Wind/Pinball: Two Novels

by Haruki Murakami

Since I hated the idea of working for a company, I decided to open my own establishment, a place where people could go to listen to jazz records, have a coffee, eat snacks, and drink.

On one occasion, stuck for our monthly payment to the bank, my wife and I were trudging along with our heads down late at night when we stumbled across some money lying in the street. Whether it was synchronicity or some sort of divine intervention I don’t know, but the amount was exactly what we needed.

Along with music, books were my great joy. No matter how busy, or how broke, or how exhausted I was, no one could take those pleasures away from me.

the vocabulary and patterns of the Japanese language had filled the system that was me to bursting, like a barn crammed with livestock. When I sought to put my thoughts and feelings into words, those animals began to mill about, and the system crashed. Writing in a foreign language, with all the limitations that entailed, removed this obstacle.

he was as ignored in death as he had been in life.

Was this the right way? How the hell should I know!

Ascribing meaning to life is a piece of cake compared to actually living it.

The Rat was always running down the rich—he out-and-out despised them. Yet his family was loaded. Whenever I pointed that out, his reply was always, “Ain’t my fault.”

“In the end we all die anyway,”

The Rat’s novel had two good things about it. First, there were no sex scenes; second, no one died.

“Do you think I was wrong?” the girl asks. The Rat takes another swig of beer. “To be blunt,” he says, slowly shaking his head, “we’re all wrong, every one of us.”

“That which is not expressed doesn’t exist.

pretending to be thinking.

“Explain.” “Where should I begin?” “At the beginning.”

But he tells me to go to the washroom and wash my face. J believes you can drink a case of beer and still drive as long as you splash water on your face first.

“?”

Laughing

“Did I drink a lot?” “Quite a bit. I would have died.” “I feel half dead right now.”

She stared at me, hairbrush in hand, looking as if she would burst into tears any minute. She’ll feel better if she does, I thought. But she didn’t.

I found myself whistling in the car on the way home. It was a tune I had heard somewhere before, but I couldn’t place it. A real oldie. I pulled over to the side of the road and sat there staring out at the ocean under the night sky, trying my best to remember. Then I got it. It was “The Mickey Mouse Club Song.”

“Your birthday present.” “That’s not till next month.” “I’ll be gone by then.”

“You’re pretty hard on yourself.” “Yes, I try to be.”

To keep it short and sweet: I’m twenty-one years old. Still plenty young, but not as young as I used to be.

“It’s never a good idea to bad-mouth your family,” she continued. “Only leaves you down in the dumps.” “Don’t let it get to you. Everybody’s carrying stuff like that around.”

But I’ll have a drink now.” “So what’ll it be?” “White wine, the colder the better.”

I watched the sun set as I drove along the coastal road, stopping to buy two bottles of chilled white wine and a carton of cigarettes before getting on the highway.

“It’s hot as hell.” “Hell is hotter.” “Sounds like you’ve been there.”

“To cold wine and warm hearts,” she toasted me.

“It’s a bad habit. I always forget the important stuff.” “Can I let you in on something?” “Sure.” “If you don’t change that habit you’re gonna be the loser.”

She was peering into my eyes as she talked, her slender elbows propped on the table, her chin cupped in her hands. Her gaze was starting to get to me.

“Sometimes, I imagine how great it would be if we could live our lives without bothering other people. Think it’s possible?” “I wonder.” “So tell me, am I bothering you?” “I’m okay.” “So far, you mean.” “Yeah, so far.”

Time goes by so damn fast.

When I realized this, I lost my raison d’être and became utterly alone.

“Oh yeah, do you own a suit and tie?” “Sure. Still…” “Then it’s tomorrow at two,” the Rat said. “Hey, what do girls eat to stay alive, anyway?” “Shoe soles.” “Get out of here,” the Rat said.