South of the Border, West of the Sun: A Novel (Vintage International)

by Haruki Murakami

“Tell me something, Hajime,” she began. “That time about eight years ago—why did you follow me?”

Why didn’t you just come right out and see if it was me? That would have been faster.” “I don’t know, myself,” I answered. “Something held me back. My voice just wouldn’t work.” She bit her lip a little. “I didn’t notice then that it was you. All I could think was that someone was following me, and I was afraid. Really. I was terrified. But once I got in the cab and had a chance to calm down, it came to me. Could that have been Hajime?”

at least you didn’t have an only child.” “Not that I planned it. It just turned out that way.” “What does it feel like? I wonder. To have two daughters.” “Frankly, a little strange. More than half the children in my older girl’s nursery school are only children. The world’s changed since we were kids. In the city, only children have become more the rule, not the exception.” “You and I were born too soon.”

Shimamoto sipped her cocktail. “You know, Hajime, I wasn’t at all sure at first whether I should come here. I agonized over it for nearly a month.

Good old Hajime from the old neighborhood. I was happy I could see you again, even if it was in a photograph. But I wasn’t sure if meeting you in person was a good idea. Maybe it was better for both of us if we didn’t. Maybe it was enough knowing you were happy and doing well.”

“I thought if I met you you’d want to know all about me. Whether I was married, where I lived, what I’d been up to, those kinds of things. Am I right?”

“That’s right. I don’t want to talk about those things. Please don’t ask me why. I just don’t want to talk about myself. I know it’s unnatural, that it’s like I’m putting on airs, trying to be a mysterious lady of the night or something. That’s why I thought maybe I shouldn’t see you.

“I used to like you very much, so I didn’t want to meet you just to be disappointed.”

She smiled at me. “Shimamoto-san,” I began. “You know, I wanted to see you for the longest time. To talk with you. I had so many things I wanted to tell you.” “I wanted to see you too,” she said. “But you never came. You realize that, don’t you? After you went off to junior high in another town, I waited for you. Why didn’t you come? I was really sad. I thought you’d made new friends in your new place and had forgotten all about me.”

I was afraid of rejection. I was still a child. I couldn’t imagine that you were actually waiting for me. I was terrified you would reject me.

we were meant to be friends for a much longer time. I went all the way through junior high, high school, even college, without making a friend. I was always alone. I imagined how wonderful it would be to have you by my side. If you couldn’t actually be there, at least we could write to each other. Things would have been a lot different. I could have stood up to life better.” She was silent for a time. “I don’t know why, exactly, but after I entered junior high, school life went downhill. And that made me close in on myself even more. A vicious circle, you could call it.”

She reached out a hand and lightly brushed mine on the counter. “But I’m happy that you’re enjoying life.” I was silent. “You are happy, aren’t you?” she asked. “I don’t know. At least I’m not unhappy, and I’m not lonely.” A moment later, I added, “But sometimes the thought strikes me that the happiest time of my life was when we were together in your living room, listening to music.”

I sent you a postcard with our new address on it. You never got it?” I shook my head. “If I had, I would have written back. Strange, though. Must have been some slipup somewhere along the line.” “Or maybe we’re just unlucky,” she said. “Lots of slipups, and we end up missing each other. But anyway, I want to hear about you. What kind of life you’ve had.” “It’ll bore you to tears,” I said.

“You thought about me?” “All the time.” “I thought about you too,” she said. “Whenever I felt bad. You were the only friend I’ve ever had, Hajime.”

“I had an operation four years ago,” she said almost apologetically. “I wouldn’t say it’s a hundred percent but it’s certainly not as bad as it used to be. It was a big operation, with a lot of scraping of bones, patching them together. But things went well.” “That’s great. Your leg looks fine now,” I said.

“Shimamoto-san. Will I see you again?” “Probably,” she replied.

My thirty-seventh birthday rolled around. And January was suddenly over. I gave up waiting for her and only rarely made an appearance at the Robin’s Nest. Being there reminded me of her, causing me to search the faces of the customers in vain.

“I was sure you weren’t ever coming here again.” “Forgive me,” she said. “Are you angry?”

