THINKING BACK ON THE YEAR 1969, ALL THAT COMES TO MIND FOR me is a swamp—a deep, sticky bog that feels as if it’s going to suck my shoe off each time I take a step. I walk through the mud, exhausted. In front of me, behind me, I can see nothing but an endless swampy darkness.
Time itself slogged along in rhythm with my faltering steps. The people around me had gone on ahead long before, while my time and I hung back, struggling through the mud. The world around me was on the verge of great transformations. Death had already taken John Coltrane, who was joined now by so many others. People screamed there’d be ary changes—which always seemed to be just ahead, at the curve in the road. But the “changes” that came were just two-dimensional stage sets, background without substance or meaning. I trudged along through each day in its turn, looking up only rarely, eyes locked on the endless swamp that lay before me, planting my right foot, raising my left, planting my left foot, raising my right, never sure where I was, never sure I was headed in the right direction, knowing only that I had to keep moving, one step at a time.
I turned twenty, autumn gave way to winter, but in my life nothing changed in any significant way. Unexcited, I went to my classes, worked three nights a week in the record store, reread The Great Gatsby now and then, and when Sunday came I would do my wash and write a long letter to Naoko. Sometimes I would go out with Midori for a meal or to the zoo or a movie. The sale of the Kobayashi Bookstore went off as planned, and Midori and her sister moved into a two-bedroom apartment near Myogadani, a more upscale neighborhood. Midori would move out when her sister got married, and take a unit by herself, she said. Meanwhile, she invited me to their new apartment for lunch once. It was a sunny, handsome place, and Midori seemed to enjoy living there far more than she had over the Kobayashi Bookstore.
Every once in a while, Nagasawa would suggest that we go out on one of our excursions, but I always found something I had to do instead. I just didn’t want to bother. Not that I didn’t like the idea of sleeping with girls: it was just that, when I thought about the whole process I had to go through—drinking on the town, looking for the right kind of girls, talking to them, going to a hotel—it was too much trouble. I had to admire Nagasawa all the more for the way he could continue the ritual without growing sick and tired of it. Maybe what Hatsumi had said to me had had some effect: I could make myself feel far happier just thinking about Naoko than sleeping with some stupid, nameless girl. The sensation of Naoko’s fingers bringing me to climax in a grassy field remained vivid inside me.
I wrote to Naoko at the beginning of December to ask if it would be all right for me to come and visit her during winter break. An answer came from Reiko saying they would love to have me. She explained that Naoko was having trouble writing and that she was answering for her. I was not to take this to mean that Naoko was feeling especially bad: there was no need for me to worry. These things came in waves.
When the break came, I stuffed my things into my knapsack, put on snow boots, and set out for Kyoto. The odd doctor had been right: the winter mountains blanketed in snow were incredibly beautiful. As before, I slept two nights in the apartment with Naoko and Reiko, and spent three days with them doing much the same kinds of things as before. When the sun went down, Reiko would play her guitar and the three of us would sit around talking. Instead of our picnic, we went cross-country skiing. An hour of tramping through the woods on skis left us breathless and sweaty. We also joined the residents and staff shoveling snow when there was time. Doctor Miyata popped over to our table at dinner to explain why people’s middle fingers are longer than their index fingers while with toes it works the other way. The gatekeeper, Omura, talked to me again about Tokyo pork. Reiko enjoyed the records I brought as gifts from the city. She transcribed a few tunes and figured them out on the guitar.
Naoko was even less talkative than she had been in the fall. When the three of us were together, she would sit on the sofa, smiling, and hardly say a word. Reiko seemed to be gabbing to take up the slack. “But don’t worry,” Naoko told me. “This is just one of those times. It’s a lot more fun for me to listen to you two than to talk myself.”
Reiko gave herself some chores that took her out of the apartment so that Naoko and I could get in bed. I kissed her neck and shoulders and breasts, and she used her hands to bring me to climax as before. Afterward, holding her close, I told her how her touch had stayed with me these two months, that I had thought of her and masturbated.
“You haven’t slept with anybody else?” Naoko asked.
“Not once,” I said.
“All right, then, here’s something else for you to remember.” She slid down and touched my penis with her lips, then enveloped it in her warmth and ran her tongue all over it, her long, straight hair swaying over my belly and groin with each movement of her lips until I came for a second time.
