I walk on for a while and reach a round sort of clearing. Surrounded by tall trees, it looks like the bottom of a gigantic well. Sunlight shoots down through the branches like a spotlight illuminating the ground at my feet. The place feels special, somehow. I sit down in the sunlight and let the faint warmth wash over me, taking out a chocolate bar from my pocket and enjoying the sweet taste. Realizing all over again how important sunlight is to human beings, I appreciate each second of that precious light. The intense loneliness and helplessness I felt under those millions of stars has vanished. But as time passes, the sun's angle shifts and the light disappears. I stand up and retrace the path back to the cabin.
In the afternoon dark clouds suddenly color the sky a mysterious shade and it starts raining hard, pounding the roof and windows of the cabin. I strip naked and run outside, washing my face with soap and scrubbing myself all over. It feels wonderful. In my joy I shut my eyes and shout out meaningless words as the large raindrops strike me on the cheeks, the eyelids, chest, side, penis, legs, and butt-the stinging pain like a religious initiation or something. Along with the pain there's a feeling of closeness, like for once in my life the world's treating me fairly. I feel elated, as if all of a sudden I've been set free. I face the sky, hands held wide apart, open my mouth wide, and gulp down the falling rain.
Back inside the hut, I dry off with a towel, sit down on the bed, and look at my penis-a light-colored, healthy, youthful penis. The head still stings a little from the rain. For a long while I stare at this strange organ that, most of the time, has a mind of its own and contemplates thoughts not shared by my brain.
I wonder if Oshima, when he was my age and stayed here, struggled with sexual desire. He must have, but I can't picture him taking care of business on his own. He's too detached, too cool for that.
'I was different from everybody else,' he'd said. I don't know what that means, but I'm sure he wasn't just spouting something off the top of his head. He didn't say it to be mysterious and coy, either.
I consider jerking off but think better of it. Being pummeled by the rain so hard made me feel strangely purified, and I want to hold on to that sensation a while longer. I pull on some boxers, take a few deep breaths, and start doing squats. A hundred squats later I do a hundred sit-ups. I focus on one muscle group at a time. Once my routine's done, my mind's clear. The rain's stopped, the sun's starting to shine through breaks in the clouds, and the birds have started chirping again.
But that calm won't last long, you know. It's like beasts that never tire, tracking you everywhere you go. They come out at you deep in the forest. They're tough, relentless, merciless, untiring, and they never give up. You might control yourself now, and not masturbate, but they'll get you in the end, as a wet dream. You might dream about raping your sister, your mother. It's not something you can control. It's a power beyond you-and all you can do is accept it.
You're afraid of imagination. And even more afraid of dreams. Afraid of the responsibility that begins in dreams. But you have to sleep, and dreams are a part of sleep. When you're awake you can suppress imagination. But you can't suppress dreams.
I lie down in bed and listen to Prince on my headphones, concentrating on this strangely unceasing music. The batteries run out in the middle of 'Little Red Corvette,' the music disappearing like it's been swallowed up by quicksand. I yank off my headphones and listen. Silence, I discover, is something you can actually hear.
Chapter 16
The black dog stood up and led Nakata out of the study and down the dark corridor to the kitchen, which had only a couple of windows and was dark. Though it was neat and clean, it had an inert feel, like a science lab in school. The dog stopped in front of the doors of a large refrigerator, turned around, and drilled Nakata with a cold look Open the left door, he said in a low voice. Nakata knew it wasn't the dog talking but Johnnie Walker, speaking to Nakata through him. Looking at Nakata through the dog's eyes.
Nakata did as he was told. The avocado green refrigerator was taller than he was, and when he opened the left door the thermostat came on with a thump, the motor groaning to life. White vapor, like fog, wafted out. This side of the refrigerator was a freezer, at a very low setting.
Inside was a row of about twenty round, fruit-like objects, neatly arranged. Nothing else. Nakata bent over and looked at them fixedly. When the vapor cleared he saw it wasn't fruit at all but the severed heads of cats. Cut-off heads of all colors and sizes, arranged on three shelves like oranges at a fruit stand. The cats' faces were frozen, facing forward. Nakata gulped.
Take a good look, the dog commanded. Check with your own eyes whether Goma's in there or not.
Nakata did this, examining the cats' heads one by one. He didn't feel afraid-his mind focused on finding the missing little cat. Nakata carefully checked each head, confirming that Goma's wasn't among them. No doubt about it-not a single tortoiseshell. The faces of the bodyless cats had a strangely vacant expression, not one of them appearing to have suffered. That, at least, brought Nakata a sigh of relief. A few of the cats had their eyes closed, but most were staring out blankly at a point in space.
'I don't see Goma here,' Nakata said in a flat tone. He cleared his throat and shut the refrigerator door.
Are you absolutely sure?
'Yes, I'm sure.'
The dog stood up and led Nakata back to the study. Johnnie Walker was still seated in the swivel chair, waiting for him. As Nakata entered, he touched the brim of his silk hat in greeting and smiled pleasantly. Then he clapped his hands loudly, twice, and the dog left the room.
'I'm the one who cut off all those cats' heads,' he said. He lifted his glass of whisky and took a drink. 'I'm collecting them.'
'So you're the one who's been catching cats in that vacant lot and killing them.'
'That's right. The infamous cat-killer Johnnie Walker, at your service.'
'Nakata doesn't understand this so well, so do you mind if I ask a question?'
'Be my guest,' Johnnie Walker said, lifting his glass. 'Feel free to ask anything. To save time, though, if you don't mind, I can guess that the first thing you want to know is why I have to kill all these cats. Why I'm collecting their heads. Am I right?'
'Yes, that's right. That's what Nakata wants to know.'
Johnnie Walker set his glass down on the desk and looked straight at Nakata. 'This is an important secret I wouldn't tell just anybody. For you, Mr. Nakata, I'll make an exception, but I don't want you telling other people. Not that they'd believe you even if you did.' He chuckled.
'Listen-I'm not killing cats just for the fun of it. I'm not so disturbed I find it amusing,' he went on. 'I'm not just some dilettante with time on his hands. It takes a lot of time and effort to gather and kill this many cats. I'm killing them to collect their souls, which I use to create a special kind of flute. And when I blow that flute it'll let me collect even larger souls. Then I collect larger souls and make an even bigger flute. Perhaps in the end I'll be able to make a flute so large it'll rival the universe. But first come the cats. Gathering their souls is the starting point of the whole project. There's an essential order you have to follow in everything. It's a way of showing respect, following everything in the correct order. It's what you need to do when you're dealing with other souls. It's not pineapples and melons I'm working with here, agreed?'
'Yes,' Nakata replied. But actually he had no idea. A flute? Was he talking about a flute you held sideways? Or maybe a recorder? What sort of sound would it make? And what did he mean by cats' souls? All of this exceeded his limited powers of comprehension. But Nakata did understand one thing: he had to locate Goma and get her out of here.
'What you want to do is take Goma home,' Johnnie Walker said, as though reading Nakata's mind.
'That's right. Nakata wants to take Goma back to her home.'
'That's your mission,' Johnnie Walker said. 'We all follow our mission in life. That's natural. Now I imagine you've never heard a flute made out of cats' souls, have you?'
'No, I haven't.'
'Of course you haven't. You can't hear it with your ears.'
'It's a flute you can't hear?'
'Correct. I can hear it, of course,' Johnnie Walker said. 'If I don't hear it none of this would work. Ordinary people, though, can't detect it. Even if they do hear it, they don't realize it. They may have heard it in the past but
