As always, I would appreciate any criticism or advice, especially from the Japaerate.
------
The Ice Man
I married the Ice Man.
I first met the Ice Man at this ski resort hotel. I guess thats the kind of plae ought to meet an Ice Man. In the boisterous hotel lobby, crowded with young people, the Ice Man was sitting in a chair at the furthest possible remove from the fireplace, silently reading a book. Though it roag high noon, it seemed to me that the cool, fresh light of the winter m still lingered around him. Hey, thats the Ice Man,?my friend informed me in a low voice. But at that time, I had no idea what in the world an Ice Man was. My friend didnt really know, either. She just khat he existed and was called the Ice Man. Shes sure hes made out of ice. Thats why hes called the Ice Man,?she said to me with a serious expression. It was like she was talking about a ghost or somebody with a tagious disease or something.
The Ice Man was tall, and from looking at him, his hair seemed bristly. When I saw his face, he looked fairly young still, but that thick, wiry hair was white, like it had been mixed with melted snow. He had high cheek-bohat appeared to have been chiseled out of cold, hard rock, and there was a slight coating of ued white frost on his fingers, but other than that the Ice Mans appearance wasnt much different from a normal person. While he probably couldnt have been called handsome, there was undeniably something charming in his bearing. There are some people that just jab you sharply in the heart. It was especially this way with him, so he really stood out. He had a shy, transparent look, like an icicle on a winter m. There was something in the way his body ut together that made his whole beio sparkle. I stood there for a moment and gazed at the Ice Man from afar. But the Ice Man didnt lift his face from his book even once. Without moving so much as a muscle, he tinued reading. It was as if he was trying to persuade himself that there wasnt anybody at all around him.
The day, the Ice Man was in the same place, reading a book exactly the same way. When I went to the cafeteria to get lunch, and again when I came ba the evening from skiing with everybody else, he was sitting in the same chair as the day before, p over the top of a page of the same book with the same expression on his face. And the day was the same. The day passed, the night grew late, a there as quietly as the winter outside the window, reading his book alone.
Oernoon of the fourth day, I fashioned an appropriate excuse and didnt go out to the slopes. Staying behind alone iel, I wandered around the lobby for a while. Since everyone had go for an afternoon skiing, the lobby was deserted like a ghost town. The air in the lobby was unnecessarily warm and moist, and there was a strange, dank smell mixed in with it. It was the smell of people trag snow into the hotel otom of their boots and then carelessly sitting by the fireplace, where it slowly melted off. I stared vatly out the various windows, and flipped through the neer. Then, bravely walking up to the Ice Man, I boldly started a versation. Im normally a very shy person, and not at all in the habit of talking to total strangers. But at that time, I really wao talk to the Ice Man, no matter what. It was our last night in that hotel, and I thought that if I let it slip away, I might never have another ce to talk to an Ice Man.
Dont you ski? I asked the Ice Man, trying to sound as casual as possible. He slowly raised his head. He had an expression on his face like he could a hear the sound of wind blowing from incredibly far away. He looked at my face with eyes like that. He silently shook his head. I dont ski. Im fine just reading a book and watg the snow fall, he said. His words made little white clouds in the air, like when you breathe on a TV s. I could literally see his words with my own eyes. He gently brushed off the frost that had accumulated on his fingers.
I didnt know what to say after that. I just stood there blushing. The Ice Man looked in my eyes. Then he seemed to smile a little. But I wasnt really sure. Did he really smile? Or was it just a feeling? Wont you sit down? the Ice Man said. Lets have a little versation. Youre curious about me, right? You want to know what an Ice Man is, right? Then he really did laugh a little. Its OK. Theres nothing to worry about. You wont catch a cold or anything talking to me.
This is how I came to talk to the Ice Man. Sitting side-by-side on the sofa in the er of the lobby, watg the snow flakes dan the other side of the window, our versation proceeded haltingly. I ordered some cocoa and drank it. The Ice Man didnt have anything. He was just as bad a versationalist as me. In addition, we didnt really have anything in on to talk about. At first, we talked about the weather. Then, how cozy the hotel was. Did you e here alone? I asked the Ice Mahe Ice Man replied. The Ice Man asked me whether I liked to ski. Not really, I responded. My girlfriends invited me to go skiing with them for some reason, but Im not very good at it. I really wao know what kind of thing the Ice Man was: whether he was really made out of ice or not; what he ate; where he spent the summer; whether he had a family--that type of thing. But the Ice Man dido want to talk about himself. I didnt dare to broach the subject either. He probably just doesnt like to talk about stuff like that, I thought.
Instead, we talked about me as a human being. I really couldnt believe it, but, for whatever reason, the Ice Man knew all kinds of things about me: the make up of my family, my age, my hobbies, my health, the school I attehe friends I hung out with--he k all from beginning to end. He khings about me that had happened so long ago that I had fotten about them.
I dont uand, I said, blushing. I had this feeling like I was naked in public. How do you know so much about me? I asked. you read peoples minds?
No, it is not possible for me to read peoples minds. But I know. I just know, he said. Its just like seeing something frozen in ice. So, when I looked at you, I could see all kinds of things about you clearly.
you see my future? I asked.
I t see the future, the Ice Man said expressionlessly. And he shook his head slowly. Im not ied iure at all. To speak more precisely, I have no cept of the future. Ice has no future. It just captures the past. It captures everything just as it was in life, fresh, and preserves it that way. Ice preserve all kinds of things in this way. Totally freshly, totally clearly. Just as it is. Thats the purpose of ice, its true quality.
Good, I said. I laughed a little. Im relieved to hear it. I dont want to know anything about my future.
------
After we had returo Tokyo, we got together frequently. Eventually, we were going out on dates nearly every weekend. But we didnt go out to movies together, or to coffee shops. We didnt even have dinner. Wed always go to parks together, sit on a bench, and talk about stuff. We reall99liｂ?y talked about a lot of different stuff. But as always, the Ice Man wouldnt say anything about himself. Why is that? I asked him. How e you alk about yourself? I want to know more about you--where you were born, what kind of people your parents were, and how you got to be an Ice Man. The Ice Man looked at my face for a moment. Then he slowly shook his head. I dont kher, the Ice Man said, his voice barely above a whisper. Then he exhaled a hard, white breath into the air. I dont have a past. I know all things past. I preserve all things past. But I myself dont have a past. I dont know where I was born. I wouldnt reize my parents if I saw them. I dont even know whether or not I have parents. I dont even know how old I am. I dont even know whether I have an age or not.
The Ice Man was as isolated as an iceberg in the mist.
And gradually I came to love the Ice Man very deeply. Having no past and no future, he loved just the me of the present. And I loved just the present Ice Man, without a past and without a future. This seemed a splendid thing to me. We even began to speak of marriage. I had just turwenty years old. And the Ice Man was the first person to inspire such feelings in me. I couldnt imagihen what in the world it meant to love the Ice Man. But if, hypothetically, the Ice Man hadnt been my partner, but someone else instead, I wouldnt have known anything theher, I guess.
My mother and my sister were strongly opposed to me marrying the Ice Man. Youre too young to get married, they said. You dont even know clearly what kind of person he is, or what his family is like. Or where he was born, or when. As your family, we t sent to you marrying such a person. And, besides, hes an Ice Man. What happens if he melts? they said. I know you dont really uand it, but marriage is a big responsibility. Do you really think that youre capable of the responsibility of marrying this Ice Man?
But their fears were needless. It wasnt like the Ice Man was actually made out of ice. He was just cool like ice. He does if he gets too warm. That chilliness really was like ice, but his body was different from ice. And while he was incredibly cold, it wasnt the kind of ess that robs other people of their body heat.
So we got married. No one celebrated our wedding, though. Not my friends, or my parents, or my sisters: no one was happy about it. We didnt have a ceremony. Sihe Ice Man didnt have a family register, we didnt even apply for a marriage lise. We just jointly decided that we were married. We bought a small cake and ate it together. That was the extent of our meager wedding. We rented a little apartment, and the Ice Man got a job at a meat storehouse to cover our expenses. He liked the cold a lot, and no matter how hard he worked, he never got tired. He didnt even stop much to eat. Naturally, he quickly caught the bosss eye, and was rewarded with a higher salary than anybody else. We didnt bother anybody and nobody bothered us; and we had a quiet, happy life together.
Whehe Ice Man embraced me, I always thought of this quiet, still iceberg that existed in some far off place. I thought that the Ice Man probably knew where that iceberg was. The ice was hard, harder than anything I could think of. It was the biggest iceberg in the world. But it was in some incredibly far alace. He was telling the secret of that ice to the world. At first, the Ice Mans embraces made me feel disoriented, but after a while I got used to it. I even came to love it. As always, he didnt talk about himself at all. Not even why he became the Ice Man. And I didnt ask anything. Embrag in the silence, we shared that huge, still iceberg. The ey of past events of the whole world for billions of years was stored pristinely, just as it was, ihat ice.
In our married life, there werent really any problems that could properly be called problems. We loved each other deeply, and nothing impeded that. While the neighbors seemed as if they were quite unfamiliar with the existence of Ice Men, as time passed, little by little they began to talk to him. Even though hes an Ice Man, hes no different than anybody else, they came to say. But in the depths of their hearts they never really accepted him, and so they never really accepted that I was married to him. We were a different type of human being from them, and no matter how much time passed, that chasm could never be filled.
The two of us were uo have children. Perhaps the result of mixing human and Ice Man genes roblemati a, since we didnt have any children, I had an abundance of free time. Id take care of the house work fairly quickly in the m, but after that there was nothing to do. I didnt have any friends to talk to, or to go somewhere with, and I didnt have much to do with the neighbors. My mother and sisters, still mad that I had married the Ice Ma speaking to me. They were ashamed of my household. There wasnt even ao call oelephone. While the Ice Man was w at the storehouse, I stayed at home all alone, reading books or listening to music. I generally prefer staying at home to going out anyway, and Im not the kind of person for whom being alone is a trial. But in spite of this, I was still young, and the endless daily repetition without any variation began to get me down. It wasnt the boredom that got to me. The thing I couldnt bear was the repetition. In the midst of that endless repetition, I felt kind of like my own shadow.
So one day, I made a proposal to my husband. Why dont we go on a trip together somewhere, for a ge of pace. Trip? he said. He narrowed his eyes as he looked at me. Why in the world should we take a trip? Arent you happy living here with me?
Its not that, I said. Im perfectly happy. There are no problems between us. Its just that Im bored. I want to go somewhere far away ahings Ive never seen before. I want to breath air Ive never breathed before. Do you uand? And anyway, we never went on a honeymoon. lenty of money in the bank, and taking a few days off shouldnt be a problem. I just think a relaxing trip somewhere would be nice.
The Ice Man heaved a deep, frozen sigh. The sigh made a crisp sound as the air crystallized. He brought his long, frost-covered fiogether on his knee. I guess so. If you want to go on a trip so badly, Im not particularly opposed to it. I dont think its such a good idea to take a trip, but if it will make you happy, Ill do whatever you want, go wherever you want to go. Taking a vacation should be OK since I always work really hard when Im there. I dont think there will be any problem. But where do you want to go?
How about the South Pole? I ventured. I chose the South Pole because I thought the Ice Man would be ied in a cold place. And besides, Ive always wao go to the South Pole sometime. I wao see the Northern Lights, and penguins. I imagined myself wearing a fur coat with an attached hood, playing with a flock of penguins under a sky lit up by the aurora borealis.
When I said this, my husband the Ice Man looked straight into my eyes. He didnt blink even once. His gaze like sharp icicles, it pierced through my eyes to the bay head. He po silently for a moment, and finally said Its fine, with a twinkle. Fine, if thats what you want to do, well go to the South Pole. Thats what you want to do?
I agreed.
In about two weeks I think I take a long vacation. robably make all the preparations before then. Really, it wont be a problem.
I couldnt respht away. When the Ice Man had looked at me with that icicle gaze, it had he inside of my head.
However, with the passage of time, I came tret that I had ever brought up the idea of going to the South Pole with my husband. I dont know why this was so. Before the words South Pole came out of my mouth, I had this feeling that something had ged in him. His gaze had bee even sharper and more icicle-like than before; his breath had bee even whiter than before; and even more frost accumulated on his fihan before. He became even more stubborn ait. Now, he wasing anything at all. All of these things made me terribly uneasy. Five days before we were due to depart, I boldly made a proposal to my husband. Lets call off the South Pole trip, I said. Ive thought about it a little, and its so cold, it will probably be bad for me.
It just seems like it would be a better idea to go somewhere a little more normal. I bet Europe is really nice; why dont we go to Spain instead? We could drink wine, a paella, and watch bullfights. But my husband didnt respond. For a little while, he just stared at some place far away. Then he looked at my face. He peered deeply into my eyes. That look, was so deep that I felt as if my body, just as it was, had evaporated into nothing. No, I dont want to go to Spain, my husband, the Ice Man, said plainly. I know its not fair to you, but Spain is too hot and dusty for me. And the food is too spicy. Anyway, weve already bought to tickets for the South Pole. Weve already bought a fur coat for you, and a pair of fur-lined boots. We t afford to waste all that. At this point, we have to go.
The way he said it scared me. I had this sense of foreboding that, if we went to the South Pole, something would happen and we would lose something that we would never be able to recover. I had terrible nightmares over and over. It was the same dream each time. In the dream, I was taking a walk, and I fell in a deep hole in the ground, but no one discovered me and I ended up being frozen there. Trapped ihat ice, I could see the sky clearly. I was scious, but I couldnt move even a single finger. It was a terribly strange feeling. I uood as moment by moment the present ged into the past. I had no future. The past kept piling up irreversibly. And everyo staring at me. They were looking at the past. I was looking backwards at passing ses.
And then I would wake up. The Ice Man was sleepio me. He slept without breathing at all. Just like he had died and frozen that way or something. But I loved the Ice Man. Id start to cry. My tears would land on his cheek. Then藏书网 hed wake up and hold me in his arms. I had a bad dream, Id say. Hed shake his head silently in the darkness. It was just a dream, hed say. Dreams are things from the past. They arent from the future. That wasnt you imprisohere. You imprison your dreams. You uand?
Yeah, Id say. But I wasnt vinced.
------
Eventually, my husband and I boarded the plane for the South Pole. There just wasnt a good enough reason to cel it. The pilot and the stewardesses on the plao the South Pole were all totally silent. I really wao look at the sery outside the window, but the clouds were thid I couldnt see anything. After a while, they were pletely covered with iyway. My husband just silently read a book all the while. I didnt have the excitement or sense of anticipation that usually apanies going on a trip. I was just going through a set of pre-determined motions.
When I first stepped off the gangway and onto the surface of the South Pole, I could feel my husbands whole body tremble violently. It was quicker than a wink, maybe half the time that it takes to blink, so no oiced; and my husbands didnt so much as bat an eyelash, but I couldnt miss it. Something deep inside my husbands body had shuddered violently, although i. He stopped there, looked at the sky, then stared at his hands, and finally took a deep breath. Then he looked me in the eye and beamed merrily. So, this is the land of your dreams, he said. Yeah, I said.
The gloominess of the South Pole exceeded even the worst of my premonitions. Almost no one lived there. There is just otle featureless town there. Iown, there is just otle featureless hotel. There are no sights to see. There arent even any penguins. You t see the Northern Lights. Occasionally, I抎 set about trying to ask people where I might be able to see penguins, but they would just shake their heads silently. They couldnt prehend my speech. I would try to draicture of a penguin on a piece of paper. But of course, they would just shake their heads silently. I was all alone. If you took oep outside of town, there was nothing beyond but ice. There werent any trees; there werent any flowers; no rivers, no ponds, no nothing. Wherever you went, there was nothing but ice. Frozen wasteland stretched out as far as the eye could see in every dire.
A my husband, breathing his white breath, frost growing on his fingers, his eyes, as ever, glaring icicle-like, walked around from place to place vigorously, as if knowing no satiation. The native speech of that land quickly returo him, and he had versations with the people of the town, in a voice that rang as hard as ice. They talked together for hours at a time, with serious expressions on their faces. I couldnt uand at all what in the world they were talking about so early. My husband was pletely delirious in that place. There was something there that entranced him. At first, this really irritated me. I felt as though I had bee behind by myself. I felt ed arayed by my husband.
Eventually, though, I lost all of my strength, in the midst of that desert world, hemmed in by thick ice. Slowly, gradually. I even lost the power to be upset. It was like I had misplaced the pass of my senses. Dire vaime vanished, even my awareness of my owence vanished. I dont know when this process began or when it ended. I came to realize, though, that I was imprisoned all alone, senseless, in the midst of that world of ice, in the midst of that color-starved eternal winter. After my senses were almost all gone, I uood only this. My husband in the South Pole was not my former husband. It wasnt that his behavior toward me had ged. He was as ed about me as ever, and his speech was always kind. And Im sure that he meant everything that he said. He was simply a different Ice Man than the ohat I met at the ski lodge. But there wasnt ahere who I could ask about it. All of the South Poleans were friends with him, and besides, they couldnt uand my speech. They all breathed their white breaths, frost grew on their faces, and they told their jokes, debated their debates, and sang their songs in South Pole-ese. I ended up log myself in my room aloaring blankly at the never-ging gray sky, and p over the impossibly plicated mystery of South Pole-ese grammar, even though I had no hope of ever mastering it.
There were no pla the airstrip. After the plahat had brought us here promptly took off again, there hadnt been even one single arrival. The runway had eventually bee buried in a thick layer of ice. Just like my heart.
Winter has e, my husband said. Its a very long winter. No planes will e, no ships will e. Everything is frozen. Well just have to wait here for the spring, he said.
After we had been in the South Pole for about three months, I realized that I regnant. I knew right away: the child to whom I would give birth was a little Ice Man. My uterus was covered with ice, and the amniotic fluid was mingled with slush. I could feel the chill growing in my abdomen. I just khe child would have his fathers icicle gaze, and frost would grow on his little fingers. And I just knew: our new family would never again leave the South Pole. Our feet would surely cat the ie mass of the eternal past. No matter how hard we tried, we would never shake it off.
Now, there is almost nothi of my former self. My natural warmth has been displaced far, far away. Sometimes I fet that I ever even had it. A somehow I still cry. I am truly alone. I am in a colder, lonelier place than anyone in the whole world. When I cry, the Ice Man kisses my cheek. His kisses turn my tears to ice. Theakes these ice tears in his hand ahem on his tongue. I love you, he says. Its not a lie. I uand this well. The Ice Man loves me. But then, from some far-off place, a wind stirs and blows his white, frozen words away, away, into the past. I cry. Icy tears stream down my face. In our far away, frozen home at the South Pole.
interview─采访
五月十二日，在原宿拉佛雷的资生堂会客室，年轻女记者迟到了三十分钟。
「噢，那么今天我想请问村上先生一下，您每天吃什么样的东西，那么首先就从早晨开始吧。」
「首先早晨．．．」
「唉呀！对不起，我忘了把录音带的音量放大一点。好了，抱歉。」
「首先早晨吃青菜．．．」
「啊，对了，早上是几点起床的？」
「五点起床。然后．．．」
「五点？早上的五点？」
「是啊，我们不是在谈早上９９lｉｂ?吗？」
「那倒是，可是．．．可是早上五点钟起床做什么呢？」
「慢跑啊。可不是去当小偷偷内衣啊。」
「哈哈哈．．．那么晚上几点钟左右睡觉呢？」
「九点半或十点。不过我们不是在谈吃的事情吗？抱歉有人在等我，不太有时间了。」
「对了、对了，真抱歉。」
「早餐是在慢跑完之后大约六点左右吃。一大碗青菜、一个小面包、两杯咖啡，还有荷包蛋。」
「好健康啊。」
「因为我们家附近青菜很便宜。」
（这时候咖啡送来了）喀哒喀哒喀哒．．．
「于是东摸摸西弄弄的，就到了吃中饭的时候了对吗？」
「对。」
「中午您吃什么呢？」
「中午多半吃．．．小姐，这录音机的指针没动啊。」
「啊、啊、啊，真的。好讨厌，怎么搞的嘛？」
喀嚓、喀嚓、喀嚓．．．
「开关没开嘛。妳看！这不是在 off 吗？」
「啊－－我以为开了呢。」
「怎么办？要不要我再说一遍？。」
「不用了，没关系，我都记得了。早上五点起床，然后慢跑，吃一大碗色拉、一个小面包和火腿蛋，对吗？」
「荷包蛋。」
「对了、对了，荷包蛋。」
「还有两杯咖啡。」
「两杯咖啡。」
「记得住吗？」
「没问题，我的记性非常好！」
＜报导＞
村上先生早晨起得很早，每天五点钟起床，然后慢跑。他本人很害羞地说「不好意思， 像偷内衣的小偷一样 ， 哈哈哈」。菜单是色拉、火腿蛋，然后当然还有两罐啤酒．．．藏书网
加纳格列达
我的名字叫加纳格列达，我在帮姊姊玛尔他做事。
当然，我的本名并不叫格列达，这是我当姊姊的助手时使用的名字。换句话说，这就是工作上的化名。
平常不上班时，我都是用加纳达姬的本名。我之所以取名为格列达，是因为姊姊叫玛尔他。
我还没有去过格列达岛。
我常常从地图上看那个岛。格列达是位於非洲附近的希腊的岛名，它的形状就像被狗衔在嘴里的骨头，硬帮帮地且细细长长的，上面有着名的遗迹 —— 克诺苏斯宫殿。据说古时候有位年轻勇士迷路时，曾经得到女王的帮助，因而留下一段佳话。我想，如果有机会的话，我一定要到格列达岛一游。
我的工作是当姊姊听水声时的助手。我姊姊是以听水音为业，也就是倾听浸在人体里面的水声。不用说，这种事并不是任何人都能胜任的。从事这种行业，除了必须具备特殊的才能之外，也必须经过严格的训练。在日本，大概只有姊姊拥有这项本事。姊姊是很久以前在玛尔他岛学会这项技术的。姊姊修行的地方，连亚伦金士巴克和济斯理查都来过。玛尔他岛就是有那麽特别的地方。在那里，「水」具有
很重要的意义，姊姊在那里修行了藏书网好多年。然後，她回到日本，以加纳玛尔他为名，展开了倾听人体内的水音的工作。
我们在山中租了一间老房子，两人相依为命。那间房子有个地下室，姊姊把从日本各地运来的各种水集中， 放置於那里。她把所有的水分别摆在陶制的水 里，并排放着。如同酒一般，水的保存也是以地下室最适合。我的任务是把那些水保持得很清洁，上面一有灰尘就马上把它弄掉，冬天时则要注意不让水结成冰。夏季时则要小心，不让它长虫。这些工作并不怎麽难，也花不了多少时间，所以，我经常以画建 图来消磨每天的大部份时间。 此外，如果有客人来拜访姊姊时，我也帮她端茶奉客。
姊姊每天都一一倾听放在地下室的每一个水 ， 藉着它们所发出的微弱声音来使耳朵澄净。她每天大约花二至叁个小时在那上面。对姊姊来说，那是一种听力的训练。每一种水都各自发出不同的声音，姊姊也让我听听其中的差别。我闭上眼睛，把全部的精神集中於耳朵。然而，我几乎听不见水声。或许是因为我缺乏姊姊那种才能吧！
「请你先听听水 的水声。 那样一来，不久你就可以听到人体里的水声了。」
姊姊说。於是，我也拼命地侧耳倾听，可是却什麽也听不见，我只觉得听到十分微弱的声音。好像在十分遥远的地方有某种东西在震动，听起来好像是小虫两、叁度挥动翅膀的声音。与其说是听得见，倒不如说是空气微微地震动的程度。不过，那种声音瞬间即消失，犹如在捉迷藏一般。
姊姊说我不能听到那种声音实在很遗憾。「像你这种人，更是有必要仔细地听听体内的水音！」玛尔他说。因为我是有问题的女人。「其实，你应该可以听得见的。」玛尔他说，然後摇摇头。「如果你能听得到水音，问题就可以迎刃而解。」
她又说。姊姊是真心地关心我。
我的确有点问题。而且，那个问题，我怎麽也克服不了。男人只要一见了我，就会想侵犯我。无论是谁，只要男人一看到我，就想把我压在地上，然後解开我裤子上的皮带。我也不知道为什麽，可是，从以前就一直是这样。自从我懂事以来，一向就是如此。
我的确认为自己是美女，身材也很棒。我的胸部很丰满，腰却很细。我揽镜自照时，也觉得自己十分性感。我一走到街上，每个男人都目瞪口呆地直盯着我看。
「不过，并不是世界上的美女都会一再地被强暴吧！」玛尔他说。我想，她说的的确不错，遇到那种事的，只有我而已。或许，我自己也有责任吧！也许，男人之所以会有那种念头，都是由於我表现得很害怕。因此，每个人一看到对方那提心吊胆的模样，便会变得很冲动，於是情不自禁地兴起侵犯对方的念头。
因此，到目前为止，我几乎被各种不同类型的男人强暴过。而且全部都是充满暴力的强暴。那些侵犯我的人包括学校的老师、同学、家庭老师、舅舅、收瓦斯费的，甚至连到隔壁灭火的消防员也一样不放过我。不管我如何费尽心思，还是逃不过他们的魔掌。我曾经被那些暴徒用刀子杀伤、被殴打脸部、也被用水管勒过脖子。每次都是在类似那样的强烈暴力之下受到凌辱。
於是，我从很久以前就不敢再出门。因为，如果再继续发生那种事，我想总有一天我一定会被杀掉。因此，我才和姊姊玛尔他远离尘世，避居於人烟罕至的山上，为姊姊照顾地下室的水 。
不过，我曾经杀过一个意图侵犯我的人。不，正确地说，藏书网杀人的是姊姊。那个男人还是想占我便宜，就在这个地下室。那个男人是个警官，他为了调查某件案子而来到这里，可是，他一打开门的那一刹那，就变得迫不及待地，当场把我压倒。接着「唰唰」地撕破我的衣服，然後把自己的裤子褪到膝盖处。他的配枪发出「喀兹喀兹」的声音。我胆战心惊地说：请不要杀我！我一切都听你的，那名警官抚摸着我的脸。可是，就在那个时候，姊姊玛尔他正好回来了。她听到有怪异的声音，就顺手拿了一根大铁棒。然後，出其不意地举起铁棒朝那名警官的後脑猛打一顿。
一直打到听到东西凹下去的声音，他也断了气。接着，姊姊又从厨房拿来一把菜刀，用菜刀像剖开鲔鱼的腹部般地割破警官的喉咙。她的手法十分俐落，连一点声音也没有。姊姊最会磨菜刀了，她磨过的菜刀总是利得令人难以置信。我只是目瞪口呆地看着这一切。
「为什麽要那麽做？为什麽要把他的喉咙割破？」我问姊姊。
「还是把它割破比较好，免得引来後患。毕竟对方是一名警官嘛！这样一来他就无法作祟了！」
玛尔他说。姊姊处理事情的作风一向很实际。
他流了好多血，姊姊把那些血装入一个水 里。「最好能把他的血全部放完。」
玛尔他说。「经过这样的处理，才能永绝後患。」我们一直抓住警官穿着靴子的双腿，让他倒立着，直到身上的血全部流完为止。他是个体格魁梧的男人，抓住他的腿以支持身体的重量，实在是太重了。要不是玛尔他的力气很大，我们根本就没办法做到。她有着农夫般的高大身材。力气也十分惊人。「男人之所以会袭击你，并不是因为你的缘故。 」玛尔他抓住 体的腿说。「那是因为你体内的水的缘故，你的身体和那些水不合，所以每个人都被那些水吸引过来，每个人都变得很冲动。」
「那麽要怎麽样才能把那些水驱出体外呢？」我问。「我总不能永远像这样地避开人群吧！我也不想就这样过一辈子。」我真的很想到外面的世界生活。我拥有一级建 师的资格， 我是透过函授教育而取得那项资格的。而且，取得该资格後，我曾经参加过各种绘图比赛，也曾得过几次奖。我的专长是火力发电厂的设计。
「这是急不得的！你一定要先侧耳倾听。然後，不久就能听到答案。」玛尔他说。说完，她摇了摇警官的脚，直到最後一滴血滴到水 为止。
「可是， 我们杀了一名警官耶！到底该怎麽办呢？万一事情 漏出去，後果就不堪设想了！」我说。杀害警官是重罪，很可能被判死刑。
「把他埋在後面吧！」玛尔他说。
於是，我们把被割破喉咙的警官埋在後院，连手枪、手铐、纸夹、靴子都一起埋起来。挖洞穴，搬运 体、埋 体等粗活都是玛尔他做的。玛尔他模仿着美洲豹的声音，一边唱着「进去吧！阿哥哥！」一边处理善後。我 们两人把埋好的土踏平，然後在上面撒些枯叶。
当然，当地的警察也经过一番彻底的调查。他们仔细地找寻失踪的警官，也有刑警来过我家，他们问了许多问题。可是，他们并未发现任何线索。「放心吧！事情不会 漏的！ 」玛尔他说。「他的喉咙被割破了血也被放光了。而且还被埋在那麽深的洞里。」於是，我们好不容易才松了一口气。
可是，从接下来的一个礼拜开始，那名被杀的警官的鬼魂开始在家里出现。警官的鬼魂，仍然把长裤褪到膝盖处，在地下室走来走去。他的配枪也发出「喀兹喀兹」的声音。尽管他的样子很不像样，不过不管是什麽样子，鬼魂毕竟是鬼魂。
「真奇怪，我听说喉咙被割破，就无法化作鬼魂了！」玛尔他说。刚开始时，我很怕那个鬼魂，因为杀害他的是我们。於是我躲到姊姊床上，浑身发抖地进入梦乡。「不用害怕！他什麽也不能做！不管怎麽说他的喉咙已经被割破，身上的血也流光了。他连阴茎都无法勃起了！」玛尔他说。
於是，不久连我也习惯了那个鬼魂的存在。警官的幽灵带着他那咧开的喉咙来回走动着，他什麽也没有做，只是来回走着。一旦看惯了，也不觉得有什麽可怕，因为他已经无法再侵犯我了。他已经失去所有的血所以连侵犯我的力气也消失了。就算他想说什麽，空气也会从他喉咙的洞「咻咻」地漏出去，根本无法说话果然正如姊姊所说的，一旦把他的喉咙割开，就能永绝後患。我时常故意赤裸着身体并不断地扭动身躯，挑逗那个警官的鬼魂。我也会叉开双腿，做出种种撩人的姿态。有时甚至会做出一些连自己也想不到的猥亵的动作，那都是些相当大胆的动作。然而，鬼魂却似乎一点也没有感觉。
对於那件事，我拥有相当的自信。
我再也不会提心吊胆了。
「我再也不会提心吊胆了！我再也不怕任何人了！我再也不会让别人占便宜了！」
我对玛尔他说。
「或许是吧！」玛尔他说。「不过，你还是必须倾听自己体内的声音，因为那是十分重要的。」
有一天，来了一通电话。对方说有一座新建的大型火力发电厂，问我愿不愿意尝试该厂的设计工作。那个消息令我雀跃不已，我试着在脑海中画了好几张新发电厂的蓝图，我好想走到外面的世界，尽情地设计无数座火力发电厂。
「可是，万一你到了外面又遭遇什麽意外呢？」玛尔他说。
「不过，我还是想试试看。」我说。「我想重新再开始，我想这一次一定会很顺利的。因为我已经不再畏惧了，我也不再轻易让人占便宜了！」
玛尔他摇摇头，说：「我真拿你没办法！那麽你自己要小心哦！千万别再粗心大意了！」
我走出外面的世界。然後，设计了几座火力发电厂。转瞬之间，我便成为那一行中的佼佼者。
我的才华洋溢，我所设计的火力发电厂颇富创意，坚固耐用，而且是零故障。连在里面工作的人，也给予极高的评价。因而，每当有人想建设火力发电厂时，一定会来找我商量。不久，我就累积了可观的财富。
我把市区地点最好的大楼整栋买下来，独自住在最上层。我在居处安装了各种警报装置，并加装了电子锁，同时还雇了一个壮如大猩猩的警卫。
就这样地，我每天过着优雅而幸福的生活，直到这个男人出现为止。
他是个相当高大的男人，有着一对燃烧般的绿色眼珠。他破坏了所有的警报系统，摧毁了电子锁，打倒了警卫，然後一脚踢破了我的房门。尽管我毫不畏惧地站在他面前，他却毫不在意。他「唰唰」地撕破我的衣服，而且把我的裤子拉到膝盖处。然後，他使尽力气凌辱我之後，就用刀子把我的喉咙割破。
那是一把十分锐利的刀，那把刀简直像切温奶油一般轻易地把我的喉咙划破一个大洞。那把刀实在太利了，甚至连我都感觉不出自己被杀了。於是，黑暗逐渐逼近，在一片黑暗中，我看到那个警官在踱步。他似乎想说什麽，可是由於喉咙被割开，只有其中的空气发出「咻咻」声。接下来，我听到浸在自己体内的水所发出的水声。对！我真的听到了。声音虽然很小，可是我确实听见了。我沉入自己的身体里面，轻轻地把耳朵贴在那面壁上，倾听着微弱的水滴声。啵．．．啵．．．啵．
．．。
啵．．．啵．．．啵啵．．．。
我的、名字叫做、加纳格列达。
僵尸
一对男女在路上走着，那是墓场旁边的道路。时间是午夜，四周笼罩着薄雾。
他们并不想在午夜时分走在这种地方，可是由于种种原因，他们又非经过这里不可。
两个人紧紧的握着手快步走着。
“简直像在拍麦可．杰克森的录像带。”
“嗯，那墓碑还会动呢！”
那时，不知由何处传来类似重物移动般的“吱嘎”声。两人不由得停下脚步，面面相觑。
男人笑了出来。“没事啦！别那么神经质嘛！只不过是树枝摩擦的声音，大概是被风吹的。”
可是，当时连一丝风也没有。女人屏住呼吸，环视四周。她只觉得周遭的气氛十分诡异，彷佛有种邪门的事即将发生。
是殭尸！
可是，什么也没看到，也没有死者复活的迹象。两人又开始往前走。
奇怪的是，男人突然板起面孔。
“为什么你走路的姿势那么难看呢？”男人很唐突地说。
“我？”女人惊讶的说。“你是说我走路的姿势有那么难看吗？”
“非常难看！”男人说。
“是吗？”
“好象外八字。”
女人咬住下唇，也许是自己的确有点这种倾向，她的鞋底总是有一边比较低。
可是也不至于严重到被当面纠正的程度。
可是，她并没有反驳。她深爱着那个男人，男人也非常爱她。他们打算下个月结婚，她不想引起无谓的争吵。也许我真的有点外八字。算了吧！别跟他吵。
“我是第一次跟走路外八字的女人交往。”
“哦？”女人露出僵硬的笑容说，心里想：这个人是不是喝醉了？不！他今天应该完全没有喝酒嘛！
“而且，你耳朵的洞里面，还有三颗黑痣。”男人说。
“哦，真的吗？”女人说。“在哪一边？”
“右边啦！你右耳的内侧，有三颗黑痣。好俗气的痣！”
“你不喜欢痣吗？”
“我讨厌俗气的痣。世界上那有人会喜欢那种东西？”
她把嘴唇咬得更紧了。
“还有，你的腋下常常发出狐臭。”男人继续数落着。“我从以前就很在意，要是我当初认识你的时候是夏天，我就不会和你交往了！”
她叹了一口气。然后甩开被他牵着的手。说：“嗳，等一下！那有人这样说的？
你太过分了！你从刚才到现在一直……”
“你衬衫的领子脏了。那是今天才穿的吧！你怎么会那么不爱干净呢？你为什么连一件事都做不好?９9lｉｂ.呢？”
女人默不作声。她已经气的说不出话来了。
“我还有一箩筐的话要话要对你说呢！外八字、狐臭、领子上的污点、耳朵的黑痣，这些只是其中一部份而已。对了，你为什么戴这种不相称的耳环呢？那岂不是像妓女一样吗？不，妓女戴的比你戴的有气质呢！你如果要戴那种东西，还不如在鼻子穿个洞，挂在鼻子上算了。那和你的双下巴倒挺配的！嗯，说到双下巴，我
倒想起来了。你妈妈呀！简直是一只猪，一只呼噜呼噜叫的猪。那就是你二十年后的写照吧！你们母女吃东西那副馋相简直是一模一样。猪啊！真是狼吞虎咽。还有，你父亲也很差劲他不是连汉字也写不好吗？最近他曾经写了一封信给我父亲，每个人都笑坏了！他连字也写不好。那家伙不是连小学也没毕业吗？真是大白痴！文化上的贫民。那种家伙最好是浇点汽油，把他烧掉算了。我想，他的脂肪一定会烧得很厉害，一定的！”藏书网
“喂！你既然那么讨厌我，为什么还要和我结婚呢？”
男人对于她的问题并不答腔。“真是猪啊！”他说。“对了，还有你的‘那个地方’，那真的是太可怕了！我曾经死心地想试试看，可是‘那里’简直像弹性疲乏的廉价橡皮一般，松垮垮的。如果要我去碰那种东西，那我宁愿死！如果我是女的，要是长了那样的东西，我真要羞死了！不管怎么死都好。总之，我一定要尽快死去。因为我根本没脸活下去！”
女人只是茫然地呆立在原处。“你以前常常……”
就在这时，男人突然抱住头。然后很痛苦地扭曲着五官，就地蹲下来。他用手指按着太阳穴。“好痛啊！”男人说。“我的头好象快要裂开了！我受不了了！好难过啊！”
“你没事吧？”女人问。
“怎么会没事！我受不了了！我的皮肤好象快被烧掉了，都卷起来了。”
女人用手摸摸男人的脸，男人的脸火烧般的滚烫，他试着抚摸那张脸。没想到，手一碰到，那脸上的皮肤竟然如脱皮般地剥落下来。然后，从皮肤里面露出光滑的红色肌肤。他大吃一惊，连忙向后闪开。
男人九九藏书站起来，然后吃吃地发笑。他用自己的手把脸上的皮肤一一剥掉，他的眼球松松地往下垂，鼻子只剩下两个黑黑的洞，他的嘴唇消失了。牙齿全部露在外面。
那些牙齿“龇牙咧嘴”地笑着。
“我是为了吃你那肥猪似的肉，才和你在一起的。除此之外，还有什么意思呢？
你连这个都不懂！你真是个傻瓜！你是傻瓜！你是傻瓜！嘿嘿嘿嘿嘿嘿！”
于是，那一团露在外面的肉球在她后面追赶，她拼命地向前跑。可是，她怎么样也摆脱不了背后那个肉球。最后从墓地的一端伸出一只滑溜溜的手，一把抓住她的衬衫衣领，她不由得发出一声惨叫。
※ ※ ※
男人抱住女人的身体。
她只觉得口干舌燥，男人微笑地看着她。
“怎么了？九九藏书你做恶梦了？”
她坐起来，环视四周。他们俩人正躺在湖畔旅社的床上。她摇摇头。
“我刚才有叫吗？”
“叫的好大声哦！”他笑着说。“你发出惊人的惨叫声，大概整个旅社的人都听见了。只要他们不以为是发生命案就好了。”
“对不起！”她讪讪地说。
“算了！没关系啦！”男人说“是不是很可怕的梦？”
“是一个可怕的无法想象的梦。”
“你愿意说给我听吗？”
“我不想说。”她说。
“还是说出来比较好。因为，如果你说给别人听，可以减轻内心的痛苦。”
“算了，我现在不想说。”
两人沉默了片刻。她抱住男人裸露的胸膛，远处传来蛙鸣声。男人的胸口不断缓慢而规则地起伏着。
“嗳！”女人突然想到什么似的说。“我想问你一件事。”
“什么事？”
“我的耳朵说不定真的有痣？”
“痣？”男人说。“你是不是说右边耳朵里面那三颗很俗气的痣？”
她闭上眼睛，一直闭着。
家务事(1)
这样的事在这个世界上，或许是非常普遍的，我对於妹妹的未婚夫始终未曾有过好感，而且，我甚至觉得妹妹竟然会决心和这样的男人结婚，实在令人感到怀疑。说得坦白一点，我觉得很失望。或许这样的想法是我偏狭的性格所造成的。
至少妹妹是这样认为。然我们表面上都不以此为话题，但是，我对她的未婚夫不太满意这一点，妹妹也非常了解，对於我这样的想法，妹妹也觉得非常不高兴。
「你对事情的看法眼光太狭窄了」
妹妹对我说。
当时我们正在谈论义大利面，她所说的应该是指我对义大利面的看法眼光太狭窄吧！
但是，妹妹当然不会只针对义大利面的问题，在义大利面之前还有她的未婚夫，所以，事实上妹妹所指的应该是未婚夫的问题。这种情形就是所谓的借题发挥。
事情的开端是缘於妹妹邀我一起在星期天的中午吃义大利面，因为我也有点儿想要吃义大利面，於是就随口说：「好吧！」
於是我们就走进车站前一家新开的义大利面馆，我点了茄香洋葱义大利面，妹妹点了传统的义大利肉酱面。
面送上来之前，我一直喝着啤酒，到此为止没有出现任何问题。这是五月里的一个星期天，天气非常晴朗。
问题出在送来的义大利面的味道，面表面看起来是煮熟了，其实心还是硬的，奶油好像是用煮狗食的劣等货冒充，我勉强吃下了半盘就放弃了。
妹妹抬头看了我一眼，不说一句话，依旧慢慢地将自己盘中的面吃完。这时候我一边欣赏窗外的风景，一边喝下第二罐的啤酒。
「喂！怎麽剩这麽多就吃不完了，多可惜啊！」
妹妹将她盘子里的面吃完了之後说。
「太难吃了！」我回答。
「都吃下去一大半，应该不算太难吃吧，只要稍微忍耐一下，一定可以吃完的！」
「想吃的时候吃，不想吃的时候就不吃，这是我的胃，不是你的胃！」
「这家店才刚开张不久，厨房可能还不熟练，你就稍微宽容一下，不行吗？」
妹妹看着送上来口味清淡的附餐咖啡说。
「虽然你说的也有道理，但是，不好吃的食物就应该将它留下来，这也是一种常识。」
我向她说明。
「你是什麽时候开始变得如此伟大的呢？」妹妹说。
「你听了不舒服是吗？」我说「口气这麽不好，是不是生理期？」
「讨厌啦！请你不要再说些奇怪的话了！你以前不说这些的。」
「有什麽关系，我对你第一次的月事什麽时候来也都非常清楚。我记得你的第一次来得很晚，妈妈还陪你一起去看医生呢？」
「你闭嘴不说话也没有人当你是哑巴！」她说。
我知道她是真的生气了，所以只好听她的话闭上嘴巴。
「大概是你对事情的看法都太偏激了！」
她一边在咖啡里水加入了一些奶精，一边说。
一定是这杯咖啡太难喝了。
「不论什麽事情你只是将缺点找出来，大肆批判，好的地方你这看都不看。只要与你的标准不合，你一概不加以理会，这种情形以旁人的眼光来看就是神经病！」
「这是我自己的人生，与你无关！」我说。
「可是你出口伤人，故意找人麻烦！你这个只会手淫的家伙！」
「手淫！」我大吃一惊地说。「你到底在说些什麽？」
「你在念高中的时候经常喜欢手淫，每次都把内裤都脏了，你应该也很清楚，那些东西洗起来是很累人的，可是你却一做再做，你不是故意给人添麻烦吗？」
「我以後会小心一点！」我说「不要再提这件事情了，我有我自己的人生，有我喜欢的东西，有我讨厌的东西，这是这我自己都无法改变的啊！」
「但是，你不可以伤人！」妹妹说。
「为什麽你不稍微努力一下呢？为什麽你不往好的地方去看呢？为什麽你不愿意多忍耐一点呢？为什麽你一直都没有成长呢？」
「我是正在成长！」
我觉得自己已经被伤害了。
「我也要求自己要多忍耐、多往好的方面看，只是我的观点和你不一样罢了！」
「你这种情形只有傲慢两个字足以形容，所以你到了二十七岁仍然找不合适的对象！」
「我有女朋友啊！」
「那些人只不过是睡睡觉罢了！」妹妹说。「不是吗？每年更换一个睡觉的对象， 这样才感到快乐吗？没有快理想、没有爱情，也不用相互体谅，这到底有 什麽意义呢？和手淫没有两样吧？」
「我哪有一年换一个？」
我毫无力气地说。
「意思是完全相同的！」妹妹说。
「你能不能稍微认真思考一下，过着认真一点的生活，稍微像个大人的模样？」
我们的谈话到此结束，从此之後，不管我说什麽，她都不愿意再回答。
为什麽她会对我产生如此偏激的想法呢？我也不大清楚。大约在一年前，还和我一起生活得非常愉快， 而且从来不会反驳过我的想法。她会开始批评我 ，是在她认识了她的未婚夫之後。
这种事情是非常不公平的，我和她已经相处了二十叁年，虽然每一件事情我们都是率直地商量，但是说起来仍是一对感情相当不错的兄妹，几乎从来不曾吵过架。她知道我手淫的事情， 我也知道她初潮的事情； 她知道我第一次买保险套的事情（在我十七岁的时候） ，我也知道她第一次买 有蕾丝的内裤时的事情（在她十九岁的时候）。
我和她的朋友约过会（当然没有上床睡觉），她也和我的朋友约过会（我想应该也应该没有上床睡过觉），总之我们是在一个非常相同的环境下长大的。这样友好的关系，在一年前开始变质，一想到这件事我就越来越生气。
妹妹说要到车站前的百货公司看鞋，我只好一个人回到公寓里。然後打电话给女朋友，可是她不在家，这是理所当然的，因为我从不在星期天下午两点钟突然打电话给她，约她出来见面。
我放下电话筒，翻动记事本，找到了另外一个女孩子的电话，这是一个知道哪里有狄斯可舞厅的女大学生，她在家里。
「出来喝点东西吧！」我邀她。
「才下午两点钟！」
她不耐烦地说。
「时间不是问题！出来喝点柬西，很快就天黑了。」我说。「我知道一个以看夕阳闻名的酒吧，下午叁点过後再去的话，就没找不到好位子了。」
「你这个人真是讨厌！」她说。
但是她还是出来了，大概是一个性格亲切的人吧！
我将车子沿着海岸过去，一直开到横滨附近，如约定地，到一个看得见海滨的酒吧。
我在这里喝了四杯加冰块的 I.W. 哈伯酒，她则喝了两杯香蕉水果酒，看着夕阳。
「你喝了这麽多的酒，还能够开车吗？」
她担心问。
「不要担心。」我说。「我的酒量好得很，四杯算不得什麽！」
「算了，你最爱吹牛！」她说。
然後我们又回到横滨吃晚餐，在车子里我吻了她，邀她一起上旅馆，她说：不行啦！
「月经来，还放着卫生棉条呢！」
「拿下来就可以了！」
「别开玩笑了，还有两天呢！」
算了！我心里想着。今天到底是什麽日子呢！如果早知道会有这种事情发生，我就不会找她出来了。好久不曾和妹妹一起悠闲地度过一天，我原本打算这个星期天在家里陪她的。
「对不起！但是，我绝对没有骗你哦！」
这个女孩子说。
「没有关系，别挂在心中，不是你不对，是我不好。」
「我的生理期和你不好有什麽关系？」
「正确的说法应该是我不应在这个时候去找你！」我说。
真的是这样吗？难道我真的非得对一个认识不深的女孩子的生理期了若指掌吗？
我开车将他送回世谷田的家中，中途车子一直喀喀作响，我心里叹气着想着：
大概该将它送进修车场里整修一番了吧！
好像只要有一件事进行不顺利的话，这一整天就会连锁地不好的方向发展下去似的。
「我最近还能约你出来吗？」我问。
「约会？或者上旅馆？」
「两个都有！」我坦自地说。「这麽说的话，比较表里一致，就像牙刷和刷牙一样。」
「是呀！这是正确的想法！」她说。
「这麽想的话，头脑比较不会老化。」我说。
「到你家去如何？不能去玩吗？」
「不行，因为我和妹妹住在一起，我们早已有约定，我不可以带女孩子回家，妹妹也不可以带男生回来。」
「真的是妹妹吗？」
「当然是真的，要不然我下次带户口名簿给你看！」
她笑了笑。
等到这个女孩子消失在她家的大门口里，我才重新发动引擎，回到我住的公寓。一路上耳边不停地响着引擎所发出的喀喀声。
房间里一车漆黑，我打开车锁，大声叫着妹妹的名字，但是她却不在房间里。
我心里想着，已经十点多了，她会到哪里去呢？
接着我就去找晚报来，但是没有找到，因为今天是星期天，不送报。
我从冰箱里拿出一瓶啤酒，和杯子一起拿到客厅。打开录放影机，看着新的连续剧。一边喝着啤酒，一边控制声量的开关，但是，无论如何总是听不到声音。这时候我才发现录影机早在叁天前就坏掉，虽然开了电视，但是声音仍然无法出来。
在没有更好的方法之下，我只好看着无声的电视画面，喝着啤酒。
电视正在放映一部古代战争电影，罗马帝国的战车远征非洲，炮战车击出无声的大炮，自动枪也发出沈默的弹音，人们在无言中静静地死去。
唉！算了！我又叹了一声气，这大概是当天的第十六次叹息吧！
我和妹妹二个人生活在一起，大约是五年前的春天开始的吧！当时我二十二岁，妹妹十八岁；换句话说
我刚从大学毕业，准备找工作，而妹妹刚高中毕业，
准备去念大学。我的父母表示；如果和我住在一起的话，就允许妹妹到东京念大学。
妹妹说： 没有关系。我也说：随便。於是父母 就为我们找到了一间有个房间的宽敞公寓，房租由我负担一半。
前面已经叙述过了，我和妹妹两个人的感情非常好，两个人生活在一起绝对不会让我有任何痛苦的感觉。因为我任职於电机制造公司的广告部，早上上班的时间比较晚，晚上则比较迟回到家里；而妹妹一大早就去上 学了，傍晚就回到家里。因此， 经常是我醒来时，她已经出门；我回到家 里时，她又已经睡着了；再加上星期六、星期天我都花费在和女孩子的约会上，所以一个星期里只有和她说两叁句，但是，我认为这种情形对我们来说是非常有利的，因为我们几乎没有吵架的时间，也没有空闲去干涉对方的私事。
虽然我想她可能也会有很多不寻常的事发生，但是，我一点也不想说出口，她已经是超过十八岁的女孩子了，想和什麽人上床睡觉，我没有干涉的权利。
但是，有一次半夜一点到叁点，我一直牢牢地握着他的手。我下班之後回到家里，看见她坐在厨房的餐桌前哭泣，我推测她会坐在餐桌前哭泣，大概是想要跟我要求什麽东西吧！否则她只要坐在自己的床上哭就够了，何必让我看见呢？虽然我确实是一个翅 噶E又任性的人，但是，这样的事情我还是可以推想得到的。
所以，我就坐在她的身边，轻轻握住她着手。握着妹妹的手这种事情，自从小学时代一起去抓蜻蜓以来，从来未曾再发生过，妹妹的手比记忆中的—那当然是非常久远以前的记忆—要大得非常多了。
结果她就这样一直坐着，不说一句话地哭了两个小时。她的身体内竟然屯积了这麽多的泪水，这实在太令我惊讶了，要是我的话，大概哭不到两分钟全身就乾涸了。
但是，到了叁点时我已经开始觉得有些累，再不结束的话，我也撑不下去了。
在这个时候，身为兄长的我，不说句话是不行的，虽然我也不知道她到底发生了什麽事情，但是，我还是开口说话。
「我对你的生活完全不想干涉！」我说。「你想要过什麽样的生活就随着自己的喜好去过吧！」
妹妹点点头。
「但是，我一直想给你一句忠告，最好能随时在皮包里放一个保险套，你当然有别於那些卖春妇。」
听我这麽一说，她随手拿起放在桌上的电话簿，突然用力地朝我丢了过来。
「你凭什麽偷看我的皮包！」
她大声怒骂。
我知道她这个时候已经气愤到了极点，为了不使她再受到任何刺激，我当然不能对她说我从来不曾去偷看过她的皮包。
但是，不论如可她是已经停止哭泣，而我也能够回到自己房间，钻进被窝里去。
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妹妹大学毕业之後，任职於旅行，但是我们的生活形态仍然没有丝毫改变。她的上班时间是从早上九点到下午五点，非常有规律，而我的上班时间则和一般人回异，中午才进到办公室，然後坐在办公桌前一边看报纸、一边吃中饭，下午两点钟左右才开始真正的工作， 傍晚又得到广告公司 去谈生意，饮酒应酬，每天都必须到了深夜才能回家。
在旅行社上班的第一年暑假，她和一位女朋友一起到美国西海岸观光旅行（旅费当然是采用分期付款的）。在这趟美国之旅，她认识了一位年长他很多的电脑工程师。回到日本之後，仍然经常与他见面。虽然这种事情也是非常多见，但是绝对不可能发生在我的身上，因为我对这种疯狂大采购的旅行团一点儿也不感兴趣。
自从和那位电脑工程师交往以来，妹妹似乎比以後更为开朗，家事也收拾得整整齐齐，穿着打扮也与以前大不相同以前她非常喜欢穿工作服，或牛bbr>..仔裤、卡其裙，现在则换上色彩鲜 的裙装， 而且每件衣服都亲自用手洗，仔细的熨烫，经常自己下厨、打扫房间。我觉得这是一种非常危险的徵候，如果看到了女孩子有这个徵候，男孩子通常有两种反应，一种是立刻逃开、一种是马上下了结婚的决定。
後来妹妹又拿了那位电脑工程师的照片给我看，这是妹妹第一次拿她男友的照片给我看，这也是一种危险的徵候。
照片有两张，其中一张是在旧金山的海边照的，妹妹和那位工程师两人并肩而站，两个人都面带盈盈的笑意。
「好漂亮的海岸线喔！」我说。
「别开玩笑了！」妹妹说。「我是非常严肃的。」
「你要我说什麽好呢？」「你最好什麽也别说！」
我再仔细看一下手上这张照片，如果世界上真有那种一眼看去就令人非常讨厌的的话，就是这种脸了。而且，这种电脑技师长得和我高中时代最讨厌的社团前辈很像，虽然长相不差，但是故意装出一副头脑精明、盛气凌人的模样。
「你们上过几次床了？」我问。
「你胡说些什麽？」
妹妹说着，满脸胀红。
「请你不要老以自己的尺度来衡量这个世界，你以为天底下所有人都和你一样的吗？」
第二张照片是回到日本之後才照的，照片里只有电脑工程师一个人，他穿着一件皮背心，靠在一辆大型摩托车上，座椅上永着一顶安全帽，这张脸的表情完全和在旧金山时一模一样，大概是他再也没有别的表情了。
「他很喜欢骑机车。」妹妹说。
「我看得出来。」我说。「不喜欢骑机车的人是不会穿这种皮背心的。」
我——大概又是因为个性偏激的缘故所造成的——於喜欢骑机车的?99ｌｉｂ.人都不具有好感，因为这些人大多比较骄傲，喜欢装模做样；但是，对於照片上这个人，我不想加以批评。
我静静地把照片还给妹妹。
「可是……」我说。
「可是什麽？」妹妹说。
「可是，你打算怎麽办呢？」
「不知道！或许会和他结婚吧！」
「他向你求婚了吗？」
「嗯！」她说。「可是我还没有给他答覆。」
「嗯！」我说。
「老实说是因为我觉得我才刚开始上班而已，还想自己一个人自由地游乐一番。当然，不同於你那种过於偏激的想法。」
「应该说是健全的想法。」
我强调地说。
「可是，我觉得他是一个好人，和他结婚也不错。」妹妹说。「所以想问问你的意见。」
我拿起卓上的照片再仔细地再看一次，心里想：「还是算了吧！」
这是耶诞节前的事情。
过完年後不久，有一天一大清早九点多钟，妈妈打电话过来，我正在听布鲁斯．史普林斯汀的「生在美国」，一边刷着牙。
母亲问我知不知道妹妹交男朋友的事情。
不知道，我说。
母亲说她收到妹妹的信，信上说两个礼拜後妹妹要带那个男的一起回家。
「该不是想要结婚了吧！」我说。
「所以我想问看看到底是什麽样的人。」妈妈说。「我希望能在见面之前对他多了解一点。」
「这个嘛！因为我也没有和他见过面，对这个人不怎麽清楚，我只知道是一个年龄满大的工程师， 好像是在IBM或什麽公司上班，公司的名字是叁个英文字母，要不然就是NETT。我只看过照片，长得不是顶好的，而且又不是我要结婚，所以我对他没 什麽兴趣。」
「哪一个大学毕业的？家住在哪里？」
「这件事我怎麽会知道呢？」我说。
「你不会去找他见个面，了解一下吗？」
「我不喜欢做这种事情，我的工作太忙，你不会两礼拜见面之後再问他吗？」
结果，我比妈妈更早和这位电脑技师碰面。
接下来的那个星期天，妹妹说要到他家去做正式的拜访，我只好义不容辞地答应作陪。穿妥白衬衫、系上领带，再穿上最得意的西装，就到他家去了。那是一栋位在古老住宅街道正中央，非常豪华的住家，院子里停放着照片上经常看得见的五百CC摩托车。
「哇塞！这麽高级的住宅！」
「今天真的要拜托你，千万别再玩笑了，正经一点可以吗？」妹妹说。
「是的！遵命！」我说。
他的父母都是非常规矩—稍微太规矩而变得有点儿严肃—，而且非常厉害的人，他的父亲是石油公司的重要干部，我的父亲在静冈拥有一座石油的连锁店，所以这一方面我们之间的关系不算太远。
他的母亲母亲用一个高级的盘子，端着茶出来。
我向他们规矩地打过招呼之後，递上了了我的名片，并且向解释，本来应该由我的父母来拜访，但是正好他们今天有事不能来，所以就由我来代理，改天他们会正式来拜见二位。
「我听儿子说过好几次了，今天看见了果然不假，是一位标致的小姑娘，而且我知道一定是一位好女孩。」
他的父亲说。
我心里想，他一定是调查得非常详细了。或许连十六岁都尚未初潮，以及深受便秘所苦这种小事，都知道得一清楚呢！
等到这些客套话都结束之後，他的父亲为我倒了一杯白兰地，这种白兰地的味道实在美极了，我们一边喝着，一边谈着各自工作上的事情，妹妹穿着拖鞋踢了我一下，提醒我不要喝得过多。
这时候身为儿子的电脑技师一言不发，紧张地端坐在父亲身旁，一眼就可以看，在这个屋檐，他完全受父亲大权的支配，他身上穿着一件我以前从来不曾看过，样式非常奇怪的毛线衣，毛线衣里面是一件颜色非常不谐调的衬衫，看起来让人觉得这个男孩子很奇怪 。
谈话告一个段落之後，我看看手表，已经四点了，於是站起身来，准备告辞。
电脑技师送我们两个人到车站。
「找个地方一起喝喝茶好吗？」
他邀请我和妹妹。虽然我对喝茶没兴趣，也不想和穿着这麽奇怪毛线衣的男孩子同桌，但是，断然拒绝可能会让他觉得不好意思，只好同意叁个人一起到附近的咖啡店喝茶。
他和妹妹都点咖啡，点了啤酒，可是这里没有卖啤酒，没有办法我只好也喝咖啡。
「今天真是谢谢你，帮了一大忙！」
我向我道谢。
「那里的话，这是我应该的。」
我学着大人的口吻说，因为我已经没有一点点多馀的力气开玩笑了。
「常常听她提起大哥的事。」
大哥？
我用咖啡匙的柄挖挖耳朵，再把它放回桌上。然妹妹又用脚踢了我一脚，但是，我觉得电脑技师应该是不懂这个动作的意义。
「看你们两个人感情这麽好，实在让我非常羡慕。」他说。
「一有高兴、有趣的事情，我们就互踢彼此的脚。」我说。
电脑技师一副不解的表情。
「他在开玩笑啦！」
妹妹不太高兴地说。
「他讲话就是这样的！」
「我是在开玩笑的。」我也说。
「两个人住在一起，总得彼此分担家事，她分到的是洗衣服，我分到的是讲笑话。」
这位电脑技师—正确的名字叫做渡边升—听了之後也稍微安心地笑了笑。
「气氛爽朗一点不是很好吗？我也想拥有一个这样的家庭，气氛爽朗是最重要的。」
「说得也是啊！」
我对着妹妹说：
「气氛爽朗是最重要的，你太神经质了。」
「不要再开玩笑了。」妹妹说。
「我想尽可能在秋天结婚。」渡边升说。
「结婚仪式还是在秋天举行最好。」我说。
「还可以叫栗鼠和大熊一起来参加。」
电脑技师哈哈大笑，妹妹却没有笑，她好像是真的生气了。因此，我就推说另外有事，然後起身离席。
回到公寓之後，我打电话给母亲，说明了整个事件大致的情形。
「这个男孩还不怎麽坏。」
我一边掏耳朵一边说。
「不怎麽坏是什麽意思？」
「意思是说人满诚实的，至少和我比起来算是老实人。」
「和你当然是没得比了。」母亲说。
「真高兴听到你这麽说我，谢谢了！」
我一边看着天花板，一边说。
「那麽，他是哪一个大学毕业的呢？」
「大学？」
「哪一个大学毕业的呢？那个电脑工程师。」
「这种事你可以问问当事人。」
我说着就把电话挂断。
然後就从冰箱里拿出一瓶啤酒，心情非常郁闷地一个人喝着酒。
为了义大利面而和妹妹吵架的第二天，我一直睡到上午八点半才起床。
和前一天一样，天空中没有半片乌云，是一个晴朗的好天气，我觉得好像全完是昨天的延续似的，夜里一时中断的人生又重新开始了。
我将汗湿了的睡袍和内裤丢道洗衣槽里，淋了浴，又剃了胡须。一边剃的时候，一边想着昨天晚上的那个女孩，实在非常懊恼。不过，遇到这种无可抵抗的事情也实在是莫可奈何。不过，以後还有机会，说不定下个星期天一切都会很顺利。
我到厨房烤了两片面包，烧了一壶咖啡，原本想听听FM播放的节目，但是想到录影机的监听系统已经坏，只好作罢。改为一边看报纸的读书栏，一边啃着面包。
读书栏里介绍的新书没有一本是我想要看的，那里的书不是关於「年老犹太人的空想与现实交错所造成 的性生活」 ，就是关於分裂症治疗的历史性考察，实在搞不懂，报社那些编辑大人为什麽要选择这样奇怪的书来介绍。
吃完了一片烤得焦硬的面包之後，把报纸放回桌上，这时候才发现果酱瓶子下面放着一张纸条。纸条上是妹妹一贯的字迹，她写着：因为星期天的晚上要叫渡边升一起来吃晚餐，所以希望我也能够留在家里，和他们一起共进晚餐。
我吃完了早餐，拨拨掉落在衬衫在面包屑，将餐具放进了水槽，打电话到到妹妹上班的旅行社。
妹妹接到电话之後：
「现在我手边的事情非常忙，十分钟之後再打电话给你。」
二十分钟之後果真打电话过来，在这二十分钟之内，我一共做四十叁次的伏地挺身，手脚合计剪了二十根指甲，穿好衬衫、打好领带、选好了长裤，并且刷了牙，梳了头发，打了两个哈欠。
「你看到我的留言了吗？」妹妹说。
「看了！」我说「但是，这实在糟糕透，这个星期天我早就好别人约好，如果能够早一点说的话那就好了。现在才知道实在非常可惜。」
家务事(2)
「你不要说得那麽可怜！我想你这个约大概是和一个连名字都记不清的女孩子吧！」妹妹语气冷淡地说。「不可以改在期六吗？」
「星期六一整天都必须待在录影室里，因为现在正在制作电动抹布，所以那一天会非常的忙。」
「那麽就跟她取消好！」
「那麽你来付取消费吧！」我说。「现在是一种非常微妙的阶段。」
「没有那麽微妙吧！」
「虽然不应该是这样…」我坐在椅子上一边整理衬衫和领带，一边说。「我们不是早就约定好不侵彼此的生活吗？你和你的未婚夫共进晚餐—我和我的女朋友约会，这样不是很好吗？」
「不好，你一直都没有和他好好聊过吧，从我们认识以来，你只和他见过一次面，而且那是四个月的事情，不是这样吗？虽然你们也有好几次见面的机会，可是你每一次都故意逃开，难道你不觉得这样很不礼貌吗？他是你妹妹的未婚夫，我求你和他一起吃顿饭，好吗？」
因为妹妹说话也有她的道理，所以我也只好默默的无以言对。确实我总是用最自然的方法来逃避和渡边升见面，而且渡边升和我之间实在没有任何共通的话题，我讲的笑话他也听不懂。
「拜托你啦！只要这一天就好了，从此以後，到这个夏天为止，我不会再去打扰你的性生活了。」妹妹说。
「我的性生活不算什麽啦！」我说。「或许到这个夏天结束之前都不会再发生。」
「不管怎麽样，请你星期天一定要待在家里。」「我无能为力！」我断然地回绝她。
「说不定他会帮你修理录影机，那个人在这个方面非常擅长。」
「还有这点好处呢！」
「你不要老想那些奇怪的事！」
妹妹说着就挂断电话。
我系好领带就出门上班去了。
这个礼拜一直都是晴朗的好天气，好像是每天都是每天的延续似的，星期叁的晚上，我打电话给我的女友，告诉她为工作忙碌，这个周末不要见面。因为我已经叁个礼拜不曾和她见面了，所以她当然不太高兴。接着我没有放下话筒，继续拨电话给那个女大学生，但是她不在家，星期四、星期五她都没有在家里。
星期天早上，我八点就被妹妹叫起来了。
「我要洗床单，你不能再睡那麽晚。」她说。
然後就拆下枕头套和床单，也叫我脱下睡衣，我没有地方去，只好进浴室洗个澡， 顺便刮刮胡须。我觉得这个家伙愈来愈像妈妈了，原来女人也和 鱼一样，无论过程如何，最後总会回到相同的场所。
洗完澡之後， 我穿上一件短裤，套上一件胸前的字几乎都已褪尽了的T恤，打了一个长长的哈欠，然後开始喝柳橙汁。觉得体内还留存着昨夜的酒精，连报纸也不想看了。桌子上有一个苏打饼乾的盒，於是我就拿了叁、四片来吃，代替早餐。
妹妹将被单放到洗衣机里，然後就不停地收拾整理我的房间和她自己的房间，整理完了之後，又用洗洁剂擦洗着客厅和厨房的墙壁和地板。
我一直躺在客厅的沙发上，翻开美国朋友送我的裸女照片，仔细观察研究一番之後才发现，女性性器事实上也有大小不同之别，和身高、以及智商是完全一样的。
「嘿！看你在这里闲着无聊，不如帮我买东西吧！」
妹妹说着，就硬塞给我一张写满采购物品名单的纸条。
「请你不要在这里看这种书，这个人对我而言是非常重要的！」
我把裸照放在桌子上面，瞪着纸条。莴苣、蕃茄、芹菜、沙拉酱、熏鱼、洋葱、浓汤包、马铃薯、洋芹菜、牛排肉叁片……。
「牛排肉？」我说。「我昨天才吃了牛排，我不想再吃牛排，吃炸肉饼比较好！」
「或许你昨天真的吃了牛排，但是我们没有吃啊，请你不要那麽自以为是，而且，没有人会用炸肉饼来招待客人的吧！」
「如果有女孩子请我到她家里去吃炸肉饼的话，我一定会非常感动，再端出一盘切得细细长长的白甘篮菜、香浓的味噌汤……这种吃法多麽生活化啊！」
「不管怎麽样，今天已经决定吃牛排了，杀了我也不愿意做炸肉饼你吃，今天你就不要再自以为是，和我们一起吃牛排吧！求求你。」
「好吧！」我说。
虽然有时候我的怨言似乎多了一些，但是归根究底我还是一个非常亲切的人。
我到邻近的超级市场照着菜单购物，然後又到附近的酒店买了一瓶四千五百圆的香槟，打算以这瓶香槟作为送给他们两个人的订婚礼物。我想大概只有非常亲切的人才会为他们设想得如此周到。
回到家之後，看到我的床上端放着一件摺叠整齐的马球衬衫，和一件没有一点点绉纹的棉质长裤。
「换上这套衣服！」妹妹说。
算了！换就换吧！我心里想着，不说半怨言就把衣服换了下来。不论我还有什麽意见，今天还是顺着她的意思，这样会觉得气氛和平些。
渡边升在下午叁点准时出现，当然是骑着摩托车来的。他那辆五百ＣＣ机车的排气声，远在五百公尺远的地方就听得一清二楚。从阳台探头出去往下看，看见他将摩托车停靠在公寓玄关旁，然後脱下了安全帽。非常值得庆幸的是，他在脱下安全帽之後，身上所穿的服装还算正常。一件花格子衫，配一件白色长裤，再加上一双咖啡色的鞋，唯一显得唐突的是鞋子和皮带的颜色不搭调。
「好像是我们家大小姐的朋友来了！」
我对着正在流理台削马铃薯皮的妹妹说。
「能不请你先招呼他一下，我现在得忙着厨房的事情。」妹妹说。
「这样不太好吧！他是为你而来的，更何况我和他也没有什麽话讲，还是让我来煮饭，你们两个人去聊天。」
「别胡闹了！你会煮饭吗？快去招呼客人吧！」
电铃一响，打开大门，渡边升就站在门口。我带他到客厅，让他坐在沙发上。
他带了一盒特大号的冰淇淋来当做礼物，但是，我们家的冰箱冷冻库太小，根本装不下这麽大盒的冰淇淋。我觉得他像一个还需要照顾的大男孩，到女友的家做客竟然还带着冰淇淋。
接着我问他想不想喝啤酒，他回答不喝。
「体质不适合喝酒。」他说。「不知道为什麽，喝一大杯啤酒下肚就觉得很恶心。」
「我在学生时代曾和朋友打赌，喝了一打啤酒，结果购了不少钱。」我说。
「喝完了有什麽感觉呢？」渡边升问。
「整整两天小便里都有啤酒的臭味。」我说。「而且，不停地放屁……」
「喂！请你帮忙看看录影机吧！」
妹9９ｌｉb.妹好像看见了不吉的烟幕，端了两杯柳橙汁在桌上说。
「好啊！」他说。
「听说你很能干？」我问。
「还好啦！」
他没有丝毫不高兴的回答。
「以前我非常喜欢组合型玩具、或收音机，家里有什麽电器坏了，都是由我来修理。录影机什麽地方坏掉了呢？」
「没有声音！」
我拿起遥控器，按下电源让他了解声音出不来的情形。
他坐在电视机前，一一地去按电视机上的按钮。
「安培系统坏掉，里面没有什麽问题。」
「你怎麽知道的？」
「用归纳法。」他说。
归纳法？我觉得非常不可思议
於是他将所的线路全部拆了下来，一个一个仔细检查。这时候我从冰箱里拿出一瓶易开罐的啤酒来，坐在一旁一个人喝。
「喝酒好像是一件满有趣的事情？」
他一边用螺丝起子转着螺丝，一边对我说。
「还好啦！」我说。
「我喝了这麽多的酒，也没有什麽特别的感觉。因为我来不去比较。」
「我也该练一下了！」
「喝酒也需要练习？」
「嗯！当然啦！」渡边升说。「很奇怪吗？」
「一点也不奇怪！先从白酒开始，在一个大玻璃杯里放进白葡萄酒和冰块，如果你觉得味道还是太强的话。就再放一点柠檬片，要不然也可以加果汁下去调配成鸡尾酒。」
「我会试试。」他说。
「啊！果然毛病出在这里。」
「那里？」
「前置安培和电源之间的连结线，连结线的左右各有一个固定的安定栓，这个安全栓很容易上下摇动，但是，电视机这麽庞大，应该不会任意搬动的。」
「大是我要打扫时将它移动了。」妹妹说。
「也很有可能！」他说。
「这也是你们公司的产品吧！」妹妹对着我说。「竟然生产出这麽粗糙的产品！」
「又不是我制造的，我只不过负责广告而已。」
我小声地说。
「如果有十字型的起子的话就可以很快地修理好了。」渡边升说。「有吗？」
「没有！」我说。
那种东西怎麽可能会有。
「那麽我骑车出去买吧！只要有一支十字型起子，家里要修理什麽都会很方便的。」
「大概是吧！」
我已经全身都毫无力气了。
「但是，你知道五金行在那里吗？」
「知道！」前面不远就有一家。」
渡边升说。
我又从阳台探出头去，看着渡边升戴上安全帽，骑上摩托车。
「这个人不错吧！」
妹妹说。
「心太软了！」我说。
电视修理好了之後乡，已经将近五点钟了，因为他说想要听点音乐，於是妹妹就放了胡立欧的唱片。胡立欧！天哪！我心里想，算了！反正今天窝囊事已经全都让我尽了！
「大哥喜欢听什麽音乐？」渡边升问。
「我非常喜欢听这个！」我在说谎。
「除此之外，我还喜欢听鲁斯．史普林斯汀，或者杰夫见克！」
「那些我都没听过！」他说。「也是这类的音乐吗？」
「差不多。」
接着他就开始述说他现在所属的设计团，正在开发新的电脑，这个系统可以计算出铁轨上发生事故时，为了有效的回转驾驶，最精确的时间。听他这麽一说，我也觉得这个方法确实很方便，但是，这个原理对我而言简直就像法语的动词变化一样难懂。
他热心地为我解释时，我一边适切地点头，脑海里一直想着女人的事。今天到底要和谁一起喝酒，到什麽地方去吃饭，该进那一家旅馆？我一定是天生就对这方面的情有偏好，有人喜欢玩汽车模型，有人喜欢研究电脑程式设计，而我则喜欢和女人上床。这一定有一种超越人力的宿命。
我喝完了第四瓶啤酒时，晚餐才准备好，烤 鱼配浓汤、牛排配沙拉、炸薯条，妹妹的手艺一直不坏。
我开了香槟独饮起来。
「大哥为什麽会到电机工厂上班呢？听你的谈话，似乎对电器的事情不怎麽喜欢。」
渡边升一边切着牛排，一边问。
「这个人上班才不管公司在做些什麽呢！」妹妹说。「只要是工作轻松，又有吃有玩的，他就会去了。」
「对！说得有理！」
我非常同意她的看法。
「脑子里只有玩乐的事情，什麽认真工作、努力向上，完全不在他的思考范围内。」
「和夏天的蟋蟀一样！」我说。
「但是你喜欢和认真、勤快的人在一起。」
「话不能这麽说。」我说。
「别人的事情和我是不相干的两回事，我只考虑到我自己，别人的事和我完全没有关系。虽然我确实是一个很下流的人，但是，我绝对不会去干扰到别人的生活或生活。」
「你绝对不是一个下流的人！」
渡边升反射性地说了出来。这个家伙的家教一定不坏。
「谢谢！」
我说着举起了酒杯。
「祝你们订婚愉快！虽然只有我一个人喝酒好像不太够意思。」
「婚礼准备在十月举行。」渡边升说。
「不过不打算请栗鼠和大熊。」
「没有关系。」我说。
天哪！这家伙竟然也会和我开玩笑！
「那麽，要到什麽地方度蜜月呢？用分期付款的方式吗？」
「夏威夷。」
妹妹简洁地回答。
於是我们就谈起飞机的事情，因为我看了几本飞机失事相关的书，因此在这方面可以向他们长篇大论一番。
「飞机破片上的人肉经过太阳烘烤之後，几乎熟得可以吃呢！」我说。
「喂！吃饭时不要讲这种恶心的话！」
妹妹举起手来，瞪了我一眼说。
「这些话可以去向别的女孩子吹牛，不要拿到饭桌上说。」
「大哥还不打算结婚吗？」
渡边升插嘴地说。
「没有机会啊！」
我一边放了一根炸薯条进去嘴里，一边说。
「必须照顾年幼的妹妹，还必须应付一段很长的战争。」
「战争？」
渡边升大吃一惊地问：
「什麽战争呢？」
「无聊的笑话，别理他！」
妹妹摆摆手，不耐烦地说。
「是无聊的笑话！」
我也说。
「但是，没有机会这是事实。因为我性格太偏激，不喜欢自己洗袜子，所以一直找不到一个能容忍我这个缺点的女孩。这点和你大大地不同了。」
「为什麽不喜欢洗袜子呢？」
渡边升问。
「别再开玩笑了！」
妹妹用疲惫的声音加以说明。
「袜子我每天都有洗啊！」
渡边升点点头，大约笑了一秒半左右。我决定下次让他笑叁秒钟。
「但是她不会一辈子和你生活在一起的呀！」
他指的是我妹妹。
「妹妹和哥哥住在一起是天经地义的事，有什麽不可以的呢？」
我说。
「什麽话都是你说的，我可是半句话都没说！」
妹妹说。
「但是，这不是真实的生活，真正大人的生活。真正的生活应该是人与人之相诚恳的相处。这五年来确实是和你相处得很和乐、很自由，但是，最近我觉得这不是真正的生活，因为我根本感觉不到生活的本质，你老是想着你自己的事情，想要和你谈点正经的事时，你却老是开玩笑！」
「因为我个性内向。」我说。
「是傲慢！」妹妹说。
「内向又傲慢！」我一边倒着香槟，一边向渡边升说明。
「我是一个内向加傲慢的综合体。」
「我懂你的意思。」
渡边升点点头说。
「但是，如果只剩下你一个人的话——换句话说，如果她和我结婚了的话——大哥你还是不想找一个人结婚吗？」
「大概是吧！」我说。
「真的？」妹妹问我说。
「如果你真的这麽想的话，我的朋友中有一个相当不错的女孩子，可以介绍给你。」
「到时候再说吧！现在仍然太危险了。」饭後我们全部转移阵地，到客厅喝咖啡。妹妹这次放的是威利内逊的唱片。幸好胡立欧的音乐只放一点点而已。
「我原本也是和你一样，打算叁十岁後再结婚。」
妹妹在厨房洗碗里，渡边升对我说。
「但是，遇到她之後，我就立刻想要结婚了。」
「她是一个好孩子！」我说。「虽然因为个性倔强，所以偶而会有便秘的情形，不过，大体上说来，你的选择是正确的。」
「但是，说到结婚还是觉得很恐怖的。」
「如果只看好的一面，或者只想好的一面，就不会觉得有什麽恐怖了。万一真的有什麽恐怖的事情发生，也只好等发生後再说。」
「大概是吧！」
「总之，放轻松一点就没事了。」
我说着就往厨房走去，告诉妹妹我想到附近散步一下。
「十点过後才会回来，你们两个人好好玩一玩吧！床单是不是换上新的了呢？」
「你这个人怎麽老是想一些奇怪的事！」
妹妹心灰意冷似地说着，对於我想出去这件事也毫不加以反对。
我走向渡边升这里，告诉他附近有点事，必须出去一下，可能会很晚才回来。
「能够和你聊天真好，我觉得非常有趣。」
渡边升说。
「结婚之後欢迎你常到我家里来玩。」
「谢谢！」
我的想像力突然失灵了！
「不要开车，你己经喝了不少酒了！」
妹妹出声地说。
「我用走路的。」我说。
走到附近的酒吧，已经将近八点了，我坐到柜台点了一杯加冰块的I.W.白兰地，柜台上的电视正在放着巨人对养乐多的比赛。
因为电视的音量被关掉了，所以只能看到画面。投手是西本和尾花，得分是叁比二，养乐多胜。看无声的电视也不坏，我心里想。
我一边看着棒球比赛，不知不觉间，己经喝了叁杯酒。九点时，以叁比叁结束了第七回合的比赛，电视台的开关就被切掉了。
我的旁边坐着一位经常出现在这家酒吧里，大约二十岁左右的少女，刚才她也是一直看着电视，比赛结束之後，我就和她聊起棒球。她说她是巨人迷，问我喜欢那一个球队，我说每一球队一样，我只不过是喜欢看比赛而已。
「这样有什麽乐趣的呢？」她问。「这样的话看球就不会入迷吧？」
「不入迷也无所谓！」我说。「反正打球的是别人。」
然後我又喝了两杯白兰地，她也喝了两杯水果酒。
因为她在美大专攻商业设计，於是我们就开始聊起广告美术的话题。
十点过後，我和她一起离开这个酒吧，换一家座位比较多的店。我在这里继续喝着威士忌，她也叫了水果酒，她已经醉烂如泥，而我也有一点点醉了。十一点时，我送她回去，当然也在她家做了爱，这和拿出坐垫、泡上茶来是相同的道理。
「关灯！」
她说着，我就把电灯关掉。
从窗口可以看见佳能高耸的广告塔，隔壁房间的电视大声地传来职棒的新闻，在一片黑暗，我早已醉得不醒人事，所以连自己到底做了些什麽，自己也完全毫无知觉。这种事情并不可以称作做爱，只是扭动臀部、放出精液而已。
适度简略化的行为结束後，她立刻就累得睡着了，我连精液也懒得擦，就穿上衣服走出这个房间。在黑暗中找到我的马球衬衫、裤子、和内裤，这的确不是一件简单的事情。
走出户外，醉意就像一辆载货列车，从我的身上疾驶而过。醉醺醺地在自动贩卖机买了一瓶果汁，喝完之後，果汁和胃里的东西全部都吐到路上去了，全是牛排、熏鱼、莴苣、番茄的残骸。
真是糟糕透了！我心里想着，我已经有好几年不曾因醉酒而呕吐了，最近到底是怎麽回事呢?
