Norwegian Wood Naoko Quotes

When it's raining like this," said Naoko, "it feels as if we're the only ones in the world. I wish it would just keep raining so the three of us could stay together.

By living our lives, we nurture death. True as this might be, it was only one of the truths we had to learn. What I learned from Naoko's death was this: no truth can cure the sorrow we feel from losing a loved one. No truth, no sincerity, no strength, no kindness can cure that sorrow. All we can do is see it through to the end and learn something from it, but what we learn will be no help in facing the next sorrow that comes to us without warning.

Everybody thinks I'm this delicate little girl. But you can't tell a book by it's cover.' To which she added a momentary smile.

I read Naoko's letter again and again, and each time I read it I would be filled with the same unbearable sadness I used to feel whenever Naoko stared into my eyes. I had no way to deal with it, no place I could take it to or hide it away. Like the wind passing over my body, it had neither shape nor weight, nor could I wrap myself in it.

She knew that my memories of her would fade. Which is precisely why she begged me never to forget her, to remember that she had existed. The thought fills me with an almost unbearable sorrow. Because Naoko never loved me.

I’m not good at talking,” Naoko said. “Haven’t been for the longest while. I start to say something and the wrong words come out. Wrong or sometimes completely backward. I try to go back and correct it, but things get even more complicated and confused, so that I don’t even remember what I started to say in the first place. Like I was split into two or something, one half chasing the other. And there’s this big pillar in the middle and they go chasing each other around and around it. The other me always latches onto the right word and this me absolutely never catches up

I wrote a huge number of letters that spring: one a week to Naoko, several to Reiko, and several more to Midori. I wrote letters in the classroom, I wrote letters at my desk at home with Seagull in my lap, I wrote letters at empty tables during my breaks at the Italian restaurant. It was as if I were writing letters to hold together the pieces of my crumbling life.

I have always loved Naoko, and I still love her. But there is a decisive finality to what exists between Midori and me. It has an irresistible power that is bound to sweep me into the future. What I feel for Naoko is a tremendously quiet and gentle and transparent love, but what I feel for Midori is a wholly different emotion. It stands and walks on its own, living and breathing and throbbing and shaking me to the roots of my being.

April ended and May came along, but May was even worse than April. In the deepening spring of May, I had no choice but to recognize the trembling of my heart. It usually happened as the sun was going down. In the pale evening gloom, when the soft fragrance of magnolias hung in the air, my heart would swell without warning, and tremble, and lurch with a stab of pain. I would try clamping my eyes shut and gritting my teeth, and wait for it to pass. And it would pass....but slowly, taking its own time, and leaving a dull ache behind. At those times I would write to Naoko. In my letters to her, I would describe only things that were touching or pleasant or beautiful: the fragrance of grasses, the caress of a spring breeze, the light of the moon, a movie I'd seen, a song I liked, a book that had moved me. I myself would be comforted by letters like this when I would reread what I had written. And I would feel that the world I lived in was a wonderful one. I wrote any number of letters like this, but from Naoko or Reiko I heart nothing.

It's a quiet place, so people talk quietly," said Naoko. She made a neat pile of fish bones at the edge of her plate and dabbed at her mouth with a handkerchief. "There's no need to raise your voice here. You don't have to convince anybody of anything, and you don't have to attract anyone's attention.

With the advent of winter, her eyes seemed to take on a greater transparency, a transparency that lead nowhere. Occassionally, for no particular reason, Naoko would gaze into my eyes as if searching for something. Each time I was filled with odd sensations of lonliness and inadequecy.

Tell me something, Toru,” She said. “Do you love me?” “You know I do.” “Will you do me two favors?” “You can have up to three wishes, Madame.” Naoko smiled and shook her head.” No, two will do. One is for you to realize how grateful I am that you came to see me here. I hope you’ll understand how happy you’ve made me. I know it’s going to save me if anything will. I may not show it, but it’s true.” “I’ll come to see you again.” I said. “And what is the other wish?” “I want you always remember me. Will you remember that I existed, and that I stood next to you here like this?” “Always,” I said. “I’ll always remember.

Where the road sloped upward beyond the trees, I sat and looked toward the building where Naoko lived. It was easy to tell which room was hers. All I had to do was find the one window toward the back where a faint light trembled. I focused on that point of light for a long, long time. It made me think of something like the final throb of a soul's dying embers. I wanted to cup my hands over what was left and keep it alive. I went on watching the way Jay Gatsby watched that tiny light on the opposite shore night after night.

I do need that time, though, for Naoko's face to appear. And as the years have passed, the time has grown longer. The sad truth is that what I could recall in five seconds all too needed ten, then thirty, then a full minute-like shadows lengthening at dusk. Someday, I suppose, the shadows will be swallowed up in darkness. There is no way around it: my memory is growing ever more distant from the spot where Naoko used to stand-ever more distant from the spot where my old self used to stand. And nothing but scenery, that view of the meadow in October, returns again and again to me like a symbolic scene in a movie. Each time is appears, it delivers a kick to some part of my mind. "Wake up," it says. "I'm still here. Wake up and think about it. Think about why I'm still here." The kicking never hurts me. There's no pain at all. Just a hollow sound that echoes with each kick. And even that is bound to fade one day. At the Hamburg airport, though, the kicks were longer and harder than usual. Which is why I am writing this book. To think. To understand. It just happens to be the way I'm made. I have to write things down to feel I fully comprehend them.

