Read Online The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle by Haruki Murakami - Free Book Online

some form of contact with each other sometime in the future. She is my assistant, as I mentioned earlier. At such time, it would probably be best for you to be aware of what occurred between her and Mr. Wataya and to realize that these things can happen.”
    A short silence followed. Malta Kano looked at me as if to say, Please think about what I have told you. And so I did. About Noboru Wataya’s having raped Malta Kano’s sister. About the relationship between that and the elements of the body. And about the relationship between those and the disappearance of our cat.
    “Do I understand you to be saying,” I ventured, “that neither you nor your sister intends to bring a formal complaint on this matter … to go to the police …?”
    “No, of course we will do no such thing,” said Malta Kano, her face expressionless. “Properly speaking, we do not hold anyone responsible. We would simply like to have a more precise idea of what caused such a thing to happen. Until we solve this question, there is a real possibility that something even worse could occur.”
    I felt a degree of relief on hearing this. Not that it would have bothered me in the least if Noboru Wataya had been convicted of rape and sent to prison. It couldn’t happen to a nicer guy. But Kumiko’s brother was a rather well-known figure. His arrest and trial would be certain to make the headlines, and that would be a terrible shock for Kumiko. If only for my own mental health, I preferred the whole thing to go away.
    “Rest assured,” said Malta Kano, “I asked to see you today purely about the missing cat. That was the matter about which Mr. Wataya sought my advice. Mrs. Okada had consulted him on the matter, and he in turn consulted me.”
    That explained a lot. Malta Kano was some kind of clairvoyant or channeler or something, and they had consulted her on the whereabouts of the cat. The Wataya family was into this kind of stuff—divination and house “physiognomy” and such. That was fine with me: people were free to believe anything they liked. But why did he have to go and rape the younger sister of his spiritual counselor? Why stir up a lot of pointless trouble?
    “Is that your area of expertise?” I asked. “Helping people find things?”
    She stared at me with those depthless eyes of hers, eyes that looked as if they were staring into the window of a vacant house. Judging from their expression, she had failed to grasp the meaning of my question.
    Without answering the question, she said, “You live in a very strange place, don’t you, Mr. Okada?”
    “I do?” I said. “Strange in what way?”
    Instead of replying, she pushed her nearly untouched glass of tonic water another six or eight inches away from herself. “Cats are very sensitive creatures, you know.”
    Another silence descended on the two of us.
    “So our place is strange, and cats are sensitive animals,” I said. “OK. But we’ve lived there a long time—the two of us and the cat. Why now, all of a sudden, did it decide to leave us? Why didn’t it leave before now?”
    “That I cannot tell you. Perhaps the flow has changed. Perhaps something has obstructed the flow.”
    “The flow.”
    “I do not know yet whether your cat is still alive, but I can be certain of one thing: it is no longer in the vicinity of your house. You will never find the cat in that neighborhood.”
    I lifted my cup and took a sip of my now lukewarm coffee. Beyond the tearoom windows, a misty rain was falling. The sky was closed over withdark, low-hanging clouds. A sad procession of people and umbrellas climbed up and down the footbridge outside.
    “Give me your hand,” she said.
    I placed my right hand on the table, palm up, assuming she was planning to read my palm. Instead, she stretched her hand out and put her palm against mine. Then she closed her eyes, remaining utterly still, as if silently rebuking a faithless lover. The waitress came and refilled my cup, pretending not to