这时候我突然毫无缘由的想起渡边升和他买的那把十字型起子。
「有一把十字型起子非常方便。」
渡边升说。
这是健全的想法，我用手帕擦擦嘴，一边心里想着。真感谢你，今後我家又多了一把十字型起，但是，除了这把起子之外，我看他还是觉得非常不顺眼。
大概是因为我个性太偏激的缘故吧！
我回到家里己经是深夜凌晨了，玄关旁的摩托车当然已经不见了，我搭电梯上了四楼，打开门锁，除了厨房流理台有一盏小灯之外，一片黑暗，妹妹应该已经先睡了，因为她已经累了一天。
我倒了一杯柳橙汁，一口气喝乾。然後去洗了澡，用香皂洗净满身的汗臭味，再仔细地刷刷牙，走出浴室，照照镜，发现自己原来还有一张俊美的脸。有时候，从电车的车窗中看来，我这张脸像是一个烂醉、肮脏的中年男子，皮肤粗糙、眼睛凹陷、头发也不光润。
我摇摇头，关掉浴室的电灯，将一条浴巾缠在腰际，就回到厨房，喝了一口水龙头里流出来的。心里想着明天该怎麽办呢？人一遇到不如意时，才会想到明天，可是明天并不能保证一定会更好。
「你回来得太迟了吧！」
黑暗中听见妹妹的说话声，她一个人独在客厅的沙发上喝着啤酒。
「你也喝酒了！」
「你喝得实在太多了！」
「我知道。」我说。
然後从冰箱里拿出一瓶啤酒来，坐在妹妹的对面喝着。
好一阵子我们一句话也不说，静静地喝着啤酒，微风吹动着阳台上盆裁的叶，往窗口望去，可以看见一轮模糊的半圆形月亮。
「说了也是白费力气。」妹妹说。
「什麽事？」
「每一件事都是啊！你没有察觉到吗？」
「哦！」
我说，对着这轮半月，我莫名地无言起来。
「你不问我觉得什麽地方不对吗？」妹妹说。
「你觉得什麽地方不妥呢？」
「这间房子，我不想再继续住在这间房子了。」
「唉！」我说。
「你怎麽了？身体不舒服吗？」
「我太累了！」我说。
妹妹静静地看着我，我喝完最後一口啤酒，将身体靠在椅背上，闭起眼睛。
「是因为我的缘故而感到疲倦的吗？」
妹妹问。
「不是！」
我闭着眼睛回答。
「是因为话说得太多而疲倦的吗？」
妹妹小声地问。
我站起身来，看着她，然後摇摇头。
「那麽，是因为我对你说了什麽重话了吗？对你的生活，或者是对你的本身…… ？」
「不是！」我说。
「真的？」
「这些都是你以前常常对我说的，所以我一点也不会在意，但是，你为什麽会突然想到那些的呢？」
「他回去之後，我一直坐在这里等你回来，突然就想到我会不会把你说得太严重了。」
我从冰箱里拿出两罐啤酒，打开电唱机，里奇拜拉克的歌声轻轻地流出。深夜喝醉酒回家时，我一直都听这一张唱片。
「大概是稍微混乱了些。」我说。
「生活的变化就像气压变化一样，使我整个人都变得混乱极了。」
她点点头。
「我的选择正确吗？」
「只要有选择就有可能正确、也有可能错误，所以不要把事情挂在心上。」
「有时候想起来，还是觉得非常恐怖。」
「如果只看好的一面，只想好的一面，就不会觉得那麽恐怖了。等到不如意的事情发生时再来想就够了！」
我将对渡边升说的话重复一次。
「真的会如同你所说的顺利吗？」
「如果不顺利的话，也只好等到时候再说了。」
妹妹就窃窃地笑了起来。
「你和以前一直都没有变！」她说。
「我想要问你一件事情？」我拉开啤酒的拉环说。
「你问吧！」
「在他之前，你和几个人上过床？」
她先楞了一楞，然後伸出两只手指来说：
「两个人！」
「一个是和你同年龄的，一个是比你年纪大的？」我说。
「你怎麽会知道？」
「这是标准型式。」
我说着又喝了一口啤酒。
「你以为我玩了那麽多都是玩假的吗？连这种事情也会不知道。」
「是标准吗？」
「至少是健全的！」
「那你和多少个女孩子睡过呢？」
「二十六个。」我说。「最近才算过，记得来的有二十六个，记不起来的大概有十来个吧！因为我没有记日记的习惯，所以确切几个人也无从查起了。」
「为麽要和这麽多的女孩子上床呢？」
「不知道！」
老实地说。
「虽然我也觉得这样不太好，但是，自己却始终无法克制自己。」
我们两人又沈默了一会，各自想着自己应该想的问题，远处传来摩托车的排气声，我想应该?９９ｌib?不是渡边升又回来了，因为现在已经 晨一点了。
「你认为他如何呢？」
妹妹问。
「你是说渡边升？」
「是的。」
「不是个坏男人，不过我不怎麽喜欢他，对他的服装品味也不敢苟同。」
稍微思考过後，我坦白地说。
「但是，一个家里有个让你讨厌的人也不错吧！」
「我也是这麽想。虽然我喜欢你，但是，如果全世界的人都变得和你一样，这
个世界也没有什麽意思。」
「大概是吧！」我说。
於是我将啤酒一饮而尽，然後回到各自的房间，床上的床罩是全新、而且乾净的， 没有一点绉褶。我躺在床上，从窗 的缝隙中看着月亮，心里想着，人最後会到什麽地方去呢？想着想着倦意不知不觉就袭上心头，闭上眼睛时，睡眠就像一张黑暗的网，无声无息地自我的头顶上飞舞而下。
kamasutra─快乐券
「生日快乐」她说，把一个绑着绿色丝带的漂亮小礼盒放在我面前。
我和她在高层大厦的三十二楼，优雅的餐厅，一面喝着苏格兰酒，一面吃着牛排，那天是我的生日。
「你猜猜看，是什么？」
「推发剪子。」我说，不过这当然是开玩笑。
打开包装纸，是个闪闪发亮的红宝石色小纸盒，盒里放着一张和电影票差不多大小的小纸头，上面写着「快乐券」。
「只要你高兴，随时可以藏书网用。」她说。
我回到家，拉开书桌?9９ｌiｂ.最上层的抽屉。里面放着七十八个女孩送给我的七十八张各式各样的「快乐券」。
我把这些全拿出来，加上新的这张，一共是七十九张。
这数目刚刚好。
我用铲子在院子里挖?了一个洞，把装了七十九张快乐券的水果糖罐子埋进土里，然后拉出水管，往上浇水。
说起来，我就是属于这种个性的人。
困
我喝着汤就险些睡了过去。
汤匙从手中脱落，“咣啷”一声碰在盘边，声音相当响亮。几个人朝我这边看。她在邻座轻咳一声。为了圆场，我摊开右手，上下翻来翻去做出看手的样子。正喝汤时居然打盹，这我无论如何不想让人知道。
我装模作样看右手看了十五秒钟，继而悄悄做了个深呼吸，重新回到玉米羹上。后脑勺胀乎乎麻酥酥的，就像帽檐朝后扣了一顶小号棒球帽。汤盘正上方大约三十厘米处清清楚楚地浮着一个白色卵形气团，正对着我悄声低语：“好了好了，别再勉强，睡好了！”已经这样说了好一会儿了。
那白色的卵形气团轮廓周期性地忽而鲜明忽而模糊，而我越想确认其轮廓的细微变化，我的眼睑越是一点点变重。当然，我已尽了努力，屡次摇头，紧闭双目，或移目别视，以消除那个气体。问题是无论我怎么努力它都依然故我——气体始终浮在餐桌上方。困得要命。
为了驱除困意，我一边把汤和汤匙运往嘴里，一边在脑海中拼写“玉米羹”：
potage soup
过于简单，毫无效果。
“说一个不好拼写的单词给我可好？”我朝她那边悄悄说了一句。她在中学当英语老师。
“密西西比。”她压低嗓音，以免周围的人听见。
Mississippi——我在脑袋里拼道。四个s,四个i，两个p,奇妙的单词。
“此外？”
“闷头吃吧！”她说。
“困得要死。”
“知道知道了，求求你，可别睡，人家看着呢。”
到底不该来出席什么婚礼。新娘好友桌上坐一个男人本来就莫名其妙，何况实际上也算不上好友，什么也算不上。一开始就该断然拒绝，那样我此刻就可以舒舒服服睡在自家的床上了。
“约克夏更。”她突然开口。弄得我呆愣了好一会才明白原来是叫我拼词。
“Y·O·R·K·S·H·R·E T·E·R·R·I·E·R”——这回我试着说出声来。拼词考试一向是我的拿手好戏。
“就这么来。再坚持一个小时，一个小时后让你睡个够。”
喝罢汤，我一连打个三个哈欠。几十个之多的男侍应生一齐上阵撤去汤盘，随后端来色拉和面包。瞧那面包，就好像在说它是不远万里好容易赶来的。
有人开始致辞——不可能有任何人听的致辞绵延不断。人生啦气候啦，老生常谈。我又困了起来。她用平底鞋尖踢我的踝骨。
“说来不好意思，这么困生来还是头一遭。”
“为什么睡的时候不好好睡？”
“睡不实嘛。这个那个想个没完。”
“那，就想个没完好了！反正不能睡。这可是我朋友的婚礼。”
“不是我的朋友。”我说。
她把面包放回盘子，一声不响地定睛看我的脸。我偃旗息鼓，.９９ｌib.开始吃牡蛎奶汁烤菜。牡蛎有一种古生物般的味道。吃牡蛎的时间里，我变成了绝对完美的翼手龙，转瞬之间飞越原生林，冷冷地俯视着荒凉的地表。
地表上，一位似乎老实９9ｌｉb.厚道的中年钢琴教员正在谈新娘小学时代的往事——“她是个不明白的地方一定得问个水落石出的孩子。虽然因此比别的孩子进步慢，但最后弹出的钢琴比谁都充满真情。”我在心里哼了一声。
“或许你觉得那个女的无聊，”她说，“实际上人非常不错。”
“哼。”
她把手中的汤匙停在半空，凝视着我的脸：“真的。你也许不信。”
“信。”我说，“美美睡一觉起来就更信了，我想。”
“可能的确有点无聊，但无聊这东西并非什么重罪。是吧？”
我摇摇头：“不是罪。”
“难道不比你这样冷眼旁观人世地道得多？”
“我没有冷眼旁观人世。”我抗议，“人家正睡眠不足，却为了凑数而被拉来参加不认识的女孩的婚礼——仅仅因为是你的朋友。我原本就不喜欢哪家子婚礼，全然喜欢不来。一百多号人围在一起吃一文不值的牡蛎罢了。”
她再不作声，把汤匙端端正正放在盘上，拿起膝头的白色餐巾擦了下嘴角。有人开始唱歌，闪光灯闪了好几下。
“只是困。”我冒出一句。感觉上就像连旅行箱也没带就被孤零零地抛弃在陌生的城市。袖手端坐的我面前放上了一盘烤牛排，那上面仍有白色气团漂浮不去——“那可是刚从洗衣店取回来的爽干爽干的床单哟，知道吧？就倒在上面好了，凉丝丝的，却又是暖融融的，还有太阳味儿。”
她的小手碰在我手背上。若有若无的古龙香水味儿。她细细直直的秀发抚弄着我的脸颊。我像被弹起似的睁眼醒来。
“马上就完，坚持一下，求你了。”她贴在我耳边说 9053." >道。她像模像样地穿着一条白绸连衣裙，胸部形状赫然隆起。
我拿起刀叉，像用T形规尺画线那样缓缓地切肉。每张桌子都很热闹，人人七嘴八舌吵吵嚷嚷，其间掺杂着叉子碰在碟盘上的声响。简直是上班高峰的地铁车厢。
“说实话，每次参加别人的婚礼都困。”我坦言道，“总是这样，无一例外。”
“不至于吧？”
“不骗你，真是这样。没打盹的婚礼这以前一次也没有过，自己都不明所以。”
她满脸诧异地喝了口葡萄酒，挟了几根炸薯条。
“莫不是有什么自卑心理？”
“摸不着头脑。”
“肯定自卑。”
“那么说来，倒是经常梦见跟白熊一起到处砸窗玻璃来着。”我试着开玩笑，“其实是企鹅不好。企鹅硬是叫我和白熊嚼蚕豆，而且是粒大得不得了的绿蚕豆……”
“住口！”她一声断喝。
我默然。
“不过一出席婚礼就困可是真的。一次把啤酒瓶弄了个人仰马翻，一次刀叉连掉地上三回。”
“伤..脑筋啊。”她边说边在盘子里小心地拨开肥肉部分，“我说，莫不是你想结婚吧？”
“你的意思是：所以才在别人婚礼上睡觉？”
“报复！”
“潜在愿望带来的报复行为？”
“是的。”
“那，每次乘地铁都打瞌睡的人如何解释？是下矿井的愿望不成？”
对此她不予理睬。我不再吃牛排，从衬衣袋里掏出香烟点燃。
“总而言之，”稍顷她说，“你是想永远当孩子。”
我们默默吞食黑醋栗冰糕，喝热蒸汽咖啡。
“困？”
“还有点儿。”我回答。
“不喝我的咖啡？”
“谢谢。”
我喝第二杯咖啡，吸第二支烟，打第三十六个哈欠。打完抬脸时，餐桌上方的白色气团不知去了哪里。
一如往常。
气团消失时，桌面摆上了礼品蛋糕盒，我的困意也随之不翼而飞。
自卑感？
“不去哪里游泳？”我问她。
“这就去？”
“太阳高着呢。”
“可以是可以，游泳衣怎么办？”
“到酒店商品部买就行了嘛！”
我们抱着蛋糕盒，沿着酒店走廊走向商品部。星期日的下午，酒店大厅里挤满了婚礼来宾和出游的一家老小，一塌糊涂。
“嗳，对了，‘密西西比’这个单词真有四个s？”
“不知道，天晓得！”她说。她脖颈上漾出了妙不可言的古龙藏书网香水味儿。
罗马帝国的崩溃
罗马帝国的崩溃．一八八一年风起云涌的印地安 希特勒入侵波兰．再度进入强风世界
(1)罗马帝国的崩溃发现开始刮起风这件事情，是在星期天的午後..，准确的说，应该是午後两点七分。当时我正如同往常一样—换句话说是如同往常的星期日下午一样—坐在厨房的桌子前，一边听着毫无妨碍的音乐，一边记着一周的日记；我每天都将发生的事情简单地记录下来，等到星期天再将它写成一篇完整的文章。
当我写完了周二的日记，换句话说，已经完成了叁天份的日记时，突然发现窗外刮着猛烈的强风。我不由得不中断写日记的工作，将笔盖套上，到阳台把晒乾的衣服收了下来。衣服随着狂风在空中飞舞着，发出了乾裂的声响。
风势好像在我不知不觉间慢慢地增强了，当天早上—正确的说法是上午十点四十八分—将洗好的衣服晾到阳台上去的时候，还没有发现有任何刮风的迹象，因为我当时心里想着：「没有刮半点风，衣服不必用夹子吧！
我可以肯定当时的确没有刮风。
我将晒乾的衣服整齐地摺叠起来之後，将房间里的窗户全部紧紧地关上，关上窗户之後，几乎就听不到一点点风吹的声音了。窗户外在一片无声无息间，树木—喜马拉雅杉和栗树—彷佛一只耐不住全身发痒的小狗，不停地翻滚着身体。云朵的碎片像一位眼神凶恶的密使，急速地穿越天空，对面公寓阳台上还挂着几件衬衫，像被遗弃的孤儿，紧紧地缠绕在塑胶绳上。
好像是台风来了，我心里想着。
但是，打开报纸，看看气象图，没有找到任何台风要来的报导，降雨量也在全年的平均标准以下，从气象图上显示，当时的气倏就像全盛时期的罗马帝国一样，应该是一个非和平的星期天。
我轻轻地叹了一口气，将报纸摺好，衣服放进橱柜里，一边听着毫无妨碍的音乐，一边喝着咖啡，而且，一边喝着咖啡，一边写日记。
星期四我和女友上床睡觉，她非常喜欢戴着眼罩做爱，因此她平常总是将飞机上用的眼罩随身带着。
虽然我对这一点并没有特别感到兴趣， 但是 因为她戴着眼罩的模样实在很可爱，因此，我对她这样的举动也没有任何异议。反正都是人类，每一个人多多少少会有一些比较与众不同的地方。
我在日记星期四那一页上，大致就是写着这些事情，百分之八十是事实，百分之二十是根据我的观察所获知的，这是我写日记时的方针。
星期五我在银座的书店遇到了一位老朋友，他系着一条形状非常奇怪的领带，条绞的花样，上面有无数的电话号码——。
写到这里电话铃响了。
藏书网（2） 一八八一年风起云潜的印地安人电话铃响时，时钟正指在二点叁十六分的位置，大概是她打来的电话吧——那个喜欢戴眼罩的女朋友！因为她常在星期天到我家来，而且，来之前也习惯地会打电话，她应该会买晚饭的菜来，我们决定在当天吃烤牡蛎。总之，电话响起时是下午二时叁十六分，闹钟就放在电话的旁边，每当电话铃响起时，我就会看时钟一眼，因此，对於时间我记得特别清楚。
但是，我拿起听筒时，所听到的只是一阵强烈的风声而已。
只听见『喔喔喔喔喔哦！』的叫声，彷佛一八八一年印地安人风起云潜时的叫声从听筒里传了出来，他们疯狂似地烧掉开拓草屋，切断通讯线路。破坏糖的交易协约。
『喂！喂！』
我试着出声说话，但是我的声音却被吸进了压倒性的历史狂涛之中。
『喂！喂！』
我大声地叫，结果却仍然一样。
在风声稍微歇的缝隙间，我觉得好像听见了女人声音，或许这只是我的错觉藏书网而已。总之，风势太强了，而且，或许野牛的数量已经过份地减少了。
我不说一句话，只是将听筒靠在耳边，并且仔细地听电话线的另一端有什麽动静，但是，同样的状态持续了近十秒、或二十秒之後，彷佛神经发作到了极点，生命线突然拉断了似的，电话被挂断了，然後留下了冰冷的沉默。
（3） 希特勤入侵波兰真是糟糕透了！我叹了一口气。然後继续写着日记，这个星期的日记将要写完了。星期六希特勒的装甲师团入侵波兰。虫炸机突然降临华尔街上空——。
不，错了！不是这样的！
希特勒入侵波兰是在一九叁九年九月一日的事情，不是昨天。
昨天晚上完饭之後，我走进电影院欣赏梅莉．史翠普演的『苏菲亚的抉择』，希特勒入侵波兰是电影中发生的情节。
梅莉．史翠普在电影中与达斯汀．霍夫曼离婚，然後和在火车站中认识的罗勃特．丹尼洛所扮演的士木技师结婚，是一出非常有趣的99lｉb?电影。
我的旁边坐着一对高中生，彼此抚摸着对方的肚子。高中生认为能够抚摸肚子已经很不错了，我在念高中时也曾经做过这种事。
（4） 再进入强风世界上周的日记全部写完之後，我坐在唱片架前，挑选着适合在狂风吹袭的星期日午後的音乐。结果我选择了休斯达哥布基的低音小提琴协奏曲，和斯拉与滚石家庭，我认为这些最适合在强风中欣赏，所以一直听着这两张唱片。窗外不时有东西飞来飞去，一件白色床单好像诅咒师的法术似的，从东飞向西。细长的白铁看板左右摇晃着，彷佛是肛门性交的爱好者，挺不起孱弱的脊椎。
我一边听着休斯达哥布基的音乐，一边看着窗外的风景，这时电话铃又响起来，话旁的闹钟指着叁点四十八分。
我拿起听筒前，猜想这回大样会听到波音七四七飞机的引擎似的风声吧！但是，这次却一点风声也听不见。
『喂喂！』女人的声音。
『喂喂！』我说。
『我可以现在带着晚饭的菜去你那里吗？』我的女朋友说。
她一定会带着丰盛的菜和眼罩来到我这里。
『可以呀！不过——』
『要带锅子吗？』
『不到了，我这里有。』我说。
『但是，怎麽回事呢？没有听到半点风声。』
『嗯！风已经停了。因为中野叁点二十五分就停了，我看你那边大概也快停了吧！』
『大概是吧！』
我挂了电话，从厨房的餐具架子里找出大锅子，放在流理台上洗净。
风如她的预告在四点五分前就停了，我打开窗户，眺望窗外的风景，窗户下一面有一头大黑狗，不停地闻着地面上的味道，大约闻了十五分钟到二十分钟左右底为什麽会这麽做，我也不太了解。
但是除了这件事情之外，整个世界的容貌和系统与起风前并没有两样，喜马拉雅杉和栗树若无其事地站立在空地上，晾晒的衣物垂挂在塑胶上，乌鸦站在电线上不停地拍动翅膀。
这时候，女朋友也到达了我的家里，开始动手做晚饭。
她站在厨房洗锅子，将切成细丝的白菜和豆腐放在一起。
我问她两点叁十六分时是否曾经打过电话给我。
『打了啊！』
她一边在锅子里淘米，一边说。
.『我什麽也听不见！』我说。
『嗯！是的，风太强了。』
她若无其事地说。
她若无其事地说。
我从冰箱里拿出一瓶啤酒，坐在餐桌的角就喝了起来。
『可是，为什麽会突然刮起一阵风，然後又完全地静止呢？』
我问她。
『这个我也不知道！』
她背对着我，一边剥着虾壳一边说。
『关於风的事情，我们不知道的还属着呢！就像关於古代史、癌症、海底、宇宙、和性一样，我们不知道的还多着呢！』
『嗯！』我说。
除此之外，她再也回答什麽，不过我知道这个话题事实上是无法再深入发展下去的，以我只好死心地看着她做菜。
『我可以摸摸你的肚子吗？』
我问她。
『待会儿吧！』她说。
在饭做好之前，我为了下周的日记，先简单地整理一下今发生的事情。
（1） 罗马帝国的崩溃（2）一八八一年风起云涌的印地安人（3）希特勒入侵波兰
如此一来，即使是下个星期也能正确地想起今底发生了那些事情，能够如此有系统的记录一天之内所发生的事情，这是因为我二十二年来成从不间断的写日记习惯。不论刮风、或是刮风，我都能将一天描述得栩栩如生。
5月的海岸线
朋友寄来一封信和结婚喜帖，把我引到古老的地方。
我请了两天假，预订了酒店的房间。忽然觉得好像身体的一半都变透明了似的，好不可思议。
晴朗的五月早晨，我把身边的日用品塞进旅行袋，搭上新干线。坐在窗边的位置，翻开书，然后会上，喝干了罐装啤酒，稍微睡了一下，然后干脆眺望窗外的风景。
新干线的窗户映出来的风景总是..t>一样。那是强迫切开的，没有脉络可寻而一直线排开的干巴巴的风景。简直就像大量兴建来销售的住宅墙上挂的画框里的画一样，那种风景令人觉得厌烦。
一切都和十二年前一样。什么都没有改变。透过强化玻璃的五月阳光，于巴巴的火腿三文治的味道，和好像很无聊地看着经济新闻的邻座年轻业务员的侧面也一样。报纸的标题正告知着欧洲共同体可能在几个月内开始强硬限制日货进口。
十二年前，我在那个“街”上拥有一个女朋友。大学一放假时，我就把行李塞进旅行袋，搭早晨第一班新干线。坐在窗边的座位，读着书，望着风景，吃吃火腿三文治，喝喝啤酒。每次都在中午以前到达“街”。太阳还没完全升上天空在上方，“街”的每个角落还留有早晨的骚动尾声。我抱着旅行袋走进咖啡店，喝了早餐优待的咖啡，再打电话给她。
那个时刻“街”的姿态，我没来由地喜欢。晨光、咖啡香、人们困倦的眼睛，还没污染损伤的一天……
有海的气息。轻微的海的气息。
当然不是真的有海的气味。只是忽然有这种感觉而已。
我把领带重新打好，从架子上拿下旅行袋，走下列车。然后 深深吸一口气，把真正的海的香气吸进胸中。反射性地有几个
电话号码浮上我的脑海。一九六八年的少女们……光是试着把
这些数字重新排出来一次，就觉得好像能够再度见到她们似的。
也许我们可以在以前常去的餐厅隔着小桌子，再一次面对
面谈话也说不定。桌上铺着方格布的桌布，窗边摆着天竺葵的
盆栽。从窗外射进来悠闲的、宗教性的光线。
“晦，好多年不见了啊。对了，已经有十年了噢。时间真是
一转眼就过去了。”
不，不对，不是这样。
“最后一次跟你见面以来，才过了十年而已呀，但总觉得好
像已经过了一百年似的呢。”
不管怎么说都实在很呆。
“经历了好多事情噢。”我可能会这样说。因为确实经历过
很多事情。
她在五年前结了婚，有了孩子，丈夫在广告公司上班，抱着
三个贷款…··也许会谈到这些事。
“现在几点了？”她问。
“三点二十分。”我回答。
三点二十分。时间就像古老新闻影片的转盘一样发出咔嚓
咔嚓的声音继续转着。
我在车站前招了计程车，告诉他酒店的名字。然后点起香
烟，让头脑重新恢复空白。
结果我谁也不想见，我在酒店前面下了计程车，一面走在早晨空荡荡的道路上一面这样想。路上飘散着烤奶油的香味、新茶的香味，和洒在柏油路面的水的气味，刚开门的唱片行门口播放着最新流行的热门歌曲。这些气味和声音，好像和意识的淡影擦身相遇似的逐渐渗透进身体里。
好像有人在邀约我似的。
喂，在这里，来呀。是我啊，不记得吗？有一个最适合你的好地方。一起来吧。我想你一定会喜欢。
也许我不会喜欢那样的地方吧。我想，首先，你的脸都记不得了啊。
不均匀的空气。
从前没发现，街上有一种不均匀的空气流动着。每走十公尺空气的浓度就不一样。重力、光线、温度都不一样。光光滑滑的步道上的脚步声都不一样。连时间，都像精疲力尽的打击声一样不均匀。
我走进一家男装店，买了一双运动鞋和运动衫放进纸袋里。总之想换一下衣服。先喝一杯热咖啡、换上新衣服，其他的一切再说吧。
进了酒店的房间，冲一个热水澡，躺在床上抽了三根万宝路之后，打开玻璃纸袋穿上新的运动衫。拿出勉强塞进旅行袋的牛仔裤，绑上新运动鞋的带子。
为了让脚适应新鞋子，在房间地毯上来回走了几次之后，身体才逐渐开始习惯这个街。三十分钟以前所感觉到的无处发泄的焦躁，现在也减淡了几分。
穿着鞋子躺在床上呆呆望着天花板时，又一次闻到海的气息。比以前更清楚的气息。越过海面而来的潮风。残留在岩石缝隙的海岸、潮湿的沙子……这一切混合在一起的“海岸”的气息。
一小时后当我让计程车停在海岸时，海消失了。
不，要正确表现的话，应该说是海被推到几公里外的那边去了。
只有古老的防波堤遗迹，还像是沿着过去的海岸道路留下的某种纪念品似的。已经没有任何用处的，老旧的矮墙。在另外一侧的不是波涛起伏的海岸，而是铺了水泥的广大荒野。而且那荒野上几十栋高层公寓大厦，简直像巨大的墓碑一般一望无际地排列耸立着。
令人想起初夏的阳光，普照着大地。
“这些盖好已经三年了。”中年计程车司机告诉我。“从填海整地开始算大约已经七年了。把山砍掉，用输送带把土运来填海哟。然后把山当做别墅住宅用地，海则盖起公寓大厦。你不知道吗？”
“已经有十年没回来。”
司机点点头。“这里已经完全改变了，再过去一点可以开到新的海岸边，要不要去？”
“不，这里就行了，谢谢。”
他把计费表压下，接过我掏出的零钱。
走在海岸道路，脸上稍微渗着汗。在路上走了五分钟左右，然后登上防波堤，开始走在宽约五十公分的水泥墙上。新运动鞋的胶底发出声音。在被遗弃的防波堤上，我和几个小孩擦身而过。
十二点三十分。
安静得可怕。
唉，已经是二十年前的往事了，一到夏天我每天都在这海里游泳呢。光穿着一条游泳裤，就从家里的庭院赤脚走到海岸来哟。被太阳晒过的柏油路烫得不得了，一面跳着一面走。有时会下一阵午后阵雨，被烧热的柏油路面吸进去的雨水发出的气味，我喜欢得不得了。
回到家，井里泡凉着西瓜。当然也有冰箱，但没有比井里泡藏书网凉的西瓜更美味的东西了。到浴室泡个澡把身上的盐分冲掉之后，坐在穿廊啃西瓜。只有一次西瓜从吊绳滑脱，没办法捞起来，好几个月一直浮在井里。每次汲水时，桶子里就有西瓜的碎片呢。那确实是王贞治在甲子国球场成为优胜投手的那个夏天。而且那是个非常深的井，怎么探头看都只能看到圆圆的黑暗而已。
长大一点之后（那时候海已经被污染了，于是我们就到山上的游泳池去游泳），下起午后阵雨时，就带着狗（我们养过狗，是很大的白色狗）到海岸道路去散步。在沙滩上把狗放掉，正在发呆时就会遇见班上的几个女生。运气好的时候，还可以和她们聊上一个钟头直到四周都变暗为止。穿着长裙，头发散发着洗发水的香味，开始明显起来的胸部包在小而硬的胸围里面的一九六三年的女孩子们。她们在我身边坐下来，继续谈着充满微小的谜的话语。她们喜欢的东西、讨厌的东西、班上的事情。街上的事情、世界的事情……安东尼柏金斯（Anthony Perkins）。葛雷哥莱毕克（Grmp Peck）、皮礼上利（Elvis Presley）的新电影，还有尼尔塞达卡（Neil Sed全的的（Br自主iflg up is hard toM。
每年海岸上都会有几次尸体被冲上来。大都是自杀的人。他们从什么地方跳海谁也不知道。穿着没有名字的洋装。口袋里什么也没有（或者被海浪冲掉了）的自杀者。只有在报纸的地方版会登出一则小报道而已。身分不详、女性、二十岁左右（推测）。肺里吸满了海水，露出被水泡得胀起来 7684." >的肌肤的年轻女子
好像迷失在时光之流里的遗失物一般，死缓慢地被海浪运过来，某一天被冲上安静住宅区的海岸。
其中的一个是我的朋友。很久以前，六岁左右的事情。他被骤然的豪雨洪水吞进河里死掉了。春天的下午，他的尸体随着浊流被一口气冲到海里，然后三天后才随着流水一起被冲上海岸来。
死的气味。
六岁少年的尸体在高热的炉里燃烧的气味。
四月阴沉的天空下火葬场的烟囱高高耸立着，并冒着灰色的烟。
存在的消灭。
脚开始病起来。
我脱掉运动鞋，脱下袜子，赤脚继续走在防波堤上。在四周静悄悄的午后阳光下，附近中学的铃声响起。
高层住宅群在眼前延续不断。简直就像巨大的火葬场一样。没有人的影子、没有生活的气息。平坦的道路上只有偶尔有汽车通过而已。
我预言。
五月的太阳下，我双手握着运动鞋，一面走在古老的防波堤上一面预言。“你们终将崩溃消失”。
天会崩溃消失。移山、填海、理井，你们在死者的灵魂上建立起来的到底是什么？不过只是水泥和杂草和火葬场的烟囱而已，不是吗？
前方看得见河J！D的流水了，堤波防和高层住宅就到此为止。我走下河滩，把脚泡进清澈的流水中。令人怀念的清凉。即使在海开始污浊的时代，河川的水还一直是清澈的。从山上经过沙地的河床一直线流下来的水。为了防止流沙而设有几段瀑布的这条河，几乎连鱼也住不了。
我沿着浅浅的河流，走向终于看得见海浪的沙滩。海浪的声音，海潮的气味，海岛，海面停泊着货船的影子……两胁被新生地夹住的海岸线在那里微微喘着气。光滑的古老堤防的壁上，有用石头画的，有用喷漆喷的无数涂鸦。
那些大多是谁的名字。男的名字，女的名字，男的和女的名字，还有日期。
一九七一年八月十四日。（一九七一年的八月十四日我在做什么呢？）
一九七六年六月二日。（一九七六年是奥林匹克和美国总统大选年。满地可？福特？）
三月十二日。（没有年号的三月十二日。喂，我已经过了三十一次三月十二日了啊。）
或者信息。
“……跟谁都睡觉。”（应该把电话号码也写下的。）
‘WLL YOU NEED IS LOVE”（天蓝色喷漆）
我在河滩坐下背靠着堤防，几个小时一直望着静悄悄被留下的宽度只有五十公尺左右的狭小海岸线。除了平稳得甚至有些奇怪的五月海浪声之外没有任何声音。
太阳越过中空，我一面望着提防的影子往河面横切过去一面想睡一觉。然后在逐渐淡化的意识中，忽然想道：醒过来时，我到底会在什么地方呢？
醒来的时候，我……
出击面包店
总之我们应该处于饥饿状态。不，不是肚子饿，简直像吞下了宇宙的空白一样的心情。起先其实是小小的，像甜甜圈中间的洞一样的小空白，但随着日子的消逝，它在我们的身体里渐渐增殖，终于成为不见底的虚无。成为庄重的幕后音乐般的空腹金字塔。
为什么产生了空腹感呢？当然是由于缺乏食物而来。为什么会缺乏食物呢？因为没有相当的等价交换物呢？这大概是因为我们的想象力不够吧。不，空腹感说不定..事实上是起因于想象力不足。无论怎么说都行。
神、马克斯、约翰．蓝侬都死了。总之，我们处于肚子饥饿的状态，结果就是起了歹念、并非空腹感使我们起了歹念，而是歹念使我们为空腹感而走极端。虽然不怎么搞得清楚，就像存在主义似的。
“唉，我要走下坡路了。”伙伴说。简单说来他的话意便是如此。
也难怪，我们已整整两天只喝水，有一次吃了向日葵的叶子，但实在不想再吃了。
因此我们手持菜刀去面包店。面包店在那条商店街的中央，两邻是棉被店和文具店。面包店老板是一个秃头年逾五十岁的共产党员。
我们手持菜刀，从容由商店街走向面包店，像“日正当中”的感觉。走着走着，渐渐闻到烤面包香。而面包味越浓，我们走向邪路的倾斜度越深。袭击面包度和袭击共产共产党员使我们兴奋，两件事同时做，心里涌起了一种像纳粹青年团似的感动。
下午时间不早了，面包店内只有一个客人，是一个提着旧购物袋、不太机灵的中年欧巴桑。欧巴桑的周围散发着危险的气氛。犯罪者的计画性罪行，往往被不机灵的欧巴桑搞砸了，电视上的犯罪总是如此。我向伙伴使个眼神，示意在欧巴桑离开面包店之前，不要有任何举动。我把菜刀bbr>99ｌｉｂ?藏在身后，装出选购面包的样子。
欧巴桑挑选面包慢得令人昏倒，她如同选购衣橱和三面镜般，慎重地把油炸酥皮面包和果酱馅面包夹到浅盘上。但并不是马上买了结帐, 油炸酥皮面包和果酱面包对她来说,不啻是一个论题。或者是遥远的北极,必须让她有一段适应的时间。
随着时间的消逝，首先果酱馅面包从论题的地位滑落下来。为什么我挑选了果酱面包呢，她摇摇头，不应该选这种面包的，因为它太甜。
她把果酱面包放回原来的架子上，稍微考虑一下，轻轻夹了两个新月形面包到浅盘上。新的论题诞生了。冰山微露，春天的阳光从云层间射下来。
“她还没挑选好吗？”我的伙伴小声说：“连这个老太婆也别放过吧。”
“且慢！”我阻止他。
面包店老板不管我们，出神地听着收录音机里卡式录音带流出的华格纳的曲子。
共产党员听华格纳的曲子是否正确，我倒不知道。
欧巴桑依然望着新月形面包和油炸酥皮面包发呆。感觉有点儿奇怪，不自然。
新月形面包和油炸酥面包看来根本不可以排成同列。她的样子像是感觉两者有什么相反的思想。宛若冷度调节装置故障的电冰箱般，放着面包的浅盘在她手上嘎吱嘎吱摇动。当然不是真的摇动，完全是比喻式的－－摇动。嘎吱嘎吱嘎吱。
“干掉吧！”伙伴说。空腹感和华格纳和欧巴桑散发出的紧张，使他变得像桃子毛一般敏感。我默默地摇头。
欧巴桑依然手拿着浅盘，在杜斯妥也夫斯基式的地狱里彷徨。油炸酥皮面包首先站上演讲台，向罗马市民发表动人心弦的演讲。优美的辞句，漂亮的雄辩术、声音浑厚的男中音．．．．．．大家劈劈啪啪鼓掌。其次新月形面包站上演讲台，发表什么关于交通信号的不得要领的演说。左转车要看正面的绿灯信号直进，确定有无对向车再左转，诸如此类的演说辞，罗马市民虽然不大了解，但觉得它本来就是难懂的道理，而劈劈啪啪鼓掌。新月形面包获得的掌声稍微大些。于是油炸酥皮面包回到原来的架子上。
欧巴桑的浅盘里极单纯的完壁造访－－新月形面包两个。
于是欧巴桑走出店外。
接下来轮到我们了。
“我们肚子很饿。”我坦白对老板说。菜刀仍然藏在身后。“而且身无分文。”
“是吗？”老板点点头。
柜台上放着一把指甲刀，我们两人注视着那把指甲刀。那把巨大的指甲刀几乎可以用来剪秃鹰的爪子，大概是为了开什么玩笑而造的。
“既然肚子那么饿，你们吃面包吧！”老板说。
“可是我们没有钱。”
“刚才我听到了。”老板感觉无聊般的说。“不要钱，随便你们吃。”
我再看一眼指甲刀。“可是，我们走上了邪路。”
“嗯嗯。”
“所以我们不接受别人的施舍。”
“嗯。”
“是这样的。”
“是吗？”老板又点点头。“那么这样吧。随便你们吃面包。但让我诅咒你们，这样好吗？”
“诅咒？怎样的诅咒？”
“诅咒总是不确实的，但和公共汽车的时刻表不同。”
“喂、且慢！”伙伴插嘴。“我不愿意被诅咒。索性把你杀了。”
“且慢且慢。”老板说：“我不愿意被杀。”
“我不愿意被诅咒。”伙伴说。
“不过，可以用什么来做为交换。”我说。
我们望着指甲刀沈默着。
“怎样？”老板开口：“你们喜欢华格纳的曲子吗？”
“不。”我说。
“不喜欢。”伙伴说。
“如果你们喜欢，就让你们吃面包。”
这话活像是黑暗大陆的传教师说的，但我立刻同意了。至少比被诅咒强得多。
“喜欢。”我说。
“我喜欢。”伙伴说。
于是我们一边听着华格纳的曲子，一边吃面包填饱肚子。
“这出在音乐史上光辉灿烂的‘崔斯坦与易梭德’歌剧，发表于一八五九年，是理解后期华格纳不可缺少的重要作品。”老板读着解说书。
“嗯哼。”
“噢噢。”
“康古尔国王的侄子崔斯坦代叔父去迎娶已订婚的易梭德公主，但归途在船上崔斯坦和易梭德陷入情网。开头大提琴和双簧管所奏出的美丽的主题，是这两个人的爱的旋律。”
两个小时后，我们彼此满意地告别。
“明天来听‘唐怀瑟’（华格纳著名的歌剧Tannhauser）”老板说。
回到家里，我们心中的虚无感已完全消失了，而想象力就像从慢坡上咕噜咕噜滚落下去一般，开始活跃起来。
Mozart─莫扎特
我带着罐头啤酒去听野外音乐会，在那里又遇到象。就是那个在地下铁电车里穿着高跟鞋，看畅销小说的同一头象。
象穿着在罗拉亚修雷店里买的，穿起来不太自在的潇洒洋装，把大型太阳眼镜架在额头上。而且还是穿着一双白色漆皮高跟鞋。
「妳好，」我正要和她擦身而过时，向她打了一声招呼。虽然没有什么必要打招呼，可是象好像非常不安似地在那里徘徊着－－ 4e5f." >也许因为自己块头太大了吧－－使我觉得有点可怜。
「噢，你好。」她也想起我了，向我微微一笑，并将手上拿着的节目单啪哒啦哒地搧动着。然后没什么用意地甩甩头。
「妳喜欢莫扎特吗？」我问她。
「嗯，非常喜欢。专心听莫扎特的东西 ， 觉得身体都要变透明了似的。」说完她有点脸红。大概觉得象的身体变透明一定很滑稽，因此不安起来。「你也喜欢莫扎特吗？」
「不，谁的都可以，我无所谓。夜里只要能在户外一面喝啤酒，一面听好听的音乐就行了。」我说着便把六瓶罐装的啤酒提起来让她看。
「说的也是，好舒服的夜晚噢。」?9９ｌｉｂ.
「要不要来一罐？」
「不，不用。」象一付很遗憾似的摇摇头。她一摇头，两边耳朵便非常可爱地摇着。「可是你看！人一多，要上厕所就必须向别人借路过对吗．．．」
「噢。」我说。生为一头象还挺麻烦的。站在厕所时，如果踩到别人的脚，可不能光说「啊，对不起」就了事的。
然后我就回到我的座位，一个人一面喝着啤酒，一面听bbr>..莫扎特的Ｇ短调奏鸣曲。并且想象她的耳朵配合着音乐啪哒啪哒摇的样子。
南湾行
南湾行 --杜比兄弟“南湾行”的BGM
就像南加州大多的土地一样，南湾几乎不下雨。当然并不是说完全不下雨，但雨这现象并没有下得足以伴随着基本性反?９９lib.应的观念渗透进入人们的心中。也就是说从波士顿或匹兹堡来的人即使说“简直像下雨一样令人厌烦”时，南湾的人要理解这意味必须比别人多花半个呼吸的时间。
虽然说位于南加州，但南湾既不是旅游.的名胜地，也没有爆炸摇滚乐的巡回演唱或电影明星的豪华住宅。只有几乎不下雨这回事而已。这地方雨衣的数量还不如流氓来得多。雨伞的数量还没有注射筒来得多。在海湾人口附近，勉强维持生计的钓虾渔夫即使钓起胸部中了三发四五口径手枪子弹的尸体，也不是什么太稀奇的事，坐着劳斯莱斯轿车的黑人戴着钻石耳环，而且用银烟盒打白种女人的耳光，也不是什么稀奇的风景。
总而言之，南湾市并不是年轻人永远年轻，眼珠都蓝得像海一样的那种南加州。首先海湾的海就不蓝。海上浮着黑黑的重油，偶尔也看得见因为船员随手一丢的烟蒂意外地把海上的渔?9９ｌｉb.火点着的。而这地方能够称得上永远年轻的只有那些死掉的年轻人。
当然我既不是为了观光而来到南湾的，也不是为了追求道德而来的。要是为了这两个目的，到南湾市还不如到奥克兰的市立动物园去更恰当。我到南湾来是为了寻找一个年轻女子。我的委托者是住在洛杉矶郊外的一个中年律师，年轻女孩过去是在他那里当秘书的。有一天她和几张文件同时失踪了，其中还包括了一封极私人性的秘密信件。这是常有的事。而且一星期后那封信的影印和一封要求金额不算客气的信一起寄来。信的邮戳是南湾市。律师曾经想过那个程度的钱要付也可以。五万美金的金额并不会把世界弄得天翻地覆。但即使那封信的原件能够要回来，也难保要挟者不会留下几打的影印副本。这也是常有的事。因此当了私家侦探。以一天一百二十美元的必要经费，加上二千美 5143." >元的成功报酬。便宜买卖一桩。南加州没有钱买不到的东西。钱买不到的东西谁都不想要。
我拿着女人的相片在南湾一带的酒吧和俱乐部一家一家地跑。这地方要想很快找到什么人的话，这是最好的方法。就像一只手提着牛排走在鲨鱼群里一样，一定有鲨鱼会扑上来。但反应也许是机关枪的子弹，也许是有用的情报。但不管是什么都确实是一种反应不会错，而我所要的其实也就是这个。我走了三天告诉几百个人我住的酒店名字，然后关在房间里把一罐罐啤酒喝光，一面清洁着四五口径一面等待那反应出现。
等待某个东西这回事是一件相当辛苦的差事。虽然凭职业上的第六感知道一定有什么人会来，但等待依然很辛苦。两天。三天都窝在房间里继续等着之间，神经逐渐开始狂乱起来。觉得与其窝在这样的地方等候，不如出去外面到处打探比较快也说不定。很多人就是这样而把加州私家侦探的平均寿命给拉下来的。
不过总之我还是等下去。我才三十六岁，现在死还太早了，而且至少我不愿意死在南湾市区小便的巷子里。在南湾市一具尸体还不如一辆二轮推车被人看重地处理。想要专程到这样的地方来死的人并不太多。
反应在第三天下午出现了。我用胶纸把四五口径新贴在桌面底下。手上拿着小型左轮枪把门只拉开二英寸左右。
“两手放在门上。”我说。就像前面说过几次那样，我还不想早死。就算是一桩便宜买卖，但我对我来说还是无可替代的推一珍贵的人。
“OK，不要开枪。”是女人的声音。我慢慢打开门，让女人进来之后再把门锁上。
正如相片上那样，不比相片更兴高采烈的女人。特别惹眼的金发和火箭一般的乳房，也难怪连中年男人都会被她捉住把柄。她穿着紧贴的洋装和六寸高的高跟鞋，手上拿着漆皮亮光皮包在床边坐下。
“只有伯本（BoufI3oll）威士忌，要喝吗？”
“好啊。
我用手帕擦擦玻璃杯，然后注入三根指头的Oldcrow递给女的。女的舔了一口之后便干脆喝掉一半。
“美好友谊的开始？”
“但愿如此。”我说。“首先谈谈信的事吧。”
“可以，信的事吗？很浪漫哟。”女的说。“不过到底是什么信？”
“你偷出来，然后拿它当证据向某人敲诈勒索的信哪。还想不起来吗？”
“想不起来，因为我根本没偷过什么信哪。”
“那么也没在洛杉矶的律师那里当过秘书吗？”
“当然哪。我只是想到这里来和你做好事就有一百元可以拿啊…，，
一块黑色的气团涌上我胃的人口。我把女人推倒在床上后，拔下桌底的四五口径，便趴进床底下，说时迟那时快，机关枪子弹发出金库柏（Gena Kmpa）的鼓点般的声音冲进房里来。子弹穿破门、打碎玻璃、撕裂墙纸、把花瓶的碎片迸散一屋子，椅垫子化为棉花糖。汤普逊机关枪风的世界正在重新建立中。
不过机关枪这东西比起它的喧闹程度来说效果却不怎么样。确实要制造碎肉是很适合，但却不是能够正确杀人的武器。和多嘴的专栏女作家一样。总之是经济效率的问题。确定子弹已经用尽乒乓声之后，我站了起来，以令人着迷的速度连续扣了四次扳机。两发子弹有反应，另外两发落空了。如果有五成的打击率的话，就可以打道奇队的四号了。但却当不了加州的私家侦探。
“蛮能干的嘛，侦探。”门的对面有人这样说。“不过只是到目前为止而已。”
“我终于明白了。本来就没有什么敲诈威胁。信也是捏造的。只因为积逊的事件想堵我的嘴而且。”
“是啊，侦探，你脑筋转得蛮快的嘛。因为你一开口很多人都大伤脑筋。所以只好让你在南湾市的便宜酒店里跟个妓女一起送命。这下子肯定恶名昭彰啊。”
相当了不起的情节，可惜独白太长了。我朝着门连射三发四五口径过去。一发命中打击率三成三分三厘，正是引退的高潮时机。或许有人会送我十五美元的花圈也说不定。
接着一阵枪林弹雨猛射。但这次没有持续多久。两发枪声像金库柏和巴弟里奇的鼓战一样互相重叠，十秒后一切便结束了。一旦出事警察的动作倒很快。只是要等到一旦出事之前比较花时间而已。
“我以为你们不会来了呢。”我大声吼道。
“来了啊。”欧伯尼警官以慢吞吞的声音说。“只是想让你们先讲讲话而已。你倒是干得蛮漂亮的啊。”
“对方是谁？”
“南湾市一个小有名气的流氓啊。不知道被谁指使的，看我的本事总有法子叫他开口。洛杉矶的律师也要逮捕起来。你相信我吧。”
“哇！你们真热心啊。”
“南湾市差不多该清扫一下了。只要有你作证，连市长的宝座都要动摇了。也许这不合你的个性，不过这个世界也有不被收买的警官啊。”
“是吗？”我说。
“不过这次我的事件你一开始就知道是个陷阱吗？”
“知道啊。你呢？”
“我没有怀疑委托者。这是和警察不同的地方。”
他咧嘴一笑走出房间。警察的笑法总是一个样子。只有那些有希望领到退休金的人才笑得出来的笑法。他走出去之后只留下我和女人和数百发的铅子弹。
南湾市几乎不下雨。在那里人们处理尸体还不如手推二轮车那么慎重。
The New Yorker
"So Masakichi got his paws full of honey—way more hohan he could eat by himself—a it in a pail, and do-o-own the mountain he went, all the way to the town, to sell his honey. Masakichi was the all-time No. 1 honey bear."
"Do bears have pails?" Sala asked.
"Masakichi just happeo have one," Junpei explained. "He found it lying by the road, and he figured it would e in handy sometime."
"And it did."
"It really did. So Masakichi went to the town and found a spot for himself in the square. He put up a sign: Deeelicious Honey. All Natural. One Cup ￥200. "
" bears t money?"
"Absolutely. Masakichi lived with people when he was just a cub, and they taught him how to talk and how to t money. Masakichi was a very special bear. And so the other bears, who werent so special, teo shun him."
"Shun him?"
"Yeah, theyd go, like, Hey, whats with this guy, ag so special? and keep away from him. Especially Tonkichi, the tough guy. He really hated Masakichi."
"Poor Masakichi!"
"Yeah, really. Meanwhile, the people would say, O.K., he knows how to t, and he talk and all, but when you get right down to it hes just a bear. So Masakichi didnt really belong to either world—the bear world or the people world."
"Didnt he have any friends?"
"Not a single friend. Bears dont go to school, you know, so theres no place for them to make friends."
"Do you have friends, Jun?" "Uncle Junpei" was too long for her, so Sala just called him Jun.
"Your daddy is my absolute bestest friend from a long, long time ago. And sos your mommy."
"Thats good, to have friends."
"It is good," Junpei said. "Youre right about that."
Junpei often made up stories for Sala before she went to bed. And whenever she didnt uand something she would ask him to explain. Junpei gave a lot of thought to his answers. Salas questions were often sharp and iing, and while he was thinking about them he could also e up with wists to the story he was telling.
Sayokht a glass of warm milk.
"Junpei is tellihe story of Masakichi the bear," Sala said. "Hes the all-time No. 1 honey bear, but he doesnt have any friends."
"Oh, really? Is he a big bear?" Sayoko asked.
Sala turo Junpei with an uneasy stare. "Is Masakichi big?"
"Not so big," Junpei said. "In fact, hes kind of on the small side. For a bear. Hes just about your size, Sala. And hes a very sweet-tempered little guy. When he listens to music, he doesnt listen to rock or punk or that kind of stuff. He likes to listen to Schubert, all by himself."
"He listens to music?" Sala asked. "Does he have a CD player or something?"
"He found a boom box lying on the ground one day. He picked it up and brought it home."
"How e all this stuff just happens to be lying around in the mountains?" Sala asked with a note of suspi.
"Well, its a very, very steep mountain, and the hikers get all faint and dizzy, and they throw away tons of stuff they dont need. Right there by the road, like, Oh, man, this pack is so heavy, I feel like Im gonna die! I dohis pail anymore. I dohis boom box anymore. "
"I know just how they feel," Sayoko said. "Sometimes you want to throw everything away."
"Not me," Sala said.
"Thats because youre young and full of energy, Sala," Junpei said. "Hurry and drink your milk so I tell you the rest of the story."
"O.K.," she said, ing her hands around the glass and drinking the warm milk with great care. Then she asked, "How asakichi doesnt make honey pies ahem? I think the people iown would like that better than just plain honey."
"An excellent point," Sayoko said with a smile. "His profits would be much greater that way."
"Plowing up new markets through value added," Junpei said. "This girl will be a real entrepreneur someday."
It was almost 2 A.M. by the time Sala went back to bed. Junpei and Sayoko waited for her to fall asleep, theo split a of beer at the kit table. Sayoko wasnt much of a drinker, and Junpei had to drive home.
"Sorry fing you out in the middle of the night," Sayoko said, "but I didnt know what else to do. Im totally exhausted, and youre the only one who calm her down. There was no way I was going to call Takatsuki."
Junpei nodded and took a swig of beer. "Dont worry about me," he said. "Im awake till the sun es up, and the roads are empty at this time of night. Its no big deal."
"You were w on a story?"
Junpei nodded.
"Hows it going?"
"Like always. I write em. They print em. Nobody reads em."
"I read them. All of them."
"Thanks. Youre a nice person," Junpei said. "But the short story is on its way out. Like the slide rule. Lets talk about Sala. Has she dohis before?"
Sayoko nodded.
"A lot?"
"Almost every night. Sometime after midnight, she gets these hysterical fits and jumps out of bed. And I t get her to st. Ive tried everything."
"Any idea whats wrong?"
Sayoko drank what was left of her beer and stared at the empty glass.
"I think she saw too many news reports on the earthquake. It was too much for a four-year-old. She wakes up at around the time of the quake. She says a man woke her up, somebody she doesnt know. The Earthquake Maries to put her in a little box—too little for ao fit into. She tells him she doesnt want to get inside, aarts pushing her—so hard her joints crad he tries to stuff her ihats when she screams and wakes up."
"The Earthquake Man?"
"Hes tall and skinny and old. After shes had the dream, she goes around turning on every light in the house and looking for him: in the closets, in the shoe cupboard in the front hall, uhe beds, in all the dresser drawers. I tell her it was just a dream, but she wont listen to me. And she wont go to bed until shes looked everywhere he could possibly hide. That takes at least an hour, by which time Im wide awake. Im so sleep-deprived I hardly stand up, let alone work."
Sayoko almost never spilled out her feelings like this.
"Try not to watch the news," Junpei said. "The earthquakes all theyre showing these days."
"I almost never watch TV anymore. But its too late now. The Earthquake Man keeps ing."
Juhought for a while.
"What do you say we go to the zoo on Sunday? Sala says she wants to see a real bear."
Sayoko narrowed her eyes and looked at him. "Not bad. It just might ge her mood. Lets do it—the four of us. Its been ages. You call Takatsuki, O.K.?"
Junpei was thirty-six, born and bred iy of Kobe, where his father owned a pair of jewelry stores. He had a sister six years his junior. After a year at a private cram school, he had enrolled at Waseda Uy, in Tokyo. He had passed the entrance exams in both the business and the literature departments. He chose the literature department without the slightest hesitation and told his parents that he had ehe business department. They would never have paid for him to study literature, and Junpei had no iion of wasting four precious years studying the ws of the ey. All he wanted was to study literature, and then to bee a writer.
At the uy, Junpei made two friends, Takatsuki and Sayoko. Takatsuki came from the mountains of Nagano. Tall and broad-shouldered, he had been the captain of his high-school soccer team. It had taken him two years of studying to pass the entrance exam, so he was a year older than Junpei. Practical and decisive, he had the kind of looks that made people take to him right away, aurally assumed a leadership role in any group. But he had trouble reading books; he had ehe literature department because its exam was the only one he could pass. "What the hell," he said, in his positive way. "Im going to be a neer reporter, so Ill let them teach me how to write."
Junpei did not uand why Takatsuki had any i in befriending him. Junpei was the kind of person who liked to sit alone in his room reading books or listening to musid he was terrible at sports. Awkward with strangers, he rarely made friends. Still, for whatever reason, Takatsuki seemed to have decided the first time he saw Junpei in class that he was going to make him a friend. He tapped Junpei on the shoulder and said, "Hey, lets get something to eat." And by the end of the day they had opeheir hearts to each other.
Takatsuki used the same approach with Sayoko. Junpei was with Takatsuki wheapped her on the shoulder and said, "Hey, what do you say the three of us go get something to eat?" And so their tight little group was born. Juakatsuki, and Sayoko did everything together. They shared lecture notes, ate lun the campus dining hall, talked about their future over coffee, took parttime jobs at the same place, went to latenight movies and rock certs, walked all over Tokyo, and drank so much beer that they even got sick together. In other words, they behaved like first-year college students the world over.
Sayoko was a real Tokyo girl. She came from the old part of town, where the mert class had lived for turies, and her father ran a shop selling the exquisite little accessories that go with traditional Japanese dress. The business had been in the family for several geions, and it attracted an exclusive tele that included several famous Kabuki actors. Sayoko had plans to go on to graduate school in English literature, and ultimately to an academic career. She read a lot, and she and Junpei were stantly exging novels and having intense versations about them. Sayoko had beautiful hair and intelligent eyes. She expressed herself quietly and with simple hoy, but deep down she had great strength. She was always casually dressed, without makeup, but she had a unique sense of humor, and her face would kle up mischievously whenever she made some funny remark. Junpei found that look of hers incredible. He had never fallen in love until he met Sayoko. He had attended a boys high school and had had almost no opportuo meet girls.
But Junpei couldnt bring himself to express his feelings to Sayoko. He khat there would be no going bace the words were spoken, and that Sayoko might take herself off somewhere far beyond his reach. At the very least, the perfectly balanced, fortable relationship between Juakatsuki, and Sayoko would undergo a shift. So Juold himself to leave things as they were for now and watd wait.
In the end, Takatsuki was the first to make a move. "I hate to throw this at you out of the blue, but Im in love with Sayoko," he told Junpei. "I hope you dont mind." This was midway through September of their sed year. Takatsuki explaihat he and Sayoko had bee involved, almost by act, while Junpei was at home for the summer vacation.
Junpei fixed his gaze on Takatsuki. It took him a few moments to uand what had happened, but when he did it sank into him like a lead weight. He no longer had any choi the matter. "No," he said, "I dont mind."
"I am so glad to hear that!" Takatsuki said with a huge smile. "You were the only one I was worried about. I mean, the three of us had such a great thing going, it was kind of like I beat you out. But, anyway, Juhis had to happen sometime. If not now, it was bound to happen sooner or later. The main thing is that I want the three of us to go on being friends. O.K.?"
Junpei spent the several days in a fog. He skipped classes and work. He lay on the floor of his one-room apartmeing nothing but the scraps in the refrigerator and slugging down whiskey whehe impulse struck him. He thought about quitting uy and going to some distant town where he knew no one and could spend the rest of his years doing manual labor. That would be the best life style for him, he decided.
On the fifth day of this, Sayoko came to Junpeis apartment. She was wearing a navy-blue sweatshirt and white cotton pants, and her hair inned back.
"Where have you been?" she asked. "Everybodys worried that youre dead in your room. Takatsuki asked me to check up on you. I guess he wasnt too keen on seeing the corpse himself."
Junpei said he had been feeling sick.
"Yeah," she said, "youve lost some weight, I think." She stared at him. "Wao make you something to eat?"
Junpei shook his head. He didnt feel like eating, he said.
Sayoko opehe refrigerator and looked ih a grimace. It held only two s of beer, an old cucumber, and some baking soda. Sayoko sat dowo Junpei. "I dont know how to ask this, Junpei, but are you feeling bad about Takatsuki and me?"
Junpei said that he was not. And it was no lie. He was not feeling bad ry. If, in fact, he was angry, it was at himself. For Takatsuki and Sayoko to bee lovers was the most natural thing in the world. Takatsuki had all the qualifications. Junpei had was that simple.
"Go halves on a beer?" Sayoko asked.
"Sure."
She took a of beer from the refrigerator and divided the tents between two glasses, handing oo Juhey drank in silence, separately.
"Its kind of embarrassing to put this into words," she said, "but I want to stay friends with you, Junpei. Not just for now, but even after we get older. A lot older. I love Takatsuki, but I need you, too, in a whole different way. Does that make me selfish?"
Junpei was not sure how to ahat, but he shook his head.
Sayoko said, "To uand something and to put that something into a form that you see with your own eyes are two pletely different things. If you could mao do both equally well, living would be a lot simpler."
Junpei looked at Sayoko in profile. He had no idea what she was trying to say. Why does my brain always work so slowly? he wondered. He looked up, and for a long time his half-focussed eyes traced the shape of a stain on the ceiling. How would the situation have developed if he had fessed his love to Sayoko before Takatsuki had fessed his? To this Junpei could find no answer. All he knew for sure was that such a thing would never have happened.
He heard the sound of tears falling oami, an oddly magnified sound. For a moment, he wondered if he was g without being aware of it. But then he realized that Sayoko was the one who was g. She had hung her head between her knees, and now, though she made no sound, her shoulders were trembling.
Almost unsciously, he reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. Then he drew her gently toward him. She did not resist. He ed his arms around her and pressed his lips to hers. She closed her eyes a her lips part. Junpei caught the st of tears and drew breath from her mouth. He felt the softness of her breasts against him. Inside, he felt some kind of switg of places. He even heard the sound it made—like joints creaking. But that was all. As if regaining sciousness, Sayoko moved her face bad down, pushing Junpei away.
"No," she said quietly, shaking her head. "We t do this. Its wrong."
Junpei apologized. Sayoko said nothing. They remaihat way, in silence, for a long time. The sound of a radio came in through the open window. It ular song. Junpei was sure that he would remember it till the day he died. But, in fact, try as he might after that, he was never able to recall the title or the melody.
"You dont have to apologize," Sayoko said. "Its not your fault."
"I think Im fused," Junpei said holy.
Sayoko reached out and laid her hand on Junpeis. "e back to school, O.K.? Tomorrow? Ive never had a friend like you before. You give me so much. I hope you realize that."
"So much, but not enough," he said.
"Thats not true," she said. "That is so not true."
Junpei went to his classes the day, and the tight-knit threesome of Juakatsuki, and Sayoko tihrough graduation. Junpeis short-lived desire to disappear disappeared itself. By holding her in his arms that day in his apartment and pressing his lips to hers, Junpei had calmed something inside himself. At least he no longer felt fused. The decision had been made, even if he had not been the oo make it.
Sayoko sometimes introduced Juo a classmate of hers, and they would double-date. He saw a lot of one of the girls, and it was with her that he had sex for the first time, just before his tweh birthday. But his heart was always somewhere else. He was respectful, kind, and teo her, but never passionate or devoted. She eventually went elsewhere in search of true warmth. The same pattered itself any number of times.
When he graduated, Junpeis parents discovered that he had been maj in literature, not eics, and things turned ugly. His father wanted him to take over the family business, but Junpei had no iion of doing that. He wao stay in Tokyo and keep writing fi. There was no room for promise oher side, and a violent argument ensued. Words were spoken that should not have been. Junpei never saw his parents again, and he was vihat it had to be that way. Unlike his sister, who always mao promise a along with their parents, Junpei had dohing but clash with them from the time he was a child.
Juook a series of part-time jobs that helped him to scrape by as he tio write fi. Whenever he finished a story, he showed it to Sayoko and got her ho opinion, then revised it acc tgestions. Until she pronounced a piece good, he would rewrite it again and again, carefully and patiently. He had no other mentor, and he beloo no writers group.
When he was twenty-four, a story of his won an award from a literary magazine, and over the five years Junpei was nominated for the coveted Akutagarize four times, but he never actually won it. He remaihe eternally promising didate. A typical opinion from a judge on the prize ittee would say, "For such a young author, this is writing of very high quality, with remarkable examples of both plot and psychological analysis. But the author has a tendency to let seake over from time to time, and the work lacks both freshness and ic sweep."
Takatsuki would laugh when he read such opinions. "These guys are out of their minds. What the hell is ic sweep? Real people dont use words like that. Todays sukiyaki was lag iic sweep. Ever hear anybody say anything like that?"
Junpei published two volumes of short stories before he turhirty: "Horse in the Rain" and "Grapes." "Horse in the Rain" sold ten thousand copies, "Grapes" twelve thousand. These were not bad figures for short-story colles, acc to his editor. The reviews were generally favorable, but none gave his work passionate support. Most of Junpeis stories were about young people in situations of ued love. His style was lyrical, the plots rather old-fashioned. Readers of his geion were looking for a more iive style and grittier plots. This was the age of video games and rap music, after all. Junpeis edited him to try a novel. If he never wrote anything but short stories, he would just keep dealing with the same material over and ain. Writing a novel could open up whole new worlds for a writer. As a practical matter, too, novels attracted far more attention than stories. Writing only short stories was a hard way to make a living.
But Junpei was a born short-story writer. He would shut himself in his room, let everything else go to hell, and turn out a first draft in three days of trated effort. After four more days of polishing, he would give the manuscript to Sayoko and his editor to read. Basically, though, the battle was won or lost in that first week. That was whehing that mattered iory came together. His personality was suited to this way of w: total tration of effort over a few short days. Junpei felt only exhaustion whehought about writing a novel. How could he possibly maintain his tration for months at a time? That kind of pag eluded him.
Given his austere bachelors life style, Junpei did not need much money. Once he had made what he needed fiven period, he would stop accepting work. He had only one silent cat to feed. His girlfriends were always the undemanding type, and when he grew bored with them he would e up with some pretext for ending the relationship. Sometimes, maybe once a month, he would wake at an odd time in the night with a feeling that was close to panic. Im not going anywhere, he would tell himself. I struggle all I want, but Im never going to go anywhere. Then he would either force himself to go to his desk and write, or drink until he could no loay awake.
Takatsuki had lahe job hed always wanted—rep for a top neer. Since he udied, his grades at the uy were nothing t about, but the impression he made at interviews was overwhelmingly positive, and he had basically been hired on the spot. Sayoko had entered graduate school, as plahey married six months after graduation, the ceremony as cheerful and busy as Takatsuki himself. They honeymooned in France, and bought a two-room do a short ute from downtown. Junpei would e over for dinner a couple of times a week, and the newlyweds always weled him warmly. It was almost as if they were more fortable with Junpei around thahey were aloogether.
Takatsuki enjoyed his work at the neer. He was assigned first to the city desk, which kept him running from one se edy to the . "I see a corpse now and not feel a thing," he said. Bodies dismembered by trains, charred in fires, discolored with age, the bloated cadavers of drowning victims, gunshot victims with their brains splattered. "Whatever distinguished one lump of flesh from another when they were alive, its all the same oheyre dead," he said. "Just used-up shells."
Takatsuki was sometimes too busy to make it home before m. Then Sayoko would call Junpei. She khat he was often up all night.
"Are you w? you talk?"
"Sure," he would say. "Im not doing anything special."
Theyd discuss the books they had read, or things that had e up in their daily lives. Thealk about the old days, when they were still free and spontaneous. versations like that would iably bring back memories of the time that Junpei had held Sayoko in his arms: the smooth touch of her lips, the softness of her breasts against him, the transparent early-autumn sunlight streaming onto the tatami floor of his apartment—these were never far from his thoughts.
Just after she turhirty, Sayoko became pregnant. She was a graduate assistant at the time, but she took a break from her job to give birth to a baby girl. The three of them came up with all kinds of names for the baby, but decided in the end on one of Junpeis suggestions—Sala. "I love the sound of it," Sayoko told him. There were no plications with the birth, and that night Junpei and Takatsuki found themselves together without Sayoko for the first time in a long while. Junpei had brought over a bottle of single malt to celebrate, and they emptied it together at the kit table.
"Why does time shoot by like this?" Takatsuki asked with a depth of feeling that was rare for him. "It seems like only yesterday I was a freshman, and then I met you, and then I met Sayoko, and the hing I know Im a father. Its weird, like Im watg a movie in fast-forward. You probably wouldnt uand, Junpei. Youre still living the way you did in college. Its like you opped being a student, you lucky bastard."
"Not so lucky," Junpei said, but he knew how Takatsuki felt. Sayoko was a mother now. This was as big a shock for Junpei as it was for Takatsuki. The gears of life had moved ahead a notch with a loud ker-k, and Junpei khat they would urn back again. The ohing that he was not yet sure of was how he was supposed to feel about it.
"I couldnt tell you this before," Takatsuki said, "but Im pretty sure Sayoko was more attracted to you than she was to me." He was drunk, but there was a more serious gleam in his eye than usual.
"Thats crazy," Junpei said with a smile.
"Like hell it is. I know what Im talking about. You know how to put words on a page, but you dont know shit about a womans feelings. A drowned corpse does better than you. You had no idea how she felt about you, and I figured, what the hell, I was in love with her, and I had to have her. I still think shes the greatest woman in the world. I still think it was my right to have her."
"Nobodys saying it wasnt," Junpei said.
Takatsuki nodded. "But you still do. Not really. When it es to anything halfway important, youre so damn stupid. Its amazing to me that you put a piece of fi together."
"Yeah, well, thats a different thing."
"Anyhow, now there are four of us," Takatsuki said with a sigh. "Four of us. Four. Is that O.K.?"
Junpei learned just before Salas sed birthday that Takatsuki and Sayoko were on the verge of breaking up. Sayoko seemed apologetic when she broke the o him. Takatsuki had had a lover sihe time of Sayoknancy, and he hardly ever came home anymore, she explained.
Junpei couldo grasp what he was hearing, no matter how maails Sayoko was able to give him. Why would Takatsuki have wanted another woman? He had declared Sayoko to ９９lｉb?be the greatest woman in the world the night that Sala was born, and he had meant it. Besides, he was crazy about Sala. "I mean, Im over at your house all the time, eating dinner with you guys, right? But I never sensed a thing. You were happiness itself—the perfect family."
"Its true," Sayoko said. "We werent lying to you or putting on an act. But quite separately from that he got himself a girlfriend, and we ever go back to what we had. So we decided to split up. Do bother you too much. Im sure things will work out better now, in a lot of different ways."
Sayoko and Takatsuki were divorced some months later. They reached an agreement without the slightest problem: no recriminations, no disputed claims. Takatsuki went to live with his girlfriend; he came to visit Sala once a week, and they all agreed that Junpei would try to be present at those times. "It would make things easier for both of us," Sayoko told Junpei. He felt as if he had suddenly grown much older, though he had only just turhirty-three.
Whehey got together, Takatsuki was his usual talkative self, and Sayokos behavior erfectly natural, as though nothing had happened. If anything, she seemed even more natural than before, in Junpeis eyes. Sala had no idea that her parents were divorced. And Junpei played his assigned role perfectly. The three joked around as always and talked about the old days.
"Hey, Juell me," Takatsuki said, one January night whewo of them were walking home, their breath white in the chill air. "Do you have somebody youre planning to marry?"
"Not at the moment," Junpei said.
"No girlfriend?"
"Nope."
"What do you say you and Sayoko get together?"
Junpei squi Takatsuki as if at some tht object. "Why?" he asked.
"What do you mean, why? Its so obvious! If nothing else, youre the only man Id want to be a father to Sala."
"Is that the only reason you think I should marry Sayoko?"
Takatsuki sighed and draped his thick arm around Junpeis shoulders.
"Whats the matter? Dont you like the idea of marrying Sayoko? Or is it the thought of stepping in after me?"
"That doesnt bother me. I just wonder if you make this like some kind of deal. Its a question of decy."
"This is no deal," Takatsuki said. "And its got nothing to do with decy. You love Sayokht? You love Sala, too, dont you? Thats the most important thing. I know youve got your os. Fine. I grant you that. But to me it looks like youre trying to pull off your shorts without taking off your pants."
Junpei said nothing, and Takatsuki went into an unusually long silence. Shoulder to shoulder, they walked down the road to the station, heaving white breath into the night.
"In any case," Junpei said, "youre an absolute idiot."
"I have to give you credit," Takatsuki said. "Youre right on the mark. I dont deny it. Im ruining my own life. But Im telling you, Junpei, I couldnt help it. There was no way I could put a stop to it. I dont know aer than you do why it had to happen. It just happened. And, if not here and now, something like it would have happened sooner or later."
Junpei felt as if he had heard the same speech before. "Do you remember what you said to me the night that Sala was born? That Sayoko was the greatest woman in the world, that you could never find ao take her place."
"And its still true. Nothing has ged where thats ed. But that very fact sometimes make things go bad."
"I dont know what you mean by that," Junpei said.
"And you never will," Takatsuki said with a shake of the head. He always had the last word.
Two years went by. Sayoko never went back to teag. Junpei got aor friend of his to send her a story to translate, and she carried the job off with a certain flair. The editor was impressed enough to give her a substantial new piece the following month. The pay was not very good, but it added to what Takatsuki was sending and helped Sayoko and Sala to live fortably.
They all went oing at least once a week, as they always had. Whenever urgent business kept Takatsuki away, Sayoko, Junpei, and Sala would eat together. The table was quiet without Takatsuki, and the versation turo oddly muters. A stranger would have assumed that the three of them were just a typical family.
Junpei went on writing a steady stream of stories, bringing out his fourth colle, "Silent Moon," when he was thirty-five. It received one of the prizes reserved for established writers, and the title story was made into a movie. Junpei also produced a volume of music criticism, wrote a book on oral gardening, and translated a colle of John Updikes short stories. All were well received. Seg his position as a writer little by little, he had developed a steady readership and a stable ine.
He tio think seriously about asking Sayoko to marry him. On more than one occasion, he kept himself awake all night thinking about it, and for a time he was uo work. But still he could not make up his mind. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed to him that his relationship with Sayoko had been sistently chraphed by others. His position was alassive. Takatsuki was the one who had picked the two of them out of his class and created the threesome. Then he had taken Sayoko, married her, made a child with her, and divorced her. And now Takatsuki was the one who was urging Juo marry her. Junpei loved Sayoko, of course. About that there was no question. And now was the perfect time for him to be united with her. She probably wouldnt turn him down. But Junpei couldhinking that things were just a bit too easy. What was there left for him to decide? And so he went on w. And not deg. And then the earthquake came.
Junpei was in Bara at the time, doing a story for an airline magazine. He returo his hotel in the evening to find the TV news filled with images of collapsed buildings and black clouds of smoke. It looked like the aftermath of an air raid. Because the announcer eaking in Spanish, it took Junpei a while to realize what city he was looking at. "Youre from Kobe, arent you?" his photographer asked.
But Junpei did not try to call his parents. The rift was too deep, and had gone on too long for there to be any hope of reciliation. Junpei flew back to Tokyo and resumed his normal life there. He urned oelevision, and hardly looked at a neer. Whehe subject of the earthquake came up, he would clamp his mouth shut. It was an echo from a past that he had buried long ago. He had foot on those streets since his graduation, but still the catastrophe laid bare wounds that were hidden somewhere deep inside him. It seemed to ge certain aspects of his life—quietly, but pletely. Junpei felt airely new sense of isolation. I have no roots, he thought. Im not ected to anything.
Early on the Sunday m that they had all plao take Sala to the zoo to see the bears, Takatsuki called to say that he had to fly to Okinawa. He had ma last to pry the promise of a one-oerview out of the governor. "Sorry, but youll have to go to the zoo without me. I dont suppose Mr. Bear will be too upset if I dont make it."
So Junpei and Sayoko took Sala to the Ueno Zoo. Junpei held Sala in his arms and showed her the bears. She poio the biggest, blackest bear and asked, "Is that one Masakichi?"
"No, no, thats not Masakichi," Junpei said. "Masakichi is smaller than that, and hes smarter-looking, too. Thats the tough guy, Tonkichi."
"Tonkichi!" Sala yelled again and again, but the bear paid no attention. Then she looked at Junpei and said, "Tell me a story about Tonkichi."
"Thats a hard one," Junpei said. "There arent that many iing stories about Tonkichi. Hes just an ordinary bear. He t talk or t money like Masakichi."
"But I bet you tell me something good about him. Ohing."
"Youre absolutely right," Junpei said. "Theres at least one good thing to tell about even the most ordinary bear. Oh, yeah, I almost fot. Well, Tonchiki—"
"Tonkichi!" Sala corrected him with a toupatience.
"Ah, yes, sorry. Well, Tonkichi had ohing he could do really well, and that was catg salmon. Hed go to the river and crouch down behind a boulder and snap!—he would grab himself a salmon. You have to be really fast to do something like that. Tonkichi was not the brightest bear on the mountain, but he sure could catch more salmon than any of the other bears. More than he could ever hope to eat. But he couldnt go to town to sell his extra salmon, because he didnt know how to talk."
