He went back to his room, drew the heavy drapes to block out the light, undressed, and lay down in bed. Yet still the light, like an old memory that can’t easily be erased, snuck into the room. As he stared at the dim ceiling he thought how strange it was for him to be here in Helsinki, not Nagoya, going to see Kuro. The uniquely bright night of northern Europe made his heart tremble in an odd way. His body needed sleep, but his mind, at least for a while, sought wakefulness.
And he thought of Shiro. He hadn’t dreamed of her in a long time. He thought of those erotic dreams, where he came violently inside her. When he woke up afterward and rinsed out his semen-stained underwear in the sink, a complex mix of emotions always struck him. A strange mix of guilt and longing. Special emotions that arise only in a dark corner unknown to other people, where the real and the unreal secretly mingle. Curiously enough, he missed these feelings. He didn’t care what kind of dream it was, or how it made him feel. He wanted only to see Shiro once more in his dreams.
Sleep finally took hold of him, but no dreams came.
The wake-up call came at seven, rousing him from sleep. He’d slept long and deeply, and his whole body felt pleasantly numb. He showered, shaved, and brushed his teeth, the numbness still with him. The sky was overcast, with a thin layer of clouds, but rain seemed unlikely. Tsukuru dressed, went down to the hotel restaurant, and had a simple buffet breakfast.
He arrived at Olga’s office after nine. It was a cozy little office, halfway up a slope, with only one other person working there, a tall man with bulging, fishlike eyes. The man was on the phone, explaining something. The wall was covered with colorful posters of scenic spots in Finland. Olga had printed out several maps for Tsukuru. The Haatainens’ cottage was in a small town a short way down the lake from H?meenlinna, the location of which she’d marked with an X. Like some long canal, the narrow, meandering lake, gouged out by glaciers tens of thousands of years ago, seemed to go on forever.
“The road should be easy to follow,” Olga said. “Finland’s not like Tokyo or New York. The roads aren’t crowded, and as long as you follow the signs and don’t hit an elk, you should be able to get there.”
Tsukuru thanked her.
“I reserved a car for you,” she went on. “A Volkswagen Golf with only two thousand kilometers on it. I was able to get a bit of a discount.”
“Thank you. That’s great.”
“I pray everything goes well. You’ve come all this way, after all.” Olga smiled sweetly. “If you run into any problems, don’t hesitate to call me.”
“I won’t,” Tsukuru said.
“Remember to watch out for elk. They’re pretty dumb beasts. Be sure not to drive too fast.”
They shook hands again and said goodbye.
At the car rental agency he picked up the new, navy-blue Golf, and the woman there explained how to get from central Helsinki to the highway. It wasn’t especially complicated, but you did have to pay attention. Once you got on the highway, it was easy.
Tsukuru listened to music on an FM station as he drove down the highway at about one hundred kilometers an hour, heading west. Most of the other cars passed him, but he didn’t mind. He hadn’t driven a car for a while, and here the steering wheel was on the left, the opposite of Japan. He was hoping, if possible, to arrive at the Haatainens’ house after they’d finished lunch. He still had plenty of time, and there was no need to hurry. The classical music station was playing a gorgeous, lilting trumpet concerto.