Kafka on the Shore

Chapter 11

When I finish talking it's pretty late. Sakura listens intently the whole time, resting her head in her hands on the kitchen table. I tell her that I'm actually fifteen, in junior high, that I stole my father's money and ran away from my home in Nakano Ward in Tokyo. That I'm staying in a hotel in Takamatsu and spending my days reading at a library. That all of a sudden I found myself collapsed outside a shrine, covered with blood. Everything. Well, almost everything. Not the important stuff I can't talk about.

"So your mother left home with your older sister when you were just four. Leaving you and your father behind."

I take the photo of my sister and me at the shore from my wallet and show her. "This is my sister," I say. Sakura looks at the photo for a while, then hands it back without a word.

"I haven't seen her since then," I say. "Or my mom. She's never gotten in touch, and I have no idea where she is. I don't even remember what she looks like. There aren't any photos of her left. I remember her smell, her touch, but not her face."

"Hmm," Sakura says. Head still in her hands, she narrows her eyes and looks at me. "Must have been hard on you."

"Yeah, I guess…"

She continues to gaze at me silently. "So you didn't get along with your dad?" she asks after a while.

Didn't get along? How am I supposed to answer that? I don't say anything, just shake my head.

"Dumb question-of course you didn't. Otherwise you wouldn't have run away," Sakura says. "So anyway, you left your home, and today you suddenly lost consciousness or your memory or something."

"Yeah."

"Did that ever happen before?"

"Sometimes," I tell her honestly. "I fly into a rage, and it's like I blow a fuse. Like somebody pushes a switch in my head and my body does its thing before my mind can catch up. It's like I'm here, but in a way it's not me."

"You lose control and do something violent, you mean?"

"It's happened a few times, yeah."

"Have you hurt anybody?"

I nod. "Twice I did. Nothing serious."

She thinks about this.

"Is that what happened this time?"

I shake my head. "This is the first time something this bad's happened. This time… I don't know how it started, and I can't remember at all what happened. It's like my memory was wiped clean. It never was this bad before."

She looks over the T-shirt I haul out of my backpack, carefully checking the blood I couldn't wash out. "So the last thing you remember is eating dinner, right? At a restaurant near the station?"

I nod.

"And everything after that's a blank. The next thing you knew, you were lying in the bushes behind that shrine. About four hours later. Your shirt covered in blood and your left shoulder aching?"

I give her another nod. She brings over a city map from somewhere and checks out the distance between the station and the shrine.

"It's not so far, but it would take a while to walk. But why would you have been over there in the first place? It's the opposite direction from your hotel. Have you ever gone there before?"

"Never."

"Take off your shirt for a minute," she says.

I strip bare to the waist, and she walks behind me and grabs my left shoulder hard. Her fingers dig into my flesh, and I can't help but gasp. This girl's pretty strong.

"Does it hurt?"

"You bet it does," I say.

"You hit something pretty hard. Or something hit you."

"I don't remember a thing."

"Anyway, nothing's broken," she says. She proceeds to prod around the sore spot, and aside from the pain, her fingers feel really nice. When I tell her so she smiles.

"I've always been good at giving massages. It's a useful skill for a hairdresser."

She keeps on massaging my shoulder. "Doesn't look like anything major. Give it a good night's sleep and you should feel better."

She picks up my T-shirt, puts it in a plastic bag, and tosses it in the garbage. My dungaree shirt she gives a once-over and throws in the washing machine. She rummages around in her dresser and comes up with a white T-shirt. She hands it to me, a brand-new white shirt that says Maui Whale Watching Cruise on it, with a picture of a fluke sticking out of the water.

"This is the biggest shirt I could find. It's not mine, but don't worry about it. It's just a souvenir from somebody. Might not be your style, but give it a try."

I tug the shirt on, and it fits perfectly.

"You can keep it if you want," she says.

I thank her.

"So you never had such a total memory loss before?" she asks.

I nod, then close my eyes, feeling the T-shirt, taking in its new smell. "Sakura, I'm really scared," I tell her. "I don't know what to do. I don't have any memory of hurting anybody. Whatever it was got me covered in blood, but I can't remember anything. If I committed a crime, I'm still legally responsible, right, whether I have a memory of it or not?"

