can't do that. I say things I shouldn't, do things I shouldn't do. I can't control myself. That's one of my weak points. Do you know why that's a weak point of mine?'
''Cause if you take every single person who lacks much imagination seriously, there's no end to it,' I say.
'That's it,' Oshima says. He taps his temple lightly with the eraser end of the pencil. 'But there's one thing I want you to remember, Kafka. Those are exactly the kind of people who murdered Miss Saeki's childhood sweetheart. Narrow minds devoid of imagination. Intolerance, theories cut off from reality, empty terminology, usurped ideals, inflexible systems. Those are the things that really frighten me. What I absolutely fear and loathe. Of course it's important to know what's right and what's wrong. Individual errors in judgment can usually be corrected. As long as you have the courage to admit mistakes, things can be turned around. But intolerant, narrow minds with no imagination are like parasites that transform the host, change form, and continue to thrive. They're a lost cause, and I don't want anyone like that coming in here.'
Oshima points at the stacks with the tip of his pencil. What he means, of course, is the entire library.
'I wish I could just laugh off people like that, but I can't.'
Chapter 20
It was already past eight p. m. when the eighteen-wheeler refrigerated truck pulled off the Tomei Highway and let Nakata out in the parking lot of the Fujigawa rest area. Canvas bag and umbrella in hand, he clambered down from the passenger seat to the asphalt.
'Good luck in finding another ride,' the driver said, his head sticking out the window. 'If you ask around, I'm sure you'll find something.'
'Much obliged. Nakata appreciates all your help.'
'Take it easy,' the driver said, then waved and pulled back onto the highway.
Fu-ji-ga-wa, the driver had said. Nakata had no idea where Fu-ji-ga-wa was, though he did understand he'd left Tokyo and was heading west. No need for a compass or a map to tell him that, he knew it instinctively. Now if only a truck going west would give him a ride.
Nakata was hungry and decided to have a bowl of ramen in the rest area restaurant. The rice balls and chocolate in his bag he wanted to save for an emergency. Not being able to read, it took him a while to figure out how to purchase a meal. Before going into the dining hall you had to buy meal tickets from a vending machine, but he had to have somebody help him read the buttons. 'My eyes are bad, so I can't see too well,' he told a middle- aged woman, and she inserted the money for him, pushed the right button, and handed him his change. Experience had taught him it was better not to let on that he didn't know how to read. Because when he did, people stared at him like he was some kind of monster.
After his meal, Nakata, umbrella in hand, bag slung over his shoulder, made the rounds of the trucks in the parking lot, asking for a ride. I'm heading west, he explained, and I wonder if you'd be kind enough to give me a ride? But the drivers all took one look at him and shook their heads. An elderly hitchhiker was pretty unusual, and they were naturally wary of anything out of the ordinary. Our company doesn't allow us to pick up hitchhikers, they all said. Sorry.
It had taken a long time to make it from Nakano Ward to the entrance to the Tomei Highway. He'd never been out of Nakano before, and had no idea where the highway was. He had a special pass for the city bus line he could use, but he'd never ridden by himself on the subway or train, where you needed to buy a ticket.
It was just before ten a. m. when he packed a change of clothes, a toilet kit, and some snacks in his bag, carefully put the cash he'd hidden under the tatami in a money belt for safekeeping, and then, the large umbrella in hand, left his apartment. When he asked the city bus driver how he could get to the highway, the man laughed.
'This bus only goes to Shinjuku Station. City buses don't go on the highway. You'll have to take a highway bus.'
'Where can I get a highway bus that goes on the To-mei Highway?'
'Tokyo Station,' the driver replied. 'Take this bus to Shinjuku Station, then take a train to Tokyo Station, where you can buy a reserved-seat ticket. The buses there will take you to the Tomei Highway.'
Nakata wasn't at all sure what he meant, but went ahead and took the bus as far as Shinjuku. But when he got there he was overwhelmed. The massive station was jammed with people, and he had trouble moving through the crowds. There were so many train lines, too, that he couldn't figure out which one went to Tokyo Station. Since he couldn't read the signs, he asked a few passersby, but their explanations were too fast, too complicated, and full of place-names he didn't recognize. I might as well be talking to Kawamura, Nakata thought to himself. There was always a police box to ask directions at, but he was afraid they'd mistake him for a senile old person and take him into custody, something he'd experienced once before. As he wandered around near the station the exhaust and noise got to him and he started to feel sick. Avoiding the crowded sidewalks, he found a small park set between two high-rise buildings and sat down on a bench.
Nakata was at a complete loss. He sat there, muttering occasionally, rubbing the top of his close-cropped head. There wasn't a cat to be seen in the park. There were plenty of crows, though, squawking down and rummaging through the trash baskets. Nakata looked up at the sky a few times, and from the sun's position could guess the approximate time. Because of all the exhaust, perhaps, the sky was covered in a strange color.
At noon, office workers from the nearby buildings flooded out to eat lunch in the park. Nakata ate the bean- jam buns he'd brought with him, washing them down with hot tea from his thermos. Two young women sat down together on the bench besides his, and he decided to talk to them. How can I get to the To-mei Highway? he asked. They told him the same thing the city bus driver had said. Take the Chuo Line to Tokyo Station, then a Tomei Highway bus.
'Nakata tried that but it didn't work,' Nakata admitted. 'I've never been out of Nakano Ward before. So I don't know how to take the train. I just know how to ride the city bus. I can't read, so I can't buy a ticket. I took the city bus here, but don't know how to go any farther.'
You can't read?! they asked, astonished. He seemed like a harmless enough old man. A nice smile, dressed neatly. Carrying an umbrella on such a fine day like this was a bit odd, but he didn't appear to be homeless. A pleasant face, especially those bright-looking eyes.
'You really mean to say you've never been outside Nakano Ward?' the girl with black hair asked.
'Yes. I've tried not to ever go out of it. If Nakata got lost, there's nobody who'd come looking for me.'
'And you can't read,' said the other girl, the one with dyed brownish hair.
'That's right. I can't read at all. I can understand simple numbers, but can't add.'
'Hmm. I imagine it would be hard for you to take a train.'
'Yes, it's very hard. I can't buy a ticket.'
'If we had time we could take you to the station and make sure you get on the right train, but we have to get back to work soon. I'm really sorry.'
'No, no need to apologize. I'll figure it out somehow.'
'I've got it!' the girl with black hair exclaimed. 'Didn't Togeguchi over in sales say he had to go to Yokohama today?'
'Yes, now that you mention it. He'd help out if we asked him. He's a little on the gloomy side, but not a bad guy, really,' the brown-haired girl said.
'Since you can't read, maybe it'd be better to hitchhike,' the black-haired girl said.
'Hitchhike?'
'Ask for a ride from somebody. Mostly it ends up being rides with long-haul truckers. Regular cars don't pick up hitchhikers much.'
'Nakata's not sure what long-haul truckers are.'
'As long as you go there it'll work out. I hitchhiked once when I was in college. Truck drivers are all nice guys.'
'How far are you going on the Tomei Highway?' the brown-haired girl asked.
'Nakata doesn't know,' Nakata replied.
'You don't know?'