“Well, anyway, I’m sorry. I can’t explain it, but I just couldn’t come.” “Busy?” “No, not busy,” she replied quietly. “I just couldn’t come here.”

“Maybe you have more talent at running a business than would appear,” Shimamoto said. “’Fraid I don’t,” I said. “I don’t really consider myself a businessman.

“Your business philosophy,” she said. “I love to hear you talk that way.” I blushed a little, something I hadn’t done in a long while. “I wouldn’t call it a business philosophy. You know, this whole process is one I’ve been doing since I was little: Thinking about all kinds of things, letting my imagination take over. Constructing an imaginary place in my head and little by little adding details to it. Changing this and that to suit me.

Have you ever worked in a company?” She smiled and shook her head. “No.” “Consider yourself lucky. Me and companies just don’t get along. I don’t think you’d find it any different. Eight years working there convinced me. Eight years down the tubes. My twenties—the best years of all.

“I haven’t worked a single day in my life,” she said. “Not even once?” “Not even once. Not even a part-time job. Labor is totally alien to me. That’s why I envy you. I’m always alone, reading books. And any thoughts that happen to occur to me have to do with spending money, not making it.”

“When you’re always scheming about ways to make money, it’s like a part of you is lost.” “But you don’t know how empty it feels not to be able to create anything.”

you know, Hajime, some feelings cause us pain because they remain. Don’t you think so?”

“Hajime,” Shimamoto said a long time later. “Do you know any good rivers? A pretty river in a valley, not too big, one that flows fairly swiftly right into the sea?”

we’d have to fly, then drive for at least an hour. And stay overnight. I’m sure you understand that’s something I can’t do at the moment.” Shimamoto shifted slowly on her stool and turned to face me. “Hajime, I know I shouldn’t be asking this favor of you. I know that. Believe me, I realize it’s a burden to you. But there’s no one else I can ask. I have to go there, and I don’t want to go alone.”

I made a quick mental calculation of the time. “If we left really early in the morning and did a round trip by plane, we should be able to make it back by not too late at night. Of course, it depends on how much time we spend there.” “I don’t think it’ll take too long,” she said. “Can you really spare the time? The time to fly over there and back with me?” I thought a bit. “I think so.

“I’m really sorry,” she said. “Maybe I shouldn’t have met you again, after all. I know I’ll only end up ruining everything.”

I’ve lied to Yukiko, I told myself. Sure, I’d lied to her before, when I slept with other women. But I never felt I was deceiving her. Those were just harmless flings. But this time was wrong. Not that I was planning to sleep with Shimamoto. But even so, it was wrong.

“Is this river what you were looking for?” She smiled at me. “It’s like you could read my mind,” she replied. And reached out with her gloved hand to grasp mine, also in a glove.

Someday, somewhere, I will see this scene, I felt. The opposite of déjà vu—not the feeling that I’d already seen what was around me, but the premonition that I would some-day.

“This spot will be all right,” she said.

On the bottom of the pool several fallen leaves lay still, like the bodies of flat dead fish. I picked up a round stone and rolled it in my hand. Shimamoto took off her gloves and put them in her coat pocket. She undid her shoulder bag, opened it, and removed a small bag made out of a pretty cloth. Inside the bag was an urn. She undid the fastening on the lid and carefully opened the urn. For a while she gazed at what was inside. I stood beside her, watching, without a word. Inside the urn were white ashes. Very carefully, so that none would spill out she poured the ashes onto her left palm. There was barely enough to cover her hand. Ash left after a cremation, I figured. It was a quiet windless afternoon, and the ash didn’t stir. Shimamoto returned the empty urn to her bag, stuck her index finger into the ash, put the finger to her mouth, and licked it. She looked at me and tried to smile. But she couldn’t. Her finger remained near her lips. As she crouched by the river and scattered the ashes, I stood next to her, watching. In an instant the small amount of ash was carried away. She and I stood on the shore, gazing at the water. She stared at her palm, then finally brushed off the remaining ash and put on her gloves. “Will it really reach the sea?” she asked. “I think so,” I said.

“No, that’s not what I mean. What I mean is, will the child’s ashes flow to the sea, mix with the seawater, evaporate, form into clouds, and fall as rain?”