"Maybe it was just a nosebleed. Somebody was walking down the street, bumped into a telephone pole, and got a bloody nose. And all you did was help them out. See? I understand why you're worried, but let's try not to think about worst-case scenarios, okay? At least not tonight. In the morning we can look in the paper, watch the news on TV. If something terrible really happened, we'll know about it. Then we can consider our options. There're plenty of reasons why someone might get bloody, and most of the time it's not nearly as bad as it looks. I'm a girl, so I'm used to seeing blood-I see that much every month. You know what I mean?"

I nod, and feel myself blushing a little. She scoops a little Nescafé into a big cup and heats up some water in a small pan. She smokes, waiting for the water to boil. She takes a couple of puffs, then extinguishes the cigarette with tap water. I catch a whiff of menthol.

"I don't mean to pry, but there's something I want to ask you. Do you mind?"

"I don't mind," I tell her.

"Your older sister was adopted. They got her from somewhere before you were born, right?"

"That's right," I reply. "I don't know why, but my parents adopted her. After that I was born. Not exactly what they had in mind, I imagine."

"So you're definitely the child of your mother and father."

"As far I know," I tell her.

"But when your mother left, she didn't take you, but took your sister, who's unrelated to her," Sakura says. "Not what you'd normally expect a woman to do."

I don't say anything.

"Why'd she do that?"

I shake my head. "I have no idea," I tell her. "I've asked myself the same question a million times."

"That must have hurt."

Did it? "I don't know. But if I get married someday I don't think I'll have any kids. I wouldn't have any idea how to get along with them if I did."

"My situation wasn't as complicated as yours," she says, "but I didn't get along with my folks for a long time, and I got mixed up in a lot of stupid things because of it. So I know how you feel. But it's not a good idea to make decisions so soon. There's no such thing as absolutes."

She stands in front of the kitchen stove and sips her Nescafé, steam rising from the large cup. The cup has a drawing of the Moomin cartoon characters on it. She doesn't say anything, and neither do I.

"Do you have anybody, relatives or someone, who can help?" she asks after a while.

"No," I say. "My father's parents died a long time ago, and he doesn't have any brothers, sisters, uncles, or aunts. Not a one. Not that I can prove this. But I do know he never had anything to do with any relatives. And I never heard anything about relatives on my mother's side. I mean, I don't even know my mother's name-so how was I supposed to know about her relatives?"

"Your father sounds like an alien from outer space or something," Sakura says. "Like he came from some far-off planet, took on human form, kidnapped an Earth woman, and then had you. Just so he could have more descendants. Your mother found out, got frightened, and ran away. Like in some film noir science-fiction flick."

I have no idea what to say.

"All joking aside," she says, and smiles broadly to show that she means it, "my point is, in this whole wide world the only person you can depend on is you."

"I guess so."

She stands there leaning against the sink, drinking her coffee.

"I have to get some sleep," she says, as if suddenly remembering. It's past three. "I have to get up at seven-thirty so I won't get much, but a little's better than none. I hate going to work on no sleep at all. So what're you going to do?"

"I have my sleeping bag with me," I tell her, "so if it's no bother I'll just sack out in a corner." I take my tightly rolled-up sleeping bag out of my backpack, spread it out, and fluff it up.

She watches, impressed. "A regular Boy Scout," she says.

After she turns out the light and gets in bed, I climb into my sleeping bag, shut my eyes, and try to go to sleep. But I can't stop picturing that bloody white T-shirt. I still feel that burning sensation in my palm. I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling. A floor creaks somewhere. Somebody turns on a faucet. And again I hear an ambulance in the night, far off but echoing sharply in the darkness.

"Can't fall asleep?" she whispers in the dark.

"No," I say.

"Me neither. Shouldn't have had that coffee. That was dumb." She switches on her bedside light, checks the time, then turns the light off. "Don't get me wrong," she says, "but if you'd like to come over here you can. I can't get to sleep either."

I slip out of my sleeping bag and climb in bed with her. I'm wearing boxers and the T-shirt. She has on a pair of light pink pajamas.

"I have a steady boyfriend in Tokyo," she tells me. "He's not much to brag about, but he's my guy. So I don't have sex with anybody else. I might not look like it, but when it comes to sex I'm pretty straightlaced. Call me old-fashioned. I wasn't always that way-I used to be pretty wild-but I don't fool around anymore. So don't get any ideas, okay? Just think of us as brother and sister. You understand?"

