Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki And His Years Of Pilgrimage Part 19

Eri listened intently, and didn't interrupt. Finally, she spoke.

"You know, Tsukuru, you need to hang on to her. No matter what. I really believe that. If you let her go now, you might not ever have anyone else in your life."

"But I don't have any confidence."

"Why not?"

"Because I have no sense of self. I have no personality, no brilliant color. I have nothing to offer. That's always been my problem. I feel like an empty vessel. I have a shape, I guess, as a container, but there's nothing inside. I just can't see myself as the right person for her. I think that the more time pa.s.ses, and the more she knows about me, the more disappointed Sara will be, and the more she'll choose to distance herself from me."

"You need to have courage, and be confident in yourself. I mean-I used to love you, right? At one time I would have given myself to you. I would have done whatever you wanted me to do. An actual, hot-blooded woman felt that strongly about you once. That's how valuable you are. You're not empty-not at all."

"I appreciate you saying that," Tsukuru said. "I really do. But that was then. What about now? I'm thirty-six, but when I think about who I am, I'm as confused-or maybe more confused-than I've ever been. I can't figure out what I should do. I've never felt this strongly about anybody before."

"Let's say you are an empty vessel. So what? What's wrong with that?" Eri said. "You're still a wonderful, attractive vessel. And really, does anybody know who they are? So why not be a completely beautiful vessel? The kind people feel good about, the kind people want to entrust with precious belongings."

Tsukuru understood what she was getting at. But whether or not this applied to him was another question.

"When you get back to Tokyo," Eri said, "tell her everything. Being open and honest is always the best way to go. But don't tell her you saw her with that other man. Keep that to yourself. There are some things women don't want other people to see. Besides that, tell her everything you're feeling."

"I'm scared, Eri. If I do something wrong, or say something wrong, I'm scared it will wreck everything and our relations.h.i.+p will vanish forever."

Eri slowly shook her head. "It's no different from building stations. If something is important enough, a little mistake isn't going to ruin it all, or make it vanish. It might not be perfect, but the first step is actually building the station. Right? Otherwise trains won't stop there. And you can't meet the person who means so much to you. If you find some defect, you can adjust it later, as needed. First things first. Build the station. A special station just for her. The kind of station where trains want to stop, even if they have no reason to do so. Imagine that kind of station, and give it actual color and shape. Write your name on the foundation with a nail, and breathe life into it. I know you have the power to do that. Don't forget-you're the one who swam across the freezing sea at night."

Eri asked him to stay for dinner.

"They catch big, fresh trout around here. We just fry them up with herbs in a frying pan, but they taste wonderful. We'd love to have you stay and eat with us."

"Thank you, but I'd better be getting back. I want to get to Helsinki while it's still light out."

Eri laughed. "Still light out? This is summer in Finland. It's light out almost the whole night."

"I know, but still," Tsukuru averred.

Eri understood how he felt.

"Thank you for coming all this way to see me," she said. "I can't tell you how happy I am that we could talk like this. I really feel like a great burden has been lifted, something that's been weighing me down forever. I'm not saying this solves everything, but it's been a huge relief."

"I feel the same way," Tsukuru said. "Talking with you has helped a lot. And I'm happy I could meet your husband and daughters, and see what sort of life you're living here. That alone made the trip worthwhile."

They left the cabin and walked over to where his Volkswagen Golf was parked. Slowly, deliberately, as if weighing the significance of each step. They hugged each other once more, and this time, she didn't cry. He felt her gentle smile on his neck, her full b.r.e.a.s.t.s pressed against him, filled with the vitality to keep on living. Her fingers against his back were strong and real.

Tsukuru suddenly remembered the presents he'd brought from j.a.pan for her and the children. He took them out from his shoulder bag in the car and handed them to her, a boxwood barrette for Eri and j.a.panese picture books for the children.

"Thank you, Tsukuru," Eri said. "You haven't changed at all. You were always so kind."

