her Mont Blanc pen as a keepsake. And a painting for you. The one of the boy on the shore. You'll take it, won't you?'
I nod.
'It's all wrapped up over there, ready to go.'
'Thanks,' I say, finally able to speak.
'Tell me something, Kafka Tamura,' Oshima says. He picks up a pencil and gives it his usual twirl. 'Is it okay if I ask you a question?'
I nod.
'I didn't need to tell you she died, did I? You already knew.'
Again I nod. 'I think I did.'
'I thought so,' Oshima says, and draws a deep breath. 'Would you like some water or something? To tell you the truth, you look as parched as a desert.'
'Thanks, I could use some.' I am pretty thirsty, but hadn't realized it until he mentioned it.
I down the ice water he brings me in a single gulp, so fast my head starts to ache. I put the empty glass back on the table.
'Care for some more?'
I shake my head.
'What are your plans now?' Oshima asks.
'I'm going to go back to Tokyo,' I reply.
'What are you going to do there?'
'Go to the police, first of all, and tell them what I know. If I don't, they'll be after me the rest of my life. And then I'll most likely go back to school. Not that I want to, but I have to at least finish junior high. If I just put up with it for a few months and graduate, then I can do whatever I want.'
'Makes sense,' Oshima says. He narrows his eyes and looks at me. 'That sounds like the best plan.'
'More and more I've been thinking that's the way to go.'
'You can run but you can't hide?'
'Yeah, I guess so,' I say.
'You've grown up.'
I shake my head. I can't say a thing.
Oshima lightly taps the eraser end of a pencil against his temple a couple of times. The phone rings, but he ignores it.
'Every one of us is losing something precious to us,' he says after the phone stops ringing. 'Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back again. That's part of what it means to be alive. But inside our heads-at least that's where I imagine it-there's a little room where we store those memories. A room like the stacks in this library. And to understand the workings of our own heart we have to keep on making new reference cards. We have to dust things off every once in a while, let in fresh air, change the water in the flower vases. In other words, you'll live forever in your own private library.'
I stare at the pencil in his hand. It pains me to look at it, but I have to be the world's toughest fifteen-year-old, at least for a while longer. Or pretend to be. I take a deep breath, fill my lungs with air, and manage to inhale that lump of emotion. 'Is it all right if I come back here someday?' I ask.
'Of course,' Oshima says, and lays his pencil back on the counter. He links his hands behind his head and looks straight at me. 'The word is that I'll be in charge of the library for a while. And I imagine I'll need an assistant. Once you're free of the police, school, what have you-and provided you want to, of course-I'd love to have you back. The town and I aren't going anywhere, not for the time being. People need a place they can belong.'
'Thanks,' I tell him.
'You're quite welcome,' he says.
'Your brother said he'd teach me how to surf.'
'That's great. He doesn't take to most people,' he says. 'He's a bit of a difficult person.'
I nod, and smile. They really are quite alike, these two brothers.
'Kafka,' Oshima says, looking deep into my eyes. 'I could be wrong, but I think that's the first time I've ever seen you smile.'
'You could be right,' I say. I most definitely am smiling. And blushing.
'When are you going back to Tokyo?'
'Right now, I think.'
'Can't you wait till evening? I can drive you to the station after we close up.'
I consider this, then shake my head. 'Thanks. But I think it's best if I leave right away.'
Oshima nods. He goes into a back room and brings out the neatly wrapped painting. He also puts a single copy of the record 'Kafka on the Shore' in a bag and hands it to me. 'A little present from me.'
'Thanks,' I say. 'Is it okay if I go up and see Miss Saeki's room one more time?'
'Go right ahead.'
'Would you come with me?'
'Of course.'
We go upstairs to her room. I stand in front of her desk, lightly touch its surface, and think over all the things it has absorbed. I picture her slumped facedown on the desk. How she always sat there, the window behind her, busily writing away. How I brought her coffee, when she'd glance up as I opened the door and came inside. How she always smiled at me.
'What was it she was writing here?' I ask.
'I don't know,' Oshima replies. 'One thing I do know for sure is she took a lot of secrets with her when she left this world.'
A lot of theories as well, I silently think.
The window's open, the June breeze gently rustling the hem of the white lace curtains. A faint scent of the sea is in the air. I remember feeling the sand in my hand at the beach. I walk away from the desk and over to Oshima, and hold him tight. His slim body calls up all sorts of nostalgic memories.
He gently rubs my hair. 'The world is a metaphor, Kafka Tamura,' he says into my ear. 'But for you and me this library alone is no metaphor. It's always just this library. I want to make sure we understand that.'
'Of course,' I say.
'It's a unique, special library. And nothing else can ever take its place.'
I nod.
'Good-bye, Kafka,' Oshima says.
'Good-bye, Oshima,' I say. 'You know, you look good in that necktie.'
He lets go of me, looks me in the face, and smiles. 'I've been waiting for you to say that.'
Shouldering my backpack, I walk to the local station and take the train back to Takamatsu Station. I buy a ticket to Tokyo at the counter. The train will get in to Tokyo late at night, so the first thing I'll have to do is find a place to stay for the night, then head over to my house in Nogata the next day. I'll be all alone in that huge, vacant house. Nobody's waiting for me to come home. But I have no other place to go back to.
I use a public phone at the station and call Sakura's cell phone. She's in the middle of work but says she can spare a couple minutes. That's fine, I tell her.
'I'm going back to Tokyo now,' I tell her. 'I'm at Takamatsu Station. I just wanted to tell you.'
'You're finished running away from home?'
'I guess so.'
'Fifteen's a little early to run away, anyway,' she says. 'But what are you going to do back in Tokyo?'
'Go back to school.'
'That's probably a good idea,' she says.
'You're going back to Tokyo too, aren't you?'
'Yeah, probably in September. I might go on a trip somewhere in the summer.'
'Can I see you in Tokyo?'
'Yeah, of course,' she says. 'Can you tell me your number?'
I give her the number at my house, and she writes it down.