"Gotcha," I tell her.

She puts her arms around me, hugs me close, and rests her cheek on my forehead. "You poor thing," she says.

I don't need to tell you that I get a hard-on right away. Big time. And it couldn't help rubbing up against her thigh.

"My oh my!" she says.

"Sorry," I tell her. "I didn't mean to."

"It's okay," she says. "I know what an inconvenience it is. Nothing you can do to stop it."

I nod in the darkness.

She hesitates for a moment, then lowers my boxers, pulls out my rock-hard cock, and cradles it gently in her hand. Like she's making sure of something, the way a doctor takes a pulse. With her soft hand touching me, I feel something-a stray thought, maybe-spring up in my crotch.

"How old would your sister be now?"

"Twenty-one," I say. "Six years older than me."

She thinks about this for a while. "Do you want to see her?"

"Maybe," I say.

"Maybe?" Her hand grasps my cock a little harder. "What do you mean, maybe? You really don't want to see her that much?"

"I don't know what we'd talk about, and she might not want to see me. Same thing with my mother. Maybe neither one of them wants to have anything to do with me. No one's searching for me. I mean, they left and everything." Without me, I silently complete the thought.

She doesn't say anything. Her hand on my cock loosens a bit, then tightens. In time with this my cock relaxes, then gets even harder.

"You want to come?" she asks.

"Maybe," I say.

"Again with the maybes?"

"Very much," I correct myself.

She sighs lightly and slowly begins to move her hand. It feels out of this world. Not just an up-and-down motion, but more of an all-over massage. Her fingers gently stroke my cock and my balls. I close my eyes and let out a big sigh.

"You can't touch me. And when you're about to come let me know so you don't mess up the sheets."

"Okay," I say.

"How is it? I'm pretty good, huh?"

"Fantastic."

"Like I was telling you, I'm very nimble-fingered. But this isn't sex, okay? I'm just-helping you relax, is what it is. You've had a rough day, you're all tense, and you're not going to sleep well unless we do something about it. Got it?"

"Yeah, I get it," I say. "But I do have one request."

"What's that?"

"Is it okay if I imagine you naked?"

Her hand stops and she looks me in the eyes. "You want to imagine me naked while we're doing this?"

"Yeah. I've been trying to keep from imagining that, but I can't."

"Really?"

"It's like a TV you can't turn off."

She laughs. "I don't get it. You didn't have to tell me that! Why don't you just go ahead and imagine what you want? You don't need my permission. How can I know what's in your head?"

"I can't help it. Imagining something's very important, so I thought I'd better tell you. It has nothing to do with whether you know or not."

"You are some kind of polite boy, aren't you," she says, impressed. "I guess it's nice, though, that you wanted to let me know. All right, permission granted. Go ahead and picture me nude."

"Thanks," I say.

"How is it? Is my body nice?"

"It's amazing," I reply.

This languid sensation spreads over my lower half, like a liquid floating to the surface. When I tell her, she grabs some tissue from the bedside, and I come, over and over, like crazy… A little while later she goes to the kitchen, tosses away the tissue paper, and rinses her hand.

"Sorry," I say.

"It's all right," she says, snuggling back into bed. "No need to apologize. It's just a part of your body. So-do you feel better?"

"Definitely."

"I'm glad." She thinks for a while, then says, "I was thinking how nice it'd be if I was your real sister."

"Me too," I say.

She lightly touches my hair. "I'm going to sleep now, so why don't you go back to your sleeping bag. I can't sleep well unless I'm alone, and I don't want your hard-on poking me all night, okay?"

I go back to my sleeping bag and close my eyes. This time I can get to sleep. A deep, deep sleep, maybe the deepest since I ran away from home. It's like I'm in some huge elevator that slowly, silently carries me deeper and deeper underground. Finally all light has disappeared, all sound faded away.

When I wake up, Sakura's gone off to work. It's nine a. m. My shoulder hardly aches at all anymore. Just like she said. On the kitchen table I find a folded-up morning paper, a note, and a key.

Her note says: I watched the TV news at seven and looked through the entire paper, but there weren't any bloody incidents reported around here. So I don't think that blood was anything. Good news, huh? There isn't much in the fridge, but help yourself. And make use of whatever you need around the house. If you aren't planning to go anywhere, feel free to hang out here. Just put the key under the doormat if you go out.

