Dance Dance Dance

by Haruki Murakami

  “Wow, that’s really something,” she addressed the windowpane. While her voice didn’t ring entirely cynical, it didn’t quite have the ring of enthusiasm either.

  I got into bed, leaned back against the headboard, and observed her. That wrinkle-free white blouse. Navy blue tight skirt. Stockinged legs. Yet, even she was tinged gray, like an old photograph. Actually quite wonderful. I felt like I’d connected to something. Next thing I knew I had an erection. Not bad. Gray sky, exhaustion, hard-on at three in the afternoon.

  I continued to watch her. Even when she turned around and saw me looking, I kept looking.

  “Why are you staring at me like that?” she demanded.

  “I’m jealous of your swim club,” I said.

  She shook her head, then broke into a smile. “You’re a strange guy, you know?”

  “Not strange,” I said. “Confused. I need to put my thoughts in order.”

  She drew close and felt my forehead.

  “Well, no fever,” she said. “You should get some sleep. Pleasant dreams.”

  I wanted her to stay here with me. By my bedside, while I slept. But I knew that was impossible, so I didn’t say anything. I watched her put on her light blue blazer and leave. And then the gray gorilla entered the room with his sledgehammer again. “That’s okay, I was falling asleep anyway,” I started to tell him. But the words weren’t out of my mouth before another blow fell.

  “What comes after 25?” somebody asks. “71,” I answer. “He’s out,” says the gray gorilla. Surprise, surprise, I thought. Hit me that hard and I’m not going to be in a coma? Darkness overcame me once again.

  Knots.

  It was nine P.M. I was eating dinner alone, having awakened from a deep sleep at eight. I got up and was awake, about as abruptly as I’d fallen asleep. There was no middle ground between sleeping and waking. And my head seemed to be back in working order. All postcranial gray gorilla lesions had vanished. I wasn’t drowsy or sluggish and I had no shivers. I remembered everything with great clarity. I had an appetite—I was ravenous. So I headed out to the local watering hole I’d gone to the first night and had a few nibbles with drinks. Drinks and grilled fish and simmered vegetables and crab and potatoes. The place was packed, thick with smoke and smells and noise, everybody and his neighbor screaming at each other.

  Need to organize, I thought.

  Knots? I queried myself in the midst of the chaos. I brought the words softly to my lips: You have but to seek and the Sheep Man shall connect.

  Not that I completely understood what that meant. It was a bit too figurative, metaphoric. But maybe it was the sort of thing you had to express metaphorically. For one thing, I could hardly believe the Sheep Man had chosen to speak that way for his amusement. Maybe it was the only way.

  Through that world of the Sheep Man—via his switchboard—all sorts of things were connected. Some connections led to confusion, he’d said. Because I lost track of what I wanted. So were all my ties meaningless?

  I drank and stared at the ashtray in front of me.

  What had become of Kiki? I’d felt her presence very strongly in dreams. It was she who’d called me here. It was she who needed me. She was the reason I’d come to the Dolphin Hotel. But I had yet to hear her voice. Her message was cut off. As if someone had pulled the plug.

  Why was everything so vague?

  Perhaps the lines were crossed. I had to get clear what it was she wanted from me. Enlist the help of the Sheep Man and link things up one by one. No matter how out of focus the picture, I had to unravel each strand patiently. Unravel, then bind all together. I had to recover my world.

  But where to begin? Not a clue. I was flat against a high wall. Everything was mirror-slick. No place for the hand, no place to reach out and grab. I was at wit’s end.

  I paid my bill and left. Big flakes of snow tumbled down from the sky. It wasn’t really coming down yet, but the sound of the town was different because of the snow. I walked briskly around the block to sober up. Where to begin? Where to go? I didn’t know. I was rusting, badly. Alone like this, I would gradually render myself useless. Great, just great. Where to begin? My receptionist friend? She seemed nice. I did like her. I did feel a bond between us. I could sleep with her if I tried. But then what? Where would I go from there? Nowhere, probably. Just another thing to lose. I don’t know what I want. And, if that’s the case, as my ex-wife said, I’d only hurt people.

