Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage: A novel

Sara was wearing a dress with a delicate floral pattern and a thin white cardigan. Both looked like designer items. Tsukuru had no idea how much Sara earned, but she seemed used to spending a fair amount on her wardrobe.

As they ate she told him about her work in Singapore—negotiating hotel prices, selecting restaurants, securing ground transportation, setting up day trips, confirming the availability of medical facilities.… There was a whole array of tasks to take care of in setting up a new tour. Preparing a long checklist, traveling to the destination, and checking each item off one by one. Going to each venue to make sure firsthand that each item was handled properly. The process sounded a lot like the one his company followed when they constructed a new station. As he listened to her, it became clear what a meticulous, competent specialist she was.

“I think I’ll have to go there again sometime soon,” Sara said. “Have you ever been to Singapore?”

“No, I haven’t. Actually I’ve never been out of Japan.

I haven’t had any chance to go on an overseas business trip, and traveling abroad by myself always seemed like too much trouble.”

“Singapore’s fascinating. The food is amazing, and there’s a beautiful resort nearby. It’d be nice if I could show you around.”

He imagined how wonderful it would be to travel abroad with her, just the two of them.


Tsukuru had one glass of wine, as usual, while Sara finished the rest of the carafe. Alcohol didn’t seem to affect her, and no matter how much she drank her face was never flushed. He had beef bourguignon, while she ordered roast duck. After she finished her entrée, she agonized over whether or not to order dessert, and finally decided she’d do so. Tsukuru had a coffee.

“After I saw you last time I’ve really been thinking about things,” Sara said, sipping the tea that rounded out her meal. “About your four friends in high school. About that beautiful community, and your affection for each other.”

Tsukuru gave a small nod, and waited for her to go on.

“I find the story of your group really intriguing. I guess because I’ve never experienced anything like that myself.”

“Maybe it would have been for the best if I never had, either,” Tsukuru said.

“Because you ended up getting hurt?”

He nodded.

“I understand how you feel,” Sara said, with her eyes narrowed. “But even if it ended badly, and you were hurt, I think it was a good thing for you to have met them. It’s not very often that people become that close. And when you think of five people having that sort of connection, well, it’s nothing short of miraculous.”

“I agree. It was kind of a miracle. And I do think it was a good thing for me that it happened,” Tsukuru said. “But that made the shock all the worse when the connection was gone—or snatched from me, I should say. The feeling of loss, the isolation.… Those words don’t come even close to expressing how awful it felt.”

“But more than sixteen years have passed. You’re an adult now, in your late thirties. The pain might have been terrible back then, but isn’t it time to finally get over it?”

“Get over it,” Tsukuru repeated. “What exactly do you mean?”

Sara rested her hands on the table, spreading her ten fingers apart slightly. She wore a ring on the little finger of her left hand, with a small, almond-shaped jewel. She gazed at the ring for a while, then looked up.

“I get the feeling that the time has come for you to find out why you were cut off, or had to be cut off, so abruptly, by those friends of yours.”

Tsukuru was about to drink the rest of his coffee, but he noticed his cup was empty and laid it back down on the saucer. The cup struck the saucer with an unexpectedly loud clatter. The waiter, in response to the noise, hurried over and refilled their glasses with ice water.

Tsukuru waited until the waiter left before he spoke.

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