Naoko stayed frozen in place, like a small nocturnal animal that has been lured out by the moonlight. The direction of the glow exaggerated the silhouette of her lips. Seeming utterly fragile and vulnerable, the silhouette pulsed almost imperceptibly with the beating of her heart or the motions of her inner heart, as if she were whispering soundless words to the darkness. I swallowed in hopes of easing my thirst, but in the stillness of the night, the sound I made was huge. As if this were a signal to her, Naoko stood and glided toward the head of the bed, gown rustling faintly. She knelt on the floor by my pillow, eyes fixed on mine. I stared back at her, but her eyes told me nothing. Strangely transparent, they seemed like windows to a world beyond, but however long I peered into their depths, there was nothing I could see. Our faces were no more than ten inches apart, but she was light-years away from me.

Wasn't he the one who said you shouldn't trust anybody who calls himself an ordinar man? - Naoko

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.

Halfway through April Naoko turned twenty. She was seven months older than I was, my own birthday being in November. There was something strange about Naoko's becoming twenty. I felt as if the only thing that made sense, whether for Naoko or for me, was to keep going back and forth between eighteen and nineteen. After eighteen would come nineteen, and after nineteen, eighteen. Of course. But she turned twenty. And in the fall, I would do the same. Only the dead stay seventeen forever.

We couldn't bear to be apart. So if Kizuki had lived, I'm sure we would have been together, loving each other, and gradually growing unhappy." Unhappy? Why's that?" With her fingers, Naoko combed her hair back several times. She had taken her barrette off, which made the hair fall over her face when she dropped her head forward. Because we would have had to pay the world back what we owed it," she said, raising her eyes to mine. "The pain of growing up. We didn't pay when we should have, so now the bills are due. Which is why Kizuki did what he did, and why I'm here. We were like kids who grew up naked on a desert island. If we got hungry, we'd just pick a banana; if we got lonely, we'd go to sleep in each other's arms. But that kind of thing doesn't last forever. We grew up fast and had to enter society. Which is why you were so important to us. You were the link connecting us with the outside world. We were struggling through you to fit in with the outside world as best we could. In the end, it didn't work, of course." I nodded. I wouldn't want you to think that we were using you, though. Kizuki really loved you. It just so happened that our connection with you was our first connection with anyone else. And it still is. Kizuki may be dead, but you are still my only link with the outside world. And just as Kizuki loved you, I love you. We never meant to hurt you, but we probably did; we probably ended up making a deep wound in your heart. It never occurred to us that anything like that might happen.

Somewhere inside me, there was still preserved a broad, open space, untouched, for Naoko and no one else.

Naoko took her left hand from her pocket and squeezed my hand. 'Don't you worry,' she said. 'You'll be O.K. You could go running all around here in the middle of the night and you'd never fall into the well. And as long as I stick with you, I won't fall in, either.' Never?' Never!' How can you be so sure?' I just know,' she said, increasing her grip on my hand and continuing on for a ways in silence. 'I know these things. I'm always right. It's got nothing to do with logic: I just feel it. For example, when I'm really close to you like this, I'm not the least bit scared. Nothing dark or evil could ever tempt me.' Well, that answers that,' I said. 'All you have to do is stay with me like this all the time.

I found a Bill Evans record in the bookcase and was listening to it while drying my hair when I realized that it was the record I had played in Naoko's room on the night of her birthday, the night she cried and I took her in my arms. That had happened only six months earlier, but it felt like something from a much remoter past. Maybe it felt that way because I had thought about it so often-too often, to the point where it had distorted my sense of time.

It feels like ancient history," said Naoko. But anyhow, sorry about last night. I don't know, I was a bundle of nerves. I really shouldn't have done that after you came here all the way from Tokyo." "Never mind," I said. "Both of us have a lot of feelings we need to get out in the open. So if you want to take those feelings and smash somebody with them, smash me. Then we can understand each other better." "So if you understand me better, what then?" "You don't get it, do you?" I said. "It's not a question of 'what then.' Some people get a kick out of reading railroad timetables and that's all they do all day. Some people make huge model boats out of matchsticks. So what's wrong if there happens to be one guy in the world who enjoys trying to understand you?

With Naoko gone, I went to sleep on the sofa. I hadn't intended to do so, but I fell into the kind of deep sleep I had not in a long time, filled with a sense of Naoko's presence. In the kitchen were the dishes Naoko ate from, in the bathroom was the toothbrush Naoko used, and in the bedroom was the bed in which Naoko slept. Sleeping soundly in this apartment of hers, I wrung the fatigue from every cell of my body, drop by drop. I dreamed of a butterfly dancing in the half-light.

Now, though, that meadow scene is the first thing that comes back to me. [...] And yet, as clear as the scene may be, no one is in it. No one. Naoko is not there, and neither am I. Where could we have disappeared to? How could such a thing have happened? Everything that seemed so important back then - Naoko, and the self I was then and the world I had then: where could they have all gone? It's true, I can't even bring back her face - not straight away, at least. All I'm left holding is a background, pure scenery, with no people at the front.