"It's nothing," Tsukuru said. And he remembered the evening when he bought the presents, seeing Sara walking down Omotesando with that other man. If he hadn't thought to buy the presents, he wouldn't have witnessed that scene. It was a strange thing.

"Farewell, Tsukuru Tazaki. Have a safe trip home," Eri said as they said goodbye. "Don't let the bad elves get you."

"Bad elves?"

Eri's eyes narrowed, her lips curling mischievously like in the old days. "It's a saying we use a lot here. 'Don't let the bad elves get you.' So many creatures have lived in these forests since olden times."

"Understood," Tsukuru laughed. "I'll keep an eye out for them."

"If you get a chance," Eri said, "let Ao and Aka know that I'm doing well here."

"I will."

"I think you should go see them sometimes. Or get together, all three of you. For your sake. And for theirs."

"I agree. That might be a good idea," Tsukuru said. "It'd be good for me, too," Eri said. "Even though I can't be with you."

Tsukuru nodded. "Once things settle down, I'll make sure to do that. For your sake, too."

"But it's strange, isn't it?" Eri said.

"What is?"

"That amazing time in our lives is gone, and will never return. All the beautiful possibilities we had then have been swallowed up in the flow of time."

Tsukuru nodded silently. He thought he should say something, but no words came.

"Winter here is really long," Eri said, gazing out at the lake, sounding as if she were addressing herself far away. "The nights are so long and it seems never-ending. Everything freezes solid, like spring will never come. All sorts of dark thoughts come to me. No matter how much I try to avoid them."

Still no words came to him. Tsukuru silently followed her gaze to the surface of the lake. It was only later, after he boarded the direct flight back to Narita and had buckled his seat belt, that the words came, the words he should have said. The right words always seemed to come too late.

He turned the key and started the engine. The four-cylinder Golf engine awoke from its short sleep and slowly found its rhythm.

"Goodbye," Eri said. "Be well. And make sure you hold on to Sara. You really need her."

"I'll try."

"Tsukuru, there's one thing I want you to remember. You aren't colorless. Those were just names. I know we often teased you about it, but it was just a stupid joke. Tsukuru Tazaki is a wonderful, colorful person. A person who builds fantastic stations. A healthy thirty-six-year-old citizen, a voter, a taxpayer-someone who could fly all the way to Finland just to see me. You don't lack anything. Be confident and be bold. That's all you need. Never let fear and stupid pride make you lose someone who's precious to you."

He put the car into drive and stepped on the gas. He stuck a hand out the open window and waved. Eri waved back. She kept on waving, her hand held high.

Finally she disappeared in the trees. All he saw in the rearview mirror now was the deep green of a Finnish summer. The wind seemed to have picked up again, and small waves rippled on the surface of the lake. A tall young man in a kayak appeared on the water, slowly and silently slipping through the water like some gigantic whirligig.

I'll probably never be back here again, Tsukuru thought. And never see Eri again. We each have our paths to follow, in our places. Like Ao said, There's no going back. Sorrow surged then, silently, like water inside him. A formless, transparent sorrow. A sorrow he could touch, yet something that was also far away, out of reach. Pain struck him, as if gouging out his chest, and he could barely breathe.

When he reached the paved road, he steered the car to the side, switched off the engine, leaned against the steering wheel, and closed his eyes. His heart was racing and he took slow, deep breaths. And as he inhaled, he suddenly noticed a cold, hard object near the center of his body-like a hard core of earth that remains frozen all year long. This was the source of the pain in his chest, and the difficulty breathing. He had never known, until this moment, that such a thing existed inside him.

Yet it was this pain, and this sense of being choked, that he needed. It was exactly what he had to acknowledge, what he had to confront. From now on, he had to make that cold core melt, bit by bit. It might take time, but it was what he had to do. But his own body heat wasn't enough to melt that frozen soil. He needed someone else's warmth.

First he had to get back to Tokyo. That was the first step. He turned the key and started the engine again.