  Once more around the block. Snow quietly coming down. Sticking to my coat, lingering a brief instant, then disappearing. I tried to put my thoughts in order. People walked past, puffing white breaths into the air. It was so cold the skin of my face hurt. Still, I kept going around the block, kept trying to think. My ex-wife’s words stuck in my head like a curse. Worse, because it was true. I hurt everybody. If I kept going like this, I’d go on losing them too.

  “Go home to the moon!” were my last girlfriend’s parting words. No, not departing—returning. She was braving it back to the big, bad, real world.

  Then along comes Kiki. Yes! Kiki’s got to be the touchstone. But her message had vaporized midway.

  So where to begin?

  I closed my eyes and struggled for an answer. But in my head no one was at home. No Sheep Man, no gulls, no gray gorilla. I was abandoned, sitting in a vast empty chamber, alone. No one could give me the answer. I’d sit, grow old, and shrivel in that room. No dancing here. Very sad.

  Why couldn’t I read the station signs?

  The answer was to come the following afternoon. As usual, with no prior warning, out of nowhere. Like a gorilla whack out of the gray.

  Strangely enough—but not that strangely, I suppose—when I hit the sack at midnight, I fell asleep immediately. And I didn’t wake until eight in the morning. Precisely at eight, as if I’d come full cycle. I felt rested—and hungry. So I went back to Dunkin’ Donuts, and then went for a walk around town. The streets were frozen solid, feather-soft snow drifting quietly down. As ever, the sky was heavy with clouds. Not exactly weather for a carefree stroll, but getting out was good for my spirits. The cold was bracing and cleared my head. I hadn’t resolved a thing, so why a simple stretch should make a difference was curious.

  After an hour, I made my way back to the hotel. My receptionist friend was on duty at the front desk, together with a colleague busy with a guest. My friend was on the phone, smiling her professional smile, unconsciously twirling a pen between her fingers. I walked up and waited until she finished her call.

  She shot me a look of reproach, but she didn’t let it interfere with her manual-perfect professional smile. “How may I help you?” she asked politely.

  I cleared my throat. “Excuse me,” I began, “but I heard that two girls were tragically attacked by an alligator at the swim club last night. Do you know if there’s any truth to that story?”

  “Well, one never knows about these things, does one?” she replied, the fastidious artificial flower of her smile pinned in place. Her cheeks blushed slightly, her nostrils taut. “I can’t say I know anything about it, sir. Excuse me, but are you certain that was the story you heard?”

  “It was a huge alligator, by all accounts, the size of a Volvo station wagon. It came flying through the skylight, shattering glass everywhere, and it swallowed the two girls in one bite. Then it had half a potted palm for dessert. I was wondering if the creature was still at large. Do you think it’s safe to go out?”

  “Forgive me,” she broke in, without a flicker of change in her expression, “but have you considered contacting the police yourself, sir? I’m sure they could provide you with the most recent developments on the case. There’s a police station not far from here. You might try asking there.”

  “Thank you. I’ll do that,” I said. “May the Force be with you.”

  “Not at all, sir,” she said coolly, adjusting her glasses.

  Not long after I returned to my room, she called.

  “Would you care to tell me what that was all about?�
�� Her calm monotone scarcely disguised her anger. “You weren’t going to do anything funny during business hours. Didn’t I ask you that? I hate pranks like that when I’m working.”

  “I just had to talk to you,” I said apologetically. “I wanted to hear your voice. It was a dumb joke. I’m sorry. I only wanted to say hello. I really didn’t mean to bother you.”

  “It’s very upsetting. I told you that. When I’m on duty, I get tense. So please, don’t do anything like that again. You promised not to stare too.”

  “I wasn’t staring. I was just trying to talk to you.”

  “Well, then, from now on, no more talking like that. Please.”

  “I promise, I promise. No talking. No staring and no talking. I’ll be as quiet as granite. But you know, while I’ve got you on the line, are you free this evening? Or do you have mountain-climbing lessons tonight?”

  There was the sound of a dry laugh, half of it silence, and then she hung up.