Like Naokuo, I'm not really sure what it means to love another person. Though she meant it a little differently. I do want to try my best though. I have to, or else I won't know where to go. Like you said before, Naoko and I have to save each other. It's the only was for us to be saved!

Once upon a time, you dragged a part of me into the world of the dead, and now Naoko has dragged another pat of me into that world.

I still loved Naoko. Bent and twisted as that love might be, I did love her. Somewhere inside me, there was still preserved a broad, open space, untouched, for Naoko and no one else.

He wasn't so bad when the two of us came to see you, though. He was just his usual self." Because you were there," said Naoko. "He was always like that around you. He struggled to keep his weaknesses hidden. I'm sure he was very fond of you. He made a point of letting you see only his best side. He wasn't like that with me. He'd let his guard down. He could be really moody. One minute he'd be chattering away, and the next thing he'd be depressed. It happened all the time. He was like that from the time he was little. He did keep trying to change himself, to improve himself, though." Naoko recrossed her legs atop the sofa. He tried hard, but it didn't do any good, and that would make him really angry and sad. There was so much about him that was fine and beautiful, but he could never find the confidence he needed. "I've got to do that, I've got to change this," he was always thinking, right up to the end. Poor Kizuki!" Still though," I said, "if it's true that he was always struggling to show me his best side, I'd say he succeeded. His best side was all that I could see." Naoko smiled. "He'd be thrilled to hear you say that. You were his only friend.

Holding Naoko in my arms, I wanted to explain to her, "I am having intercourse with you now. I am inside you. But this is really nothing. It doesn't matter. It is nothing but the joining of two bodies. All we are doing is telling each other things that can only be told by the rubbing together of two imperfect lumps of flesh. By doing this, we are sharing our imperfection.

I know, too, why she asked me not to forget her. Naoko herself knew, of course. She knew that my memories of her would fade. Which is precisely why she begged me never to forget her, to remember that she had existed. The thought fills me with an almost unbearable sorrow. Because Naoko never loved me.

I had learned one thing from Kizuki's death, and I believed that I had made it a part of myself in the form of a philosophy: "Death exists, not as the opposite but as a part of life." By living our lives, we nurture death. True as this might be, it was only one of the truths we had to learn. What I learned from Naoko's death was this: no truth can cure the sadness we feel from losing a loved one. No truth, no sincerity , no strength, no kindness, can cure that sorrow. All we can do is see that sadness through to the end and learn something from it, but what we learn will be no help in facing the next sadness that comes to us without warning.

What I feel for Naoko is a tremendously quiet and gentle and transparent love, but what I feel for Midori is a wholly different emotion. It stands and walks on its own, living and breathing and throbbing and shaking me to the roots of my being.

Reiko set the ball on the ground and patted my knee. "Look," she said, "I'm not telling you to stop sleeping with girls. If you're O.K. with that, then it's OK. It's your life after all, it's something you have to decide. All I'm saying is that you shouldn't use yourself up in some unnatural form. Do you see what I'm getting at? It would be such a waste. The years nineteen and twenty are a crucial stage in the maturation of character, and if you allow yourself to become warped when you're that age, it will cause you pain when you're older. It's true. So think carefully. If you want to take care of Naoko, take care of yourself too." I said I would think about it.

If you’re in pitch blackness, all you can do is sit tight until your eyes get used to the dark. Naoko

Morning is my favorite time of day," said Naoko. "It's like everything's starting out fresh and new. I begin to get sad around noon time, and I hate it when the sun goes down. I live with those same feelings day after day.

Me lleva tiempo evocar su rostro. Y conforme vayan pasando los años, más tiempo me llevará. Es triste, pero cierto. Al principio era capaz de recordarla en cinco segundos, luego éstos se convirtieron en diez, en treinta segundos, en un minuto. El tiempo fue alargándose paulatinamente, igual que las sombras en el crepúsculo. Puede que pronto su rostro desaparezca absorbido por las tinieblas de la noche. Sí, es cierto. Mi memoria se está distanciando del lugar donde se hallaba Naoko. De la misma forma que se está distanciando del lugar donde estaba mi yo de entonces.

There was something strange about her becoming 20. I felt as if the only thing that made sense, whether for Naoko or for me, was to keep going back and forth between 18 and 19. After 18 would come 19, and after 19, 18, of course.

I'd swallow some whiskey and listen to the waves while I thought about Naoko. It was too strange to think that she was dead and no longer part of this world. I couldn't absorb the truth of it. I couldn't believe it. I had heard the nails being driven into the lid of her coffin, but I still couldn't adjust to the fact that she had returned to nothingness.

Once, long ago, when I was still young, when the memories were far more vivid than they are now, I often tried to write about her. But I couldn't produce a line. I knew that if that first line would come, the rest would pour itself onto the page, but I could never make it happen. Everything was too sharp and clear, so that I could never tell where to start -the way a map that shows too much can sometimes be useless. Now, though, I realize that all I can place in the imperfect vessel of writing are imperfect memories and imperfect thoughts. The more the memories of Naoko inside me fade, the more deeply I am able to understand her. I know, too, why she asked me not to forget her. Naoko herself knew, of course. She knew that my memories of her would fade. Which is precisely why she begged me never to forget her, to remember that she had existed.