"Thats easy," Sala said. "All he had to do was trade his extra salmon for Masakichis extra honey."
"Youre right," Junpei said. "And thats what Tonkichi decided to do. So Tonkichi and Masakichi started trading salmon for honey, and before long they got to know each other really well. Tonkichi realized that Masakichi was not such a stuck-up bear after all, and Masakichi realized that Tonkichi was not just a tough guy. Before they k, they were best friends. Tonkichi worked hard at catg salmon, and Masakichi worked hard at colleg honey. But then one day, like a bolt from the blue, the salmon disappeared from the river."
"A bolt from the blue?"
"Like a flash of lightning from a clear blue sky," Sayoko explained. "All of a sudden, without warning."
"All of a sudden the salmon disappeared?" Sala asked, with a sombre expression. "But why?"
"Well, all the salmon in the wot together and decided they werent going to swim up that river anymore, because a bear onkichi was there, and he was so good at catg salmon. Tonkiever caught another det salmon after that. The best he could do was cat occasional skinny salmon a it, but the worst-tasting thing you could ever want to eat is a skinny salmon."
"Poor Tonkichi!" Sala said.
"And thats how Tonkichi ended up beio the zoo?" Sayoko asked.
"Well, thats a long, long story," Junpei said, clearing his throat. "But, basically, yes, thats what happened."
"Didnt Masakichi help Tonkichi?" Sala asked.
"He tried. They were best friends, after all. Thats what friends are for. Masakichi shared his honey with Tonkichi—for free! But Tonkichi said, I t let you do that. Itd be like taking advantage of you. Masakichi said, You dont have to be such a stranger with me, Tonkichi. If I were in your position, youd do the same thing for me, Im sure. You would, wouldnt you? "
"Sure he would," Sala said.
"But things didnt stay that way between them for long," Sayoko interjected.
"Things didnt stay that way between them for long," Junpei said. "Tonkichi told Masakichi, Were supposed to be friends. Its nht for one friend to do all the giving and the other to do all the taking: thats not real friendship. Im leaving this mountain now, Masakichi, and Ill try my luewhere else. And if you and I meet up again somewhere, we will still be best friends. So they shook hands and parted. But after Tonkichi came down from the mountain, he didnt know enough to be careful iside world, so a hunter caught him in a trap. That was the end of Tonkichis freedom. They sent him to the zoo."
"Couldnt you have e up with a better ending? Like, everybody lives happily ever after?" Sayoko asked Junpei later.
"I havent thought of o."
The three of them had diogether, as usual, in Sayokos apartment. Sayoko boiled a pot of spaghetti and defrosted some tomato sauce while Junpei made a salad of green beans and onions. They opened a bottle of red wine and poured Sala a glass e juice. When they had finished eating, and ing the kit, Junpei read to Sala from a picture book, but wheime came she resisted.
"Please, Mama, do the bra trick," she begged.
Sayoko blushed. "Not now," she said. "We have a guest."
"No, we dont," Sala said. "Junpeis not a guest."
"Whats this all about?" Junpei asked.
"Its just a silly game," Sayoko said.
"Mama takes her bra off under her clothes, puts it oable, and puts it ba again. She has to keep one hand oable. Aime her. Shes great!"
"Sala!" Sayoko growled, shaking her head. "Its just a little game we play at home. Its not meant for anybody else."
"Sounds like fun to me," Junpei said.
"Please, Mama, show Junpei! Just once. If you do it, Ill go to bed right away."
"Oh, whats the use," Sayoko muttered. She took off her digital watd ha to Sala. "Now, youre not going to give me any more trouble about going to bed, right? O.K., get ready to time me when I t to three."
Sayoko was wearing a baggy black eck sweater. She put both hands oable and ted, "One . . . two . . . three!" Like a turtles head retrag into its shell, her right hand disappeared up her sleeve, and then there was a light back-scratg kind of movement. Out came the right hand again, and the left ha up its sleeve. Sayoko turned her head just a bit, and the left hand came out holding a white bra—a small one, with no wires. Without the slightest wasted motion, the hand and bra went back up the sleeve, and the hand came out again. Then the right hand pulled in, poked around at the back, and came out again. The end. Sayoko rested her right hand on her left oable.
"Twenty-five seds," Sala said. "Thats great, Mama, a new record! Your best time so far was thirty-six seds."
Junpei applauded. "Wonderful! Like magic."
Sala clapped her hands, too. Sayoko stood up and announced, "All right, show time is over. To bed, young lady. You promised."
Sala kissed Junpei on the cheek ao bed.
Sayoko stayed with her until her breathing was deep and steady, then joined Junpei on the sofa. "I have a fession to make," she said. "I cheated."
"Cheated?"
"I didnt put the bra ba. I just pretended. I slipped it out from under my sweater and dropped it on the floor."
Junpei laughed. "What a terrible mother!"
"I wao make a new record," she said, narrowing her eyes with a smile. He hadnt seen her smile in that simple, mischievous way for a long time. Time wobbled on its axis inside Junpei, like curtains stirring in a breeze. He reached for Sayokos shoulder, and her hand took his. They came together on the sofa in a strong embrace. With plete naturalness, they ed their arms around each other and kissed. It was as if nothing had ged sihe time they were een.
"We should have been like this to begin with," Sayoko whispered after they had moved from the sofa to her bed. "But you did. You just did. Not till the salmon disappeared from the river."
They took their clothes off and held each ently. Their hands groped clumsily, as if they were both having sex for the first time. They took their time, until they khey were ready, and then at last Junpei entered Sayoko and she drew him in.
None of this seemed real to Junpei. In the half-light, he felt as if he were crossing a deserted bridge that went on and on forever. He moved, and she moved with him. Again and again, he wao e, but he held himself back, fearing that, o happehe dream would end and everything would vanish.
Then, behind him, he heard a slight creaking sound. The bedroom door was easing open. The light from the hallway took the shape of the door and fell on the rumpled bedclothes. Junpei raised himself and turo see Sala standing against the light. Sayoko held her breath and moved her hips aulling Junpei out. Gathering the sheet to her breasts, she used one hand t?99ｌib?hten the hair on her forehead.
Sala was n or screaming. Her right hand gripping the doorknob, she just stood there, looking at the two of them but seeing nothing. Her eyes were focussed oiness.
Sayoko called her name.
"The man said to e here," Sala said in a flat voice, like someone who has just been ripped out of a dream.
"The man?" Sayoko asked.
"The Earthquake Man. He came and woke me up. He told me to tell you. He said he has the box ready for everybody. He said hes waiting with the lid open. He said I should tell you that, and you would uand."
Sala slept in Sayokos bed that night. Juretched out on the living-room sofa with a bla, but he could not sleep. The TV faced the sofa, and for a very long time he stared at the dead s. Junpei khat they were ihere. They were waiting with the box open. Junpei felt a chill run up his spine, and, no matter how long he waited, it did not go away.
He gave up trying to sleep ao the kit. He made himself some coffee and sat at the kit table to drink it, but he felt something bunched up under one foot. It was Sayokos bra, still lying there. He picked it up and hung it on the back of a chair. It was a simple, white piece of underwear, devoid of decoration. It hung o chair in the predawn darkness like some anonymous witness who had wandered in from a time long past.
Juhought about his early days in college. He could still hear Takatsuki the first time they met, saying, "Hey, lets get something to eat," in that warm way of his, and he could see Takatsukis friendly smile that seemed to say, "Relax. The world is just going to keep gettier aer." Where did we eat that time, Junpei wondered, and what did we have? He couldnt remember, though he was sure it was nothing special.
"Why did you e to go to lunch with?" Junpei had asked him that day. Takatsuki tapped his own temple with plete fidence. "I have a talent for pig the right friends at the right times in the right places."
And Takatsuki had not been wrong, Juhought, setting his coffee mug o table. He did have an intuitive knack for pig the right friends. But that was not enough. Finding one person to love over the long haul of life was quite a different matter from finding friends. Junpei closed his eyes and thought about the stretch of time he had passed through. He did not want to think of it as something he had merely used up without any purpose.
As soon as Sayoko woke in the m, he would ask her to marry him, Junpei decided. He was sure now. He couldnt waste another miaking care not to make a sound, he opehe bedroom door and looked at Sayoko and Sala sleeping bundled in a forter. Sala lay with her back to Sayoko, whose arm was draped on Salas shoulder. Juouched Sayokos hair where it fell across the pillow, and caressed Salas small, pink cheek with the tip of his finger. her of them stirred. He eased himself down to the carpeted floor by the bed, his back against the wall, to watch over them in their sleep.
Eyes fixed on the hands of the clock, Juhought about the rest of the story for Sala. He had to find a way to end the tale of Masakichi and Tonkichi. There had to be a way to save Tonkichi from the zoo. Junpei retraced the story from the beginning. Before long, an idea began to sprout in his head, and, little by little, it took shape.
Tonkichi had the same thought as Sala: he would use the hohat Masakichi had collected to bake honey pies. It didnt take him long to realize that he had a real talent for making crisp, delicious honey pies. Masakichi took the honey pies to town and sold them to the people there. The people loved Tonkichis honey pies and bought them by the dozen. So Tonkichi and Masakiever had to separate again: they lived happily ever after in the mountains.
Sala would be sure to love the new ending. And so would Sayoko. I want to write stories that are different from the ones Ive written so far, Juhought. I want to write about people who dream and wait for the night to end, who long for the light so that they hold the ohey love. But right now I have to stay here and keep watch over this woman and this girl. I will never let a ary to put them into that crazy box, not even if the sky should fall or the earth crack open with a roar.
意大利粉之年
一九七一年，那是意大利粉之年。
一九七一年，我为了生活而继续煮着意大利粉，为了煮意大利粉而继续活下去。只有从铝锅热腾腾冒起来的水蒸气，是我仅有的荣耀，而粉酱锅咕嘟咕嘟发出声音的番茄酱则是我惟一的希望。
我弄到一个连德国牧羊犬洗澡都够大的巨大铝锅，买到一个做西点的计时器，并跑遍以外国顾客为目标的超级市场，搜集了各种名称古怪的调味料，在外国书店找到了意大利粉的专门书，以成打为单位买了大量的番茄。
大蒜、洋葱、沙律油和五花八门的香味，化作细微的粒子，飞散在空中，浑然化为一体，被吸进六叠榻榻米大的房间的每个角落。那居然像古罗马下水道一样的气味。
公元一九七一年，意大利粉之年所发生的事。
基本上，我是一个人煮意大利粉，一个人吃意大利粉。由于某种原因，和谁两个人一起吃也不是没有过。不过我还是喜欢一个人吃，我觉得意大利粉好像是应该一个人吃的料理。至于理由何在，则不清楚。
意大利粉总是附有红茶和沙律。装在茶壶里三杯份的红茶，和只有生菜拌小青瓜的沙津。把这些整齐地排在桌上，一面以斜眼瞧着报纸，一面花上长长的时间，一个人慢吞吞地吃意大利粉，从星期天到星期六，意大利粉的日子接连不断，这结束之后，新的星期天起，又开始了新的意大利粉的每一天。
一个人吃起意大利粉来，连现在都还觉得好像听见敲门的声音，有人走进房间里来似的，尤其是下雨天的下午更是这样。
可能会到我房间里来的人物，每次都不一样，有时候是不认识的人；有时候是曾经见过的人；有时候是高中时代只约会过一次，脚非常纤细的女孩；有时候是几年前的我自己；有时候是带着珍妮花镇丝（Jennifer Jones）的威廉荷顿。
威廉荷顿？
不过，他们没有一个进到房间里来，他们好像犹豫不决似的，只在房间外面徘徊而已，结果连门也没敲，就不知道消失到什么地方去了。
外面下着雨。
春、夏、秋，我继续煮着意大利粉。那简直就像对什么事情的报复似的，就像一个把负心情人的古老情书，一束束滑落炉火中的孤独女人一样，我继续煮着意大利粉。
我把被践踏的时光之影放在钵里，搓揉成德国牧羊犬的形状，放进沸腾的开水里，撒上盐。并拿起长长的筷子，站在铝锅前面，直到厨房的计时钟“叮铃”��发出悲痛的声音为止，我一步也不离开。
因为意大利粉狡猾得很，所以我的眼睛不能离开它们一下。它们好像现在就要溜出错锅的边缘，散失在暗夜里似的。正如原色蝴蝶在热带丛林里会被吞入万劫不复的时光里一般，黑夜也在悄悄地等待着吞没意大利粉。
波罗乃滋（poloAnise）意大利粉
巴吉利可（basilico）意大利粉
菌香意大利粉
牛肉意大利粉
规肉番茄酱意大利粉
火腿蛋奶（carboara）意大利粉
蒜茸意大利粉
还有冰箱里的剩菜残羹，也乱七八糟倒下去，做成连名字也没有的悲剧性意大利粉们。
意大利粉在蒸气中被生下来，就像江河的流水一样，流过一九七一年时光的斜坡，然后匆匆逝去。
我为它们哀悼。
一九七一年的意大利粉。
三点二十分，电话铃响的时候，我正躺在榻榻米上盯着天花板出神。冬天的日光，正好只在我躺着的部分，造成一滩阳光的游泳池。我简直就像死掉的苍蝇一样，在一九七一年十二月的阳光里，呆呆躺了好几个钟头。
起先听起来，并不觉得是电话铃，只像是空气层里，不客气地溜进来被遗忘的记忆片段之类的东西。重复了几次之后，才好不容易开始带上电话铃的体裁，最后变成百分之百的电话铃声。震动着百分之百现实空气的百分之百的电话铃声。我仍然以躺着的姿势，伸手抓起听筒。
电话的对方是个女孩子，印象非常淡薄，好像午后四点半就要消失无踪似的女孩。她是我一个朋友过去的女朋友。并不是怎么熟的朋友，只是见面打招呼的程度而且。看起来好像颇理直气壮的奇怪理由，使他们在几年前成为情侣，而类似的理由却又在几个月前把这两个人拆散了。
“告诉我他在哪里好吗？”她说。
我望着听筒，并以眼睛追踪着电话线，电线连接得好好的。
“为什么要问我？”
“因为没有人告诉我啊。”她以冷冷的声音说。“他在哪里？”
“我不知道。”我说。说出来之后，听起来却完全不像是自己的声音。
她默不作声。
听筒像冰柱一样变得冷冰冰的。
接着我周围的一切也都变成了冰柱。简直像J．Q巴勒德的科幻故事的场面似的。
“真的不知道。”我说：“他什么也没说，就不晓得消失到什么地方去了。”
她在电话那头笑着。
“他不是那么设想周到的男孩子，他是除了会咯咯吱吱之外，什么也不会的男人。”
确实正如她所说的，是个不怎么聪明的男孩子。
不过我还是没有理由告诉她，他住的地方。如果他知道是我说出来的话，下次大概就轮到他打电话来了。无聊的胡闹再也不敢领教。因为我已经在后院挖了深深的洞穴，把一切都埋在里面，不管多少人都没办法再把它挖出来了。
“对不起。”我说。
“你是不是很讨厌我？”她突然说。
我不知道该怎么回答才好。因为本来就对她没有什么印象。
“对不起。”我重复地说：“我现在正在煮意大利粉呢。”
“什么？”
“我正在煮意大利粉。”
我在锅子里放进空想的水，用空想的火柴，点上空想的火。
“所以怎么样？”她说。
我将空想的整把意大利粉，轻轻滑进沸腾的开水里，撒上空想的盐，将空想的厨房计时器拨到十五分。
“现在我没有空，被意大利粉缠住了。”
她沉默不语。
“这是非常美妙的料理哟。”
听筒在我手上，再度开始滑落到冰点以下的斜坡。
“所以，请你等一下再打来好吗？”
我急忙补充一句。
“因为你正在煮着意大利粉？”她说。
“嗯，对。
“你一个人吃吗？”
“对呀。”
她叹了一口气。“不过我真的很伤脑筋哪。”
“帮不上忙很抱歉。”
“还有一点金钱上的问题。”
“哦？”
“我希望他还我钱。”
“对不起。”
“意大利粉？”
“嗯”
她无力地笑着说：“再见。”
“再见。”我说。
电话挂断的时候，床上的阳光游泳池已经移动了几公分。我在那滩光地里再度躺下来，望着天花板。
想到那把永远也没被煮成的意大利粉，实在悲哀。
或许我应该告诉她一切的，现在竟然后悔起来。反正对方也不是什么不得了的男人，画些抽象画，想当画家，却只有嘴巴最行的空洞男子。而且或许她真希望他还她钱也说不定呢。
她不晓得怎么样了。
会不会已经被午后四点半的影子吞进去了。
杜兰姆（dururn）·塞摩利那（sernoina）。
意大利平原培育出来的金黄色麦子。
如果意大利人知道了一九七一年自己输出的原来是“孤独”的话，不知道会多么惊讶啊？
onion soup─洋葱汤
我们顺从着自然之母的引导进行做爱。
过了一小时之后，又顺从自然之母的引导进行第二次做爱。
呼－－。
第一次的做爱虽然不错，不过也只是马马虎虎而已。因为老９9lｉb?是感觉住在隔壁房间里，靠退休金生活的狮子，好像正在唏唏嗦嗦地刷着牙。
可是第二次就真棒。
至于怎么棒呢，那实在说不出来，嘴巴说不出来的事，能以肉体去体验实在真妙。要不然活着就几乎没什么意义了。
凌晨一时，第二次做爱完毕之后，我和她在床上抽着烟。
隔壁房间里的狮子正在热宵夜的汤。令人怀念的洋葱味道从门缝钻进我们这边。于是温湿的空气，就像漫.?画对白的边框一样，把我和她整个包围起来。她的小手掌贴在我的胸前。
边境·近境(节选)
我本来就喜欢旅行记这东西，
从以前就喜欢。
对我来说，
我觉得写旅行游记是非常贵重的文章修行。
……技术是必要的，
不但必须要有固定的文体，
而且当然必须要有热情、爱情，和感动，
在这意义上写旅行记，
对于身为小说家的我，
也是非常好的学习。
【之一】
在现在这种时代去旅行，并写关于那文章，何况写出一册书 6765." >来，想起来还真有许多困难。真的很困难。因为现在要到海外旅行并不是多特别的事。和小田实写《什么都去看一看》的时代不一样。只要想去－－也就是说只要一动心，也出得起钱的话－－可以说全世界任何地方都可以去。非洲丛林能去，南极也能去。而且还可以自己拟计画做套装自由行。
所以关于旅行，说起来不管去多么远、多么偏僻的地方，我想脑子里如果首先没有「这不是多么特别的事」的认识的话，是不行的。最好排除过度的热烈期待、启蒙、或振奋逞强之类的，也就是说不得不从当作「有几分非日常的日常」来掌握旅行，否则没办法写现在的旅行记。要说是「我到那边去一下就回来」虽然有点极端，不过要是「横眉竖目下定决心」的感觉的话，可能让读的人也觉得有一点辛苦吧。
在这意义上，开车横越美国大陆，和在四国一天三餐，连续三天光吃乌龙面，到底那一边比较算边境，开始有点搞不清楚了。真是个很难说的时代（笑）。
我大体上，在实际旅行时，不太做很详细的文字纪录。不过我总是会在口袋里放一本小笔记本，遇到什么当场就会一一记下一行行像标题似的摘要。例如「包头巾的妇人！」之类的。事后翻开笔记本看到「包头巾?９９lib?的妇人！」这句子，像会立刻想到，啊，对了，在土耳其和伊朗的边境附近一个小村子里有那么一个奇怪的妇人，先做好这样的准备。换句话说只要对自己来说形式最容易了解的标题就行了。这就像浮出海面当做目标记号的浮标一样，预先一项一项地一连串写下来。就跟文书档案抽屉的分类标题一样。这在旅行了好几次之间，逐渐掌握到自己最适合的做法。
【之二】
如果忘记日期、地名和各种数字的话，要写东西时，现实上会遇到困难，因此尽可能费心地纪录下来当作资料，不过尽量不去写仔细的记述和描写。反而在当场努力忘记写东西这回事。纪录用的照相机也尽量不用。尽可能节省这些多馀的能量消耗，相反地则用自己的眼睛好好的观察各种东西，集中精神把那些情景、氛围、气味、声音之类的清晰地刻进脑子里去。变成一团好奇心，总之把自己一头栽进当地的现实里去是最重要的。让它渗进皮肤里去。让自己当场变成录音机、变成照相机。以经验来说，这样做，当事后要写文章时帮助会更大。反过来说，如果非要一一看照片否则便想不起来的形影的话，那么本来就没办法成为有趣的文章。
所以虽然说是采访，表面上看起来作家很轻松。在当地几乎什么也没做。只是一直看而已。这时只有摄影师东跑西跑地忙着拍照。相反地，作家是回来之后才开始辛苦。照片只要冲洗出来之后就没事了，可是作家则从现在才要开始作业。面对书桌，凭着记下来的单语在脑子里让各种事情一一重现出来。我多半在回国后经过一个月或两个月后才开始写文章。以经验来说，最好经过这样的间隔时间再写，结果会比较好。在那时间中，该沉淀的东西会沉淀，该浮现的东西会浮现。然后光把浮出来的东西轻轻地巧妙而自然地串联起来。这样的话文章就出现一条粗线了。对于写东西来说，忘记也是一件重要的事。只是如果放着不管比这更久的话，很多事情都会忘记，所以做什么事情总有所谓「适当的时期」。
在这意义上，对我来说我觉得写旅行记是非常贵重的文章修行。试想一想，旅行记这东西本来应该做的，和小说本来应该做的，机能上几乎一样。大部分的人都会旅行对吗？例如，和大多的人都会恋爱一样的文脉。可是这要向人述说，却不是简单的事。就算你跟谁说，遇到这样的事情噢，也到这样的地方去了噢，感觉这样噢，但是要把自己在那里真正感觉到的事，把那感情的水位之不同之类的，清清楚楚地传达给对方，是极困难的技术。或者应该说几乎接近不可能。而且要让听着的人感觉到「啊，旅行真是好快乐的事。我也好想去旅行」「恋爱是这么棒的事啊。我也想谈一次很棒的恋爱」，那就更困难了。对吧。不过既然要写，当然就要是职业的文章。其中技术是必要的，不但必须要有固有的文体，而且当然必须要有热情、爱情，和感动。在这意义上写旅行记，对于身为小说家的我也是非常好的学习。虽然本来就是因喜欢而写的，结果却变成这样。
【之三】
我本来就喜欢旅行记这东西。从以前就喜欢。从小就很迷斯文．赫定（译注：Sven Hedin，瑞典地理学家、探险家，著有《中亚探险记》）和史坦利（译注：Henry Morton Stanley，生于英国的非洲探险家）等的旅行记，热心地读着长大的。比起童话，我总之特别喜欢这一类「边境旅行记」。每次翻开这些书就会非常兴奋欢喜。史坦利历经千辛万苦到刚果的深奥内地，寻找失踪的李文斯顿（Livingstone）探险队的情形，到现在我还记得很清楚。比较新的像保罗塞洛的东西我也常常读。写得好的旅行记读起来比自己去旅行还要有趣得多，这种情形并不算少。
不过正如我以前也说过的那样，像这样谁都可以去任何地方的现在，已经失去所谓边境，而冒险的质也完全改变了。所谓「探险」和「秘境」之类的语言已逐渐陈腐化，在现实的层次中已变成几乎不能用的状况了。虽然电视上之类的现在好像还有所谓「某某秘境」之类大时代性标题的大型节目，不过实际上几乎已经没有真正喜欢那种节目的纤细的人了。在这层意义上，确实现在对旅行记来说或许不是太快乐的时代。
但是不管怎么说，我想旅行这行为本来之所以成立，如果或多或少在于旅行者急于做意识的变革的话，那么描写旅行的作业也必须反映那动向才行。那质在任何时代都不会改变对吗？因为那才是所谓旅行记这东西所拥有的本来的意义。光是将「我去了什么什９9ｌib?么地方。遇到这样的事情。做了这样的事。」之类趣味性、珍奇性只是并列式长篇连串地排列出来，人家是不太会读的。我觉得必须复合地明显地表现出〈那不管和日常生活离得多远，但同时又和日常生活多么邻接〉的情形（顺序相反也没关系）才行。而且这样也才能从中产生真正新鲜的感动。
我想最重要的是，即使在这样一个边境已经消失的时代，依然相信自己这个人心中还是有制造得出边境的地方。而且不断继续确认这样的想法，也就是旅行。如果没有这种类似洞察眼力的话，就算去到天涯海角，大概也找不到边境吧。因为现在就是这样的时代。
playboy party jokes─花花公子派对笑话
１
艾丽斯旅行完回到家一看，丈夫乔治正在床上和年轻的雌食蚁兽拥抱在一起。
「噢！乔治！你这人！趁着我去旅行，居然把食蚁兽带到床上。」
「食蚁兽！？」乔治说「不，我明明觉得是斑马啊。」
２
路易丝旅行完回到家一看，斑马和食蚁兽正在床上抱在一起。
「佛雷特！佛雷特！你在哪里？斑马和食蚁兽正在床上抱在一起呢！」
「喂！喂！妳说什么傻话。」斑马说「妳看清楚啊。我只是在床上啃着法国面包而已呀。」
３
斑马和食蚁兽新婚旅行完回到家一看，邻家的理察正在床上独自自慰。
「喂！你在那里干什么？」
「别说傻话，」理察说「你们家在隔壁呀！」
４
一月二十三日下午，正在散步的麦克，发现邻家的女孩正在公园的水池里，一丝不挂地裸泳。
「喂！安妮，这么冷妳不怕感冒啊？」
「你在说什么？傻瓜。」女孩子说「今天是八月四日啊。」
麦克从大衣口袋掏出小手册看月历。确实是八月四日。
５
有一天一只食蚁兽藏书网到苏格兰警署自首。
「我用毛线袜杀了我太太。」
「请详细说明。」警察说。
「我回到家打开冰箱一看，我藏书网最心爱的毛线袜居然冷冻得硬梆梆的了。于是我一气之下，就用那袜子把太太杀了。」
「那么尸体呢？」
「我把她塞进一个大型的曼陀林乐器里，沉进泰晤士河底了。」
「为什么用曼陀林呢？」
「我想大概是某方面自卑吧。」
「这种事情啊！」说着 8b66." >警察叹了一口气。「与其『花花公子』不如更适合『单身汉』杂志呢。」藏书网
６
艾迪从佛罗里达出差回家一看，里根总统正在床上跟纺织娘抱在一起。
「总统阁下，」艾迪惊讶地说「你到底在那里做什么？」
「傻瓜，你看不懂吗？」里根大吼道「斑马全都出去了不在家啊。」
到底怎么回事，实在搞不清楚。
７
里根从渥太华高峰会议回国一看，食蚁兽已经坐在总统的位子上了。
「喂！你在那里干什么？」里根大吼。
就这样而已。
Princeton - Introduction -
It was in the summer of 1984 that I visited Prion,.. New Jersey for the first time.
I took an Amtrak train from Washington D.d on my way to New York, I got off the train at Prion Jun and took a taxi ao the uy. 1984 was the presidential ele year between Reagan and Mondale. Everywhere I heard "Born in the USA" by Bruce Springsteen, and Michael Ja was wearing the silver glove due to getting burned on the hand. (That sounds like just a few years ago. Maybe because Im getting older)
The reason I came to Prion was simple; Prion Uy was the school F. Scott Fitzgerald graduated from and I wao see its campus myself. I had no special purpose for my visiting except that. My train stopped at Prion and probably, I thought, I would have no business ing here again in my future, which made me to decide to drop in the uy. After rambling on campus, looking at his own hand written manuscript in a special room at th99ｌｉb.t>e library, walking around the town, and staying one night at a shabby motel "Prion Motor Lodge," I jumped orak again ao New York. I still remember that the town gave me a peaceful and pastoral impression. It was during the summer vacation and few people were seen on spacious campus and the town looked drowsy. When jogging in the m, I stumbled upon many rabbits and squirrels around the area. (The ime I visited, the fields were replaced by a big shopping mall.)
Ahing I clearly remember was the taxi I took at Prion Jun. Nowadays lots of taxis are waiting in front of the railway station, but when I arrived there, there happeo be no taxi. The shuttle traiweeation and the uy was out of service then, I fot the reason, though. The Prion Jun station is located all alone in vat fields, and you could find no house where people are living. The passengers who got off at the station were only four; a woman in her mid-twenties, a black man around twenty, me and my panion. All we could do was sit in front of the station and wait for a taxi.
It was quite a long time before a taxi came up. We had started to worry about ourselves wheually, oaxi appeared. Feeling relieved, all four of us pooled the oaxi. The woman took a seat beside the driver and the rest of us occupied the back seat. The taxi-driver was a middle-aged big white guy. The taxi started with our sense of relief, but after a while the black mao me deliberately took his hair spray out of a suitcase, and after shaking it up and down, started to spray on his hair. I could not uand why he did such a thing in a taxi-cab, but anyway the rest of us could hardly bear it. He kept on spraying and finally the driver pulled the car to the curb, got out, opehe back door and shouted furiously to the black man saying "You get out here!" At first, he grumbled aed, but maybe intimidated by the tough-guy-appearance of the driver, he got out with his suitcase, showing no further protest. He must have been stoned s. The driver returo his seat and tio drive, and carried three of us to town, as if nothing had happened.
A little later, the driver said to us as if to spit out that "We had no one like that here before." "After inviting the business plex in the suburbs of town, ever more narcotics began to flow into this area. What oh will bee of this town in the several years?
Seven years later, I revisited Prion. This time I was going to stay at the uy for a long period. When chatting with an Ameri in Japan, I said something to the effect that "Id like to get relaxed and write novels in a quiet place without any disturbance." Then he promptly met a persoed to Prion Uy and made an actual plan foing abroad. He said to me "Now Prion Uy is inviting you. Your residential place has already been reserved. Pack everything up and go there by the end of January." I like this kind of Ameri alacrity.
It was the fall of 1990 whearted pag and preparing for our stay in the U.S. Though at that time we had just finished a three-year stay in Europe and e back to Japan, we were starting again to stay abroad without exactly notig why. I felt it was a bit hectic, but I didnt want to lose the good ce to live in Prion anyway.
The Gulf War broke out when I was on the way to the Ameri sulate. In a taxi heading for Akasaka, we heard the news on the radio tell us that the Ameri forces attacked Baghdad with missiles. It was not a good sign for us. We couldnt feel at ease to live in America when it was at war with a try, even if the try was very far away. But all the paperwork had been finished, and we had no choice but to go to the U.S. As a result, we had no war-influen our stay, but we didnt feel fortable iriotid maood of the society. Once I saw a student demonstration on the campus of Prion with a placard that read "The Gulf War is something...." I remembered "the good old anti-rotest," but when I watched more carefully, I found it was a "pro-war" demonstration. I have no iion to interfere in somebody elses affairs, but I took the fact to heart that the times have really ged. Later when I talked with a student at Rutgers Uy(it is a more average uy though), the student said "It is because of Prion, Mr. Murakami. We had an anti-rotest all right." Later in Prion we had violent trouble when pro-war students attacked anti-war students and snatched their placards and broke them.
But anyway that war came to a successful end, and whearted feeling at ease, the urbulence occurred; the rise of Japan bashing throughout the try before the approag 50-year anniversary of Pearl Harbor. This atmosphere was geed partly by the patriotism uplifted following the Gulf War, and partly because Ameris were searg for an outlet for their frustration toward the lasting dull ey in the try. I dont know how it was reported in Japan, but I felt it rather tough to live actually in that kind of social ambiance. Besides a sense of unfortableness, the air surroundien had something like a thorn prig me. Especially when December came, I rarely went out except shopping and often stayed at home. It was not only the case with me, but all the Japanese here felt something similar. In such a delicate time, a certain Japanese politi (you know who he is) made some remarks which rubbed Ameris the wrong way, which really made me wonder what oh the Japanese politi was thinking and made me so furious.
In one of those days, I was io dinner by an Ameri acquaintanine, and at the diable, a white Ameri (he was a retired professor though) let it slip and called me "You Jap...." in the versation. That made all the people present deadly silent as if all of them had cold water poured on their head, .and the host turned ghastly pale. This was the worst thing that could ever happen at an Ameri diable. The person iion dido notice that he let these words out at all. Later the host called me aside and made an excuse by saying that "Haruki, he has no malicious iion, so please five him. When young, he was recruited by the navy and fought against Japan in the Pacific O. The military education he received still remains with him. We never have any private antipathy to you all." I replied that "I got it, so please dont worry." Actually I didnt care about it, but still now I remember how straihe people present were. This was a rare experience.
With these kind of is, my first year was rather teo me. It was rather a heavy year for Ameris and for us as well. Soon after this, the riot hit Los Ahroughout the year, I shut myself up indoors and I was writing a long novel. I seldom went anywhere and didnt do almost anything else. After undergoing mysterious twists and turns, this long novel split into two cells; one became a rather long short novel (or a rather short long novel) "Kokkyou no minami, Taiyo no nishi" and the other a rather long long novel "Nejimakidori icle."
Following this intensive year and a short break, my wish to write something like an essay gradually became stronger. Successfully I came to publish a series of my essays every month in a little magazine "Book" from Kodansha. The length of each essay was twenty-one or two pages of 400-character manuscript paper, and this was the lo essay I had ever published. But while writing a series of essays for one and half years,
I never felt each essay was too long. As is often the case with writers, I am rather a type of writer who thinks while writing words. Materializing my thought into words ahinking about it in a visual way, it often helps me a lot. In that sense, writing as many as twenty-one or two pages every month gave me a wider range of thinking. Probably during the past one-year stay in America, various things, I think, have been piled up which must be interpreted into words along with a careful sideration.
sequently the taxi drivers ay in 1984, implied in his whisper "What will bee of this unity in the several years?", might be partly right and partly not. In the point that Prion is still a peaceful aiful town beyond worldly affairs, his apprehensions ended up as needless fears. In spite of the increase of shopping malls, the ready-built houses for sale , and the occasional traffic jams in the m and evening rush hours, the basic characteristic of the town has scarcely ged. But his ay has been realized in that the U.S., including this small unity, has undergone some ges. Looking carefully at this try from inside, I feel keenly that it is a serious task to keep winning the wars oer another. Despite the collapse in the Vietnam War, this try won the Cold War and the Gulf War, but this doesnt necessarily mean that the citizens of this try became happier than ever before. People seem to be even more at a loss in the predit of serious problems than ten years ago. Both nation and its people, I think, o meet with some setbacks or defeats iurning point. But if asked whether the U.S. be replaced by some other tries providing as definite and powerful sense of value as this try does, my answer is ive. In this sense, a sense of exhaustion that the Ameris are feeling in general resembles some itg unfortableness in which the present Japanese are placed. In brief, this be explained as follows; the exhaustion of America caused by the distinct idea about what they should do or where they should go, and the unfortableness of Japan without any clear-cut belief that we are headed in the right dire. When fag these two choices between distinctiveness and ambiguity, the Japanese might feel what a heavy burden it is to choose their way to lead in future..
Writing essays for this book gave me the opportunity to think over various matters. But no clusive answer is given in almost any facet where some crucial value judgment is herefore, regrettably, this book doesnt help you get "the instant uanding of America." As an author, I am gratified if this book will be "a hint" to your uanding of the States.
December, 1993
In Boston
夜半汽笛声
女孩问男孩：「你怎么样的喜欢我？」
少年想了想，声音低沉地回答说：「就像喜欢夜半的汽笛声一样。」
少女默默地等着他说下去，他一定会加以说明的。
「有一天半夜里我忽然醒了。」他说：「正确的时间不知道，大概是两点或三点吧，但那时是几点并不重要。总之，是半夜里，我独自一个人，没有谁在我旁边。你试想像这种情形。四周黑漆漆，什么都看不见，没有一点声音，连时钟的针刻着时间的声音都听不见--也许是时钟停了。而我突然感到自己被隔离在一处遥远的谁也不知道的地方。我体会到在这广大的世界上，没有谁爱我，没有谁跟我说话，没有谁会想到我。即使我就这样从世界上消失了，也没有谁会发觉到吧？就像被装在大铁箱沉入深海的心情。因为气压我觉得心脏痛，痛得几乎会撕裂成两半--你体会得出这种感觉吧？」
少女点点头。大概是了解的吧。
少年继续说：「这恐怕是人活着所经验的最痛苦的事情之一吧，我真的悲伤得要死。不，不是死了也罢了，而是就那样下去，箱子里的空气稀薄，事实上会死。这不是比喻，是真的。是半夜里孤独一个人，醒来时的况味，你也了解吧？」
少女又默默地点头。少年停顿一下又说：「但是这时我听到远远的地方有汽笛声。
那真是真是很远的地方的汽笛声。铁路.９9ｌｉｂ?到底在那里我都不知道，可见多么的远。微微的声音似乎听见了，又似乎听不见。但我知道那是火车的汽笛声。没错。我在黑暗里静静地谛听着。于是我再一次听到了那汽笛声。而我的心脏不痛了，时钟的针开始动了，铁箱子慢慢浮上海面。这都是由于那小汽笛声，由于那又像听见又像听
不见的微微汽笛声。就像对那汽笛声一样我爱你。」
No Bringing in a Japanese Lunch with a Pickled Plu
The 1992 Boston Marathon was held on April 22nd, "Patriots Day" (a holiday in Maine and Massachusetts.) I joihis marathon last year as well as this year. The Boston Marathon in spring and the New York City Marathon in fall, these two races are the greatest pleasures in my life in the U.S. Some of you might have watched these races, often broadcast on TV in Japan, too. Similar to the New York City Marathon, the Boston Maratho have a "go aurn" course with a turning point, but it has just a "one way" course from one place to ahe starting point is a small town i藏书网n the suburbs of Boston, Hopkinton, and the finish is in the ter of Boston. When you feel that the goal is approag after about a 30- kilometer run, you have to tackle with the famous "Heart Break Hill" in Boston which is ing into sight. This naming of the hill might sound a bit exaggerated, but youll notice what a tough hill it is after actually running it yourself. Running up the hill is not so hard, but after reag the top, itll get arduous itself. You climb up the hill with all your energy, encing and saying to yourself that theres no more steep hills after this and that now is the time to endure. After a short break when youve got to the top and you think the rest is the flat course leading to the downtown of Boston, the sudden fatigue thuds into you as if it were waiting for you to e.
This fatigue resembles the middle age crisis around 40. The instant you reach the age, when you have some rest after clearing the difficulties in the 20s and the 30s, the crisis falls upon you with a thud. (Some people might never uand how it is without actually experieng it though.) Several gentle slopes iown, which are far less equal to the "Heart Break Hill" in steepness ah, start t you. I felt so this year as well as last year. Especially this year, the rapid rise of temperature exhausted me. My record of this year was 3 hours and 38 minutes, which was 7 minutes slower than that of last year. But the starting point is so crowded every year due to the narrowness of the street, and it takes us over 5 minutes actually to start running after the "Go" signal. Taking all these things into at, I guess my record this year is not so bad.
Anyway all of us e from Boston to this small, starting town on board the coaches chartered for us runners, and we wait here for the Go signal at noon. This little, suburban town, populated by some 2,500 people, es to be overflowed for a couple of hours with the "enthusiastiners" reag the approximate number of 8,000, who join the race from every er of this try and the world. Literally it is a big festival held once a year iown. Hopkinton is a typical residential suburb that one find anywhere in Amerid it has nothing outstanding from a strangers viewpoint: one church, one high school, one fire station, and one short main street. After passing along the main street with a gas station, a pub, a real estate agend a florist , youll find nothing but an endless series of cozy houses with front yards. Every house looks well attended and the lawn in the yard is detly trimmed, but there exists nothing to stimulate your imaginatioher extraordinary geous mansion remely shabby house attracts your attention. This row of houses looks as if to insist that the most valuable virtue in life is not to attract peoples attention. This unity happeo be chosen as a starting point simply because it is located exactly 26 miles or 42 kilometers from Boston, otherwise it would remain as if it were dozing with ners care, which this towo hope for after all.
But participating in the Boston Marathon for the last two years brought me to this small starting town and gave me the ce to observe this peaceful town carefully.
America was in the midst of the Gulf War when I ran in the Boston Marathon last year. Everywhere I went in America, I saw yellow ribbons, the Star-Spangled Banner, and patriotic slogans. It was not exceptional here in Hopkinton, which was seemingly peaceful itself. In the yard of a house he church, I found an
old jalopy, a Chrysler Dodge, with SADDAM painted on the hood. o the car, a hammer laced. Think the jalopy is Saddam Hussein and hammer it until you feel satisfied. One hammering was one dollar. With the collected money, I heard they were going to raise the funds of the scholarship for the youngsters iown.
I dont know who hit upon this idea, but it was rather popular and even while I was watg, several town people paid oer another one dollar, took the hammer, and bahe car with all their might. I doubted whether it might be a suitable spectacle for the starting town of the dignified Boston Marathon, but it was iable, I thought, judging from the fact that this try was at war.
This year I visited Hopkinton, thinking that there wouldnt be such a thing any more. But to my surprise, a similar car laced in the same place. I could not help suspeg it was the same car, for the shape and damage degree was quite similar to that of the car last year. Probably it was a similar but different oched from somewhere. A car that had been hammered so terribly last year could not serve as their banging target again. Anyway I found no message painted on the hood this year. A hammer o it and a signboard saying "One Pounding, One Dollar" only reminded me of last year. It also told, just as I guessed, that the collected money was to be used for the scholarship. A runner asked a middle aged man standing aside "Is this a Japaomobile?" Mumbling for an instant, the man replied that "Um...I dont think so." As far as I noticed, no one hammered the car for one dollar this year. Smashing an automobile with a hammer is, I think, only an outlet for stress and it needs no specific reason, but now Ive realized that we need some more practical motivation for hammering after all.
If they had found the words "Japanese Car" written on the hood of the car, some of them might have paid one dollar and pou with a hammer. Or they might not have. I t say anything definite about it, for ?it is only the matter based on an assumption. But anyway the old car, waiting for someoo batter it, was tinged with some ominous atmosphere of violence. Imosphere was involved something grave which ot be transmitted by words or expressed in messages. That is why the middle aged man beside the car had to murmur, "No...Um.." after a short interval to the question given by a passing-by runner, instead of giving back a definite, quick reply that "No, this is not a Japaomobile." Behind his silent interval, I guess, there lies some vague scioushat "It is no wonder even if this is a Japanese car." His "um..." must be the words unspoken and the message not expressed.