“Those were my baby’s ashes. The only baby I ever had,” Shimamoto said, as if talking to herself. I looked at her, then looked ahead. Trucks sprayed up muddy melted snow, and I had to turn on the wipers every once in a while. “My baby died the day after it was born,” she said. “It lived just one day. I held it only a couple of times. It was a beautiful baby. So very soft … They didn’t know the cause, but it couldn’t breathe well. When it died it was already a different color.” I couldn’t say a thing. I reached out my hand and placed it on hers. “It was a baby girl. Without a name.” “When was that?” “This time last year. In February.” “Poor thing,” I said. “I didn’t want to bury it anywhere. I couldn’t stand the thought of it in some dark place. I wanted to keep it beside me for a while, then let it flow into the sea and turn into rain.”

Was she dying, right here and now? Her eyes were listless as I looked deep into them. I could see nothing; they were as cold and dark as death. “Shimamoto-san!” I yelled out, but got no response. Her eyes were unfocused. She might not even be conscious. I had to get her to an emergency room, and fast.

Finally a single word came through. “Medicine.” “You want to take some medicine?” I asked. She gave a tiny nod. So slight a nod I might not have caught it. But it was all she could manage.

I leaped out of the car, scooped up some clean snow under the eaves of the building, and put it in Shimamoto’s wool cap. Bit by bit, I placed the snow in my mouth and melted it. It took a while to melt enough, and the tip of my tongue turned numb. I opened her mouth and let the water flow from mine into hers. Then I held her nose closed and forced her to swallow. She choked a little, but after I did this a couple of times, she was at last able to swallow the capsule.

never fear—they haven’t said the flight’s canceled yet.” “I knew something like this would happen,” she said as if to herself. “Whenever I’m around, nothing good ever happens. You can count on it. If I’m involved, then things go bad. Things are going smoothly, then I step in and wham! they fall apart.”

Before long, I realized with a start that I was actually hoping we would be snowed in and the flight canceled. Subconsciously, I was hoping my wife would find out about my coming here with Shimamoto. I wanted to put an end to excuses, to lies. More than anything, I wanted to remain right where I was, with Shimamoto beside me, and let things take their course.

“Hajime,” Shimamoto said as we approached Aoyama Boulevard. “I was thinking back then how nice it would be if the plane didn’t take off.”

Shimamoto nodded. As I drove away, I thought this: If I never see her again, I will go insane. Once she was out of the car and gone, my world was suddenly hollow and meaningless.

Second, no matter what, come back home by two a.m. Two a.m. is the point of no return.

You have a very discriminating eye, something only experience can teach you. I’ve been to your bars just a couple of times, but it’s plain to see. You know how to hire good people and how to treat them right.” I was silent, waiting for him to go on. “You also have a good eye for choosing a wife. Yukiko’s very happy living with you. And your children are wonderful kids. I’m grateful to you.” He’s pretty drunk, I thought. But I didn’t say anything. “You probably don’t know this, but Yukiko tried to commit suicide once.

“When did this happen?” “When she was twenty-two. Right after she graduated from college. It was over a man. A real jerk she’d gotten herself engaged to. Yukiko looks real quiet, but underneath she’s a tough cookie. And smart. That’s why I can’t figure out why she’d ever get herself involved with a guy like that.” He leaned against the pillar in the traditional-style room we were in, put a cigarette between his lips, and lit it. “Well, that was her very first man. The very first time, everyone makes mistakes. With Yukiko, though, it was a huge shock. That’s why she tried to kill herself. For a long while afterward she wouldn’t have anything to do with men. She’d always been pretty outgoing, but she stopped talking to people and stayed holed up in the house. Once she met you, though, she began to cheer up. She did a complete turnaround.

“I knew nothing about the suicide,” I said. “I thought it was better you didn’t know, so I never mentioned it. But it’s high time you knew. The two of you are going to be together for a long time, so you’d better know everything—the good and the bad. Besides, it happened a long time ago.”

all the time I was inside her, it was Shimamoto I saw.

What would become of me tomorrow I did not know. Buying my daughter a horse—the idea took on an unexpected urgency. I had to buy it for her before things disappeared. Before the world fell to pieces.

From then until the spring, Shimamoto and I saw each other almost every week.