I thought about Kizuki. "So you finally made Naoko yours," I heard myself telling him. Oh, well, she was yours to begin with. Now maybe, she's where she belongs. But in this world, in this imperfect world of the living, I did the best I could for Naoko.

As I held her and caressed her and kissed her naked flesh, I felt a strange and powerful awareness of the imbalance and awkwardness of the human body. Holding Naoko in my arms, I wanted to explain to her, "I am having sex with you now. I am inside you. But really this is nothing. It doesn't matter. It is nothing but the joining of two bodies. All we are doing is telling each other things that can only be told by the rubbing together of two imperfect lumps of flesh. By doing this, we are sharing our imperfection." But of course I could never have said such a thing with any hope of being understood. I just went on holding her tightly.

I learned from Naoko’s death was this: no truth can cure the sorrow we feel from losing a loved one. No truth, no sincerity, no strength, no kindness can cure that sorrow. All we can do is see it through to the end and learn something from it, but what we learn will be no help in facing the next sorrow that comes to us without warning.

Where the road sloped upwards beyond the trees, I sat and looked towards the building where Naoko lived. It was easy to tell her room. All I had to do was find the one window towards the back where a faint light trembled. I focused on that point of light for a long, long time. It made me think of something like the final pulse of a soul’s dying embers. I wanted to cup my hands over what was left and keep it alive. I went on watching it the way Jay Gatsby watched that tiny light on the opposite shore night after night.

The thought fills me with an almost unbearable sorrow. Because Naoko never loved me.

Naoko was dead and Midori was still here. naoko was a mound of white ash and Midori was a living, breathing human being.

Kizuki was still 17 and Naoko 21: for ever. Naoko was choosing death all along... she and I were bound together at the border between life and death.

I want you always to remember me. Will you remember that I existed, and that I stood next to you here like this?" "Always.

The month of travelling neither lifted my spirits nor softened the blow of Naoko's death. I arrived back in Tokyo in pretty much the same state in which I had left.

I have always loved Naoko, and I still loved her. But there is a decisive finality to what exists between Midori and me.

I could never tell what was going on inside the pretty heads of the girls that Naoko brought along, and they probably couldn't understand me, either.

The more the memories of Naoko begin to fade inside of me, the more deeply I am able to understand her... The thought fills me with an almost unbearable sorrow. Because Naoko never loved me.

Si sientes dolor por la muerte de Naoko, siéntelo el resto de tu vida. Y si algo puedes aprender de este dolor, apréndelo. Pero intenta ser feliz con Midori [...] Aunque sea duro, trata de ser fuerte. Crece, madura

Now, though, I realize that all I can place in the imperfect vessel of writing are imperfect memories and imperfect thoughts. The more the memories of Naoko inside me fade, the more deeply I am able to understand her.

As if this were a signal to her, Naoko stood and glided toward the head of the bed, gown rustling faintly. She knelt on the floor by my pillow, eyes fixed on mine. I stared back at her, but her eyes told me nothing. Strangely transparent, they seemed like windows to a world beyond, but however long I peered into their depths, there was nothing I could see. Our faces were no more than ten inches apart, but she was light-years away from me.

By living our lives, we nurture death. True as this might be, it was only one of the truths we had to learn. What I learned from Naoko’s death was this: no truth can cure the sorrow we feel from losing a loved one. No truth, no sincerity, no strength, no kindness can cure that sorrow. All we can do is see it through to the end and learn something from it, but what we learn will be no help in facing the next sorrow that comes to us without warning. Hearing

So you finally made Naoko yours," I heard myself telling him. "Oh, well, she was yours to begin with. Now, maybe, she's where she belongs. But in this world, in this imperfect world of the living, I did the best I could for Naoko. I tried to establish a new life for the two of us. But forget it, Kizuki. I'm giving her to you. You're the one she chose, after all. In woods as dark as the depths of her own heart, she hanged herself. Once upon a time, you dragged a part of me into the world of the dead, and now Naoko has dragged another part of me into that world. Sometimes I feel like the caretaker of a museum – a huge, empty museum where no one ever comes, and I'm watching over it for no one but myself.

The memories would slam against me like the waves of an incoming tide, sweeping my body along to some strange new place- a place where I lived with the dead. There Naoko lived, and I could speak with her and hold her in my arms. Death in that place was not a decisive element that brought life to an end. There, death was but one of many elements comprising life. There Naoko lived with death inside of her. And to me she said, "Don't worry, it's only death. Don't let it bother you.

Eh Kizuki, diye düşündüm. Ben senin tersine, yaşamaya karar verdim, hem de bildiğim en iyi şekilde. Bu, senin için hiç kuşkusuz çok zor olmuştu. Canı cehenneme, benim için de çok zor. Gerçekten zor. Ve tüm bunlar, kendini öldürüp Naoko’yu geride bıraktığın için. Ama bunu yapmayacağım. Ondan hiçbir zaman yüz çevirmeyeceğim. Her şeyden önce, onu sevdiğim ve ondan daha güçlü olduğum için. Ve gittikçe daha güçlü olacağım. Ben olgunlaşacağım. Bir yetişkin olacağım. Çünkü yapmam gereken şey bu.