Generally speaking, Ameris sense of aipathy shifted from Saddam Hussein to the Japanese ey this year. This shifting is very obvious in any field of the news media. The neers are fully loaded with the letters from readers and the editorials denoung Japan and the Japanese. But average Ameris, except for the local automobile workers, will not yet pound on a Japanese car with a hammer. They are just listening carefully for the untold words hidden in the air and intercepting the unwritten messages.
heless, just oime I actually experienced something nasty because "I am Japanese." It happened when I asked them to switch the car I re an Avis in Honolulu because of its brake malfun. A clerk said to me, "How you fn Japanese have su impudent face, ing into our try?" But there is ioween the malfun of the brake and the fact that Im Japanese, and the words just left me at a loss. Sihis i, Ive been avoiding Avis as much as possible, but it is a story that happened five years ago and has nothing immediate with todays rising antipathy against Japan.
My Prion is a calm residential town having the uy for its ter and inhabited by wealthy people. The people here are either rich or intelligent, or both, and they show no apparent hostility toward the Japanese. But Trenton, a little way from here, has a GM factory in the suburbs and there happehe Japaomobile-hammering caused by the layoff of a number of employees due to a large scale operational redu. A "Buy Ameri" rally was held by the factory workers in front of a Toyota dealer on Route Oherefore something like this is actually developing in some area of this try, but it doesnt spread as far as this quiet, snobbish town of Prion. You see a lot of Mercedes, Porsche, Lexus, Saub, Jaguar, and BMW cars here. No other town has so many fn cars. Prion is indifferent to the "Buy Ameri" movement.
The only anti-Japan message I have found in town so far is the "Japan-bashing" sticker shown in Figure A. It ut on the back shock-absorber of a rather old big-sized Ameri car. The car was ahead of me while I was waiting for the traffic signal treen at an interse near home. At first sight, I could not figure out what it was, for the ter red circle was too small. So it looked more similar to a Japanese box lunch with a red pickled plum on the ter of rice than the Japaional flag. It must be like the Figure B, if it is properly drawn. It gives us the message "Stop Japan." Figure A shows nothing but "ning in a Japanese lunch with a pickled plum on rice." I doubt if the pany selling this sticker knows the Japaional flag correctly, and they might have made it too easily, "drawing a red circle on a white background anyway." This kind of easiness implies something ical, though. No doubt the sticker looked more humorous to me than Figure B. But either way, it is not very agreeable
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This way within a year, the Ameri peoples feeling toward Japan has bee worse all of a sudden (I feel its getting a little better in the ret one or two months though), and Im often asked by Japanese, "Isnt it tough to live in America?" Whely I was talking to a Japanese female student studying at a uy in Pennsylvania, she said to me "In my childhood I spent a few years iates and after going back to Japan, I was still in favor of this try, but this time ing back here again and after living for a while, Ive e to feel that I love Japan after all. How about you, Mr. Murakami?"
Asked by her like this, I feel quite puzzled how to answer her question. That is because I think there is no great basic differen our daily lives, whether you live in Japan or iates. Of course, it might depend on the age or the social status of the person iion. If one lives in a fn try in the early stage of life, he or she might be more likely to be influenced by the external ditions and disturbed emotionally. It is quite natural. That is the usual way with younger people. But as for me, there is no remarkable differen the attitude of everyday life. Here in America, you might meet unpleasant scumbags who make you sore sometimes. You might suffer the invisible racial discrimination. The barrier of a different language, irritatingly enough, might lead you to be misuood by someone else. You might enter someone arrogant or someooo stubborn to have some flexibility. Someone might be always finding fault with you. All these kinds of humaionships might frustrate you to some extent. But you have to remember the same kind of things will happen to you in Japan nearly as often as here iates. Now I recollect several occasions in Japan when, frustratingly, I couldnt even make myself uood in Japanese. You will find quite a few scumbags in Japan, too, as you know. I imagihat the pertage that these nasty, arrogant, speaking-ill-of-others people occupy among the one hundred n９9ｌｉｂ?oive will be almost the same in both tries, if examined carefully. That is also the case with the pertage of the kind or the iing people.
If asked whether I have some difficulties in living here iates as a Japanese, I will admit that it is true. But I suffered various sorts of discrimination even while I was living in Japan. Before being a writer, I was running a bar and coffee shop in Tokyo, and I experienced disagreeable things on a while. When I was trying to find an apartment, the real estate agents ofteed me by saying that "Oh, you are in the bar business. No, no, we have no apartment to rent for the people of that kind." Even after being a , I came across the similar rejes when finding a place to live in. "We only rent for the people who belong to the big panies listed in the Primary Tokyo Stock Market.." pared with the unfivingly severe history of racism against fners or non-Japanese in Japan, the discrimination that I experienced might not be even worth telling, but it is nothing but discrimination after all. You will not figure out how the discrimination is until you stand on the side of the discriminated.
Undergoing this kind of hardships in the course of life weakens the value of alternative thinking whether "I prefer to live in Japan" or "I prefer to live iates." If I were young, I would choose one from these alternative preferences. But as a matter of fact, Im not so young anymore and Ive been traio think in a more practical and skeptical manner. My only possible reply to the question that "Isnt it tough to live iates?" is "It was also tough for me to live in Tokyo." I know quite well that nobody expects such a reply as my ahough.
season off─淡季
我们在淡季来到一家休闲旅馆住下。路上的雪开始溶化，到处是湿答答的，最令人讨 538c." >厌的季节。bbr>
宽阔的餐厅里除了我们之外看不见别.的客人。其实除了我们之外，旅馆里根本连一个住宿的客人也没有。不过服务生倒有三个，他们一个个轮流着转向后面打哈欠。餐厅的左半部电灯关掉，黑漆漆的。我们就坐在里面吃着鲈鱼。简直就像世界末日快到了似的。
「．．．就是这么回事。」我一面撕着奶油卷面包，一面bbr>向坐在桌子对面的她说「妳觉得呢？」
她沉默了十秒钟，看着我的脸。
「对不起，我刚刚在想别的事。」
「算了！没关系。」于是我把味道像个不.9９liｂ.亲切的会计师似的面包放进嘴里。
实在没有比淡季的休闲旅馆更美妙的地方了。当你在那里时，好像连明年的淡季也一起附送了似的。
唐古利烧饼的盛衰
闹闹地望着早晨的报纸，无意间发现角落里登着一则广告“名果唐古利烧饼公司征求新产品，说明大会”。到底什么叫做唐古利烧饼，实在搞不清楚，不过既然是名果，大概是一种点心吧，我对点心倒是颇挑剔的。而且反正闲着也是闲着，因此就决定到那什么“说明大会”去露个脸。
说明大会在酒店的大厅举行，还准备了茶点招待，点心当然就是那唐古利烧饼了。我拿了一个尝尝，味道并不怎么样，甜得有点腻，皮也太厚。我真不以为现在的年轻人会喜欢吃这种东西。
但是来参加说明会的，竟然都是跟我差不多，或者更年轻的。我领到一张952号的牌子，不过后来又来了百来个人，因此总共也有一千多人来参加这说明会，真不得了啊。
坐在旁边是一个二十岁左右，带着深度近视眼镜的女孩子。不算漂亮不过看起来脾气还不错的样子。
“请问你以前有没有吃过唐古利烧饼？”我试着问看看。
“那还用问吗？”女孩子说：“这很有名哦。”
“可是味道有那么……”我正要说时，她就跟了我的脚一下。周围的人也嫌烦地瞄瞄我，气氛十分尴尬，不过我依然以“熊宝宝”般无邪的眼光回望他们。
“你这个人真傻。”过一会儿，女孩子悄悄对我耳语道：“到这种地方来居然还说唐古利烧饼的坏话，让唐古利乌鸦述到了，你就别想活着回去了。
“唐古利乌鸦？”我吓了一跳喊道：“什么叫唐古利乌鸦……”
“嘘----”女孩子说，说明会开始了。
说明会先由“唐古利制果公司”的董事长讲唐古利烧饼的历史。所谓平安时代有某某人，因为某种原因，做成了唐古利烧饼的原型之类真假不明的故事，还说古今和歌集里也有关于唐古利烧饼的和歌记载等等。听起来觉得真好笑，不过周围的人都一本正经地认真听，而且唐古利乌鸦也怪可怕的，因此我没敢笑出来。
董事长的话讲了整整一小时，非常无聊。他所要讲的简单归纳起来，不外只是“唐古利烧饼是有传统的糕饼”这一件事，那只要一行字就可以解决的。
然后总经理出来，说明为什么要征求唐古利烧饼新产品。因为以具有悠久历史的国民名点自豪的唐古利烧饼来说，必须因应各朝代的变化，加入新血液，在辩证法上不得不继续求发展，这种说法听起来相当冠冕堂皇。其实简单说就是唐古利烧饼的味道已经落伍，销售额也已下降，因此需要年轻人的创意。如果这样的话，坦白说不就得了吗？
回去的时候领了一份应做办法简章。也就是以唐古利烧饼为基础，一个月后做好创新的糕饼带来，奖金是二百万元。有了两百万元，就可以跟女朋友结婚，搬进新的公寓住了，因此我决定试做一下新的唐古利烧饼。
正如刚才说过的，我对点心有一点挑剔。豆沙馅、奶油馅或烧饼皮儿，要怎么做就能怎么做的。一个月里要做出一种新的，合现代口味的唐古利烧饼还算简单。我在截止日期做了两打新唐古利烧饼，带去唐古利制果公司报名。
“看起来蛮好吃的样子啊。”接待处的女孩子说。
“是很好吃啊。”我说。
过了一个月之后９9liｂ.，唐古利制果公司打电话来要我第二天到公司去。我打了领带到唐古利制果公司，在接待室和总经理面谈。
“你应征的新唐古利烧饼在我们公司内部颇受好评。”总经理说。“其中，噢----尤其以年轻阶层的评语最好。”
“那真谢谢。”我说。
“可是另一方面，嗯----年纪大一点的，也有人说这不能算是唐古利烧饼。哎，掉进所谓甲论乙驳的状况吧！”
“噢。”我说。完全摸不透他到底想说什么。
“所以，干部会议决定，在这时候，只好请教唐古利乌鸦的高见了。”
“唐古利乌鸦对我说：“唐古利乌鸦到底是什么呢？”
总经理满脸疑惑地望着我。
“你不知道唐古利乌鸦，就来应征这比赛呀？”
“对不起，我太孤陋寡闻了。”
“真伤脑筋哪。”总经理说着摇摇头：“连唐古利乌鸦都不知道的话…··哟！算了，没关系，请跟我来吧。”
我跟在他后面走出房间，穿过走廊，搭电梯上六楼，然后又穿过一道走廊，走廊尽头有一扇大铁门。按了门铃之后，走出一个体格魁梧的守卫来，确认对方是总经理之后把门打开，警戒蛮森严的。
“唐古利乌鸦在这里面。”总经理说：“所谓唐古利乌鸦是一种特殊的鸦族，自古就只吃唐古利烧饼为生……”
除此之外不必再多加说明了。房里有上百只乌鸦，在高达五公尺左右的空旷似仓库的房里，架有几根横木棒，唐古利乌鸦就在上面一排排密密麻麻地栖息着，唐古利乌鸦比一般乌鸦大得多。大的身长大约有一公尺，小的也有六十公分左右。仔细一看，他们竟然没长眼睛。应该有眼睛的地方，只粘着白色的脂肪球而已，然而身体却浮肿得像要胀破了似的。
唐古利乌鸦一听见我们进去的声音，就开始一面啪啪啪啪地扑着翅膀，一面齐声联叫起来。起初听来觉得只不过是乱哄哄的声音，耳朵渐渐习惯了以后，才知道他们好像都在叫着“唐古利烧饼、唐古利烧饼”。是一种一看就令人讨厌的动物。
总经理从手上捧着的盒子里藏书网，掏出唐古利烧饼撒在地上，于是一百只唐古利乌鸦竟一起飞扑而上。并且为了争夺唐古利烧饼，而互相啄食别的乌鸡的脚爪，甚至眼睛。哎呀！完了。原来就是这样才都失去了眼睛。
其次总经理从另外一盒里，拿出类似唐古利烧饼的其他糕饼散落在地上。
“你看，这些是唐古利烧饼竞赛中落选的东西。”
乌鸦们和刚才一样，一拥而上，可是一发现那不是唐古利烧饼之后，却都把它吐掉，并一起愤怒地高声叫着：
“唐古利烧饼！”
“唐古利烧饼！”
“唐古利烧饼！”
他们大声叫着。那叫声传到天花板发出回声，震得耳膜都痛了。
“你看吧！他们只吃真正的唐古利烧饼呢。”他得意洋洋地说：“冒牌货他们沾都不沾。”
“唐古利烧饼！”
“唐古利烧饼！”
“唐古利烧饼！”
“那么，接下来让我把你做的唐古利烧饼撒下去看看，他们 吃就入选，他们不吃就落选。”
有没有问题呀？我不安起来，忽然有一种非常不祥的预感。让这些靠不住的家伙试吃，以决定当选或落选，根本上就错了。但是总经理并不理会我的疑虑，只管把我应征的“新唐古利烧饼”痛快地撒满～地。乌鸦们又一起蜂拥而上。接下来混乱开始了，有的乌鸦满足地吃着，有的乌鸦把它吐出来，吼着：唐古利烧饼！其次抢不着、没吃到的乌鸦一兴奋，竟然对着吃到的乌鸦的喉核猛力啄下，血花缤纷飞溅。其他的乌鸦才正扑向别的乌鸦吐出来的烧饼，却又被大叫唐古利烧饼的巨大乌鸦捕捉到，肚子被撕裂了。就这样展开了一场混乱的战斗。血腥召唤着血腥，憎恨召唤着憎恨。虽然只不过是个饼而已，对乌鸦们来说那部代表了一切。因为惟有是唐古利烧饼，或非唐古利烧饼，是关系着他们生死存亡的问题。
“你看吧！”我对总经理说：“因为你一下子撒太多，对他们刺激过度了。”
然后我一个人走出房间，下了电梯，走出唐古利制果公司的建筑物。虽然奖金两百万元泡汤相当可惜，不过往后的漫长人生，叫我跟那些乌鸦打交道，那可免谈！
我只做自己爱吃的，给自己吃。管他什么乌鸦，全都互相啄死算了！
烧仓房
3年前，我和她在一个熟人的婚礼上相遇，要好起来。年纪我和她几乎相差一轮，她20，我31。但这不算什么大问题。当时我伤脑筋的事除此之外多的是。老实说，也没工夫一一考虑什么年龄之类。她一开始就压根儿没把年龄放在心上。我已结婚，这也不在话下。什么年龄、家庭、收入，在她看来，都和脚的尺寸声音的高低指甲的形状一样，纯属先天产物。总之，不是考虑便能有对策那种性质的东西。
她一边跟一位有名的某某老师学哑剧，一边为了生计当广告模特。不过，因她嫌麻烦，时常把代理人交待的工作一推了之，所以收入实在微乎其微。不足部分似乎主要靠几个男人好意接济。当然具体情况我不清楚，只是根据她的语气猜想大概如此。
话虽这么说，可我并非暗示她为钱而同男人困觉什么的。偶尔或许有类似情况。即使真有，也不是本质性问题。本质上恐怕单纯得多。也正是这种无遮无掩不拘一格的单纯吸引了某一类型的人。在她的单纯面前，他们不由想把自己心中盘根错节的感情投放到她身上去。解释固然解释不好，总之我想是这么回事。依她的说法，她是在这种单纯的支撑下生活的。
当然，如此效用不可能永远持续下去。这同"剥橘皮"是同一道理。
就讲一下"剥橘皮"好了。
最初认识她时，她告诉我她在学哑剧。
我"哦"了一声，没怎么吃惊。最近的女孩都在搞什么名堂。而且看上去她也不像是一心一意磨练自己才能的那种类型。
而后她开始"剥橘皮"。如字面所示，"剥橘皮"就是剥橘子的皮。她左边有个小山般满满装着橘子的玻璃盆，右边应该装橘皮的盆---这是假设，其实什么也没有。她拿起一个想象中的橘子，慢慢剥皮，一瓣一瓣放入口中把渣吐出。吃罢一个，把渣归拢一起用橘皮包好放入右边的盆。如此反复不止。用语言说来，自然算不了什么事。然而实际在眼前看10分20分钟---我和她在酒吧高台前闲聊时间里她一直边说边几乎下意识地如此"剥橘皮"---我渐渐觉得现实感被从自己周围吮吸掉。这实在是一种莫名其妙的心情。过去艾科曼[Karl Adolf Ein（1906~1962），纳粹党卫军中校，作为二战中屠杀犹太人的主要罪犯，在阿根廷被以色列秘密警察逮捕，在耶路撒冷被判死刑。]在被送上以色列法庭时，有人建议最合适的刑法是将其关进密封室后一点点将空气抽去。究竟遭遇怎样的死法，详情我不清楚，只是蓦然记起这么回事。
"你好像满有才能嘛。"我说。
"哎哟，这还不简单，哪里谈得上才能！总之不是以为这里有橘子，而只要忘掉这里没橘子就行了嘛，非常简单。"
"简直是说禅。"
我因此中意了她。
我和她也不是常常见面。一般每月一回，顶多两回。我打电话给她，约她出去玩。我们一起吃饭，或去酒吧喝酒，很起劲地说话。我听她说，她听我说。尽管两人之间几乎不存在共同话题，但这无所谓。可以说，我们已经算是朋友了。吃喝钱当然全由我付。有时她也打电话给我，基本是她没钱饿肚子的时候。那时候她的确吃很多，多得叫人难以置信。
和她一起，我得以彻底放松下来。什么不情愿干的工作啦，什么弄不出头绪的鸡毛蒜皮小事啦，什么莫名其妙之人的莫名其妙的思想啦，得以统统忘却脑后。她像是有这么一种本事。她所说的话没有什么正正经经的含义，有时我甚至只是哼哈作答而几乎没听。而每当侧耳倾听，便仿佛在望远方的流云，有一股悠悠然的温馨。
我有跟她说了不少。从私人事情到泛泛之论，都可以畅所欲言。或者她也可能同我一样半听不听而仅仅随口符合。果真如此我也不在乎。我希求的是某种心绪，至少不是理解和同情。
两年前的春天她父亲心脏病死了，一笔稍微凑整的现金归她所有。至少据她说来是这样。她说想用这笔钱去北非一段时间。何苦去北非我不清楚，正好我认识一个在阿尔及利亚驻京使馆工作的女孩，遂介绍给她。于是她去了阿尔及利亚。也是因势之所趋，我到机场送她。她只拎一个塞有替换衣服的寒伧的波士顿旅行包。外表看去，觉得她与其说.９9liｂ?去北非，莫如说是回北非。
"真的返回日本？"我开玩笑问道。
"当然返回呀！"她说。
三个月后她返回日本。比走时还瘦了3公斤，晒得黑漆漆的，并领回一个新恋人，说两人是在阿尔及利亚一家餐馆相识的。阿尔及利亚日本人不多，两人很快亲密起来，不久成了恋人。据我所知，此人对她是第一个较为正规的恋人。
他二十七八岁，高个子，衣着得体，说话斯斯文文。表情虽不够丰富，但长相基本算是漂亮那类，给人的感觉也不坏。手大，指很长。
所以了解这么详细，是因为我去机场接两人来着。突然有电报从贝鲁特打来，上面只有日期和飞机航班。意思像是要我接机。飞机一落地---其实由于天气不好飞机误点4小时之久，我在咖啡屋看了4本周刊---两人便从舱门挽手走出，俨然一对和和美美的小夫妻。她将男方介绍给我。我们几乎条件反射地握手。一如在外国长期生活之人，他握得很有力。之后我们走进餐馆。她说她横竖得吃盖浇饭，我和他喝啤酒。
他说他在搞贸易。什么贸易却没说。至于是不大喜欢谈自己的工作，还是怕谈七来只能使我无聊故而客气不谈，情由我不得而知。不过老实说，对于贸易我也不是很想听，就没特意打听。由于没什么好谈的，他讲起贝鲁特治安情况和突尼斯的上水道。看来他对北非到中东的局势相当熟悉。
吃罢盖浇饭，她大大打个哈欠，说困了，样子简直像当场就能睡着似的。忘说了，她的毛病就是不管什么场所都困。她提出用出租车送我回家，我说电车快自己坐电车回去。搞不清自己是为什么特意来的机场。
"能见到你真高兴。"他怀有歉意似的对我说。
"幸会幸会。"我也回道。
其后同他见了几次。每当我在哪里同她邂逅，旁边肯定有他。我和她约会，他甚至开车把她送到约会地点。他开一辆通体闪光的银色德国赛车。对车我几乎一无所知，具体无法介绍，只觉得很像费里尼黑白电影中的车，不是普通工薪人员所能拥有的。
"肯定钱多得不得了。"一次我试探她。
"是的。"她不大感兴趣似的说，"肯定是的，或许。"
"搞贸易能赚那么多？"
"搞贸易？"
"他那么说的，说是搞贸易工作。"
"那么就是那样的吧。不过……我可不太清楚的。因为看上去他也不像怎么做事的样子，总是见人，打电话。"
这简直成了菲茨杰拉德的 href='1174/im'>《了不起的盖茨比》，我想。做什么不知意，反正就是有钱，谜一样的小伙子。
※ ※ ※ ※
10月间一个周日下午，她打来电话。妻一清早就去亲戚家了，只我自己在家。那是个天气晴好的惬意的周日，我边望院子里樟树边吃苹果。仅那一天我就吃了七个苹果。我不时有这种情况，想吃苹果想得发疯。也许是一种什么预兆。
"就在离你家不远的地方，两个人马上去你那里玩好么？"她说。
"两个人？"我反问。
"我和他呀。"
" 53ef." >可以，当然可以。"我回答。
"那好，30分钟后到。"言毕，她挂断电话。
我在沙发上发了一会呆，去浴室冲淋浴刮胡子。等身体风干时间抠了抠耳朵。也思忖是不是该理一下房间，终于还是作罢。因为统统理好妥当时间不够用，而若不能统统理好妥当就莫如干脆不动为好。房间里，书籍杂志信件唱片铅笔毛衣到处扔得乱七八糟，但并不觉得怎么不干净。刚结束一件工作，没心思做什么。我坐在沙发上，又看着樟树吃个苹果。
两点多时两人来了。房间传来赛车刹车声。出门一看，见那辆有印象的银色赛车停在路上。她从车窗探出脸招手。我把车领到后院停车位那里。
"来了。"她笑吟吟地说。她穿一件薄得足已窥清楚乳峰形状的短衫，下面一条橄榄绿超短裙。
他穿一件藏青色轻便西服，觉得与以前见面时印象多少有所不同---至少是因为他长出两天左右的胡须。虽说没刮胡须，但在他全然没有邋遢感，不过阴翳约略变浓一点罢了。下了车，他马上摘下太阳镜，塞进胸袋。
"您正休息突然打扰，实在抱歉。"他说。"哪里，无所谓。每天都算休息，再说正一个人闲得无聊呢。"我应道。
"饭食带来了。"说着，他从车座后面拿出一个大白纸袋。
"饭食？"
"也没什么东西。只是觉得星期天突然来访，还是带点吃的合适。"他说。
"那太谢谢了。从早上起就光吃苹果了。"
进了门，我们把食物摊在桌子上。bbr>?９９lib.东西相当可观：烤牛肉三明治、色拉、熏鲑鱼、蓝浆果冰激凌，而且量也足够。她把东西移往盘子时间里，我从冰箱取出白葡萄酒拔出软塞。俨然小型宴会。
"好了，好吧，肚子饿坏了。"以久饥肠辘辘的她说。
我们嚼三明治，吃色拉，抓熏鲑鱼。葡萄酒喝光后，又从冰箱拿啤酒来喝。我家冰箱惟独啤酒总是塞得满满的。一个朋友开一家小公司，应酬用的啤酒券剩下来就低价格分给我。
他怎么喝脸都毫不改色。我也算是相当能喝啤酒的。她也陪着喝了几瓶。结果不到一个小时空啤酒罐就成排成行摆满桌面。喝得相当可以。她从唱片架上挑出几张，放在自动转换唱片的唱机上。迈尔斯·迪巴思的《空气精灵》传到耳畔。
"自动转换唱片的唱机---你还真有近来少见的东西。"他说。
我解释说自己是自动转换唱机迷。告诉他物色好的这类唱机相当不易。他彬彬有礼仪地听着，边听边附和。
谈了一会唱机后，他沉默片刻。然后说："有烟草叶，不吸点儿？"
我有点犹豫。因为一个月前我刚戒烟，正是微妙时期，我不清楚这时吸大麻叶对戒烟有怎样的作用。但终归还是决定吸了。他从纸袋底部掏出包在锡纸里的黑烟叶，放在卷烟纸上迅速卷起，边角那儿用舌头舔了舔。随即用打火机点燃，深深吸几口确认火着好后转给我。大麻叶质量实在是好。好半天我们一声不响，一人一口轮流吸着。迈尔斯·迪巴思终了，换上约翰·施特劳斯的圆舞曲集。搭配莫名其妙，不过不坏。
吸罢一支，她说困了。原本睡眠不足，又喝了三瓶啤酒吸了大麻的缘故，她确实说困就困。我把她领上二楼，让她在床上躺下。她说想借T恤。我把T恤递给她。她三两下脱去衣服只剩内衣，从头顶一下子套进T恤躺下。我问冷不冷时，她已经咝咝睡了过去。我摇头下楼。
客厅里她的恋人已卷好第二支大麻。小子真是厉害。说起来我也很想钻到她旁边猛猛睡上一觉。却又不能。我们吸第二支大麻。约翰·施特劳斯的圆舞曲仍在继续。不知为何，我竟想起小学文艺汇演上演的剧来。我演得是手套店里的老伯，小狐狸来店找老伯买手套。但小狐狸带来的钱不够。
"那可不够买手套噢。"我说。角色有店不地道。
"可我妈妈冷得不得了，都红红的冻裂了。求求您了。"小狐狸说。
"不成，不行啊。攒够钱再来。那样……"
"……时常烧仓房。"他说。
"失礼？"我正有点心不在焉，恍惚自己听错了。
"时常烧仓房。"他重复道。
我看着他。他用指尖摩挲打火机花纹，尔后将大麻狠狠吸入肺里憋10秒钟，再徐徐吐出。烟圈宛如actoplasm[心灵科学上假设由灵媒释放出的一种物质]从他口这飘散出来。他把大麻转递给我。
"东西很不错吧？"他问。
我点头。
"从印度带来的，只选特别好的。吸这玩艺儿，会莫名其妙想起好些事来。而且都是光和气味方面的。记忆的质……"说到这里，他悠悠停了一会，寻找确切字眼似的轻打几个响指。"好像整个变了。你不这么认为？"
"那么认为。"我说。我也恰好想起文艺汇演时舞台的嘈杂和做背景用的厚纸板上涂的颜料味儿。
"想听你讲讲仓房。"我说。
他看我一眼。脸上依然是没有堪称表情的表情。
"讲可以么？"他问。
"当然。"
"其实很简单。浇上汽油，扔上擦燃的火柴，看它忽地起火---这就完事了。烧完15分钟都花不上。"
"那么，"我衔住烟在口，竟找不出下一个词来。"干吗烧仓房呢？"
"反常？"
"不明白。你烧仓房，我不烧仓房。可以说这里有显而易见的差别。作为我，较之是否反常，更想弄清这差别是怎么个东西。再说，仓房是你先说出口的。"
"是啊，"他说，"的确如你所说。对了，可有拉比·沙卡尔的唱片？"
没有，我说。
他愣怔了一会。其意识仿佛拉不断扯不开的橡胶泥。抑或拉不断扯不开是我的意识也未可知。
"大约两个月烧一处仓房。"他说，继而打个响指，"我觉得这个进度最合适不过。当然我指的是对我来说。"
我不置可否地点下头。进度？
"烧自家仓房不成？"我问。
他以费解的眼神看我的脸。"我何苦非烧自家仓房不可呢？你为什么以为我会有几处仓房？"
"那么就是说，"我说，"是烧别人的仓房喽？"
"是的，"他应道，"当然是的，别人的仓房。所以一句话，这是犯罪行为。如你我在这里吸大门，同属犯罪行为。"
我臂肘拄在椅子扶手上不做声。
"就是说，我是擅自放火烧所以的别人的仓房。当然选择不至于发展成严重火灾 来烧。毕竟我并非存心捅出一场火灾。作为我，仅仅是想烧仓房。"
我点下头，碾死吸短的大麻。"可一旦给逮住就是问题哟。到底是放火，弄不好可能吃刑罚的。"
哪里逮得住！"他很自若地说，"泼上汽油，擦燃火柴，转身就跑，从远处用望远镜慢慢欣赏。根本逮不住。何况烧的不过是小得不成样子的仓房，警察没那么轻易出动。"
其言或许不差，我想。再说，任何人都不至于想道如此衣冠楚楚的开外国车的小伙子会到处烧人家仓房。
"这事她可知道？"我指着二楼问。
"一无所知。说实话，这事除你，没对任何人讲过。毕竟不是可以对谁都讲的那类事。"
"为什么讲给我听呢？"
他笔直伸出左手指，蹭了蹭自己的脸颊，发出长胡须沙沙作响那种干涩的声音，如小虫子爬在绷得紧紧的薄纸上。"你是写小说的，可能对人的行动模式之类怀有兴趣，我想。并且猜想小说家那种人在对某一事物做出判断之前能够先原封不动地加以赏玩。如果赏玩措辞不合适，说全盘接受也未尝不可。所以讲给了你。也很想讲的，作为我。"
我点头。但坦率地说，我还真不晓得如何算是全盘接受。
"这么说也许奇怪，"他在我面前摊开双手，又慢慢合在一起，"我觉得世上好像有很多很多仓房，都在等我点火去烧。海边孤零零的仓房，田地中间的仓房……反正各种各样的仓房。只消15分钟就烧得一干二净，简直像压根儿不存在那玩艺儿。谁都不伤心。只是---消失而已，忽地。"
"但仓房是不是已没用，该由你判断吧？"
"我不做什么判断。那东西等人去烧，我只是接受下来罢了。明白？仅仅是接受那里存在的东西。和下雨一样。下雨，河水上涨，有什么被冲跑---雨难道做什么判断？跟你说，我并非专门想干有违道德的事。我也还是拥护道德规范的。那对人的存在乃是诶厂重要的力量。没有道德规范，人就无法存在。而我觉得所谓道德规范，恐怕指的是同时存在的一种均衡。"
"同时存在？"
"就是说，我在这里，又在这里。我在东京，同时又在突尼斯。予以谴责的是我，加以宽恕的是我。打比方就是这样，就是有这么一种均衡。如果没有这种均衡，我想我们就会散架，彻底七零八落。正因为有它，我们的同时存在才成为可能。"
"那就是说，你烧仓房属于符合道德规范的行为。不过，道德规范最好还是忘掉。在这里它不是本质性的。我想说的是：世界上有许许多多那样的仓房。我有我的仓房，你有你的仓房，不骗你。世界上大致所以地方我都去了，所以事都经历了。好几次差点儿没命。非我自吹自擂。不过算了，不说了。平时我不怎么开口，可一喝酒就喋喋不休。"
我们像要要驱暑降温似的，就那样一动不动沉默良久。我不知说什么好。感觉上就好像坐在列车上观望窗外连连出现又连连消失的奇妙风景。身体松弛，把握不准细部动作。但可以作为观念真切感觉出我身体的存在。的确未尝不可以称之为同时存在。一个我在思考，一个我在凝视思考的我。时间极为精确地刻录着多重节奏。
"喝啤酒？"稍顷，我问。
"谢谢，那就不客气了？"
我从厨房拿来四罐啤酒，卡门贝干酪也一起拿来。我们各喝两罐啤酒，吃着干酪。
"上次烧仓房是什么时候？"我试着问。
"是啊，"他轻轻握着空啤酒罐略一沉吟，"夏天，8月末。"
"下次什么时候烧呢？"
"不知道，又不是排了日程表往日历上做记号等着。心血来潮就去烧。"
"可并不是想烧的时候就正好有合适的仓房吧？"
"那当然。"他沉静地说，"所以，要事先选好适合烧的才行。"
"做库存记录喽？"
"是那么回事。"
"再问一点好么？"
"请。"
"下次烧的仓房已经定了？"
他眉间聚起皱纹，然后"咝"一声从鼻孔深吸口气。"是啊，已经定了。&..quot;
我再没说什么，一小口一小口啜着剩下的啤酒。
"那仓房好得很，好久没碰上这么值得烧的仓房了。其实今天也是来做事先调查的。"
"那就是说离这儿不远喽？"
"就在附近。"他说。
于是仓房谈道此为止。
5点，他叫起恋人，就突然来访表示歉意。虽然啤酒喝得相当够量，脸色却丝毫没变。他从后院开出赛车。
"仓房的事当心点！"分手时我说。
"是啊。"他说，"反正就这附近。"
"仓房？什么仓房？"她问。
"男人间的话。"他说。
"得得。";她道。
随即两人消失。
我返回客厅，倒在沙发上。茶几上所以东西都零乱不堪。我拾起掉第的双排扣风衣，蒙在头上沉沉睡了过去。
醒来时房间一片漆黑。7点。
蓝幽幽的夜色和大麻呛人的烟味壅蔽着房间。夜色黑得很不均匀，不均匀得出奇。我倒在沙发上不动，试图接着回想文艺汇演时那场戏，却已记不真切。小狐狸莫非把手套弄到手了？
我从沙发起身，开窗调换房间空气。之后去厨房煮咖啡喝了。
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翌日我去书店买一本我所在街区的地图回来。两万分之一的白色地图，连小胡同都标在上面。我手拿地图在我家周围一带绕来转去，用铅笔往有仓库的位置打X。三天走了方圆4公里，无一遗漏。我家位于郊区，四周还有很多农舍，所以仓房也不在少数：一共16处。
他要烧的仓房必是其中一处。根据他说"就在附近"时的语气，我坚信不至于离我家远出多少。
我对16处仓房的现状一一仔细查看一遍。首先把离住宅太近或紧挨塑料棚的除外。其次把里边堆放农具以至农药等物尚可充分利用的也去掉。因我想他决不想烧什么农具农药。
结果只剩5处，5处该烧的仓房，或者是说5处烧也无妨的仓房---15分钟即可烧垮也无人为之遗憾的仓房。至于他要烧其中哪一处我则难以确定。因为再往下只是喜好问题。但作为我仍想知道5处之中他选何处。
我摊开地图，留下5处仓房，其余把X号擦掉。准备好直角规、曲线规和分线规，出门围5处仓房转一圈，设定折身回家的最短路线。道路爬坡沿河，曲曲弯弯，因此这项作业颇费工夫。最后测定路线距离为7.2公里。反复测量了几次，可以说几乎没有误差。
翌晨6时，我穿上运动服，登上轻便鞋，沿此路线跑去。反正每天早晨都跑6公里，增加1公里也没什么痛苦。风景不坏。虽说途中有两个铁路道口，但很少停下等车。
出门首先绕着附近的大学运动场兜了一圈，接着沿河边没人走动的土路跑3公里。中途遇第一处仓房。然后穿过树林，爬徐缓的坡路。又遇一处仓房。稍往前有一座赛马用的马厩。马看见火也许多少会嘶闹。但如此而已，别无实际损害。
第三处仓房和第四处仓房酷似又老又丑的双胞胎，相距也不过200米。哪个都那么陈旧那么脏污，甚至叫人觉得要烧索性一起烧掉算了。
最后一处仓房在铁道口旁边，位于6公里处。已完全被弃置不管。朝铁路那边钉已块百事可乐铁皮招牌。建筑物---我不知能否称其为建筑物---几乎已开始解体。的确如他所说，看上去果真像在静等谁来点上一把火。
我在最后一处仓房前稍站一会，做几次深呼吸，之后穿过铁道口回家。跑步所需时间为31分30秒。跑完冲淋浴吃早餐。吃完歪在沙发听一张唱片，听完开始工作。
一个月时间里每天早上我都跑这同一路线。然后仓房没烧。
我不时掠过一念：他会不会叫我烧仓房呢？就是说，他往我脑袋里输入烧仓房这一图象，之后像往自行车打气一样使之迅速膨胀。不错，有时我的确心想，与其静等他烧，莫如自己擦火柴烧干净来得痛快。毕竟只是个破破烂烂的小仓房。
但这恐怕还是我想过头了。作为实际问题，我并没有烧什么仓房。无论我脑袋里火烧仓房图像如何扩张，我都不是实际给仓房放火那一类型的人。烧仓房的不是我，是他。也可能他换了该烧的仓房。或者过于繁忙而找不出烧仓房时间亦未可知。她那边也杳无音信。
12月来临，秋天完结，早晨的空气开始砭人肌肤了。仓房依然故我。白色的霜落在仓房顶上。冬季的鸟们在冰冷的树林里啪啦啪啦传出很大的振翅声。世界照旧运转不休。
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再次见到他，已是去年的12月中旬了，圣诞节前夕。到处都在放圣诞赞歌。我上街给各种各样的人买各种各样的圣诞礼物。在乃木坂一带走时，发现了他的车。无疑是他那辆银色赛车。品川编号，左车头灯旁边有道轻伤。车停在一家咖啡馆停车场内。当然车没以前见过那么神气活现闪闪发光。也许我神经过敏，银色看上去多少有些黯然。不过很可能是我的错觉。我有一种把自己记忆篡改得于子有利的倾向。我果断走入咖啡馆。
咖啡馆里黑麻麻的，一股浓郁的咖啡味儿。几乎停不到人语，巴洛克音乐静静流淌。我很快找到了他。他一个人靠窗边坐着喝牛奶咖啡。尽管房间热得足以使眼镜完全变白，但他仍穿开司米斜纹呢大衣，围巾也没解下。
我略一迟疑，决定还是打招呼。但没有说在外面发现他的车---无论如何我是偶然进入这家咖啡馆，偶然见到他的。
"坐坐可以？"我问。
"当然。请。"他说。
随后我们不咸不淡聊起闲话。聊不起来。原本就没什么共同话题，加之他好像在考虑别但是们。虽说如此，又不像对我和他同坐觉得不便。他提起突尼斯的港口，讲在那里如何捉虾。不是出于应酬地讲，讲得满认真。然而话如此细涓渗入沙地倏然中止，再无下文。
他扬手叫来男侍，要了第二杯奶油咖啡。
"对了，仓房的事怎么样了？"我一咬牙问道。
他唇角泌出一丝笑意，"啊，你倒还记得，"说着，他从衣袋掏出手帕，擦下嘴角又装回去，"当然烧了，烧得一干二净，一如讲定的那样。"
"就在我家附近？"
"是的，真就在附近。"
"什么时候？"
"上次去你家大约10天后。"
我告诉他自己把仓房位置标进地图，每天都在那前面转圈跑步。"所以不可能看漏。"我说。
"真够周密的。"他一副开心的样子，"周密，合乎逻辑，但肯定看漏了。那种情况是一定。由于过于切近而疏忽看漏。"
"不大明白。"
他重新打好领带，觑了眼表。"太近了。"他说，"可我这就得走了。这个下次再慢慢谈好么？对不起，叫人等着呢。"
我没理由劝阻他。他站起身，把烟和打火机放进衣袋。
"对了，那以后可见她了？"他问。
"没有，没见。你呢？"
"也没见。联系不上。宿舍房间没有，电话打不通，哑剧班她也一直没去。"
"说不定一忽儿去了哪里，以前有过几次的。"
他双手插衣袋站着，定定注视桌面。"身无分文，又一个半月之久！在维持生存这方面她脑袋可是不太够用的哟！"他在衣袋里打几个响指。"我十分清楚，她的的确确身无分文。像样的朋友也没有。通讯录上倒是排得满满的，那只不过是人名罢了。那孩子没有靠得住的朋友。不过她信赖你来着。这不是什么社交辞令。我想你对她属于特殊存在。我都有点嫉妒，真的。以前我这人几乎没嫉妒过谁。"他轻叹口气，再次觑了眼表，"我得走了，在哪里再见面吧！"
我点下头，话竟未顺利出口。总是这样。在这小子面前语句难以道出。
其后我给她打了好多次电话。电话因未付电话费已被切断。我不由担心起来，去宿舍找她。她房间的门关得严严的，直达邮件成捆插在信箱里。哪里也不见到管理人，连她是否仍住在这里都无从确认。我从手册撕下一页，写个留言条："请跟我联系"，写下名字投进信箱。但没有联系。
第二次去那宿舍时，门已挂上别的入居者名牌。敲门也没人出来。管理人依然不见影。
于是我放弃努力。事情差不多过去一年了。
她消失了。
※ ※ ※ ※
每天早上我仍在5处仓房前跑步。我家周围的仓房依然一个也没被烧掉。也没停说哪里仓房给烧了。又一个12月转来，冬鸟从头顶掠过。我的年龄继续递增。
夜色昏黑中，我不时考虑将被烧毁的仓房。
blue suede shoes─蓝色山羊皮鞋
「把我的家烧掉也没关系 ，.把我的酒喝多少也没关系，
不管怎么样， 只要你高兴。不过，宝贝，可千万别碰我的蓝色山羊皮鞋。」
卡尔柏金斯『蓝色山羊皮鞋』
就是因为这首歌，使我有好长一段时间，对蓝色山羊皮鞋怀着梦想。觉得只要穿上蓝色山羊皮鞋，人生就一定会过得非常称心如意。那是我十四岁时的事。
因为我非常喜爱这一段：
「不过，宝贝， 可千万别碰我的蓝色山羊皮鞋。」
我心里想，真希望快点长到十六岁。只要我长到十六岁，一定要买一双蓝色山羊皮鞋。我觉得十六这个岁数，好像很适合蓝色山羊皮鞋似的。
我想等我十六岁的时候，女朋友也总有十五、六个了，每天和她们约会，然后对她们说「嗨、嗨、别摸我的蓝色山羊皮鞋」。十四岁的时候，我老是想着这类蠢事。
然后两年，就像连着放映两部的电影中场休息时间一样地过去。我十六岁了。在十六岁生日那天，我终于买了梦寐以求的蓝色山羊皮鞋。
结果发生了什么事呢？－－什么也没发生。
我在三月约会过的女孩子，已经有９９ｌｉb?了男朋友。那男的要求跟她亲热，她为此非常烦恼。于是来找我商量。
如此而已。
六月约会的女孩子，简直就谈不来。当我提到南极的时候，她却想着北极。因此白熊和企鹅都失去了居住的地方，不得不四处去旅行。
这样就结束..了。
七月约会的女孩子，体重超过我的理想三公斤。
九月约会的女孩子，在电影院里老是擤鼻子，不过她倒是很可爱。当我们第二次约会时，她对我说「哎，你那双蓝色山羊皮鞋跟你不搭配呀。」
于是，我就把蓝色山羊皮鞋收进鞋柜里去了。
她没有男朋友，当我提南极的时候，也会好好想着南极的事。又不会太胖，只要感冒好了以后，应该不会再老是擤鼻子，对亲热也并不怎么烦恼。
总而言之，就这样，我才渐渐变得稍微幸福一点。
双胞胎与沉没的陆地
与双胞胎分手之後，经过了大约半年左右，我在杂志上看到她们两人的照片。
照片中的双胞胎并没有穿着以前 和我住在一起时经常穿的 印有『２０８』和『２０９』号码的廉价Ｔ恤，而且打扮得非常时髦。一位穿着手编织的洋装，一位穿着潇 的棉质夹克似的衣服， 头发也比以前长得多，眼睛的四周画上了一层淡淡的眼影。
但是，我一眼就认出这是那一对双胞胎，虽然有一个是头往後看，另一个也只能看得到侧面而已，但是，一打开这一页的瞬间，我就看出来是那对双胞胎。就像听过了好几百遍的唱片，我只要听到了第一个音，就立刻可以全部了解。我可以肯定照片上的就是那对双胞胎。照片是在六本木附近最近开的一家狄斯可小舞厅内照的，杂志上利用六页的篇幅制作了一个名为『东京风俗最前线』的特辑，这个特辑的第一页就刊载着那对双胞胎的照片。
使用广角镜头的相机，从稍微上方一点的位置捕捉宽广的店内陈设，所以如果没有事先说明这个场所是狄斯可小舞厅的话，可能有人会误以为是设计巧妙的温室或水族箱。因为舞厅内的设计全是以玻璃做成的，除了地板和天花板之外，桌子、墙壁和装饰品，全部是玻璃制的，而且到处都放置着一盆盆巨大的观叶盆栽。在玻璃所分隔而成的无数区域之中，有人仰头喝着鸡尾酒，也有人在里面跳舞，这幅景象使我联想到精细透明的人体模型，每一个部分都拥有各自的原则，而且能妥善地发挥自己独特的机能。
照片的右端有一张蛋形巨大的玻璃桌，双胞胎就坐在那里。在她们的面前放着两个装热带果汁的大杯子，还有数个装着便餐的餐盘。双胞胎中的一个双手勾在椅背上，身体转向後方，专心地看着玻璃墙外的跳舞区，另外一个正和坐在她身旁的男子谈话。如果照片上出现的不是那对双胞胎的话，这应该只是一幅非常平凡的照片，只不过是两个女人和一个男人坐在狄斯可舞厅里饮酒作乐，狄斯可舞厅的名字叫『玻璃屋』。
我会看到这本杂志也是在一个很偶然的机会，为了与人商量工作上的事宜，而相约在一家咖啡店里。因为离邀约还有一段时间，於是我就到店内的杂志架子上拿出一本杂志来看，随意地翻阅着，否则我不会刻意去看一本一个月前的旧杂志。
在照有双胞胎的彩色照片下，有一段非常详尽的文字说明。图说写着：『玻璃屋』所播放的都是目前东京最流行的音乐，是一家最尖端、时髦人士聚集的狄斯可舞厅。如店名所示，店内全部以玻璃墙来隔间，看起来像是一座玻璃的迷宫；在这里供应各式各样的鸡尾酒，音响效果上的处理也非常留心，在入口的地方还检查每位入场者是否『穿着整齐』，清一色男士的团体也不准入场。
我向服务生叫了第二杯咖啡，同时询问她这一页杂志是否可以让我撕下来带回家。她表示现在负责人不在，她无法作主，不过即使撕下来也不会有人发现的。於是我就用塑胶制的菜单，整齐地将这一页撕下来，摺成四折放进衣服的口袋里。
回到事务所时，看见大门是敞开的，里面半个人影也没有，桌上的书籍文件堆置得乱七八糟，水槽里也堆了许多脏的玻璃杯、盘子，没有清洗，而烟灰缸里早已装满烟蒂。因为事务所的女孩子感冒，已经有叁天没有上班了。
叁天前还是乾净得一尘不染的办公室，如今竟乱得和高中篮球队的球员宿舍没有两样。
我用茶壶烧了一点开水，洗了一只茶杯，泡一杯即溶咖啡，因为找不到汤匙，我只好用一支比较乾净一点的原子笔来搅拌。虽然绝对不怎麽好喝，但是，至少比喝白开水要强得多了。
我坐在桌子的一角，独自喝起咖啡。在隔壁牙科挂号柜台打工的女孩子，从门口偷看了我一眼。那是一位长头发、个子娇小的女孩子，模样非常标致，第一次看见她时，我觉得她可能带有牙买加，或者那附近国家的血统，因为她的皮肤实在太黑了，交谈过後才知道原来是北海道的酪农农家出身的。为什麽皮肤会这麽黑，她本人也不知道。但是，无论如何，这麽黝黑的肌肤穿上工作用的白衣时，显得特别醒目。
她和在我的事务所里工作的女孩子同年龄，有空的时候经常到这边来玩，两个人在一起聊天，我们家的小妹休假时，她也会帮忙接电话，将重要的事情留言下来。
只要电话铃一响，她就从隔壁冲了过来，接电话。因此，我们的事务所里虽然没有人，但是门也经常都是敞开的，因为不用担心会有小偷或强盗进来。
『渡边先生说他出去买一下药！』她说。
渡边升是我的合夥人，我和他当时正经营着一家小的翻译事务所。
『买药？』
我有点儿惊讶地反问。
『什麽药？』
『他太太的药。好像是胃不好，要去买一帖特别的中药方，所以必须到五反田的中药店去。或许会买到很晚，所以就先回去了。』
『嗯！』我说。
『还有，你们不在的时候有很多电话，我都将它留在纸条上了。』
说着她指着压在电话下面的白纸。
『谢谢你！』我说。『你实在帮了我们不少忙！』
『我们家的医生说你们为什麽不买电话答录机呢？』
『我不喜欢那个东西。』我说。『没有一点点人性温暖的东西。』
『那是理所当然的呀！我在这个走廊上跑来跑去也会把身体弄得温暖些。』
她留下加菲猫似的笑容离去之後，我拿起那些纸条，回了几通必须回的电话。
指定印刷厂运送的时间，与翻译兼差者商量内容，请代理公司来修理影印机。
将这些电话一打完了之後，我自己该做的事情就所剩无几了。没有办法只好去清洗留在水槽中的餐具，倒掉烟灰缸里的烟头，调好停止不动的时钟，将日历撕到今天，散置在桌上的铅笔全部装到铅笔盒里，文件依项目妥善整理，将指甲刀放进抽屉里。经过一番整理之後，这个房间总算有点儿像人的工作场所了。
我坐在桌角上，环视四周，忍不住说：
『还不赖嘛！』
窗外是一片一九七四年四月灰蒙蒙的天空，云层是一片平板式的，没有一点点闪烁的空间，看起来好像是整个天空都笼罩在一片灰色的盖子下面。黄昏将近的淡光彷佛水中的灰尘，缓缓地从空中飘过。
天空、 街上，还有这个房间里，都好像染上同样潮 、阴暗的灰色，没有任何看起来比较显眼的地方。
我烧了开水，再泡一杯咖啡，这一次找到了一支乾净的汤匙来搅拌。按下唱机的电源，巴哈的乐曲便从装在天花板上的小扩音器里流泻出来。扩音器、电唱机，以及录音带，都是从渡边升的家里带来的。
真不赖！这一次我没有将它说出口。四月的天气不热也不冷，正适合在这个布满阴云的黄昏里听巴哈的乐曲。
然後我端坐在椅子上，从上衣口袋里拿出双胞胎的照片，放在桌子上，好长的一段时间里，我一直望着这张照片发呆，好不容易想到可以拿出抽屉里的放大镜来看得更详细。虽然这麽做一点儿用处也没有，但是，我现在也不知道该做什麽好，只好看看这张照片消遣一下。
和身旁的男人聊着天的到底是双胞胎中的哪一位，这个问题是我永远也搞不清的。不过从她的嘴角稍微往上扬的弧度，可以看出她好像在微笑。她的左腕放在玻璃桌上，确实是那对双胞胎的手腕，光滑、纤细，而且没有戴任何手表或戒指。
相对地，与她说话的这个男人的表情看起来有些阴郁，是一个瘦瘦、高高、长得相当俊美的男子。穿着一件时髦的暗蓝色衬衫，右手的手腕上戴着细细的银色手。他的双手放在桌子上，两眼盯着前面细细长长的玻璃杯，彷佛那杯饮料的存在对他的一生，有着重要的影响似的，玻璃杯旁的烟灰缸里，还有无数个白色的烟蒂。
双胞胎看起来好像比住在我的公寓里的时候瘦多了，但是正确情形到底如何，我也不太清楚，或许是因为照片的角度、或灯光的缘故吧！
我将剩下的咖啡一口喝乾，从抽屉里找出一支香烟，点上火，慢慢抽了一口。然後思索着双胞胎为什麽会跑到六本木的狄斯可舞厅里喝酒呢？
我所认识的双胞胎是绝对不会轻易出入庸俗的狄斯可舞厅的，当然更不会在眼睛四周涂抹眼影。她们现在到底住在什麽地方？过着什麽样的生活？而且，这个男人到底是谁呢？
手里的原子笔不停地来回旋转着，我瞪大眼睛看着这张照片，最後的结论是：
这个男人或许是双胞胎现在的宿主吧！
就像她们以前对待我的一样，她们找到了一个机会，进入这个男人的生活里，从那个与男人交谈的双胞胎嘴角浮现的笑容，可以了解一切的真相。她的微笑看起来就像降落草原的甘霖，我是再熟悉不过的了。她们又找到新的依靠了。
我和她们两个人共同生活的情形，仍然深印在我的脑海中，从她们涉足的场所看来，她们或许就像一朵流动的云，形状会不停的改变，但是，存在於她们内在的无数特徵，却毫无更改，这一点我非常肯定。
她们现在仍然爱吃咖啡奶油饼乾，喜欢悠悠哉哉的散步，常常蹲在澡堂的浴池外面洗澡，这就是那对深留在我心中的双胞胎。
我虽然看着照片，但是很不可思议地并没有对那个男人产生丝毫嫉妒的心理，即使是类似的感觉也未曾有。我只认为这是一种确实存在的状况而已，对我而言那
已经是一个属於不同的时代、不同的世界里所发生的片段情景了。我既然已经丧失了这对双胞胎，无论再如何努力、如何思念她们，都已经是无法挽回的了。
唯一让我感到不满的是那个男人满脸不悦的神情，他应该是没有不高兴的理由啊。你拥有双胞胎，而我没有；我失去了双胞胎，而你尚未失去。或许有一天你会失去她们，但是，你根本就不会认为这种事将会发生在自己身上。或许你现在感到很混乱，每一个人都常常会有混乱的感觉；但是，你现在所体会到的混乱并不是致命性的那种混乱，这一点总有一天你会知道的。
然而，不管我现在想什麽，都无法让他知道。因为他们活在一个离我非常远的时代、非常远的世界里。他们彷佛像一块浮游的大陆，朝一个我一无所知的黑暗宇宙缓缓地前进。
到了五点，渡边升还没有回来，我就将必须联络的事项写在一张纸条上，放在他的桌上。
这时候隔壁牙科的柜台小姐又走了过来，问我可不可以借用洗手间。
『请便，要借什麽都请你自己动手。』
『我们那边洗手间的电灯坏掉了。』
她说着就提着化 箱进洗手间，在镜子前用梳子梳头，又擦上口红。因为洗 手间的门一直是开着的，於是我就坐在桌子的一角，一直眺望着她的背影。
脱下白色制服之後，更显出她那双腿的美丽，短短的水蓝色羊毛窄裙下露出一双匀称的腿。
『你在看什麽呢？』
她一边用纸巾整理着口红，一边看着镜子问。
『脚。』我说。
『好看麽？』
『不难看。』
我老实地回答。
她粲然一笑， 将口红收进袋子里， 走出洗手间，将门关上。然後在白色的衬衫上披一件淡蓝色的围巾。围巾看起来像云柔般轻盈。
我双手插在上衣的口袋里，又盯着她凝视了许久。
『还在看吗？或者你心里在想些什麽呢？』她问。
『我在想这条围巾真不错！』我说。
『是的！很贵呢！』她说。
『不过我买的时候并没有那麽贵，因为我以前是在精品店当售货员，所以可以用员工价来买。』
『为什麽会辞掉精品店的工作，而到牙科来工作呢？』
『待遇太低，而且常常会看漂亮的衣服就忍不住想买，花钱花得太凶了，所以我想到牙科上班情形会比较好些。bbr>..虽然待遇也不高，但是至少看牙齿是不用钱 的。』
『原来如此。』我说。
『不过，我觉得你的穿着品味不坏喔！』她说。
『我？』
我看了看自己的衣服说。
我从来不浪费精神在每天早上出门前选择合适的衣服，大学时代买的灰色棉质长裤、叁个月没洗的蓝色球鞋，再加上白色马球衫和绿色上衣，这些就是我全部的装配。马球衬衫虽然是新的，但是因为我的手经常插在口袋上，结果就使得上衣变形了。
『我觉得糟糕透了！』
『但是，和你非常吻合。』
『只是吻合而已，称不上有什麽品味吧！』
我笑着说。
『如果买一件新的上衣，会不会使你改掉将手插在口袋里的毛病？那应该也算是一种毛病吧！总而言之，那样常常会把上衣弄得变形了。』
『早就变形了！』我说。
『如果你下班了的话，我们一起走到车站去搭车好吗？』
『好啊！』她说。
『你不会取笑我吗？』
『我想应该是不会的。』
『我们家里养了一只山羊。』她说。
『山羊？』
我再一次惊讶地反问她。
『你不知道山羊是什麽吗？』
『知道啊！』
『因为那是一只非常聪明的山羊，我们全家人都很疼爱它。』
『山羊的叫声！』
我附和地说。
『而且我在六姊妹中排行老六，叫什麽名字大家都觉得无所谓。』
我点点头。
『不过很好记吧！山羊的叫声。』
『说得也是！』我说。
到了车站时，我向她要了家里的电话号码，然後邀她共进晚餐，她却说已经和未婚夫有约了。
『那麽下次吧！』我说。
『太好了！』笠原Ｍａｙ说。
然後我们就分手了。
看着她那条披在肩上的蓝色大围巾消失在赶着下班回家的人群中时，我猜想她是绝对不会再回来了，於是我就将双手插在上衣的口袋里，朝着适当的方向走去。
笠原Ｍａｙ离去之後，我的身体又再度好像完全笼罩在一片灰色的云层之中，抬起头来一看，云朵仍然挂在上空，朦胧的灰色和夜的蓝色混合，如果不稍加以注意的话，就不会看出那个地 65b9." >方真的有云，而会觉得好像天空有一只盲目的巨大怪兽，将月亮、星星的光采全都掩覆了。
彷佛走在海底似的，前、後、左、右看起来都完全相同，而且身体上对於气压和呼吸法都不太习惯。
一个人实在没有什麽食欲，什麽也不想吃，更不想回住的地方，但是也没有什麽该去的地方。没有办法，我只好在马路上闲逛。
有时候站在电影院前看看电影介绍的看板，有时候看看乐器行橱窗里的陈设，而大多数 时间是在看与我擦身而过的行人。 有数千名以上的人在我的眼前出现、又消失，我觉得他们好像是从一个意识的边境，移到另一个意识的边境似的。
街道还是从前的街道，没有丝毫的改变，夜色像一瓶永远用不完的墨水，不停地倾倒在街心，使整条街道染满了夜色。走在夜晚的街道，人群的嘈杂声、街灯、味道，似及兴奋的心情，都好像不存在现实的生活中一样，这些彷佛在昨天、前天、上星期，或上个月就离我而远去了。
到底走了多久，走了多长的距离，我自己也不太清楚。我只知道有上千人与我擦身而过，而且据我的推测，再过了七十、八十年之後，这数千人将会全部消失在这个世界上。七十年或八十年，其实并不算是一段很长的岁月。
即使只是看着来来往往的人们，仍然使我感到非常疲倦。或许我是在人群里寻找那对双胞胎，除此之外，我没有理由站在街头注意来来往往的人们。我几乎是毫无意识地走进一条人烟稀少的小路上，进入一家经常独自一个人喝酒的小酒吧。然後坐在柜台上，同样地点了加冰块的威士忌，和永远吃不腻的起司叁明治。店内几乎没有半个客人，经过了一段很长的时间之後，我对木材和油漆的味道早已非常熟悉了，天花板上的扩音器流放出数十年前流行的爵士钢琴声，偶尔和玻璃杯里冰块撞动杯壁的声音混合在一起。
我觉得好像会全部消失似的。会全部消失的东西就会不停地逝去，而且已经损坏了的东西没有人能够使它复原。地球就是因为这个缘故而不停地绕着太阳旋转。
我认为最重要的是结局的真实与否。地球绕着太阳旋转，月球绕着地球旋转，这种型态就是不可改变的事实。
如果假设 这是我自己所做的假设 我突然在某个地方巧遇这对双胞胎，然後，接下来我该怎麽办才好呢？
我是不是该对她们说：再回来和我住在一起好吗？
但是，我非常清楚这样的提议一点意思都没有，是无意义，而且不可能。她们已经从我的身边擦身而过了。
而且，假设 这是我所做的第二个假设 双胞胎同意回到我的身边；虽然我认为这是绝对不..可能的事情，我只不过是假设而已，结果会如何呢？
我用力地咬一口叁明治，再大大地喝了一口啤酒。
没有意义！我认为。
或许她们会在我的公寓里住上数个星期、数个月、数年，但是，有一天她们终究是会消失的，而且和上次一样，没有半句说明，就像一阵风吹走了一样，不知去向。
所以，留下她们只不过是让已经发生过的事情再重复一次罢了，没有任何意义。
这就是真实，我非得接受这个没有双胞胎的世界不可。
我用纸巾擦擦滴落在柜台上的水，从上衣的口袋里拿出双胞胎的照片，然後一边喝着第二杯咖啡，一边想着双胞胎其中的一位到底在和她身旁的年轻男子说些什麽？一直盯着这张照片看，恍惚中觉得好像看见她正往那个男人的耳朵里吹进空气。
虽然我从照片上无法得知这个男人是否了解这种情形，但是据我的推测，他应该是一点也没有察觉，就像我当时什麽事都没有感觉一样。
我想或许我应该把这张照片烧掉，但是我知道自己一定无法将它烧掉；如果我真的有能力，能够将它烧掉的话，当初就不应该走进这条小巷子了。
我喝完了第二杯威士忌，拿起记事本和零钱，走到粉红色的电话筒前，拨了一个电话号码，但是响了四声之後，我又将话筒挂回电话筒上，手里拿着记事本瞪着电话看了许久，因为回想不起任何美好的记忆，於是我又回到柜台上，点了第叁杯威士忌酒。
结果我什麽事也不再思考了，因为不论想什麽，最後都无法找到一条可以依循的适当管道，我让自己的脑袋瓜保持一片空白。在这片空白中，我又喝下了数杯威士忌。从头顶上的扩音器流窜而出的音乐听起来非常悦耳。
虽然这时候我有一股想要抱住一个女人的冲动，但是，该抱谁才好，我却一点儿也不明白。虽然任何人都好，但是总得想出一个特定的对象，而我却一点儿也想不起来，我心里感到一阵的绝望，即使翻遍了记事本上的电话号码，也找不到一个合适的人选。
我叹了一口气，将这杯不知是第几杯的酒一饮而尽。付了帐之後，走出店门，然後站在红绿灯前，心里想着：『接下来该怎麽办？』在五分钟後、十分钟後、十五分钟後，我到底该怎麽办才好呢？该去什麽地方？该做什麽？想去哪里？
但是，我却一个问题也回答不出来。
『我老是梦见相同的事情！』
我闭着眼睛对女人说。
闭着眼睛很长的一段时间之後，我觉得自己好像失去了微妙的平衡，整个人飘浮在一个不安定的空间里。或许是因为裸体睡在这个柔软的床上的缘故吧！否则就是因为这个女人身上所擦的浓烈的香水味，这个味道好像一只只长着翅膀的小虫，钻进我身体里最黑暗的深处，使我的细胞伸张、又缩小。
『梦到这个梦的时间也大致相同， 大约在早上四、五点 天刚亮之前。我常吓得满身是汗之後清醒过来，看看四周还是一片昏暗。但是，在那个时间里四周不应该是那麽暗的。当然不会有完全相同的梦，某些细微的部分有时候经常会有所差异的，状况不同，人物也不一样，但是基本型态是相同的，主要人物相同，结局也完全相同。好像是一出同一系列的低预算电影。』
『我也常常会做不喜欢的梦。』
她说着，用打火机点了一根烟。
我听到了打火机点火的声音，也闻到香烟的味道，接着又听到手掌轻拨某件东西二、叁次的声音。
『今天早上我又梦见一座玻璃建的大厦。』
不让她有任何发言的机会，我接着就说：
『这是一栋极高的大厦，建在新宿的西口，墙壁全部是玻璃造的，梦中我是走在路上偶然发现这栋大厦的。但是，这栋大厦并没有完全建好，还有一小部分的工程尚在进行当中。在玻璃墙壁中，人们忙碌地工作着，虽然大厦的内部已经完成了，但是，到处都是一片乱七八糟。』
女人吐着烟，声音听起来好像是风从门缝中吹过似的，然後又咳嗽了几声。说：
『喂！我想问你几个问题，可以吗？』
『太无聊的问题最好别问，你只要一直静静地听我讲话就可以了。』我说。
『好吧。』她说。『因为我闲得很，於是就静静地站在大玻璃前，看着大厦里面的作业。在我所窥看的房间里，戴着帽子的工人正在搬运装饰用的美观砖瓦。虽然他一直背对着我工作，我看不见他的脸，但是从身材看来应该是一个年轻的男子，瘦瘦高高的，而且在那里只有这个男孩子，没有其他任何人。
梦中的空气是非常混浊的，好像有什麽地方在燃烧，到处弥漫着烟雾。一片模糊的白浊色，所以不能够很清楚地看见远方的景象，但是，定睛看了一会儿之後，空气就变得稍微透明一点点了。到底是不是真的透明，或者是我的眼睛已经习惯了这种不透明度，我自己也不太清楚原因是什麽。但是，不管怎麽说，我是比刚才更能清楚地看见屋子内的每一个角落了。那个年轻男孩子好像一个机器人似的，一直用相同的动作将砖块一块块地堆积起来，虽然这个房间非常地宽广，但是，因为他的动作非常的迅速，所以大约一、二个小时，他就将所有的工作全部完成了。』
说到这里，我休息了一下，将啤酒倒进枕头旁的杯子里，然後将它一饮而下。
女人为了表示一直专心地在听我说话，瞪大眼睛看着我。
『男人所堆积的砖瓦後面原本还有一面墙， 是一面和建 物内其他地方不同的水泥墙。换句话说，这个男人正在原本的墙壁前制造一道装饰用的墙。我的意思你听得懂吗？』
『懂啊！是要建造双层墙壁吧！』
『是的。』我说：『是要建造双层墙壁。但是仔细观察，发现两层墙壁之间，隔着将近四十公分的距离。为什麽要故意留出这个空间，我自己也不清楚，而且，这麽一来房间就变得比以前小很多了。我一边觉得非常不可思议，一边瞪大眼睛看着他工作，这时候我突然发现里面有人影，好像冲洗照片一样，照片里的人影会慢慢浮现。这个人影就夹在新、旧两道墙壁之间。』
『而且，那是一对双胞胎。』
我继续说。
『一对年轻的双胞胎，大概是十九、二十、或二十一，两个人都穿着我的衣服。一个穿着白色马球衫，一个穿着绿色上衣，两件都是我的衣服。她们两个人虽然躲在这四十公分左右的夹缝里，但是丝毫没有感觉到不自由，好像并不觉得是在墙壁中一样，两个人还是天南地北的闲聊着。工人似乎也没有察觉到这对双胞胎的存在，只是静静地堆着砖块。好像只有我一个人发现了这件事情似的。』
『为什麽你知道工人没有察觉到那对双胞胎呢？』女人问。
『我就是知道！』我说。『在梦里面有很多事情都是很自然就会知道的，所以我想非得阻止他的工作不可。我双手握拳，猛敲着玻璃墙壁，用力地敲得双手都发麻了，但是，不论我怎麽用力，却一点声音也没有，所以工人也一点儿都接收不到我的讯息。他还是以相同的速度，机械式地堆积着砖块，砖块已经慢慢地堆积到双胞胎的膝盖上了。
因此，我放弃了敲玻璃的念头，准备进入大厦里，阻止他的工作。但是，我找不到大厦的入口，虽然这是一栋非常高耸的大厦，但是却找不到一个入口。我用尽了全部的力气，在大厦的四周绕了几圈，但是结果都是相同的，这栋大厦简直就像一口大的金鱼缸，找不到半个入口。』
我又喝了一口啤酒，润了润喉，女人还是定睛地看着我。她转动了身体的方向，正好将乳房压在我的手腕上。
『然後怎麽办呢？』她问。
『一点儿办法也没有。』我说。『真的一点儿办法也没有，找不到入口，也无法发出半点声息，我只能双手撑在玻璃墙上，定睛地看着房间内的动静。墙渐渐地堆高了，一直高到双胞胎的腰、胸，不久就将她们全部覆盖住了，然後一直高到天花板上。这只不过是在转瞬间就完成的事情，我束手无策，只能睁眼看着。工人嵌完了最後一块砖，收拾好行李，不知消失到那里去了，最後只剩下我和这面玻璃墙！
我实在一点儿办法也没有。』
女人伸出手来，拨弄着我的头发。
『老是做这个相同的梦！』我说。『细微的部分有改变，设定有改变，角色也有改变，但是，结果是完全相同的。有一面玻璃墙，我无法将自己的意思传达给里面的任何人，一直是这个样子的。每当我一觉睡醒时，手心都还留着触摸玻璃时的冰冷感觉，而且，这种感觉会一直持续好几天。』
我一讲完这段话之後，她还一直用手指拨弄着我的头发。
『你一定觉得很累吧！』她说。『我也常常是这个样子的，只要一感到疲倦时，就会梦到一些令我讨厌的事情。但是，这或许与真实的生活毫无关系，只不过是身体上、或头脑里感到疲倦而已。』
我点点头。
然後她抓起我的手， 去摸她的阴部，那里温热、潮 ，但是并没有引起我的欲望，只是让我稍微有些不可思议的感觉而已。
然後我就对她说?9９liｂ.很感谢她听我说梦的事情，也给了她一些钱。
『只是听你说话而已，不用付钱。』她说。
『我想付啊！』我说。
她点点头，把钱收了下来，装进她的黑色皮包里，皮包的开口关上时，发出了一个非常清脆的响声，彷佛使我的梦随着那些钱一起丢进皮包里似的。
她下了床，穿上内衣和丝袜，再穿上衬衫、裙子、毛线衣，站在镜子前面梳理头发。站在镜前梳头发时，每一个女人看起来都是一样的。
我裸着身体，在床上探起了身，模糊地眺望着女人的背影。
『我认为那只是一个梦，你不要太挂记在心上。』
女人临出门前说，而且手在转动门把时，又若有所思地说：
『你那麽在意它，其实一点意思也没有！』
我点点头。她走了出去，接着听见一个关门的响声。
女人的身影消失之後，我仰卧在床上，一直盯着房间的天花板看。这是一间到处都可以找得到的便宜饭店，一片到处都可以看着到的便宜天花板。
从窗 的缝隙间， 可以看见湿润色调的街灯，有时候强风任意地将十一月里冻结的雨滴敲打在玻璃窗上。我伸手寻找放置在枕头旁的手表，结果因为觉得太麻烦而决定作罢。现在到底几点钟并不是问题的关键所在，我最担心的是没有带伞这个问题。
我一边看着天花板，一边想着古代沈入大海的陆地的传说。为什麽会想起这件事，我自己也不明白，大概是因为在十一月下着冷雨的夜里，没有带伞的缘故吧！或者是因为用了冰冷的双手， 去拥抱一个不知姓名的女人的身体 我已想不起来那具身体的模样 的缘故吧！ 光线暗淡、迷蒙，声音从窗缝里钻了进来，空气沈重而潮 。
我到底失去了那种欲望几年了呢？
我无法想起失去的年代，那或许是在我失去双胞胎之前，就已失去了吧！因为我记得是双胞胎让我知道的感觉。关於失去的，我们确信的并不是丧失的确切时间，而是人们发现了丧失的时间。
唉！算了！就从那时候开始算起吧！
叁年了！
叁年的岁月将我送进了这场十一月冷雨的深夜中。
但是，或许我对这个新世界已有了些许的熟悉，或许只是多花一点时间，将我连骨带肉塞进了宇宙的断层中。可是人类的同化能力是极强的，即使是再鲜明的梦，结果还是会被吞没在不鲜明的现实中，然後逐渐的被消灭。
或许有一天我会完全想不起来这个梦到底存在於什麽年代中。
我关掉枕头旁的电灯，闭上眼睛，在床上缓缓地伸直了身体，然後让意识沈入没有梦的睡境中，大雨打在窗玻璃上，洗涤着被黑暗海流所遗忘的山脉。（end）
「宇宙飞船(Space Ship)」号的光与影
以前，大约是在十年前左右吧，我曾经拥有一台属于自己的 PINBALL。在写完名为「1973年的PINBALL」这本小说之后，由于一些机缘而到我的手上的。因为详细的原委经过实在太复杂，在此就略过不谈了。总之是弄到手，而且算是免费的。只不过找机会回赠了一瓶威路得塔基，就这样了结了。
那是一台相当旧的机型，名字叫「宇宙飞船」。因为是古老的东西，其中并没有使用计算机也没有晶藏书网体管。数字也是咖咂咖咂转动的滚筒式，而非数位式的。挥把只有两个。分数最多好像只有五位数的样子。总之，是台非常普通的传统式机器。我想大概是1950 年代后半至60年代前半时期的产品。说是经典也可以，说它是废物也可以……在这种处境中的物品实在太多，其界限的划分也不明确。喜欢的话就当是经典，不喜欢的话就是报废的垃圾。若是想拥有，就算是站在喜欢的那一方吧。
但是我第一眼看到就喜欢上了这台机器。理由大致上是第一，机器的设计创意并不夸张。总之，没有一些不人性化的多余装置。只要将纵列并排的Ｓ．Ｐ．Ａ．Ｃ．Ｅ．Ｓ．Ｈ．Ｉ．Ｐ九个字的灯全部击亮，就可以得到BONUS。球若在是碰撞中掉入底部集球处成为死球（冲撞是比较正确的形容），另一球就会出来，开始下一回合。规则大致如此，实在非常非常地简单。其它多余的部分已经记不清楚了。
第二，这是构造非常简单的物理性机械。站在机器前面，它的全部价值是一目了然。这台可爱的机器是用我们日常生活中所能充分掌握的材料－玻璃、木材、树脂、金属、橡胶、电灯泡－所制?９９ｌib?成的。虽然我是个不太懂机械构造的人，但是这里面有些什么样的装置大致上都可以理解。拿音效的部分来讲吧，就像以前古老的真空管扩?机一样。零件大而单纯，没有精密的回路来。只是性能效率注定是很差的。但无论如何其原理都可以完全了解。我个人喜欢这种类型的机器，可以说是怀有好感。稍微夸张一点说，这叫感情投入。只是不知道为什么，其中漂浮着类似灭绝的恐龙一样的悲哀。
当时我一面写小说，一面经营着一家店（类似BAR的店），最初机器是摆在店里的。但怎么说也不是为客人准备的。任何客人都不准碰。工作结束后，我会一个人喝着酒玩 PINBALL。凌晨一点，NIGHTCAP PINBALL。关灯以后的店里变得一片黑暗。窗外看得见新宿摩天大楼的灯光。四周一片死寂。放上古老的色拉．凡恩的唱片，玻璃杯里注满啤酒，烟灰缸放在手边，点上一根烟（啊，我那时有烟瘾，一天要抽50根呢）。FREE PLAY的钮按个够，然后屏气凝神，然后咻．咕嘟咕嘟咕嘟．喀空喀空．喀空喀空．拼乓，一个人尽情地玩。在朦胧的黑暗中，依次将Ｓ．Ｐ．Ａ．Ｃ．Ｅ蓝色的灯一个个击亮。说真的，感觉好像全身的力量都集中在挥把上，奋力将球击出，让它尽情地来回撞击着。到处乱撞的球，若是运气好经过有三角形记号的KICKOUT的话，就能够在写实的咕噜咕噜的声响下，慢慢由挥把下方弹回来。然后再用挥把接住，努力用种种爱的密术般的技术，停球、传球、在击出。这是非常亲密的功夫。我想这其中的确有微小的、类似心电感应的成分。应付着两份工作疲惫的我，和跟不上时代的「宇宙飞船」。
我对于VIDEO GAME多少也有些接触。虽然也曾沈迷过，但是那种具有亲密感情般的情况却不曾有过。那只是一种非常高度的精神耗损。我们只能靠着计算机这个黑盒子，瞪着屏幕，去穿过一座座迷宫。神经质的背景音乐出奇地单调。而且其中根本没有「去那里」那种随心所欲的实在而单纯的手感。
大概我也是跟不上时代的吧。
但是那种在半夜打烊后，独自在店里叭哒叭哒敲着挥把钮的事，至今依然非常地怀念。现在觉得有点遗憾，因为我到每一处游乐场都找不到那样的机器了。虽然有时候也会找新型的 PINBALL试着挑战一下，但那些新的设计对我而言是过分地复杂，玩起来手忙脚乱。球从挥把下滚失之后，喝一口酒、点一根烟那种从容的时间完全没有了。喂，这只不过是游藏书网戏而已嘛！我是这么认为的。为什么非得这么忙碌地东奔西逐不可呢？为什么一个个都得配上这么无聊的音效不可呢？
我将店面结束营业，去做个专职作家以后，「宇宙飞船」就带回家去。因为那时的房子有一个小小的地下室，机器就放置在那儿。工作累的时候常常会下去玩一玩。但难以想象的事，那种打烊后的NIGHTCAP PINBALL时亲密的感觉已经唤不回了。是为什么我也 不知道。但的确有某处不一样了。对了，是气氛不一样了。但是为什么呢？游戏的种类产生了微妙的变化。也许吧。
也许吧。
最后，机器在又一次搬家时处理掉了。平台式钢琴和PINBALL在搬家时都是不合适的家产。总之太重了，也没有地方放。而且到了后来，这儿那儿地故障也多了。我把去美国时买的PINBALL维修手册读熟以后，拼命试着到处摸摸弄弄看看。但是仍然感到它的寿命将尽。有一次偶然在朋友那儿，碰到有个对这种机器很行的人说有兴趣，就让给他了。
看着PINBALL被领走的情景，总觉得有些感伤。搬出来之后，一层薄垢在阳光之下看来就像是落伍的货色。好像上了岁数毛色不佳的老马一样。找来三个人帮忙搬上小卡车。但实在重得不象话，这让我感觉很不可思议。这真的是我本身，或是我所不知道的某人，过去的影子般沈甸甸的重量。然后，PINBALL就从我家消失了。
我想，个人拥有一台PINBALL，就是背负着那样一种重量。个人的、经验的，是这样子吧。拥有PINBALL和拥有电玩软件的情况是完全不一样的。那是会将拥有者的日常生活和思考等都吸收而逐渐变得更沉重。这是那种巨大又笨重恐龙般的机器的特性吧。但是有些人就是会在某时期（也许）会被这样的东西所吸引。这是个人的、经验的，我是这么认为。
stereotype─活版印刷
「嗯，刚刚还没说完。」那年轻女孩说：「总之他是一个非常有才华的人，也是一个非常奇怪的人。」
「哦？」
「他在艺术学院修了半年油画，可是对学校里教的那种画，却怎么也无法接受，于是他休学去当船员，上了一艘货船，身上几乎一文不名。」
「哦？」
「可是船开到埃及时，他忽然得了热病，被送下船。于是在亚历山大的医院住了三个月，在那期间，船已经开回日本。」
「那真糟糕。」
「可是急也没有用．．．于是他就在亚历山大住下来，为了生活只好到一家夜总 4f1a." >会谈吉他唱歌。 因为他歌唱得非常好 。 他的歌实在值得一听呢。」
「有才华。」
「他就这样唱着唱着过日子，不久有一个意大利大财主听了他的歌大为感动，于是对他说，他有一艘大游艇，在地中海开来开去，问他愿不愿意在他船上当个船员兼歌手。」
「好像不错嘛。」
「其实却不然，原来那意大利人是走私贩子，又是个同性恋。等他弄清楚真相以后，只想早一刻逃离那条船，可是当他知道的时候，船已经开出贝鲁特海岸十公里外了．．．」
「跳船是铁没命的了。」
「不过他对游泳非常有自信，所以把护照和皮夹子缠在腰上，趁着黑夜便跳下海游了十公里，居然给他游回贝鲁特海岸呢。」
「..好强悍哪！」
「他在贝鲁特当码头工人，存了点钱，搭上火车，辗转从伊朗来到印度。在途中得了严重的赤痢，差点没命，还被山贼抢劫过。」
「日子真难过。」
「结果花了整整两个月才到印度。不过到了印度以后，他整个人都变了。他自己也说，如果没有印度的话也就没有他了。印度对他来说，是一个非常重要的体验。」
「实在不简单。」
「四年，他在印度住了四年，然后才回到日本来。不过他在日本不习惯，日本方面也不接受他。日本画坛非常权威主义，不属于『自己的』范围之内的东西，是绝不会承认的。就因为种种原因，他对中央画坛厌烦透
了，于是躲到深山里去，那已经是十二年前的事了。」
「好久了啊。」
「现在他跟太太两个人一面种田，一面随自己高兴还画些画，一年只到东京两、三次。因此也没什么名气，其实非常有才华。」
「那－－要是到他家的话，有没有刚摘下来的西红柿？」
「有啊，好好吃噢！」
「他喜欢喝点日本老酒 ， 也不烫热 ， 心血来潮就高声唱起情歌，对吗？」
「你怎么知道？」
「总觉得有点这种感觉。」
「真的？」
straight─顺
和海龟玩扑克牌，绝不是..一件赏心乐事。为什么呢？因为要猜海龟手上握有什么牌、心里想着什么事，就像数雪地上躺着睡午觉的乌鸦有几只一样简单。每天晚上和这样的对手玩扑克牌，又有什么乐趣可言？
比方玩扑克牌时，海龟突然把牌盖在桌上，走藏书网下椅子，用他的龟甲贴在地板上转两圈，然后哈── 一声深呼吸，再回到原位，这就表示海龟凑了两对。换句话说，海龟每次拿到两对时，就一定会这样做。
有时候他会走到厨房，转开水龙头，在?9９ｌｉｂ.两只手掌上呸！呸！吐两口口水，然后洗手，顺便漱漱口再回来，这时候一定是三条。可是海龟本人对于自己有这种行动却一点儿也没感觉。
因此我当然每次都赢，而海龟则总是歪着头表示怀疑。
「我心里想什么，你好像都一清二楚噢？」海龟说。
「这倒不见得，不过你有一些小毛病；就是一些习惯性的小 52a8." >动作．．．怎么说呢？大概是潜意识的小动作吧。」我说。?９9ｌｉｂ?
「哦？我怎么都没发现？居然有那种毛病啊。看不出你倒还是个不简单的心理学家啊。」
「好说。」我一面苦笑一面回答。
海龟现在一面鼓胀着鼻腔，一面撕下桌上的便条纸，用剪刀剪下一弯新月。看来他手上又是 straight 顺牌了.
sudden death─暴毙
自从戴上眼镜之后，周围很多东西忽然都变清楚了。虽然自己没有感觉，不过显然视力是变坏了许多。戴上眼镜，原地转一圈时，觉得简直好像被放进一个不同次元的新世界里似的。
有些过去只能看得模模糊糊的东西，忽然变清晰起来，有些过去「完全看不见」的东西，也忽然看得见了。具体说，「大猿」就应该被分类为后者。
我偶而会在街角发现大猿，就是在开始戴眼镜以后发生的。这虽然可以清楚地断言，可是我从前是一次也没看过大猿的。
根据我日记上写的，我是从四个月前开始戴眼镜的，从此以后我一共亲眼目睹了七次大猿的踪影。也就是说一个月平均一．七五次，如果以周日别来说，星期一、星期四和星期五各两次，星期二有一次。因此或许可以解释成－－不过这或许纯属偶然－－大猿在周末不会出现。
大猿出没的场所，也有特征，到目前为止，只限于地下铁银座线的沿线。详细内容如下：
（１）表参道附近（三次）
（２）青山一丁目附近（二次）
（３）虎之门（一次）
（４）京桥（一次）
不过这当然也只不过在「我偶而看到的限度内」为条件的结果，说不定实际上他们也同9９ｌｉｂ?样在丸之内线的沿线出没。因为照理来说，这些大猿在赤(土反)车站只要朝对面站台移动的话，要往四谷或后乐园都应该随心所欲畅行无阻的。
至于大猿的数目，我就无法清楚确定了。也许七次看到的都是同一只大猿也说不.定，或许每次都不同，有七只大猿也有可能。就算戴上眼镜之后，整个世界能看得多么清楚，要正确分别七只相似大猿的毛相差异，仍然是极困难的事。这不是我在自我辩护，到底有谁能办得到呢？
在七次看到的大猿之中，我记得最清楚的就是在京桥所看到的那只大猿。那只大猿走上京桥车站的阶梯，走出外面朝日本桥方向去，并在金凤堂的转角处站住。那是中央公论社通往大街的转角。大猿毛绒绒的手上握着巨大的扳手，静静地等９9ｌｉｂ?着有谁从转角处出现。大猿弯着腰，手几乎快碰到地面，一动也不动。要不是嘴里不时会冒出一股白气，我还真可能以为那是一只猿猴标本呢。那只大猿竟然好久都不动一下。可是大猿真的是活生生的，右手紧握那扳手，彷佛等着要扑杀谁似的。
而那个谁，则作梦也没想到自己会被杀吧。
那时候我正好有重要的事要办，因此没能看完最后的发展。那只大猿是否顺利地让什么人的头，突然遭到死神照顾了呢？
