His thoughts turned to Eri. Eri Kurono Haatainen. The mother of two small girls. He pictured the blue lake beyond the stand of white birch trees, and the little boat slapping against the pier. The pottery with its lovely designs, the chirps of the birds, the dog barking. And Alfred Brendel’s meticulous rendition of Years of Pilgrimage. The feel of Eri’s breasts pressed against him. Her warm breath, her cheeks wet with tears. All the lost possibilities, all the time that was never to return.
At one point, seated across from each other at the table, they were silent, not even searching for words, their ears drawn to the sounds of the birds outside the window. The cries of the birds made for an unusual melody. The same melody pierced the woods, over and over.
“The parent birds are teaching their babies how to chirp,” Eri said. And she smiled. “Until I came here I never knew that. That birds have to be taught how to chirp.”
Our lives are like a complex musical score, Tsukuru thought. Filled with all sorts of cryptic writing, sixteenth and thirty-second notes and other strange signs. It’s next to impossible to correctly interpret these, and even if you could, and then could transpose them into the correct sounds, there’s no guarantee that people would correctly understand, or appreciate, the meaning therein. No guarantee it would make people happy. Why must the workings of people’s lives be so convoluted?
Make sure you hang on to Sara, Eri had told him. You really need her. You don’t lack anything. Be confident and be bold. That’s all you need.
And don’t let the bad elves get you.
He thought of Sara, imagined her lying naked in someone else’s arms. No, not someone. He’d actually seen the man. Sara had looked so very happy then, her beautiful white teeth showing in a broad smile. He closed his eyes in the darkness and pressed his fingertips against his temples. He couldn’t go on feeling this way, he decided. Even if it was only for three more days.
Tsukuru picked up the phone and dialed Sara’s number. It was just before four. The phone rang a dozen times before Sara picked up.
“I’m really sorry to call you at this hour,” Tsukuru said. “But I had to talk to you.”
“This hour? What time is it?”
“Almost 4 a.m.”
“Goodness, I’d forgotten such a time actually existed,” Sara said. Her voice sounded still half awake. “So, who died?”
“Nobody died,” Tsukuru said. “Nobody’s died yet. But I just have something I need to tell you tonight.”
“What sort of thing?”
“I love you, Sara, and I want you more than anything.”
Over the phone he heard a rustling sound, as if she were fumbling for something. She gave a small cough, then made a sound he took to be an exhalation.
“Is it okay to talk with you about it now?” Tsukuru asked.
“Of course,” Sara said. “I mean, it’s not even four yet. You can say whatever you want. Nobody’s listening in. They’re all sound asleep.”
“I truly love you, and I want you,” Tsukuru repeated.
“That’s what you wanted to call me at not quite 4 a.m. to tell me?”
“That’s right.”
“Have you been drinking?”
“No, not a drop.”
“I see,” Sara said. “For a science type, you certainly can get pretty passionate.”
“It’s the same as building a station.”
“How so?”
“It’s simple. If there’s no station, no trains will stop there. The first thing I have to do is picture a station in my mind, and give it actual color and substance. That comes first. Even if I find a defect, that can be corrected later on. And I’m used to that kind of work.”
“Because you’re an outstanding engineer.”
“I’d like to be.”
“And you’re building a specially made station, just for me, until nearly dawn?”
“That’s right,” Tsukuru said. “Because I love you, and I want you.”
“I’m fond of you, too, very much. I’m more attracted to you each time we meet,” Sara said. Then she paused, as if leaving a space on the page. “But it’s nearly 4 a.m. now. Even the birds aren’t up yet. It’s too early to think straight. So can you wait three more days?”
“Alright. But only three,” Tsukuru said. “I think that’s my limit. That’s why I called you at this hour.”
“Three days is plenty, Tsukuru. I’ll keep to the construction completion date, don’t worry. I’ll see you on Wednesday evening.”