“I appreciate you saying that,” Tsukuru said. “I really do. But that was then. What about now? I’m thirty-six, but when I think about who I am, I’m as confused—or maybe more confused—than I’ve ever been. I can’t figure out what I should do. I’ve never felt this strongly about anybody before.”
“Let’s say you are an empty vessel. So what? What’s wrong with that?” Eri said. “You’re still a wonderful, attractive vessel. And really, does anybody know who they are? So why not be a completely beautiful vessel? The kind people feel good about, the kind people want to entrust with precious belongings.”
Tsukuru understood what she was getting at. But whether or not this applied to him was another question.
“When you get back to Tokyo,” Eri said, “tell her everything. Being open and honest is always the best way to go. But don’t tell her you saw her with that other man. Keep that to yourself. There are some things women don’t want other people to see. Besides that, tell her everything you’re feeling.”
“I’m scared, Eri. If I do something wrong, or say something wrong, I’m scared it will wreck everything and our relationship will vanish forever.”
Eri slowly shook her head. “It’s no different from building stations. If something is important enough, a little mistake isn’t going to ruin it all, or make it vanish. It might not be perfect, but the first step is actually building the station. Right? Otherwise trains won’t stop there. And you can’t meet the person who means so much to you. If you find some defect, you can adjust it later, as needed. First things first. Build the station. A special station just for her. The kind of station where trains want to stop, even if they have no reason to do so. Imagine that kind of station, and give it actual color and shape. Write your name on the foundation with a nail, and breathe life into it. I know you have the power to do that. Don’t forget—you’re the one who swam across the freezing sea at night.”
Eri asked him to stay for dinner.
“They catch big, fresh trout around here. We just fry them up with herbs in a frying pan, but they taste wonderful. We’d love to have you stay and eat with us.”
“Thank you, but I’d better be getting back. I want to get to Helsinki while it’s still light out.”
Eri laughed. “Still light out? This is summer in Finland. It’s light out almost the whole night.”
“I know, but still,” Tsukuru averred.
Eri understood how he felt.
“Thank you for coming all this way to see me,” she said. “I can’t tell you how happy I am that we could talk like this. I really feel like a great burden has been lifted, something that’s been weighing me down forever. I’m not saying this solves everything, but it’s been a huge relief.”
“I feel the same way,” Tsukuru said. “Talking with you has helped a lot. And I’m happy I could meet your husband and daughters, and see what sort of life you’re living here. That alone made the trip worthwhile.”
They left the cabin and walked over to where his Volkswagen Golf was parked. Slowly, deliberately, as if weighing the significance of each step. They hugged each other once more, and this time, she didn’t cry. He felt her gentle smile on his neck, her full breasts pressed against him, filled with the vitality to keep on living. Her fingers against his back were strong and real.
Tsukuru suddenly remembered the presents he’d brought from Japan for her and the children. He took them out from his shoulder bag in the car and handed them to her, a boxwood barrette for Eri and Japanese picture books for the children.
“Thank you, Tsukuru,” Eri said. “You haven’t changed at all. You were always so kind.”
“It’s nothing,” Tsukuru said. And he remembered the evening when he bought the presents, seeing Sara walking down Omotesando with that other man. If he hadn’t thought to buy the presents, he wouldn’t have witnessed that scene. It was a strange thing.
“Farewell, Tsukuru Tazaki. Have a safe trip home,” Eri said as they said goodbye. “Don’t let the bad elves get you.”