Dance Dance Dance

by Haruki Murakami

“No one’s ever wanted you?”

  “Not the way you do,” she said. “It’s like being in a nice, warm room. Nice and cozy.”

  “Well, stay put. There’s no reason ever to leave.”

  “Are you going to stay put?”

  “Yes, I’m going to stay put.”

  Yumiyoshi pulled back a bit. “Can I come stay with you again tonight?”

  “Absolutely. But aren’t the risks too high? Wouldn’t it be better if I went to your place or stayed in another hotel?”

  “No,” she said, “I like it here. This is your place, and it’s also my place. I want to make love with you here. That is, if it’s all right with you.”

  “I want to make love with you wherever you like.”

  “Okay, I’ll see you this evening. Here.” Then she cracked the door open and slipped away.

  I felt happy. Yes, I felt happy. And then I wondered if, maybe, it was time to give up the shoveling habit. Do some writing for myself for a change. Without the deadlines. Something for myself. Not a novel or anything. But something for myself.

  Yumiyoshi came back at six-thirty. Still in uniform, although her blouse was different. She’d brought a bag with a change of clothes and toiletries and cosmetics.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “They’re going to find out some time.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m not careless,” she said, then smiled and draped her blazer over the back of a chair.

  Then we sat on the sofa and held each other tight.

  “I’ve thought about you all day long,” she said. “You know, wouldn’t it be wonderful if I could work during the daytime, then sneak into your room at night? We’d spend the night together, then in the morning I’d go straight to work?”

  “A home convenient to your workplace,” I joked. “Unfortunately I couldn’t keep footing the tab to this room. And sooner or later, they’ll find out about us.”

  “Nothing goes smoothly in this world.”

  “You can say that again.”

  “But it’d be okay for a few more nights, wouldn’t it?”

  “I imagine that’s what’s going to happen.”

  “Good. I’ll be happy with those few days. Let’s both stay in this hotel.”

  Then she undressed, neatly folding each article of clothing. She removed her watch and her glasses, and placed them on the table. Then we enjoyed an hour of lovemaking, until we were both exhausted. No better kind of exhaustion.

  “Mmm,” was Yumiyoshi’s appraisal. Then she snuggled up in my arms for a nap. After a while, I got up, showered, then drank a beer. I sat, admiring Yumiyoshi’s sleeping face. She slept so nice.

  A little before eight, she awoke, hungry. We ordered a sandwich and pasta au gratin from room service. Meanwhile, she stored her things in the closet, and when the bellhop knocked, she hid in the bathroom.

  We ate happily.

  “I’ve been thinking about it all afternoon,” I began, picking up from our earlier conversation. “There’s nothing for me in Tokyo anymore. I could move up here and look for work.”

  “You’d live here?”

  “That’s right, I’d live here,” I said.

  “I’ll rent an apartment and start a new life here. You can come over whenever you want to. You can spend the night if you feel like it. We can try it out like that for a while. But I’ve got the feeling it’s going to work out. It’ll bring me back to reality. It’ll give you space to relax. And it’ll keep us together.”

  Yumiyoshi smiled and gave me a big kiss. “Fantastic!”

  “What comes later, I don’t know. But I’ve got a good feeling about it. Like I said.”

  “Nobody knows what’s going to happen in the future. I’m not worried about that. Right now, it’s just fantastic! Oooh, the best kind of fantastic!”

  I called room service for a bucket of ice, making Yumiyoshi hide in the bathroom again. And while she was in there, I took out the bottle of vodka and tomato juice I’d bought in town that afternoon and made us two Bloody Marys. No lemon slices or Lea & Perrins, but bloody good enough. We toasted. To us. I switched on the bedside Muzak and punched the Pops channel. Soon we were treated to the lush strains of Mantovani playing “Strangers in the Night.” You didn’t hear me making snide comments.

  “You think of everything,” said Yumiyoshi. “I was just dreaming of a Bloody Mary right about now. How did you know?”

  “If you listen carefully, you can hear these things. If you look carefully, you’ll see what you’re after.”

  “Words of wisdom?”

  “No, just words. A way of life in words.”

  “You ought to specialize in inspirational writing.”

  We had three Bloody Marys each. Then we took our clothes off and gently made love again.

  At one point, in the middle of our lovemaking, I thought I could hear that old Dolphin Hotel elevator cr-cr-crr-creaking up the shaft. Yes, this place was the knot, the node. Here’s where it all tied together and I was a part of it all. Here was reality, I didn’t have to go further. I was already there. All I had to do was to recover the knot to be connected. It’s what I’d been seeking for years. What the Sheep Man held together.

