Read Online Dance Dance Dance by Haruki Murakami - Free Book Online
Authors: Haruki Murakami
Tags: Fiction, Literary, General, Science-Fiction, Mystery & Detective, International Mystery & Crime, Magical Realism
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in one day, you eat one bite of each dish and leave the rest untouched. You think that makes sense?"
"But you couldn't very well eat everything, could you?"
"Of course not. I'd drop dead in three days if I did. And everyone would think I was an idiot. I'd get no sympathy whatsoever."
"So what choice have you got?" she said.
"I don't know. The way I see it, it's like shoveling snow. You do it because somebody's got to, not because it's fun."
"Shoveling snow, huh?" she mused.
"Well, you know, cultural snow," I said.
We drank a lot. I lost track of how much, but it was past eleven when she eyed her watch and said she had an early morning. I paid the bill and we stepped outside into flurries of snow. I offered to have my taxi drop her at her place, about ten minutes away. The snow wasn't heavy, but the road was frozen slick. She held on tight to my arm as we walked to the taxi stand. I think she was more than a little inebriated.
"You know that expose about how the hotel got built," I asked as we made our way carefully, "do you still remember the name of the magazine? Do you remember around when the article came out?"
She knew right off. "And I'm sure it was last autumn. I didn't see the article myself, so I can't really say what it said."
We stood for five minutes in the swirling snow, waiting for a cab. She clung to my arm.
"It's been ages since I felt this relaxed," she said. The same thought occurred to me too. Maybe we really did have something in common, the two of us.
In the taxi we talked about nothing in particular. The snow and chill, her work hours, things in Tokyo. Which left me wondering what was going to happen next. One little push and I could probably sleep with her. I could feel it. Nat-urally I didn't know whether she wanted to sleep with me. But I understood that she wouldn't mind sleeping with me. I could tell from her eyes, how she breathed, the way she talked, even her hand movements. And of course, I knew I wouldn't mind sleeping with her. There probably wouldn't be any complications either. I'd have simply happened through and gone off. Just as she herself had said. Yet, some-how, the resolve failed me. The notion of fairness lingered somewhere in the back of my mind. She was ten years younger than me, more than a little insecure, and she'd had so much to drink she couldn't walk straight. It'd be like call-ing the bets with marked cards. Not fair.
Still, how much jurisdiction does fairness hold over sex? If fairness was what you wanted, your sex life would be an exciting as the algae growing in an aquarium.
The voice of reason.
The debate was still raging when the cab pulled up to her plain, reinforced-concrete apartment building and she briskly swept aside my entire dilemma. "I live with my younger sister," she said.
No further thought on the matter needed or wanted. I actually felt a bit relieved.
But as she got out, she asked if I would see her to her door. Probably no reason for concern, she apologized, but every once in a while, late at night, there'd be a strange man in the hall. I asked the driver to wait for a few minutes, then accompanied her, arm in arm, up the frozen walk. We climbed the two flights of stairs and came to her door marked 306. She opened her purse to fish around for the key. Then she smiled awkwardly and said thanks, she'd had a nice time.
As had I, I assured her.
She unlocked the door and slipped the key back into her purse. The dry snap of her purse shutting resounded down the hall. Then she looked at me directly. In her eyes it was the old geometry problem. She hesitated, couldn't decide how she wanted to say goodbye. I could see it.
Hand on the wall, I waited for her to come to some kind of decision, which didn't seem forthcoming.
"Good night," I said. "Regards to your sister."
For four or five seconds she clamped her lips tight. "The part about living with my sister," she half whispered. "It's not true. Really, I live alone."
"I know," I said.
A slow
"But you couldn't very well eat everything, could you?"
"Of course not. I'd drop dead in three days if I did. And everyone would think I was an idiot. I'd get no sympathy whatsoever."
"So what choice have you got?" she said.
"I don't know. The way I see it, it's like shoveling snow. You do it because somebody's got to, not because it's fun."
"Shoveling snow, huh?" she mused.
"Well, you know, cultural snow," I said.
We drank a lot. I lost track of how much, but it was past eleven when she eyed her watch and said she had an early morning. I paid the bill and we stepped outside into flurries of snow. I offered to have my taxi drop her at her place, about ten minutes away. The snow wasn't heavy, but the road was frozen slick. She held on tight to my arm as we walked to the taxi stand. I think she was more than a little inebriated.
"You know that expose about how the hotel got built," I asked as we made our way carefully, "do you still remember the name of the magazine? Do you remember around when the article came out?"
She knew right off. "And I'm sure it was last autumn. I didn't see the article myself, so I can't really say what it said."
We stood for five minutes in the swirling snow, waiting for a cab. She clung to my arm.
"It's been ages since I felt this relaxed," she said. The same thought occurred to me too. Maybe we really did have something in common, the two of us.
In the taxi we talked about nothing in particular. The snow and chill, her work hours, things in Tokyo. Which left me wondering what was going to happen next. One little push and I could probably sleep with her. I could feel it. Nat-urally I didn't know whether she wanted to sleep with me. But I understood that she wouldn't mind sleeping with me. I could tell from her eyes, how she breathed, the way she talked, even her hand movements. And of course, I knew I wouldn't mind sleeping with her. There probably wouldn't be any complications either. I'd have simply happened through and gone off. Just as she herself had said. Yet, some-how, the resolve failed me. The notion of fairness lingered somewhere in the back of my mind. She was ten years younger than me, more than a little insecure, and she'd had so much to drink she couldn't walk straight. It'd be like call-ing the bets with marked cards. Not fair.
Still, how much jurisdiction does fairness hold over sex? If fairness was what you wanted, your sex life would be an exciting as the algae growing in an aquarium.
The voice of reason.
The debate was still raging when the cab pulled up to her plain, reinforced-concrete apartment building and she briskly swept aside my entire dilemma. "I live with my younger sister," she said.
No further thought on the matter needed or wanted. I actually felt a bit relieved.
But as she got out, she asked if I would see her to her door. Probably no reason for concern, she apologized, but every once in a while, late at night, there'd be a strange man in the hall. I asked the driver to wait for a few minutes, then accompanied her, arm in arm, up the frozen walk. We climbed the two flights of stairs and came to her door marked 306. She opened her purse to fish around for the key. Then she smiled awkwardly and said thanks, she'd had a nice time.
As had I, I assured her.
She unlocked the door and slipped the key back into her purse. The dry snap of her purse shutting resounded down the hall. Then she looked at me directly. In her eyes it was the old geometry problem. She hesitated, couldn't decide how she wanted to say goodbye. I could see it.
Hand on the wall, I waited for her to come to some kind of decision, which didn't seem forthcoming.
"Good night," I said. "Regards to your sister."
For four or five seconds she clamped her lips tight. "The part about living with my sister," she half whispered. "It's not true. Really, I live alone."
"I know," I said.
A slow
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