talcum powder─爽身粉
经常，没有任何预兆，就忽然觉得这世界上只剩下我和爽身粉。
虽然如此，我和爽身粉的交情并不怎么特别好。有时候甚至心意丝毫无法沟通。不过尽管如>藏书网此，我和爽身粉之间，依然存在着一种可以称为所谓透过共同体验所培养出来的第二天性之类的某种东西。
也就是好比和同一个女孩子睡过觉，或被传染了相同的性病，或阴茎的尺寸完全相同、或被同一位评论家恶语批评过，或税务署的退税额相同等，诸如此类的事。
至于对梳子、古龙水、运动洗发精、牙粉或浴巾等，则决对不会有这种感觉。只有爽身粉会。这到底为什么？我也不知道。
tent─帐篷
我背着帐篷去旅行。这非常愉快。觉得好像变成蜗牛一样。
下着雨。这也很好。雨点打在帐篷上发出啪哒啪哒的声音。?
跟女孩子一起。这也不坏。她像铁一样是个处女，就算她口袋里暗藏了一把剪刀，那也可以。说什么ＳＥＸ，实在是件芝麻小事。至少在帐篷里会让你这样感觉。
外面虫子在叫，晶体管收音机播着莫名其妙的地方电台音乐节目。帐篷前面的小溪里，泡凉着一打罐头啤酒。地球不眠不休地团团转着。让你有一种好了不起的感觉。
这时候，有人在外?99lｉｂ.面干咳一声。
嗯哼！
我拉开入口的拉炼，探出头去往上一看。一个年轻人穿了一件西瓜图案的Ｔ恤和百慕达短裤。整体藏书网上很光滑，就像白煮蛋的妖精一样。
「对不起打扰你们休息。」他说。
「对不起如果要借开罐器，我..没有。」我说。
「不，不是开罐器。」
「如果要啤酒倒可以奉送一罐。」
「也不是啤酒。」
「哦？」我说。
「我是来调查的。」
「什么？」
「调查帐篷。是调查委员会派我来的。」
他拿出证件，我检查了一下，没错，全国帐篷委员会。
「然后呢？」我说。
「可以回答我的问题吗？」
「可以呀。」
他好像总算松了一口气。
「那我们就开始。 (1) 你在帐篷里幸福吗？请回答Ｙｅｓ或Ｎｏ。」
「Ｙｅｓ。」
他用铅笔在调查问卷上沙沙地写下。然后无意义地微笑一下。
「(2) 她是处女吗？」
「Ｙｅｓ。」
沙沙沙沙。
「(3) 你尊重她是个处女吗？」
「如果她这样希望的话。」
「请答Ｙｅｓ或Ｎｏ。」
「Ｙｅｓ。」
沙沙沙沙。
「最后 (4) 你相信地球在转着吗？」
「Ｙｅｓ。」
沙沙沙沙。
「谢谢。」
「不客气。」
他正打算走开，却迟疑了一下再干咳一声。「请问你真的可以拿一罐啤酒吗？」
我把入口的拉炼拉上，再度钻进帐篷里。帐篷里已经被她沉睡的气息呼润得温温湿湿的。
图书馆奇谈(1)
1
图书馆非常安静，因为书把声音都吸光了。
那么被书吸掉的声音又怎么样了呢？当然没怎么样。简单地说不是声音消失了，而是空气的振动被吸收了而已。
那么被书本吸掉的振动又会变成怎么样呢？不怎么样，振动只是单纯地消失掉而已，反正振动迟早要消失的，因为这世界上没有所谓永久运动存在。永久运动是永久不存在的。
就算时间，也并不是永久运动。既有没有下周的这周，也有没有上周的这周。
那么没有这周的下周呢……
算了，到此打住。
总之我在图书馆里，而图书馆是非常的安静。
图书馆比必要的还要安静。因为我穿的是刚买的Polo皮鞋，因此在灰色塑胶地砖上发出咯吱咯吱坚硬而干燥的声音。好像不是自己的脚步声似的，穿新皮鞋要花相当长的时间才会习惯自己的脚步声。
借书柜台上坐着一位从来没见过的中年女性，正在看书。一本非常厚的书，右边印着外国语文，左边印着日文。好像不一样的文章，左右两边的段落和换行都完全不同，插图也不一样，左边一页的插图是太阳系的轨道图，右边却是潜水艇活门似的金属零件。到底是哪方面的书，简直无法知道。不过她却一面嗯嗯点着头看下去，从眼睛的动作看来，好像左眼看左边一页，右眼看右边一页。
“对不起。”我开口招呼。
她把书报到旁边，抬头看我。
“我来还书。”说着我把两本书放在柜台上，一本是（潜水艇建造史），另外一本是《一个牧羊人的回忆》。《一个牧羊人的回忆》是一本相当有趣的书。
她翻开封底里，查一下截止日期。不用说是在期限内。我是一定遵守日期和时间的，因为被教养成这个样子，牧羊人也一样，如果不守时的话，羊群会乱成一团，赶都赶不回来。
她熟练地检查借书卡的存档，还我两张卡片，然后又开始看她自己的书。
“我想找书。”我说。
“下楼梯右转，81号室。”她简洁地说。
下了楼梯向右转时，确实有扇门写着107。地下室非常深而阴暗，门一打开，仿佛这就要到巴西了似的感觉。虽然这图书馆我已经来过一百次了，却第一次听说有地下室。
算了没关系。
我敲敲门，本来就打算轻轻敲的，没想到门检却差一点脱落，真是非常粗制滥造的门。我把门检装回原位，然后轻轻打开门。
房间里有一张！日旧的小桌子，那后面坐着一个脸上长满小黑斑的老人。老人头秃了，戴一副深度眼镜，秃得有点不干脆，还有稀稀落落会曲的白发，像火烧山之后的残局似的，牢牢贴在头皮上。我觉得干脆全部剃光还比较好，不过那当然是别人的问题。
“欢迎！”老人说：“有何贵子哪？”
“我想找一本书。”我说：“不过如果你忙的话，我下次再来好了。
“不不不，没有忙的道理。”老人说：“因为这是我的工作，你要找什么书都行，不过你到底在找什么样的书呢？”
“其实我是想知道一下奥斯曼土耳其帝国的收税政策。”
老人的眼睛闪闪发光。
“原来如此，奥斯曼土耳其帝国的收税政策啊。”
我觉得非常不对劲，并不是非要知道奥斯曼土耳其帝国的收税政策不可，只不过在坐地下铁时，忽然想到奥斯曼土耳其帝国的收税政策不知道怎么样而已。其实就算其他什么杉树花粉病的治疗法的主题，也一样可以。
“奥斯曼土耳其帝国的收税政策。’老人重复一遍。
“不过没关系。”我说：“并不急需，而且又那么专门，我还是到国会图书馆去看看好了。”
“别胡说！”老人好像火大了似的说：“我们这里有关奥斯曼土耳其的收税政策的书就有好几本。你在这儿等一下。”
“是。”我说。
老人打开房间里面的铁门消失到另一个房间去了，我站在那里等老人回来等了十五分钟，好几次想逃出去，可是又觉得对老人过意不去而作罢。小小的黑色昆虫，在灯罩里绕着爬。
老人抱着三本厚书回来，每一本都旧得可怕，装订晃晃荡荡的，房间里飘散着！日书的气味。
“你看！”老人说：“《奥斯曼土耳其收税史》，还有《奥斯曼土耳其收税吏的日记》，还有〈奥斯曼土耳其帝国内的反纳税运动和其弹压》不是都有吗？”
“谢谢。”我说着把三本书拿过来，往出口走。
“等一下，等一下，那三本书都是禁止借出去的..。”老人说。
确实书背上贴着禁止带出的红色标签。
“如果想读的话，可以在里面的房间读。”
“可是，”我看看手表，五点二十分。“图书馆关门时间到了，而且吃晚饭以前不回家，我妈妈也会担心。”
“关门时间不成问题，只要我说可以就可以。难道你不接受我的好意吗？你想我是为什么去把这三本书找来的？嗯？为了运动吗？”
“对不起。”我向他道歉。“我绝没有恶意，只是不知道这是禁止带出的。”
老人深深地咳嗽，把痰吐在卫生纸里，然后看了一看之后，才丢进地板上放着代替垃圾筒的牛皮纸箱里。脸上的黑斑跳动着。
“不是知不知道的问题。”老人把话像喷出来似地说出：“我像你这年纪的时候，读书像要读得渗进血液里一样呢。”
“那么我就读三十分钟好了。”我无力地说，我非常不善于拒绝别人。“可是不能再久，我妈非常容易忧虑，自从我小时候被狗咬到以后，只要稍微晚一点回家，她就快要发疯似的。所以没念完的部分，等下星期天再来读。”
老人的脸色稍微和缓下来，我好不容易松一口气。
“到这边来。”说着老人打开铁门，向我招手。
门后面是阴暗走廊。旧旧的电灯，闪着像灰尘一样的微弱光线。
“跟在我后面走。”说着老人向走廊走去。好奇怪的走廊，走了一会儿之后，走廊向左右两边分岔出去，老人转向右边，然后立刻有许多岔路像蚂蚁窝一样分布在两旁，老人不假思索地就走进其中的一条岔路去，我把三本书抱在胸前，莫名其妙地跟在老人后面。老人的脚步比想象中快得多，自己到底走进几条岔路了也数不清，再走一小段又是岔路，然后T字路----我的头脑已经完全混乱了。市立图书馆的地下，有这么广大的迷魂阵，简直乱来。市政府没有理由批准这种地下迷魂阵的建设预算的。我本来想问老人这个问题，结果怕被他骂而没敢问。
走廊尽头有一扇和刚才一样的门。门上挂着“阅览室”的牌子。周围寂静得像墓场一样，只有我的皮鞋发出咯吱咯吱的声音，老人却毫无声息地走着。
老人从上衣口袋叮叮当当地取出大把钥匙串来，在灯下选出一支，插进铁门的钥匙洞里转了转。实在令人厌恶。
2
“好了好了！”老人说：“进来吧！”
“可是里面黑漆漆的啊。”我抗议着。
老人不高兴地咳嗽一声，把背伸直，转身向着我，老人好像忽然变成一个高大的男人似的。眼睛像黄昏的山羊一般闪闪发光。
“喂！小伙子，谁说在没人的房间，要一整天点着灯的？嗯？你这是在命令我吗？”
“不没这意思……”
“哼！真嚷嚷。算了，你回去好了，随你爱去哪里就去哪里。”
“对不起。”我道着歉，自己也搞不清楚是怎么回事。觉得老人好像是某种不吉祥的存在，不过又像只是爱生气的不幸老人似的，我平常对老人就不太清楚，因此真不知道该怎么办才好。
“我没这个意思，如果说错了什么，我向你道歉。”
“都一样。”老人说：“嘴巴讲比较容易。”
“真的不是这样，也没关系，对不起我不该多嘴。”
“哼。”老人说着注视我的眼睛。“那么你要不要进去？”
“嗯，我进去。”我用力说。为什么我竟然违背自己的意思说这些、做这些呢？
“里面一进去就有楼梯，手要捉紧墙上的扶手，免得跌倒啊。”老人说。
我率先走进黑暗中，老人从后面把门关上，并听见钥匙咔一声锁上了。
“为什么要上锁呢？”
“这是规矩，是规矩呀。’老人说：“上面的人定了几千/几万个这一类的规矩，你东抱怨西抱怨的烦死人。”
我索性继续走下阶梯，长得可怕的阶梯。简直像印加的井似的。墙上打有斑驳生锈的铁扶手。连一丝光线一点明亮都没有。就像被人从头上罩个头巾似的完全漆黑。
只有我的皮鞋在黑暗中咯吱咯吱地响着，如果没这鞋子声，连是不是自己的脚都搞不清楚了。
“好了，就停在那里。”老人说。我停下来。老人推开我，走到前面，又叮叮当当地拿出钥匙，然后听到门锁打开的声音，明明是完全黑漆漆的，老人的动作却像什么都看得见似的。
门一开，从里面透出令人怀念的黄色灯光，虽然是微弱的光，可是眼睛却花了好些时间才习惯过来。从门里走出一位打扮成羊模样的矮小男人，拉起我的手。
“晦，欢迎光临。”羊男说。
“你好！”我说。搞不清楚是怎么回事。
羊男全身披挂着真正的羊皮，手戴黑手套，脚穿黑工作鞋，而且脸上戴了黑色的面具，从面具里透出一对喜欢亲近人的小眼睛，我真不知道他到底为什么要打扮成那副模样的，总之那打扮跟他非常搭配，他看了我的脸好一会儿，然后瞄了一下我抱着的书。
“你是要来这里读书的吗？”
“是的。”我说。
“真的是你自己愿意来的吗？”
羊男的说法有些奇怪，我无言以对。
“好好回答啊！”老人急忙催促我：“不是你自己愿意来的吗？有什么好犹豫的，你想丢我的脸吗？”
“是我自己愿意来的。”我说。
“我说得没错吧。”老人好像在夸耀他的胜利。
“不过老师啊！”羊男对老人说：“他还是个小孩子嘛。”
“吓，少嘻嘻！”老人突然从西装裤后面拉出一根短短的柳条，往羊男脸上“咧！”地抽打下去。“快点带他到房间里去。”
羊男一脸为难地再度拉起我的手。嘴唇旁边红肿起一条伤痕。
“走吧。”
“到哪里去？”
“书房啊，你不是来读书的吗？”
羊男带头，我们走过像蚂蚁窝一样弯弯曲曲的狭小走廊。
我们走了很久，向右边弯了好几次，向左边也转了好几次，有些是斜角，有些是S形转弯，因此到底离出发点多远，简直完全搞不清楚。我在半路上就已经放弃再去辨认方向了，接下来就一直盯着羊男矮胖的背影，羊男的衣服还附着短短的尾巴，一定起路来，就像钟摆似的左右摇晃。
“好了好了。”羊男说着突然站定。“到了。”
“请等一下。”我说。“这不是牢房吗？”
“是啊。”羊男点点头。
“说得不错。”老人说道。
“不对呀，你说是要到书房去的，我才跟着来到这里呀。”
“你上当了。”羊男很干脆地说。
“我骗你的。”老人说。
“可是这…·”
老人从裤子后面拿出柳条，往我脸上刷地抽打下来。
“少废话，进去吧。而且要把这三本书全部念完，背熟。一个月以后我要亲自考试。如果你能好好背熟，就让你出去。”
“简直乱来嘛。”我抗议道。“一个月怎么可能把这么厚的书全部记熟，而且现在家里我母亲正……”
老人把柳条一挥，我急忙闪开，却正好打在羊男脸上。老人在气头上，又抽了羊男一下，真是太过分了。
“反正把这家伙关进去。”老人说完便匆匆走掉。
“痛不痛？”我问羊男。
“没关系，我已经习惯了。”羊男说：“重要的是我不得不把你关进去。”
“实在不想进去。”
“我还不一样不愿意，可是啊，这个世界就是这样啊。”
“如果拒绝会怎么样？”
“那我就要被打得更惨哪。”
我觉得羊男实在太可怜了，因此乖乖进了牢房。牢房里有床、桌子，和抽水马桶，洗脸台上放着牙刷和漱口杯，每一样东西都奇脏无比，牙膏是我最讨厌的草莓味的，沉重的铁门上面附有探望用的格子廖，下面则有细长的送饭口。羊男把桌上台灯的开关按亮又按熄了几次之后，朝我笑一笑。
“不错吧？”
“嗯，还好。”我说。
“每天送三次饭，三点还有甜甜圈、橙汁呢。甜甜圈是我亲自炸的，脆脆的非常好吃！”
“那真谢了。”我说。
“那么把脚伸出来吧／
我把脚伸出去，羊男从床下拖出一个沉重的铁球，并把那上面附着的锁往我脚踝一套锁了起来，还把那钥匙放进毛皮外套胸部的口袋，把拉链拉上。
“好冷啊。”我说。
“什么话，一会儿就习惯了。”羊男说：“我现在就去给你拿晚饭来。”
“嘿，羊男先生。”我问他：“真的必须在这里待一个月吗？”
“对呀。”羊男说：“就是这样啊。”
“一个月以后真的会放我出去吗？”
“不”
“那不然怎么办？”
“这倒很难解释呢。”
“拜托拜托告诉我，家里面我妈正在担心呢。”
“嗯，也就是说啊，会用锯子把你的头锯断，然后把你的脑浆淋淋淋地吸光。”
我跌坐在床上抱着脑袋，到底什么地方不对劲了，我又没做过什么坏事啊。
“没问题，没问题，吃过饭就会有精神的。”羊男说。
3
“羊男先生，为什么我的脑浆要被淋淋淋地吸光呢？”我试着问看看。
“噢，是这样的，听说塞满了知识的脑浆，非常好吃呐。怎么说好呢，糊糊的，而且也有点一粒一粒的……”
“所以要花一个月先塞满了知识再来吸对吗？”
“就是这么回事。”
羊男从衣服口袋掏出Sevenstar香烟，用一百元的打火机点上火。
“可是这不管怎么说都太残忍了吧？”
“嗯，是啊。”羊男说：“可是每个图书馆都这样做啊，总之是你自己运气不好嘛。”
“你是说每个图书馆都这样吗？”
“是啊。不然你看，光是借书出去，图书馆老是赔本哪。而且有好多人宁可脑浆被吸光，也要获取知识啊，你还不是为了要得到别的地方所没有的知识，才到这里来的对吗？”
“不对呀，我只是忽然心血来潮而已呀，有没有都无所谓的。”
羊男好像颇伤脑筋似地歪着头。“那就未免太可怜了。”
“你放我出去好不好？”
“不，那可不行，这么一来，我可惨了，真的很惨咯，会被电锯把肚子切掉一半的，你说惨不惨？”
“惨。”我说。
“我以前也曾经被整过一次，花了两个星期伤口才愈合，两星期暗，所以呀，请你死了这条心吧。”
“那，这件事就姑且算了，如果我拒绝读书呢？会怎么样？”
羊男全身发抖起来。
“你还是别这样比较好，因为我不愿意报告坏消息。这地下室的地下，还有更凄惨的地方。脑浆被吸掉还算好得多呢。”
羊男走了以后，就留下我一个人在牢房里。我趴在硬绑绑的床上，一个人稀哩哗啦地哭了一个钟头，蓝色的谷壳枕头被眼泪沾得湿嗒嗒的。
到底该怎么办呢。既不愿意脑浆被淋淋淋地吸掉，又讨厌被赶进更深一层的悲惨世界。
手表指着六点半。是吃晚饭的时间了。母亲在家一定正在担心。如果半夜我还不回去，也许会发疯呢，就是这样的母亲，每次都往坏的地方想。要不是往坏的地方想，就是在看电视，这两者之一。她不晓得有没有帮我喂白头翁。
七点钟有人敲门然后门被打开，一个我从来没看过那么漂亮的女孩子，推着推车走进房间。漂亮得让你眼睛都会癌的漂亮。年龄大概和我差不多，手脚和脖子细得好像马上就会折断似的，长长的头发像把宝石溶进去一样地闪闪发光。谁都会做梦，而这正是只有在梦中才看得见的少女。她注视了我.9９liｂ?一会儿，然后一言不发地把推车上的菜排在桌上。我呆呆望着她静悄悄的动作。
菜都是非常精致的莱。有海胆汤、鳝鱼的乳酪、芦笋拌西洋芝麻，还有葡萄汁。把这些排完以后，她招招手说，别哭了，来吃饭吧。
“你不能说话吗？”我试着问她。
是，我小时候声带就坏了。
“所以你就做羊男的助手吗？”
是。她稍稍微笑一下。那微笑美妙得让你心脏都要裂成两半。
羊男是个好人，不过他非常怕爷爷。
我依然坐在床上，一直凝视着她。她悄悄低下眼睛，下一个瞬间就从房间里消失了。就像五月的风似的飘飘然地消失，我连关门声都没听到。
食物味道非常好，可是喉咙连一半都吞不下去，觉得好像要把铅块塞进胃里似的。我把餐具收拾好，躺在床上，想着接下来该怎么办才好，只有一个结论，那就是逃出这里。图书馆地下居然有这样的迷魂阵，是绝对的错误。同时谁吸谁的脑浆也是不能容许的事。况且也不能让母亲发疯，让白头翁饿死啊。
可是一想到怎么才能从这里逃出去时，我简直束手无策。脚上挂着脚镣，门被锁着，而且纵然可以逃出这个房间，又怎么逃得出那黑漆漆的迷魂阵呢？
我叹了一口气，又哭了一阵子，我的个性非常脆弱，经常都只想着母亲和白头翁，为什么会变成这样呢？一定是被狗咬过的关系。
哭了一会儿之后，想起那位美丽的少女，心情稍微好转，只能尽力去做可以做的了，总比什么也不做好得多。何况羊男和美丽的少女也不是坏人，机会总会来到吧。
图书馆奇谈(2)
我拿起〈奥斯曼土耳其收税吏的日记〉，伏案翻阅起来。为了掌握机会，首先不得不装作柔顺的样子----这么说来也不是什么难事，我本来个性就非常柔顺啊。
《奥斯曼土耳其收税吏的日记》是以土耳其古文写的，非常难懂的书，可是说也奇怪，居然能够流畅地读下去，而且读过的地方从头到尾都记进脑子里去了。头脑好实在是一种美妙的感觉，没有一点不了解的地方，我终于可以领会那些人的心愿了，只要一个月之内能变聪明，那怕脑浆被淋淋淋地吸光，他们也心甘情愿了。
我一面翻阅着书，一面变成了收税束伊凡阿尔姆多哈（其实名字比这更长），腰配半月刀，走在贝克巴格达街上，收集税款，街上像沉淀的河川似的，笼罩着鸡的气味，烟草和咖啡的味道。卖水果的卖着从来没见过的水果。
哈休鲁是个沉默寡言的人，有三个妻子五个孩子。他养了两只鹦鹉，鹦鹉也不比白头翁差，长得相当可爱。变成哈休鲁的我，和三个妻子也有几段爱的场面。这种事，总觉得好奇怪。
九点半时，羊男带了咖啡和饼干过来。
“唉呀呀！真佩服，你已经开始用功起来了啊。”
“嗯，羊男先生。”我说：“蛮有意思的。”
“那太好了，不过休息一下喝咖啡吧。一开始就用心过度，以后可就麻烦大了。”
我和羊男一起喝咖啡、吃饼干，叽哩咋啦。
“嘿，羊男先生，”我问他：“脑浆被吸掉到底是什么感觉？”
“噢，这个嘛，没有想象的那么坏哟。就好像啊，头脑里面纠缠不清的线团，被嘶地抽掉一样。因为毕竟还有人要求再来一次呢！”
“哦，真的吗？”
“嗯，差不多。”
“被吸掉以后会怎样？”
“剩下来的一辈子，就恍恍惚惚地一面做梦一面过日子啊，既没有烦恼，也没有痛苦，更不会急躁不安，既不必再担心时间，也不必再担心习题做了没有。怎么样？很棒吧？”
“嗯。”我说：“可是脑袋不是被锯断了吗？”
“那当然会有点痛啦，可是，那一会儿就过去嘛。”
“真的吗？”我说，总觉得太顺利了。“那么那位漂亮女孩的脑浆没被吸掉吗？”
羊男从椅子跳起来足足有二十公分，装上去的耳朵摇呀摇地摇动。“你说什么？什么漂亮女孩？”
“拿东西来给我吃的那个女孩子啊。”
“奇怪！食物是我拿来的呀，那时候你正在呼呼大锤，我可不是什么漂亮女孩哟。”
我脑筋又一团混乱，完了完了。
4
第二天傍晚，美丽的哑女再度出现在我房间。
她把食物放在推车上推来。这次的食物是脱鲁香肠加马铃薯沙律，蒸鱼和小豆苗菜沙律，外加一壶浓浓的红茶。尊麻花纹的漂亮茶壶。茶杯汤匙也都是典雅精致的样子。
慢慢吃，不要剩下来哟。美丽的少女用手势对我说。然后微微一笑。那笑容美妙得天空都快裂成两半似的。
“你到底是谁？”我问她。
我就是我，如此而已。她说。她的话不是从我的耳朵，而是从我心中听到的，感觉非常奇怪。
“可是羊男先生怎么说你并不存在呢，而且……”
她把一根手指头压在小嘴上，命令我不要作声。我沉默下来，我非常擅于服从命令，甚至可以说是一种特殊能力。
羊男先生有羊男先生的世界，我有我的世界，你有你的世界，对吗？
“对呀。”我说。
所以不能因为羊男先生的世界里没有我存在，就说我根本不存在吧？
“嗯。”我说：“换句话说这各式各样的世界都混在一起，有些部分互相重叠，有些部分却不互相重叠。”
对了。美丽的少女说。
我的头脑也不是完全那么坏，只不过被狗咬过以后，有点偏差而已。
知道就好，快点吃饭吧。美丽的少女说。
“我会好好吃的，所以你能不能在这儿多留一会，”我说：“一个人好寂寞。”
她静静地微笑着，在床尾坐下，两手规规矩矩地放在膝盖上，一直注视着我吃晚饭，她看起来就像柔和的晨光中的玻璃摆饰似的。
“上次我看到过一个很像你的女孩子。”我一面吃着马铃薯沙律一面说：“跟你一样年龄、一样漂亮、一样的味道。”
她什么也没说地微笑着。
“希望你能跟我母亲和白头翁见一次面，白头翁非常可爱哟。”
她的头稍稍动了一下。
“当然还有我母亲也是。”我追加一句：“不过我母亲太过于担心我了。因为我小时候被狗咬过，可是我被狗咬是我的错，而不是母亲的错，因此母亲不应该那么担心我，因为狗……”
怎么样的狗？少女问道。
“好大的狗，戴着镶有宝石的皮项圈，眼睛是绿色的，脚非常粗有六只爪子，耳朵尖端裂成两片，鼻子像晒黑似的茶色，你有没有被狗咬过？”
没有，少..女说：不管这些了，你吃饭哪。
我默默地继续吃晚餐。吃完之后把盘子收好，开始喝红茶。
晦！少女说。我们离开这里，一起回去你母亲和白头翁的地方去吧！
“对呀。”我说：“可是逃不出这里呀。门都锁着，外面又是黑漆漆的迷魂阵，而且如果我逃出去，羊男先生会很惨呢。
可是你不是不喜欢脑浆被吸掉吗？如果你脑浆被吸掉的话，就再也看不到我了。
我摇摇头，实在搞不清楚，很多事情都太严重了。我既不愿意脑浆被吸光，也不愿意离开美丽的少女，可是黑暗太可怕，又不想让羊男受苦。
羊男先生也一起逃啊。你跟我跟羊男先生，三个人一起逃啊。
“这倒很好。”我说：“什么时候？”
明天。少女说。明天是爷爷睡觉的日子。爷爷只在新月的夜晚才睡觉。
“羊男先生知道吗？”
他不知道。不过这要羊男先生自己决定。
“对。”我说。
我差不多该走了。美丽的少女说。到明天晚上之前不能告诉羊男先生。
我点点头。然后美丽的少女就像昨天晚上一样，从只打开一点点的门缝中飘飘然地消失了。
我正要开始读书时，羊男就拿着一个装了甜甜圈和柠檬汁的托盘进来。
“念得顺利吗？”羊男说。
“嗯，羊男先生。”我说。
‘俄带了上次跟你说过的甜甜圈来了，刚刚炸好，趁着脆脆的赶快吃。”
“谢谢你，羊男先生。”
我把书整理好，开始咬着甜甜圈吃，确实是脆脆的非常好吃。
“怎样？好吃吧？”
“嗯，羊男先生，这么好吃的甜甜圈，真是哪里也找不到。”我说：“羊男先生如果开一家甜甜圈店，保证生意兴隆。”
“嗯，我也曾经这么想过，如果开得成的话那该多好啊。”
“一定开得成的。”
羊男在床上刚才美少女坐过的同一个地方坐下。从床边垂下短短的尾巴来。
“可是不行啊。”羊男说：“谁都不会喜欢我，我长得这么奇怪，牙齿也几乎没刷过……”
“我可以帮助你呀，我来卖、洗盘子、把餐巾、算钱。羊男先生只要在后面炸甜甜圈就行了。”
“这倒是可以。”羊男颇落寞地说，他想说什么，我很了解。
（不过最后我还是会留在这里，挨柳条鞭打，你再过不久脑浆就要被吸掉了，还有什么好说……）
羊男神色暗淡地拿着托盘走出房间。我好几次想把逃走的计划告诉他，又想到美少女的话便又打住了。不管怎么样，明天一到，什么事都会有个了断。
（奥斯曼土耳其收税吏的日记＞读着读着，我又变成了收税吏伊凡阿尔姆多哈。白天我在巴格达的街上巡回走着，傍晚喂喂两只鹦鹉，夜空挂着剃刀似的细长月亮。远方传来有人吹笛子的声音。黑奴在房间里烧起香，并用苍蝇拍在我周围赶着蚊子。
我三个妻子中的一个，就是那哑巴美少女，正在床上等我。
月色真美啊。她说。明天就是新月的日子了。
我说，我要去喂鹦鹉。
鹦鹉不是刚刚喂过吗？美少女说。
哦？是吗？我说。我老是在想着鹦鹉。
她脱掉衣服，我也脱掉衣服。她的身体滑溜溜的，气味非常美妙。剃刀似的月光在她身上投下奇妙的光线。笛子声音还继续不断。我在挂了蚊帐的大床上拥抱她。床像停车场那么大，隔壁房间鹦鹉在叫着。
月色真美。过一会儿美少女说。明天就是新月的日子了。
对呀，我回答。“新月”这字眼好像似曾相识。我唤了仆人来，躺在床上抽起水烟。
新月这字眼好像听过啊。我说。可是却想不起来。
新月的夜晚降临时候，美少女说。很多事情都会弄清楚的。
确实像她说的。新月的夜晚来；临时，很多事情自然会搞清楚的。
于是我就睡了。
5
新月的夜晚，像瞎眼的海豚一般，悄悄来到。
不用说图书馆的地下，是深得看不见天空的。可是那深深的蓝墨水似的黑暗，却穿过重重铁门和迷魂阵，静悄悄地把我团团围住。总之新月的夜晚来临了。
傍晚时分，老人来检查我读书的进展情形。他穿着和上次完全相同的衣服，腰上依然插着那柳条。他看过读书的进度之后，好像觉得相当满意。因为他满意，所以我也有点高兴。
“嗯，不错！不错！”老人说着，抓抓下颚。“比我想象的进展得快，真是个乖孩子。”
“谢谢夸奖。”我说。我非常喜欢人家夸奖。
“如果能早一点把书念完，”老人说着就此打住，一直凝视着我的眼睛。老人看了我很久。我好几次想避开他的眼光，却避不开。老人的一对眼睛和我的一对眼睛好像被什么东西缠结起来似的，不知不觉之间，老人的眼睛愈张愈大，房间的墙壁，被眼球的黑和白整个覆盖了。上了年纪磨损混浊的黑和白。在那之间老人眼睛一眨也不眨。最后终于像退潮似地，眼球又缩回去。老人的眼窝再度断然收回。我闭上眼睛，终于松了一口气。
“如果能早一点把书念完，就可以早一点离开这里，其他的事别乱想，好不好？”
“好。”我说。
“有没有什么不满意的？”老人说。
“母亲和白头翁不知道怎么样了？”我试着问看看。
“整个世界都安然无恙地运转着。”老人说：“大家都在想着自己的事，直到那个日子来临以前，大家都在继续活着。你的母亲是这样，你的白头翁是这样，大家都一样啊。”
不晓得他在说什么，不过我还是点头说“是”。
老人出去三十分钟之后，美少女像平常一样悄然走进房间。
“是新月的夜晚对吗？”我说。
是的。美少女安静地说，悄悄在床尾坐下。由于新月的黑暗，我的眼睛扎扎地刺痛。
“真的今天要逃出这里吗？”我问。
美少女默默点点头。她看起来非常疲倦的样子。脸色比平常谈，后面的墙壁仿佛可以薄薄地透视过去。她身体里的空气微微地震动着。
“你不舒服吗？”
有一点。她说。因为新月的关系。一到新月，很多事情都会开始不对劲。
“可是我没怎么样啊。”
她微微一笑。你没怎么样，所以没问题呀，一定可以逃得出去。
“那你呢？”
我的事我自己会打算，所以你只要为你自己打算好了。
“可是如果没有你，我就不知道怎么办才好啊。”
那只是心理作用而已。少女说。真的，你已经变强了，以后还会变得更强，强得谁也胜不了你哟。
“真的吗？可是我不觉得啊。”我说。
羊男先生会带路，我一定会在后面跟着来，所以请你先逃吧！
我点点头，少女便像被吸走了似地消失无踪。少女消失以后，我非常寂寞，觉得今后好像再也看不到她了似的。
九点钟以前，羊男端了一整盘甜甜圈来。
“晦！”羊男说：“听说今天晚上要逃出这里呀？”
“你怎么知道？”我有些吃惊地问。
“有一个女孩子告诉我啊，非常漂亮的女孩子哟，这一带有这么漂亮的女孩子，我一点都不知道。是你的朋友吗？”
“嗯，是啊。”我说。
“我真希望也有那样的朋友。”羊男说。
“只要从这里逃出去，羊男先生也一定可以交到很多朋友。”我说。
“要是这样就好了。”羊男说：“因为搞不好你跟我都要遭殃啊。”
“对。”我说。所谓凄惨的情况到底有多凄惨呢？
接下来我们两个一起吃甜甜圈、喝葡萄汁。我虽然一点食欲都没有，还是勉强吃了两个甜甜圈。羊另一个人吃了六个，真不得了。
“要做什么以前，必须先把肚子填饱。”羊男说。然后用胖胖的手指擦擦嘴角沾着的砂糖，嘴边全是砂糖。
不知道什么地方的挂钟敲了九点。羊男站起来，挥挥衣服袖子，让衣服更贴身些，是出发的时候了。
我们走出房间，走在阴暗的迷魂阵似的走廊。为了不要吵醒老人，我们努力不发出脚步声。我在半路上把皮鞋脱掉丢在走廊的角落里。虽然把刚花了两万五千元才买到的皮鞋丢弃，实在可惜，但是也没办法。再怎么说，我都不应该误闯进这奇怪的地方的。皮鞋掉了，母亲一定会非常生气吧？如果向她说明，是为了免于脑浆被吸掉才丢掉的，她大概也不会相信吧？不，一定不行，她会认为我是掉了鞋子以后，为了瞒她而随便编的谎话吧？那倒也是，谁会相信在图书馆的地下室脑浆会被吸掉呢？说出真正的事实却没有人肯相信，一定非常难过吧。
跋涉到铁门之前的漫长道路上，我一bbr>直在想这件事。羊男在我前面走着，羊男比我矮半个头，因此羊男那装上去的耳朵，就在我鼻子前面上下摇摆着。
“晦，羊男先生。”我小声问他：“我现在回去拿鞋子行不行？”
“什么？鞋子？”羊男吃了一惊地说：“这不行啊，把鞋子忘掉吧，脑浆不是比鞋子重要得多吗？”
“是。”我说，于是我把鞋子忘了。
“老爷爷现在虽然睡熟了，可是那个人一看就是非常敏感的人，还是多注意一点好。”
“是。”我说。
“路上不管发生什么事，都不可以大声叫嗅。如果他醒了追过来，我就什么也帮不上了。被那柳条一抽，我就毫无办法抵抗。”
“那是特别的柳条吗？”
“这----我也不清楚。”说着羊男考虑了一下。“可能是非常普通的柳条吧？我不太知道。”
我也不太清楚。
“喷！”过一会儿羊男问我说。
“什么事？”
“你那双皮鞋，忘了没有？”
“噢，忘掉了。”我说，可是他这么一问，我又想起我那双皮鞋了。那是母亲送我的生日礼物，一双非常重要的皮鞋。会发出咯吱咯吱舒服的声音的有气派的皮鞋。我掉了它，或许母亲会虐待白头翁也说不定，因为她觉得白头翁很讨人厌。
其实白头绪一点都不讨人厌，白头翁很安静而乖巧，比起狗静多了。
狗。
一想到狗，就不由得冒冷汗。为什么大家都在养狗呢？为什么大家不养白头翁呢？为什么我母亲那么讨厌白头翁呢？为什么我要穿那么高级的皮鞋上图书馆呢？
我们终于来到铁门的地方。新月的黑暗似乎更加浓重了一些。
羊男在两边的手掌吹了一口气，手一下握紧一下张开。然后把手插进口袋里，悄悄拿出一串钥匙，然后看看我，微微一笑。
“不能不放轻一点。”羊男说。
“是啊。”我说。
沉重的铁门钥匙吱咯一声开了，虽然声音很小，还是让身体沉重地一震。停了一会儿，羊男悄悄推开门。门后完全的黑暗，像柔软的水似的压过来。新月使得空气失去了调和。
“不用担心。”说着羊男拍拍我的手腕。“一定会顺利的。”
是吗？真的会很顺利吗？
6
羊男从口袋里拿出手电筒，拨开开关。黄色的光线悠悠地照着阶梯。楼梯上面就是那莫名其妙的迷魂阵了。
“晦，羊男先生。”我问他。
“什么事？”
“你知道那迷魂阵怎么走吗？”
“我想大概想得起来吧。”羊男没什么自信地说：“这三、四年没走过，所以不敢说，不过应该可以弄清楚吧。”
虽然我变得非常不安，可是一句话也没说，现在再说什么也没有用。结果也只有听天由命了。
羊男和我脚步没出声地悄悄爬上楼梯。羊男穿着一双旧网球鞋，我----刚才已经说过了----打赤脚。羊男走在前面，手电筒只照着他自己前面，因此我只能在一片漆黑里前进。老是撞到羊男的屁股。羊男脚比我短得多，我走的速度总是比他快。
阶梯冷冷的，湿湿的，石阶棱角已经磨圆了，好像几千年前就有的阶梯似的。空气里没什么气味，但有些地方却明显地具有层次，因层次不同密度和温度也不同，下来的时候没注意到，大概是害怕得没有多余的心情去注意吧。有时好像踩到虫子，软绵绵的，或硬绑绑的，脚底可以感觉得到。因为暗暗的什么也看不见，不过大概是虫子吧，不管是什么，都令人觉得非常不舒服。还是应该穿鞋子才对。
花了很长的时间爬到楼梯尽头时，我和羊男都松了一口气，脚都冻僵了。
“真是不得了的楼梯啊。”我说：“下来的时候倒不觉得有这么长。”
“这以前是个井。”羊男告诉我说：“不过水都干枯了，只好改做其他用途。”
“哦？”我说。
“详细情形我也不知道，反正是有这么回事。”
然后我们站上去，朝着大成问题的迷魂阵前进。在第一个岔路，羊男往右走，想了一下，又退回原位向左走。
“有没有问题呀？”我还是很担心地试着问他。
“噢，没问题，错不了，是这边。”羊男说。
我还是觉得不安。迷魂阵的问题点，在于你若不走到尽头，就不会知道那选择是正确还是错误。而当你走到底，发现是错的时候，却已经太迟了。这就是迷魂阵的问题点。
羊男好几次迷惑了，退回来，再往前走。有时候站定了，用手指在墙壁上抹一把试试看，或耳朵贴在地上听一听，或和在天花板做巢的蜘蛛喃喃低语什么，或闻闻空气的味道，羊男或许具有和一般人不太相同的记忆回路。
时间一刻一刻地溜走，好像快要天亮了。羊男偶尔从口袋掏出手电筒，确定一下时间。
“两点五十分。”羊男说：“不久新月的力量就愈来愈弱了，要提高警觉哟。”
被他这么一说，真的觉得黑暗的密度已经开始变化了。眼睛的刺痛仿佛也减轻了一些。
我和羊男加紧赶路，说什么也要在天亮以前赶到最后一扇门才行。要不然老人醒过来，发现我和羊男失踪了，立刻从后面追来，我们就完了。
“来得及吗？’我问羊男。
“嗯。没问题，接下来的路我都想起来了，你不用担心，一定让你逃出去，你相信我吧！”
羊男bbr>确实好像想起来怎么走了，我和羊男从一个转弯到一个转弯地脱出迷魂阵，最后终于来到笔直的走廊，羊男的手电筒光线照到走廊尽头，隐约看得见门了，从门缝里透进淡淡的光线。
“你看，我说的对吧。”羊男得意洋洋地说：“来到这里就没问题了，接下来只要从那扇门走出去就行了。”
“羊男先生，谢谢你。’我说。
羊男从口袋掏出钥匙串，把门锁打开，门开处就是图书馆的地下室。电灯从天花板垂下来，那下面有一张桌子，桌子后面坐着老人，正注视着这边。老人身旁坐着一只大黑狗，脖子上套着镶有宝石的颈圈，眼睛是绿色的。正是以前咬过我的那只狗，狗咬着血淋淋的白头翁，紧紧地咬在牙齿之间。
我不由得得悲痛地大叫一声，羊男伸出手来扶着我。
“我在这里等了很久了。”老人说：“你们好慢哪。”
“老师，这因为为种种原因……”羊男说。
“吓！少说话！”老人大吼一声，从腰间抽出柳条，在桌上啪嗟打了一下，狗竖起耳朵，羊男闭嘴不说，周围一片寂静。
“好哇！”老人说：“看我怎么来修理你！”
“你不是在睡觉吗？”我说。
“呵呵。”老人冷笑道：“自作聪明的小子，是谁告诉你的啊，我可没那么好骗，你们在想什么，我还摸不透吗？”
我叹了一口气，真是没那么容易啊。结果连白头翁都牺牲掉了。
“你这家伙。”老人用柳条指着羊男说：“我非把你撕成一片片丢进洞里喂蜈蚣不可。”
羊男躲在我后面全身发抖。
“还有你！”老人指着我：“我要把你喂狗，只留下心脏和脑浆，身体全部让狗咬碎直到血肉模糊像泥巴滩在地上样为止。”
老人乐得大笑，狗的绿眼睛开始闪闪发光。
这时我发现被咬在狗的牙齿之间的白头翁，好像渐渐膨胀起来，白头翁终于胀得跟鸡一样大，简直像千斤顶似的，把狗的嘴巴胀大裂开，狗想要哀号，却太迟了，狗的嘴巴裂了开来，霎时只听见骨头飞散的声音，老人赶紧用柳条打白头翁，可是白头翁依然继续膨胀，这下竟把老人紧紧地逼到墙边，白头翁已经变得跟狮子一样大，而整个房间都覆盖在白头翁坚固的翅膀拍扑之下了。
快，趁现在逃出去呀！后面传来美少女的声音。我吃惊地回头看，后面却只有羊男，羊男也好像发愣地往后看。
快，快点逃啊！又再听见美女的声音。我拉起羊男的手，向正面的门跑，然后打开门，跌跌撞撞地跑出外面。
早晨的图书馆里没一个人影。我和羊男跑过走廊，撬开阅览室的窗子逃出图书馆。然后继续拚命跑，直到喘不过气来，终于跑累了，趴倒在一个公园的草地上。
当我醒过来时，却发现只剩下我一个人。羊男已经无影无踪。我站起来，大声喊着羊男，却没有回答，天已经大亮，清晨的一线阳光正投射在草木的枝叶间。都不知道羊男到什么地方去了。
回到家，母亲已经做好早餐在等我。
“早啊。’母亲说。
“早安。”我说。
于是我们吃起早餐。白头翁也正安详地啄着饲料。简直像什么也没发生似的。关于遗失的鞋子，母亲也没说什么。母亲的侧面看起来比平常稍微忧愁的样子，不过也许只是我的错觉吧。
从此以后，我再也没去过图书馆。也曾经想过再到那里一次，去确定一下地下室的人口，可是我已经不想再接近那里了。每次一到黄昏只要看见图书馆的建筑物，就会裹足不前。
偶尔会想到留在地下室的那双新皮鞋，还有想起羊男，想起美丽的少女，不过不管想多少，我还是搞不清楚，到底哪些是真的发生过的事，就在迷迷糊糊之间，我已日渐远离那地下室。
到现在，我那双皮鞋一定还放在地下室的角落里，羊男一定还在这地面的某个地方流浪着，一想到这里就觉得非常悲哀。我所做的事，真的对吗？我连这点都没信心。
上星期二，我母亲死了，举行过一个安静的小葬礼，我就变成孤伶伶的一个人了。我现在，在凌晨两点钟的黑暗中，想着图书馆地下室的事。黑暗的深处非常深，简直像新月夜晚的黑暗一样。
没落的王国
没落的王国背后，有一条清澈的小河流过。河水非常清澈，里面住着许多鱼，也生有水草之类，鱼就吃这个过活。鱼儿认为王国是否没落，跟９9lib?他们没什么关系。那倒也是。对鱼来说，是王国或共和国，一点关系都没有。他们既不投票，也不必纳税。
“这档子事，跟咱们没关系。”他们这样想。
我在小河里洗脚，小河的水好冷，脚伸进去一下子就冻红了。从小河这边可以看见没落王国的城墙和尖塔。尖塔上还立着二色旗，迎着风啪啦啪啦地飘扑，走过河边的人，都抬头看那旗子，然后这样说：
“你瞧！那就是没落王国的国旗呢。”
姓Q是我的朋友----或者曾经是。这么说是因为姓Q的跟我，这十年来，彼此没做过任何一件像朋友的事。因此到如今，我想还是用曾经是朋友，这种过去式来说，比较正确。总而言之，我们曾经是朋友。
我每次要向别人说明姓Q的这个人的时候，总会被一种绝望的无力感所侵袭。虽然我本来就不是一个擅长说明事情的人，把这一点也算进去的话，要说明姓Q的这个人，就更加是一件特殊的作业，顶难的差事了。而每次做这个尝试的时候，我就会被深深的深深的深深的绝望感所侵袭。
简单地试试看吧。
姓Q的跟我是同年，却比我长得英俊潇洒570倍，个性又好，又不会向别人炫耀，也不骄傲。就算有人因为某种原因失败了，带给他麻烦，他也绝不生气。“没办法啊，彼此彼此嘛。”他说。不过一次也没听说他带给别人麻烦过。加上教养又好，父亲在四国的某个地方当医生，因此经常有相当多的零用钱，却并不因此而奢侈浪费，经常都清清爽爽的，服装的品味也非常高。
此外还是个运动健将。高中时代在网球队还参加过校际杯比赛。对游泳有兴趣。每星期要上游泳池两次。政治方面属于温和的自由主义派。成绩也----即使称不上出类拔萃----也还算优良。几乎从来不为考试开夜车，不过却没有fails过任何一个学分，因为上课时都很认..真听课。
钢琴弹得相当好，有很多比尔艾汉斯（Bill EVanS）或莫扎特的唱片。小说方面喜欢巴尔扎克（Honors de Balzac）或莫伯桑（Guy de Mpet）之类的法国作品，大江健三郎的也偶尔读读，而且能做非常确实的评论。
当然..对女孩子也相当有吸引力----没有理由不受欢迎。不过也并不“到处留情”。他有一个相当端庄美丽的女朋友，是某个女子大学气质高雅的二年级学生，每星期天约会。
好了好了。
这就是我所知道的大学时代的姓Q的。虽然好像有什么地方说漏了似的，不过反正没什么重要。总而言之，姓Q的是个没缺点的人物。
姓Q的那时候住在我隔壁的房间。就在借借盐，借沙律酱之中，我们建立起了交情。不久之后就常常互相到彼此的房间，听听唱片，一起喝喝啤酒。我跟我的女朋友，和他跟他的女朋友，也曾经四个人一起开车到镜仓玩过，我们很合得来。大四那年夏天，我搬出公寓，于是我们就分手了。
我再见姓Q的，是那以后的十年左右。我正在赤圾附近的酒店游泳池旁看着书，而姓Q的正在我旁边的躺椅上坐着。姓Q的旁边坐着一位非常漂亮，身穿比坚尼，玉腿修长的女孩子，她是跟姓Q的一起的。
我立刻就知道他是姓Q的，姓Q的还是依然那么英俊潇洒，三十出头的现在，看来更增添了几分从前所没有的某种类似威严的东西。年轻女孩子们走过的时候，都忍不住要多瞄他一眼。
他没注意到我，本来我的脸就算是比较平凡的，何况还带着太阳眼镜。我迟疑了一下，结果还是决定不打招呼。因为姓Q的正跟旁边的女孩子讲得正热烈，我觉得打搅他们不大好。何况我跟姓Q的之间几乎没什么共通的话题，像我以前借过盐给你噢！我向你借过沙律酱，这种程度的话题也拖不了多少时间。因此我只顾默默地继续看书。
因为游泳池非常安静，因此姓Q的和那女孩子的谈话，难免全传进我耳朵里来。听起来事态相当不简单，我干脆放弃看书，专心洗耳恭听他们两个人的对话。
“可是我讨厌这样嘛，我不是开玩笑。”长腿女孩说。
“不，所以嘛，你的意思我很了解。”姓Q的说：“可是啊，我也希望你了解我说的，不是我愿意这样做，这不是我决定的，是上面的人决定的。我只不过转达上面决定的事情而已呀，所以请你不要用这种眼光看我好吗？”
“哼！谁知道。”女的说。
姓Q的叹了一口气。
两个人说不完的活简单归纳..起来----当然相当多地方是以我的想象补充的这样子的。也就是说姓Q的是在电视公司之类的地方当导演之类的，女方正好是有名的歌星或女演员，而女方有了某方面的纠纷或丑闻----或者只是单纯的过气了而已----节目被取消了。而作为现场直接负责人的姓Q的就被授命完成转达的任务。因为我对演艺圈的事不甚了解，因此摸不清楚其中微妙的语意，不过大致的意思，我想八九不离十。
以我所听到的范围来说，姓Q的确实是诚恳地尽了他的职责。
“我们没有客户支持就做不下去呀。”姓Q的说：“你也是在这一行混饭吃的，这种事情你应该很清楚嘛。”
“那你是说你一点责任和发言权都没有罗？”
“虽然不是完全没有，不过也非常有限哪。”
接下来有好一阵子，两个人依然继续那没有出口的对话。女的想知道男的为了保护自己，做了多少程度的努力。他说：我拚命帮你说了。可是没有证据，女的不相信。我也不太相信。姓Q的愈是想诚实地说明，不诚实的空气就愈像雾一样飘溢在四周。可是那也不是姓Q的责任，谁也没有责任，因此两个人的谈话就找不到出口。
女的好像到现在为止一直都很喜欢姓Q的似的，一直到这次的事情发生以前，两个人一定感情不错吧？所以女的才更生气吧？不过最后女的终于放弃了。
“我知道了。”女的说：“算了！去买可乐吧。”
姓Q的听到这句话，好像松了一口气似的，站起来走向商店去，女的戴上太阳眼镜，一直盯着前面发呆，我则盯着书上的同一行看了好几遍好几遍。
姓Q的终于两手拿着装满可乐的大纸杯走回来。然后递一杯给女的，就在躺椅上坐下来。
“不要想得那么严重嘛。”姓Q的说：“下次一定还有…··，”
这时候，女的手上拿着的可乐纸杯，往姓Q的脸上狠狠地丢过去。杯子在姓Q的脸上打个正着，L号大杯的可口可乐的三分之二，都没在姓Q的身上，剩下来的三分之一则溅到我这边来。然后女的一句话也没说，站了起来，先把游泳衣的屁股部分往下拉一点，就头也不回地，大摇大摆走开了，我和姓Q的都呆了大约十五秒钟，周围的人也都吓了一跳似的盯着我们。
首先清醒过来的是姓Q的，他向我说了一声对不起，把毛巾递过来。我说我要去洗个澡回绝了他。姓Q的有点困惑地把毛巾收回去，擦擦自己的身体。
“让我赔你这本书。”他说。书确实已经湿漉漉的，不过那只不过是一本便宜的袖珍本，而且也不怎么好看，有人把可乐泼过来让我不必看下去，还要感谢他呢。我这样说完，他才安然微笑起来，跟以前差不多的，令人舒服的一张笑脸。
接下来他马上准备离开，临走又谢了我一次。可是他到底到最后都没想起我来。
我把这篇文章的题目，定为（没落的王国），是因为正好从那天的晚报上，看到有关非洲有个没落王国的消息。那篇报道说“一个强大的王国褪色的时候，比二流共和国崩溃的时候，还要感伤”。
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您好！
时下寒冷一天天减弱，阳光中可以感觉到一丝春意了。身体可好？
目前来信很有兴味地拜读了。尤其是汉堡牛肉饼呵肉豆蔻之间的关系那段富有生活气息，实在精彩得很。从中可以真真切切感受到厨房暖暖的气味和菜刀切元葱的咚咚声。这样的地方出现一两处，信就变得绘声绘色。
看你信那天夜里，我恨不得一口吃到汉堡牛肉饼，当即去附近饭店要了一份。那店里汉堡牛肉饼竟有8种之多：得克萨斯风味的、加利福尼亚风味的、夏威夷风味的、日本风味的，不一而足。得克萨斯风味的非常非常大，仅只大而已。得克萨斯人知道了，肯定吓一跳。而夏威夷风味的却配有菠萝。加利福尼亚风味的嘛……忘了。日本风味的搭配萝卜泥。店内风格别致，女招待都挺可人的，穿很短的短裙。
但我去哪里可不是为了研究饭店的装修和欣赏女招待的玉腿。我仅仅是去吃汉堡牛肉饼——吃什么风味也不是的普普通通的汉堡牛肉饼。
我便这样告诉女招待，说自己想吃的是极普通的汉堡牛肉饼。
“对不起，本店只有什么什么风味的汉堡牛肉饼。”女招待说。
当然这不能责怪女招待。因为食谱不是她定的，而且她穿每当撤餐具时便一闪给人瞧见大腿根的制服也并非出于自愿。于是，我微微一笑，要了所谓夏威夷风味的汉堡牛肉饼藏书网。她告诉我，吃时把菠萝拨开就行了。
人世也真是个奇妙场所。我实际需求的是极为理所当然的汉堡牛肉饼，而在某个时候却只能以需要去掉菠萝的夏威夷风味汉堡牛肉饼这一形式提供给我。
对了，你做的怕是极为理所当然的汉堡牛肉饼吧？看信当中，不由很想很想吃你做的极为理所当然的汉堡牛肉饼。
相比之下，国营铁路自动售票机那段文字，我觉得未免有店华而不实。着眼点诚然有趣，但情景未能跃然纸上——对读者请不要故做深沉。文章那东西说到底是信手拈来之物。
从总体上看这封信可以打70分，行文水平有所提高。戒急戒躁，继续努力。等看你下封信。但愿真正的春天早日降临。
3月12日
P．S．
谢谢你的什锦小甜饼干，实在谢谢。很好吃。但按本会规定，除信以外禁止一切私人交往。以后请勿这么客气。
不过反正谢谢了。
※
上面这份课余工我已持续差不多一年了，是我22岁时的事。
我同位于饭田桥一个名字叫“Pen-Society”（英语，意思大约为“笔会”、“笔协会”。）的莫名其妙的小公司签了合同，以1封两千日元的报酬每月写30封以上与此大同小异的信。“你也能写出打动对方的信”——这是那家公司叫得最响的广告词。入会者付入会费和月度酬藏书网金，每月往“Pen-Society”写4封信。我们这些“Pen-master”（英语，意思大约为“笔硕士”。）对其进行修改，写出上面那样的信谈感想并加以指导。我事在文学院学生科看到墙上贴的招牌广告去那家公司面试的。我由于多种原因刚决定在大学留级一年。父母通知我如果留级明年减少汇款。所以我势必认真考虑如何挣生活费。面试有笔试，我写了几篇作文。一星期后我被录用。接着花一星期时间又专业指导员传授批改诀窍和指导要领等诸多经验体会。难并不特别难。
女会员配男“pen-master”，男会员配女的。分给我的会员公24人，年龄小至14，大至53。主要事25到35岁的女性。就是说，几乎所有的会员年龄都比我大。所以最初一个来月，搞得我狼狈不堪。大多数会员文章都比我强得多，且早已对写信得心应手。而我，等于没写过一封像样的信。我冒着冷汗把最初一个月应付下来。肯定有几人要求换“Pen-master”——会员有这样的权利，这在会章里也已载明——对此我已做好精神准备。
但一个月过去也没有出现哪个会员对我的写作能力表示不满。非但如此，公司人还告诉我对我的评价相当之高。三个月后，甚至觉得会员们的写作能力似乎由于我的“指导”而提高一步。不可思议。她们好像从内心把我作为教师来信赖。如此一想，我的讲评信也远比以前写得挥洒自如了。
现在才明白，原来她们都很寂寞，她们（或者他们）只是想向谁写点什么。而她们却连——当时我很难相信——收信对象也找不到的。她们不属于个电台音乐点播节目主持人写信那一类，所需求的是更有个性的东西，纵是“批改”、“讲评”之类也未尝不可。
我就这样像单腿海狗似的在温乎乎的信札闺阁中度过了自己年过20后的最初岁月。
会员们写给我的信实在多种多样。有百无聊赖的，有开朗欢快的，有伤感悲戚的。事情过去很久了，加之手头遗憾地没有保留她们的信（作为规则，信必须全部退还公司），具体已记不清楚。但我记得那里边的确镶嵌着壅塞着以至折射出林林总总的人生画幅，从极大的到极小的无所不有。她们>.传达的那些信息，对于我，对于一个二十一二岁的大学生来说，是那样奇妙那样虚无缥缈。我觉得它们大多缺乏现实性，甚至毫无意义可言。但这并不仅仅因为我缺少人生经验。今天我才想通，事物的现实性十有八九并非传达之物，而是应该由人制作的。意义乃由此产生。但我当然不懂这个，她们也不懂。那些信上的所以事物所以在我眼里显得异常平庸呆板，我想这也是一个原因。
因故辞去那份课余工的时候，我所指导的会员无不为之惋惜。在某种意义上我也感到遗憾——尽管坦率地说已经对此无休止地写这种工作信已多少有些厌倦——毕竟我觉得再不会遇上这么多人对我推心置腹的机会了。
※
就汉堡牛肉饼来说，我实际便得以吃了她（最初给我写信的女性）做的汉堡牛肉饼。
她32岁，没有小孩，丈夫在一家有名的——世上排名第五——贸易公司工作。我在最后一封信中写明“遗憾的是本月底我将辞去这份工作”时，她要招待我一顿午餐。她写道，就做极为理所当然的汉堡牛肉饼好了。虽然违反会章，我还是决心前去。没有什么能竭止22岁小伙子的好奇心。
她住的公寓在小田急铁路沿线。房间干净利落，确实像没有孩子的夫妇的居所。家具也好照明也好她的贸易也好，虽说都不高档，但给人的感觉很舒服。我对她看上去比我想的远为年轻，她对我比她想的年纪小得多都很吃惊。她以为我比她年龄大。“Pen-Society”不透露“Pen-master”的年龄。
但互相吃一惊后，初次见面的紧张便缓解下来。感觉上我们就像没有赶上同一班列车的乘客，一起吃汉堡牛肉饼，喝咖啡。说起列车，从她房间所在的三楼窗口可以看到铁路。那天天气极好，周围公寓阳台晾满被褥和床单，时而传来拍打被褥的砰砰声。我至今也能记起那声音。声音很奇妙，没有距离感。
汉堡牛肉饼味道无可挑剔。香辣恰到好处，焦得一声脆响的底面挂满肉汁。调味汁也正合适。老实说，即使不能说是生来第一次吃这般可口的汉堡牛肉饼，也是好久不曾吃到了。我这么一说，她很高兴。
喝罢咖啡，我们边听巴特-巴卡拉克的唱片边讲自己身世。不过，我没有什么身世好讲，几乎都是她讲。她说学生时代想当作家来着。她说她是萨根迷，给我讲了萨根。她说中意《喜欢勃拉姆斯》。我也不讨厌萨根。起码不认为他如世人说的那般俗气。并没有规定说任何人都必须写亨利-米勒和热勒笔下的那种小说。
“可我什么也写不出来。”她说。
“现在开始也不晚的。”我说。
“那我知道。自己什么也写不出来这点还是你告诉我的呢。”她笑了笑，“就是说，给你写信的时间里我完全明白了，明白自己没那样的才能。”
我一阵脸红。如今几乎不红了，但22岁前后，我马上就脸红。
“不过，你所写的有非常直率的地方。”
她没说什么，嘴角浮起淡淡的笑，的确笑得很淡。
“至少看你的信想吃汉堡牛肉饼来着。”
“肯定是因为当时你肚子饿了。”她缓缓地说。
或许那样的。
电气列车发着咔咔的干涩声从窗下驶过。
※
钟打5点，我说该告辞了。“您先生回来前您得准备晚饭吧？”
“丈夫很晚很晚，”她依然支颐不动，“不到半夜是不会回来的。”
“真够忙的。”
“是啊。”她停顿片刻，“信上我想也写过来着，跟丈夫好多话都谈不拢，心情沟通不了。和他说话，觉得就好像在用两种完全不同的语言说话似的，经常性的。”
我不知这样应答。同这样心情不能沟通的人一起生活本身在我是很难理解的。
“不过，也好。”她静静地说。听起来真像是那样也好。“谢谢你长期写信给我，那让我非常愉快。通过给你写信，自己好像得到很大解脱。”
“我也很愉快的。”我说。但不讳地说，我已差不多记不起她用怎样的语句写了这样的信。
她默默看了一会墙上的挂钟，就像在检点时间的流程。
“大学出来打算做什么？”她问。
我说什么都还没定下，自己也不清楚做什么好。
听我这么一说，她再次淡然一笑，“我想，你大概做写文章那类事好些。你讲评时来的信实在妙得很，给了我不知多少慰藉。真的，不是奉承。你或许是仅仅为完成工作定额写的，不过那里边有颗心放了进去，我觉得。全都整理保存着呢，时不时拿出重复一遍。”
“谢谢。”我说，“还要谢谢您招待的汉堡牛肉饼。”
※
即使10年后的今天，每次坐小田急线电车从她公寓附近通过，我仍然想起她，想起一咬就发出脆响的汉堡牛肉饼。我眼望铁路两旁排列的公寓楼，猜想哪个是她的窗。我想起从她家窗口望见的那片风景，推测它位于哪一带，却完全推测不出。
她未必住在那里。若仍住在那里，恐怕她现在也在那窗口>里头继续一个人听同一张巴特-巴卡拉克唱片，我觉得。
那时我该同她困觉不成？
知识此文的主题。
答案无从得知，现在也全然99ｌｉｂ?不晓。无论年纪多大，无论阅历多丰富，不知晓的事也是很多很多的。我只能从列车窗口定定仰视似曾相识的公寓楼窗口。有时觉得所有窗口都是她所住房间的窗口，有时又觉得哪个都不是。那里的窗口实在太多了。
蜗牛
走下狭窄的水泥楼梯之后，前面就有一条长长的走廊笔直地伸出去。也许因为天花板太高了，使得走廊看起来像晒干的排水沟一样。每隔一些距离悬挂着的日光灯上盖满了黑黑厚厚的灰尘。那灯光好像是透过细细的网格照出来似的不均匀。而且三个里面就有一个不亮。连要看自己的手掌都觉得很辛苦的样子。周围没有任何声音。只有运动鞋的胶底踏在水泥地上的平板声音响在昏暗的走廊。
走了二百公尺或三百公尺，不，也许走了有一公里也不一定。我什么也没想地继续一直走着。那里既没有距离也没有时间。不知不觉之间甚至连正在前进的感觉也消失了。不过，总之大概是在向前进吧。我突然在T字路的正中央站住了。
T字路？
“请笔直走过走廊。走到尽头就有门。”明信片上这样写着。我在尽头一带的墙上仔细观望一番，但那里既没有l’1的形状也没有门的影子。既没有过去曾经有过门的痕迹，也没有即将要装门的迹象。那真是一面极干脆的水泥墙?，除了水泥墙本来就该有的特质之外看不见其他任何东西。没有形而上学的门，没有象征的门，也没有比喻的门，简直什么都没有。
完了完了。
我靠在水泥墙上抽了一根烟。这样一来，接着该怎么办呢？往前进呢？还是就这样退回去呢？
虽然如此，但坦白说我并没有那么认真地犹豫。说老实话，我除了前进之外没有别的路可走。我对贫穷的生活已经十分厌倦。对分期付款的贷款、对离婚妻子的赡养费、对狭小的公寓、对浴室的蟑螂、对繁忙时段的地下铁..，对这一切的一切都觉得厌烦了。而这是好不容易才找到的好工作。工作轻松，薪水好得叫人眼珠都要飞出来。一年有两次奖金，夏天还有长期休假。总不能因为少一扇门，或多一个转弯就轻易放弃呀。
我用鞋底把香烟踩熄，然后把十元硬币抛向空中，以手背接住。是正面，于是我往右边的走廊前进。
走廊两次往右转，一次往左转，下了十段阶梯，又再往右转。空气像咖啡一样冰冰凉凉的。我一面想着钱的事，想着空气调节得很好的舒适办公室，想着漂亮女孩一面继续走着。只要到达一扇门，这一切的一切就可以到手了。
终于前方看得见门了。从远远看那看来好像是一张用旧了的邮票一样，但逐渐接近之后开始一点一滴地带有门的体裁，终于变成一扇门。
门，多么美好的发音哪。
我干咳一声之后轻轻敲99ｌib?门，退后一步等待回音。过了十五秒也没回答。我再一次，这次稍微用力地敲，又退后一步。没有回答。
我周围的空气逐渐开始僵硬起来。
被不安驱使正要敲第三次门，脚刚往前踏时，门无声地开了。简直就像被从什么地方吹进来的风推开了似地极自然的开法。但当然门不是极自然地开的。听得见打开电灯开关的啪吱一声，然后一个男人现身在我眼前。
男人大约二十五岁上下，身高比我矮五公分左右。刚洗的头发正滴着水，赤裸的身体用暗红茶色浴袍包着。脚白得不自然，而且细。鞋子尺寸大约是22号左右吧。长相像钢笔习字簿一样平板，但嘴角则露出人很好似的微笑。
“对不起，我正在洗澡。”
“洗澡？”说着我反射地看着手表。
“这是规定。吃过午饭之后一定要洗澡。”
“原来如此。”我说。
“有什么事吗？”
我从上衣口袋拿出刚才那张明信片，交给男人。男人深怕弄湿它只以手指尖夹起明信片，重读了好几次。
“我好像迟到了五分钟。”我解释着。
“噢噢。”他点点头然后把明信片还给我。“你要在这里工作啊。”
“是的。”我说。
“我什么也没听说，不过反正我会帮你通报上去。”
“谢谢。”
“可是约定语是什么？”
“约定语？”
我一愣摇摇头。“什么也没听说……”
“那就伤脑筋了。没有约定语谁也不能通过啊。上面的人严格交代过。”
我再抽出明信片来看一次，还是没有关于约定语的记载。
“一定是忘了写了。”我说。
“总之能不能帮我引见上面的人？”
“所以说，因此需要那约定语呀。”他说着想在口袋里找香烟，但不巧浴袍上没有口袋。我把自己的香烟递一根给他，用打火机为他点上火。
“很抱歉……那么，有没有想到什么…像是那个约定语之类的东西。”
商量也没有用。约定语根本想不起来。我摇摇头。
“虽然我也不喜欢这种正经八百的麻烦事，不过上面的人自有上面的人的想法吧。你了解吗？”
“我了解。”
“在我之前做这工作的家伙，也曾经把一个说是忘了约定语的客人引进去，结果就为了这个被解.雇了噢。现在好工作可不容易找啊。”
我点点头。‘噢，这样怎么办？给我一点暗示好吗？”
男人靠在门上，把香烟的烟雾吐向空中。“这是被禁止的。”
“只要一点点就行了。”
“不过，说不定什么地方有隐藏的窃听器呢。”
“是吗？”
男人犹豫了一下，然后对我小声耳语道。“听好哦，非常简单的字，跟水有关系的。可以放在手掌上，但不能吃。”
这次轮到我思考了。
“第一个字是什么音？”
“是X。”他说。
“贝壳。”我试着说。
“不对。”他说。“还有两次。”
“两次？”
“再错两次就完了。虽然我觉得很抱歉，不过我也是冒着危险犯规告诉你的。”
“我很感谢。”我说。“不过如果能再给我一点暗示就更感谢了。例如是几个字的东西之类的……”
“接下来你恐怕要说你干脆全部告诉我好了对吗？”
“怎么会呢？”我呆住了。“我只是请你告诉我有几个字而已呀？”
“两个字。”他似乎放弃似地说。“就像老爸说的一样啊。”
“老爸？”
“我老爸常说。你帮别人擦皮鞋，接着别人就要你把鞋带也帮他绑上啊。”
“原来如此。”我说。
“总之是两个字。”
“跟水有关系，能放在手掌上但不能吃。”
“没错。”
“蜗牛。”我说。
“蜗牛可以吃啊。”
“真的？”
“大概吧。也许不好吃。”他没自信地说。“而且不能放在手掌上。”
“你看过吗？”
“没有。”他说。
“蜗牛。”我强硬地说。“可以放在手掌上的小蜗牛非常难吃，连狗都不吃的。”
“等一下。”他说。“首先，约定语就不是蜗牛啊。”
“可是跟水有关系，能放在手掌上，又不能吃的，而且又是两个字。”
“你的道理说不通。”
“什么地方不通？”
“因为约定语就不是‘蜗牛’啊。”
“那么是什么？”
他一瞬间哑口无言。“这不能说。”
“因为不存在呀。”我尽情放胆地冷言说道。“除了蜗牛之外，和水有关系，能放在手掌心又不能吃的两个字的东西根本一个也没有啊。”
“可是有啊。”他以快要哭出来的声音说。
“没有啊。”
“有。
“你没有证据说有。”我说。“而且‘蜗牛’已经符合全部条件了对吗？”
“可是……那可以放在手掌上的小蜗牛，说不定什么地方有喜欢吃它的狗啊。”
“在什么地方？还有是什么样的狗？”
“嗯----”他嘀咕着。
“关于狗我什么都知道，却没看过喜欢能放在手掌上的蜗牛的什么狗。”
“有那样难吃吗？”
“难吃得不得了。”
“你吃过吗？”
“没有啊。那样难吃的东西我为什么一定要吃呢？”
“‘说得也是。”
“总之请你帮我引见上面的人。”我强硬地说。“蜗牛。”
“没办法。”他说。“我且帮你通报一声。不过我想大概行不通吧。”
“谢谢。我会报答你。”我说。
“不过真的有能放在手掌上的蜗牛吗？”
“有啊。”
掌中蜗牛以天鹅绒布擦着眼镜的镜片，叹了一口气。右下方的口齿阵阵抽搐着。是牙齿啊，他想。真厌烦。牙医、税款申报、汽车贷款、空调故障……他把头靠在皮面扶手椅上，想着关于死的事。死像海底一样安静。
掌中蜗牛正要人睡。
这时对讲机响起来。
“什么事？”掌中蜗牛对着机器吼道。
“有客人。”门房的声音说。
掌中蜗牛看看手。“迟到十五分钟。”
象的失踪
大象从镇上的象舍中失踪，我是从报纸上知道的。这天，我一如往常地被调至6点30分的闹钟叫醒。然后去厨房烧咖啡，烤面包片，打开超短波广播，啃着面包片在餐桌上摊开晨报。我这人看报总是从第一版依序看下去，因此过了好半天才接触到关于大象失踪的报道。第一版报道的是日美贸易摩擦问题和战略防御构思，接下去是国内政治版，国际政治版，经济版，读者来信版，读者专栏，不动产广告版，体育版，再往下才是地方版。
大象失踪的报道登在地方版的头条。标题相当醒目：“××镇大象去向不明”。紧接着是一行小标题：“镇民人心惶惶，要求追究管理责任”。还有几名警察验证无象象舍的照片。没有象的象舍总好像不大自然。空空荡荡，冷冷清清，俨然被掏空五脏六腑后干燥了的庞大动物。
我拨开落在报纸上的面包屑，专心致志地逐行阅读这则报道。上面说人们发现大象失踪是5月18日（即昨天）下午2时。供食公司的人像往常那样用卡车为大象运来食物(其
主食为镇立小学的学生们的剩饭)，从而发现象舍空空如也。套在象脚上的铁环依然上着锁剩在那里，看来是大象整个把脚拔了出去，失踪的不仅仅是大象，一直照料大象的男
饲养员也一同无影无踪。
人们最后见到大象和饲养员是前天（即5月17日）傍晚5点多钟。5个小学生来象舍写生，5点多之前一直用蜡笔为大象画像来着。这几个小学生是大象的最后目击者，后来再无人见到。因为6点铃一响，饲养员便将象广场的门关上，使人们无法入内。
5个小学生异口同声地作证说，那时无论大象还是饲养员都没显出任何异常。大象一如往常乖乖站在广场中央，不时左右摇晃一次鼻子，眯缝起满是皱纹的眼睛。它已老态龙钟，动一下身体都显得甚是吃力。初次目睹之人，往往感到不安，真怕它马上瘫倒在地上断气。
以上便是这则新闻报道的内容。
大象之所以被本镇（即我居住的镇）领来饲养，也是因为其年老之故。镇郊的一座小动物园以经营困难为由关闭的时候，动物们都已通过动物经纪人之手转往全国各地。
唯独这头象由于年纪太老而无法找到主顾，一来哪里的动物园中象的数量都绰绰有余，二来没一处动物园好事并充裕到足以接收一头似乎马上就心脏病发作死去的举步维艰的大象的程度。因此，这头象便在所有同伴荡然无存的形同废墟的动物园里无所事事地——当然也不是说它原来有什么事干——独自滞留三四个月之久。
无论动物园还是镇上，对此都相当头痛。动物园方面已将动物园旧址卖给了房地产商。房地商准备在此建造高层公寓，从栅栏空隙窥视，象舍门仍被铁链缠绕着。看样子警察为了弥补无法找见大象所造成的缺憾，而对失去大象后的象舍加强了不必要的警备。四下寂寥，空无人影，唯见一群鸽子在象舍房脊上敛翅歇息。广场已无人修剪，开始长满萋萋夏草，仿佛已等得忍无可忍。象舍门上缠绕的铁链使人联想起森林中牢牢看守着已腐朽得化为废墟的王宫的巨蟒。大象离去才不过数月，这场所便蒙上了带有某种宿命意味的荒凉面影，笼罩在雨云一般令人窒息的气氛中。
我那次见到她，9月都已接近尾声了。这天从早到晚雨下个不停。雨单调而又温柔细腻，是这一季节常见的雨，它将在地面打下烙印的夏日记忆一点点冲掉。所有的记忆都沿着水沟往下水道往河道流去，进入又黑又深的大海。
我俩是在我公司举行的产品宣传酒会上见面的。我在一家大型电机公司广告部工作，当时正负责推销为配合秋季结婚热和冬季发奖金时节而生产的系列型厨房电气用品。主要任务是同几家妇女杂志交涉，以使其刊载配合性报道。事情倒不怎么需要动脑，但须注意对方报道写得不失分寸，以尽量不让读者嗅到广告味。作为代价，我们可以在杂志上刊登广告。世上的事就是要互相扶持。
她是一家以年轻主妇为对象的杂志的编辑，参加酒会是为了采访——明知是为人推销的采访。我正好闲着，便以她为对象，开始讲解由意大利著名设计师设计的彩色电冰箱、咖啡机、微波炉和榨汁机。
“至为关键的是谐调性。”我说，“无论式样多好的东西，都必须同周围保持谐调，不然毫无意思。颜色的谐调，式样的谐调，功能的谐调——这是当今厨室最需要注意的。据调查，一天之中主妇在厨室的时间最长。对主妇来说， 厨室是她的工作岗位，是书斋，是起居室。因此她们都在努力改善厨室环境，使其多少舒服一点。这与大小没有关系。无论大小，好的厨室原则都只有一个。那就是简洁性、功能性、谐调性。而本系列便是依据这一指导思想设计出来的。举例说来，请看这个烹调板……”
她点着头，在小笔记本上做着记录。其实她并非对这类采访特别怀有兴趣，我对烹调板也没什么偏爱，我们不过在完成各自的工作而已。
“看来你对厨房里的事相当熟悉。”她在我讲解完后说道。
“工作嘛！”我做出商业性笑容回答。“不过我倒是很喜欢做９９lib?菜——这与工作无关——做的简单，但天天做。”
“厨房真的需要谐调性？”她问。
“不是厨房，是厨室。”我纠正道。“本来怎么都所谓，可公司有这样那样的规定。”
“对不起。那么厨室真的需要谐调性？是你个人的意见？”
“至于我的意见，不解掉领带是无可奉告的。”我笑着说，“不过今天算是例外。我想就厨室来说，讲究谐调性之前，应该备有若干必不可少的东西。问题是那种因素成不了商品。而在这急功近利的世界上，成不了商品的因素几乎不具有任何意义。”
“世界果真是急功近利的不成？”
我从衣袋里掏出香烟，用打火机点燃。
“随便说说罢了。”我说，“这样一来，很多事情就容易明白，工作也容易进行。这类似一种游戏，或曰本质上急功近利，或曰急功近利式的本质——说法五花八门。而且只有这样认为，才不至于招风惹浪，才不至于出现复杂问题。”
“妙趣横生的见解！”
“谈不上什么妙趣，人人都这样看待。”我说，“对了，有一种香槟不算很坏，如何？”
“谢谢，恕不客气。”
随后，我和她边喝香槟边海阔天空地聊起来，聊着聊着，聊出几个两人共同的熟人。不仅如此，我的妹妹同她碰巧毕业于同一所大学。我们于是以几个这样的名字为线索较为顺利地展开话题。
她也罢我也罢都是单身。她26，我31。她戴隐形眼镜，我架着普通镜片。她赞赏我领带的颜色，我夸奖她的上衣。我们谈起各自所居公寓的租金，也就工资数额和工作内容发了些牢骚。总之我们是相当亲密起来了。她是位顾盼生辉的妩媚女性，丝毫没有强加于人的味道。我站着同她在那里谈了大约20分钟，没有发现任何不可以对她抱有好感的理由。
酒会快结束时，我邀她走进同一宾馆里的酒吧，坐在那里同她继续交谈。透过酒吧巨大的窗扇，可以看见初秋的雨幕。雨依然无声无息地下着，远处街道的光亮糅合着各种各样的信息。酒吧里几乎见不到客人，潮乎乎的沉默统治着四周。她要了达伊吉莉鸡尾酒，我要的是加冰苏格兰威士忌。
我们一边喝着各自的杯中物，一边像多少有些亲密起来的初次见面的男女那样说着在酒吧里常说的话：大学时代，喜欢的音乐，体育，日常习惯等等。
接着，我提起大象。至于话题为什么突然转到大象身上，我已记不起其中关联。大概谈到某种动物，由此联上了大象。也有可能我是极其无意识地想向某人——似可与之畅所欲言的一个人——阐述我对大象失踪的看法。或者是仅仅借助酒兴也未可知。
话一出口，我便意识到自己提出的是现在最不适宜的话题。我不应该谈起什么大象。怎么说呢，这个话题早已成为过去。
于是我想马上收回话头。糟糕的是她对大象失踪事件怀有非同一般的兴致。我一说自己看过好几回大象，她便连珠炮似地发出质询：
“什么样的象？你认为是如何逃跑的？平时它吃什么？有没有危险？”如此不一而足。对此，我按照报纸上的口径轻描谈写地解说了一遍。看样子她从我的口气中感觉出了异乎寻常的冷淡——我从小就很不善于敷衍。
“象不见的时候大吃一惊吧？”她喝着第二杯达伊吉莉，若无其事地问。“一头大象居然突然失踪，肯定谁都始料未及。”
“是啊，或许是。”我拿起一枚碟子里的炸薯片，分成两半，吃了一半。男侍转来，另换了一个烟灰缸。
她饶有兴味地注视了一会我的脸。我又叼起一支香烟点燃。本来戒烟已有3年之久，而在大象失踪之后，又开始重操旧业。
“所谓或许是，就是说关于大象失踪多少有所预料？”她问。
“谈不上什么预料！”我笑了笑，“一天大象突然消失，这既无先例又无必然性，也不符合事理。”
“不过你这说法可是非常奇特，嗯？我说‘一头大象居然突然失踪，肯定谁都始料未及’，你回答‘是啊，或许是’。而一般人是绝不至于这样回答的。或者说‘一点不错’，或者说‘说不明白’。”
我向她含糊地点了下头，扬手叫来男侍，让他再送一杯苏格兰威士忌。等威士忌的时间里，我们暂且保持沉默。
“我说，我不大理解，”她用沉静的口气说，“刚才你还一直说得头头是道，在提起大象之前。可一提起大象，你说话就好像一下子变得反常。听不出你想表达什么。到底怎么回事？莫非在大象上面有什么不好启齿的地方？还是我的耳朵出了毛病呢？”
“你的耳朵没有毛病。”我说。
“那么说问题在你罗？”
我用手指把酒杯里的冰块拨弄得旋转不止。我喜欢听冰块相撞的声音。
“并未严重得要用问题这个字眼。”我说，“不足挂齿的小事。也没有什么可向别人隐瞒的，不过是因为我没有把握说透而没说罢了。如果说是奇特，也确实有点奇特。”
“怎么奇特？”
我再无退路，只好喝口威士忌，开始叙说：
“其中一点要指出的是，我恐怕是那头失踪大象的最后一个目击者。我见到大象是5月17日晚上7点左右，得知大象失踪是第二天近午时分。这段时间再没有人见过大象。因为傍晚6点象舍就关门了。”
“逻辑上不好明白。”她盯住我的眼睛，“既然象舍已经关门，你怎么还能见到大象呢？”
“象舍后面是一座悬崖样的小山。山是私有山，没有像样的路可走，上面只有一个地方可以从后面窥视象舍。而知道这个地方的，想必只我一人。”
我这一发现完全出于偶然。一个周日下午，我去后山散步迷了路。大致判断方位行走之间，碰巧走到了这个地方。那是块平地，大小可供一个睡觉。透过灌木丛空隙朝下一望，下面正是象舍的房脊。房脊稍往下一点有个相当大的通风口，从中可以清楚看到象舍里面的光景。
从此以后，我经常去那里观望进入象舍里边的大象，逐渐成了习惯。如果有个问何苦如此不厌其烦，我也回答不好。只是想看大象的私下表现而已，没有什么深刻的理由。
象舍里黑暗之时，自然看不见大象。但刚入夜时饲养员打开象舍电灯为大象做这做那，我因之得以一一看在眼里。
我最先注意到的，是象舍中只剩大象与饲养员时，看上要比在人前那种公开场合表现得远为亲密无间。这点只消看他们之间一个小小的举动即可一目了然。甚至使人觉得白天时间他们有意克制感情，以免被人看出彼此的亲密程度，而到单独相守的夜晚便完全无此顾虑。但这不等于说他们在象舍中有什么特殊举动。进入象舍之后，大象依然一副呆愣愣的样子，饲养员也一味地忙他作为饲养员的当务之急：用甲板刷给大象刷洗身体，归拢拉在地板上的巨大粪团，收拾其吃过的东西。尽管如此，其彼此间结下的信赖感所酿出的独特的温馨氛围不容你无动于衷。饲养员打扫完地板，大象便摇晃着身子在饲养员背部轻轻叩击几下。我很喜欢观看大象的这个动作。
“以前你就喜爱大象？我是说不仅仅限于这头象……”她问。
“是的，我想是这样。”我说，“大象这种动物身上有一种拨动我心弦的东西，很早以前就有这个感觉，原因我倒不清楚。”
“所以那天也同样傍晚一人登后山看象去了，是吧？”她说，“呃——5月……”
“17日，”我接道，“5月17日晚上7点左右。那时节白天变得很长，空中还剩有一点火烧云。不过象舍里已经灯火通明。”
“当时象和饲养员都没有什么异常？”
“既可以说没有异常，又可以说有异常。我无法说得准确。因为毕竟不是相距很近。作为目击者的可靠性也可以说不是很高。”
“到底发生了什么？”
我喝了一口因冰块融化而酒味变淡的威士忌。窗外的雨仍下个不止，既不大下，又不小下，俨然一幅永远一成不变的静物画。
“也不是说发生了什么。”我说，“象和饲养员所作所为一如往常。扫除，吃东西，亲昵地挑逗一下，如此而已。平日也是如此。我感到不对头的只是其平衡。”
“平衡？”
“就是大小平衡，象和饲养员身体大小的比例。我觉得这种比例较之平时多少有所不同，两者之差似乎比平时缩小一些。”
她把视线投在自己手中的达伊吉莉杯上，静静注视良久。杯里冰块已经化了，如细小的海流试图钻进鸡尾酒的间隙中去。
“那么说象的身体变小了？”
“也许是饲养员变大了，也可能双方同时变化。”
“这点没告诉警察？”
“当然没有。”我说，“即使告诉，警察也不会相信，况且我若说出在那种时候从后山看大象，自己都难免受到怀疑。”
“那，比例与平时不同这点可是事实？”
“大概。”我说，“我只能说是大概。因为没有证据，而且我说过不止一次——我是从通风口往里窥的。不过我在同一条件下观看大象和饲养员不下数十次，我想总不至
于在其大小比例上发生错觉。”
噢，也许眼睛有错觉。当时我好几次闭目摇头，但无论怎么看象的体积都与平时不同，的确有些缩小。以至一开始我还以为镇上搞来一头小象呢。可是又没听说过（我绝不会放过有关象的新闻）。既然如此，那么只能认为是原来的老象由于某种原因而骤然萎缩。而且仔细看去，象高兴似地抬右脚叩击地面，用多少变细的鼻子抚摸饲养员的后背。
那光景甚是不可思议。从通风口密切注视里面的时间里，我觉得象舍之中仿佛流动着唯独象舍才有的冷冰冰的另一种时间，并且象和饲养员似乎乐意委身于将彼此卷入——至少已卷入一部分——其中的新生体系。
我注视象舍的时间总共不到30分钟。象舍的灯比往常关得早，7时30分灯便熄了，所有一切都笼罩在黑暗之中。我在那里等了一会，等待象舍的灯重新闪亮，但再未闪亮。这便是我最后一次见到大象。
“那么说，你是认为象就势迅速萎缩变小而从栅栏空隙逃走了？还是认为完全消失了呢？”她问。
“不清楚。”我说，“我只是力图多少准确地记起自己亲眼见过的场面，此外的事几乎没有考虑。眼睛获得的印象实在太强烈了，坦率地说，我恐怕根本无法从中推导出什么。”
以上就是我关于大象失踪说的所有的话。不出我最初所料，这些话作为刚刚相识的年轻男女交谈的话题未免过于特殊，况且其本身早已完结。说罢，两人之间出现了许久的沉默。在谈完与其他事几乎毫不相关的大象失踪的话之后，我也罢她也罢都不知再提起什么话题为好。她用手指摩挲鸡尾酒杯的边缘。我则看着杯垫上的印字。反复看了25遍。我还是后悔自己不该提起什么大象，这并非可以随便向任何人开诚布公那种性质的话。
“过去，家里养的一只猫倒是突然失踪来着，”过了好久她开口道，“不过猫的失踪和象的失踪，看来不是一回事。”
“是啊，从大小来说就无法相比。”我说。
30分钟，我们在宾馆门口告别。她想起把伞丢在了酒吧，我乘电梯帮助她取回。伞是红褐色的，花纹很大。
“谢谢了！”她说。
“晚安。”我说。
此后我和她再未见面。一次就刊登广告的细节我们通过电话，那时我很想邀她一起吃饭，但终归还是作罢。用电话讲话的时间里，蓦地觉得这种事怎么都无所谓。
自从经历大象失踪事件以来，我时常出现这种心情。每当做点什么事情的时候，总是无法在这一行为可能带来的结果与回避这一行为所可能带来的结果之间找出二者的差异。我往往感到周围正在失去其固有的平衡。这也许是我 的错觉。也许是大象事件之后自己内部的某种平衡分崩离析从而导致外部事物在我眼睛中显得奇妙反常。责任怕是在我这一方。
我仍然在这急功近利式的世界上依据急功近利式的记忆残片，到处推销电冰箱、电烤炉和咖啡机。我越是变得急功近利，产品越是卖得飞快。我们的产品宣传会所取得的成功甚至超过了我们不无乐观的预想。我于是得以为更多的人所接受。或许人们是在世界这个大厨室里寻求某种谐调性吧。式样的谐调，颜色的谐调，功能的谐调。
报纸几乎不再有大象的报道。人们对于自己镇上曾拥有一头大象这点似乎都已忘得一干二净。仿若广场上一度茂盛的杂草，业已枯萎，四周开始漾出冬的气息。
大象和饲养员彻底失踪，再不可能返回这里。
跳舞的小矮人
梦中出来一个小人，问我跳不跳舞。
我完全清楚这是做梦。但梦中的我也和当时现实中的我同样疲惫。于是我婉言谢绝：对不起我很累恐怕跳不成的。小人并未因此不快，一个人跳起舞来。
小人把手提唱机放在地上，随着唱片起舞。唱片围绕唱机扔得满地都是。我从中拿起几张来看。音乐种类五花八门，就好像闭眼随手抓来的。且唱片内容同护套几乎驴唇不对马嘴。原来一度放过的唱片小人并不把它插回护套，就那样扔开不管，以致最后搞不清哪张唱片插回哪个护套，只管乱插一气。于是，格林·米勒交响乐团护套被插进滚石乐队的唱片，拉威尔《达夫尼斯和克洛埃》护套给米奇·米勒的唱片插了进去。
但小人对这种混乱显得毫不在意。说到底，对小人来说，只要那是音乐且能随之起舞便别无他求。此刻小人正随原来装在《吉他音乐名曲集》护套中的“恰克与飞鸟”的唱片跳动。他将帕克强烈而快速的音乐节奏同身体融为一体，疾风般跳动着舞着，我边吃葡萄边看小人的舞姿。
跳舞当中小人出了好些汗。一摆头，脸上的汗四溅开来；一挥手，汗从指尖落下。可是小人仍跳个不停。唱片转完，我把葡萄碗放搁在地上，放新唱片上去。小人再次起舞。
“你跳得真好，”我打招呼道，“简直是音乐本身。”
“谢谢。”小人矜持的说。
“经常那么跳不成？”我问。
“算是吧。”小人道。
随后，小人脚尖支地飞身转了一圈。蓬松而柔软的头发随之飘飘洒洒。我拍手喝彩。这么精彩的舞我还一次都没见过。小人有礼貌地底头一礼，乐曲旋即终了。小人停下来，那毛巾擦汗。我见唱针仍在同一地方“嗑嗑”跳动，便提起唱针关机，把唱片放进相应的护套。
“说起话长。”小人瞥一眼我的脸，“你大概没什么时间吧？”
我手抓葡萄，不知怎样回答。时间倒是绰绰有余，但若让我听小人大讲身世，未免觉得乏味，何况终究是梦。梦这东西不可做得太久，随时都可能消失。
“从北国来的。”小人没等我回答便自行讲了起来，还打了个响指，“北国人谁有不跳舞，谁也不懂得跳，谁也不知道还有跳舞这回事。可我想跳，想踢腿、扬臂、摆头、旋转棗像刚才那样。”
小人于是踢腿、扬臂、摆头、旋转。仔细看去，踢腿扬臂摆头旋转竟如光球迸射般齐刷刷从身体喷发出来。一个一个动作虽然不很难，但四个同时进行，便优美得令人难以置信。
“就是想这么跳，所以才来到南方。来南方当了舞者，在酒吧跳舞。我的舞受到好评，在皇帝面前也跳来着。啊，那当然是革命前的事了。革命发生后，如你所知，皇帝死了，我也被赶出城，开始在森林中生活。”
小人又去广场中央跳起来，我放上唱片。弗兰克·西纳特拉的旧唱片。小人随着西纳特拉的歌声，边唱，《夜晚和白天》边跳。我想象小人在皇帝御座前跳舞的身姿。美轮美奂的枝形吊灯和千娇百媚的宫女，罕见的水果和禁军的长矛，臃肿的宦官，身穿镶宝石龙袍的年轻皇帝，一心一意挥汗跳舞的小人……如此想象时间里，就好像远处马上有革命的炮声传来。小人不住地跳，我不住地吃葡萄，夕阳西下，林影覆盖大地，鸟一般大小的黑色巨蝶穿古哦广场，消失在森林深处。空气凉浸浸的。我觉得该是自己离去时候了。
“我差不多得走了。”我对小人说。
小人停止跳舞，默默点头。
“谢谢你的跳舞表演，看得我非常愉快。”我说。
“没什么。”小人道。
“也许再见不到了，多保重！”我说。
“哪里。”小人摇下头。
“为什么？”我问。
“因为年一还会来这里。来这里住在森林中，日复一日和我一同跳舞。那时你也会跳得十分动人。”小人啪一声打个响指。
“为什么我要来这里和你跳舞呢？”我不无讶然地问。
“命中注定。”小人说，“这已是任何人都改变不了的。所以，你我早晚还要见面。”说着，小人扬脸看了看我。夜色早已水一样染青小人的身体。“再会！”说罢，小人把被转给我，一个人重新起舞。
睁眼醒来，只我一个人，一个人趴在床上，浑身湿淋淋的汗水。窗外可以看见鸟。但不像平日的鸟。
我仔仔细细地洗脸、刮须、烤面包、煮咖啡。然后喂猫，换厕所沙土，打领带，穿鞋，乘公共汽车去工厂。我在工厂做象。
不用说，象不是那么好做的。对象物庞大，结构也复杂，不同于做发卡和彩色铅笔。工厂占地面积很大，分好几栋。一栋即已相当可观，按车间涂成各所不同的颜色。这个月我被分到象耳车间，故在黄色天花板黄色柱子的厂房里做工。安全帽和裤子也是黄色的。我就在这里一个劲儿地做象耳。上个月是在绿色厂房戴绿安全帽穿绿裤做象头来着。我们全部像吉卜赛人一个月一个月换车间。这是工厂的安排。因为这样即可把握整头象是怎样一个东西。不允许一辈子只做耳朵或只做趾头。脑袋好使的人安排轮流次序表，我们依表轮班。
做象头是非常有干头儿的工序，活儿非常细，一天下来累得一塌糊涂，口都懒得开。干罢一个月体重减少3公斤之多。不过，确实可以有一种自己在做什么的感觉。相比之下，象耳之类实在轻松得可以。做一个薄薄的玩艺儿在上面划出皱纹即算完成一件。所以我们都说去象耳车间是“耳休假”。度完一个月耳休假，我将被分去象鼻车间。做象鼻也是十分谨慎的活计。因为倘若鼻子不能摇来摇去且鼻孔未上下贯通，做出来的象有时会暴跳如雷。做鼻子时我非常紧张。
有一点强调一下：我们做象并非无中生有。准确说来，我们是以假补真。就是说，我们抓来一头象用锯将耳、鼻、头、躯干、尾巴分别锯开，用来巧妙组合成五头象。所以，做出来的象每头只有1/5是真的，其余4/5是假的。但这点不细看是看不出来的，连象本身都浑然不觉。我们做象便是做得如此天衣无缝。
若问为什么必须如此人工做象或者说以假补真，这是因为我们远比象性急。倘听任自然，象这东西每四五年才产一头小象。我们无疑顶顶喜欢象，看到象的如此习惯或习性，委实急不可耐。因而决定自己动手以假补真地生产象。
为了不被滥用，我们将这样的象卖给象供应公司，在那里停留半个月接受严格的功能检测，然后在象的脚底盖上公司印记放归森林。通常一星期做五头象。圣诞节前那个时节开足机器可以生产二十五头，不过我想十五头大约是较为稳妥的数字。
前面也已说过，耳车间在象工厂一系列工序中是最为轻松的地方。补用力气，不要绷紧神经，不用复杂机器。作业量本身也少。悠悠然干一天可以，或者bbr>９９lｉｂ?热心干一上午完成定额往下闲着无事也没关系。
我和同伴两个都不是拖拖拉拉做活那种慢性子，一上午集中干完，下午或聊天或看书只管做自己喜欢的事。那天下午我们也是把划号皱纹的十枚耳朵整齐靠墙摆号，之后坐在地板上晒太阳。
我把梦见跳舞小人的事告诉同伴。梦中情形我每一细节都一一记得，所以就连无所谓的细微处都描述一番。语言不尽意的地方便实际摆头扬臂踢脚来演示。同伴喝着茶，“唔唔”点头听我讲述。他比我大5岁，身体魁梧，浓胡须，沉默寡言，有抱臂沉思的习惯。亦是因长相关系，初看上去总一副冥思苦索的样子。但实际上并没想那么多，大多时候只是稍微欠身，没头没尾道一声“难呐！”
这时有是如此。听罢我这场梦，他一直沉思不语。由于他沉思时间太长，我使用抹布擦拭电风箱来消磨时间。又过一会，他才像平素那样霍地欠起身。“难呐，”他说，“小人，跳舞的小人……难呐！”
我也一如平时并非指望他给予什么象样的回答，便没怎么失望。无非想对谁讲讲罢了。我把电风箱放回原处，喝一口变温的茶。
然而少见的是同伴仍在一个人久久沉思。
“怎么了？”我问。
“以前也好像听人讲过小人的事。”他说。
“哦？”我一惊。
“事情是记得，但想不起在哪里听的了。”
“想想看。”
同伴“嗯”一声，又沉思一阵子。
他好歹想起来已是三个多小时以后的事，差不多到傍晚下班时间了。
“是这样！”他说，“原来是这样，总算想起来了！”
“那就好了！” 6211." >我说。
“第六工序那里有个植毛的老伯吧？就是白花花头发一直披到肩，牙齿没剩几颗的那个老伯。喏，听说革命前就在这工厂工作……”
“呃。”若是那个老人，倒是在酒馆见几次。
“老伯很早以前就跟我说过小人的事，说小人舞跳得好。当时以为不过是老年人信口开河罢了。现在听你这么一说，看来也并不全是无中生有。”
“他怎么说来着？”我问。
“这个嘛，毕竟很久以前的事了……”说着，同伴抱起胳膊，再次陷入沉思。但什么也没再想出。一会，霍地欠起身体，“不行，想不起来。”他说，“最好你自己找那老伯亲耳听听。”
我决定照.9９ｌｉｂ.办。
下班铃一响，我就去第六工序车间那里。老人已经不见，只两个女孩在扫地板。瘦些的女孩告诉我“若是那个老伯大概在那家老酒馆了”。去酒馆一看，老人果然在。他坐在柜台前的高椅上，旁边放着打开的盒饭，脊背伸得直直地喝酒。
这是一家很老的酒馆，非常非常老。我出世前、革命前酒馆就在这里。几代象工厂们在此饮酒、打扑克、喝酒。墙上挂着一排象工厂昔日的照片：有第一任工厂检查象牙的，有过去的电影演员来厂访问的，有夏日舞会的，等等。只是，皇帝及其他皇室的照片，以及被视为“帝政”的照片全部被革命军烧掉了。革命照片当然有：占领工厂的革命军，吊起厂长的革命军……
