Why more real? Trying to explain that logically, in words, would be very, very, very hard, but maybe if you take the path my life has followed as an example and really think about it, you can see that it has had almost nothing about it that you could call consistency. First of all, its an absolute mystery how a daughter like me could have been born to two parents as boring as tree frogs. I know its a little weird for me to be saying this, but I'm a lot more serious than the two of them combined. I'm not boasting or anything; its just a fact. I don't mean to say that I'm any better than they are, but I am a more serious human being. If you met them, you'd know what I mean, Mr. Wind-Up Bird. Those people believe that the world is as consistent and explainable as the floor plan of a new house in a high-priced development, so if you do everything in a logical, consistent way, everything will turn out right in the end. That's why they get upset and sad and angry when I'm not like that.
Why was I born into this world as the child of such absolute dummies? And why didn't I turn into the same kind of stupid tree frog daughter even though I was raised by those people? I've been wondering and wondering about that ever since I can remember. But I cant explain it. It seems to me there ought to be a good reason, but its a reason that I cant find. And there are tons of other things that don't have logical explanations. For example, Why does everybody hate me? I didn't do anything wrong. I was just living my life in the usual way. But then, all of a sudden, one day I noticed that nobody liked me. I don't understand it.
So then one disconnected thing led to another disconnected thing, and thats how all kinds of stuff happened. Like, I met the boy with the motorcycle and we had that stupid accident. The way I remember it-or the way those things are all lined up in my head- theres no This happened this way, so naturally that happened that way. Every time the bell rings and I take off the cover, I seem to find something I've never seen before.
I don't have any idea whats happening to me, and before I know it I'm not going to school anymore and I'm hanging around the house, and thats when I meet you, Mr. Wind-Up Bird. No, before that I'm doing surveys for a wig company. But why a wig company? That's another mystery. I cant remember. Maybe I hit my head in the accident, and the position of my brain got messed up. Or maybe the psychological shock of it started me covering up all kinds of memories, the way a squirrel hides a nut and forgets where he's buried it. (Have you ever seen that happen, Mr. Wind-Up Bird? I have. When I was little. I thought the stupid squirrel was sooo funny! It never occurred to me the same thing was going to happen to me.) So anyhow, I started doing surveys for the wig company, and thats what gave me this fondness for wigs like they were my destiny or something. Talk about no connection! Why wigs and not stockings or rice scoops? If it had been stockings or rice scoops, I wouldn't be working hard in a wig factory like this. Right? And if I hadn't caused that stupid bike accident, I probably wouldn't have met you in the back alley that summer, and if you hadn't met me, you probably would never have known about the Miyawaki's well, so you wouldn't have gotten that mark on your face, and you wouldn't have gotten mixed up in all those strange things... probably. When I think about it like this, I cant help asking myself, Where is there any logical consistency in the world?
I don't know-maybe the world has two different kinds of people, and for one kind the world is this completely logical, rice pudding place, and for the other its all hit-or-miss macaroni gratin. I bet if those tree frog parents of mine put rice pudding mix in the microwave and got macaroni gratin when the bell rang, they'd just tell themselves, Oh, we must have put in macaroni gratin mix by mistake, or they'd take out the macaroni gratin and try to convince themselves, This looks like macaroni gratin, but actually its rice pudding. And if I tried to be nice and explain to them that sometimes, when you put in rice pudding mix, you get macaroni gratin, they would never believe me. They'd probably just get mad. Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you, Mr. Wind-Up Bird?
Remember when I kissed your mark that time? I've been thinking about that ever since I said goodbye to you last summer, thinking about it over and over, like a cat watching the rain fall, and wondering what was that all about? I don't think I can explain it myself, to tell you the truth. Sometime way in the future, maybe ten years or twenty years from now, if we have a chance to talk about it, and if I'm more grown up and a lot smarter than I am now, I might be able to tell you what it meant. Right now, though, I'm sorry to say, I think I just don't have the ability, or the brains, to put it into the right words.
One thing I can tell you honestly, though, Mr. Wind-Up Bird, is that I like you better without the mark on your face. No; wait a minute; thats not fair. You didn't put the mark there on purpose. Maybe I should say that even without your mark, you're good enough for me. Is that it? No, that doesn't explain anything.
Heres what I think, Mr. Wind-Up Bird. That mark is maybe going to give you something important. But it also must be robbing you of something. Kind of like a trade-off. And if everybody keeps taking stuff from you like that, you're going to be worn away until theres nothing left of you. So, I don't know, I guess what I really want to say is that it wouldn't make any difference to me if you didn't have that thing.
Sometimes I think that the reason I'm sitting here making wigs like this every day is because I kissed your mark that time. Its because I did that that I made up my mind to leave that place, to get as far away as I could from you. I know I might be hurting you by saying this, but I think its true. Still, though, its because of that that I was finally able to find the place where I belong. So, in a sense, I am grateful to you, Mr. Wind-Up Bird. I don't suppose its much fun to have somebody be in a sense grateful to you, though, is it?
So now I feel like I've said just about everything I have to say to you, Mr. Wind-Up Bird. Its almost four o'clock in the morning. I have to get up at seven-thirty, so maybe I'll be able to sleep three hours and a little bit. I hope I can get to sleep right away. Anyhow, I'm going to end this letter here. Goodbye, Mr. Wind-Up Bird. Please say a little prayer so I can get to sleep.
19 The Subterranean Labyrinth
Cinnamon's Two Doors
Theres a computer in that house, isn't there, Mr. Okada? I don't know who's using it, though, said Ushikawa.
It was nine o'clock at night, and I was sitting at the kitchen table, with the phone to my ear.