It takes time, though, for Naoko’s face to appear. And as the years have passed, the time has grown longer. The sad truth is that what I could recall in 5 seconds all too soon needed 10, then 30, then a full minute – like shadows lengthening at dusk.

Death in that place was not a decisive element that brought life to an end. There, death was but one of many elements comprising life. There Naoko lived with death inside her. And to me she said, 'Don't worry, it's only death. Don't let it bother you.

How could such a thing have happened? Everything that seemed so important back then - Naoko, and the self I was then, and the world I had then: where could they have all gone? It's true, I can't even bring back Naoko's face - not right away, at least.

That’s what you should do if you’re serious about making Naoko well again. Like I told you in the beginning, you should think not so much about wanting to help her as wanting to recover yourself by helping her to recover. That’s the way it’s done here.

What I learned from Naoko’s death was this: no truth can cure the sadness we feel from losing a loved one. No truth, no sincerity, no strength, no kindness, can cure that sorrow. All we can do is see that sadness through to the end and learn something from it,

I have always loved Naoko, and I still love her. But there is a decisive finality to what exists between Midori and me. It has an irrestistible power that is bound to sweep me into the future. What I feel for Naoko is a tremendously quiet and gentle and transparent love

-A ti parece que te divierta hacerte mayor -dijo Naoko. -No me divierte, pero no me gustaría volver a ser joven -añadió Reiko. -¿Por qué? -le pregunté -Por pereza, claro -respondió Reiko. Y sin dejar de silbar Proud Mary, arrojó la escoba dentro del cobertizo y cerró la puerta.

Naoko took her left hand from her pocket and squeezed my hand. “Don’t you worry,” she said. “You’ll be OK. You could go running all around here in the middle of the night and you’d never fall into the well. And as long as I stick with you, I won’t fall in, either.” “Never?” “Never!

I can't forgive myself. You tell me there's nothing I can do about a natural change in feelings, but my relationship with Naoko was not that simple. If you stop and think about it, she and I were bound together at the border between life and death. It was like that for us from the start.

I know, too, why she asked me not to forget her. Naoko herself knew of course. She knew that my memories of her would fade. Which is precisely why she begged me never to forget her, to remember that she had existed. The thought fills me with an almost unbearable sorrow. Because Naoko never loved me.

You made your decision long before Naoko died - that you could never leave Midori. Whether Naoko is alive or dead, it has nothing to do with your decision. You chose Midori. Naoko chose to die. You're all grown up now, so you have to take responsibility for your choices. Otherwise, you ruin everything.

The more the memories of Naoko inside me fade, the more deeply I am able to understand her. I know, too, why she asked me not to forget her. Naoko herself knew, of course. She knew that my memories of her would fade. Which is precisely why she begged me never to forget her, to remember that she had existed.

It takes time, though, for Naoko’s face to appear. And as the years have passed, the time has grown longer. The sad truth is that what I could recall in 5 seconds all too soon needed 10, then 30, then a full minute – like shadows lengthening at dusk. Someday, I suppose, the shadows will be swallowed up in darkness.

I had learned one thing from Kizuki’s death, and I believed that I had made it a part of myself in the form of a philosophy: “Death is not the opposite of life but an innate part of life.” By living our lives, we nurture death. True as this might be, it was only one of the truths we had to learn. What I learned from Naoko’s death was this: no truth can cure the sorrow we feel from losing a loved one. No truth, no sincerity, no strength, no kindness can cure that sorrow. All we can do is see it through to the end and learn something from it, but what we learn will be no help in facing the next sorrow that comes to us without warning.

I can recall every part of the scenery from that day just fine but I feel as if I am missing the most important part. With no face to attach to the figure of importance in that memory, Naoko, the only thing that resonates to me with utmost clarity was the one question she posed to me. "Just answer me this one thing Toru, why is poopies so tasty?

And I thought about Kizuki. “So you finally made Naoko yours,” I heard myself telling him. “Oh, well, she was yours to begin with. Now, maybe, she’s where she belongs. But in this world, in this imperfect world of the living, I did the best I could for Naoko. I tried to establish a new life for the two of us. But forget it, Kizuki. I’m giving her to you. You’re the one she chose, after all. In woods as dark as the depths of her own heart, she hanged herself. Once upon a time, you dragged a part of me into the world of the dead, and now Naoko has dragged another part of me into that world. Sometimes I feel like a caretaker of a museum—a huge, empty museum where no one ever comes, and I’m watching over it for no one but myself.

Oh, well, she was yours to begin with. Now, maybe, she's where she belongs. But in this world, in this imperfect world of the living, I did the best I could for Naoko. I tried to establish a new life for the two of us. But forget it, Kizuki. I'm giving her to you. You're the one she chose, after all. In woods as dark as the depths of her own heart, she hanged herself.

La morte non è qualcosa di opposto ma di intrinseco alla vita". Che questo fosse vero era fuori di dubbio. Nel momento stesso in cui viviamo, cresciamo in noi la morte. Ma questa era solo una parte della verità che dobbiamo imparare. Era stata la morte di Naoko a insegnarmelo. Per quanto uno possa raggiungere la verità, niente può lenire la sofferenza di perdere una persona amata. Non c'è verità, sincerità, forza, dolcezza che ci possa guarire da una sofferenza del genere. L'unica cosa che possiamo fare è superare la sofferenza attraverso la sofferenza, possibilmente cercando di trarne qualche insegnamento, pur sapendo che questo insegnamento non ci sarà di nessun aiuto la prossima volta che la sofferenza ci colpirà all'improvviso.