  I waited for thirty minutes, but she didn’t call back. I’d pissed her off. Sometimes people don’t know when I’m kidding, any more than when I’m being serious. At a loss for something better to do, I went out walking again. With luck, I might run into something new. Anyway, the idea of exercise seemed more appealing than sitting and doing nothing. May the Force be with me.

  I walked for an hour and succeeded only in getting cold. The snow kept coming down. At twelve-thirty I popped into a McDonald’s for a cheeseburger and coke and fries. I didn’t even know why. For reasons that escape me, I sometimes just find myself eating the stuff. Maybe my physical makeup’s been programmed for periodic ingestion of junk food. Maybe I did “need a break today.”

  After McDonald’s, I walked for another thirty minutes. Still no major revelations. The snow picked up. The storm was getting fierce. I zipped my coat all the way to the collar and wrapped my scarf around over my nose. Even then I was cold. And I had to take a leak. Why’d I have to go and drink a coke on a day like this? I scanned the area for a place where I could use the toilet, but the only possibility was a movie theater. A real deadbeat establishment, but they had to have a toilet. And it was probably warm in there. Why not? I had time to kill anyway. So what was playing? A domestic double bill, one of which was Unrequited Love, that movie starring my former classmate. Well, fancy that.

  After relieving myself at length, I bought a hot coffee and took it into the theater. The place was empty, as expected, and warm. It was thirty minutes into the film, but it was hardly like walking into a complicated plot. My classmate played a tall, handsome biology teacher, the object of a young girl’s adoration. Predictably, she was gaga over him, practically fainting at the sight of him. And of course, there was this other guy—who did kendo in his spare time—earnestly in love with her. Talk about an original concept. Hell, I could’ve written this movie.

  Even so, I had to admit, my classmate—whose real name was Ryoichi Gotanda, not exactly the stuff for making girls swoon, so he’d been given some dashing screen pseudonym—played his role with a little bit of complexity. Not only was he handsome and nice, etc., but he also exuded traces of a troubled past. Common garden-variety wounds, to be sure—maybe he’d been a student radical or maybe he’d gotten a girl pregnant and abandoned her—but better than nothing. From time to time, the film would have these flashbacks—CUT TO ACTUAL FOOTAGE OF STUDENT TAKEOVER OF TOKYO UNIVERSITY—inserted with all the subtlety of a monkey lobbing clay against a wall.

  Anyway, Gotanda played his part to the hilt. But the film was ludicrous and the director such an obvious zero talent and the script so embarrassingly infantile, with an endless succession of breathtakingly meaningless scenes and close-ups of the girl, that Gotanda was doomed from the start. No matter how much real acting he did, you couldn’t bear to watch.

  Then, at one point in the film, Gotanda’s in bed in his apartment on a Sunday morning with some woman when the girl who’s in love with him shows up with homemade cookies or something. Good grief, I did write this movie. Gotanda’s oh-so sweet and slow and sincere in bed, close to what I’d imagined. It’s very nice sex. And he probably has very nice-smelling armpits too. His hair has been mussed sensuously. He’s caressing the woman’s back. She’s naked. The camera dollies around to zoom in on her. And suddenly I see her face—

  It’s Kiki!

  I froze in my seat. I could hear the sound of an empty bottle rolling down the aisle. Unbelievable! This was the exact same image I’d seen in that dark corridor of the Dolphin. Gotanda sleeping with her!

  That’s when I knew: We were all connected.

  That’s the only scene Kiki appears in. Sunday morning, in bed with Gotanda. That’s it. Gotanda had gone to a bar on Saturday night, picked her up, and brought her home. Then they fuck one more time in the morning. That’s when his love-smitten pupil, the girl lead, enters. He’s forgotten to lock the door. That’s the whole scene. Kiki has only one line. And it’s a pretty awful line at that. This is how it goes:

  KIKI

  What was that all about?

  After the girl lead runs out in shock and Gotanda’s all in a daze, that’s the line Kiki says.

  I wasn’t even sure if it was her own voice. My memories of her weren’t very clear, nor were the movie theater speakers too sharp on audio fidelity. I could remember her body, though. The shape of her back, the feel of her neck, her silky breasts—yes, it was she all right. I sat there riveted to my seat, staring at the screen. The scene couldn’t have lasted more than a couple of minutes. Kiki’s in Gotanda’s embrace, she flows to his caresses, she closes her eyes in a state of bliss, her lips tremble slightly. She lets out a little sigh. I can’t tell whether she’s acting or not—but let’s suppose it’s acting. This is a movie, after all. Not that I believe for a moment that Kiki could act. Which poses definite phenomenological problems.