“Do you think you can remember that?” she asked.
“Of course I can,” I said. “I’ll always remember it.”
I held her tight and slid my hand inside her panties, touching her still-dry vagina. Naoko shook her head and pulled my hand away. We held each other for a time, saying nothing.
“I’m thinking of getting out of the dorm when the school year ends and looking for an apartment,” I said. “I’ve had it with dorm life. If I keep working part-time I can pretty much cover my expenses. How about coming to Tokyo to live with me, the way I suggested before?”
“Oh, Toru, thank you. I’m so happy that you would ask me to do something like that!”
“It’s not that I think there’s anything wrong with this place,” I said. “It’s quiet, the surroundings are perfect, and Reiko is a wonderful person. But it’s not a place to stay for a long time. It’s too specialized for a long stay. The longer you’re here, I’m sure, the harder it is to leave.”
Instead of answering, Naoko turned her gaze to the outside. Beyond the window, there was nothing to see but snow. Snow clouds hung low and heavy in the sky, with only the smallest gap between clouds and snow-covered earth.
“Take your time, think it over,” I said. “Whatever happens, I’m going to move by the end of March. Anytime you decide you want to join me, you can come.”
Naoko nodded. I wrapped my arms around her as carefully as if I had been holding a work of art delicately fashioned from glass. She put her arms around my neck. I was naked, and she wore only the briefest white underwear. Her body was so beautiful, I could have enjoyed looking at it all day.
“Why don’t I get wet?” Naoko murmured. “That one time was the only time it ever happened. The day of my twentieth birthday, that April. The night you held me in your arms. What is wrong with me?”
“It’s strictly psychological, I’m sure,” I said. “Give it time. There’s no hurry.”
“All of my problems are strictly psychological,” said Naoko. “What if I never get better? What if I can never have sex for the rest of my life? Can you keep loving me just the same? Will hands and lips always be enough for you? Or will you solve the sex problem by sleeping with other girls?”
“I’m an inborn optimist,” I said.
Naoko sat up in bed and slipped on a T-shirt. Over this she put on a flannel shirt, and then she got into her jeans. I put my clothes on, too.
“Let me think about it,” Naoko said. “And you think about it too.”
“I will,” I said. “And speaking of lips, what you did with them just now was great.”
Naoko reddened slightly and gave a little smile. “Kizuki used to say that, too.”
“He and I had pretty much the same tastes and opinions,” I said, smiling.
We sat across from each other at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and talking about the old days. She was beginning to talk more about Kizuki. She would hesitate, and choose her words carefully. Every now and then, the snow would fall for a while and stop. The sky never cleared the whole three days I was there. “I think I can get back here in March,” I said as I was leaving. I gave her one last, heavily padded hug with my winter coat on, and kissed her on the lips. “Good-bye,” she said.
1970—A YEAR with a whole new sound to it—came along, and that put an end to my teen years. Now I could step ahead into a whole new swamp. Then it was time for final exams, and those I passed with relative ease. If you have nothing else to do and spend all your time going to classes, it takes no special study to get through finals.
Some problems arose in the dorm, though. A few guys active in one of the political factions kept their helmets and iron pipes hidden in their rooms. They had a run-in with some of the jocks under the wing of the dorm head, as a result of which two of them were injured and six expelled from the dorm. The aftershocks of the incident stayed on for a long time, spawning minor fights almost on a daily basis. The atmosphere that hung over the dorm was oppressive, and people’s nerves were on edge. I myself was on the verge of getting punched out by one of the jocks when Nagasawa intervened and managed to smooth things over. In any case, it was time for me to get the hell out of there.
Once I had the better part of my exams out of the way, I started looking for an apartment in earnest. After a week of searching, I came up with the right place way out in the suburbs of Kichijoji. The location was not exactly convenient, but it was a house: an independent house—a real find. Originally a gardener’s shack or some other kind of cottage, it stood off by itself in the corner of a good-size plot of land, separated from the main house by a large stretch of neglected garden. The landlord would use the front gate, and I the back, which would make it possible for me to preserve my privacy. It had one good-size room, a little kitchen and bathroom, and an unimaginably huge storage closet. It even had a veranda facing the garden. A nice old couple were renting the house at way below market value on condition that the tenant be prepared to move out the following year if their grandson decided to come to Tokyo. They assured me that I could live as I pleased there; they wouldn’t be making any demands.
