seem to find their way into police boxes to blab out some nonsense. If you bother yourself with every one of these nutcases, you'll go nuts yourself!
But that prediction about fish raining from the sky, a lunatic statement if there ever was one, actually did happen, so maybe-just maybe-that story he told about knifing somebody to death-Johnnie Walker, as he put it- might actually be true. Assuming it was, this was a major problem, for he'd turned away someone confessing to murder and didn't even write up a report on it.
Finally a garbage truck came and cleaned up all the mounds of fish. The young policeman directed traffic, blocking off the entrance to the shopping district so cars couldn't come in. Fish scales were stuck to the street in front of the shops and wouldn't come off no matter how much they were hosed down. The street remained wet for some time, causing a couple of housewives on bicycles to slip and fall. The place reeked of fish for days afterward, getting the neighborhood cats all worked up. The policeman was kept busy with the cleanup and didn't have time to think any more about the strange old man.
The day after it rained fish, though, the policeman gulped in shock when the body of a man, stabbed to death, was discovered nearby. The dead man was a famous sculptor, and his body was discovered by the cleaning woman who came every other day. The body was naked, lying in a pool of blood. Estimated time of death was in the evening two days previous, the murder weapon a steak knife from the kitchen. To his dismay, the young policeman finally believed what the old man had told him. My God, he thought, what a complete mess I've gotten myself into! I should have called up the precinct and taken the old man in. He confessed to murder, so I should've handed him over to the higher-ups and let them decide if he's crazy or not. But I shirked my duty. Now that it's come to this, the young policeman decided, the best thing to do is to just clam up and pretend it never happened.
But by this time, Nakata was no longer in town.
Chapter 19
It's Monday and the library's closed. The library is quiet enough most of the time, but on a day like this when it's closed it's like the land that time forgot. Or more like a place that's holding its breath, hoping time won't stumble upon it.
Down the corridor from the reading room, past a STAFF ONLY sign, there's a sink area where you can make coffee or tea, and there's a microwave oven, too. Just past this is the door to the guest room, which includes a barebones bathroom and closet. Next to the single bed is a nightstand outfitted with a reading lamp and alarm clock. There's also a little writing desk with a lamp on it. Plus an old-fashioned set of chairs, covered in white cloth, for receiving guests, and a chest for clothes. On top of a small, bachelor-size refrigerator are some dishes and a small shelf for stowing them away. If you feel like making a simple meal, the sink area's right outside. The bathroom's outfitted with a shower, soap and shampoo, a hair dryer, and towels. Everything you need for a comfortable short stay. Through a west-facing window you can see the trees in the garden. It's getting close to evening, and the sinking sun glints past the cedar branches.
'I've stayed here a couple of times when it was too much trouble to go home,' Oshima says. 'But nobody else uses the room. As far as I know, Miss Saeki never uses it. It's not going to put anybody out, your staying here, is what I'm trying to say.'
I set my backpack on the floor and look around my new lodgings.
'There's a clean set of sheets, and enough in the fridge to tide you over. Milk, some fruit, vegetables, butter, ham, cheese… Not enough for a decent meal, but enough for a sandwich or salad at least. If you want something more, I suggest takeout, or going out to eat. For laundry you'll have to make do with rinsing things out in the bathroom, I'm afraid. Let's see, have I forgotten anything?'
'Where does Miss Saeki usually work?'
Oshima points to the ceiling. 'You remember that room on the second floor you saw on the tour? She's always there, writing. If I have to go out for a while she sometimes comes downstairs and takes over at the counter. But unless she's got something to do on the first floor, that's where you'll find her.'
I nod.
'I'll be here tomorrow before ten to run through what your job involves. Until then, just relax and take it easy.'
'Thanks for everything,' I tell him.
'My pleasure,' he replies.
After he leaves I unload my backpack. Arrange my meager assortment of clothes in the dresser, hang up my shirts and jacket, line up my notebook and pens on the desk, put my toiletries in the bathroom, and finally stow the pack itself in the closet.
The room doesn't have any decorations at all, except for a small oil painting, a realistic portrait of a young boy by the shore. Not bad, I decide-maybe done by somebody famous? The boy looks about twelve or so, and he's wearing a white sunhat and sitting on a small deck chair. His elbow's on one of the arms of the chair, his chin resting in his hand. He looks a little sad, but kind of pleased, too. A black German shepherd sits next to the boy, like he's guarding him. In the background is the sea and a couple of other people, but they're too far away to make out their faces. A small island's visible, and a few fist-shaped clouds float over the water. Most definitely a summer scene. I sit down at the desk and gaze at the painting for a while. I start to feel like I can hear the crash of waves, the salty smell of the sea.
The boy in the painting might be the boy who used to live in this room, the young man Miss Saeki loved. The one who got caught up in the student movement clashes and was pointlessly beaten to death. There's no saying for sure, but I'm betting that's who it is. The scenery looks a lot like what you see around here, for one thing. If that's the case, then it must be from about forty years ago-an eternity to somebody like me. I try imagining myself in forty years, but it's like trying to picture what lies beyond the universe.
The next morning Oshima arrives and shows me what I'm supposed to do to get the library ready to open. First I have to unlock and open the windows to air out the rooms, make a quick pass with the vacuum cleaner, wipe the desktops, change the flowers in the vases, turn on the lights, occasionally sprinkle water in the garden to keep down the dust, and, when the time comes, open the door. At closing time it's the same procedure in reverse-lock the windows, wipe the desktops again, turn off the lights, and close the front door.
'There's not much for anybody to steal here, so maybe we don't need to be so worried about always locking the door,' Oshima tells me. 'But Miss Saeki and I don't like things done sloppily. So we try to do things by the book. This is our house, so we treat it with respect. And I hope you'll do the same.'
I nod.
Next he shows me what to do at the reception desk, how to help out people coming to use the library.
'For the time being you should just sit next to me and watch what I do. It's not all that hard. If something ever comes up you can't handle, just go upstairs and ask Miss Saeki. She'll take care of it.'
Miss Saeki shows up just before eleven. Her Volkswagen Golf makes a distinctive roar as it pulls up, and I can tell right away it's her. She parks, comes in through the back door, and greets the two of us. 'Morning,' she says. 'Good morning,' we answer back. That's the extent of our conversation. Miss Saeki has on a navy blue short- sleeved dress, a cotton coat in her arms, a shoulder bag. Nothing you could call an accessory, and hardly a hint of makeup. Still, there's something about her that's dazzling. She glances at me standing next to Oshima and looks for a moment like she wants to say something, but doesn't. She merely beams a slight smile in my direction and walks up to her office on the second floor.
'Not to worry,' Oshima assures me. 'She has no problem with your being here. She just doesn't go in for a lot of small talk, that's all.'
At eleven Oshima and I open up the main door, but nobody comes for a while. During the interval he shows me how to use the computers to search for books. They're typical library PCs I'm already familiar with. Next he shows me how to arrange all the catalog cards. Every day the library receives copies of newly published books, and one of the other tasks is to log in these new arrivals by hand.
Around eleven-thirty two women come in together, wearing identical jeans. The shorter of the two has cropped hair like a swimmer, while the taller woman wears her hair pulled back. Both of them have on jogging