There was something strange about Naoko’s becoming twenty. I felt as if the only thing that made sense, whether for Naoko or for me, was to keep going back and forth between eighteen and nineteen. After eighteen would come nineteen, and after nineteen, eighteen. Of course. But she turned twenty. And in the fall, I would do the same. Only the dead stay seventeen forever.

Hey there, Kizuki, I thought. Unlike you, I've chosen to live- and to live the best i know how. Sure it was hard for you. What the hell, it's hard for me. Really hard. And all because you killed yourself and left Naoko behind. But that's something I will never do. I will never, ever, turn my back on her. First of all, because I love her, and because I'm stronger than she is. And i'm just going to keep on getting stronger. I'm going to mature. I'm going to be an adult. Because that's what I have to do. I always used to think I'd like to stay 17 or 18 if I could. But not anymore. I'm not a teenager anymore. I've got a sense of responsibility now. I'm not the same person I was when we used to hang out together. I'm 20 now. And I have to pay the price to go on living.

Hey, there, Kizuki, I thought. Unlike you, I’ve chosen to live—and to live the best I know how. Sure, it was hard for you. What the hell, it’s hard for me. Really hard. And all because you killed yourself and left Naoko behind. But that’s something I will never do. I will never, ever turn my back on her. First of all, because I love her, and because I’m stronger than she is. And I’m just going to keep on getting stronger. I’m going to mature. I’m going to be an adult. Because that’s what I have to do. I always used to think I’d like to stay seventeen or eighteen if I could. But not anymore. I’m not a teenager anymore. I’ve got a sense of responsibility now. I’m not the same guy I was when we used to hang out together. I’m twenty now. And I have to pay the price to go on living.

Eighteen years have gone by, and still I can bring back every detail of that day in the meadow. Washed clean of summer’s dust by days of gentle rain, the mountains wore a deep, brilliant green. The October breeze set white fronds of head-high grasses swaying. One long streak of cloud hung pasted across a dome of frozen blue. It almost hurt to look at that far-off sky. A puff of wind swept across the meadow and through her hair before it slipped into the woods to rustle branches and send back snatches of distant barking – a hazy sound that seemed to reach us from the doorway to another world. We heard no other sounds. We met no other people. We saw only two bright red birds leap startled from the centre of the meadow and dart into the woods. As we ambled along, Naoko spoke to me of wells.

I read Naoko’s letter again and again, and each time I read it I would be filled with that same unbearable sadness I used to feel whenever Naoko herself stared into my eyes. I had no way to deal with it, no place I could take it to or hide it away. Like the wind passing over my body, it had neither shape nor weight, nor could I wrap myself in it. Objects in the scene would drift past me, but the words they spoke never reached my ears.

By living our lives, we nurture death. True as this might be, it was only one of the truths we had to learn. What I learned from Naoko’s death was this: no truth can cure the sorrow we feel from losing a loved one. No truth, no sincerity, no strength, no kindness can cure that sorrow. All we can do is see it through to the end and learn something from it, but what we learn will be no help in facing the next sorrow that comes to us without warning.

I can't forgive myself. You tell me there's nothing I can do about a natural change in feelings, but my relationship with Naoko was not that simple. If you stop and think about it, she and I were bound together at the border between life and death. It was like that for us from the start." "If you feel some kind of pain with regard to Naoko's death, I would advise you to keep on feeling that pain for the rest of your life. And if there's something you can learn from it, you should do that, too. But quite aside from that, you should be happy with Midori. Your pain has nothing to do with your relationship with her. If you hurt her any more than you already have, the wound could be too deep to fix. So, hard as it may be, you have to be strong. You have to grow up more, be more of an adult. I left the sanatorium and came all the way up here to Tokyo to tell you that---all the way on that coffin of a train.

On Saturday nights I would sit by the phone in the lobby, waiting for Naoko to call. Most of the others were out on Saturday nights, so the lobby was usually deserted. I would stare at the grains of light suspended in that silent space, struggling to see into my own heart. What did I want? And what did others want from me? But I could never find the answers. Sometimes I would reach out and try to grasp the grains of light, but my fingers touched nothing.

Żyjąc, jednocześnie pielęgnujemy w sobie śmierć. Lecz jest to tylko jedna z prawd, jakie musimy poznać. Śmierć Naoko nauczyła mnie, że żadna prawda nie może uleczyć smutku po stracie ukochanej osoby. Nie może go uleczyć żadna prawda, żadna uczciwość, żadna siła, żadna dobroć. Przeżywszy ten smutek w pełni, możemy się jedynie czegoś z niego nauczyć, lecz to, czego się nauczymy, wcale nam się nie przyda, kiedy nadejdzie następny, niemożliwy do przewidzenia smutek.

can never say what I want to say,” continued Naoko. “It’s been like this for a while now. I try to say something, but all I get are the wrong words—the wrong words or the exact opposite words from what I mean. I try to correct myself, and that only makes it worse. I lose track of what I was trying to say to begin with. It’s like I’m split in two and playing tag with myself. One half is chasing the other half around this big, fat post. The other me has the right words, but this me can’t catch her.