Nagasawa helped me with the move. He managed to borrow a light truck to transfer my stuff, and, as promised, he gave me his refrigerator, TV, and oversize Thermos bottle. He might not need them anymore, but for me they were perfect. He himself was scheduled to move out in two days, to an apartment in the Mita neighborhood.
“I guess we won’t be seeing each other for a long time,” he said as he left me, “so be well. I’m still sure we’ll run across each other in some strange place years from now.”
“I’m already looking forward to it,” I said.
“And that time we switched girls, the funny-looking one was way better.”
“Right on,” I said with a laugh. “But anyway, Nagasawa, take care of Hatsumi. Good ones like her are hard to find. And she’s a lot more fragile than she looks.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said, nodding. “That’s why I was hoping you would take her when I was through. The two of you would make a great couple.”
“Get serious!” I said.
“Just kidding,” said Nagasawa. “Anyhow, be happy. I get the feeling a lot of shit is going to come your way, but you’re a stubborn son of a bitch, I’m sure you’ll handle it. Mind if I give you one piece of advice?”
“Sure, go ahead.”
“Don’t feel sorry for yourself,” he said. “Only assholes do that.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” I said. We shook hands and went our separate ways, he to his new world, and I back to my swamp.
THREE DAYS AFTER my move, I wrote to Naoko. I described my new house and said how relieved I was to be away from the idiots in the dorm and all their idiotic brainstorms. Now I could start my new life with a new frame of mind.
My window looks out on a big yard, which is used as a meeting place by all the neighborhood cats. I like to stretch out on the veranda and watch them. I’m not sure how many of them get together, but this is one big gang of cats. They take group sun baths. I don’t think they’re too pleased to see me living here, but when I put out an old chunk of cheese a few of them crept over and took a chance on nibbling it. They’ll probably be friends of mine before too long. There’s one striped tomcat in the bunch with half-eaten ears. It’s amazing how much he looks like my old dorm head. I expect him to start raising the flag any day now.
I’m kind of far from school here, but once I start my major I won’t have too many morning classes, so it shouldn’t be too bad. It may even be better with the time to read on the train. Now all I have to do is find some easy work out here that I can do three or four days a week. Then I can get back to my spring-winding life.
I don’t mean to be rushing you, but April is a good time of year to start new things, and I can’t help feeling that the best thing for us would be to begin living together then. You could go back to school, too, if it worked out well. If there’s a problem with us actually living together, I could find an apartment for you in the neighborhood. The most important thing is for us to be always near each other. It doesn’t have to be spring, of course. If you think summer is better, that’s fine with me, too. Just let me know what you’re thinking, O.K.?”
I’m planning to put some extra time in at work for a while. To cover my moving expenses. I’m going to need a fair amount of money for one thing or another once I start living alone: pots and pans, dishes, stuff like that. I’ll be free in March, though, and I definitely want to come to see you. What dates work best for you? I’ll plan a trip to Kyoto then. I look forward to seeing you and to receiving your answer.
I spent the next few days buying the things I needed in the nearby Kichijoji shopping district and started cooking simple meals for myself at home. I bought some planks at a local lumberyard and had them cut to size so I could make a desk for myself. I figured I could study on it and, for the time being, eat my meals there, too. I made some shelves and laid in a good selection of spices. A white cat maybe six months old decided she liked me and started eating at my place. I called her Seagull.
Once I had my place fixed up to some extent, I went into town and found a temporary job as a painter’s assistant. I filled two solid weeks that way. The pay was good, but the work was murder, and the fumes made my head spin. Every day after work I’d have supper at a cheap eatery, wash it down with beer, go home and play with the cat, and sleep like a dead man. No answer came from Naoko during that time.
I was in the thick of painting when Midori popped into my mind. I hadn’t been in touch with her for nearly three weeks, I realized, and hadn’t even told her I had moved. I had mentioned to her that I was thinking of moving, and she had said, “Oh, really?” and that was the last time we had talked.
I went to a phone booth and dialed Midori’s apartment. The woman who answered was probably her sister. When I gave her my name, she said, “Just a minute,” but Midori never came to the phone.
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