Norwegian wood by Haruki Murakami; Jay Rubin

Author:Haruki Murakami; Jay Rubin
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Literary, Reading Group Guide, Man-woman relationships, Japanese (Language) Contemporary Fiction, Students, College students, Contemporary, General, Romance, Fiction - General, Tokyo (Japan), Fiction
ISBN: 9780099448822
Publisher: Vintage International
Published: 2000-09-11T23:00:00+00:00

Otherwise, I might end up taking you with me, and that is the one thing I don't want to do. I don't want to interfere with your life. I don't want to interfere with anybody's life. Like I said before, I want you to come to see me every once in a while, and always remember me. That's all I want." "It's not all want, though," I said. "You're wasting your life being involved with me." "I'm not wasting anything." "But I might never recover. Will you wait for me forever? Can you wait 10 years, 20 years?" "You're letting yourself be scared by too many things," I said. "The dark, bad dreams, the power of the dead. You have to forget them. I'm sure you'll get well if you do." "If I can," said Naoko, shaking her head. "If you can get out of this place, will you live with me?" I asked. "Then I can protect you from the dark and from bad dreams. Then you'd have me instead of Reiko to hold you when things got difficult." Naoko pressed still more firmly against me. "That would be wonderful," she said. We got back to the cafe a little before three. Reiko was reading a book and listening to Brahms' Second Piano Concerto on the radio. There was something wonderful about Brahms playing at the edge of a grassy meadow without a sign of anyone as far as the eye could see. Reiko was whistling along with the cello passage that begins the third movement. "Backhaus and Bohm," she said. "I wore this record out once, a long time ago. Literally. I wore the grooves out listening to every note. I sucked the music right out of it." Naoko and I ordered coffee. "Do a lot of talking?" asked Reiko. "Tons," said Naoko. "Tell me all about his, uh, you know, later." "We didn't do any of that," said Naoko, reddening. "Really?" Reiko asked me. "Nothing?" "Nothing," I said. "Bo-o-o-ring!" she said with a bored look on her face. "True," I said, sipping my coffee. The scene in the dining hall was the same as the day before - the mood, the voices, the faces. Only the menu had changed. The balding man in white, who yesterday had been talking about the secretion of gastric juices under weightless conditions, joined the three of us at our table and talked for a long time about the correlation of brain size to intelligence. As we ate our soybean burgers, we heard all about the volume of Bismarck's brain and Napoleon's. He pushed his plate aside and used a ballpoint pen and notepaper to draw sketches of brains. He would start to draw, declare "No, that's not quite it", and begin a new one. This happened several times. When he had finished, he carefully put the remaining notepaper away in a pocket of his white jacket and slipped the pen into his breast pocket, in which he kept a total of three pens, along with pencils and a ruler.

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