On the road to Helsinki, Tsukuru prayed that Eri wouldn't be caught by any bad elves of the forest. All he could do at this point was pray.

Tsukuru spent the remaining two days of his trip wandering the streets of Helsinki. It rained occasionally, just a light sprinkle that didn't bother him. As he walked, he thought of many things. There was much he needed to consider, and he wanted to gather his thoughts before he returned to Tokyo. When he got tired of walking, or of thinking, he'd stop by a cafe and have a coffee and a sandwich. He got lost, not knowing where he was, but that didn't bother him either. Helsinki wasn't a huge city, and streetcars ran everywhere. And for him right now, losing sight of where he actually was felt good. On his last afternoon in the city he went to Helsinki Central Station, sat on a bench, and watched the trains come and go.

From the station he called Olga on his cell phone to thank her. I found the Haatainens' house all right, he told her, and my friend was definitely surprised to see me. And Hameenlinna was a beautiful town. That's great, Olga replied. Wonderful. She seemed genuinely happy for him. I'd like to take you out to dinner to thank you, he said. I appreciate the invitation, Olga said, but today is my mother's birthday and I'm having dinner with my parents at home. But please be sure to tell Sara h.e.l.lo from me. I will, Tsukuru replied. And thank you for everything.

In the evening he had seafood and half a gla.s.s of chilled Chablis at a restaurant that Olga had recommended near the harbor. As he sat there, he thought about the Haatainens. Right now the four of them must be seated around their table. Was the wind still blowing on the lake? And what was Eri thinking about, at this very moment? The warmth of her breath still grazed his ear.

He arrived back in Tokyo on a Sat.u.r.day morning. He unpacked, took a leisurely bath, and spent the rest of the day busy with random tasks. As soon as he got back, he thought of calling Sara, and had actually picked up the phone and dialed her number. But then he put the phone down. He needed more time to think. It had been a short trip, but so many things had happened. It still felt unreal to be back in the middle of Tokyo. It felt like just a short time ago he'd been beside the lake in Hameenlinna, listening to the transparent sound of the wind. No matter what he said to Sara, he needed to choose his words carefully.

He did the laundry, glanced through the newspapers that had piled up, then went out before evening to shop for food, though he had no appet.i.te. Probably because of jet lag, he got terribly sleepy while it was still light out, lay down in bed at eight thirty, and fell asleep, only to wake up before midnight. He tried reading the book he'd started on the plane, but his mind was still a blur, so he got up and cleaned the apartment. Just before dawn, he returned to bed, and when he awoke it was almost noon on Sunday. It looked like it was going to be a hot day. He switched on the AC, made coffee, and had a cup with a slice of toast and melted cheese.

After he took a shower, he phoned Sara's home. The phone went to voicemail. Please leave a message after the beep, the message said. He hesitated, then hung up without saying anything. The clock on the wall showed that it was just after one. He was about to call her cell phone, but thought better of it.

She might be having lunch on her day off with her boyfriend. It was a little early for them to be making love. Tsukuru recalled the man he'd seen her with, walking down Omotesando hand in hand. He couldn't wipe the picture from his mind. He lay down on the sofa, images buzzing through his head, when suddenly it felt as if a sharp needle had stabbed him in the back. A thin, invisible needle. The pain was minimal, and there was no blood. Probably. Still, it hurt.

He pedaled his bike to the gym and swam his usual distance in the pool. His body remained oddly numb, and as he swam he felt like he fell asleep a couple of times. Of course no one can swim and sleep at the same time. It just seemed that way. Even so, as he swam, his body moved on autopilot, and he was able to finish without any further thoughts of Sara, or of that man, going through his mind. For that, he was thankful.

He came home from the pool and took a thirty-minute nap. It was a deep, dreamless sleep, his consciousness switching off as soon as his head hit the pillow. Afterward he ironed a few s.h.i.+rts and handkerchiefs and made dinner. He grilled salmon with herbs in the oven, drizzled lemon over it, and ate it with potato salad. Tofu and scallion miso soup rounded out the meal. He had half a cold beer and watched the news on TV. Then he lay down on the sofa and read.