The fourth thing I have to say is that you have been such a great source of strength for Naoko that even if you no longer have the feelings of a lover toward her, there is still a lot you can do for her. So don’t brood over everything in that superserious way of yours. All of us (by which I mean all of us, both normal and not-so-normal) are imperfect human beings living in an imperfect world. We don’t live with the mechanical precision of a bank account or by measuring all our lines and angles with rulers and protractors. Am

Benim kişisel duygum, Midori enikonu sıradışı bir kız olmalı. Mektuplarınızı okurken, ona aşık olduğunuzu iyice anladım. Naoko'ya aşık olduğunuzu da kabul ediyorum. Ve bu sizin suçunuz değil. Böyle şeyler sık sık oluyor. Çok güzel bir havada çok güzel bir gölde gemiyle gezmek kadar basit bir şey. Gökyüzü pırıl pırıl, manzara göz kamaştırıcı. Bu yüzden, böyle acı çekmekten vazgeçeceksiniz. İnsan kendini bırakınca işler olması gerektiği gibi gider ve ne yaparsanız yapın, insanlar kırılınca kırılmıştır demektir. Yaşam böyle. Belki size biraz çok bilmiş gibi görünebilirim, ama sanırım sizin de başınızın çaresine bakmanızın zamanı yakında gelip çatacaktır: Kimi zaman yaşamı, istediğiniz biçime sokmak için fazla zorluyorsunuz. Eğer bir akıl hastanesine girmek istemiyorsanız, yüreğinizi biraz daha açmanız ve kendinizi olayların akışına bırakmanız gerekli. Güçsüz ve kusurlu bir kadın olsam da kimi zaman yaşamın olağanüstü güzel bir şey olması gerektiğini düşündüğüm oluyor! Size yemin ederim ki doğru bu. O halde sizin çok daha mutlu olmanız gerekir. Mutlu olmak için çaba gösterin.

What I feel for Naoko is a tremendously quiet and gentle and transparent love, but what I feel for Midori is a wholly different emotion. It stands and walks on its own, living and breathing and throbbing and shaking me to the roots of my being. I don’t know what to do. I’m confused. I’m not trying to make excuses for myself, but I do believe that I have lived as sincerely as I knew how. I have never lied to anyone, and I have taken care over the years not to hurt other people. And yet I find myself having been tossed into this labyrinth. How

A mediados de abril Naoko cumplió veinte años. Puesto que yo había nacido en noviembre, ella era siete meses mayor. No acababa de hacerme a la idea de que ella cumpliera veinte años. Me daba la impresión de que lo normal sería que, tanto ella como yo, viviéramos eternamente entre los dieciocho y diecinueve años. Después de los dieciocho, cumplir diecinueve; después de los diecinueve, cumplir otra vez dieciocho. Eso sí tendría sentido. Pero ella había cumplido veinte años. Y yo en otoño también los cumpliría. Solo un muerto podía quedarse en los diecisiete para siempre.

Não consigo me expressar bem - afirmou Naoko. - E tem sido sempre assim nos últimos tempos. Tento dizer alguma coisa, mas só me ocorrem as palavras erradas. Palavras erradas ou opostas ao que quero dizer. E quando eu tento corrigir o que disse, cometo erros, as coisas ficam mais confusas, e acabo então sem saber mais o que pretendia dizer no início. Sinto como se meu corpo se repartisse em dois, com as duas metades brincando de pega-pega. Bem no meio existe um poste bem grosso, ao redor do qual elas não param de dar voltas se perseguindo. Nunca consigo alcançar a outra metade de mim que sempre tem a palavra certa.

I’m thirty-eight, going on forty. I’m not like Naoko. There’s nobody waiting for me to get out, no family to take me back. I don’t have any work to speak of, and almost no friends. And after seven years, I don’t know what’s going on out there. Oh, I’ll read a paper in the library every once in a while, but I haven’t set foot outside this property for seven years. I wouldn’t know what to do if I left.” “But maybe a new world would open up for you,” I said. “It’s worth a try, don’t you think?” “Hmm, you may be right,” she said, turning her cigarette lighter over and over in her hand. “But I’ve got my own set of problems. I

Every once in a while, Nagasawa would suggest that we go out on one of our excursions, but I always found something I had to do instead. I just didn’t want to bother. Not that I didn’t like the idea of sleeping with girls: it was just that, when I thought about the whole process I had to go through—drinking on the town, looking for the right kind of girls, talking to them, going to a hotel—it was too much trouble. I had to admire Nagasawa all the more for the way he could continue the ritual without growing sick and tired of it. Maybe what Hatsumi had said to me had had some effect: I could make myself feel far happier just thinking about Naoko than sleeping with some stupid, nameless girl. The

Il ricordo di lei era ancora troppo fresco. [...] Ma lei non c'era. La sua carne non esisteva più in nessuna parte del mondo. E tutte queste immagini si abbattevano su di me a raffiche, come ondate, trascinandomi in uno strano luogo dove io vivevo insieme ai morti. [...] In quel posto io non sentivo nessuna tristezza. La morte era la morte e Naoko era Naoko. Quando era morto Kizuki avevo imparato una cosa, e con rassegnazione l'avevo fatta mia, o almeno così credevo. La cosa era questa: . [...] Nel momento stesso in cui viviamo, cresciamo in noi la morte. Per quanto uno possa raggiungere la verità, niente piò lenire la sofferenza di perdere una persona amata. [...] superare la sofferenza attraverso la sofferenza.