I grab a carton of milk from the fridge, check the expiration date, and pour it over some cornflakes, boil some water, and make a cup of Darjeeling tea. Toast two slices of bread, and eat them with some low-fat margarine. Then I open the newspaper and scan the local news. Like she said, no violent crimes in the headlines. I let out a sigh of relief, fold up the paper, and put it back where it was. At least I won't have to run all over trying to evade the cops. But I decide it's better not to go back to the hotel, just to play it safe. I still don't know what happened during those lost four hours.

I call the hotel. A man answers, and I don't recognize his voice. I tell him something's come up and I have to check out. I try my best to sound grown-up. I've paid in advance so that shouldn't be a problem. There are some personal effects in the room, I tell him, but they can be discarded. He checks the computer and sees that the bill's up-to-date. "Everything's in order, Mr. Tamura," he says. "You're all checked out." The key's a plastic card, so there's no need to return it. I thank him and hang up.

I take a shower. Sakura's underwear and stockings are drying out in the bathroom. I try not to look at them and concentrate on my usual job of thoroughly scrubbing myself. And I try my best not to think about last night. I brush my teeth and put on a pair of new shorts, roll up my sleeping bag and stuff it in my backpack, then wash my dirty clothes in the washer. There's no dryer, so after they go through the spin cycle I fold them up and put them in a plastic bag and into my pack. I can always dry them at a coin laundry later on.

I wash all the dishes piled up in the sink, let them drain, dry them, and place them back in the shelf. Then I straighten up the contents of the fridge and toss whatever's gone bad. Some of the food stinks-moldy broccoli, an ancient, rubbery cucumber, a pack of tofu well past its expiration date. I take whatever's still edible, transfer it to new containers, and wipe up some spilled sauce. I throw away all the cigarette butts, make a neat stack of the scattered old newspapers, and run a vacuum around the place. Sakura might be good at giving a massage, but when it comes to keeping house she's a disaster. I iron the shirts she's crammed in the dresser, and think about going shopping and making dinner. At home I tried to take care of household chores myself, so none of this is any trouble. But making dinner, I decide, might be going too far.

Finished with all that, I sit down at the kitchen table and look around the apartment. I know I can't stay here forever. I'd have a semipermanent hard-on, with semipermanent fantasies. Can't avoid looking at those tiny black panties hanging in the bathroom, can't keep asking her permission to let my imagination roam. But most of all I can't forget what she did for me last night.

I leave a note for Sakura, using the blunt pencil and the memo pad beside the phone. Thanks. You really saved me. I'm sorry I woke you up so late last night. But you're the only one I could count on. I stop for a moment to think what I should write next, and do a three-sixty of the room as I'm thinking. Thanks for letting me stay over. I'm grateful you said I could stay here as long I liked. It would be nice if I could, but I don't think I should bother you anymore. There're all sorts of reasons I won't go into. I've got to make it on my own. I hope you'll still think kindly of me the next time I'm in a jam.

I stop again. Someone in the neighborhood's got their TV on at full volume, one of those morning talk shows for housewives. The people on the show all yelling at each other, and commercials just as loud and obnoxious. I sit at the table, spinning the blunt pencil in my hand, pulling my thoughts together. To tell the truth, though, I don't think I deserve your kindness. I'm trying my best to be a much better person, but things aren't going so well. The next time we meet I hope I'll have my act together. Whether that will happen or not, I don't know. Thanks for last night. It was wonderful.

I slip the note under a cup, shoulder my backpack, and head out of the apartment, leaving the key under the doormat like she said. A black-and-white spotted cat's lying in the middle of the stairs, taking a nap. He must be used to people because he doesn't make a move to get up as I go down the stairs. I sit down beside him and stroke his large body for a while. The feel of his fur brings back memories. The cat narrows his eyes and starts to purr. We sit there on the stairs for a long time, each enjoying his own version of this intimate feeling. Finally I tell him good-bye and walk down the road. A fine rain's begun to fall.

Having checked out of the hotel and left Sakura's, I have no idea where I'll spend the night. Before the sun sets I've got to find a roof to sleep under, someplace safe. I don't know where to begin but decide to take the train out to the Komura Library. Once I get there, something will work out. I don't know why, but I just have a feeling it will.

Fate seems to be taking me in some even stranger directions.