It was just before 9 p.m. when Sara phoned.

"How's the jet lag?" she asked.

"My sleep cycle's messed up, but otherwise I feel fine," Tsukuru said.

"Can you talk now? Or are you sleepy?"

"I'm sleepy, but I can hold out another hour before I go to bed. I have to go to work tomorrow and can't very well take a nap at the office."

"That's good," Sara said. "Someone called my home around one this afternoon. That was you, right? I keep forgetting to check my messages and just noticed I missed a call."

"That was me."

"I was out shopping in the neighborhood."

"Um," Tsukuru said.

"But you didn't leave a message."

"I'm not very good at leaving phone messages. I get kind of nervous and don't know what to say."

"You could have at least said your name."

"You're right. I should have at least done that."

She paused for a moment. "I was quite worried about you, you know. Whether your trip went well. You should have left a short message."

"I'm sorry. I know, I should have," Tsukuru apologized. "By the way, what did you do today?"

"I did the laundry and went shopping. Cooked, cleaned the kitchen and the bathroom. Sometimes I need that kind of quiet day off." She fell silent for a while. "So, were you able to take care of everything in Finland?"

"I got to see Kuro," Tsukuru said. "The two of us had a good long talk. Olga really helped me out."

"I'm glad. She's a nice girl, isn't she?"

"She really is." He told her about driving an hour and a half out of Helsinki to a beautiful lakeside town to see Eri (or Kuro). How she lived in a summer cottage there with her husband, her two young daughters, and a dog. How she and her husband made pottery in a small studio nearby.

"She looked happy," Tsukuru said. "Life in Finland seems to agree with her." Except for some nights during the long dark winter-but he didn't say this.

"Was it worth going all the way to Finland?" Sara asked.

"I think so. There are some things you can only talk about face-to-face. It cleared up a lot of things for me. Not that I've found all the answers, but it was definitely worthwhile. On an emotional level, I mean."

"That's wonderful. I'm very happy to hear it."

A short silence followed. A suggestive silence, as if it were measuring the direction of the wind. Then Sara spoke.

"Your voice sounds different. Or am I just imagining things?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's because I'm tired. I've never been on a plane for that long before."

"But there were no problems?"

"No, no real problems. There's so much I need to tell you, but once I start, I know it's going to take a long time. I'd like to see you soon and tell you the whole story, from start to finish."

"That sounds good. Let's get together. Anyway, I'm glad your trip to Finland wasn't a waste of time."

"Thank you for all your help. I really appreciate it."

"You're quite welcome."

Another short silence followed. Tsukuru listened carefully. The sense of something unspoken still hung in the air.

"There's something I'd like to ask you," Tsukuru said, deciding to take the plunge. "Maybe it would be better not to, but I think I should go with what I'm feeling."

"Certainly, go ahead," Sara said. "It's best to go with your feelings. Ask me anything."

"I can't find the right words, exactly, but I get the sense that-you're seeing someone else, besides me. It's been bothering me for a while."

Sara didn't respond right away. "You get that sense?" she finally asked. "Are you saying that, for whatever reason, you get that sort of feeling?"

"That's right. For whatever reason, I do," Tsukuru said. "But like I've said before, I'm not the most intuitive person in the world. My brain's basically set up to make things, tangible things, like my name implies. My mind has a very straightforward structure. The complex workings of other people's minds are beyond me. Or even my own mind. I'm often totally wrong when it comes to subtle things like this, so I try to avoid thinking about anything too complex. But this has been weighing on me for a while. And I thought I should ask you, instead of pointlessly brooding over it."

"I see," Sara said.

"So, is there someone else?"

She was silent.

"Please understand," Tsukuru said, "if there is someone else, I'm not criticizing you. I should probably mind my own business. You have no obligation to me, and I have no right to demand anything of you. I simply want to know-whether what I'm feeling is wrong or not."