Mnogo puta sam pokusao da ta svoja osecanja prenesem Naoko. Nekako mi se cinilo da bi ona u izvesnoj meri mogla na pravi nacin da ih razume. Ali nisam uspevao da pronadjem reci kojima bih mogao da se izrazim. Bas cudno, mislio sam. Kao da je njena boljka neprestanog trazenja reci presla na mene. Subotom uvece, sedeo bih na stolici u holu doma gde je bio telefon, i cekao da me Naoko pozove. Manje-vise svi su subotom uvece izlazili u grad, pa je hol obicno bio prazan i mrtvacki tih. Posmatrajuci tracke svetlosti kako sijaju u tisini tog prostora pokusavao sam da preispitam svoja osecanja. Sta ja to trazim? Sta uopste drugi traze od mene? Ali pravi odgovor nisam nalazio. Ponekad bih pruzio ruku ka tim zrncima svetlosti sto su lebdela u vazduhu, ali moji prsti ne bi dodirnuli nista.

The sad truth is that what I could recall in five seconds all too soon needed ten, then thirty, then a full minute—like shadows lengthening at dusk. Someday, I suppose, the shadows will be swallowed up in darkness. There is no way around it: my memory is growing ever more distant from the spot where Naoko used to stand—ever more distant from the spot where my old self used to stand. And nothing but scenery, that view of the meadow in October, returns again and again to me like a symbolic scene in a movie. Each time it appears, it delivers a kick to some part of my mind. “Wake up,” it says. “I’m still here. Wake up and think about it. Think about why I’m still here.” The kicking never hurts me. There’s no pain at all. Just a hollow sound that echoes with each kick. And even that is bound to fade one day.

Tôi đã luôn yêu Naoko, và tôi vẫn yêu cô ấy. Nhưng giữa Midori và tôi lại tồn tại một cái gì đó như định mệnh. Nó có sức mạnh không thể cưỡng lại được và nhất định sẽ cuốn tôi đến tương lai. Cái mà tôi cảm thấy với Naoko là một tình yêu trong vắt, dịu dàng, và yên tĩnh vô cùng. Nhưng cái mà tôi có với Midori lại là một tình cảm khác hẳn. Nó đi theo ý riêng của nó, sống động và hít thở và phập phồng và lay động tôi cho đến tận cội rễ của bản thể. Tôi không biết phải làm gì. Tôi hoang mang rồi. Tôi sẽ không phân bua gì cho mình đâu, nhưng tôi tin chắc là mình đã sống chân thực như mình vẫn biết. Tôi chưa bao giờ nói dối ai, và bao năm nay vẫn luôn cẩn trọng không làm cho ai phải đau khổ. Vậy mà tôi thấy mình bị ném vào cái mê cung này đây. Sao lại cỏ thể thế được? Tôi không lí giải nổi. Tôi không biết mình phải làm gì. Reiko, chị có thể nói cho tôi biết được không? Chị là người duy nhất tôi có thể trông cậy để được khuyên bảo..." (Thư gửi Reiko Ishida. Toru Wantanabe)

He was a great talker. Not that he had anything great to say, but girls would get carried away listening to him, they’d drink too much and end up sleeping with him. I guess they enjoyed being with somebody so nice and handsome and clever. And the most amazing thing was that, just because I was with him, I seemed to become as fascinating to them as he was. Nagasawa would urge me to talk, and girls would respond to me with the same smiles of admiration they gave him. His magic did it, a real talent he had that impressed me every time. Compared with Nagasawa, Kizuki’s conversational gift was child’s play. This was a whole different level of accomplishment. As much as I found myself caught up in Nagasawa’s power, though, I still missed Kizuki. I felt a new admiration for his sincerity. Whatever talents he had he would share with Naoko and me alone, while Nagasawa was bent on disseminating his considerable gifts to all around him. Not that he was dying to sleep with the girls he found: it was just a game to him.

So if you understand me better, what then?” “You don’t get it, do you?” I said. “It’s not a question of ‘what then.’ Some people get a kick out of reading railroad timetables and that’s all they do all day. Some people make huge model boats out of matchsticks. So what’s wrong if there happens to be one guy in the world who enjoys trying to understand you?” “Kind of like a hobby?” she said, amused. “Sure, I guess you could call it a hobby. Most normal people would call it friendship or love or something, but if you want to call it a hobby, that’s O.K., too.” “Tell me,” said Naoko, “you liked Kizuki, too, didn’t you?” “Of course,” I said. “How about Reiko?” “I like her a lot,” I said. “She’s really nice.” “How come you always like people like that—people like us, I mean? We’re all kinda weird and twisted and drowning—me and Kizuki and Reiko. Why can’t you like more normal people?” “Because I don’t see you like that,” I said after giving it some thought. “I don’t see you or Kizuki or Reiko as ‘twisted’ in any way. The guys I think of as twisted are out there running around.” “But we are twisted,” said Naoko. “I can see that.