  Suppose Kiki wasn’t acting, then that meant she really was coming on to Gotanda’s lovemaking. But if she was acting, then that meant she wasn’t the woman I knew. She didn’t believe in acting. She wasn’t meant to act. Either way, though, I was burning with jealousy.

  First a swim club, now a stupid movie. Was I capable of getting jealous of anything? Was this a good sign?

  Now the girl lead opens the door. She catches sight of the two naked bodies embracing. She swallows her breath. She shuts her eyes. She turns and runs.

  Gotanda is stunned. Kiki says: “What was that all about?” Close-up of Gotanda’s dazed face. FADE OUT.

  Aside from that cameo, Kiki appeared in no other scene. Forget the dumb plot, I was all eyes at the screen, and I know she wasn’t anywhere. She was destined to be a one-night stand, witness to one fleeting scene in Gotanda’s life, before vanishing forever. That was her role. The same as with me. Suddenly she’s there, she sees what there is to see, then she’s gone.

  The movie ended. The lights came up. Music played. I remained in my seat, transfixed by the blank white screen. Was this reality? The film was over, but I didn’t get it. What was Kiki doing in a movie? And together with Gotanda, no less. Absurd. I must have been mistaken. Got the wrong circuit. Got my wires crossed somewhere. How else could I explain it?

  I walked around again for a while after leaving the theater. Thinking about Kiki the whole time. “What was that all about?” she whispered into my ears.

  What was that all about?

  It had to have been her. It couldn’t be a mistake. She’d made the same face when I made love to her, her lips trembled like that, she’d sighed like that. That wasn’t acting. No way. But this was a movie.

  It didn’t make sense.

  The more I walked, the less I trusted my memory. Maybe the movie was a hallucination.

  An hour and a half later, I went back to the same movie theater. And I watched Unrequited Love again from the beginning. Sunday morning, Gotanda is making love to a woman. The woman’s back is to the camera. The camera dollies around. The woman’s face comes into view. It’s Kiki! Plain as day. Enter the girl lead.
Who swallows her breath. Shuts her eyes. Runs. Gotanda, dazed and confused. KIKI: “What was that all about?” FADE OUT.

  Exactly the same, down to the last detail.

  I’d seen it a second time and I still didn’t believe it. Not at all. There had to be something wrong here. Why would Kiki be sleeping with Gotanda?

  The following day, I went to the movies again. I sat stiffly through Unrequited Love another time, waiting for that one scene. Antsy and impatient. At last the scene came up. Sunday morning, Gotanda is making love to a woman. The woman’s back is to the camera. The camera dollies around. The woman’s face comes into view. It’s Kiki! Plain as day. Enter the girl lead. Who swallows her breath. Shuts her eyes. Runs. Gotanda, dazed and confused. KIKI: “What was that all about?” FADE OUT.

  There in the dark, I let out a deep sigh.

  Okay, okay. You win. This is real. There’s no mistake. We are connected.

  I sank back into my seat, folded my hands in front of my nose, and asked the old familiar: What to do?

  The same question. But now I knew I really needed to think things over calm and collected. Needed to put things in order. Needed to sort through the confused connections.

  Something was confused here, that was for sure. Something was amiss. Kiki and Gotanda and I were all connected, in a tangle, but why? I had to untangle us. I had to recover my own sense of reality. But maybe the connections weren’t confused, maybe this was a totally unrelated, new connection. Still, I had to untangle the entangled threads. In order not to break any.

  Here was a clue. I had to get moving. I couldn’t stand still. I had to dance. So light on my feet that it all keeps spinning.

  You gotta dance, the Sheep Man said.

  Gotta dance, echoed my mind.

  Time to return to Tokyo. Nothing more for me here. The Dolphin Hotel had fulfilled its purpose. Once I got back to Tokyo, I’d have a lot of knots to untie.