老人坐在一张题为“磨象牙的三个童工”的变色照片下喝美佳特酒。我寒喧一声挨他坐下，老人忙指照片道：
“这就是我。”
我凝目注视照片。三个并列磨象牙的童工中右边十二三岁的少年依稀有老人年少时的面影。不说绝对看不出，经他一说，那尖尖的鼻头和扁平的嘴唇确乎与人不同。看情形老人总是坐在这照片下面的位置，每有不熟识的客人进来便告诉以“这就是我”。
“照片像是很旧了。”我挑起话头。
“革命前的。”老人以无所谓的语气说道，“革命前我也是这样的小孩子嘛。都要上年纪，就连你转眼也会跟我一样，拭目以待好了！”
说罢，老人大大张开差不多缺了一半牙的嘴，喷着口水“呵呵呵”笑了起来。
接着，老人讲了一通革命时期的事。皇帝也罢革命军也罢老人都讨厌。由他尽情说了个够之后，我看准火候为他要了被美佳特酒，开口问他关于跳舞的小人是不是知道点什么。
“跳舞的小人？”老人道，“想听跳舞的小人？”
“想听。”我说。
老人猛地盯住我的眼睛，稍顷又恢复醉酒特有的浑浊而茫然的眼神。“也罢，”他说，“也是因为你买酒给我，就说说好了。不过，”老人在我面前竖起一指，“不许跟别人说！虽说革命以已过去很多年月，但这跳舞小人的事即使现在也不得在人前提起。不可讲给别人听！我的名字也不可说出！明白了？”
“明白了。”
“拿酒来！换去单间。”
我要了两杯美佳特酒。为避免侍者听见，我们移去有餐桌的座位。餐桌上放一盏大象形状的深色台灯。
“革命前的事了，有小人从北国来。”老人说，“小人舞跳得好。啊不，岂止跳得好，简直是跳舞本身。任凭谁都学不来。风、光、味、影等一切一切聚在小人身上同时迸溅。小人可以做到这点。那……真个十分了得！”
老人寥寥无几的几颗门牙碰得玻璃杯咯咯作响。
“那舞你亲眼看过？”我试着问。
“看过？”老人盯视我的脸，尔后十指使劲在桌面摊开，“当然看过，每天都看，每天都在这里看！”
“在这里？”
“是的。”老人说，“是在这里。小人每天在这里跳，革命前。”
老人说，身无分文来到这个地方的小人躲进这家象工厂职工们聚集的酒馆先是做勤杂工那样的活计来着，不久跳舞才能得到了承认，开始被作为舞者对待。职工们因希望看年轻女子跳，起始对小人的舞嘟嘟囔囔说三道四，但不多日子便谁都无话可说，端着酒杯看小人跳舞看得出神。小人的舞同其他任何任的都不一样。一句话，小人的舞得以把观众心中平时弃置未用甚至本人连其存在都未意识到的情感，像掏鱼肠一般在光天化日之下扯拉出来。
小人在这酒馆大约跳了半年。酒馆里天天客人爆满bbr>。全都是来看小人跳舞的。通过看小人跳舞，客人沉浸在无限喜悦或无限伤感之中。自那时起，小人便已掌握了一种技艺，即全凭舞的跳法来任意左右观众的情绪。
后来，跳舞小人的事传到一个在附近拥有领地且同象工厂也有不浅因缘的贵族团长棗此任日后被革命军逮住活活闷进装过动物胶的铁桶棗的耳朵里，并由贵族团长传入年轻皇帝的耳朵。喜好音乐的皇帝说无论如何都要看小人跳舞。一艘带有皇室徽章的垂直导向船朝酒馆开来，近卫兵们必恭必敬把小人接去宫廷。酒馆主人得到了数额多得过分的赏钱。酒馆顾客们自是愤愤抱怨一番。但抱怨皇帝当然无济于事。他们只好喝啤酒喝美佳特，仍像以前那样看年轻女子的舞。
与此同时，小人得到宫廷一个单独房间，在那里由宫女们擦洗身体，穿上绸缎衣服，并被教授在皇帝面前要注意的礼节。翌日晚，小人被领到宫廷一个大厅。待他一到，大厅里的皇帝直属交响乐团即开始演奏皇帝谱写的波尔卡舞曲。小人随之起舞。开始跳得很慢。众人屏息敛气盯视小人，谁都说不出话来。几个贵妇人晕倒在地。皇帝不由自主地将斟有金泊酒的水晶杯碰落在地，但没有一个人意识到杯碎的声音。
说到这里，老人把手里的酒杯放在桌前，用手背抹了下嘴，又用手指捏弄大象形台灯。我等老人继续下文，但老人好半天都不开口。我叫来侍者，又要了啤酒和美佳特酒。酒馆里变得一点拥挤，一个年轻女歌手开始在台上调吉他弦。
“后来怎么样了？”我问。
“啊，”老人仿佛突然想起似的，“革命爆发，皇帝被杀，小人逃跑。”
我臂肘支在桌上，双手抱也似的端起大啤酒喝啤酒，看着老人的脸问：“小人进宫不久就爆发革命了？”
“是的，有就一年吧。”老人说着，打了个打嗝儿。
“不太明白，”我说，“刚才你说不许把小人的事公之于众，这是为什么呢？莫非说小人同革命之间有什么关联不成？”
“这个嘛棗我也不清楚。但有一点很清楚：革命军始终在拼命搜寻小人行踪。那以来已过去了漫长岁月，革命早已成为老皇历，然而那些家伙仍在寻找跳舞的小人。至于小人同革命之间有什么关系我却是不晓得。传闻而已。”
“什么传闻？”
老人脸上现出仿佛难以启齿的神情。“传闻终归是传闻棗据说小人在宫廷里没起什么好作用。也有人说革命是因此才发生的。关于小人我知道的只这么多，其他什么也不知道了。”
老人“呼”地叹口气，酒一饮而尽。桃色液体从他嘴角淌出，顺着脏兮兮的衬衣滴下。
小人再没梦见。我每天照常去工厂制作象耳。用蒸汽把象耳弄软后，拿锤子打平，剪断，加料扩大五倍，烘干后划上皱纹。午休时喝同伴吃着盒饭谈论第八工序新来的年轻女孩。
象工厂有不少女孩。她们主要做连接神经系统、缝合、清扫一类活儿。我们一有时间就谈女孩，女孩一有时间就谈我们。
“那可是惊人漂亮的女孩呦，”同伴说，“大家全都盯住不放，但还没人能搞上。”
“就那么漂亮？”我半信半疑。以前有好几次听人说后特意跑去一看，实际上并不见得怎么样，这类传闻大多不可信以为真。
“不骗你的。不信你去亲眼看看好了。如果那还不算漂亮，最好去第六工序做象眼那里换一对新眼睛来。我要是没老婆，肯定死活把她哄到手。”同伴道。
午休已经结束，但我们车间照例闲着，下午几乎没事可干。于是我决定适当编造一点事由去第八工序那里看看。去那里要穿过长长的地下隧道。隧道口有保安员守卫。但因是熟人，没吭声就把我放了进去。
出得隧道是一条河，沿河下行不远就是第八工序厂房。房顶和烟囱均为粉红色。第八工序负责做象腿。四个月我在此干过，情况了如指掌。不料门口年轻的保安员却是不曾见过的新面孔。
“什么事？”新保安员问。这小子身上的制服还新得有棱有形，看样子不大好通融。
“神经线不够了，来借神经线的。”说罢，我清清嗓子。
“奇怪，”他目不转睛看着我的制服说，“你是象耳车间的吧？耳部和腿部的神经线应该部具有互换性的嘛。”
“说起来话长，”我说，“原来打算去象鼻车间借来着，但那里没有多余的。但他们说腿部线部够，如果能调剂一根，把细线转借过来也可以。同这里一联系，说是有多余的，叫过来取，所以这就来了。”
他啪啦啪啦翻动文件夹，“可我没有听说啊。这种走动应该有联系才是。”
“怪事。是哪里出错了，跟里面的人说过要他打好招呼的。”
保安员罗罗嗦嗦磨蹭了一会。我吓唬他说若是误事上边怪罪下来你可得负责任，他这才嘟嘟嚷嚷放我进去。
第八工序腿部作业区是一栋空空荡荡的扁平建筑物。一半在地下，长方形，粗粗拉拉的沙地面。地面恰与眼睛一般高，开有采光用的窄玻璃窗。天棚交错着可移钢轧，几十根象腿吊在上面，眯眼细看，俨然象群而降。
场内共有三十几个男女在劳作。建筑物里一片昏暗，加之全逗戴着帽子口罩以至防尘眼镜，根本搞不清哪里有新来的女孩。好在其中一个我过去的同事，便问他新来的女孩是哪个。
“15台安脚趾那个。”他告诉我，“不过想要花言巧语还是死心为好，简直龟甲石一般坚固，根本奈何不得。”
我道声“谢谢。”
15台安脚趾的女孩身段甚是苗条，活像中世绘画里走下来的“少年”。
“对不起。”我打声招呼。
她看我的脸，看我的制服，看我的脚下，又看我的脸。然后摘下帽子，取掉防尘眼镜。果然漂亮得令人吃惊，头发弯弯曲曲，眸子海一般深邃。
“什么事？”女孩问。
“有时间的话，明天星期六晚上一起跳舞去好么？”我一咬牙约道。
“明天晚上是有时间是打算去跳舞，但不跟你去。”她说。
“跟谁有约？”我问。
“什么约也没有。”言毕，她重新戴帽戴防尘镜，抓起台面的象趾，测量趾尖尺寸。趾尖略宽，她拿过凿子麻利地削了起来。
“既然没有约会，和我一起去好了！”我说，“有伴儿岂不比一个人去有意思？晚饭我晓得一家味道好的饭馆。”
“不必了，我想一个人去。要是你也想跳，随便去跳不就是了！”
“去的。”
“请便。”说罢她不再理我，埋头做工。她把凿子削好的脚趾放在脚掌前端的凹窝理，这回大小正相应。
“就新手来说还蛮有两下子嘛。”我说。
她再不应声。
这天夜里，梦境中在此出现小人。是梦这点这次也绝对清楚。小人坐在森林广场中央一根圆木上吸烟。这回唱片和磁带都没放。小人神情憔悴，看上去比第一次见时稍微显老。尽管如此，无论如何也看不出革命前出生的老人，感觉上至少多比我大两三岁。精确的看不出。小人的年龄原本就是不易弄清的。
我因无事可干，便围着小人来回兜圈，看天，随后在小人身旁坐下。天空阴沉沉的，乌云往西漂移，看样子随时都可能下雨。小人大概因此才把唱片和磁带藏在什么地方以免淋湿。
“嗨。”我招呼小人。
“嗨。”小人应道。
“今天怎么不跳？”我问。
“今天不跳。”小人说。
不跳舞时的小人显得弱不禁风，一副楚楚可怜的样子。据说曾在宫廷炫耀过权势，此时根本看不出来。
“不大舒服？”我问。
“啊，”小人说，“心情不好。森林里阴冷阴冷，老是一个人住在里面，好多东西都让身体吃不消。”
“够你受的。”
“需要活力，需要充溢身体的活力，需要足以连续跳舞足以满山奔跑淋雨也不感冒的新鲜活力，非常需要。”
我“唔”一声。
我和小人在圆木上默坐有时。头上很空旷，树梢迎风奏鸣，树干间蝴蝶时隐时现。
“对了，”小人道，“你可有什么事求我？”
“有事求你？我愕然反问，能求你什么呢？”
小人拾起一条树枝，用枝尖在地面画画出星形。“女孩的事。不是想得的到那个女孩吗？”
说的是第八工序那个美少女。我心中一惊，小人竟连这种事都知道。不过，梦中任何事都可能发生的。
“想倒是想，可求你不顶什么用吧？只能由自己想办法。”
“你想也没用。”
“是吗？”我有点冒火。
“当然，想也没用。你生气也罢，怎么也罢，没用就是没用。”小人说。
或许其言不差，我想，小人说得对。无论从哪一点看我都是平庸之辈。没有任何值得向人炫耀的东西，没有钱，相貌又不英俊，嘴也不会说棗毫无可取之处。性格我想还过得去，工作也够热心，较受同事喜欢，身体也挺健壮。但不属于年轻女孩一见钟情那种类型。如此角色想单靠耍嘴皮打动那个档次的美人，的确大不容易。
“不过，我若助你一臂之力，或许能有眉目。”小人悄声低语。
“助什么力？”我受好奇心驱使问道。
“跳舞。那女孩喜欢跳舞。所以，只要你在她面前舞跳得好，她保准属于你的，往下你只管站在 树下等苹果自行掉下来好了。”
“你能教我怎么跳？”
“教倒可以。”小人说，“只是一两天教不出名堂，天天练起码也得练半年才行。不然跳不出打动人心的舞来。”
我无奈地摇摇头：“那不成的。等上半年，她早就给哪个小子甜言蜜语攻破了。”
“什么时候跳？”
“明天，”我说，“明天周六晚上，她去舞厅跳舞，我也去，在哪里请她跳舞。”
小人用树枝在地面画出几条直线，又在上面拉几道横线，构成奇妙的图形。我默不作声，定定注视小人手的动作。片刻，小人把吸短的香烟从嘴唇拿开，“噗”地吹落在地，抬脚踩死。
“也不是没有手段。如果你真想得到那女郎，”小人说，“是想得到吧？”
“当然想。”我说。
“什么手段想听吧？”小人问。
“讲给我。”
“不难，我进到你身体力里去，借你身体跳舞。你嘛，身体健壮，力气也有，想必跳得成的。”
“身体是什么人都比不得，”我说，“可那真能做到？真能进我身体内跳舞？”
“能。那一来，那孩子肯定是你囊中物，我敢保证。不光那孩子，任何女人都手到擒来。”
我用舌尖舔一下嘴唇。如此未免过于顺利。问题是小人一旦进入我体内，便有可能再不出去。致使自己的身体由小人据而有之。哪怕再为了弄到女孩，我也不愿意落得那半下场。
“不放心吧，你？”小人似乎看透我的心思，“怕身体被我篡夺。”
“因为听到不少你的传闻。”
“不好的传闻？”
“啊，是的。”我说。
小人以尽知内情的神情抿嘴一笑：“别担心。我再有本事，也不至于将别人身体轻易据为己有。那是需要签合同的。就是说只有双方同意才办得到。你不想永远出让身体吧？”
“那当然。”我打个寒战。
“不过若是完全无偿地帮你哄骗女孩，作为我也没意思，这样好了，”小人伸出一指，“有个条件。条件不难，反正有个条件。”
“什么条件？”
“我进入你体内，并进舞厅邀女孩跳舞，讨她欢心，而由你对女孩随心所欲。这时间里你一句话也不得出口，在女郎彻底到手之前不得出声棗就这个条件。”
“不开口又如何哄得了女孩呢？”我提出异议。
“放心，”小人摇下头，“无须担心。只要我的舞，任何女人都乖乖就擒，放心就是。所以，从跨入舞厅第一步时起到女郎彻底就范之前万万不得出声，听明白了？”
“要是出声呢？”我问。
“那时你的身体就成我的了。”小人说得满轻松。
“如果一声不出地顺利结束？”
“女人就是你的。我从你体内出来返回森林。”
我深深叹口气，思索到底如何是好。这时间小人仍拿树枝在地面画着莫名其妙的图形。一只蝴蝶飞来，落在图形正中。老实说，我有些怕。我没有把握做到自始至终都不开口。但不那样做，自己基本没有可能把女孩儿搂在怀里。我在脑海中推出第八工序那个削象趾的女孩的姿容。无论如何我都想把她弄到手。
“好吧，”我说，“试试看。”
“一言为定！”小人道。
舞厅在象工厂正门旁边，每道周末晚上，舞池便给工厂的年轻职工，女孩们挤得水泄不通。在工厂做工的单独男女几乎全体涌来这里。我们在此跳舞、喝酒，同伴聚在一起交谈。恋人们不大工夫便跑去树林抱作一团。
“令人怀念啊！”小人在我体内不胜感慨地说，“跳舞就应该是这个样子，群众、酒、灯光、汗味儿、女孩香水味儿，实在叫人怀念！”
我分开人群找她。几个熟人见了拍我肩膀打招呼，我也报以微笑，但只字未吐。很快，交响乐队开始演奏，但还是没找到她。
“莫急！时间早着哩，好戏才刚开始。”小人说。
舞池呈圆形，在电力驱动下缓缓旋转。椅子包围似的绕舞池摆了一圈。高高的天花板悬着偌大的枝行吊灯。精心打磨过的地板宛如冰盘闪闪反射着灯光。舞池左侧如体育场看台一般高高耸起，上面是乐队。乐队分两组，均为大型交响乐队，每30分钟轮换演奏一次，整个夜晚不间断地送出华丽的舞会音乐。右边的乐队有两个极具气派的大鼓，队员们前胸全部别有红色的大象标志。左边的乐队一字排出拿手的长号，胸前的大象标志是绿色的。
我坐在席上点了啤酒，打好领带，点燃香烟。拿酬金的陪舞女郎一个个转到我桌前，邀道：“嗳，潇洒的阿哥，跳个舞吧！”但我没有理睬。我手托下巴，用啤酒润着喉咙，等她出现。一个小时过去也没来。华尔兹、狐步舞曲、鼓声巴特尔、小号高音白白荡过舞池。我觉得说不定她一开始就没打算来，而只是捉弄我。
“放心，”小人低声道，“保证来的，只管以逸待劳好了！”
她出现在舞厅门口，时针已转过9点。她身穿光闪闪的贴身连衣裙，脚上是黑高跟鞋，性感十足，顾盼生辉。在她面前，整个舞厅都仿佛黯然失色。几个小伙子一眼发现她邀她同舞，她一甩胳膊轻轻挡开。
我以便慢慢啜着啤酒，一边用眼睛跟踪她的动向。她在隔着舞池的对面一张桌旁坐下，要了红色鸡尾酒，点燃长长的纸卷烟。鸡尾酒她几乎一口未沾。吸罢一支，她碾死烟离座立起，以俨然走向跳水台的姿势款款滑入舞池。
她不同任何人搭档，兀自一个人跳。乐队正演奏探戈。她漂亮地跳起探戈，旁观都令人陶醉。每一摆头，她那长长的头发便如疾风掠过舞池，修长白皙的手指飒然有声地波动空气的琴弦。她全然无所顾忌，只为自己独舞。定神看去，恍惚梦境的继续。于是我脑袋有点混乱起来，假如我是在为一个梦而利用另一个梦，那么真正的我又究竟在哪里呢？
“那女孩的确跳得精彩，”小人说，“跟她倒是值得一跳。差不多该上去了！”
我几乎下意识地从桌旁起身步入舞池。我挤开几个男子上前，站在她身旁“咔”一声并齐脚跟，向众人表示即将起舞。她边跳边一闪瞟一眼我的脸。我莞儿一笑。她没有回应，继续独舞。
起始我跳得很慢。随后一点点加快速度，最后竟跳得旋风一般。我的身体已不是我的身体。我的手、脚脖颈自行其是地在舞池里淋漓酣畅地跳之舞之。我可以在任其跳动的同时清晰地听取星斗的运行潮水的涌流声风的拂掠声。我觉得所谓跳舞即是这么一种东西。我踢腿、扬臂、摆头、翩然旋转。旋转时脑海中百晶晶的光球纷然四溅。
女孩瞥我一眼，她随我旋转一圈，重重踏一声脚。我感觉得出她体内也白光四溅。我觉得十分幸福。这样的心情生来还是第一次。
“如何，比在什么象工厂劳作快活得多吧？”小人道。
我什么也没回答。口中干巴巴的，想出声也出不得。
我们不知连续跳了几个小时，我主导舞步，她配合默契。那是堪称永恒的时间。后来她以实在筋疲力尽的情态止住舞步。抓住我的胳膊。我棗也许该称为小人棗也停了下来。我们停立在舞池中央面面相觑。她弓身脱下黑高跟鞋，拎在手上再次看我的脸。
我们离开舞厅，沿河边行走。我没有车，只好一个劲儿走下去。不久，路爬上舒缓的斜坡，四下笼罩在夜间开放的白色野花的香气中。回头望去，工厂的建筑物在眼下黑黝黝展开。昏黄的灯光和交响乐队演奏的节奏多变的曲目如花粉一般从舞厅洒往四周。风柔柔地吹来，月亮往她秀发透下湿润润的光。
她和我都没开口。跳舞后什么都无须说。她像是由人领路的盲人始终抓住我的臂肘。坡路顶头，是一片宽阔的草地。草地松林环绕，宛如平静的湖泊。柔软的青草齐刷刷齐腰铺开，在夜风吹拂下跳舞似的摇摇摆摆。点点处处探出花瓣闪光的花朵，在呼唤飞虫。
我搂着她的肩头到草地正中，一声不响把她按倒在地。“好一个不开口的人！”她笑，把高跟鞋往旁边一甩，双臂缠住我的脖颈。我吻在她嘴唇上，然后离开身体重新看她的脸。她的确美如梦幻。能如此把她抱在怀里，自己都难以置信。她闭起眼睛，似在等待我的吻。
我的面目发生变异就在这个时候。最初从鼻孔中有什么软乎乎胀鼓鼓的白东西爬出。蛆！见所未见的大蛆。蛆从两侧鼻孔一条接一条爬了出来，令人作呕的死臭突然雍塞四周。蛆落在她嘴唇，又从嘴唇落往喉部，有的甚至爬过眼睛钻入头发。鼻子表皮一片片卷起，下面溶解了的肉黏糊糊往四周扩展，最后只剩下两个黑孔。而蛆群仍从中蠢蠢欲动，蛆身粘满腐肉。
两眼有脓冒出。眼球被脓水挤压得一抽一抽地抖动两三下，随后长拖拖垂在两的两侧。起深陷的空洞里白线球一般盘着一团蛆。腐烂的脑浆里也有蛆聚在一起。舌头如大大的癞蝓晃悠悠从唇间垂下，旋即腐烂掉下。齿龈溶解，白牙一颗颗份份落下。蛆虫到处 咬破滑溜溜的头发探出头来。尽管如此，她搂在我后背的双臂仍未放松。我无法挣脱她的胳膊，无法侧过脸去甚至无法闭眼。胃里的沉积物翻了过来。耳畔传来小人的笑声。
女郎的脸仍溶解不止。筋肉像被什么弄得歪歪扭扭，下颚脱环，嘴豁然洞开，浆糊状的肉、脓、蛆趁势一同四溅。
我使劲吸一口气，准备大声喊叫。我希望有人棗谁都可以棗把我从这地狱中拉出。但终归我没有叫。我几乎凭直觉感知道这种事是不可能实际发生的。不过是小人设的圈套而已。小人想让我出声，只笑我出一声，我的身体便将永远归小人所以。而那正是小人求之不得的。
我咬紧牙关，闭起眼睛。这回得以顺利闭上，无任何阻力。一闭眼睛，传来风掠过草地的声响。我可以感觉出女郎的手指在死死扣进我的背。我毅然决然搂住她的身体，拉过来朝烂肉上大约曾有嘴的位置吻下去。黏糊糊的肉片和蠢蠢欲动的蛆团贴住我的脸，难以忍受的死臭直冲我的鼻腔。但这只是一瞬之间。睁开眼睛时，我正和原来娇美的女孩相互接吻，柔和的月光照着她桃红色的脸颊。我明白自己战胜了小人：我终于一声未发地做完一切。
“你赢了，”小人以甚为疲惫的声音说，“女郎是你的，我离去就是。”
小人旋即脱离我的身体。
“不过这不算完，”小人继续道，“你可以获胜许多许多次，失败只有一次。一旦失败，就前功尽弃。而你迟早必败。败就一切都完了。记住，我将一直等下去，等待那一天。”
“你为什么非抓我不可呢？”我向小人喊道，“别人为什么就不行？”
但小人没有回答，只是笑。小人的笑声在四周回荡片刻，尔后被风吹去。
终归给小人言中。眼下的我正受道全国警察的追捕。在舞厅看见我跳舞的一个人棗可能是那个老人棗跑去当局检举我跳舞时有小人钻入体内。我的同伴证实说一次我讲起过小人。于是对我发出逮捕证。一队警察前来包围工厂。第八工序那个美少女来我车间偷偷告诉我的。我飞身逃出车间跳入储藏成品象的水池，跨上一头象逃进森林。当时踩死了几个警察。
就这样，我差不多一个月从这片森林跑去那片森林从这座山转到那座山。靠吃树果吃昆虫喝溪水活命。但警察人多势众，他们迟早会逮住我。而一旦被逮，据说恐怕便要以革命的名义把我绑上绞盘撕得七裂八半。
小人每天夜晚都出现在我的梦里，叫我进入他体内。
“至少这样可以避免给警察逮去撕成八快。”小人说。
“但要永远在森林里跳舞，是吧？”我问。
“正是。”小人回答，“何去何从你自己选择。”说罢，小人嗤嗤窃笑。
然而我哪个都不能选择。
传来犬吠声，几条狗的吠声。他们将很快赶来这里。
萤火虫
很久、很久以前。虽这么说也不过十四、五年前的事，我曾住在一个校外的宿舍。那时我才十八岁，刚进大学，对东京完全不熟，加上我没有一人在外住过，家里担心便帮我找了宿舍。当然，费用也有关系，宿舍比一个人住便宜多了。我当然希望一个人租房子住来得清爽。但想到注册费、学费，及家里按月寄来的生活费，还是不好固执己见。
校外宿舍位于视野良好的文京区高台地，占地广阔，四周围着高大的水泥墙。大门外，迎面即是一株高大耸立的樱树，树龄一百五十岁，或者更多。站在树根处往上望，绿色枝叶几乎隐蔽了天空。
道路绕过巨木，笔直伸入宿舍中庭。中庭的两旁是两栋平行三层纲筋建筑。很高大的宿舍。可以听到从打开的窗口传出电台音乐。一律乳白色窗帘，褪了色也不显目的颜色。道路正面是两层宿舍本栋。一楼餐厅和大浴室，二楼讲堂、集会室，和贵宾室。一栋三层的第三宿舍和本栋并行。中庭宽阔，草坪装有洒
水器迎着阳光不停旋转。本栋内侧还有棒球足球兼用的操场，六座网球场，设备齐全。
这个宿舍的唯一问题(算不算问题依角度而定)，在于它是由几位不明右翼财团所经营。从宿舍简介及住宿规则即可明白大概：「深入教育根本，培养国家人才。」这便是本宿舍的创设精神，而由认同此精神之多位财经人士戮力捐输所支持......这是表面说法，里头到底在搞什么名堂，则相当暧昧模糊，没有一个确切的说法。有说是投机逃税，有说是藉设立宿舍的名目炒地皮，也有说只是纯粹牟取声名罢了。不管怎样，一九六七年春到翌年的秋，我住在这个宿舍。右翼也好、左翼也好，伪善也好、伪恶也好，从日常生活水准来看，大致没什么差别。
宿舍每日升起飘扬的国旗，作为一天的开始。当然配合国歌，国歌和国旗的关系形影不离，就像播报体育新闻时必定会播放进行曲一样。升旗台位于中庭，从每一间窗口都看得到。升旗工作由我住的东栋宿舍舍监负责。舍监是五十岁前后、体格魁梧目光锐利的斟梧男子;干硬发梢混了几根白发，晒黑的脸上有一道细长疤痕。据说出身中野陆军学校。其旁站着一个学生担任升旗助手。此
人剃光头，永远穿学生制服，真正身分不为人知。没人知道他的名字、住哪一栋，也没有人在餐厅或浴室碰过他。到底他是不是学生，都没人知道。只不过从穿着制服看来像个学生而已。他个子矮小又白皙，和中野陆军学校男子正好相反。每天清晨六点整，就这么两人站在宿舍中庭，升起太阳旗。搬入宿舍初期，我经常从窗子眺望升旗的光景。每天清晨六点整，两人准时出现于中庭。穿学生服的抱着一个恫木箱。中野陆军学校男子提着一台 soNY手提录音机。中舒陆军学校男子把音响置于升旗台下;穿学生服的打开桐木箱，箱里摆着迭得整整齐齐的国旗。穿学生服的将国旗交给中舒陆军学校男子。中野陆军学校男子将国旗系于旗杆绳，穿学生服的按下音响开关。
(国歌)「君之代…」
然后，国旗缓缓升上旗杆。
「……细石般」，国旗升到旗杆半途，「之于……」，国旗终于升至顶端。此时两人抬起头凝视国旗，挺胸立正。在天气晴朗大风飞扬的日子，算是雄壮的一幕。
黄昏的仪式大致和清晨相同，不过顺序倒过来。国旗缓缓从旗杆下降，收进桐木箱，国旗在夜里不飘扬。我不清楚国旗为何不在夜里飘扬?夜里，国家还是存在。许多人仍在工作，这许多人没有受到国旗的庇护，是不是有点不公平?或许没什么大不了，或许根本没人注意，只除了我 — 而我也不过是一瞬的想法，没什么深刻意味。
原则上宿舍房间分配，一、二年级生两人一间，三、四年级生一人一间。两人一间的是有铝门窗、纵深约六张榻榻米的长方形房间。摆设简洁，两张书桌椅、两个两段储物柜、两个现成架子。架上多半摆着晶体管收音机、吹风机、冲泡咖啡或方便面的碗盆汤匙。灰泥墙有大头钉贴着花花公子的夹页海报，书桌摆着几本教科书及流行小说。男宿舍大抵很脏乱。垃圾桶有长霉的橘子皮、代替烟灰缸的空罐上积了十公分厚烟灰、杯子留着洗不干净的咖啡渍。地板上散置着方便面的薄纸、啤酒空罐。风一吹，地板便扬起灰尘。床底下塞着味道难忍的待洗衣物;定期晒被的人可说绝无仅有，每张被子都吸饱汗水和体臭。
相较之下，我的房间相当清洁。地板光可鉴人，烟灰缸经常清洗，每周晒一次棉被，铅笔整齐摆在笔座里。墙壁上张贴着阿姆斯特丹运河的照片而非杂志夹页：我的室友有洁癖，他负责整个房间的扫除工作，连我的洗濯都代劳了，我不用动一根手指头。只要喝完啤酒把空罐放在桌上不久之后，它就会自动消失于垃圾桶。我的室友主修地理学。
「我研究地、地、地图。」最初他这么告诉我。
「喜欢地图?」我问。
「嗯，将来想到国土地理院就职，制造地、地、地图。」
世上真是有各色各样的人。到底是哪些人、为了什么动机制造地图，我连想都没想过。而且连说「地图」两字都结结巴巴的人，却一心想进国土地理院就职，也颇为奇妙。他有时说话结巴，有时不会。然而，只要一提到「地图」，保证结巴。
「你主修什么?」他问我。
「演剧。」我说。
「演剧就是演话剧吧？」
「不一样。只是阅读和研究戏曲。鲁西尼、伊奥涅斯科、莎士比亚等等。」
「我只听过莎士比亚，」他说，「其它都没听过。」
其实我也几乎没听过，只是课程里有罢了。
「因为喜欢才修的吧?」他说。
「说不上喜欢。」我说。
困惑的表情浮上他的脸，愈来愈深刻。我才知道好像我做了什么错事。
「我什么都可以读的，」我向他说明，「印度哲学也好，东洋史也好，都可以。不过偶然选了演剧，如此而已。」
「不了解，」他说，「像我、我、我是很喜欢地、地、地图，才选择研读地、地图学。也因此才向双亲说明，要了钱，千辛万苦来到东京，但你好像不是。」
他立场正确，我放弃向他说明。然后我们抽签，决定上下铺的床位，他抽到上铺。他永远穿着白色衬衫及黑色的西装裤。他身材高大、剃光头、颧骨高耸，上学一定穿制服，鞋子和书包都是黑色的，一眼看去就是标准右翼学生打扮，大家也这么认为。其实不然，他对政治可说完全不关心，因为选衣服麻烦所以才穿同色衣服。除了海岸线变化，或新凿铁路隧道以外的事，他一律不关心。而只要提到这方面的话题，他会花上一、两小时讲个不停，直到我不停打呵欠为止。
他每天六点准时起床，《君之代》国歌就是他的闹钟(可见升旗并非完全无用之举)。穿上衣服，走到浴室洗脸。他盥洗要花上极为漫长的时间，让人怀疑是不是把牙齿一颗一颗取下来刷。回到房间后，拉整毛巾绉纹，笔直挂在衣架上，将牙刷和肥皂放回橱柜。然后按下收音机开关，开始进行收音机体操。我属于晚睡且熟睡型，就算体操音乐响起我也可以睡。但只要他一开始跳跃，我就会从床上跳起来。怎么说呢，他每一跳跃(他实在是很会跳跃)，我的头必定在枕头上下震个不停，根本无法入睡。
「不好意思，」第四天，我开口了，「你何不到屋顶做收音机体操呢? 你把我吵醒了。」
「不行，」他说，「到屋顶上作体操，会被三楼的人抗议。这里是一楼，才不会吵到别人。」
「那去中庭如何?」
「也不行。没有收音机就听不到音乐，听不到音乐，体操做不好。」
他的收音机是要插电的，而我的收音机虽有电池却只能听调频台。
「那么，音乐开小一点，不要跳跃行不行?很吵呢，不好意思。」
「跳跃?」他一副吃惊表情，「什么跳、跳跃?」
「就是上下蹦蹦地跳。」
「体操哪有这一部分?」
我的头开始痛起来，很想算了。可是一旦说出口不能就此打住。我只好一面哼着NHK第一电台的收音机体操旋律，一面在地上跳上跳下给他看。
「看，就是这个，难道不是吗?」我说。
「是……是吧?确实有这一部分，我都没注意。」
「所以，」我说，「这部分能不能省略?其它部分我还能忍受。」
「不行，」他拒绝得干脆，「哪有省略一部分的?我已经做十年体操了，一做就会无意识地做到全部做完为止。省略其中一部分就接不下去了。」
「那全部不要做好了。」
「这不好吧，对人下命令的。」
「嘿，我可没下什么命令。只想至少能睡到八点。就算早起，也希望是自然醒来，而不是被震动轰醒，了解吗?」
「了解。」他说。
「那怎么说?」
「我们同时起床，一起做体操９９ｌｉｂ?，不就好啦。」
我放弃了，翻身蒙头大睡。他一日不缺，持续着收音机体操。
＊
每次提到室友和他的收音机体操，她就噗哧一笑。虽然我原意不是为了说笑话，结果自己也笑了。
见到她的笑容，虽然只有一瞬。也久违了。我和她在四谷站下电车，沿着电车线路的士堤，往市谷方向散步。五月的周日午后，清晨的雨在午前就干了，低垂阴郁的灰色云朵被南风吹得消失无踪。轮廓分明的樱树绿叶在风里闪闪烁烁，阳光带来初夏的热意，人们脱掉上衣或毛线衣披在肩上。网球场上，只穿短裤的年轻男子挥击着球拍，球拍的金属框在午后太阳照射下闪闪发光。只有并生长凳的两位穿黑色长袍的修女在愉快地讲话，看着她们，才知其实夏季还早。
走十五分钟就汗流浃背了。我脱掉厚棉衬衫，只穿一件T恤。她把淡灰的运动衣长袖卷到手肘部位，一件洗褪色的旧运动衣。似乎很早就看她穿着这件，不过也可能只是错觉。我常常有错觉，把什么都当成以前发生的事。
「你喜欢和人同住吗?」她问。
「不知道，还没很长的经验。」
她停在饮水机前喝一小口水。从裤袋取出手帕擦嘴，蹲下来绑鞋带。
「我看来像会喜欢吗?」她问。
「和人同住?」
「是的。」她说。
「很多事会比想象来得繁琐，密密麻麻的规则和收音机体操等。」我说。
「是。」她说，似乎在想什么，凝视着我。她的眼球不寻常地清澈。
我不曾注意它的眼球如此清澈，一种不可思议的透明感，像眺望着天空。
「不过我觉得这样也不好，也就是……」她说着，眼神觑着我，咬咬嘴唇，垂下眼皮，「不知道，随便。」
交谈终止，她打开脚步继续走。
再遇见她，是半年后了。半年之间，她清瘦得快认不出来。原本是特征的圆圆脸颊变细长，印象里，她没有这么瘦骨嶙峋的，她比以往更加清瘦而绮丽。这点我想说些什么，但又不知该说什么。
我和她并非有什么事来四谷。我和她在中央线电车偶然相遇，正好她和我都没特别什么事。「下车吧，」她说。我们在四谷站一起下电车。只剩两人时，我们却没什么话说。她为何邀我下电车，我也不知道，我们从一开始就没什么话说。
下电车后，她一语不发，脚步沙沙地快步前行。我追赶似地加快脚步，和她保持约一公尺的距离。我跟着她的背影走着，她时时转回头，朝着我说话。有些我答了，有些不知怎么答，也有些她根本听不到，也不在乎。她说了自己想要说的话之后，只管默默前行。我们在饭田桥右转，从皇后崛道走出来，通过神保町十字路口、御茶之水斜坡，绕过本乡，沿着东京陆上电车线道走到驹迅。颇有一段路程。走到驹迅时，已接近黄昏。
「这是哪里?」她问我。
「驹迅。」我说，「兜了一圈。」
「怎么走到这里?」
「你走的，我只在后面跟着。」
我们走到车站附近的荞麦面店，点了定食。从点餐到吃完，都没有说话。我走得浑身疲累，她一语不发，陷入思索。
「你体力不错。」吃过面后，我说。
「意外吗?」
「嗯。」
「我中学还是长跑选手。而且我父亲喜好爬山，从小每逢周日都登山，所以脚劲还不错。」
「看不出来。」
她笑了。
「送你回家。」我说。
「谢了，」她说，「我回去没问题，不必介意。」
「我没关系的。」
「真的不用，我习惯一个人回去。」
其实她一说，我倒松了口气。电车到她住处要花上一个钟头，这期间，两人并肩默然坐着可不好受。最后她一人回去了，我代以付了饭钱。
「哦，也许我们，不麻烦的话还能见个面?当然并没有特别非如此不可的理由。」
道别的时候。她说。
「完全不需要理由呀。」我吃惊地说。
看到我吃惊的表情，她稍微脸红。
「我不会讲，」她吃力地，把运动服的袖子推到手肘又拉下来，手上的汗毛映在电灯下染成金黄色，「没有存心要讲什么理由不理由的，原本意思不是这样。」她手靠在桌上，闭上双眼，思索更好的说法。然而并没有更好的说法。
「我不介意。」我说。
「我怎么都讲不好，」她说，「都是这样的，真的是讲不好。每当想说什么的时候，一直都是不同的意思冲出喉咙。或者不同意思，或者完全相反。为了要修正前面说的话，又常让场面更加混乱。好像自己身体分成两部分，围着一根柱子互相追赶，正确的意思总在另一部分，而这一部分的我，永远追赶不上。」
她两手放在桌上，凝视我的眼睛。
「我说的，你明白吗?」
「谁多少都有这种时候吧，」我说，「谁都有没把握正确表达，而感到不安的时候。」
听我说完，她露出失望的表情。
「根本不是这样。」她说，再也没说什么。
「我不介意再见面。」我说，「反正我一直有空。一人转来转去，还不如像这样健行来得有益身体。」
我们默默分开。我说再见，她说再见。
初次认识她，是在高二的时候。她和我同样年纪，念有名的教会中学。我们认识起因于我的好友 是她是他的女朋友。他们从小学就认识，两人的家距离不过两百公尺。就像大多的青梅竹马，他们对彼此之间的交往丝毫不觉该有隐密性，经常到对方家里玩，和对方家人吃饭。我和我当时的女友曾和他俩一起玩，结果往往变成只剩下我和他和她三人，而我的女友则消失无踪。后来我们发现其实这样才好，从立场看来，我是来宾，他是主持人，而她是他的体面助手兼女主角，就这么回事。
他社交最在行，表面一副潇洒嘻笑，内在却十分诚恳。他是个能够洞彻时机，适时切入笑语的聊天高手。他俩常聊些轻松的笑话热络场面，每当他或她有一方沉默，另一人就立刻接上话，他可以在不怎么有趣的对手的话中，迅速找出好几个有趣部分。和他聊天时，我时常沉浸在自己原来是一个很有趣的人的错觉。但是一旦他暂时离席，我和她马上陷入冷场，两人都不知该说些什么。事实上，我和她完全没有共同的话题。我们大抵什么也没说，不是把烟头往桌上烟灰缸按熄，就是静静喝一口水，等待着他回座。而只要他一回座，有趣的话题就马上就恢复。在他的葬礼三个月后，我只和她见过一次。刚好有事，所以约在咖啡馆，事情讲完就没话说了。我试着找话题，却半途而废，加上她谈话方式十怪异 — 她常在连我自己都不知道为什么的时候，突然生我的气。然后我和她分开。或许她会生气是因为，最后一次见到他的人，不是她，而是我的缘故吧。虽然这种说法可能不恰当，但我可以了解她的感受。如果可能，我会很希望为她改变当时的情况，但那是不可能的。一旦发生了，无论怎样努力，都没有办法改变。
五月某个午后，我和他在放学途中(正确的说法是逃课途中)，到弹子房打了四周弹子。我赢了最初一周，后面三局他赢了，按规矩我付了撞球钱。当夜他死在车库里。日产三六O跑车的排气孔，接上橡皮管塞进车内，车窗间隙用胶布牢牢贴紧，然后打开引擎。我不知道直到他死亡，会花上多少时间。反正等到去亲戚家探病的双亲返家时，他已死了。车上收音机开着，雨刷上还夹着加油站的收据。没有遗书，也想不出自杀动机。由于我是最后看到他的人，我被警察叫去做笔录。「他没有特别奇怪的举止，和平常完全一样。」我说。大抵准备自杀的人，不会连续打胜三局弹子吧，警察因此对他和我都没有好印象。他们也不认为逃课去打弹子的高中生落得自杀下场是很稀奇的事。报纸登了一小段记载，不久，事件了结。 7ea2." >红色日产三六O跑车被卖掉了。有一阵子，教室里他的座位上，经常摆着一束白花。
高中毕业来到东京，我想做的，就是什么都不要想太多。绿绒面弹子台、日产N三六O红色跑车、教室座椅上的白花，全都从我的脑海里消失了。火葬场高耸烟囱冒出的烟雾、派出所笔录室里的巨大文镇，全都摒弃脑后。最初我忘得很好，忘得很干净。然而，我的内心却有一种残留，随着时光流逝，这空气般的残留隐然成形，成为一种具体而单纯的东西。如果我把它换成言语，是像这样的话：
死并不是生的相反，而是其中一部分。
换成言语后，竟成为一种可厌、平凡、老套的说法。但我那时并无法以语言表达，而只是感到死亡像空气般存在体内，存在那块文镇里。存在弹子台上那并排的四粒弹珠里。我把这种叫做死亡的东西，像灰尘般吸入肺里存活着。
在那之前，我一直以为，死是一种独立的存在。也就是「死亡确实会在某种时候逮住我，但反过来说，在死之前的日子，我可也未曾被死逮过。」这是逻辑上的推理 — 生在此侧，死在彼端。
自从友人死去那晚，我已无法再同意，死只是单纯在该死之时而来。死并非生的相反，死早已存在于我体内，成为无法从脑海消去的一部分。在某个五月的夜里，把我的十七岁友人远去的死神也在同一夜找上了我。
我现在很清楚了。在弄清楚的同时，我曾苦思过，而苦思是很困难的作业，至少对当时十八岁的我而言，经由苦思找出可以妥协的观点，是十分艰难的。
＊..
从那时以来我每月一次或两次和她约会。大概可以称约会吧，想不出更好的说法。
她上东京郊外一所小而整洁、名声良好的女子大学。她的住处离学校走路不超过十分钟，沿着路边有清凉的水沟。她好像没交什么朋友，除了断断续续的话语以外，很少开口。因为她没有特别说什么，我也几乎没话讲。见面时，我们只是随便走走。但也并非没有一点进展。暑假过完时，她已十分自然地靠着我走路。我们并肩走着，上坡、下坡、过桥、过马路。我们不停地走，没有特别要去的地方，也没有特别要做的事。走了一阵子，进入吃茶店喝咖啡，喝完咖啡后再继续走。宛如一张一张幻灯片，一个又一个季节过去了。秋季来到，宿舍中庭的山毛榉枯叶铺盖了一地，穿上毛线衣可以闻到新季节的气息，我买了一双新鞋。秋季终了，冷风吹起的时候，她的身体已习惯靠着我的手腕。隔着厚厚的外套，我可以感觉她的气息。但也只有如此，我双手老插进外套口袋，一成不变地走着。我们的鞋底听不到脚步声，只有踩在悬铃木的枯叶时，才发出干燥的声响。她要的，并非抓着我的手腕，而是谁的手腕。她要的，并非我身上的温热，而是谁身上的温热，至少我是这么想。我感到她的眼睛比以前更透明，一种无处可去的透明感。她时时没来由地凝视着我。这时，我感到一层悲哀。每当她打电话来，或周日一早我出门约会时，常被宿舍同伴嘲弄，同伴都当我在谈恋爱。我没想说明，也没说明的理由，闲言任它去。我每次约会回来，一定有人提，到底上床了没啦。嗯，嗯，我一直这么响应。
我如此度过我的十八岁。太阳上升、夕阳落下、国旗上升、国旗落下。在周口里，我和亡友的爱人约会。到底自己在做什么，此后如何，我完全不知道。我研读戏剧课程里的克罗德、拉赛尔、艾杰修汀，他们都在书里。也另存在于书里。我几乎没有朋友，宿舍里认识的也只是几个。我一直在研读，大家都以为我想成为小说家，而我一点都没有想当小说家的意思，我什么都不想。好几次，我和她谈到这种心情，她似乎懂得我想要表达的。但我并不很会讲，如前所述，我经常在思索正确字眼，而正确的字眼却停留于完全无法触及的闇黑里。每到周末夜，我便坐在宿舍大厅等她的电话。有时她三个礼拜没来电话，有时连续两周来电。而我总是在周末夜，固定坐在大厅椅子上等待她的电话。周末夜学生多半去玩了，大厅几乎空无一人。我总是坐在沉默的空间里，凝视着空气中漂浮的光粒子，挣扎着想看清自己。每个人都在追逐人或者物体，我却不知道未来如何，我伸出手去，只摸到一片茫然的空气之墙。
那个冬季我在新宿一家小唱片行打工。圣诞节我送她喜欢的亨利．曼西尼《dear heart》唱片当礼物。我以圣诞专用的圣诞树图案包装纸和粉红色丝带包好礼物。她为我打了一双毛线手套，指头稍短了点，不过还暖和。她圣诞节没有返家，新年期间，我到她住处吃饭。那年冬天发生了许多事情。一月底，室友发高烧四十度，昏睡了两天，我和她的约会因此泡汤。他一副快死的模样，我可不能放着不管。除了我，好像也没有其它人照顾他。我买冰块，放进塑料袋里做冰枕，用冰毛巾为他擦汗，每隔一小时测一次体温。他发烧一整天，第二天一早，却完全没事般地霍然起床，体温下降到三十六点二度。
「奇怪，」他说：「我这辈子从没有发过烧。」
「你还是发烧了。」我说着，拿出我那两张没有去的音乐会招待券给他瞧。
「还好，只是招待券。」他说。
二月，下了几次雪。
二月底，我为一点小事和宿舍高年生吵架。对方的头撞到水泥墙，还好没造成很大伤口。我被叫到舍监室听训，因此之故，住宿舍的感觉越来越坏。
我十九岁，升大二。当了几科，成绩几乎是C或D，只有很少的B。她则全科通过，顺利升上二年级。季节又循环了一回。六月，她二十岁了。她完全无法理解，自己已二十岁。对我，对她，我们的年纪总在十八和十九岁之间。十八再来是十九，十九再来是十八 — 这才是可理解的。然>而她实已二十，接下来的冬天，我也二十岁了。只有死去的那人才永远十七岁。
她生日那天下了雨。我在新宿买蛋糕，搭电车到她住处。电车很挤又晃得厉害，我来到她的住处时，蛋糕已像罗马遗迹般崩溃了。无论如何，我们还是插了二十根蜡烛、点了火柴、拉窗帘、关电灯，毕竟还有点生日气氛。她开一瓶葡萄酒，吃了蛋糕，我们简单用餐。「二十岁了，有点好笑。」她说。餐毕，我们收拾餐具，坐在床上喝剩下的葡萄酒。我喝一杯的速度，她可以喝两杯。
那天她难得说了许多话。小时候的事、学校里的事、家庭的事，绵密而又异常细腻。她谈着A的时候，不知何时又涵括了B。不久从B却又谈到 C，不停接下去，没有终止。我试着打岔，毕竟放弃了。我放唱片，放完之后，又放下一张，全部放过一遍，又回到最初一张。窗外雨下着不停，时间缓慢流转，只有她一人不停说话。时针指到十一点，我真的开始不安。她已连续四个小时说个不停。回家的最末班车时间也快到了，我不知道该怎办。让她尽情说完呢，还是伺机打断?我有点困惑，她实在说了很多很多话。
「太晚了，不好意思，但也该走了，」我说，「我们再连络吧。」
不知有没有听到，她停了一下，却又开始说话。我只好点燃香烟，既然如此，还是让她说个够，再来只好看着办。但是她终于说停了。我一下警觉到停的时候，她已经说完了。话头像被拧掉一般，飘浮在半空。正确说来，她的话并没完，而是藏书网突然消失了。虽然她想继续，却突然什么都没有了，好象话在哪里掉落了。她嘴唇微张，茫然凝视我，她的视线彷佛隔着不透明薄膜，我警觉自己像做错了什么事。
「我不是存心想打断，」我小心地，「但时间也迟了，而且……」
她眼眶溢出了眼泪，不到一秒便藏书网滚下脸颊，掉落在唱片封套上。泪水一决堤，就无法停止，她两手靠在床上，呕吐般哭泣。我伸出手，轻触她的肩。她身体微弱地颤抖，我几乎直觉地抱紧她，她靠着我，无声地哭泣，呼出的热气和着眼泪濡湿了我的衬衫。她的食指像找寻什么般，在我的背上彷徨地摸索。我左手支撑她的身体，右手轻抚她的细发。很长的一段时间，保持着同样的姿势，等待她停止哭泣。她始终没有停止哭泣。
＊
这晚，我和她上床了。我不知道这样做对不对，但除了这样，还能怎样?真的很久没有和女孩上床了。而她是第一次和人上床。我试着问，为何没有和他上床……这问题实在是不妥，她没有回答。她的手离开我的身体，背对我，眺望窗外的雨。我看着天花板。吸着烟。天亮时，雨已停。她背对我睡着了，或许她一直都醒着，然而对我而言，都是一样的。如同以往，沉默将她完全包覆。我一动也不动望着她白哲的背，最后放弃，我从床上起来。
宛如时间突然停止。地板上散置着昨夜的唱片封套，桌上剩下一半崩溃的蛋糕，书桌上放着辞典和法语动词表，墙壁上贴着月历 — 没有摄影或绘画，只有数字的月历。月历是空白的，没有写字，也没有标示任何记号。 我捡起落到床下的衣服。衬衫的胸口还冷冷湿湿的，凑近脸闻，仍可以嗅到她的头发气味。我在书桌上的纸条本上写了「希望最近打电话连络」的字条。走出房间，悄悄关上门。
一个礼拜没有任何电话打来。由于她的住处不帮人接电话，我写了很长的信。我尽可能照实表达自己的感觉。
「……我不知道很多事。虽然努力想弄清楚，却徒费时间。随着时间经过，到底自己身处何方也没搞懂。但我尽可能不让自己去想太深刻的问题。想得太深刻时，世界变得很不真实。而结局多半只是把周遭的人推向某处，而我一点都不想把别人逼到角落。很想见你，但是如同前述，到底是对不对，我也不知道……」
像这样内容的信。
七月，回信来了。很短的信。
……我决定休学一年。暂时是这样，便我不认为会再回学校了。所谓休学，不过是手续的问题。明天就要搬家了，好像很匆促，其实是很久以来一直想做的事。虽然几次想找你谈谈，还是做不到。和人说话，是一件很可怕的事。发生了很多事，请不要介意。无论发生了什么，或者没发生什么，结局应该都是如此。或许我这么说会让你受伤，如果是这样，很抱歉。我想说的只是，不要为了我而责怪自己，或责怪其它的某人，这些我都应当自己全部承担的。我曾让你感到困惑，不过这也是……这也是极限了。
听说京都山中有不错的疗养院，并不是医院，而是可以让人自由行动的设施。总之，想先到那里安静下来。琐碎的余事，容或有机会再写。这封信写得不好，虽然我已重写十遍。这一年，有你相伴，我真的是……真的是说不出的感谢。请务必相信……我无法再说什么了。你送我的唱片，一直细心听着。说不定还能，在这不确实的世界里，我们说不定还有相遇的时候。到那个时候，再谈。?
再见
她的信我反复读了不下上百遍。每一次重读，总有禁不住的悲伤袭上心头。一如被她凝视时，所感觉的那种哀愁。我无法把这样的感觉带到任何地方，或者把它结束。那是如风一般，毫无轮廓，也无重量可言的感觉，我甚至无法将之保留在自己身上。风景在我眼前缓缓倒退，周遭人们的谈话，根本无法到达我的耳际。周末夜里，我不变地坐在大厅的椅子上，听任时间流过。没人打电话给我，我也没想打电话给任何人。除了在那里坐着，我不知道还能做什么。我总是打开电视，假装看着棒球转播，凝视自己和电视之间的一层恍惚的空间，我把那空间分成两部分，把分开的部分再分成两部分，一而再，再而三地重复这个动作。最后我做成一个可以存放在掌心的，极小的空间。
到了十点，我关闭电视回到房间，上床睡觉。
＊
月底，室友送我一个速溶咖啡的空瓶。瓶里放着一只萤火虫、一片草叶、和一点点水，瓶盖穿了几个流通空气的洞。很久没有靠近瞧萤火虫了，当周围明亮时，它看起来只像水边的小黑虫罢了，但仔细瞧，确实是一只萤火虫。每当萤火虫尝试攀上光滑的坡璃瓶壁，就不断跌下来。
「在院子抓的，大概是从附近大饭店的庭园不小心飞到我们这里。」
他一边将衣服和笔记本塞进背袋一边说着。暑假已放了好几周，留在宿舍里的大概只有我们两个。我不想回家，他则是有实习科目，不过实习一完，他也要回家了。
「送给女孩子不错，一定会恨高兴。」他说。
「谢了。」我说。
黄昏的宿舍悄然无声，国旗从旗杆降下。餐厅开了灯，因为学生人数减少，餐厅只开半边的灯。关掉右半边，只开左半边，空气里传来晚餐的气味，奶油汤的味道。我拿着装萤火虫的空瓶，来到屋顶。屋顶没有人影，晒衣绳挂着一件忘了收的白衬衫，像蛇的蜕皮般在晚风中飘摇着。我走到角落生绣的铁梯，爬上蓄水塔。圆形的蓄水塔，白天里吸饱了太阳的热量，现在还温温的。我靠着狭小的栏杆坐下，眺望天际，缺了一角的明月浮现眼前，右手边是新宿的街道，左手边是池袋街道。汽车行列的头灯，宛如鲜亮的河流巡行一条又一条街道。城市的声音柔和地混合，云朵般飘浮在街道的上空。瓶底的萤火虫发出微光。但那光芒太过微弱，颜色十分浅淡。记忆里，萤火虫光芒似乎应更加明亮，在夏夜的黯异中晶亮地飞舞才对。
也许萤火虫已奄奄一息吧。我抓着瓶口稍稍摇晃，萤火虫被瓶壁碰撞几下之后飞了起来。然而光芒还是一样微弱。也许只是我记忆的缘故，只是我自己一厢情愿，而萤火虫实际上并没有那么光亮也许在我记忆里，四周应更加黑暗才是。究竟，最后一次看到萤火虫是在何时?在我记忆里，只有暗夜里的水声。砖瓦筑成的水闸。以轮子旋转开闭的那种水闸。岸边浓密的牧草覆盖了河流，周遭十分黑暗，在水闸的水溜处，有上百只的萤火虫飞舞。点点汇聚的黄色光芒，宛如燃烧的火药般映照水面。到底是何时的事?还有，在哪里?想不起来。眼前、过去，时间前后混乱。我闭上眼，深呼吸，整理自己思绪。我初次在日落以后攀上这座水塔。风的声音清晰可闻，轻吹的风，却在我的身上留下强烈的痕迹。我紧闭双眼，一如记忆里的当时，溶入夏夜的黑暗之中。时间缓缓经过，夜色终于包覆了大地。都市之光再怎么强调其存在，夜色仍将全部带走。我打开瓶盖，放在蓄水塔边缘，等待萤火虫逸出。萤火虫彷佛没有把握置身何处，踉踉跄跄在瓶身绕一圈，稍停在墙上剥落的油漆上。一下往右摸索前进，一下往左转，像要确定什么似的，萤火虫花了好长的时间爬上钉帽，静静蹲踞着，彷佛停止气息般，动也不动。我靠着栏杆坐着，静静凝视着萤火虫。很长的时间，我们静止不动。只有风在我俩之间，河流般地穿梭而过。榉木叶子在黑暗里互相摩
挲。
我一直等待。
过了许久，萤火虫起飞，忽然想到什么似的开始展翅。像找回失去的时间一般，在蓄水塔边缘描出一道弧形，稍事停留在风微弱处，一瞬间，穿过栏杆，漂浮于夜色的闇黑，朝东飞去。萤火虫飞走之后，那光线的轨迹在我的心中长期留存。闭上眼睛，厚密的黑暗之中，微微的光芒宛如无处可去的游魂，徘徊不已。黑暗中，我几度尝试伸出手指，却什么也接触不到。一丝微弱的光芒，永远停在指尖的稍前端。
掐脖子鸟与星期二的女人们
那个女人打电话来时，我正站在厨房里煮着通心粉。在通心粉煮好之前，我和着FM电台的音乐，吹着罗西尼『鹊贼』序曲的口哨，这是煮通心粉时最合的音乐。
电话铃响时，我原本不想理会它，继续煮我的通心粉，因为面快煮好了，而且收音机里又播放着我最喜欢的伦敦交响乐团的曲子。但是，我还是将瓦斯的火关小一点， 右手拿着筷子，到客厅里去接电话，因为我突然想到或许有朋友要帮我介绍新工作。
『占用你十分钟的时间。』
唐突地传来一个女人的声音。
『对不起，』我吃一惊地反问。『你到底要说些什麽呢？』
『我说只要十分钟的时间就够了！』
女人又重复地说了一遍。
我一点儿也认不得这个女人的声音，因为我对於别人音色的辨认具有绝对的自信，所以我想这一定是一个我不认识的女人，她的声音低沉、柔和，而且语句中没有重点。
『对不起，请问你是那位！』
我首先表现出一副彬彬有礼的模样。
『这个不重要，我只要十分钟的时间就够了，我想这样就足够我们彼此了解了。』她快速地说。
『彼此了解？』
『我是指精神上！』
她简洁地回答。
我伸长脖子，探头看看厨房里的情形，煮通心粉的锅子正冒着白蒙蒙的雾气，好像正指挥着伦敦交响乐团的『鹊贼』。
『可是，非常不巧，我现在正在煮通心粉，已经快煮好了，如果再和你讲十分钟的电话，通心粉大概会被我煮烂了，我想最好是把电话挂断。』
『通心粉？』女人惊讶地说。『现在才早上十点半而已，为什麽在早上十点半煮通心粉呢？你不觉得很奇怪吗？』
『你管我奇不奇怪，反正都与你不相干！』我说。『早饭没吃什麽，我现在饿得很呢！』
『好吧！随便你了，我现在就挂电话。』
她的声音突然变得感情非常丰富。『不过我待会儿会再打来。』
『等一下！』我慌忙地说。『如果你是要向我推销什麽的话，打几百次电话都没用，我现在正失业中，没有馀钱买任何东西！』
『这件事我早就知道了，你放心！』她说。
『知道了？你知道什麽？』
『知道你在失业中啊！总之赶快去煮通心粉吧！』
『你到底是－－』
我正在说话中电话就被切断了，这种挂电话的方法也实在太唐突了，好像不是挂上话筒，而是用手指按下开关按钮似的。
我满腔的感情突然找不到地方宣 ， 手握着话筒，茫然地看着前方，过了一会儿才想起通心粉的事，便重新回到厨房，关掉瓦斯炉的火，将通心粉从锅子里捞起来，加上一些番茄酱，就开始吃了起来。
或许是因为接电话的缘故，通心粉煮得太软了，但是并没有软到不能吃的地步。
我一边听着收音机里传出来的音乐，一边将近二百五十公克的面一点也不剩地送进胃里。
我在流理台洗盘子和锅子，一边烧开水，然後，泡了一壶红茶，一边想着刚才那通电话。
彼此了解？
到底那个女人为bbr>?９9lib?什麽打电话给我呢？而且，那个女人是谁呢？
这一切都像一个谜。我觉得这是一通不认识的人打来的匿名电话，但是一点儿都找不到她的用意到底在那里。
随它去吧！－－我心里这样想着－－不论她是什麽样的女孩，我都不想了解，因为这种事情对我毫无用处，对我而言，现在最重要的就是找一份新的工作，而具要赶快确立一个新的生活圈。
但是，坐在客的沙发上的我，虽然看着图书馆借来的莲德敦的小说，却仍然频频抬头看看电话，我对她所说的『花十分钟 5f7c." >彼此了解一下』这句话越来越感兴趣，十分钟之内到底能够了解些什麽呢？
从一开始她就提出了十分钟的时间，让我觉得她对自已所设定的时间非常有把握，但是，事实上或许可能短过九分钟，或许长过十一分钟，就像煮通心粉一样…
…。
因为脑子里老是想着这剧事，连小说的情节都看不下去了，於是我起身做做体操，然後去熨熨衬衫。只要我觉得脑子里一片混乱时，就去熨衣服，这是我长久以来的习惯。
我熨衬衫的全部工程一共分然十二个步骤。第一个步骤衣领到第十二个步骤左袖为止，顺序绝对不会搞混。我一边一个个地数着号码，一边依照顺序熨下去，如果不这麽做的话，就不能将衬衫熨好。
我陶醉在蒸汽声中，和棉质布料加热後所发出独特的香味里。一共熨了叁件衬衫，确认没有任何绉痕之後，我将它挂回橱子里。关掉熨斗的电源，和熨衣台一起收起来。这时候我的脑子里已经清楚多了。
觉得口渴正准备到厨房喝水时，电话又响起来了，我感到有些困惑，不知该直接去厨房，或者回到客厅里，但是最後还是回到客厅接起电话。
如果是刚才那个女人又打电话来的话就要告诉她现在正在熨衣服，必须马上挂电话。
但是，打电话来的是妻子，我看了一眼放在电视上的时钟，指针正好指着十一点半。
『你好吗？』她说。
『很好啊！』我呆呆地说。
『正在做什麽？』
『熨衣服。』
『发生了什麽事？』妻子问。
她的声音里带着些许的紧张，我一觉得混乱时就熨衣服这事情，她是非常了解的。
『没事！只不过想熨衣服而已，没有什麽特别的事。』
我说着坐到椅子上，将拿在左手上的听筒换到右手来。
『你找我有事吗？』
『嗯！关於工作方的事情，有一个满不错的工作机会。』
『喔！』我说。
『你会写诗吗？』
『诗？』
我大吃一惊地反问，诗？到底什麽叫做诗呢？
『我的朋友开的杂志社里准备出版一本针对年轻女孩子的小说杂志，要找一负责个挑选诗的稿件的人，最好能够每一个月在刊头上写一首诗，工作很简单，待遇也不错，虽然只是兼差性质的，不过做得好的话，或许还可以兼任编辑的工作－－』
『简单？』我说。『请等一下！我要找的是有关法律事务所的工作，什麽时候又跑出诗词挑选员这码子事来了呢？』
『我听你说过，你高中时喜欢写些什麽东西。』
『那是新闻！高中新闻！报导足球大赛中那一班获胜，物理老师在楼跌倒住院疗伤，写一些拉里拉杂的小事，不是写诗！我不会写诗！』
『不是什麽太大不了的诗，只不过是让高中女生看的，随便写就可以了！』
『不管那一种诗我都不会写！』
我斩钉截铁地回答，没有理由叫我一定非得会写诗不可吧！
『唉！』
妻子觉得非常可?９9ｌｉｂ?惜地说：
『可是，你又找不到和法律有关的工作！』
『已经谈了好几家了，这个星期内会给我回答，如果真的不行的话，再考虑一下你说的那份工作吧！』
『好吧！就这麽了！今天是星期几呢？』
『星期二。』
我稍微想了想之後说。
『你能不能帮我到银行去缴瓦斯费和电话费呢？』
『好啊！我正打算去买晚饭，可以顺道去银行。』
『晚饭想吃什麽呢？』
『嗯！还不知道！』我说。『还没有决定，买了之後再说。』
『有件事想和你商量一下！』
妻子改变语气地说。
『这是我自已的想法，我觉得你实在不必再耗费心力找工作了！』
『为什麽？』
我再度惊讶地问。
全世界的女人打电话给我，好像都是为了要叫我大吃一惊似的。
『为什麽不用再找工作了？再叁个月我就领不到失业保险金了，我还可以再游手好闲下去吗？』
『我有固定的薪水，副业也进展得很顺利，而且还有一笔可观的储款，只要不太浪费，一定够吃的。』
『你是叫我在家里做家事吗？』
『你不喜欢？』
『我不知道！』
我老实地说，我真的不知道。『我考虑考虑！』
『考虑一下吧！』妻子说。
『猫回来了吗？』
『猫？』
我反问了之後，才发现从今天早上起我就将猫的事情忘得一乾二净了。
『没有！好像没有看到它回来。』
『你能不能到附近去找找看呢？它已经失踪四天了。』
我没有回应，只是将话筒又移到左手。
『我想它大概是在後巷那个空房子的庭院里吧！那个有小鸟的石雕的庭院。我以前在那里看过它好几次，你知道那个地方吗？』
『不知道！』我说。『你一个人没事跑那里去做什麽？而且我以前怎麽从来不曾听你提起－－』
『不跟你闲扯了，我要挂电话！还有工作要我处理呢！希望你能顺利地找到猫。』
然後她就挂断了电话。
凝视着听筒好一阵子之後，才将它放下。为什妻子会对『後巷』了解得这麽清楚呢？我觉得非常不可思议，因为进去『後巷』必须翻过一道很高的围墙，而且，故意做这些事情而进入『後巷』，是毫无意思的。
我到厨房喝水，打开FM的频道，然候修剪指甲。收音机里正播放罗勃特．布兰特的新LP专辑，但是我只听了两首歌，就觉得耳朵发痛，非关掉收音机不可。
接着我到屋檐下检查猫吃东西用的盘子，发现昨天晚上我装在盘子里的鱼乾一尾也不少，证明猫还是没有回来过。
我站在屋檐下，看着明亮的初夏阳光，照着我家狭窄的庭院，越看就越觉得这实在不是我理想中的庭院。因为在一天里只有很短的时间可以照到太阳，所以泥士显得既黑又湿，而且庭院里只有二、叁株紫阳花而已，更重要的是我并不怎麽喜欢紫阳花。
附近的树林里，有一种鸟的叫声，听起来像被掐到脖子似的，我们就叫它『掐脖子鸟』，这个名字是太太取的，不知道它真正的名字到底叫什麽，也没有看过它的长相，不过这些都没有关系，它还是每天都到附近的丛林来，在我们的世界里发出它那独特的叫声。
为什麽我非得出去找猫不可？我一边听着掐脖子鸟的叫声，心里一边想着，即使真的找到猫了，我又能怎样呢？劝它回家，或者对它哀求起说：大家都在心着你，回家去吧！
唉！算了！我又叹了一口气。让猫到它喜欢居住的地方生活，这不是很好吗？而我已经叁十出头了，竟然还找不到适当的工作！每天洗衣服，想着晚饭的菜单，还有寻找离家出走的猫。
从前－－我回想着－－，我也是一个有着满腔抱负的人，高中时立志要当律师，而且我的成绩也不坏。高中叁年级时选举『模范生』，我是班上的第二高票，後来也顺利地进入大学的法学院，当时的我，的确非常的狂傲。
我坐在厨房的桌子前，双手托着下巴，心里思忖着：到底是什麽缘故，使我的人生指针开始变得凌乱起来的呢？我不清楚。既不是政治运动受挫，也不是对大学感到失望，更不是交女朋友方面不顺利。我只是照着自已的样子，平凡地活着。
但是，大学毕业之後，有一天我突然觉得过去的个已并不是一个真正的自已。
当初这种感觉只发生在一些眼睛看不见的小事上，但是，随着时间累积，这种感觉越来越时间的累积，这种感觉越来越严重，最後甚至严重到令我将自已全部否定掉的地步。
二月开始，我辞掉了法律事务所的工作，我是我从学校毕业後就一直工作的地方，而且并没有什麽特别的理由。我即不是工作的内容不喜欢，也不是待遇不好，同事之间的相处也很愉快。
法律事务所内的工作正好可以使我发挥所学。
而且，我觉得自已做得很好，理解力快，行动敏捷，不任意抱怨，而且对现实事务又有自已的看法。因此，当我提出辞呈时，老先生－－这间事务所的所胝者是一对律师父子，老先生是指父亲－－表示要替我加薪，希望我能留下来。
但是最後我还是把工作辞掉了，为什麽要辞职？这个理由我也不太清楚，辞职之後的希望和展望，我也没有仔细想过。只是藉口说是想准备司法官考试，就顺利地将工作辞去，但是事实上我并不是真的想当律师。
我在晚餐时对妻子说：『我想把工作辞掉！』
妻子只是说：『这样的啊！』
然後就不再说话了，到底『这样的啊！』这句话是什麽意思，我一点儿也清楚。
看到我也沉默下来时，她说：『想辞就辞吧！』
她接着说：『反正是你自已的人生，你要怎麽过就怎麽过！』
说着一边将鱼骨头夹在盘子旁。
妻子在服装设计学校畅无，有一份不错的待遇，又从做编辑的朋友那里拿回一些美工的工作回来兼差，收入不坏，而我也可以领半年的失业保险。如果我每天待在家里，还可节省下外餐费和交通费，生活应该和上班时不会有太大的差异。
於是我就把工作辞掉了。
十二点半时，我如往当一样，将亚麻料子的大袋子背在肩膀上，先去银行了瓦斯和电话费，然後到超级市场买晚餐，再到麦当劳吃了一个起司汉堡，喝了一杯咖啡。
回到家里将食品放到冰箱里时，电话铃响了，我听起来觉得铃声好像非常焦躁不安，我只好将切了一半的豆腐暂时先放在桌上，先到客厅去接电话。
『通心粉吃完了吧！』
是早上那个女人。
『吃完了！』我说。
『但是我得去找猫了。』
『不能等十分钟再去吗？』
『可以啊！如果只是十分钟的话！』
她到底想做什麽？为什麽我非得和这个素不相识的女人聊十分钟的话不可。
『那麽我们互相了解一下吧！』
她静静地说。
这个女人－－虽然我知道她是一个什麽样子的女人，我猜想她大概是面向电话，坐在椅子上，两脚交叉地和我讲话。
『你到底想怎麽样？』我说。『即使是相处十年也很难清楚地了解对方！』
『试试看，好吗？』她说。
我脱下手表，将它改换成马表，现在已经是十秒钟了。
『为什麽会找上我？』我问。『为什麽不去找别人而会找上我？』
『这是有理由的。』
她如同何在慢慢咀嚼食物一样，仔细地说着这句话。
『我认识你。』
『什麽时候？什麽地点？』我问。
『任何时刻，任何地点！』她说。『这些事情无关紧要，重要的是现在，不是吗？而且，如果要谈这些的话，时间很快地就会没了，如果你不急的话是无所谓啦！』
『你能给我证明吗？证明你认识我！』
『例如？』
『我的年龄？』
『叁十。』
女人立刻回答。
『应该说叁十又两个月，这样可以吗？』
我不知该麽才好，这个女人确实认识我，但是，我却不记得听过这样的声音，我是从来不会忘记别人的声音的。我可能会忘记别人的长相、或名字，但是绝对会将声音牢牢记住。
『这一次换你来想像一下我的模样了！』
女人用诱惑的口吻说。
『从声音想像我是一个模样的女人，可以吗？这不是你最擅长的吗？』
『我想不出来！』我而。
『试试看嘛！』女人说。
我看了手表一眼， 还有五秒钟才一分，我 望地叹了一口气，就接受她的要求吧！但是，只要我一让步，对方就会得寸进尺，这是我从叁十年生活中所获得的经验－－确实如她所说，这曾经是我的特技之一－－集中精神去听对方的声音。
『二十七、八岁，大学毕业，东京人，小时候生活环境中上。』我说。
『太厉害了！』
她说，电话那头传来打火机点烟的声音。
『再说说看！』
『长得满漂亮的，至少你自已是这麽认为，但是有一点自卑。个子矮矮，或者乳房小小的。』
『说得像极了！』
她低声地笑着说。
『结了婚，但是还不太习惯，而且有些问题。没有问题的女人不会随意打匿名电话给男人。但是，我还是不认识你，至少没有和你讲过话，所以不管怎麽想，我还是无法想出你的模样。』
『或许是吧！』
她用平静的语气说。
『你对自已的能力如此地有自信？你难道不认为是你的脑子里有一个致命的死角，否则你怎麽会想不起来我是谁呢？像你这麽聪明、能力又强的人，应该想不起来的啊！』
『你不要替我戴高帽子！』我说。
『我不知道你是谁，我也不是那麽伟大的人，我也有能力所不及的地方，所以才会越来越走偏人生的方向。』
『但是，我还是很喜欢你，虽然这是过去的事了！』
『那麽，谈谈过去的事情吧！』我说。
时间两分五十叁秒。
『过去有什麽好谈的，我们的事情也不会记录在历史上！』
『会成为历史的！』我说。
或许正如她所说的，我的脑子里存在着某一个死角，这个死角或者身体里的任何一个角落，就像一个失去的地底世界，而且，这个死角正是使我的人生观发生狂乱的原因。
『我现在正在床上呢！』女人说。『刚刚洗完澡，什麽衣服也没穿。』
什麽衣服也没穿！那不像春宫电影里的情节一样了吗？
『你觉得我应该穿件内裤比较好呢？还是穿双裤袜比较好？或者什麽都不要穿！』
『随你自已高兴就好！』我说。『不过，我不喜欢在电话里谈这些，一点趣味都没有。』
『十分钟就好了！只有十分钟而已，对你不会造成太大的损失，而且我们只不过是一问一答而已。你认为裸体比较好，还是穿上什麽比较好。我什麽衣服都有呢！例如袜带……』
袜带？竟然有人穿袜带，莫非她是『阁楼』杂志的模特儿。
『你最好不要穿衣服，也不要乱动！』我说。
时间是四分钟。
『而且我的阴毛还是湿的呢！』她说。
『完全撺乾，所以现在还是湿的，热热湿湿的，非常柔软喔！黑亮亮的，非常柔软，要不要摸摸看！』
『我不喜欢－－』
『再下面一点也是热的呢！好像刚热过的奶油，非常热的喔！真的哟！你想不想知道我现在是什麽姿势呢？右膝立起来，左脚横地打开，像时钟十点五分的角度，』
从说话调来，我知道她所言不假。她真的将两腿打开成十点五分的角度，而且把阴部弄得湿湿热热的。
『摸摸唇，慢慢的，而且是开着的。慢慢的喔！用指腹慢慢的摸，非常慢喔！再用另一只手玩弄着左边的乳房，从下面开始轻轻地按摩，乳头突然的变硬，重复几次吧！』
我闷不吭声地将电话挂掉。
然後躺在沙发上，看着天花板，吸了一根烟，马银停在五分二十叁秒的位置。
我闭上了眼精，出现一幅五颜六色的彩画。
为什麽会这样呢？为什麽所有的事情都不对劲了呢？
十分钟头後，电话又响了，这一次我并没有去接，电话响了十五声之後就挂掉了。
两点前我越过 院的围墙，到後巷去。
所谓的『後巷』事实上称不上是一条後巷，因为它不是一条真正的路。路应该是有入口、出口的。
但是，『後巷』没有入口、也没有出口，称不上，因为至少死胡同还有个入口。附近的人们为了方便称呼，就叫它『後巷』。
『後巷』长约二百公尺，宽不到一公尺，再加上路上堆了许多杂七杂八的东西，必须侧着身体才能在这里走动。
据说－－这是将房子便宜地租给我们的叔父所说的－－『後巷』原本是有出口和入口的，而且具有连接道路与道路的机能，但是，随着高度成长期的到临，空地都盖了新房子，结果道路就越来越狭窄，而住在这里的人也不喜欢外人在自已的庭院里钻进钻出，於是就将小路者起来．刚开始时大家只是利用一些粗动的屏障物，但是渐渐地就有人用水泥墙、或铁丝网将自已家门口的庭院围起来，於是这就变成一条没有出口，也没有入口的『後巷』了。
妻子为什麽会到『後巷』去呢？我实在想不出正确的理由，而我自已也只不过到『後巷』去过一次，更何况她是一个最讨厌蜘蛛的人。
但是，不管怎麽再叁思考，我的脑子都像一片混乱的糊，越想越乱，头的两侧也隐隐作痛起来，因为昨天晚上没有睡好，也因为五月初的暑气，更因为那通奇怪的电话。
算了！别再胡思乱想了，还是去找猫吧！与其老是在家里，不如到外面去走走，而且至少还有个具体的目的。
初夏的阳光将树影投映在地面上，因为没有风的缘故，影子永远固定地留在地面上一动也不动，看起来像是个古板的宿命论者，任凭外界变化的摆布。
我从树影下穿过，东一块西一块的影子照在的白色衬衫上，彷佛凹凸不平的地球表面。
这附近一片静寂无声，静得彷佛连绿叶行光合作用的呼吸声都听得见似的。
天空中飘浮着几朵小云，彷佛中世纪的铜版画的背景里所描缯的，形状鲜明而简洁的云朵。因为眼前所看见的每一富景象都深刻而鲜艳，这更使我清楚的感觉到体内那股茫然的不存在感正存蠢蠢欲动。而且，天气实在热得人受不了。
我穿着T恤、 薄薄的棉质裤子，以及网球鞋。但是，在太阳底下走了一长段路之後， 我开始觉得腋下、胸前已经沁出汗水了。T恤和裤子都是当天早上才从衣箱子里翻出，所以还有一股浓烈的樟脑丸味道，那气味彷佛一只只有翅膀的飞虫，趁着我呼吸时，会偷偷地飞进我的鼻孔里。
我小心地穿过两旁堆置的废物，慢慢地往前走，边走时还得一边小声地叫着猫的名字。
建 在後巷两侧的房子， 彷佛是由比重相异的液体所混合而成似的，简单地说凸分为两种形式。一种是拥有宽广庭院的旧式建 ，另一种是最近才新建的新房子。
新房子通常没有宽阔的庭院，有的甚至连院子也没有。这些房子的屋檐和後巷之间的距离大概只够景一排衣服而已，因此，有些人就会将衣服晾到後巷来，因此，我简直就是走在湿答答的毛巾、衬衫、被单的行列之中。
从路旁人家的房里传出来的电视声音、抽水马桶的声音，都听得一清二楚，不时还传来阵阵咖哩饭的香味。
相较之下，旧式房子的生活味道就比较感觉不到，围墙也大多是使用各式各样的灌木所围起来的， 从木头的缝隙可以看见宽阔的庭院，而房屋的建 有的是有着长长走廊的日本式房子， 有的是有着古铜色屋顶的西式建 ，有的则是最近才改建的摩登建 。但是，不论是那一种建 ，都有一个共通的特点，那就是几乎不见半个住在这里的人影 且没有听到半点声音， 闻到半点味道，连洗丞的衣物也都完全看不见。
因为一路上所看到的情景对我而言都是既新鲜又有趣的，所以我就一边慢慢地观察，一边缓缓地往『後巷』走去。
有一间房子的庭院里放置着一棵早已枯黄的圣诞树；有一间房子的庭院里则堆满了玩具－－叁轮车、套圈圈、塑胶剑、橡皮球、乌龟形状的玩偶。有的庭院里还有篮球架，有的庭院里则有汤秋千，或各种陶制的桌子。
还有一户人家的大门是一道铝边的玻璃落地窗，房里的布置可以一览无遗，房间里有一套肝红色的真皮沙发、大型的电视、装饰用的架子（上面有一个热带鱼的水槽，和两个大奖杯），还有一盏装饰用的艺灯。看起来好像电视连续剧中的场景，非常不切实际。
有一个院子里放置着一个铁丝网围成的大型狗屋，但是，里面并没有看到狗的影子，而且门也是敞开着的。
妻子告诉我空房子就在有狗屋的房子前面，因此，我很快地就找到了这间空房子。
这是一间新建的两层楼房，但是紧闭着的木头两棚看起来却非常的古旧，二楼窗户的手把也坏掉了，庭院的正中央放置一座高及人胸部的石雕，这座石雕的形状是一只欲展翅飞去的鸟，四周则杂草丛生。这只鸟－－虽然我不知道它叫什麽名字－－模样看起来很威武。
除了这座石雕之外，院子里就没有其他像装饰的装饰品了。
我靠非这面高达胸部的铁丝网，对着院子里看了好一会儿。虽然我知道这会是一个猫喜欢的庭院，但是，看了好一阵子都没有看见猫的影子。屋顶的电视天线上停着一只鸽子，发出了单调的叫声。
石鸟的影子落在丛生杂草堆里，被分割成零零碎碎的形状。
我从口袋里拿出一根烟，.点着了火，靠在铁丝网旁将一整根烟抽完了，这时候电视天线上的鸽子一直以相同的调子啼叫着。
抽完了一根烟，将它丢在地面上踩熄了之後，我还是静静地靠乡这里狐索着。我已经脑子里一片模糊，真想好好的大睡一觉，大概是因为我一直盯着石雕的鸟看的缘故吧！
我突然觉得鸟的影子里好像发出了一个人的声音，不知道是谁的声音，不过，我可以确定是女人的声音，而且好像是在叫我的。
中断的蒸汽熨斗把手
素负盛名的"壁面艺术家"渡边开打算在我住的那幢公寓的墙壁上绘制一只巨大的蒸汽熨斗，这是去年9月底的事情。虽然我猜不出他为什么要在公寓的白墙壁上画一只蒸汽熨斗，但他终于没能完成。渡边升及其助手山口在我房间的窗户下方刚画好蒸汽熨斗的把手，脚手架突然倒塌，两人从四层高处跌落到地面，负了重伤，被送进医院去了。
这一事件自有许多内幕，于我来说，对渡边升也好，山口也好，丝毫不抱同情心。虽属不幸事件，我的感想是两人的命运都是报应。不过，要把事情的来龙去脉一一交代则过于冗长，详情请参阅拙作《钢铁如何炼成--成为可恶的蒸汽熨斗的》*。
*致歉--本文正是《钢铁……》的续篇，因出版方面的原因竟先与读者见面了。《钢铁……》收入安西水丸的《明信片》一书中，四月初出版发行。前后颠倒，特此向读者道歉。--笔者
言归正传，反正就是由于这样的缘故，我房间窗户的正下方便像司芬克斯之谜似的孤零零留下一幅只画了把手的画。身居有蒸汽熨斗把手的壁画的公寓，以致欢喜涕零，这真是件好笑料。"不过嘛，至少可作为路标，"乐观的公寓管理人自我安慰般说道，"来客冲这东西来准错不了。"
这当然罗。若有人看不见这绘有头尾5米长的蒸汽熨斗把手的公寓，那才是奇迹呢。
事过之后很久，我才从管理人那里得知渡边升和山口在那年的12月平安无事地出院了（好结实的家伙），带着理应完成旧作的勇气重访这幢公寓。但渡边升深思之后，放弃了任何补笔的打算。
"整整一天，他面壁而坐，凝视着把手呢！"管理人说道，"他聚精会神地看，可认真了。走时说了一句：没有必要再加画任何东西啦。"
"没有必要再加笔啦？"我吃了一惊，反问道，"那不是熨斗的把手吗？熨斗只有粑手而不要其他，怎么熨平衬衣的皱纹呢？"
我一想起渡边升和山口二人便觉得自己受了不可忍受的虐待。现在他们放弃了倒正好。不过说回来，渡边升只画了蒸汽熨斗的把手使丢下，倒叫人莫明其妙。
"嗯，是想不透。"原先当过宪兵军官的管理人一边点烟卷一边说道，"搞艺术
的人说的话俺也不大懂呢，毕竟是老头子啦。"
"啊。"
"对了，他说是艺术性的必然，还有什么这蒸汽熨斗由于是在把手的部分中断……即非合理性的陈列……"
"非合理性的陈列？&q９９ｌｉｂ?uot;
"这意思你明白了吗？"
"不明白。"我实在摸不着头脑。
渡边升的意思不久之后便明白了。他要表示"符号式地结束"。在《艺术新潮》2月号上，渡边升颇为满意地就《中断的蒸汽熨斗把手》畅述一番：
"这对我说来是一个启示，在我入院的近三个月时间里，蒸汽熨斗获得了其艺术上的公民权--通过它自身的力量取得了自我同一性。蒸汽熨斗的把手实际上作了符号式的、无限的..结束。我在其中看到了艺术的自律力--宇宙的惯性。（中略）我打算在墙壁上绘制蒸汽熨斗，却由于意外的事故而中断。然而正如宇宙并非蒸汽熨斗一样，蒸汽熨斗也并非宇宙。我由此懂得了一切因素都是等价的、平行的。"
啊--！我想。确实只有"啊"可言了。不识渡边升其人的读者读了这篇文章或许会觉得佩服，我知道这位渡边升是个酒精中毒的无赖，因而丝毫没有好感。第一遍读罢目瞪口呆，第二遍读罢大笑不止。什么"符号式的结束"？"符号式的结束"是什么玩艺儿？倒是"非合理性陈列"还有点意思，哈哈哈。
然而，即使是我这样对渡边升持偏见的人，当翻到这篇采访记的后一页、刊登《中断的蒸汽熨斗把手》的彩页时，仍不免大吃一惊。重新细看，确实这画--
超越了渡边升那毁坏了的人格--是棒。熨斗的把手像被暴力揪掉的物体的尾巴一样在空中飘浮着，细部技法的粗拙和未完成的部分反而生动地显示出一种粗犷的效果。画与其上方的窗户（即我房间的窗户）取得的平衡效果也奇佳。我不莫禁长吁一口气，差不多有10秒钟时间。回想一下，自己住在这壁画的上方，这才是第一次正眼看它。为什么那样肮脏卑劣的人--经常放屁、用手擤鼻涕糊在我的窗户上、在窗台上小便、大声哼下流歌--竟能画出如此天才的作品？
我一连灌下几杯酒，然后睡去。
骚动是在大约一周之后发生的。《焦点》、《周刊朝日》和《布尔达斯》刊登了《中断的蒸汽熨斗把手》的大幅照片，几个著名的万能评论家卖弄地发表了不知所云的评论，吹捧渡边升。《朝日新闻》的晚刊也刊出大幅的《中断的蒸汽熨斗把手》，并给予"近年的收获、真正的创造"的评价。美术爱好者和业余摄影爱好者每天都跑到公寓跟前，把照相机镜头对着我的窗户噼噼啪啪地按快门。这么一来，我连工作也干不成了。写诗可是一件极细致的作业。
可是，我登在《鸽子哟！》上的连载诗却快到交稿截止日期了。等我像抱紧一块大石头那样把神经都集中到诗作上时，电话铃响了。"我是《斯哥拉》杂志编
辑部，我们计划在《中断的蒸汽熨斗把手》的上方拍人体摄影，可以让我们借用一下您的窗户吗？"一个男子的声音。我郑重地回绝了他，然后挂断电话。开玩笑！弄什么人体摄影，我不在后天以前写出诗来，饭碗都保不住。
30分钟之后，朝日电视台打来电话.，问我是否肯在他们的新闻节目中与观众见面。
"我？"我吓了一跳，"我为什么非得出现在新闻节目里呢？"
"是这样的，我们希望您能给全国的观众说一说您住在这幅伟大的艺术品上方的感受……"
没有感受！我啪地扣上电话。全国的观众！我竟生起无名火来了。为什么渡边升那莫名其妙的事情总要没完没了地来烦我？为什么就不能让我一个人待着？
我并没有请求渡边升"在这窗户下面画个熨斗"！渡边升（那个混帐酒精中毒者）
是在走过这所公寓前面时决定画一幅蒸汽熨斗的。这与我毫无关系。我只想一边听亨德尔的小提琴协奏曲，一边安静地写诗，而渡边升却将这破坏殆尽。
之后，《月刊书角》和《玛丽克莱》也打来电话，都是打算拍一张我站在窗边的照片，然后再接受他们的简单采访。我理所当然地拒绝了。
傍晚，《星期五》杂志打来电话，希望拍一张我穿着皱巴巴的衫衣、手攀窗沿、身子吊在外面的照片。"这是幽默摄影。幽默。"对方说道，"也就是说，光有把手可熨不成衣服……"
"想耍弄我？混帐东西！"我大声吼道，挂断电话。我怒气难消，把手里的铅笔折成两半，咖啡杯摔到地板上，顺手抄起手边的《唱片艺术》一撕两半。为什么我要在隆冬里穿一件衫衣在四楼的窗户外悬着？简直是神经错乱。
然而，对《星期五》大发雷霆的代价实在太大了。在第二周的《星期五》杂志上，醒目地刊出了一幅一名年轻女于正推门进入我房间的照片。虽然该女子是出版社派来取校样的打工的学生，读者却是不知道的。
"不出所料--如此利用确是不失时机"--照片的旁注文字--"因为住在有名的中断的蒸汽熨斗把手的上方，竟悄俏地带女孩子到房间里了，令人艳羡不已。这名M青年是正在成名的诗人，这次却以住在渡边升的名画上方而出名了……"
真是太过分了。自两个月前与女朋友不欢而别之后，我一次也没有带过女孩子进房间。那名取校样的女学生因赶着送回去，茶也没喝，只待了五分钟。我立即打电话到《星期五》编辑部，要求对方更正并道歉，对方却不屑理睬。
同住这一幢公寓的人对此自然就冷眼相待了。一向热络的鱼店老板娘也不再打招呼了。小学生不肯和我同乘电梯。时不时有骚扰电话打来，连邮件也被涂上狗屎。
"你呀，还年轻，在所难免，不控制一下自己的话……"公寓的管理人来到我房间里说道。
"控制！"我火冒三丈，"我要控制什么？！"
"哎、哎，你别冲动。这也不算指责什么。我年轻时不也是这样玩过来的吗？那时候在上海……"
"我管你在上海还是在哪里！"我"砰"地关上门。真要被逼疯了，还扯上上海！
一名自称是照片上的女学生的哥哥的人打来了电话，告诉我说，他的妹妹也不去打工了，一个人躲在房间里哭，还问是怎么一回事儿。这种问题问我也是毫无用处。
"这事很抱歉，不过我没有办法。"我答道。
"没有办法？喂，她可是没结婚的姑娘啊，你知道什么叫责任吗？"
"那你想怎么办？"
"我不是不知道怎么办才打电话给你吗？！"对方说道。
这个电话磨了一个小时，以对骂告终。我照照洗手间的镜子，瘦得双颊下陷，这样子更写不出诗来了。这一切都是因为那个混蛋渡边升。他要是不冒出来的话，这些倒霉事根本就不会有。
我给《鸽子哟！》编辑部挂电话，说明推迟交稿的原因。
"啊……是嘛，"责任编辑打着呵欠说道，"那可是件大事情啊。你那儿确实不是写诗的环境。"
"你肯定会这么看的。"我赶紧说道。
"不过不要紧嘛，包在我们身上啦。这事情一定干得漂漂亮亮的，本社干这种事最拿手啦。"
"怎么回事？"
"你读读明天的晨报就明白了。"
第二天一早，6时不到我就起了床，第一件事就是翻开报纸。我要找的新闻出现在
社会头条：
渡边升负重伤 制作壁画时手架倒塌
以壁画艺术而闻名的渡边升（43岁）于12日下午1时15分左右，在稚内市某酒店的壁面上制作壁画时，脚手架倒塌，从17米高处摔下，右脚和肋骨骨折，由于伤势严重，估计需卧床四个月。他的助手山口昌弘（31岁）头部撞伤，现住院接受检查。渡边和山口于去年9月也曾发生同样的事故，到去年年底刚出院不久。主治医师说道："幸好是跌落在道边堆积的积雪之中了。"（中略）事?故前渡边升刚好画完15米长的焊钳的柄部。
"不出所料！"我想。这样一来，新作《中断的焊钳柄》就完成了。还得在医院里待上好一阵子的渡边升和山口虽然很可怜，但原因是出在他们自己身上，只好忍着点儿了。此外，如果这期间内，绘制中的画出现"符号性收敛"的话，渡边升还不能说是费力不讨好吧。
由于有轰动性的新作完成，人们的注意力便转向稚内市的《中断的焊钳柄》，我窗下的《中断的萎汽熨斗把手》一下子冷清起来了。窗下几乎再难找到脖子上上吊着照相机的人，杂志要求采访的电话也绝迹了。
平静的生活又回到了我的身边。我一边听莫扎特的钢琴奏鸣曲，一边伏在桌上写诗。没有谁再来妨碍我了。
仅仅三个星期之后，人们?已彻底忘掉《星期五》上刊登的照片，鱼店老板娘又跟我打招呼了。只有公寓的管理人像腺病体质的大象似的，总是抓住这段记忆，有时在走廊相遇，还絮絮叨叨地搭话："不过，年轻总是一件好事呀。"我对此概不答理。
原文发表自《译林》91年第2期，译者林青华，不知跟林少华先生有什么关系。
Yakult Swallows
不知什么缘故，职业棒球中我偏向Yakult Swallows。虽说偏向，却也并非参加拉拉队或做一些给选手零花钱等具体事情，只是一个人在心里悄悄盼望Yakult获胜。
电影《亲爱猎手》(Dear Hunter)中有一种叫做Russian roulette的游戏，即把一发子弹装进左轮手枪弹仓，然后急速转动转轮对准自己脑袋扣动扳机。而声援Yakult就和将四发子弹装入六个弹仓玩Russian roulette游戏差不多，因为获胜概率也就在三分之一左右。声援这样的球队对健康不会有好处。
我开始声援Yakult Swallows是十八年前刚来东京的时候。当时还叫“产经阿童木”那个名称，但实力比名称弱。我一向认为棒球这东西原则上应该声援本地球队。既然来到东京，那么理应声援东京的球队。经过反复比较驻京四支球队(巨人、阿童木、东映Flyers、东京Orions)，最后用消减法使Yakult剩了下来。常去东京棒球场无地利之便，巨人战观众过于拥挤，所以我一般不太喜欢后乐园那个球场。
在这点上，神宫是个让人十分快活的球场。周围树木多，那时外场席还是个光秃秃的土堤，骨碌歪躺喝着啤酒看比赛很有一种幸福感。只是刮风时候灰沙厉害，带去的饭团吃起来沙沙拉拉的，说成问题也成问题。日场比赛往往脱光上半身晒日光浴。看巨人战时空空荡荡没几个人也让人欢喜。总之一句话，去神宫球场与其说是因为喜欢Yakult，莫如说由于喜欢球场本身而在结果上声援了Yakult。
空空荡荡的球场外场席正适合用来同女孩子幽会。可以边喝啤酒吃盒饭边呼吸室外空气，票价也比电影院便宜，又能兴之所至地看球赛。
至今还记得十四五年前在Yakult对巨人队的双场赛中，我照常同女孩子一起坐在右看台右侧正后方看比赛的情形。若是现在，必为那个冈田拉拉队吵的翻天，但当时的拉拉队极其安静，无非一个鼓一支笛子罢了。至于比赛结果Yakult赢了还是输了现在记不得了，唯独Giants击球手打的一个高飞球作为极有象征性的场景鲜明地留在记忆里。那个高飞球是个外场飞，宛如画上画的一般轻盈，击球手把球棒往场里一扔，摇头晃脑朝一垒跑去。Yakult的右翼手(怪可怜的，隐去姓名)以为万无一失，缓缓前进五米，等球落下。平常光景。然后球——到是难以置信——扑嗤一声落在了距右翼手皮手套五米左右的后头。事情发生.在风和日丽心旷神怡的下午。观众目瞪口呆，半天说不出话来。
“喂，你声援的就是这支球队？”女孩手指难为情似的嗫嚅着什么的右翼手问我。
“是倒是……”我回答。
“不能换支别的球队？”她说。
但我没理会她这个得当的建议，至今仍是Yakult Swallows迷，甚至觉得随着年龄的增长?9９lib?，感情愈发转移过去了。为什么这样我也不太明白，是否正确也信心不足，感觉上就像“一夜情留下的后果”。
那期间我委实目睹了无数瞠目结舌的场面。松冈投球手曾经朝巨人队九死一生地投出十全十美的球，而正式比赛中在只差一个人的关头兵败城下。毕竟我不是因为喜欢兵败才声援Yakult的，每当这时候终究感到沮丧。
不过通过声援Yakult而得到的素质也不是没有，那便是对失败的宽容。失败固然讨厌，可是若对此统统都耿耿于怀，就很难活的长久——就是这样一种达观。在我看来，相比之下巨人迷们就好像十分禁不起失败。Yakult对巨人之战Yakult获胜时，一个巨人迷朋友给我打来电话说“给猪踢了一脚”，实在尴尬得很。
Beer at the Soba Shop
Beer at the Soba Shop
by Haruki Murakami
Translated by Christopher Allison
The thing that bothered me the most when I moved from the ?99ｌｉｂ?city ter to the suburbs in the summer of 1981 was that there wasnt anybody hanging around during the day. The majority of the population being white-collar, they left early in the m aurned in the evening. Since I make it a rule only to work ms and nights, I hang out in the neighborhood iernoon. Its the stra feeling. The neighbors all look at me suspiciously, so I start to feel like Ive actually done something wrong.
