Sputnik Sweetheart by Haruki Murakami & Philip Gabriel (translator)

Author:Haruki Murakami & Philip Gabriel (translator)
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: Fiction
ISBN: 0375411690
Publisher: Alfred A. Knopf
Published: 2001-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

That’s what we talked about that afternoon at the café,” Miu said. “I thought they were just a lot of harmless memories, but now everything seems significant. Maybe it’s just my imagination.”

Miu turned and looked out the window. The breeze blowing in from the sea rustled the pleated curtains. With her gazing out at the darkness, the room seemed to acquire an even deeper silence.

“Do you mind if I ask a question? I’m sorry if it seems off the subject, but it’s been bothering me,” I said. “You said Sumire disappeared, vanished ‘like smoke,’ as you put it. Four days ago. And you went to the police. Right?”

Miu nodded.

“Why did you ask me to come instead of getting in touch with Sumire’s family?”

“I didn’t have any clues about what happened to her. And without any solid evidence, I didn’t know if I should upset her parents. I agonized over it for some time and decided to wait and see.”

I tried picturing Sumire’s handsome father taking the ferry to this island. Would her stepmother, understandably hurt by the turn of events, accompany him? That would be one fine mess. As far as I was concerned, though, things were already a mess. How could a foreigner possibly vanish on such a small island for four days?

“But why did you call me?”

Miu brought her bare legs together again, held the hem of her skirt between her fingers, and tugged it down.

“You were the only one I could count on.”

“But you’d never met me.”

“Sumire trusted you more than anyone else. She said you think deeply about things, no matter what the subject.”

“Definitely a minority opinion, I’m afraid.”

Miu narrowed her eyes and smiled, those tiny wrinkles appearing around her eyes.

I stood up and walked in front of her, taking her empty glass. I went into the kitchen, poured some Courvoisier into the glass, then went back to the living room. She thanked me and took the brandy. Time passed, the curtain silently fluttering. The breeze had the smell of a different place.

“Do you really, really want to know the truth?” Miu asked me. She sounded drained, as if she’d come to a difficult decision.

I looked up and gazed into her face. “One thing I can say with absolute certainty,” I said, “is that if I didn’t want to know the truth, I wouldn’t be here.”

Miu squinted in the direction of the curtains. And finally spoke, in a quiet voice. “It happened that night, after we’d talked about cats at the café.”

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