It seems like most of the people in town assume Im a college student.When I was out for a walk retly, this old woman called out to me "Hey, are you looking for a room,"; taxi drivers say things like "Studying must be really tough, huh?"; and the clerk at the record-rental place a.sked me to "Please show your student I.D."
Granted, I live in jeans and tennis shoes all year round, but Im 33 years old, and I dont think I look like a college student. But I suppose, to the people in town, anyone wandering around in the daytime looks like a college student.
I didnt have this problem at all when I lived iy. I was always meeting people out for walks iernoon on Aoyamy-dori, just like me. In particular, I often ran into the illustrator Mizumaru Anzai (whose
work apanies all of the essays in this book--Chris.)
"Anzai-san. Whats up?"
"Um, errr, I mean, you know, kinda..."
And there were other similar instances. People in the area could ell whether Anzai was really totally unoccupied, or whether he was actually very busy but didnt show it.
Anyway, for whatever unknown reasons, there are plenty of people wandering around in the daytime downtown. I>９9lｉｂ? dont know whether this is a good thing or a bad thing, but fun is fun. When it got to be lunch time and I went into a soba shop and ordered a beer, they didnt make a strange face, and were always obliging. Beer drunk at a soba shop is always really delicious, after all.
Concerning Summer
ing Summer
by Haruki Murakami
Translated by Christopher Allison
I love summer. Wheernoon summer sus down on me and Im wearing a pair of shorts, and Im listening to rod roll and drinking beer, I think Im the happiest person in the whole world. Its really too bad that summer only lasts for 3 months. If it were possible, Id want it to go for about half a year.
A little while ago, I read a sci-fi novel by Ursula K. LeGuin called Boundary Pla. Its about this plahats incredibly far away, where oakes about 60 Earth years. Spring is 15 years, summer is 15 years, fall is fifteen years, and winter is fifteen years. This is awesome. On this plahey have a sayin?g: “He who see the spring twice is truly happy.”That is to say, long life is a good thing.
But what about the people who live a long time, only to see the wint藏书网er twice?
That would be terrible. On this plahe winter is particularly long, dark, and severe.
If I were born on this pla, I would want to be born during the summer. I would spend my boyhood running around uhe hot sun; the fall would bring adoles?９9ｌib.d young-adulthood; my productive years and middle age would pass with that harsh winter; and in the spring Id bee an old man.
This is not to say that Id have a really long life and greet the summer once more. I think it would be great to die with“ah, I think I here the Beach Boys playing somewhere” as my final thought.
Theres an old tune by Frank Sinatra called “ September Dreaming.” The meaning of the song is something like “from May until September is a long time, but wheember es, the days get shorter. Now its fall and the leaves orees are turniheres not much time left” Whenever I hear this song, a shadow passes over my heart (even though its a great song). The time to die is, of course, summer. I want to live out my days feeling that.
Her Town, Her Sheep
Her Town, Her Sheep
by MURAKAMI Haruki
Translated by Kiki
The first snow of the year has started to fall oreets of Sapporo in northern Japan. It began as rain and then it ged to snow. It didn’t take long before it had ged back to rain. However oreets of Sapporo snow really isn’t that romantic. It’s about as wele as an unpopular relative. It is Friday October 23.
When I left Tokyo on a 747 from Narita airport, I was wearing only a T-shirt. It started to snow before I had finished listening to my 90-miape on my walkman.
“That sounds about par for the course,” my friend said to me. “We generally get the first snowfall of the year about now, and then it turns cold.”
“It gets really cold, doesn’t it?”
“No kidding. It gets really, really, cold.”
We grew up in a small quiet neighborhood in Kobe iern Japan. Our houses were separated by about 50 meters. We attended both junior and senih school together. We also went on school trips and double dates with each other. Once we got so drunk that we rolled out of the cab when its doors popped open. After graduating from high school we attended different colleges: I went to Tokyo while he moved north to Hokkaido. I married one of my classmates from Tokyo, and my friend married a classmate of his from the city of Otaru in Hokkaido. That’s just the way life works out. We were scattered like seeds in the wind.
If he had attended college in Tokyo and if I had goo college in Hokkaido, our lives might have turned out pletely different. Perhaps I might have worked for a travel agency, gallivanting all over the globe. He may have bee a writer in Tokyo. But fate led me to write novels while his path took him to a travel agency. A everyday .９9lｉｂ?he sun tio shine.
My friend has a six year old son, Hokuto, and he always carries three pictures of his son in his wallet: Hokuto playing with sheep at the zoo; Hokuto wearing dress clothes for the autumn children’s Shichigosaival; Hokuto riding a rocket at the playground. I looked at each picture three times, oer another, before returning them to him. I picked up my beer and grabbed some icy “ruibe”, a Hokkaido delicacy.
“By the way, how is P doing?” He asked me.
“Pretty good,” I answered. “Just the other day I bumped into him oreet. He got divorced and is now living with a young woman.”
“What about Q?”
“He’s w for an ad agency, writing some just terrible copy.”
“That doesn’t surprise me..”
Etc. Etc.
We paid for the ched left the restaurant. It had started to rain again.
“Say, have you returo Kobe retly?” I asked.
“Nope,” shaking his head. “It’s just too far away. How about you?”
“Me her. I don’t really have much desire to go back.”
“Yeah.”
“I imagihe neighborhood has really ged over the years.”
We walked around the streets of Sapporo for only ten more minutes, quickly running out of things to talk about. I returo my hotel and he went back to his small apartment.
“Don’t be a straake care of your self.”
“You too.”
Suddenly the thud of a verter made me realize that tomorroill again be separated by over 500 kilometers. In a few days we will again be walking on different streets. We will return to our respective b routines. We will tihe aimless uphill struggle as members of the rat race.
Ba my hotel room I turned oV and started to watch a local public service- program. Climbing onto bed with without taking my shoes off, I attacked my smoked salmon sandwid beer from room-service, absent-mindedly gazing at the s.
A young woman wearing a dark blue dress was standing alone in the middle of the s. The camera focused on her like a patient ivore. It was transfixed on her image. The camera angle didn’t advance or retreat. I felt like I was watg a Goddard movie.
“I work in the publicity se of the R Town local gover,” the woman said. She spoke with a slight local at and her voice cracked a bit, maybe she was a little nervous. “R Town is small, with a population of only about 7500 people. Nobody famous has ever e from our little town, so I don’t think any of you have ever heard of it.”
That’s too bad I thought.
“Our main industries are agriculture and dairy farming. Rice used to be our town’s primary industry. But ret goveral subsidy policies have forced a radical shift toward barley, wheat aables for the suburbs. Oskirts of town there are pastures with about two hundred head of cattle, a hundred. horses as well as a hundred sheep. At the moment the breeding of livestock tio increase. Over the hree years we anticipate further increases in livestock produ.“
I wouldn’t really describe the woman as beautiful. She was about twenty, wearial-framed glasses. She smiled like a broken refrigerator. Yet I thought she was wonderful. This Goddardesque camera teique captured her best feature. And it tio emphasize that feature, keeping her in the best possible light. If any of us could spend ten minutes in front of that camera, maybe we too could look so wonderful. That’s how I saw it.
“In the middle of the 19th tury gold dust was discovered in the R river near our little town. So we enjoyed a slight “gold-dust boom”. But soon the gold dust was exhausted, leaving behind the scars of innumerable shacks and paths on the mountain. It’s really quite sad.”
I popped the last bite of my smoked salmon sandwito my mouth and washed it down with the last of my beer.
“The town?…umm …the population of the town peaked at arouhousand a few years ago. However retly the number of families who have left farming has increased. Another problem is that our young people have begun to escape to the suburbs. More than half of my classmates have already moved away. But those who have decided to remain are doing their best for our town.”
She tio stare into the camera as though it were a mirror that might foretell the future. She seemed to be staring directly at me. Taking another beer from the refrigerator, I pulled the tab and took a big drink.
The woman’s town.
I didn’t have much trouble imagining her small town: A tiny train station where a train stops o times a day. A small space heater iation’s waiting room. A small sterile circular area for buses to pick up people. A guide map of the town on which half of the letters are nearly illegible. A bed of marigolds and a row of mountain ash trees. A mangy white dog tired of living. An advertisement for school uniforms and headache remedies. A relatively big but useless main street. A want-ad poster for the Japanese defense forces. A three-story department store selling a variety of miscellaneous stuff. One small travel agency. A farmer’s co-op, a forestry ter and an animal husbandry building. The town’s public bath, its solitary gray smokestack stig up into the sky. Turni before the main interse, two blocks down, is the city hall building, where she sits at her desk in the p.r. se. Yes, definitely a small b town. Half of the year covered with snow. She sits at her desk writing copy:
“We will soon be distributing medication for disiing sheep. If ied, please plete the proper forms and submit them as soon as possible.” Ba my small Sapporo hotel room I suddenly experienced a tangible e with the woman’s life. I had made tact with her existence. However, something is missing. I feel like I am wearing a borrowed suit that doesn’t fit very well. I don’t feel fortable. My feet are bound by rope. I sider cutting the rope with a dull hatchet blade, but if I do so, how will I return? That makes me uneasy. However I have to cut the rope. Maybe I have drunk too much beer. Maybe the snow is causing this sensation. That’s all I could think about. I slip baderh the dark wings of reality. My town, her sheep.
Now she must get her sheep ready to be disied by that new drug. Me too, I o get my sheep ready for winter. I have to gather hay and fill the tanks with kerosene. I should get that window fixed. After all winter is just around the er. “That’s my town,” the woman tinued on TV. “It’s not so iing, but it’s my home. If you get a ce, please visit us. We’ll do whatever we for you.”
And just like that she vanished from my TV s. I tur off and fihe rest of my beer. I began to sider visitiown. Maybe she could help me. But after all I probably would never get around to visiting it. I have already thrown away too many things. Outside it tio snow. A hundred head of sheep closed their eyes in the darkness.
Lederhosen
Lederhosen
By MURAKAMI Haruki
Translated by Alfread Birnbaum
"Mother dumped my father," a friend of my wifes was saying one day, "all because of a pair of shorts."
Ive got to ask. "A pair of shorts?"
"I know it sounds strange," she says, "because it is a straory."
A large woman, her height and build are almost the same as mine. She tutors electric an, but most of her free time she divides between swimming and skiing and tennis, so shes trim and always tanned. You might call her a sports fanatie days off, she puts in a m run before heading to the local pool to do laps; then at two or three iernoon its tennis, followed by aerobiow, I like my sports, but Im nowhere near her league.
I doo suggest shes aggressive or obsessive about things. Quite the trary, shes really rather retiring; shed never dream of puttiional pressure on anyone. Only shes driven; her body--and very likely the spirit attached to that body--craves vigorous activity, relentless as a et.
Which may have something to do with why shes unmarried. Oh, shes had affairs--the woman may be a little on the large side, but she is beautiful--shes been proposed to, even agreed to take the plunge. But iably, whes gotten to the wedding stage, some problem has e up and everything falls through.
Like my wife says, "Shes just unlucky."
"Well, I guess," I sympathize.
Im not in total agreement with the wife on this. True, luck may rule over parts of a persons life and luck may cast patches of shadow across the ground of our being, but where theres a will--much less a will strong enough to swim thirty laps or ruy kilometers--theres a way to overost any trouble. No, her heart was never set on marrying, is how I see it. Marriage just doesnt fall within the sweep of her et, at least irely.
And so she keeps on tut electric aing every free moment to sports, falling regularly in and out of unlucky love.
Its a rainy Sunday afternoon and shes e two hours earlier than expected, while my wife is still out shopping.
"Five me," she apologizes. "I took a rain che todays tennis, which left me two hours to spare. Id have been bored out of my mind being alo home, so I just thought...Am I interrupting anything?"
Not at all, I say. I didnt feel quite in the mood to work and was just sitting around, y lap, watg a video. I show her in, go to the kit, and make coffee. Two cups, for watg the last twenty minutes of Jaws. Of course, weve both seen the movie before--probably more than once?so her of us is particularly riveted to the tube. But were watg it anyway because its there in front of our eyes.
Its THE END. The credits roll up. No sign of the wife. So we chat a bit. Sharks, seaside, swimming.... Still no wife. We go on talking. Now, I suppose I like the woman well enough, but after an hour of this our lack of things in on bees obvious. The fact is, shes my wifes friend, not mine.
Im already thinking about popping in the video when she suddenly brings up the story of her parents divorce. I t fathom the e--at least to my mind, theres no liween swimming and her folks splitting up--but I uess a reason is where you find it.
"They werent really shorts", she says. "They were lederhosen."
"You mean those hiking pants the Germans wear? The ones with the shoulder straps?"
"You got it. Father wanted a pair of lederhosen as a souvenir gift. Well, Fathers pretty tall for his geion. He might even look good in them, which could be why he wahem. But you picture a Japanese man wearing lederhosen? I guess it takes all kinds."
Im still not any closer to the story. I have to ask: What were the circumstances behind her fathers request--and of whom?--for these souvenir lederhosen?
"Oh, Im sorry. Im always telling things out of order. Stop me if things dont make sense," she says.
Okay, I say.
"Mothers sister was living in Germany and she invited Mother for a visit. Something shed always been meaning to do. Of course, Mother t speak German, shed never even been abroad, but having been an English teacher for so long she had that overseas bee in her bo. Itd been ages since shed seen my aunt. So Mother approached Father--how about taking ten days off and going to Germany, the two of us? Fathers work wouldnt allow it, and Mother ended up going alone."
"Thats when your father asked for the lederhosen, I take it?
&quht," she says. "Mother asked what he wanted her t back, and Father said lederhosen."
"Okay so far."
Her parents were reasonably close. They didnt argue until all hours of the night; her father didnt storm out of the house and not e home for days on end. At least not then, though apparently there had been rows more than once over him and other women.
"Not a bad man, a hard worker, but kind of a skirt-chaser," she tosses off matter-of-factly. ions of hers, the way shes talking. For a sed I almost think her father is deceased. But no, Im told, hes alive and well.
"Father was already up there in years, and by then those troubles were all behind them. They seemed to be getting along just fine."
Things, however, didnt go without i. Her mother extehe ten days in Germany to nearly a month and half, with hardly a word back to Tokyo, and when she finally did return to Japan, she stayed with another sister of hers in Osaka. She never did e bae.
her she--the daughter--nor her father could uand what was going on. Until then, when thered been marital difficulties, her mother had always beeient one--so ploddingly patient in fact that she sometimes wondered if the woman had no imagination; family always came first and mother was selflessly devoted to her daughter. So when her mother didnt e around, didnt even make the effort to call, it was beyond their prehension. They made phone calls to the aunts house in Osaka, repeatedly, but they could hardly get her to e to the phone, much less admit what her iions were.
In mid-September, two months after returning to Japan, her mother made her iions known One day, out of the blue, she called home and told her husband, "You will be receiving the necessary papers for divorce. Please sign, seal, ahem bae." Would she care to explain, her husband asked, what was the reason? "Ive lost all love for you--in any way, shape, or form." Oh? said her father. Was there no room for discussion? Sorry, none, absolutely none.
"All this came as a big shock," she tells me. "But it wasnt just the divorce. Id imagined my parents splitting up many times, so I was already prepared for it psychologically. If the two of them had just plain divorced without all that funny business, I wouldnt have gotten so upset. The problem wasnt Mother dumping Father; Mother was dumpioo. Thats what hurt."
I nod.
"Up until that point, Id always taken Mothers side and Mother would always stand by me. Ahere was Mother throwi with Father, like so much garbage, and not a word of explanation. It hit me so hard, I wasnt able tive Mother for the loime. I wrote her who knows how maers askio set things straight, but she never answered my questions, never even said she wao see me."
It wasnt until three years later that she actually saw her mother. At a family funeral, of all places. By then, the daughter was living on her own--shed moved out in he sophomore year of college, when her parents divorced--and now she had graduated and was tut electric an. Meanwhile, her mother was teag English at a prep school.
Her mother fessed that she hadnt been able to talk to her own daughter because she hadnt known what to say. "I myself couldnt tell where things were going," Mother said, "but it all started over that pair of shorts."
"Shorts?" Shed been as started as I was. Shed never wao speak to her main, but curiosity got the better of her. In their m dress, mother and daughter went into a nearby coffee shop and ordered iced tea. She had to hear this--pardon the expression--short story.
The shop that sold the lederhosen was in a small town an hour away by train from Hamburg. Her mothers sister looked it up for her.
"All the Germans I know say if yoing to buy lederhosen, this is the place. The craftsmanship is good, and the prices arent so expensive, said her sister.
So Mother boarded a train to buy her husband his souvenir lederhosen. Irain partment sat a middle-aged German couple, who versed with her in halting English. "I go now to buy lederhosen for souvenir," Mother said. "Vat shop you go to?" the couple asked. Mother he name of the shop, and the middleaged German couple chimed in together, "Zat is ze place, jah. It is ze best." Hearing this, Mother felt very fident.
It was a delightful early-summer afternoon and a quaint old-fashioown. Cobblestone streets led in all dires, and cats were everywhere. Mother stepped into a cafe for a bite of kaseku and coffee.
She was on her last sip of coffee and playing with the shop cat when the owner came over to ask what brought her to their little town. She said lederhosen, whereupon the owner pulled out a pad of paper and dre to the shop.
"Thank you very much," Mother said.
How wonderful it was to travel by oneself, she thought as she walked along the cobblestones. In fact, this was the first time in her fifty-five years that she had traveled alone. During the whole trip, she had not once been lonely or afraid or bored. Every se that met her eyes was fresh and new; everyone she met was friendly. Each experience called forth emotions that had been slumbering in her, untouched and unused. What she had held near and dear until then--husband and home and daughter--was oher side of the earth. She felt o trouble herself over them.
She found the lederhosen shop without problem. It was a tiny old guild shop. It didnt have a big sign for tourists, but inside she could see scores of lederhosen. She opehe door and walked in.
Two old men worked in the shop. They spoke in a whisper as they took down measurements and scribbled them into a notebook. Behind a curtain divider was a larger work space; the monotone of sewing maes could be heard.
"Darf ich Ihnen helfen, Madame?" the larger of the two old men addressed Mother.
"I want to buy lederhosen," she responded in English.
"For Madame?" he asked back.
"No, I buy for my husband in.? Japan."
"Ach so," said the old man, "your husband. Zen he is not here viss you?"
"No, I say already, he is in Japan," she replied.
"Ziss make problem." The old man chose his words with care. "Ve do not make article for er who ."
"My husba," Mother said with fidence.
"Jah, jah, your husba, of course, of course," the old man responded hastily. "Excuse my not good English. Vat I vant say, if your husband here, ve ot sell ze lederhosen."
"Why?" Mother asked, perplexed.
"Is store policy. Is unser Prinzip. Ve must see ze lederhosen how it fit er, ve alter very nice, only zen ve sell. Over one hundred years ve are in business, ve build reputation on ziss policy."
"But I spend half day to e from Hamburg to buy your lederhosen."
"Very sorry, Madame," said the old man, looking very sorry indeed. "Ve make no exception. Ziss vorld is very uain vorld. Trust is difficult sink to earn but easy sink to lose."
Mhed and stood in the doorway. She strained her brain for some way to break the impasse. The larger old man explaihe situation to the smaller man, who nodded sadly, jah, jah. Despite their great differen size, the two old men wore identical expressions.
"Well, perhaps, we do as this?" Mother proposed. "I find man just like my husband and bring him here. That man puts on lederhosen, you alter very nice, you sell lederhosen to me."
The first old man looked her in the face, aghast.
"But, Madame, zat is against rule. Is not same man who tries ze lederhosen on, your husband. And ve know ziss. Ve ot do ziss."
"Pretend you do not know. You sell lederhosen to that man and that man sell lederhosen to me. That way, there is no shame to your policy. Please, I beg you. I may never e back to Germany. If I do not buy lederhosen now, I will never buy lederhosen."
"Hmph," the old man pouted. He thought for a few seds, then turo the other old man spoke a stream in German. They spoke bad forth several times. Then finally, the large man turned baother and said, "Very well, Madame. As exception--very exception, you please uand--ve vill knownossink of ziss matter. Not so many e from Yapan to buy lederhosen. Please find man very like your husband. My brother he says ziss."
"Thank you," she said. Then she mao thank the other brother in German, "Das ist so vor Ihnen." She--the daughter whos tellihis story--folds her hands oable and sighs. I drink the last of my coffee, long since cold. The rain keeps ing down. Still no sign of the wife. Whod e藏书网ver have thought the versation would take this turn?
"So then?" I interject, eager to hear the clusion. "Did your mother end up finding someoh the same build as your father?"
"Yes," she says, utterly without expression. "Mother sat on a bench looking for someone who matched Fathers size. And along came a man who fit the part. Without asking his permission--it seems the man couldnt speak a word of English--she dragged him to the lederhosen shop."
"The hands-on approach," I joke.
"I dont know. At home Mother was always a normal sensible-shoes woman," she says with anh. "The shopkeepers explaihe situation to the man, and the man gladly seo stand in for Father. He puts the lederhosen on, and theyre pulling here and tug there, the three of them chortling away in German. In thirty mihe job was done, during which time Mother made up her mind to divorce Father."
"Wait," I say, "I do. Did something happen during those thirty minutes?"
"Nothing at all. Only those three German men ha-ha-ing like bellows."
"But what made your mother do it?"
"Thats something even Mother herself didnt uand after all this time. It made her defensive and fused. All she knew was, looking at that man in the lederhosen, she felt an unbearable disgust rising in her. Directed toward Father. And she could not hold it back. Mothers lederhosen man, apart from the color of his skin, was exactly like Father, the shape of the legs, the belly, the thinning hair. The way he was so happy trying on those new lederhosen, all prand cocky like a little boy. As Mother stood there looking at this man, so many things shed been uain about slowly shifted together into something very clear. Thats when she realized she hated Father."
My wife gets home from shopping, and the two of them eheir woman talk, but Im still thinking about the lederhosen.
"So, you dont hate your mother anymore?" I ask when my wife leaves the room.
"No, not really. Were not close at all, but I dont hold anything against her."
"Because she told you about the lederhosen?"
"I think so. After she explaihings to me, I couldnt go on hating her. I t say why it makes any difference, I certainly dont know how to explain it, but it may have something to do with us being women."
"Still, if you leave the lederhosen out of it, supposing it was just the story of a woman taking a trip and finding herself, would you have been able tive her?"
"Of course not," she says without hesitation. "The whole point is the lederhosen, right?"
A proxy pair of lederhosen, Im thinking, that her father never even received.
Man-Eating-Cats
Maing-Cats
by Haruki Murakami
Ttranslated by Philip Gabriel
I bought a neer at the harbor and came across an article about an old woman who had beeen by cats. She was seventy years old and lived alone in a small suburb of Athens -- a quiet sort of life, just her ahree cats in a small one-room apartment. One day, she suddenly keeled over face down on the sofa -- a heart attack, most likely. Nobody knew how long it had taken for her to die after she collapsed. The old woman didnt have aives or friends who visited her regularly, and it was a week before her body was discovered. The windows and door were closed, and the cats were trapped. There wasnt any food in the apartment. Grahere robably something in the fridge, but cats havent evolved to the point where they open refrigerators. On the verge of starvation, they were forced to devour their owners flesh.
I read this article to Izumi, who was sitting across from me. On sunny days, wed walk to the harbor, buy a copy of the Athens English-language neer, and order coffee at the cafe door to the tax office, and Id summarize in Japanese anything iing I might e across. That was the extent of our daily schedule on the island. If something in a particular caught our i, wed bat around opinions for a while, Izumis English retty fluent, and she could easily have read the articles herself. But I never once saw her p?９９lｉｂ.ick up a paper.
"I like to have someoo read to me," she explained. "Its been my dream ever since.
I was a child -- to sit in a sunny place, gave at the sky or the sea, and have someone read aloud to me. I dont care what they read -- a neer, a textbook, a novel. It doesnt matter. But no ones ever read to me before. So I suppose that means youre making up for all those lost opportunities. Besides, I love your voice."
We had the sky and the sea there, all right. And I enjoyed reading aloud. When I lived in Japan, I used to read picture books aloud to my son. Reading aloud is different from just sentences with your eyes. Something quite ued wells up in your mind, a kind of indefinable resohat I find impossible to resist.
Taking the occasional sip of bitter coffee, I slowly read the artic1e to Izumi. Id read a few lio myself, mull over how to put them into Japahen translate aloud. A few bees popped up from somewhere to lick the jam that a previous er spilled oable. They spent a moment lapping it up, then, as if suddenly remembering something, flew into the air with a ceremonious buzz, circled the table a couple of times, and then -- again as if something had jogged their memory -- settled once more oabletop. After I had finished reading the whole article, Izumi sat there, unmoving, elbow resting oable. She put the tips of the fingers of her right hand against those of her left to form a tent. I rested the paper on my lap and gazed at her slim hands. She looked at me through the spaces between her fingers.
"Then what happened?" she asked.
"Thats it" I replied, and folded up the paper. I took a handkerchief out of my pocket and wiped the flecks of coffee grounds off my lips. "At least, thats all it says."
"But what happeo The cats?"
I stuffed the handkerchief ba my pocket. "I have no idea. It doesnt say."
Izumi pursed her lips to one side, her own litt1e habit. Whenever she was about to give an opinion ? which always took the form of a mini-declaration ? she pursed her lips like that, as if she were yanking a bed sheet to smooth out a stray wrinkle. When I first met her, I found this habit quite charming.
"Neers are all the same, no matter where you go," she finally announced. "They ell you what you really want to know."
She took a Salem out of its box, put it in her mouth, and struck a match. Every day, she smoked one pack of Salem -- no more, no less. Shed open a new pa the m x and smoke it up by the end of the day. I didnt smoke. My wife had made me quit, five years ear1ier, when she regnant.
"What I really want to know." Izumi began, the smoke from her cigarette silently curling up into the air, "is what happeo the cats afterward. Did the authorities kill them because theyd eaten human fresh? Or did they say, Yon guys have had a tough time of it, give them a pat on the head, ahem on their way? What do you think?"
I gazed at the bees h over the table and thought about it. For a fleeting instant; the restless little bees lig up the jam and the three cats dev the old womans flesh became one in my mind. A distant seagulls shrill squawk overlapped the buzzing of the bees, and for a sed or two my sciousness strayed on the border betweey and the unreal. Where was I? Whet was I doing here? I could a purchase ouation. I took a deep breath, gazed up at the sky, and turo Izumi.
"I have no idea."
"Think about it. If you were that towns mayor or chief of police, what would you do with those cats?"
"How about putting them in an institution to reform them?" I said. "Turn them into vegetarians."
Izumi didnt laugh. She took a drag on her cigarette and ever slowly let out a stream of smoke. "That story reminds me of a lecture I heard just after I started at my Catholiih school. Did I tell you I went to a very strict Catholic schoo1? Just after the entrance ceremony, one of the head nuns had us all assemble in an auditorium, and then she went up to the podium and gave a talk about Catholic doe. She told us a lot of things, but what I remember most ? actually, the only thing I remember ? is this story about being shipwrecked on a desert island with a cat."
"Sound iing," I said.
"Youre in a shipwreck, she told us. The only ones who make it to the lifeboat are you and a cat. You land on some nameless desert island, and theres nothing there to eat. All yon have is enough water and dry biscuit to sustain one person for about ten days. She said, A11 right, everyone, Id like you to imagine yourselves in this situation. Close your eyes and try to picture it. You alone on the desert island, just you and the cat. You have almost no food at all. Do you uand? Youre hungry, thirsty, aually youll die. What should you do? Should you share your meagre store of food with the cat? No you should not. That would be a mistake. You are all precious beings, chosen by God, and the cat is not. Thats why you should?９9lｉｂ? eat all the food yourself. The nun gave us this deadly serious look. I was a bit shocked. What could possibly be the point of telling a story like that to kids whod just started at the school? I thought, Whoa, what kind of place have I got myself into?"
Izumi and I were living in an efficy apartment on a small Greek island. It was off-season, and the island wasly a tourist spot, so the rent was cheap. her of us had heard of thy island before we got there. It lay he border of Turkey, and on clear day you could just make out the green Turkish mountains. On windy days, the local joked, you could smell the shish kebab. All joking aside, our island was closer to the Turkish shore than to the closest Greek island, and there -- looming right before our eyes -- was Asia Minor.
Iown square, there was a statue of a hero of Greek independence. He had led an insurre on the Greek mainland and planned an uprising against the Turks, who trolled the island then. But the Turk captured him put him to death. They set up a sharpeake in the square beside the harbor, stripped the hapless hero naked, and lowered him onto it. The weight of his body drove the stake through his anus and then the rest of his body until it finally came out of his mouth ? an incredibly slow, excruciating way to die. The statue was erected on the spot where this was supposed to have happened. When it was first built, it must have been impressive, but now, what with the sea wind, dust, and seagull droppings, von could barely make out the maures. The locals hardly gave the shabby statue a passing glance, and for his part the hero looked as though hed turned his ba the people, the island, the world.
When Izumi and I sat at our outdoor cafe, drinking coffee or beer, aimlessly gazing at the boat in the harbor and at the far-off Turkish hills, we were sitting at the edge of Europe. The wind was the wind at the edge of the world. An inescapable retro color filled the place. It made me feel as if I were being quiet1y swa11owed up by an aliey, something fn and just out of reach, vague yet strangely gentle. And the shadow of that substance colored the faces, the eyes, the skin of the people gathered in the harbor.
At times, I couldnt grasp the fact that I art of this se. No matter how much I took in the sery around me, no matter how much I breathed in the air, there was naniioween me and all this.
Two months before, I had been living with my wife and our four-year-o1d son in a three-bedroom apartment in Unoki, in Tokyo. Not a spacious place, just your basic, funal apartment. My wife and I had our own bedroom, so did our son, and the remaining room served as my study. The apartment was quiet, with a nice view. On weekend, the three of us would take wa1k along the banks of the Tama River. In spring, the cherry trees by the river would blossom, and Id put my son on the bay bike, and wed go off to watch the Tokyo Giants Triple A team in spring training.
I worked at a medium-sized design pany that specialized in book and magazine layouts. Calling me a "designer" makes it sound more than it was, sihe work was fairly cut-and-dried. Nothing flamboyant or imaginative. Most of the time, our schedule was a bit too hectid several times a month I had to pull an all-nighter at the office. Some of the work bored me to tears. Still, I didnt mind the job, and the pany was a relaxed place. Because I had seniority, I was able to pid y assig and say pretty much whatever wao. My boss was O.K., and I got along with my co-workers. And the salary wasnt half bad. So if nothing had happened, I probably would have stayed with the pany for the foreseeable future. And my life, like the Moldau River -- or, more precisely, the nameless water that makes up the Moldau River -- would have tio flow, ever so swiftly; into the sea.
But then I met Izumi.
Izumi was ten years youhan I was. We met at a business meeting. Something clicked between us the first time we laid eyes on each other. Not the kind of thing that happens all that ofte a couple of times after that, to go over the details of our joint project. Id go to her offices or shed drop by mine. Our meetings were always short, other people were involved, and it was basically all business. When our project was fihough, a terrible loneliness swept over me; as if something absolutely vital had been forcibly snatched from my grasp. I had like that in years. And I think she felt the same way.
A week later, she phoned my office about some minor matter and we chatted for a bit. I told a joke, and she laughed. "Want to go out for a drink?" I asked. We went to a small bar and had a few drinks. I t recall exactly what we talked about, but we found a million topid could have talked forever. With a laserlike clarity, I could grasp everything she wao say. And things I couldnt explaio anyone else came across to her with ahat took me by surprise. We were both married, with no major plaints about our married lives. We loved our spouses and respected them. Still, this was on the order of a minor miracle ? running across someoo wham you express your feeling so clearly, so p1ete1y. Most people go their entire lives without meeting a person like that. It would have been a mistake to label this "love". It was more like total empathy.
We started going ularly for drinks. Her husbands job kept him out late, so she was free to e and go as she pleased. When got together, though, the time just flew by. Wed look at our watches and discover that we could barely make the last train. It was always hard for me to say goodbye. There was so much more we wao tell each other.
her one of us lured the other to bed, but we did start sleeping together. Wed both been faithful to our spouses up to that point, but somehow we didnt feel guilty, for the simple reason that we had to do it. Undressing her, caressing her skin, holding her close, slipping inside her, ing -- it was all just a natural extension of our versations. So natural that our lovemaking was not a source of heartrending physical pleasure; it was just a calm, pleasant act, stripped of all pretense. Best of all were our quiet talks in bed after sex. Id hold her naked body close, and shed curl up in my arms, and wed whisper secrets in our own private language.
We met whenever we could. Strangely enough, or perhaps not sely, we were absolutely vihat our relationship could go on forever, or married lives on one side of the equation, our owionship oher, with no problems arising. We were vihat our affair would never e to light. Sure we had sex, but how was that hurting anyone? On night when I slept with Izumi, Id get home late and have to make up some lie to tell my wife, and I did feel a pang of sce, but it never seemed be an actual betrayal. Izumi and I had a strictly partmentalized yet totally intimate relationship.
And if nothing had happened, maybe we would have tinued like that forever, sipping our vodka-and-tonics, slippiween the sheets whenever we could. Or maybe we would have got tired of lying to our spouses and decided to let the affair die a natura1 death so that we could return to fortable little life styles. Either way, I dont think things would have turned out badly. I t prove it; I just have that fee1ing. But a twist of fate -- iable, irospect -- intervened, and Izumis husband got wind of our affair. After grilling her, he barged into my home, totally out of trol. As luck would have it, my wife was alo the time, and the whole thing turned ugly. When I got home, she demahat I explain what going on. Izumi had already admitted everything, so I couldnt very well make up some story. I told my wife exactly what happened. "Its not like Im in love," I explained. "Its a special relationship, but p1etely different from what I have with von. Like night and day. You havee4 anything going ht? That proves its not the kind of affair youre imagining."
But my wife refused to listen. It was a shock, and she froze and literally wouldnt speak another word to me. The day, she packed al1 her things in the car and drove to her parents place, in Chigasaiki, taking our son with her. I called a couple of times, but she wouldnt e to the phone. Her father came on instead. "I dont want to hear any of your lame excuse," he warned, "and theres no way Im going to let my daughter go back to a bastard like you." Hed been dead set against our marriage from the start, and his tone of voice said hed finally been proved right.
At a plete loss, I took a few days off and just lay forlornly alone in bd. Izumi phoned me. She was alooo. Her husband had left her, as well, but not before slapping her around a bit. He had taken a pair of scissors to every stitch of clothing she owned. From her overcoat to her underwear, it all lay in tatters. She had no idea where he had gone. "Im exhausted," she said. "I dont know what to do. Everything is ruined, and itll never be the same again. Hes never ing back." She sobbed over the phone. She and her husband had been high~schoo1 sweethearts. I wao fort her, but what could I possibly say?
"Lets go somewhere and have a drink," she finally suggested. We went to Shibuya and drank until drawn at an allnight bar. Vodka gimlet for me, Daiquiris for her. I lost track of how much we drank. For the first time since wed met, we didnt have much to say. At doorked off the liquor by walking over to Harajuku, where we had coffee and breakfast at a Dennys. Thats when she brought up the idea of going to Greece.
"Greece" I asked,
"We t very well stay in Japan," she said, looking deep into my eyes.
I turhe idea around in my mind. Greece? My vodka-soaked brain couldnt follow the logic.
"Ive always wao go to Greece," she said. "Its been my dream. I wao go on my honeymoon, but we didnt have enough money. So lets go ? the two of us. And just live there, you know, with no worries about anything. Staying in Japans just going to depress us, and nothing good will e of it."
I didnt have any particular i in Greece, but I had to agree with her. We calculated how much money we had between us. She had two and a half million yen in savings, while I could e up with about one and a half million. Four million yen altogether --about forty thousand dollars.
"Forty thousand dollars should last a few years in the Geek tryside," Izumi said. Dist plaickets would set us back around four thousand. That leaves thirty-six. Figure a thousand a month, and thats enough for three years. Two and a half, to be on the safe side. What do you say? Lets go. Well let things sort themselves out later on."
I looked around. The early-m Dennys was crowded with young couples. We were the only couple over thirty. And surely the only couple discussing taking all our money and fleeing to Greece after a disastrous affair. What a mess, I thought. I gazed at the palm of my hand for the loime. Was this really what my life had e to?
"All right," I said finally. "Lets do it."
At work day, I handed in my letter nation. My boss had heard rumors and decided that it was best to put me oended leave for the time being. My colleagues were startled to hear that 1 wao quit, but no oried very hard to talk me out of it. Quitting a job is not so difficult, after all, I discovered. Onake up your mind to get rid of something, theres very little you t discard. No ? not very little. Once you put your mind to it, theres nothing you t get rid of. And once you start tossing things out, you find yourself wanting to get rid of everything. Its as if youd gambled away almost all your money and decided, What the hell, Ill bet whats left. Too much trouble to g to the rest.
I packed everything I thought and need into one medium-sized blue Samsonite suitcase. Izumi took about the same amount of baggage.
As we were flying ypt, I was suddenly gripped by a terrible fear that someone else had taken my bag by mistake. There had to be tens of thousands of identical blue Samsonite bags in the world. Maybe Id get to Greece, open up the suitcase, and find it stuffed with some elses possessions. A severe ay attack swept over me. If the suitcase got lost, there would be nothio lio my own life ? just Izumi. I suddenly felt as if I had vanished. It was the weirdest sensation. The person sitting on that plane was no longer me. My brain had mistakenly attached itself to some ve packaging that looked like me. My mind was in utter chaos. I had to go back to Japan a baside my real body. But here was in a jet, flying ypt, and there was n back. This flesh I was temporarily occupyi as if it were made out of plaster. If I scratched myself, pieces would flake off. I began to shiver untrollably, and I couldnt stop. I khat if these shakes tinued much lohe body I was in would crack apart and turn to dust. The plane was air-ditioned, but I broke out in a sweat. My shirt stuy skin. An awful smell arose from me. All the while, Izumi held my hand tightly and gave me the occasional hug. She didnt say a word, but she kneas feeling. The shake went on food half hour; I wao die -- to stick the barrel of a revolver in my ear and pull the trigger, so that my mind and my flesh would turn to dust.
After the shakes subsided, though, I suddenly felt lighter. I relaxed my tense shoo1der and gave myself up to the flow of time. I fell into a deep sleep, and when I opened my eye, there below me lay the azure waters of the Aegean.
The biggest problem fag us on the island was an almost total lack of things to do. We didnt work, we had no friends. The island had no movie theatres or tennis courts or books to read. Wed left Japan so abruptly that I had pletely fotten t books. I read two novels Id picked up at the airport, a copy of Aeschylus tragedies that
Izumi had brought along. I read them all twice. To cater to tourists, the kiosk at the harbor stocked a few English paperbacks, but nothing caught my eye. Reading was my passion, and Id always imagihat if I had free time Id wallow in books, but, ironical1y, here I was -- with all the time in the world and nothing to read.
Izumi started studying Greek. Shed brought along a Greek-language text, and made a chart of verb jugations that she carried around, reg verbs aloud like a spell. She got to the point where she was able to talk to the shopkeepers in her broken Greek, and to the waiters wheepped by the cafe, so we mao make a few acquaintances. Not to be outdone, I dusted off my French. I figured it would e in handy someday, but on this seedy little island I never ran across a sou1 who spoke French. In toere able to get by with English. Some of the old people kalian erman. French, though, was useless.
With nothing much to do, we walked everywhere. We tried fishing in the harbor but didnt catch a thing. Lack of fish wasnt the problem; it was water was too clear. Fish could see al1 the way from the hook up to the face of the pers to catch the. Youd have to be a pretty dumb fish to get caught that way. I bought sketchbook and a set of watercolors at a local shop and tramped around the island sketg the sery and the people. Izumi would sit beside me, looking at my paintings, memorizing her Greek jugations. Local people often came to watch me sketch. To kill time, Id draw their portrait, which seemed to be a big hit. If I gave them the picture, theyd ofte us to a beer. Once, a fisherman gave us a whole octopus.
"You could make a living doing portraits, Izumi said. "Yood, and you could male a tle business out of it. Play up the fact that youre a Japaist. t be many of them around here."
I laughed, but her expression was serious. I pictured myself trekking around the Greek isles, pig up spare ge drawing portraits, enjoying the occasional free beer. Not such a bad idea, I cluded.
"And Ill be a tour coordinator for Japaourists," Izumi tinued. "There should be more of them as time goes by, and that will help make ends meet. Of course, that means Ill have to get serious about learning Greek."
"Do you really think end two and a half years doing nothing?" I asked.
"As long as we do robbed or sick or something. Barring the unforeseen, we should be able to get by. Still, its always good to prepare for the ued."
Until then, Id almost never been to a doctor, I told her.
Izumi stared straight at me, pursed her lips, and moved them to one side.
"Say I gnant;" she began. "What would you do? You protect yourself the best you , but people make mistakes. If that happened, our money would run out pretty quick"
If it es to that, we should probably go back to Japan." I said.
"You do. do you?" she said quietly "We ever go back to Japan."
Izumi tinued her study of Greek, I my sketg. This was the most peaceful time in my whole life. We ate simply and carefully sipped the cheapest wines. Every day, wed climb a nearby hill. There was a small village on top, and from there we could see other islands far away. With all the fresh air and exercise, I was soon in good shape. After the su on the island, you cou1dnt hear a sound. And in that silence Izumi and I would quietly make love and talk about all kinds of things. No more w about making the last train, or ing up with lies tell our spouses. It was wonderful beyond belief. Autumn deepened bit by bit, and early winter came on. The wind picked up, and there were witecaps in the sea.
It was around this time that we read the story about the maing cat. In the same paper, there ort about the Japanese emperors dition worsening, but wed bought it only to cheek on exge rates. The yen was tinuing to gain against the drachma. This was vital for us; the strohe yen, the more money we had.
"Speaking of cats," I said. a few days after wed read the article, "when I was a child I had a cat who disappeared ira way."
Izumi seemed to want to hear more. She lifted her face from her jugation chart and looked at me "How so?"
"I was in sed, maybe third grade. We lived in a pany house that had a big garden. There was this a piree in the garden, so tall you could barely see the top of it. One day, I was sitting on the back porch reading a book, while our tortoiseshell car laying in the garden. The cat was leaping about by itself, the way cats do sometimes. It was all worked up something, pletely oblivious of the fact that I was watg it. The 1onger I watched, the more frightened I became. The cat seemed possessed, jumping around, its fur standing on end. It was as if it was something that I. couldnt. Finally, it started rag around and around the piree, just like the tiger in Little Black Sambo. Then it screeched to an abrupt halt and scrambled up the tree to the highest branches. I could just make out its little face iopmost brahe cat was still excited and te was hiding in the branches, staring out at something. I called its name, but it acted like it didnt hear me."
"What was the cats name?" Izumi asked.
"I fet," I told her. "Gradually, evening came on, and it grew darker. I was worried and waited for a long time for the cat to climb down. Finally, it got pitch dark And we never saw the cat again."
"Thats not so unusual," Izumi said. "Cats often disappear like that. Especially when theyre i. They get overexcited and then t remember how to get home. The cat must have e down from the piree and gone off somewhere when you werent watg."
"I suppose," I said. "But I was still a kid then, and I ositive that the cat had decided to live up iree. There had to be some reason that it couldnt e down. Every day, Id sit on the pord look up at the piree, hoping to see the cat peeking out between the branches."
Izumi seemed to have lost i. She lit her sed Salem, then raised her head and looked at me.
"Do you think about your child sometime?" She asked.
I had no idea how to respond. "Sometimes I do," I said holy. "But not all the time. Occasionally something will remind me."
"Dont you want to see him?"
"Sometime I do," I said. But that was a lie, I just thought that that was the way I was supposed to feel. Whenever I was living with my son, I thought he was the cutest thing Id ever seen. Whenever I got home late, Id always go to my sons room first, to see his sleeping face. Sometimes I was seized by a desire to squeeze him so hard he might break. Now everything about him -- his face, his voice, his as -- existed in a distant land. All I could recal1 with any clarity was the smell of his soap. I liked to take baths with him and scrub him. He had sensitive skin, so my wife always kept a special bar of soap just for him. All I could recall about my own son was the smell of that soap.
"If you want to go back to Japan, do me stop you," lzumi said, "Dont worry about me. Id manage somehow."
I nodded. But I khat it wasnt going to happen.
"I wonder if your child will think of you that way when hes grown up," Izumi said. "Like you were a cat who disappeared up a piree."
I laughed. "Maybe so," I said.
Izumi crushed out her cigarette in the ashtray and sighed. "Lets go home and make love, all right?" she said.
"Its still m", I said.
"Whats wrong with that?"
"Not a thing," I said.
Later, when I woke up in the middle of the night, Izumi wasnt there. I looked at my watext to the bed. Twelve-thirty; I fumbled for the lamp, switched it on, and gazed around the room. Everything was as quiet as if someone had stolen in while I slept and sprinkled silent dust all around. Two bent Sa1em butts were in the ashtray, a balled-up empty cigarette pack beside them. I got out of bed and looked out at the living room. Izumi wasnt there. She wasnt i or the bathroom. I opehe door and looked out at the front yard. Just a pair of vinyl lounge chairs, bathed in the brilliant moonlight. "Izumi," I called out in a small voiothing. I called out again, this time more loudly. My heart pounded. Was this my voice? It souoo loud, unnatural. Still no reply. A faint breeze from the sea rustled the tips of the pampas grass. I shut the door; went back to the kit, and poured myself half a glass of wio calm down.
Radiant moonlight poured i window, throwing weird shadow, the walls and floor. The whole thing looked like the symbolic set of some avant-garde play. I suddenly remembered; the night the cat had disappeared up the piree had beely like this one, a full moon with not a wisp of cloud. After dihat night, Id goo the porch again to look for the cat. As the night had deepehe moonlight had brightened. For some inexp1icab1e reason, I couldnt take my eyes off the piree. From time to time I was sure that I could make out the cats eyes, sparkliween the branches. But it was just an illusion.
I tugged on a thick sweater and a pair of jeans, snatched up the s oable, put them in my pocket, a outside. Izumi must have had trouble sleeping and go for a walk. That had to be it. The wind had pletely died down All I could hear was the sound of my tennis shoes g along the gravel, like in an exaggerated movie soundtrack. Izumi must have goo the harbor, I decided. There was only one road to the harbor, so I cou1dnt miss her. The lights in the house along the road were all off, the moonlight dyeing the ground silver. It looked like the bottom of the sea.
About halfway to the harbor, I heard the faint sound of musid came to a halt. At first I thought it was a halluation ? like when the air pressure ges and you hear a ringing in your ears. But, listening carefully, I was able to make out a melody. I held my breath and listened as hard as I could. No doubt about it, it was musiebody playing an instrument. Live, unamplified music. But what kind of instrument was it? The mandolinlike instrument that Anthony Quinn dao in "Zorba the Greek"? A bouzouki? But who would be playing a bouzouki in the middle of the night? And where?
The music seemed to be ing from the village at the top of the hill we climbed every day for exercise. I stood at the crossroads, w what to do, which dire to take. Izumi must have heard the same music at this very spot. And I had a distinct feeling that if she had she would have headed toward it.
I took the plunge and turned right at the crossroads, heading up the slope I knew so well. There were no trees lining the path, just knee-high thorny bushes away in the shadows of the cliffs. The farther I walked the louder and more distinct the music grew. I could make out the melody more clearly; too. There was a festive flashio it. I imagined some sort of ba being held in the village on top of the hill. Then I remembered that earlier that day, at the harbor, we had seen a lively wedding procession. This must be the wedding ba, g９９lib.oing on into the night.
Just then -- without warning -- I disappeared.
Maybe it was the moonlight, or that midnight music. With each step I took, I felt myself sinking deeper into a quid where my identity vanished; it was the same emotion Id had on the plane, flying ypt. This wasnt me walking in the moonlight. It was a stand-in, fashioned out of plaster. I rubbed my hand against my face. But it wasnt my face. And it wasnt my hand. My heart pounded in my chest, sending the blood c through my body at a crazy speed. This body laster puppet, a voodoo doll into whie sorcerer had breathed a fleeting life. The glow of real life was missing. My makeshift, phony muscles were just going through the motions. I pet, to be some sacrifice.
So where is the real me? I wondered.
Suddenly, Izumis voice came out of nowhere. The real you has beeen by the cats. While youve been standing here, those hungry cats have devoured you -- eaten you all up. All thats left is bones.
I looked around. It was an illusion, of course. All I could see was the rockstrewn ground, the low bushes, and their tiny shadow. The voice had been n my head.
Stop thinking such dark thoughts, I told myself. As if trying to avoid a huge wave, I g to a rock at the bottom of the sea and held my breath. The wave would surely pass by. Youre just tired, I told myself, and overwrought. Grab on to whats real. It doesnt matter what ? just grab something real. I reached into my pocket for the s. They grew sweaty in my hand.
I tried hard to think of something else. My sunny apartment ba Unoki. The record colle Id left behind. My tle jazz colley specialty was white jazz pianist of the fifties and sixties. Leristano, Al Haig, Claude Williamson, Lou Levy, Russ Freeman … Most of the albums were out of print, and it had taken a lot of time and moo collect them. I had diligently made the rounds of record shops, making trades with other collectors, slowly building up my archives. Most of the performances werent what youd call "first-rate." But I loved the unique, intimate atmosphere those musty old records veyed. The world would be a pretty dull place if it were made up of only the first-rate, right? Every detail of those record jackets came bae ? the weight a of the albums in my hands.
But now they were all gone forever. And Id obliterated them myself. Never again in this lifetime would I hear those records.
I remembered the smell of tobacco when I kissed Izumi. The feel of her lips and tongue. I closed my eyes. I wanted her beside me. I wanted her to hold my hand, as sec had when we flew ypt, and never let go.
The wave finally passed over me and away; and with it the music.
Had they stopped playing? Certainly that ossibility. After all, it was nearly one ocloaybe there had never been any music to begin with. That, too, was entirely possible. I no lorusted my hearing. I closed my eyes again and sank down into my sciousness ? dropped a thied line down into that darkness. Bu I couldnt hear a thing. Not even an echo.
I looked at my watch. And realized I wasnt wearing one. Sighing, I stuck both hands in my pockets. I didnt really care about the time. I looked up at the sky. The moon was a cold rock, its skien away by the violence of the years. The shadows on its surface were like a cer extending its awful feelers. The moonlight plays tricks with peoples minds. And makes cats disappear. Maybe it had made Izumi disappear. Maybe it had all been carefully chraphed, beginning with that one night long ago.
I stretched, bent my arms, my fingers. Should I tinue, o back the way I came? Where had Izumi gone? Without her, how was I supposed to go on living, all by myself on this backwater island? She was the only thing that held together the fragile, provisional me
I tio climb uphill. Id e this far and might as well reach the top. Had there really been music there? I had to see for myself, even if only the fai of clues remained. In five minutes, I had reached the summit. To the south, the hill sloped down to the sea, the harbor, and the sleeping town. A scattering of street lights lit the coast road. The other side of the mountain was ed in darkness. There was no indication whatsoever that a lively festival had taken place here only a short while before.
I returo the cottage and downed a glass of brandy. I tried to go to sleep, bit I couldnt. Until the eastern sky grew light, I was held in the grip of the moon. Then, suddenly, I pictured those cats, starving to death in a 1ocked apartment. I -- the real me -- was dead, and they were alive, eating my flesh, biting into my heart, sug My blood, dev my penis. Far away, I could hear they lapping up my brains. Like Macbeths witches, the three lithe cats surrounded my broken head, slurping up that thick soup ihe tips of their rough?９９ｌｉb? tongues licked the soft folds of my mind. And with each lick my sciousness flickered like a flame and faded away.
NEW YORK MIINING DISASTER
NEW YORK MIINING DISASTER
By MURAKAMI Haruki
Translated by Philip Gabriel
They blew out their lamps to save on air, and darkness surrouhem. No one spoke. All they could hear in the dark was the sound of water dripping from the ceiling every five seds.
“O.K., everybody, try not to breathe so much. We don’t have enough air left,” an old miner said. He held his voice to a whisper, but even so the wooden beams on the ceiling of the tunnel creaked faintly. In the dark, the miners huddled together, straining to hear one sound. The sound of pickaxes. The sound of life.
They waited for hours. Reality began to melt away in the darkness. Everything began to feel as if it were happening a long time ago, in a world far away. Or was it happening iure, in a different far-off world?
Outside, people were digging a hole, trying to reach them. It was like a se from a movie.
A friend of mine has a habit of going to the zoo whehere’s a typhoon. He’s been doing this for ten years. At a time when most people are closing their storm shutters or running our to stock up on mineral water or cheg to see if their radios and flashlights are w, my friend s himself in an army-surplus poncho from the Vietnam War, stuffs a couple of s of beer into his pockets, as off. He lives about a fifteen-minute walk away.
If he’s unlucky, the zoo is closed, “owing to i weather,” and its gates are locked. When this happens, my friend sits down ooatue of a squirrel o the entrance, drinks his lukewarm beer, and then heads bae.
But when he makes it there in time he pays the entrance fee, lights a soggy cigarette, and surveys the animals, one by one. Most of them have retreated their shelters. Some stare blankly at the rain. Others are more animated, jumping around in the gale-force winds.
Some are frightened by the sudden drop in barometric pressure; others turn vicious.
My friend makes a point of drinking his first beer in front of the Bengal tiger cage. (Bengal tigers always react the most violently to storms.) He drinks his sed oside the gorilla cage. Most of the time the gorillas aren’t the least bit disturbed by the typhoon. They stare at him calmly as he sits like a mermaid on the crete floor sipping his beer, and you’d swear they actually felt sorry for him.
“It’s like being in aor when it breaks down and you’re trapped ih strangers,” my friend tells me.
Typhoons aside, my friend’s no different from anyone else. He works for an export pany, managing fn iments. It’s not one of the better firms, but it does well enough. He lives alone in a little apartment as a new girlfriend every six months. Why he insists on having a new one every six months (and it’s always exactly six months) I’ll never uand. The girls all look the same, as if they were perfect es of one another. I ’t tell them apart.
My friend owns a nice used car, the collected works of Balzad a black suit, a black tie, and black shoes that are perfect for attending funerals. Every time someone dies, I call him and ask if I borrow them, even though the suit and the shoes are one size too big for me.
“Sorry to bother you again,” I said the last time I called. “Another funeral’s e up.
“Help yourself. You must be in a hurry,” he answered. “Why don’t you e ht away?”
When I arrived, the suit and tie were laid out oable, ly pressed, the shoes were polished, and the fridge was full of cold imported beer. That’s the kind of guy he is.
“The other day I saw a cat at the zoo,” he said, opening a beer.
“A cat?”
“Yeah, two weeks ago. I was in Hokkaido on business and dropped by a zoo near my hotel. There was a cat asleep in a cage with a sign that said ‘Cat.’ “
“What kind of cat?”
“Just an ordinary one. Brown stripes, short tail. And unbelievably fat. It just plopped down on its side and lay there.”
“Maybe cats aren’t so on in Hokkaido.”
“You’re kidding, right?” he asked, astonished. “There must be cats in Hokkaido. They ’t be that unusual.”
“Well, look at it another way: why shouldn’t there be cats in a zoo?” I said.
“They’re animals, tht?”
“Cats and dogs are your run-of-the-mill-type animals. Nobody’s going to pay moo see them,” he said. “Just look around you-they’re everywhere. Same thing with people.”
When we’d finished off a six-pack, I put the suit and tie and shoebox into a large paper bag.
“Sorry to keep doing this to you,” I said. “I know I should buy my own suit, but somehow I never get around to it. I feel like if I buy funeral clothes I’m saying it’s O.K. if somebody dies.”
“It’s no problem,” he said. “I’m not using them anyway. It’s better to have someone use them than to have them hanging in the closet, right?”
It was true that ihree years since he’d had the suit made he’d hardly worn it.
“It’s weird, but since I got the suit nor a single person I know has died,” he explained.
“That’s the way it goes.”
“Yes, that’s the way it goes,” he said.
For me, oher hand, it was the Year of Funerals. Friends and former friends died oer another, like ears of withering in a drought. I was twe. My friends were all about the same age—twenty-seven, twe, twenty-nine. Not the right age to die.
A poet dies at twenty-one, a revolutionary or a rock star at twenty-four. But after that you assume that everything is going to be all right. You’ve made it past Dead Man’s Curve and you’re out of the tunnel, cruising straight for your destination down a six-lane highway-whether you want to be or not. You get your hair cut; you shave every m. You aren’t a poet anymore, or a revolutionary or a rock star. You don’t pass out drunk in phone booths or blast the Doors at four in the m. Instead, you buy life insurance from your friend’s pany, drink in hotel bars, and keep your dental bills for medical dedus. That’s normal at twe.
But that was exactly when the ued massacre started in our lives. It was like a surprise atta a lazy spring day—as if someone, on top of a metaphysical hill, holding a metaphysical mae gun, had sprayed us with bullets. One minute we were ging our clothes, and the mihey didn’t fit anymore: the sleeves were i, and we had one leg in one pair of pants and the other in a different pair. It was a mess.
But death is just that. A rabbit is a rabbit whether it springs out of a hat or a wheat field. A hot oven is a hot oven, and the black smoke rising from a ey is what it is—black smoke rising from a ey.
The first person to straddle the divide betweey and uy (or uy ay) was a friend from college who taught English at a junih school. He’d been married for three years, and his wife had gone back to her parents’ house in Shikoku to have their baby.
One unusually warm Sunday afternoon in January, he went to a department store and bought two s of shaving cream and a German-made khat was big enough to lop off an elephant’s ear. He went home and ran a bath. He got some ice from the refrigerator, downed a bottle of Scotch, climbed into the tub, and slit his wrists. His mother found his body two days later. The police came and took a lot of photographs. Blood had dyed the bath the color of tomato juice. The police ruled it a suicide. After all, the doors had been locked, and, of course, the deceased had bought the knife himself. But why did he buy two s of shaving cream that he didn’t plan to use? No one knew.
Maybe it hadn’t hit him when he was at the department store that in a couple of hours he’d be dead. Or maybe he was afraid that the cashier would guess that he was going to kill himself.
He didn’t leave a will or a note. O table there was only a glass, the empty whiskey bottle and ice bowl, and the two s of shaving cream. While he was waiting for the bath to fill, knog back glass after glass of Haig-on-the-rocks, he must have stared at those s and thought something along the lines of I’ll never have to shave again.
A man’s death at twe is as sad as the winter rain.
During the welve months, four more people died.
One died in Mar an i at an oil field in Saudi Arabia or Kuwait, and two died in June—a heart attad a traffic act. From July to November there eace, but then in December another friend died, also in a car crash.
Unlike my first friend, who’d killed himself, these friends never had time to realize that they were dying. For them it was like climbing up a staircase they’d climbed a million times before and suddenly finding a step missing.
“Would you make up the bed for me?” the friend who died of a heart attack had asked his wife. He was a furniture designer. It was eleven o’clo the m. He’d woken up at nine, worked for a while in his room, and then said he felt sleepy. He went to the kit, made some coffee, and drank it. But the coffee didn’t help. “I think I’ll take a nap,” he said. “I hear a buzzing sound in the bay head.” Those were his last words. He curled up in bed, went to sleep, and never woke up again.
The friend who died in December was the you, and the only woman. She was twenty-four, like a revolutionary or a rock star. One cold rainy evening just before Christmas, she was flattened iragic yet quite ordinary space between a beer-delivery trud a crete telephone pole.
A few days after the last funeral, I went to my friend’s apartment to return the suit, which I’d picked up from the dry er’s, and to give him a bottle of whiskey to thank him.
“Much obliged. You’ve helped me out once again,” I said.
As usual, his fridge was full of cold beer, and his fortable sofa reflected a faint ray of sunlight. On the coffee table there was a ashtray and a pot of Christmas poiias.
He accepted the suit, in its plastic c, his movements leisurely—like those of a bear just ing our of hibernation—and quietly put it away.
“I hope the suit doesn’t smell like a funeral,” I said.
“Clothes aren’t important. The real problem is what’s ihem.”
“Um,” I said.
“One funeral after another for you this year,” he said, stretg out on the sofa and p beer into a glass. “How many all together?”
“Five,” I said, spreading out the fingers of my left hand. “But I think that’s got to be it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Enough people have died.”
“It’s like the curse of the Pyramids or something,” he said. “I remember reading that somewhere. The curse tinues until enough people have died. Or else a red star appears in the sky and the moon’s shadow covers the sun.
After we finished a six-pack, we started on the whiskey. The winter sunlight sloped gently into the room.
“You look a little glum these days,” he said.
“Really?” I said.
“You must be thinking about things too mu the middle of the night,” he said. “I’ve stopped thinking about things at night.”
“How’d you mahat?”
“When I get depressed, I start to . Even if it’s two or three in the m. I wash the dishes, wipe off the stove, mop the floor, bleach the dish towels, anize my desk drawers, iron every shirt in sight,” he said, stirring his drink with his finger. “I do that till I’m exhausted, then I have a drink and go to sleep. In the m I get up and by the time I’m putting on my socks I ’t even remember what it was I was thinking about.”
I looked around again. As always, the room was and orderly.
“People think of all kinds of things at three in the m. We all do. That’s why we each have to figure out our own way of fighting it off”
“You’re probably right,” I said.
“Even animals think things over at 3 A.M.,” he said, as if he were remembering something. “Have you ever goo a zoo at 3 A.M.?”
“No,” I answered vaguely. “No, of course not.”
“I’ve only do once. A friend of mine works at a zoo, and I asked him to let me in when he had the night shift. You’re not supposed to, really.” He shook his glass. “It was a strange experience. I ’t explain it, but I felt as if the ground had silently split open and something was crawling up out of it. And then there was this invisible thing on a rampage in the dark. It was as if the cold night air had coagulated. I couldn’t see it, but I felt it, and the animals felt it, too藏书网. It made me think about the fact that the ground we walk on goes all the way to the earth’s core, and I suddenly realized that the core has sucked up an incredible amount of time.”
I didn’t say anything.
“Anyway, I never want to go again—to the zoo in the middle of the night, I mean.”
“You prefer a typhoon?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll take a typhoon any day.”
The ph and he went to his bedroom to take the call. It was his girlfriend e, with an endless e phone call. I wao tell him I was going to call it a day, but he was on the phone forever. I gave up waiting and switched oV. It was a twenty-seven-inch color set with a remote trol, the kind you barely have to touch to ge the el. The TV had six speakers and great sound. I’d never seen such a wonderful TV.
I made two plete rounds of the els before settling on a news program. A border clash, a fire, exge rates going up and down, a new limit on car imports, an outdoor winter swim meet, a family suicide. All these bits of news seemed somehow ected, like people in a high-school-graduation photo.
“Any iing news?” my friend asked as he came bato the room.
“Not really,” I said.
“Do you watch a lot of TV?”
I shook my head. “I don’t have a TV.”
“There’s at least one good thing about TV,” he said after a while. “You shut it off whenever you like. And nobody plains.”
He pushed the “Off” button on the remote trol. Immediately, the s went blank. The room was still. Outside the window, lights in other buildings were starting to e on.
We sat there for five minutes, drinking whiskey, with nothing to talk about. The teleph again, but he pretended not to hear it. Just as the phoopped ringing, he hit the “On” button, as if he’d suddenly remembered something. The picture returned instantly, and a entator standing in front of a graph gestured with a pointer as he explained ges in the price of oil.
“See? He didn’t even notice that we’d switched him off for five minutes.”
“True enough,” I said.
“Why is that?”
It was too much trouble to think it through, so I shook my head.
“When you switch it off, one side ceases to exist. It’s us or him. You just hit the switd there’s a unications blackout. It’s easy.”
“That’s one way of thinking of it,” I said.
“There are millions of ways of thinking. In India they grow ut trees. In Argentina it rains political prisoners from helicopters.” He switched the TV off again. “I don’t want to say anything about other people,” he said, “but sider the fact that there are ways of dying that don’t end in funerals. Types of death you ’t smell.”
I nodded silently. I felt that I knew what he was getting at. At the same time, I felt that I had no idea what he meant. I was tired and a bit fused. I sat there, fingering one of the poiia’s green leaves.
“I’ve got some champagne,” he said early. “I brought it back from a busirip to France a while ago. I don’t know much about champagne, but this is supposed to be great. Would you like some? Champagne might be just the thing after a string of funerals.”
He brought out the chilled champagtle and two glasses ahem quietly oable, then smiled slyly. “Champagne’s pletely useless, you know,” he said. “The only good part is the moment you pop the cork.”
“I ’t argue with you there,” I said.
We popped the cork, and talked for a while about zoo in Paris and the animals that live there. The champagne was excellent.
There arty at the end of the year, an annual New Year’s Eve party at a bar in Roppongi, which had beeed for the occasion. A piano trio played, and there was a lot of good food and drink. When I ran across someone I knew, I’d chat for a while. My job required that I put in an appearance every year. Parties aren’t my thing, but this one was easy to take. I had nothing else to do on New Year’s Eve and could just stand by myself in a er, relax, have a drink, and enjoy the musio obnoxious people, o be introduced ters and listen to them rant for half an hour about how a vegetaria cures cer.
But that evening someoroduced me to a woman. After the usual small talk, I tried to retreat to my er again. But the woman followed me bay seat, whiskey glass in hand.
“I asked to be introduced to you,” she said amiably.
She wasn’t the type to turn heads, though she was certainly attractive. She was wearing an expensive green silk dress. I guessed that she was about thirty-two. She could easily have made herself look younger, but she didn’t seem to think it was worth the trouble. Three rings graced her fingers, and a faint smile played on her lips.
“You look exactly like someone I know,” she said. “Your facial features, your back, the way you talk, the over-all mood—it’s an amazing likeness. I’ve been watg you ever since you came in.
“If he’s that much like me, I’d like to meet the guy,” I said. I had no idea what else to say.
“You would?”
“I’d want to see what it feels like to meet someone who’s exactly like me.”
Her smile deepened for an instant, then softened. “But it’s impossible,” she said. “He died five years ago. When he was about the same age you are now.
“Is that right?” I said.
“I killed him.”
The trio was just finishing its sed set, and there was a smattering of halfhearted applause.
“Do you like music?” she asked me.
“I do if it’s nice musi a nice world,” I said.
“In a nice world there is no nice music,” she said, as if she were telling some vital secret. “In a nice world the air doesn’t vibrate.”
“I see,” I said, not knowing how to respond.
“Have you seen the movie where Warrey plays the piano in a night club?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Elizabeth Taylor is one of the ers at the club, and she’s really poor and miserable.”
“Hmm.”
“So Warrey asks Elizabeth Taylor if she has any requests.”
“And does she?”
“I fet. It’s a really old movie.” Her rings sparkled as she drank her whiskey. “I hate requests. They make me feel unhappy. It’s like when I take a book out of the library. As soon as I start to read it, all I think about is when I’ll finish it.”
She put a cigarette between her lips. I struck a matd lit it for her.
“Let’s see,” she said. “We were talking about the person who looked like you.”
“How did you kill him?”
“I threw him into a beehive.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Yes,” she said.
Instead of sighing, I took a sip of whiskey. The ice had melted and it barely tasted like whiskey anymore.
“Of course, legally I’m not a murderer,” she said. “Or morally, either.”
“her legally nor morally a murderer.” I didn’t want to, but I reviewed the points she’d made. “But you did kill someone?”
“Right.” She nodded happily “Someone who looked just like you.”
Across the room a ma out a loud laugh. And the people around him laughed, too. Glasses ked. It sounded very far away but extremely clear. I don’t know why, but my heart ounding, as if it were expanding or moving up and down. I felt as if I were walking oh that was floating on water.
“It took less than five seds,” she said. “To kill him.”
We were silent for a while. She was takiime, sav the silence.
“Do you ever think about freedom?” she asked.
“Sometimes,” I said. “Why do you ask?”
“ you draw a daisy?”
“I think so. Is this a personality test?”
“Almost.” She laughed.
“Well, did I pass?”
“Yes” she answered. “You’ll be fine. Nothing to worry about. Intuition tells me you’ll live a good long life.”
“Thank you,” I said.
The band began playing ‘Auld Lang Syne.”
“Eleven-fifty-five,” she said, glang at the gold wat her pendant. “I really like ‘Auld Lang Syne.’ How about you?”
“I prefer ‘Home on the Range.’ All those deer and antelope.”
She smiled again. “You must like animals.”
“I do,” I said. And I thought of my friend who likes zoos and of his funeral suit.
“I ealking to you. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye,” I said.
On Part-time Jobs
On Part-time Jobs
by Haruki Murakami
Translated by Christopher Allison
When I was a student, which was more than ten years ago now, the average hourly wage for part-time work was about the same as a cup of coffee in an average coffee shop. To make it plain, at the end of the 1960s it was about 150 yen. “Hi-Lite” cost 80 yen, and ic books were about 100 yen. Since I just bought records with the money I made w, I could buy one record for every day-and-a-half of labor.
Now, pared to a 300 yen cup of coffee, the standard wage for part time work is 500 yen. It looks as though the market price has ged a little. You buy two records with one days labor.
If you just look at the numbers, it seems like our standard of living has gotteer in those ten years. From a lifestyle point-of-view, though, I dont think thin>gs have really improved. In the old days, housewives didnt have to take part time jobs, and there was no loan-repayment hell.
Numbers are really plicated. You t al.ways trust what the General Ating Office tells you. GNP is a total sham. If they plopped GNP down in the west entrance of Shinjuku Station a anyone who wao e up and touch it then I might have some faith in it. But short of that, I t trust anything with so little substance.
In this respect, I think Kenichiro Takemura (politico-eidit) and Kakuei Tanaka (former prime-minister) are amazing. Those guys, knowing fully that their figures were dubious, chose only to use hat said the situation was fine. If used only to that extent, well, just oebook will suffice.
Anyway, I still remember the records that I bought with the money from the part-time job of my school days, and how I listeo them devotedly. But it wasnt their number or their volume that really mattered; the important thing was their quality.
Spider Monkey at Night
Spider Mo Night
1995, Heibonsha
Revised on March 17, 2005
Short Stories:
Ⅰ
Horn (translated by OSAKABE Yoshio)
Pencil Sharpner - or, the Serendipity of WATANABE Noboru, Part I (translated by Christopher Allison)
Julio Iglesias (translated by Christopher Allison)
Time Mae - or, the Serendipity of WATANABE Noboru, Part II (translated by Christopher Allison)
Croquettes (translated by Christopher Allison)
Playing Cards (translated by OSAKABE Yoshio)
Neer (translated by OSAKABE Yoshio)
Donutization (translated by Christopher Allison)
Antithesis (tranlated by OSAKABE Yoshio)
Eels (translated by Christopher Allison)
TAKAYAMA Noriko-san and my Sexual Desire (translated by OSAKABE Yoshio)
Octopus (translated by Christopher Allison)
A Raid by the Old Man Mushikubo (translated by OSAKABE Yoshio)
Spanner
Donuts, again (translated by OSAKABE Yoshio)
Ⅱ
Spider-mo Night
Advertisement for Jazz Cafe in Kokubunji a long time ago (translated by Christopher Allison)
The World Where Horses Sell Tickets (translated by Christopher Allison)
Bangkok Surprise (translated by Christopher Allison)
Beer
Proverbs
Structurism
A Radish Grater
Message Phone
Stogs (translated by Christopher Allison)
Milk
Good News
High Effit Stilts
Zoo
The India Salesman (translated by Christopher Allison)
Back of Ceiling
Mosho Mosho
A Hard Rains A-Gonna Fall
Nicol, the Liar
Deep Red Mustard
About night whisle, or about Effect of Tale
Back
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Horn
By MURAKAMI Haruki
Translated by OSAKABE Yoshio
There is a musical instrument such as the horn. And there are professional hornists. Although it is the natural way of the world, I’m fused like lost in a three-dimensional labyrinth when I start to sider such a thing seriously.
Why should it be a horn?
Why did he bee the hornist? Why not me?
An act of a person being a hornist carries deeper mystery than an act being a , I believe. It is the mystery you uand everything in your life if you solve it. But the reason may be I am a , not a hornist. If I am a hornist, an act of a person being a looks much strange.
I imagine he happeo enter with the horernoon in a deep forest. During chitchatting, they liked each other and he became the professional hornist. Or the horn might tell him a story of the horn’s life, something like a hard time in its boyhood, its plicated family background, a plex of its feature or its sexual hang-up.
“I don’t know anything about a violin and flute,” The horn might have said such as “you see I was born as a horn. I haven’t gone abroad or skiing…” Sihe afternoon, the horn and the hornist became an inseparable and perfebination. After the same old, hard times like Flash Dahe horn and the hornist, hand in hand, appear today on the public stage and are playing the first passage of Brahms’s piano certo.
Sitting on my seat in the cert hall, I happen to think about such a thing. And also about a tuba in a.９9ｌｉｂ.nother deep forest, waiting for someoo walk by.
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Pencil Sharpener
Or, the Serendipity of Noboru Watanabe, part I
by MURAKAMI Haruki
Translated by Christopher Allison
If there wasnt a guy named Noboru Watanabe, I would, no doubt, still be using a ratty old pencil sharpehanks to Noboru Watanabe, a shiny new pencil sharpener has e into my possession. This kind of good fortune does not happen everyday.
When Noboru Watanabe came into my kit, he immediately spied my old pencil sharpener sitting oable. That day, I had been w at the kit table for a ge of pace. Thus, the pencil sharpener had bee between a bottle of soy saud the salt shaker.
Noboru Watanabe, while he was fixing the sinks drain--he being the plumber--now and then would steal a gla the table top out of the er of his eye. But at that time, sihere was no way of knowing that he was a maniacal collector of pencil sharpeners, I couldnt figure out what in the world he was so ied in oable top, at which he kept stealing such pointed glahere were many and varied things scattered oable.
"You know, sir, thats a really nice pencil sharpener youve got there," Noboru Watanabe said, after he had finished with the pipe repair.
"This?" Surprised, I picked it up off the table. It was the same ordinary hand-operated gadget Id been using for more than 20 years, since my middle school days, and it was no different from any other. The metal part was badly rusted, and on top an Atom Seal sticker had been stuck. In short, it was old and dirty.
"What you have there is a 1963 model Marx PSD. Very rare," Noboru Watanabe said. "The way the blade cuts is a little different from any other type. The shape of the shavings is subtly different."
"Wow," I said.
It was thus that I attained a brand new pencil sharpener of the latest model, and Noboru Watanabe came away with a 1963 model Marx PSD (with Atom Seal). Noboru Watanabe always carries new pencil sharpeners around in his bag, to exge in barter under just such circumstances. Although it will doubtless recur, this kind of serendipity does not e too often in one lifetime.
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Julio Iglesias
by Haruki Murakami
Translated by Christopher Allison
After the mosquito coils disappeared, there was not one sihio protect us from the attack of the sea turtle. I had tried to order more mosquito coils both by mail and by telephone, but the telephone line had been cut, and mail service had stopped about two weeks before. The more I thought about it, the more certain I was that there was nothing to prevent that crafty sea turtle from doing just what he pleased. Until now, hes been forced to drink a sea brihanks to the mosquito coils we had with us. Now, however, he robably smiling tentedly to himself, down at the bottom of the deep blue sea, maybe chug a little, and taking a nap in preparation fhtfall.
"Weve done for," she said to me. "When night es, wed both be devoured by the sea turtle."
"We must not give up hope," I said. "If we wrack our brains, wed defeat this vile sea turtle."
"But the sea turtle stole every last one of our mosquito coils."
"Were got to try to think theoretically. If the sea turtle hates mosquito coils so much, there must be something else that he hates as well."
"For example?"
"Julio Iglesias," I said.
"Why Julio Iglesias?" she asked.
"I dont know. It just suddenly popped into my head. Like intuition or something."
Following my instincts, I put Julio Iglesias "Begin the Begine" on the Hi-Fi systems turntable and waited for su. When it got dark, the sea turtle would certainly launch his attack. Then, all would be decided: whether we would be eaten, or whether the sea turtle would weep.
Just before midnight, I heard the sound of squishy footsteps he entranceway, and dropped the needle onto the record straightaway. When Julio Iglesiass sugar-water voice began to sing "Begin the Begine," the footsteps immediately stopped, and in their place could be heard a sea turtle anguished moaning.
We had beaten the sea turtle.
That night, Julio Iglesias sang "Begin the Begine" 126 times. While I hate Julio Iglesias too, it wasnt nearly as bad as the sea turtle.
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Time Mae
Or, the Serendipity of Noboru Watanabe, part II
by MURAKAMI Haruki
Translated by Christopher Allison
There was a knock at the door.
I left the peel of the tangerine I was eating on top of the kotatsu ao the genkan, only to find Noboru Watanabe (plumber and collector of pencil sharpeners) standing there. It was about 6:30, so Noboru Watanabe said "Good evening."
"Good evening," I replied, not really knowing why. "Uhh, I dont remember calling for any work..."
"Yes, I know. Today I would like to ask a favor of you. You have an old fashioime mae in your house, and I thought that...well, that you might sider sing it for a brand new one."
"Time mae?" I repeated to myself, a little surprised. But the surprise wouldnt go away. "Yes, there is," I said casually. "You want to see it?"
"Yes, if I might."
And so I apanied Noboru Watao my four-and-a-half mat room, with the tangerine peel still sitting on the electric kotatsu.
"Ah, the time mae," he said. I thought he had a sense of humor kind of like mine.
But Noboru Watanabe didnt laugh. Rolling back the kotatsu futon with a grave demeanor, he turhe knobs, checked the graduations, and tugged gently at the fs, one by one.
"This is an amazing piece, sir," he said with a sigh. "Incredible. Its a 1971 model National Hoka-Hoka. Of course you think so too, sir?"
"Yeah, sure," I replied agreeably. One of the legs was a little wobbly, but warmth is warmth.
Sinoboru Watanabe had offered to s it for a braime mae, I told him "Go ahead." Norboru Watanabe went out to his Light Ace parked in front of the house arieved a brand ric kotatsu (or time mae) from the trunk, brought it into my room, and exged it for the National "Hoka-Hoka" (or time mae), which he held tightly in his arms as he bore it away.
"Thanks again," Noboru Watanabe said as he waved from the drivers seat. I waved back. And so, returning to my room, I finished eating my tangerine.
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Croquettes
by Haruki Murakami
Ttranslated by Christopher Allison
I was w at home one day when a girl came calling. She retty, maybe 18 or 19, and wore a green wool sweater. Standing nervously at the door, she fumbled with the clasp of her purse.
"Umm, year-end bonus, sir," she said in a soft voice.
"Ah, so I o sign for something, right?" I said.
"No, no. Im your year-end bonus."
"Im afraid I dont quite uand."
"Well, you see, to cut straight to the heart of the matter, you do whatever you like with me. Im a gift. I was told to e here by the ma K In charge of courtesy gifts."
"I see," I groaned. K Inc. was a major publishing pany, and I had done work for them many times. One day when I was getting drunk with this particular manager, he asked me what I wanted for my end-of-the-year bonus, and I replied "A young girl." Of course, I said it as a joke. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagihat such a truly first-rate publisher would actually do it.
"Unfortunately, Im really busy today. See, I have a lot of work to finish for a deadliomorrow, and anyway Im not really in the mood for sex right now. And the beds not made. If I had known you were ing today, I could have been prepared."
When I said this, she began to sob. "Im useless. You t even give me away. I t do a sihing right. They wouldnt even give me a drivers lise."
"There, there," I said.
But the girl looked like she was just going to keep bawling in my genkan. And, there being neighbors around, I had no choice but to invite her in and give her a cup of coffee.
"If you dont want to have sex, let me do something else for you. The boss said to provide you with two full hours of service. Do you like karaoke? I sing. Im really good at Elly, My Love by Southern All Stars."
"Id rather you not sing," I said, cutting her off quickly. If she did something like that, Id never be able to get my work done.
"Then Ill make croquettes. I make excellent croquettes."
"Great," I said. I really like croquettes a lot.
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Playing Cards
By MURAKAMI Haruki
Translated by OSAKABE Yoshio
After the record of Julio Iglesias wore out, there was nothio protect us from the attack of the sea turtle. It had only been playing Begin the Begine of Julio Iglesias every night that we had mao keep the sea turtle away.
"We are finished, aret we?" she said. "There is no mosquito coils and Julios disc is worn out."
"There has to be some other way," I said.
"How about Willy Nelson or Richard Clayderman?"
"No, its only Julio that works for the sea turtle," I k.
That day I went to the shore alone and peered into the sea from a far out rock. The sea turtle napped as usual croug on the sea bed. It was serving its power for the night attao matter how long I looked down at the sea turtle, no idea to drive it away occurred to me. I was too tired to play with my imagination.
We were fihis time, I thought. And ending our lives eaten by the sea turtle was miserable way to go. What would my mother think? Her only soen by a sea turtle!
We were resigned ourselves to our fate and finished our last meal. While calmly drinkihe sea turtle came upon us. Its footsteps approached steadily and it slowly walked round our house.
"Now were done for," she said holding my hands.
"We have to give up. Its a short but pleasant life," I said.
The door creaked open and the sea turtle peeped and found out that there was no mosquito coils, and no song of Julio Iglesias either. A deck of playing cards was grasped by its hands.
Playing cards?
And sihen all we do, all three of us, is play the card game, 51 every night. Its not such a fun game but much better than beien alive. Besides, its not as if we were listening to Julio Iglesias every night by choice.
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Neer
by MURAKAMI Haruki
translated by OSAKABE Yoshio
The extreme behavior of the big monkeys on the Ginza line carried on for months before any of it got into the news. Friends of miold me iails of their own experiences and I wit by myself.
The big monkeys raged on in this way but nothing appeared in the neers and there was no sign of a polivestigation. If the neers and police sidered the curse of the big monkeys unworthy of attention, I would seriously urge them to resider. Though at this time the big monkeys activities are limited to the Ginza lihere is no guarahat they wont spread to the Marunouchi or Hanzomon lines. It will be too late to take a step after that.
A from the curse of the big monkey I witnessed was relatively harmless o happened on February 15, the day after Saint Valentines day. I was taking the Ginza line from Omotesando to Toranomon. A well dressed office worker in his early forties sat o me and was eagerly reading a m edition of The Mainieer. He was reading an article entitled ‘Depreciation of the dollar brings US ey inflation?’I gla a new book ad below it, “5 kg diet ges your life.” .
The train approached the Akasakamitsuke station, the lights went off, as usual, and then came on agai instant. When I looked at the Mainieer once more, there was an obvious mishap. It was turned upside-down.
‘?noitalfni ymonoce SU sgnirb rallod eht fo noitaicerpeD’
“efil ruoy segnahc teid gk 5”
‘Oh dear! The big monkey did it again,’ the office worker said to me. ‘What is the gover waiting for?’
‘Yes, indeed,’ I replied.
It would be difficult for us, if it lasts forever like this.
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Donutization
Haruki Murakami
Translated by Christopher Allison
At the time when my girlfriend with whom I had been going out for three years, and to whom I was engaged, donutized, and our relationship subsequently fell apart--I mean, who among us really get along with a donutized girlfriend?--I started drinking in bars nearly every night, and had grown thin and drawn like Humphrey Bogart in "The Treasure of Sierra Madre."
"Look, Big Brother: dump her, if only for my sake. If you go on like this, you t help but fall apart," my sister advised. "I know what youre feeling, but donutized people never return to normal. You have no choice but to break up with her."
She was absolutely right. Just as she said, once a person is donutized, they stay donutized forever. I called the freak on the phone and said goodbye. "I hate breaking up, but in the end, I guess its just fate. Ill never fet you...bleah, bleah, bleah"
"You still do?" the donutized girlfriend said. "The ter of our humaence is nothing.There is nothing, like a zero. Why dont you take a long, hard look at this void? Why do you insist on looking only at the things immediately around you?"
Why? That was the question I wao ask her. Why do donutized people only think in suarrow-minded, parochial ways?
But anyway, thats how I broke up with my girlfriend. That was two years ago. Then, last spring, my little sister, for no apparent reason, donutized as well. After graduating from Jouchi Uy, and beginning to work for Japan Airlines, she was in the lobby of a Sapporo hotel one day on a busirip, when she suddenly donutized. My mother stayed at home day after day and cried her life away.I call my sister on the phone on a while, just to see how shes doing.
"You still do?" my donutized little sister says. "The ter of our humaence is..."
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Antithesis
by MURAKAMI Haruki
translated by OSAKABE Yoshio
A picture card at last arrived from my uncle. We did not hear from him since he had goo Borneo last September to cattithesis. Although it had an ordinary design with that usual house on stilts and ut trees, the letter itself from the uncle, famous for poor letter writer, is quite amazing.
“Unfortunately, Antithesis, we call it a big one, disappeared retly even in this place,” he wrote. Its letters are shaky since he wrote it on the boat.
“Natives said they have not seen Antithesis of 8 meter class for years. I caught one last month with five meters twenty-five long. Obviously a middle class, but acc to them it’s even the miracle. Quite my grief. Regarding the decrease of Antithesis, someone says it’s caused by less volic ash and another says it’s due to the geothermal ge. But no one knows definite reasons. If thing go on like this, I’ll go back to Japan by June.”
An old picture of my uncle, posing in front of the twelve and a half meter Antithesis carried by natives, was hung in my room. My uncle found the super-big fish in 1966 and it was officially recorded as the biggest Antithesis caught in 1960’s. At that time, he was in the prime time as the Antithesis hunter and I felt firmly his strong drive from the picture. It was the happy time like the Age of Discovery for Antithesis hunters.
To enter real shiny Antithesis in French restaurants became as hard as to catch a fallieorite by a tennis racket. Of course sometimes it’s on the menu even today. But it’s taken frahey are from India, dry and almost tasteless, small Antithesis, furthermore they are frozen. If my uncle finds such a menu, he will tear it to pieces immediately. Because he kept saying, “Big Antithesis, or nothing”.
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Eels
Haruki Murakami
Translated by Christopher Allison
It was 3:30 in the m when I got a phone call from May Kasahara, that abruptly rousted me from a deep sleep. In the midst of the soft warm mud of the velveteen sleep in which I was submerged, eels and rubber boots crowded arouhe overall effect being that I was greedily dev the fruit of this luxuriant happiness. It was thus that the phone call came.
Ring ring.
First, the fruit vahen the eels and the rubber boots; and finally the mud as well, so that at last only I was left. Just me: 37 years old, drunk, and not particularly likeable. What right does anyone in the world have to deprive me of my eels and rubber boots?
Ring ring.
"Hello," May Kasahara said. "Are you there?"
"Uh, yeah...hello," I responded.
"Hey, its May Kasahara. Sorry for calling so late. But there are ants ing in again. They built a in one of the side pillars i. We chased Im out of the bathroom, but they just moved their . Id not kidding: they moved the whole thing. Right down to the speckled white babies. I t stand it! So, like, bring over that spray again, OK? I know its late and everything, but I totally hate ants. So you e?"
In the darkness, I shook my head violently. Who in the world was this May Kasahara? Who was this May Kasahara, who had robbed me of my eels?
I tried askihese questions.
"Oh, Im so sorry. I must have made a mistake," said May Kasahara, sounding genuinely apologetic. "This ant problem has really got me flustered, ever sihey moved their . Sorry."
Heaving a sigh, I crawled ba my futon, closed my eyes, and tried to find those friendly eels ihick mud of sleep.
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TAKAYAMA Noriko-san and my sexual desire
By MURAKAMI Haruki
Translated by OSAKABE Yoshio
Up to now in my life, I have walked with many women side by side but not with such a quian walker as TAKAYAMA Noriko-san, twenty-five years old. She strides the streets with a very cheerful way, swinging her arms bad forth refreshingly, as if to say, “I’m just oiled”. From a little far way, she seems like a spider-fly wearing transparent wings. She is so swift and smooth, looks very happy like a light after the heavy rain.
When I walked with her for the first time (we walked from the front of Sendagaya elementary school to Aoyama Ie), I was so astonished with her speed and thought my pany annoyed her and she hoped to part from me as soon as possible with su unusual speed. Or I thought she pla least to reduce my sexual desire with a furious speed (however, as I had no sexual desire to her, I wo worked or not.)
It took some months to realize her quick space has no special meaning but she only likes to walk as if flying. Early winter I saw her at the front of the Yotsuya station, walking alone in crowds, also then she moved from someplaepla this ground okyo” with that awful speed, we might call it an unreasonable speed. She was walking gripping a strap of her handbag with her right hand, flapping skirts of her trench coat in the wind and straightening her spine.
When I took several steps to her and wanted something, she was far forward and I was left alone in front of the Yotsuya station in an awkward manner like Rossano Brazzi in the last se of “Summertime”. But I leased to know TAKAYAMA Noriko-san did not misuand my sexual desire.
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Octopus
by Haruki Murakami
Translated by Christopher Allison
Noboru Watanabe sent me a postcard with a picture of an octopus on it. Beh the octopus, a short note had been written in a cramped hand.
"It has e to my attention that you rendered my daughter invaluable service while riding the subway the other day, for which I want to extend my heartiest thanks. Lets go out to eat octopus sometime soon."
I was very surprised when I read this. I had only just gotten back from a trip, and for one reason or another, had not had cause to ride the subway for nearly two months, nor did I remember rendering his daughter any aid. For that matter, I didnt even know he had a daughter. I guess he had me fused with someone else.
But eating octopus together didnt sound so bad.
I wrote Noboru Watanabe a letter. On the postcard, there icture of a thrush, beh which I wrote:
"Thank you for your postcard of the other day. I like octopus a lot. Lets go out to eat together. Please tact me at the end of the month."
A full month passed without any response from Noboru Watanabe. He probably let it pass as a matter of courtesy, I thought. And although I had the stra desire to eat octopus that month, I held off, uhe assumption that I was going to eat octopus with Noboru Watanabe.
Just about the time I was fetting about Noboru Watanabe and octopai altogether, I received another postcard from him. This time there icture of a manbo on it. Beh this, there was a note.
"That octopus the other day was delicious. It had been a long time indeed since I had eaten such delicious octopus as that. But ing the opinions you expressed at that time, I must take some issue. As the parent of a daughter of about that age, I ot tolerate your sexual values. Lets get together and discuss the matter leisurely over nabe sometime."
Oh, well, I sighed. Noboru Watanabe has me mixed up with someone else yet again.
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A Raid by the Old Man Mushikubo
By MURAKAMI Haruki
Translated by OSAKABE Yoshio
“I am the Old Man Mushikubo.” the Old Man Mushikubo said and cleared hi throat.
“Yes, I know you.” I replied. Any inhabitants around here know him.
“Sorry for no notice but today I’d like to speak with you about virginity of young girls.”
“Wait …, wait a minute. I am now preparing my supper. Maybe another day for the story …” I tried to push back him in a hurry but he caught a whiff of it and pushed half of his body quickly into the door.
“It doesn’t take a long time. If you like, you cook there. eak here during your cooking.”
Really, ’t be helped, thinking in mind, I cut garlid eggplant with a kit knife, Shuko-Shoko-Shuko. He was really careful to enter properly from the kit door. Although the Old Man Mushikubo is quite in his dotage usually, his brain works extremely quickly in a thing of this sort.
“What are you cooking?” The Old Man Mushikubo asked me iingly.
“Well, spaghetti with eggplant and garlid kidney beans salad.”
“Are they your supper?”
“Yes.” I replied. What I eat in supper is no of a stranger. I will eat kidney beans if I like to the eat kidney beans; I will eat a pumpkin if I like to eat the pumpkin. In the same way with the virginity of young girls, the Old Man Mushikubo has nht to meddle. I had half a mind to put into words, but if the Old Man Mushikubo hates me, I am not sure what he would broadcast around in my neighborhoods; therefore I patiently shut my mouth. Anyhow after the Old Man Mushikubo finishes what he wants to say, he will go back.
Until I ate the spaghetti and the salad, and fio wash dishes, the Old Man Mushikubo tio speak endlessly without a break about an importance of the virginity at the door. His voice was so loud that I had a buzzing in my ears even after he came back. Re.9９ｌｉb?ally it was a terrible disaster. But uionally I thought… well, virgins have been scarcely found lately.
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Donuts, again
by MURAKAMI Haruki
translated by OSAKABE Yoshio
I got a phone call from Sophia Uy Donuts Study Club. Ioday’s students i a lot of hings. They asked me to join symposium to discuss about donuts. Yes, I said. I have my own opinion about donuts and all my knowledge, views and appreciations are vastly superior to average students.
The autuming of the Sophia Uy Donuts Study Club was held in the ba room of the Hotel ani. A live band played musid there was an attra of a donut-aligning game. After a snack was served for dihe symposium began in the room. Besides me, a famous cultural anthropologist and a cooking critic were present.
I argued, “If donuts have the power in porary literature, they act as an essential pie a certain personal fog power, which identifies with a subscious field ......” They paid me 50,000 yen.
I shoved the money into my pocket, moved to the hotel bar and drank vodka tonic with a girl, French-Lit major, whom I acquainted with at the donut-aligning game.
“Your novels are like donuts, both good and bad. I dont think that Flaubert ever thought much about donuts.”
She’s right. I agree that Flaubert hought much about donuts. But it’s the 20th tury and the 21st tury is just around the er. Discussing Flaubert at this time is simply embarrassing.
“Flaubert, cest moi.” I said trying to imitate Flaubert.
“You are a funny man,” she giggled. I flatter myself that I’m pretty good at eaining French-Lit majirls.
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Advertisement for a Jazz Coffee Shop That Was in Kokubunji a Long Time Ago
by Haruki Murakami
Translated by Christopher Allison
While it may alienate some people right from the start, this isnt the kind of shop where everyone, male or female, young or old, is cheerfully weled. We have something of a problem, especially during the summer. The air-ditioner doesnt work very well. Its not that it doesnt work at all: the area right around the vent is quite cool. But if you move away a little bit, this cool air wont reach you. There is, possibly, some kind of structural defect with the mae. We keep w if we should exge it for a new one. But there are other more difficult circumstances as well.
In this shop, we play music. If, perce, you are not a jazz fan, the volume of the music may be quite unpleasant. If, oher hand, you are an ardent jazz fan, you may find the same volume to be less-than-satisfying. To whichever group you belong, please dont blame the mahis is a perfect example of "You t please all the people all the time." We dont have many John Coltraine records. In pensation, we have lots of Staz. There are h Jarret records, but we have all the Chord Williams albums. Please dont hassle the manager for this. Its been this way sihe beginning. We have live musice a week. Young musis play their hearts out for o nothing. The piano is just a cheap upright, and its badly out of tuhe quality of the music varies, but its always eid the volume is always loud, so it may not be the most suitable background music for talking to your sweetheart.
While the manager isly retit, hes not very talkative either. Or perhaps hes just not very good at talking. When hes not busy, he sits at the ter and reads books. To tell the truth, four years from now hell quite uedly write a novel and receive a literary prize for new writers, but no one knows this yet. This is not even known to the manager himself. He probably thinks hell end his days as the manager of a Kokubunji jazz cafe, quietly listening to his favorite music everyday. It is not known anywhere in the world. But anyway, now its 2:30 iernoon, and "Billy Taylor at London House" is playing. Its not a very good performance, but the manager kind of likes it. In a, please dont blame him for it.
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The World Where Horses Sell Tickets
Haruki Murakami
Translated by Christopher Allison
I tried asking my father "Dad, where do people go when they die?" I had been quite uneasy about this for a while. After thinking for a little while, my father said "When people die, they go to the world where horses sell tickets. They buy tickets from the horses there, and ride on trains, a bentos. There are chikuwa and kobumaki and strips of cabbage in the bentos." I thought about this for a little while. But I couldnt uand why people had to eat chikuwa and kobumaki after they died. Last year, when Gramma died, we had sushi delivered. So why dead people o chikuwa and kobumaki? I had a feeling that this wasnt very fair. When I said this, my father said "When people die, they want to eat chikuwa and kobumaki and cabbage. Itt just that way."
"So then what happens? After they eat the bentos?" I tired asking. "Wherain reaches its destination, all the people get off. Then they buy aicket from another horse, and ride arain," my father said.
"And then they eat another bento with chikuwa and kobumaki and cabbage, right?" I shouted, uo restrain myself. I t stand even the sight of chikuwa or kobumaki or cabbage. I turo my father and stuy tongue. "Thats terrible! I do any of that stuff," I said.
When I did this, my father glared at me. But it wasnt my father anymore, but a horse instead. This father-horse had a ticket in his hand. "Neigh, neigh, arent we selfish! When you buy this ticket from me and ride the train, youll have to eat chikuwa and kobumaki and strips of cabbage for ever a９9ｌｉb.nd ever and ever. Neigh, neigh!"
I was so scared that I cried and cried. After a moment had passed, my father ged back from a horse to my father again. "Hey, dont cry. Why dont the two of us go to Maalds a hamburgers," Father said in a gentle voice." So I finally stopped g.
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Bangkok Surprise
by Haruki Murakami
Translated by Christopher Allison
"Hello. Is this 5721-1251?" a womans voice asked.
"Yes, thats right. 5721-1251."
"Please excuse the disturbance. You see, Ive been calling 5721-1252."
"Oh," I said.
"Ive called it like 30 times sihis m. But no one ever answers. Sooo, I figured they probably went on a trip or something."
"And?" I asked.
"And, well, I thought maybe, si seemed like you might be a neighbor or something, Id try 5721-1252 instead."
"Oh."
The woman cleared her throat a little bit. "I just came back from Bangkok last night. The most amazing thing happeo me in Bangkok. It was totally unbelievable. Absolutely incredible. I lanning to stay there for a week, but I came home three days early because of it. I really want to talk about what happened, so Ive been calling 5721-1252 ever since. I havent been able to sleep, keeping it bottled up like this, and now I just want to tell somebody. So I thought maybe the person at 1251 would listen to me."
"Oh, I see."
"But I thought I really couldnt tell a woman. Women spread these kinds of things around too easily, I think."
"Uh huh," I said.
"How old are you?"
"I turned 37 last month."
"37, huh? I have a feeling it would be better if it was somebody a little younger. Im sorry for saying so."
"Oh, its OK."
"Im sorry," she said again. "But Ill try 5721-1253. Bye."
Thus, in the end, I never did find out what happened in Bangkok.
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Stogs
by Haruki Murakami
Translation by Christopher Allison
Imagihis, if you will:
Theres a small room. Its ohird or fourth floor of a building, and from the window other buildings be seen. There is no one in the room. A maers the room alone. He is in his late twenties, and his face is pale. While he is not unhandsome, his face is very narrow. He is thin, and his height is, what, about 5 9"?
You follow me so far?
He is carrying a black vinyl handbag. He sets it down with a thud on a table in the middle of the room. It seems as if there is something very heavy in the bag. Opening the bags clasp, he begins to extract the tents. First, he pulls out some black stogs. These arent pantyhose, but the old-fashioned kind that e separately, two to a pair. He pulls out about a dozen stogs all together. He seems, however, not to be ied iogs, and throws them on the floor without so much as looking at them. He pulls out a black high-heel shoe as well, but this he also throws on the floor. , he finds a large portable stereo. After looking it over briefly, the mahis on the floor, seemingly ued. The man is being more and mitated, judging by his expression. He pulls out five or six packs of cigarettes. They are Hi-Lite. He breaks the seal on one of the packs and, pulling out a cigarette, ences smoking. After taking two or three drags, he shakes his head and stomps it out with his foot.
Just then, a telephone suddenly rings. Ring ring. Ring ring. Ring ring. With great hesitation, he picks up the receiver. "Hello," he says in a low voice. The person oher end says something. "No, no. Its nht," the man answers. "Its totally wrong. I dont have a cat and I dont smoke. I haveen cheese crackers for at least ten years.... Thats right. I have no e to the Fukuchiyama Line.... all. Do you uand?" and he slams down the phone.
He retrieves a half-empty box of cheese crackers from the bag. Then aog. This time, he stretches the stog tightly and holds it up to the light to exami closely. Then, reag into his pants pocket, he retrieves all the ge therein and dumps it, jingling, into ay vase nearby. He stuffs the stretched stog into the vase as well. At exactly that moment, there is the sound of a knock at the door. Knooock. The man hides the vase in a er of the room and slowly opens the door. Outside the door, a very short, balding man, wearing a ie with red butterflies is standing. And jabbing him with a rolled-up neer, he speaks in a gruff voice.
So, here is a question.
"What in the world did the bald man say?"
You have fifteen seds to aick tock tick tock...
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The India Salesman
by Haruki Murakami
Ttranslated by Christopher Allison
Usually about once every other month, the India salesman es around to our house. My mother will say "I bet its about time for the India salesman to e," and sure enough, almost as if he heard her, the figure of the India salesman will appear in enkan. So I always say "you should try tet about the India salesman, Mom. Whenever you think about him, he ends up ing," and then my mother replies "Hmm, I wonder if I didnt think about him whether hes still e," but then she fets tet and "I bet its about time for the..." slips carelessly out of her mouth. Without fail, the India salesman will show up again in enkan. The India salesman is a big middle-aged guy with a sunburned voice. Hes always carrying some heavy packages on his shoulders. While hes just about the same age as my father, he looks a lot healthier. He has big, beetle-like eyes that bulge out of his head. "This, its all on at of India," he says to me boastfully. "If you make sure to get your India, kid, youll turn into a big, strong guy, just like me. Youll have a full, level-headed life."
While I dont really get all of the stuff he says to me, I always get the feeling that hes scolding me, and it makes me nervous. Sometimes the India salesman yells at my mother, too. I think thats amazing. Even my father t really yell at my mother.
"Maam, Im worried. You havent been using India very much lately, have you? You have almost as much as you did the last time I was here," the Indian salesman says, heaving a sigh while iing our pantry. "Like I always say, if you dont use it sistently, a little at a time, so that it be absorbed into the body, it wont have any effect. Look at your kid. Lately, it seems like his eyes dont sparkle quite as bright. Hes sluggish, and doesnt have any verve. This will not do. If you look in his eyes, youll see what I mean. If you look in his eyes, the ge is obvious. Yiving him too little India. Hes not getting enough. Dont you think your child is beautiful? Hes beautiful, isnt he? But he has to get more India."
"I guess youre right, sir" my mother says, being fused, as if she was making an excuse. "But the other day the Bali salesman was here, and hes from the neighborhood, so I felt like I had to help him out. I know that India is great and everything, but..."
"The Bali guy!" the India salesman said derisively, raising his voice. "The Bali guy, maam, is all bluster, all hot air. If you want the real thing, yot to make it India. Anything else just doesnt pare."
As a result of this, my mother ended up buying a little more India. When I saw this, I thought that the India salesman was really amazing.
The Happy End of The Painter And The Writer
The Happy End of The Painter And The Writer
A versatioweenMURAKAMIHaruki andANZAIMizumaru
M stands for MURAKAMI, A for ANZAI
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Co-operating For The First Time
M. Do you think our versation topics very often have nothing to do with painting?
A. It seems so.
M. We oried to discuss the topi the magazine, but didnt actually delve into it.
A. Hmm ...
M. We discussed that iain special n. A long time ago really. That was the Today magazine of Cultural Publicatioment.
A. Yes! I remember that picture was called "The Su In The Mirror"!
M. You mean the oh a dog in it? That was -
A. The first time we worked together!
M. We had a good time chatting even before that!
A. In a certain cafe in Sendagaya -- the oroduced by you.
M. Later I invited you be to design the cover for me. But before that I had done something more ...
A. Writing ns fazines?
M. You mean Part Time News? Thats what I did afterwards ...
A. Yes! Oh, the first book ought to be A Slow Boat To a!
M. Now you remember it! At that time, I was only a new writer. How dare I think of those toppest illustrators? So I decided to ask Sasaki Makito design covers for my long novels. In fact, I have been a big fan of his sihe age of Galo. Only at that time very seldom did Sasaki drawcovers for books.
A. When I first looked at your book cover, it striked me as if I had known it somewhere. But I couldhe painter. Moreover, the covers bySasaki Maki really differ different from the styles of others. Theyre so fresh!
M. Makis both a cartoonist and painter himself. Its really ceous of me in asking him to design the cover for me!
A. You were so bold!
M. Really!
A. I agree! (laughs)
M. I was too keen on impl Sasaki Maki to藏书网 help me that I thought of nothing else. It turned out that I myself was very satisfied with the
cover, and it did receive a lot of good ents! Yet short fi is different from novels. Therefore I also wish to invite some other paio help me. So I thought of you Mizamaru Seian. At that time our works ...
A. Very cartoonish!
M. They striked me as very special, though. And the result was so satisfactory.
A. In that period I got a special desire. I didnt want to draw the real self with plete clarity. So I tried to extract the outlines of mypictures, and produced effects like those of paper-cut works.
M. Yes, like paste drawings. At that time not so many people would try that method.
A. It was a hing for me too, and many did not discover that was my work.
M. I didnt reize your work even.
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The Pictures Of Novels versus That Of Short Fi
A. It always seems to me inappropriate to employ a sharp mode of painting for the works of Murakami, especially his short fi. Yetsomehow the more you wish not to make yourself stand out, the clearer you depict yourself! I was finally at ease after I received the phonecall from the editor tellihat Murakami liked the effect!
M. Many people plain that its too challenging to design the cover for my works.
A. It would be much easier if one could everything but simply draw. But it seems that I ushed by something to produon works!
M. Actually, I used to have an idea in my mind everytime I ask for help. Only I fail to vey them pletely with my own words. It was thesame when I asked for your help.
A. Thats the way I feel too. Everytime I draw, I fail to translate my feeling into words. I only want to extract the lines in my drawings I regardas most sensational. Of course I throw all my emotions into all other colors. I get satisfied only if the result produce a pletely newimpression!
M. Youve got pretty strong intuition! You catch the demands and whatever ideas in others mind, and hit on that right away. Thats why Inever have to worry but to leave all to you.
A. You could acquire the same skill easily provided that you get yourself trained by the advertising pany! (smiles)
M. Thats terrific!
A. Yet sometimes I too feel I could capture what others want easily. I remember once you asked me to design for Firefly, Burn The BarnAnd Other Stories. You wao choose words as the main theme. It happens that I had wao try that method too.
M. I belong to the talkative and troublesome type. I asked you to use words for expression.
A. Hmm ... many people are really troublesome, wanting this and that. But you do not belong to that type. You voice out your idea at the start.Then you stop saying anything more but leave all to me.
M. Makis drawings differ from yours in meaning. His are fined by time and space. Yours vey the feeling of "alienation." The reason formy asking Maki to design covers for my novels and you for my short fi is not simply job devision. To write a long akes nearly a yearwith a tration of energy and spirit. This involvement remains after the writing is fihats why when I give the job to Maki, I wouldfeel that he accepts it with care. Oher hand, I could write several short pieces without much thinking. When I ask you to designafterwards, usually you would accept it lightly, listen to my explanations and then finish it. It is from that time onwards that I start collegthe fragmentery drafts. Therefore I choose to ask you to design covers for my short fi, a you "generalize" the whole colle ofshort stories.
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Words And Tea Bowl
M. I wao try words from the start of Firefly. But the feeling produced would like books issued by the post-war Avant Garde ... (laughs)
A. Ha! Ha! (laughs)
M. I also like the nostalgic mood, something resembling books published in Shouwa 30s!
A. Most of them were separate volumes, like the package of Suzuki Shintarous books.
M. Oh yes! Thats iing!
A. Wheold me they decided to use Firefly, Burn The Barn and Other Stories as the book title, I copied it immediately andreproduced it many times until the deadline was near. Finally I still found the first sketch most satisfactory. It seems that I lack profession!(smiles)
M. A good business?!
A. To tell the truth, I really wrote dozens but still found the first ohe best.
M. I agreed too! (laughs) But that cover is excellent and enduring. At first the book belong to the library colle series. Later it ublished as a separate volume. The cover looks eveer with its area reduced.
A. Its hard to use words. Especially my words. I only tried.
M. No no no - you did a good job and I like it so much. ... What did we do later? Oh! Was it Hei Ho: Murakami Asahido? Very much Japanesecover!
A. That tea bowl. I have a special favour toward the shapes of tea bowls or small porcelais. Particularly those traditional and sturdyteapots which exhibit the Japayle of beauty.
M. At last you gave the picture to me.
A. Hei Ho: Murakami Asahido reminds you of the name of some very old Japanese fruit stores. It looks so harmonic with a tea bowl.
M. Many people ent that its hard to guess what the book is about merely ole and the bowl. (smiles)
A. What do you think they might guess? (smiles)
M. A Slow Boat To a, then Firefly, Burn The Barn and Other Stories ...
A. And right after the Hei Ho: Murakami Asahido ...
M. It should be Another Bakery Attack!
A. At first I had thought of using Indiana Jones.
M. Hmm ... then you used Atack of Hei Ho: Murakami Ashido as the theme. The so-called spillover method!
A. They asked me to use a gun, instead of a whip to surround the title, which would look simpler. But I felt ...
M. Something wrong about that! The inal meaning would be lost without the whip!
A. Like those Cowboy pictures!
M. I really loved that painting so much, that I even thought of using the inal to decorate my new house!
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The I of The Scroll Painting ? Sudden Attack by a Cat
M. With the mention inal paintings, I suddenly remembered that i about the scroll painting.
A. Oh, about the scroll painting!
M. Once I moved to a new house. Of Japanese design. I asked you for a scroll painting, and prepared good white paper. You demanded a bucketof water and a pile of old neers to avoid dirtying the floor. After that you told me to leave everything to you. I waited outside for 30minutes and nothing happened. I wondered whether something had gone wrong. So I got into the room and took a look. And you were readingthe neer (laughs) and had not even started drawing a single line (laughs)!
A. In fact, I had never scroll painted for others. Since you invited me early, I had to accept it. I told myself I must do a great job, though attimes I thought of being sloppish. Nobodys going to discover that! (laughs) Anyway, I preteo be an expert from the beginning, like askiions on the quality of the paper. I never expect you t the paper samples to me! (laughs)
M. I remember those samples too!
A. Thus I felt the real pressure! I tried painting on those papers, and found the quality of be excellent!
M. Of course! I bought them with much care!
A. On that day, I came to your new house. A very Japanese house, with those expensive sliding paper panels. The moment I startedpainting, there were thunders and rains, which remind me of those great ses in movies!
I felt uneasy about that, and didnt wish others to watch when I ainting. You are very siderate, a all to me. I thought I would notseem serious en..ough if I finish painting so quickly. After brooding for a while, my eyes suddenly fell on the tents of the neers aboutthe third victory of Sino-Japanese Dragons. I got so ied and started reading it ...(laughs) Where did you get those old papers?
M. Its great, wasnt it?!
A. When I was reading, you came in! Its so embarassing!
M. I thought you could not allow others to watch you painting, like the story of Night e. I never guess you were reading! (laughs) Iremembered later you took only five mio finish the scroll painting! A four-sided scroll painting, to be exact. To tell the truth, were youthat well-planned or did you jerry-build!?
A. Thats what I call the power of tration ... (laughs) I read the paper beforehand, which calmed me down! (laughs)
M. Really? (laughs)
A. And though it didnt take me much time painting ...
M. Just five mio be exact!
A. It exhaused the same amount of energy as in running thousands of meters!
M. But I didnt notice a single drop of sweat!
A. I hid that deliberately!
M. I would rather you show off all your power! Itd have touched me!
A. Anyway, its a painting which gives such pleasure!
M. You remember you plained being attacked by a cat? Its just because you dislike cats and dogs!
A. Dare you mention that! You sent your cat with a bell to watch over me!
M. I didhat! It was just the time for letting cats out!
A. "Letting cats"? I remember how I screamed for help!
M. I thought it was a bear which frightened you! But its only a cat!
A. I really love those scroll paintings, and had wao try that long ago. When I paihe feeling was so refreshing!
M. Those apple and e on the scroll were inally inteo be sun and moon. But they are what I perceive them to be!
A. The picture you mention roduced at my office. I produced many, in fact, and chose that as the best!
M. But thats really terrific! Last time we two spent our holidays at the Hot Springs. I found in my room a painting resembling yours. But thatroduced by an 80-year-old painter having accumulated decades of experience! But the design is really not much different from yourswith only 40 years of experience!
A. Using black paint for that round sun is so appropriate!
M. In the past history, only those painters belonging to noble families could produce real circles.
A. The so-called "genuine/ legitimate circles."
M. But Mizumuras circles have already reached that stage.
A. Do you mean I only know how to paint circles?!
M. Mizumuras circles will bee so famous sooner or later.
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Happy End Of Elephant Factory
M. For Happy End Of Elephant Factory, the illustrations and essays were done separately.
A. At first I was asked whether Id like to publish an album, a thing which Im tired of hearing. But it would be different if I could publish ittogether with somebodys works. So I phoned Murakami to see if youre ied in w with me.
M. A long time ago people had asked me whether Id like to publish a colle of my ramblings too. Only I somehow got humiliated. Am I a? The literary ramblings of many writers always seem invaluable. Yet obviously mine are not so. Thus I wished to get it published withsomebodys else. (smiles)
A. I felt the same as you did. Im only an illustrator. Its so embarrassing to be called a painter who has his own albu藏书网m. Were such a ch!
M. I wrote several short stories in the past. Though Id hought of getting them published, I include them here this time. For instance, Late-Circle My Own Advertisement, A Day In The Life. Also My Name is Arch.
A. I wao draw Late Circle a long time ago, and so drew it this time. Never did I realize that you got this title, too!
M. Thats so!
A. Its unplanned, careless coalition!
M. Really!?
A. At that time you thought of two possible titles. One was Happy End Of Elephant Factory. The other was White Christmas of Elephant Factory. I thought White Christmas of Elephant Factory was too restricted to December. So Happy End was better!
M. That happened just after "White Christmas Otlefield"!
A. If we substitute "Elephant Factory" by "Battlefield," itd be exactly "White Christmas Otlefield"! (smiles) But for this book, I hadnever read any of your works before I started produg my illustrations!
M. Yet surprisingly, they match!?
A. Its really an amazing book!
M. Ought to describe it as a very rare book!
The Sea Lion Festival
The Sea Lioival
by MURAKAMI Haruki
Translated by Kiki
I am smoking a cigarette after a simple lunch when a sea lion es to my apartment. I hear a knock, so I ahe door. At my front door there is a sea lion. There isn’t really anything special about him. It is just an ordinary sea lion. I mean he isn’t wearing sunglasses or a three-piece Brooks Brothers suit. Actually he looks old- fashioned and almost ese.
”Good afternoon. o meet you,” says the Sea Lion. “I trust that I’m not disturbing you. Is this a good time?”
“It’s ok, I’m not really that busy,” I say, a bit flustered.
Sea lions are relatively harmless animals. There is nothing fierce or threatening about them. It doesn’t matter what kind of sea lion you have at your front door, there is really no reason for . And this one didn’t look any different.
That realization is almost more disturbing.
“If you could just give me ten minutes, I’d be really grateful.” Out of habit I gla my watch. But that is unnecessary. I have time.
“But it might not even take that long,” the Sea Lion adds, practically reading my thoughts. Without even thinking about it I lead him into my apartment. I even offer him a glass of barley tea.
“You shouldn’t have. You really didn’t o go to such trouble.” He downs half of the tea in one gulp. Theakes a cigarette from his jacket pocket and lights it with his lighter. “It’s still really hot, isn’t it?”
“That’s for sure.”
“But at least the ms and evenings are not so bad.
“Yeah, but it is September after all.”
“Hmm. The high school baseball tour is already finished. And the Giants have all but ched the pennant.Nothing much to get worked up about, is there? Summer’s practically finished.”
“I guess you’re right.”
The Sea Lion nods in agreement and looks around my apartment. “Five me f, but do you live here alone?”
“No, I live with my wife, but she’s away on a trip at the moment.”
“Really? Taking separate vacations sounds like fun.” The Sea Lion gives a knowing slightly ical laugh.
It was pletely my fault, and I take full responsibility. I don’t care how drunk os at some bar in Shinjuku, one should never offer a business card to the sea lion s藏书网itting on the stool. I think everybhat. What else I say but since I am a thoughtful person, I offered it to him. I didn’t have any choice. It’s what I had to do. The sea lion took it.
Misuandings cause problems. It isn’t that I dislike sea lions. There isn’t anything that I hate about them. I admit that I’d be torn if suddenly one day my sister annouhat she wants to marry a sea lion. Assuming they love each other I would not vigorously protest such a marriage. Falling in love with a sea lion might happen.
However giving a business card to a sea lion is a pletely differele of fish. As you all know sea lions are symbols of the vast o. A is the symbol of B, and B is the symbol of C. So C is the symbol for both A and B. Sea lions have established their unity on such a pyramid structure. Maybe it tains a high risk of chaos.At the core of this pyramid is the business card. That’s why the sea lion always carries a thick bunch of business cards in his briefcase. For the sea lion those cards represent his pla the unity. It’s the same as those birds that collect beads.
“A few days ago an associate of mine received your business card, I believe.”
“Really?” I pretend to have no idea what he is talking about. “I retty drunk so I don’t really remember that well.”
“But my friend was delighted.”
I drink my tea, politely feigning i.
“I apologize again for dropping in unannounced, but I wao take this opportunity to visit you. And since I have this card. . . .”
“You want something from me?”
“It’s just a little thing. We just need some symbolic assistaeacher.” Apparently the animals called sea lions describe humans as “teacher.”
“Symbolic assistance?”
“Oh pardon me.” He reaches into his briefcase, takes out a business card, and hands it to me. “This should help explain matters.”
“Sea Lioival Executive ittee Chairperson,” I read from the card.
“I trust that you have heard of anization.”
“Well, I ’t really say that I have,” I say. “Maybe I’ve heard something about it.”
“For us sea lions, our festival is aremely importa. It’s full of symbolic import. But this event is also beneficial for the rest of the world”.
“Hmm.”
“At the moment our existence is pretty marginal. But, at this time …” Suddenly he cuts himself off and stamps his cigarette out in the ashtray. “The world is prised of many diverse factors. We sea lions are shouldering the responsibility for the spiritual factor.”
“Oh sorry, but really, I’m just not ied in that kind of talk….”
“We are aiming for a renaissance of sea lions. For this to occur there must be a corresponding renaissance all over the world. In the past our festival has been closed to you humans because of our own indedness. But today our message to the world is this: we have fually ged our festival. We hope that our festival serve as a springboard to achieve such a renaissahat is our message for the world.”
“I guess I follow what you are saying.”
“Up to now we have approached our festivals as simply festivals. Of course they are beautiful aing spectacles. But we sea lions believe that life is preparation for the festival because festivals help us dis the true nature of our sea lioy. Festivals firm our identity: our sea lion-ness, if you will. Self-discovery is located in such tinuous a. Self-discovery is the culmination of the final a.”
“firmation of the what?”
“The grand deja vu.”
I keep nodding my head even though I have no idea what he is babbling about. That’s just how they talk. They say what is on their minds. I usually just stand bad let them get it out of their system. By the time the Sea Lion fi is past 2:30 and I am dead tired.
“That’s all I have,” the Sea Lion says, calmly finishing his warm tea.” Do you basically uand what I have been talking about?”
“You are looking for a handout.”
“No, no, we are seeking spiritual assistahe Sea Lion corrects.
I reato my billfold and remove two ohousand yen bills and place them in front of him. “Sorry, this isn’t much, but tomorrow I have to pay my insurand my neer subscription is also due.”
“Thank you very much. Every little bit helps, as you know. It’s the thought that ts,” the Sea Lion says, waving off my excuses with his hand.
The Sea Lion leaves behind a thin pamphlet entitled “The Sea Lio” and a sticker on which “Are sea lioaphorical?” is printed. Finding the proper location for the sticker is a problem until I remember an illegally parked red Seli the neighborhood. I place it firmly in the middle of the windshield. It looks like one of those really adhesive stickers so he might have some trouble removing it.
The Sheep Mans Christmas
The Sheep Mans Christmas
by MURAKAMI Haruki
Translated by Christophor Allison
While it was yet high summer, the Sheep Man was asked to pose some music for Christmas. The Sheep Man and his sheep visitor, who had e to ask him to uake the position, sweated profusely uheir summer sheep suits. As long as summer lasted, the Sheep Man was quite miserable, because he was but a poor sheep man and could not afford an air ditioner. As the fan slapped around and around in circles, the sheep ears of the two sheep fellows fluttered softly in the breeze.
“We, the Sheep Men’s cil,” began the Sheep Man’s visitor, unloosening the faste his collar so as to allow the wind from the fan to blow in, “every year selee sheep, blessed with prodigious musical talent, to usi honour of our Most Holy Patron, the Sheep Saint. This music will thence be performed on Christmas Day. This year, happily, you have been chosen.”
“Oh, I see,” said the Sheep Man.
“This year especially, it being the 2500th anniversary of His passing, we desire particularly splendid music, befitting to this sacred event,” he cluded.
“I see, I see,” said the Sheep Man, scratg his ears.
“Christmas is still four and a half months away,” he thought to himself. “With that much time, I certainly pose some magnifit sheep music.”
“I’ll be happy to do it. You t on me,” he replied, his chest swelling with pride. “I’ll certainly do my best to write excellent sheep music.
September passed, and then October and November, but the Sheep Man hadn’t been able to begin the music requested by the Sheep Men’s cil. Because the Sheep Man worked in the neighborhood donut shop, he had very little time to devote to the position. Moreover, whenever he began to play his ramshackle old piano, the wife of the b house’s landlord would invariably e up the steps and pound on his door.
“Cut that racket out! I barely here the television.”
“I’m terribly sorry. But since I have to have this musie by Christmas, might I beg of you to bear with me a little while?” the Sheep Man said meekly.
“What a idiotic thing to say,” erupted the landlord’s wife. “If you don’t like it, you just leave right now. Just because we let weirdoes like you live here doesn’t mean that you make a laughing stock out of us. If this is a problem for you, well, too bad.”
The Sheep Man gazed at the dar with a feeling of dread. Even though Christmas was just four short weeks away, he hadn’t been able to write a single bar of the promised music, since he couldn’t play the piano.
One day, the Sheep Man was sitting in the park, eating donuts with something of a disturbed tenance, when he roached by the Sheep Professor. “What’s wrong, my dear Sheep lad?” the Sheep Professor enquired.
“I’m not feeling very well. Even though Christmas is ing, something is really b me. That is to say, Christmas is part of the problem,” the Sheep Man began, and then fessed the whole story to the Sheep Professor.
“Hmmm...” said the Sheep Professor, stroking his beard. “If that’s the case, I think I help you.”
“Really?” the Sheep Man replied skeptically. Because the Sheep Professor had only studied sheep-related matters all his life, there had developed among the people in the neighborhood the suspi that he was a little bit queer in the head.
“Yes, really,” the Sheep Professor said. “e to my house tonight at 6:00. I’ll teach you excellehods and teiques of position. By the way, I have one of those amon donuts?”
“Yes, of course,” the Sheep Man said, resenting it inwardly. “Here you go.” And they sat together on the bend munched donuts.
That evening, bearing a package of six amon donuts as a gift, the Sheep Man visited the Sheep Professor’s house. It was an old brick affair, and all the shrubberies had been pruned into the shape of sheep. The doorbell, too, as well as the gateposts and the flagstones, were all sheep. “Holy cow!” thought the Sheep Man to himself.
Of the six donuts, the Sheep Professor devoured four without so much as stopping for a breath. The remaining two he put in a cupboard as if they were very important. Finally, wetting his fingers with his tongue, he mopped up the scattered crumbs oabletop and licked his fingers .
“This fellow certainly likes his donuts,” thought the Sheep Man, rather impressed.
Once his fingers were thhly , the Sheep Professor retrieved a huge book from a bookcase. The History of Sheep Men rinted on the cover.
“So, master Sheep,” the Professan heavily. “In this book is writtehing ceivable ing sheep men. Here we will find the reason why you haven’t been able to write the sheep music.”
“But Professor, I already know the reason. It’s because the landlady won’t let me play the piano,” said the Sheep Man. “If only I could play the piano...”
“Nonsehe Sheep Professor said, shaking his head. “Even if you could play that piano, you still wouldn’t write the music. The deeper reason is in here.”
“What’s that?” asked the Sheep Man.
“You have been curse,” the Sheep Professor said with a grimace.
“Cursed?”
“Quite so,” said the Sheep Professor nodding several times. “Because you have been cursed, you either play the piano nor usic.”
“Oh,” the Sheep Man groaned. “But why have I been cursed, do you suppose? I haven’t done anything bad to anybody.”
The Sheep Professor flipped through the pages of the book dexterously. “Perhaps you looked up at the moon on Juh?”
“No. I haven’t seen the moon in the last five years.”
“Well, then maybe you ate something with a hole in it on Christmas Eve last year?”
“I eat donuts for lunch everyday. I ’t remember exactly what kind of donuts I ate on Christmas Eve last year, but...umm... I’m pretty certain I had donuts.”
“Donuts with holes in them?”
“Yes, I imagine so. I mean, almost all donuts have hole in them.”
“That’s it!” the Sheep Professor said, nodding vigorously. “You have been cursed as a result of this. Surely some sheep teacher must have taught you not to eat food with holes in it on Christmas Eve?”
“I’ve never heard that before,” said the Sheep Man, surprised. Is that true all over?”
“Not knowing about the Feast of the Sheep Saint...that’s startling,” replied the Sheep Professor, even more surprised. “Kids today...they don’t know anything! When you were being a sheep man, didn’t they teach you this stuff in Sheep Man’s School?”
“Yeah, I guess so. But I didn’t do so well with my studies,” the Sheep Man said, scratg his head.
“Look here, this misfortune has befallen you because you are a very careless sheep man. You have brought this upon yourself. heless,” the Sheep Professor tinued, “because you have brought donuts to me, I will instruct you. While December 24th is Christmas Eve, it is also the Feast of the Sheep Saint. On this day, as the Most Holy Sheep Saint was walking along a road in the middle of the night, he fell into a hole and died. For this reason, it is a very sacred day. sequently, the eating of foods with holes in them on this day has been ex-pli-cit-ly prohibited sint times. Such foods as mai, Swiss cheese, donuts, onis, and of course bagels, cause severe problems.”
“I beg your pardon, but what was the Most Holy Sheep Saint doing walking along a road in the middle of the night? And why was there a hole in the road?”
“I don’t know the ao these questions. These events happened 2500 years ago, so the causes ot be known. But anyway, it was decided then. It is a law inviolable. Whether you know it or not, the breaking of the law will result in a curse being placed upon you. When you were cursed, you ceased to be a sheep man. You ot pose the Sheep Music for this reason. Yes.”
“I’m su idiot,” the Sheep Man said weakly. “Is there any way of removing this curse?”
“Hmm,” said the Sheep Professor. “There’s a way, but I’m afraid that it’s not very easy. But that’s OK, isn’t it?”
“I don’t care. I’ll do whatever it takes. Please tell me.”
“The way is for you yourself to fall into a hole.”
“Hole?” said the Sheep Man. “This hole, what kind of hole is it exactly? Is any hole OK?”
“Don’t be stupid. Not just any hole will do. The size ah of the hole necessary to remove the curse are very clearly defined. Luckily, it’s fairly small. I’ll try to find it for you now.”
The Sheep Professor retrieved a tattered book entitled The Legend of the Most Holy Sheep Saint and poured over it’s pages.
“Well...hmm...ah, here it is. It says that the Most Holy Sheep Saint fell into a hole two meters in diameter and 203 meters deep, whereupon he passed away. Therefore, a hole of the same dimensions will suffice.”
“But I ’t dig a hole that deep by myself. And anyway, if I fall into a hole like that, won’t I be killed before the curse is broken?”
“Wait, wait; there’s more: ‘When attempting to break the curse, it shall not matter if the depth of the hole be reduced by the scale of 100 parts to ohus, a hole of two meters and three timeters shall be suffit’.”
“Oh, good. If that’s all, I dig it. No problem,” the Sheep Man said, relieved.
The Sheep Man borrowed the book from the Sheep Professor aurned home. In the book were spelled out tless regulations that had to be followed in order to break the spell. The Sheep Man tried to write them down, one by one.
1) The hole must be dug with a shovel having a handle made of tuneriko wood. (Because the Sheep Saint had carried a staff made of this wood.)
2) The Hole-Falling must occur at 1:16 in the m, on Christmas Eve. (Because the Sheep Saint fell at this time.)
3) At the time of the Hole-Falling, a sack lunch bearing no hole-taining foods must be brought.
Regulations (1) and (2) were fine, and even the rule ing the height of the drop made some sense, but the Sheep Man really couldn’t uand the y of the sack lunch.
“How strahe Sheep Man thought to himself. “But I guess I had better do it the way it says here.”
Christmas Eve was only three days off. In three short days, he had to make a shovel with a handle of tuneriko wood, and dig a hole with a circumference of two meters and a depth of 203 timeters.
“Boy, this is a very strahing that’s happening,” the Sheep Man sighed.
He found a tuneriko tree in the forest, and cut off a small branch. In one day, he mao whittle it into the handle of a shovel. The day, he eo dig the hole in the back yard of his house.
While he was digging, the landlady spotted him.
“You there! What are you digging that hole for?” she demanded.
“I’m digging a hole to dump garbage in,” the Sheep Man replied. “I thought maybe it would be handy.”
“Oh. Is that it? Well, if you try anything funny, I’m gonna call the cops,” the landlady said sfully. With that, she turned and walked away.
Using a measuring tape, the Sheep Man carefully ihat his hole was dug exactly to the specifications for diameter ah.
“That ought to do it,” the Sheep Man said to himself, c the hole with a wooden lid.
At last Christmas Eve arrived. The Sheep Man got a dozen donuts of the twisty variety, without holes, from the donut shop, and packed them in a knapsack. This was the extent of his sack lunch. Finally, he put his wallet and a small flashlight in the breast pocket of his sheep suit, and closed the fastener. At 1:00, he snuck around the house and was engulfed in total darkness. There was no moon and the stars weren’t out, so he could not even see his hand in front of his face.
“It must have been this dark the night the Most Holy Sheep Saint fell into that hole,” the Sheep Man murmured, as he searched for the hole with his flashlight. “It’ll be 1:16 soon. What if I ’t find the hole, and have to wait until Christmas Eve year? That would be awfuuuu...” Just as he said this, the grouh his feet suddenly wasn’t there. The Sheep Man had fallen into the hole.
“Someone must have removed the cover during the day,” the Sheep Man thought as he fell. “I’ll bet is was that nasty landlady. She a藏书网lways hates everything I do.” But when the Sheep Man fihinking this thought, he realized something very strange was happening. “The hole I dug was only 203 timeters deep. Surely, after falling for so long, I should have hit the bottom by now.”
Then suddenly, with quite a thud, the Sheep Man hit the bottom of the hole. And, although the hole was fearfully deep, he eculiarly unhurt.
After shaking his head a little, the Sheep Man tried to shihe flashlight at his surroundings, only to find that the flashlight wasn’t there. He surmised that he must have dropped it when he fell into the hole.
“What’s this, goddamit?” came a voice out of the darkness. “It’s only 1:14. You’re 2 minutes early, goddamit. You’ll have to climb back up to the top and do it again from the beginning.”
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t see very well because it was dark, and I fell into the hole by act,” the Sheep Man said. “But I’m afraid there’s no way I could climb to the top of a hole that deep.”
“You got to, goddamit. Jeez, a little bit earlier and you could have flattened me. I thought you were ing at 1:16, goddamit.”
There was the sound of a matd a dle was lit. The figure that held the dle was very tall. But though he was very tall, his shoulders were no higher than the Sheep Man’s. His head was very long and twisted around like a twisty donut.
“By the way, goddamit, you better have brought a sack lunch with you when you fell,” the Twist said, “because, if you didn’t, you’re in big trouble, goddamit.”
“Of course I brought it,” the Sheep Man said, nervously.
“Well, give it here, goddamit. I’m starved.”
The Sheep Man opehe knapsad, retrieving the twisty donuts one by one, hahem over to the Twist.
“What the hell’s this?” the Twist said, seeing the donuts. “You must be an idiot t me food that looks like my own goddam head.”
“No, it was a mistake,” the Sheep Man said, wiping the sweat from his brow. “I work at a donut shop, you see, and these twisty donuts were the only things that didn’t have holes in them.”
“Ahh! You said ‘twisty’, goddamit!” the Twist said, falling to his kears began to flow from his twisty eyes. “It’s because of this goddam face that I have to stay at the bottom of this goddam hole ahe goddam gate-keeper, goddamit.”
“Oh, I’m such a clod. I mad a mistake. I meant to say ‘twisted’.”
“Well, it’s too late now, goddamit.” the Twist said, still g.
Lag any course of a, the Sheep Marieved one of the twisted donuts, and after untangling the twist and stretg it out straight, ha to the Twist.
“Look, there’s no problem. See, it’s straight. Why don’t you eat it? It’s delicious.”
The Twist took the donut and ate it with relish, although he didn’t st.
While the Twist ate donuts a, the Sheep Man borrowed his dle and iigated the bottom of the hole. It was a bare, broad chamber, taining only the Twist’s bed and desk. “Since he called himself ‘the gatekeeper’, there must certainly be a gate around here somewhere that he’s proteg,” the Sheep Man reasoned. “If there’s not a gate, you certainly don’t need a gatekeeper.”
Speculating thus, the Sheep Man found a small passageway which opened from beside the bed. Taking the dle with him, he climbed into the tunnel.
“If only I hadn’t ate those donuts on Christmas Eve last year, I wouldn’t be up this creek now,” the Sheep Man said to himself.
After about ten more minutes, it slowly began to grow light iunnel. Soon, the mouth of the passage was in view. From outside the hole, bright sunlight spilled in.
“How very strange. When I fell into the hole, it was just past one in the m. It ’t be daw,” the Sheep Man thought, ing his neck.
When he came out of the tunnel, he found a broad, empty clearing before him. Tall trees such as he had never seen before surrouhis clearing. Puffy, white clouds floated in the sky, and he could hear the song９９ｌib? of birds.
“Huh. I wonder what I should do now. In that book, it said that if I fell down the hole then the curse would be broken, but it didn’t mention anything about this.”
Having grown rather hungry, the Sheep Man decided to eat one of the remaining donuts from his knapsack, but while he was nibbling on it, he heard a voice from behind him.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Sheep Man.”
“Hello.”
Wheurned around to look, he saw twin girls standing there. One wore a shirt bearing the number ‘208’, and the other similarly wore ‘209’.
Aside from the numbers, the two girls were alike in every detail.
“Hey guys,” the Sheep Man said. “Would you like to e over here a donuts with me?”
“Wow, great!” 208 said.
“They look really good,” 209 said.
“They are. I made them myself,” the Sheep Man replied.
So the three of them sat in a row on the ground and ate donuts.
“Thanks for the food,” 209 said.
“That’s the first time I’ve ever had such delicious donuts,” 208 said.
“That’s good,” the Sheep Man said. “By the way, I’ve had this curse put on me, and I was w if you know what I’m supposed to do now. I came here to try to break the spell.”
“How terrible!” 208 said.
“Being cursed must be tough,” 209 said.
“Really tough,” the Sheep Man firmed with a sigh.
“I wonder if he should try visiting the Seagull’s wife,” 209 said to 208.
“That’s a good idea. The seagull’s wife will know what to do, I’ll bet,” 208 said to 209.
“She knows all about curses, after all,” 209 said to 208.
“Hey, you take me to see the Gull’s wife?” the Sheep Man asked excitedly.
“Umm, not the Gull,” said 208.
“The Seagull,” said 209.
“The Gull and the Seagull are totally different, after all,” said 208.
“That’s right,” said 209.
“Sorry, sorry,” the Sheep Man apologized to 208 and 209. “ you take me to see the Seagull’s wife?”
“At your service,” said 208.
“With pleasure,” said 209.
So the twins and the Sheep Man walked along the road through the forest together. As they walked, the twins sang a little song:
Always with the twins,
Even if the wind blows east a.
Always with the twins,
Even if the wind blht a.
After walking for 10 or 15 mihe forest ended and the sea spread out before them for as far as the eye could see.
“ you see the little sha top of that big rock over there? That’s the Seagull’s house,” 209 said, pointing.
“We ’t go outside the forest,” 208 said.
“Well, thank you very much. You have really helped me out,” the Sheep Man replied. He then reached into his knapsack, retrieved two donuts, and handed oo each of the twins.
“Thank you, Mr. Sheep Man,” 208 said.
“Good luck breaking your curse,” 209 said.
Getting to the Seagull’s wife’s house was quite a death-defying endeavor. The rock was rugged and steep, and there was no path to speak of. In addition, a sharp sea breeze threateo blow the Sheep Man off at any time.
“I guess this is OK for the Seagull’s wife, since she fly. But it’s no fun for those of us who have to climb,” the Sheep Man plained.
Somehow, he eventually found his way to the top of the rod knocked on the door of the Seagull’s wife’s house.
“Who’s there? You colleg for the neer?” he heard a loud, rattling voice from within the house say.
“Umm, no...I’m known as the Sheep Man...” he began.
“I don’t want any,” said the voice curtly.
“I’m not a weirdo or anything. Please open the door.”
“You’re really not colleg for the neer?”
Suddenly, the door burst open, and the Seagull’s wife’s face popped out. She was very tall and her beak ointed like a pick-axe.
“The twins told me that you know everything there is to know about curses,” said the Sheep Man, nervously. That beak could have split his head open and killed him. The Seagull’s wife looked him over doubtfully.
“You’ll hafta e inside. I ’t hear a word you’re saying.”
The inside of the house was terribly messy. The floor was covered with dust, a bottle of catsup had spilled all over the table, and the trash was overflowing.
The Sheep Man explained all of the preg events, one by one.
“Boy, that’s tough,” the Seagull’s wife said. “You’ll have to find another way back to your world.”
“But ’t I just go back the way I came?”
“No. Once you’ve e, there’s no going back,” the Seagull’s wife said, shaking her beak from left tht. “I take you to a play back, though, where you get rid of this curse.”
“That would make me awfully happy.”
“But you look pretty heavy,” the Seagull’s wife said, dubiously.
“I’m not heavy at all. I’m barely 75 pounds,” the Sheep Man said, cheating by about 10 pounds.
“All right. Let’s make a deal,” the Seagull’s wife said. “You this room, and I’ll take you to the place where you break your curse.”
“Done.”
But the Seagull’s wife’s house took quite a long time to . It hadn’t been ed in literally months. He scrubbed the plates and tea cups, caked with filth; wiped dowable-top; vacuumed the floor; polished the tiles; and picked up all the trash and threw it out. When he was finished with all of this, the Sheep Man was exhausted.
“I have this blasted curse to thank for all this misery,” he plained silently to himself.
“It looks pretty good,” the Seagull’s wife said, looking satisfied. “A home should always be this .”
“So now you’ll take me to the place where the curse broken?”
“Yeah, I’ll keep my promise. Here, climb on my back.”
Ohe Sheep Man had gotten on, the Seagull’s wife quickly took off into the sky. Sihis was the first time the Sheep Man had ever flown anywhere, he gripped her neck very tightly.
“Hey! You’re hurting me. Don’t pull so hard. I ’t breathe,” the Seagull’s wife growled.
“Oh, I’m really sorry,” the Sheep Man said sheepishly.
From the air, the sea and the forest and the hill were all visible. The green of the forest and the dark blue of the sea stretched out endlessly, with the sandy, white beach like a belt between them. It was an incredibly beautiful view.
“It’s really beautiful, isn’t it,” the Sheep Man said.
“Maybe to you, but I see it everyday, and I’m sick of it,” the Seagull’s wife replied with evident boredom.
In order to stretch her wings a little, she flew around and around in circles over her house, and the down on a prairie not even a hundred yards away.
“What’s wrong, ma’am? Aren’t you feeling well?” the Sheep Man asked with .
“No, I feel fihe Seagull’s wife said shaking her head. “Why would you ask such a stupid question? I’m famous in these parts for my vigour.”
“But why did you set down here, then?”
“Because this is the place,” the Seagull’s wife said.
“But this ’t be more than a hundred yards from your house,” said the Sheep Man with surprise. “If it’s this close, there was no point in riding on your back. I could just as easily have walked.”
“But then you wouldn’t have ed my house for me, would you?”
“Well, no, I guess not, but...”
“Well then, I don’t want to hear another word about the distance. I took you on my back just like I promised.”
“Umm, yes...certainly,” the Sheep Man said, unvinced.
The Seagull’s wife, still laughiily to herself, took off into the air and flew ba the dire of her house.
When the Sheep Man looked around him, he saw a large tree standing in the middle of the prairie. There e ladder attached to the trunk of the tree. Sihere was nothing else in sight, the Sheep Man decided to try to climb to the top of the ladder.
The rope ladder swung bad forth, making it difficult to climb. Sweating heavily, the Sheep Man climbed all the way to the top, 30 or 4s when, from the midst of the limbs, he heard a bright voice say:
“Hey there, what are you doing up here?”
“Oh, excuse me. I’ve e on at of a curse. You ’t help me by any ce, you?” the Sheep Man replied in the dire of the voice.
“A curse, you say? Ah, I see. By all means, e on up,” the voice said.
The Sheep Man, doing his best to keep from slipping, elbowed his way through the branches. Onside, he saw a hole iree that had been fashioned into a small , and in front of the , the Twist squatted, shaving himself with a giant razor.
“Baa...baa...ba,” the Sheep Man stammered. Weren’t you just at the bottom of the hole?”
“Ha, ha. No, that wasn’t me,” the Twist said with a laugh. “That’s my big brother. See, I twist to the right. Big Brother twists to the left. He cries easily and is always sayihings about people.”
Right Twist, with his eyes turo the right and his pointi, was carefully shaving with the razor and giggling all the while.
“From the same family, but your personalities couldn’t be more different,” the Sheep Man said, impressed.
“Well, you knht a are opposites,” Right Twist said, shaving behind his ears. “Ha ha ha ha ha.”
“Now, about this curse...” the Sheep Man began.
“Don’t tell me anything about it, hee hee hee,” Right Twist said. “That’s worse than being cursed, ha ha ha ha ha.”
The Sheep Man desded, furious.
“I really hate this place,” he said. “Right Twist or Left Twist, they’re twisted just the same. And that Seagull’s wife was so selfish.”
Thinking that he couldn’t take much more, the Sheep Man trudged slowly down the road. After walking a little while longer, he spied a beautiful spring, and decided to stop there and drink some water a another donut. When he had fihe donut he began to grow sleepy, and stretg out on the grass beside the spring, had a niap.
When he awoke, it had grown dark and stars shone whitely in the sky. The wind rose with a groaning voice, and sometimes it was mixed with the baying of a wolf.
“I’m exhausted. And on top of that, I’m lost in a strange land. And I still haven’t even broken this founded curse,” the Sheep Man said to himself.
“Umm, I couldn’t help over-hearing you. Being cursed must be a great annoyance,” a timid voice suddenly came out of the darkness.
“Who’s there? Where in the world are you?” the Sheep Man asked, surprised.
“Uhh, I’m nobody, really,” the voice said, sounding embarrassed.
The Sheep Man looked around frantically, but he couldn’t see anything for the darkness.
“Please don’t bother looking for me. I’m not worth the time.”
“Will you e out a donuts with me?” the Sheep Man tried to tempt him. “It’s lonely sitting here by myself.”
“I’m not really worthy of your donuts,” the invisible Nobody said. “Although that does sound awfully nice.”
“It’s OK. I have lots. But if you’re shy, I leave one here for you and then turn around, and then you e here a it. How about that?”
“OK,” nobody said. “But I’m really small, so a half will be plenty.”
The Sheep Man put a donut on the grass and turned around. Before long, there was the sound of someone approag stealthily and theing a donut.
“Oh, this is delicious. Really delicious,” Nobody said. “Don’t turn around.”
“I won’t turn around, but will you please tell me what you know about this curse?” the Sheep Man enquired.
“Oh yes, the curse. Oh, I see. Munch munch. Yes I know something about it,” Nobody said. “Really delicious. Munch munch.”
“Where I go to get rid of it?” the Sheep Man asked.
“Just dive into that spring. Munch munch. It’s really easy,” Nobody said.
“But I don’t know how to swim.”
“You don’t o worry about whether you know how to swim. It’s OK. These are great. Munch munch munch.”
With great trepidation, the Sheep Man walked to the edge of the spring and jumped into the middle, head first. As soon as he dove, however, all of the water vanished, so he landed on his head otom of the hole with a heavy thud. His head swam.
“Oh dear! I’m sorry,” someone said. “I didn’t mean for you to dive in head first.”
When the Sheep Man opened his eyes, there stood before him a little old man about five feet tall.
“Ah! That hurt,” the Sheep Man said. “And just who the heck are you?”
“I am the Most Holy Sheep Saint,” the old man said with a kindly smile.
“You! Why did you put this curse on me? Why did I have to do all that awful stuff? I never did anything bad to anybody, a I have to put up with all of this! I mean, really! My body is sore all over and look, I’ve got this welt on my head,” the Sheep Man said, showing the Most Holy Sheep Saint his welt.
“Yes, I agree. It was terrible. Terrible, indeed. But for this I had my reasons,” the Sheep Saint said.
“Well, I’d really like to hear them,” the Sheep Man said angrily.
“Anon, anon,” the Sheep Saint said. “But first e over here. There’s something I’d like to show you.”
The Sheep Saint turned and walked briskly toward the interior of the hole. The Sheep Man, still shaking his head, followed hesitantly after him. Before long, the Sheep Saint came to stand in front of a door, and promptly ope.
“Merry Christmas!” everyone shouted. Everybody was in the roht Twist awist, 208 and 209, the Seagull’s wife, and even Nobody. Nobody still had crumbs from the donut around his mouth. He could also see a figure that looked like the Sheep Professor.
Ihe room, there was a large decorated Christmas tree. Underh the tree, ed presents tied up with ribbons had been piled.
“What in the world is this? What are all of you doing here?” the Sheep Man said, stunned.
“We’re all waiting for you,” 208 said.
“We’ve been waiting all this time,” 209 said.
“You’ve been io a Christmas party, don’t you see,” the Sheep Saint said.
“But I’ve been cursed, so I...” stammered the Sheep Man.
“I put this curse on you so that you would e here,” the Sheep Saint replied. “This way was exg, and everyone had fun doing it.”
“It certainly was fun. Caw caw,” said the Seagull’s wife.
“And iing, goddammit,” added Left Twist.
“A pleasure, ha ha hee hee,” giggled Right Twist.
“It was delicious,” mumbled Nobody.
Although the Sheep Man was really quite upset about the deception, he soon began to enjoy himself. It was hard to stay mad when everyone around him was having such a good time.
“If that was the reason, I guess it’s OK then,” the Sheep Man said, nodding agreeably.
“Mr. Sheep Man, you ought to play the piano for us,” 208 said.
“You must be very good,” 209 said.
“Is there a piano here?” asked the Sheep Man.
“There is, there is,” the Sheep Saint said, pulling aside a giant cloth. Beh this cover was a white, sheep-shaped piano.
“This piano was made especially for you. Play it to your heart’s tent.”
That night, the Sheep Man was boundlessly happy. The sheep piano made a splendid sound, aiful and delightful melodies dahrough his head, oer another.
Right Twist awist sang, 208 and 209 dahe Seagull’s wife flew around the room g, and the Sheep Professor and the Most Holy Sheep Saint faced off in a beer-drinking test. Nobody rolled over and over on the ground looking happy. Soon, Christmas cake was distributed to everyone.
“Mmm...delicious. Munch munch,” Nobody said, helping himself to a third piece.
“May there be pead happiness in the sheep man world forever,” the Sheep Saint prayed.
When the Sheep Man awoke, he found himself in his own room, in his own bed. Although it seemed as if he was waking up from a dream, he khis was no mere dream. There was still a very distinct bump on his head, there was a grease stain on the back of his sheep’s clothing, and the ramshackle old piano had disappeared from his room, and in it’s place stood the white sheep piano.
This is really what happened when he woke up.
Outside the window, snow had fallen. On the branches of the trees, on the mail boxes, and on the fence posts, white snoiled high.
Iernoon of that day, the Sheep Ma into the suburbs of the town to pay a visit to the Sheep Professor, but the Sheep Professor’s house wasn’t there. There was nothing but a vat lot. The sheep-shaped shrubs and gateposts and paving stones had all disappeared.
“I won’t be able to meet any of those people ever again,” the Sheep Man thought to himself. “The Twists, and the 208 and 209 twins, and the Seagull’s wife, and Nobody, and the Sheep Professor and the Sheep Saint.” Overe with these thoughts, tears streamed from his eyes. He had really grown to like them all a lot.
Wheuro the bhouse, a Christmas card with a picture of a sheep on it had e in the mail. Inside rinted:
May there be pead happiness in the sheep man world forever...天涯在线书库《www.tianyabook.com》