  At midnight, we fell asleep.

  Yumiyoshi was shaking me. “Wake up,” she said urgently. Outside it was dark. My head was half full with the warm sludge of unconsciousness. The bedside light was on. The clock read a little after three.

  She was dressed in her hotel uniform, clutching my shoulder, shaking me, looking very serious. My first thought was that her boss had found out about us.

  “Wake up. Please, wake up,” she said.

  “I’m awake,” I said. “What is it?”

  “Hurry up and get dressed.”

  I quickly slipped on a T-shirt and jeans and windbreaker, then stepped into my sneakers. It didn’t take a minute. Then Yumiyoshi led me by hand to the door, and parted it open a scant two or three centimeters.

  “Look,” she said. I peeked through the opening. The hallway was pitch black. I couldn’t see a thing. The darkness was thick, gelatinous, chill. It seemed so deep that if you stuck out a hand, you’d get sucked in. And then there was that familiar smell of mold, like old paper. A smell that had been brewed in the pit of time.

  “It’s that darkness again,” she said.

  I put my arm around her waist and drew her close. “It’s nothing to be afraid of,” I said. “Don’t be scared. Nothing bad is going to happen. This is my world. The first time you ever talked to me was because of this darkness. That’s how we got to know each other. Really, it’s all right.”

  And yet I wasn’t so sure. In fact, I was terrified out of my skin. Thoroughly unhinged, despite my own calm talk. The fear was palpable, fundamental; it was universal, historical, genetic. For darkness terrifies. It swallows you, warps you, nullifies you. Who alive can possibly profess confidence in darkness? In the dark, you can’t see. Things can twist, turn, vanish. The essence of darkness—nothingness—covers all.

  “It’s okay,” I was now trying to convince myself. “Nothing to be afraid of.”

  “So what do we do?” asked Yumiyoshi.

  I went and quickly got the penlight and Bic lighter I’d brought just in case this very thing happened.

  “We have to go through it together,” I said. “I returned to this hotel to see two people. You were one. The other is a guy standing somewhere out there in the dark. He’s waiting for me.”

  “The person who was in that room?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m scared. I’m really scared,” said Yumiyoshi, trembling. Who could blame her?

  I kissed her on her brow. “Don’t be afraid. I’m with you. Give me your hand. If we don’t let go, we’ll be safe. No matter what happens, we mustn’t let go. You understand? We have to stay together.” Then we stepped into the corridor.

  “Which way do we go?” she asked nervously.

  “To the right,” I said. “Always to the right.”

  We shined
the light at our feet and walked, slowly, deliberately. As before, the corridor was no longer in the new Dolphin Hotel. The red carpet was worn, the floor sagging, the plaster walls stained with liver spots. It was like the old Dolphin Hotel, though it was not the old Dolphin Hotel. A little ways on, as before, the corridor turned right. We turned, but now something was different. There was no light ahead, no door leaking candlelight. I switched off my penlight to be certain. No light at all, none.

  Yumiyoshi held my hand tightly.

  “Where’s that door?” I said, my voice sounding dry and dead, hardly my voice at all. “Before when I—”

  “Me too. I saw a door somewhere.”

  We stood there at the turn in the corridor. What happened to the Sheep Man? Was he asleep? Wouldn’t he have left the light on? As a beacon? Wasn’t that the whole reason he was here? What the hell’s going on?

  “Let’s go back,” Yumiyoshi said. “I don’t like the darkness. We can try again another time. I don’t want to press our luck.”

  She had a point. I didn’t like the darkness either, and I had the foreboding feeling that something had gone awry. Yet I refused to give up.

  “Let’s keep going,” I said. “The guy might need us. That’s why we’re still tied to this world.” I switched the penlight back on. A narrow beam of yellow light pierced the darkness. “Hold on to my hand now. I need to know we’re together. But there’s nothing to be afraid of. We’re staying, we’re not going away. We’ll get back safe and sound.”

  Step by step, even more slowly and deliberately, we went forward. The faint scent of Yumiyoshi’s hair drifted through the darkness, sweetly pricking my senses. Her hand was small and warm and solid.

  And then we saw it. The door to the Sheep Man’s room had been left slightly ajar, and through the opening we could feel the old chill, smell the dank odor. I knocked. As before, the knock sounded unnaturally loud. Three times I knocked. Then we waited. Twenty seconds, thirty seconds. No response. Where is he? What’s going on? Don’t tell me he died! True, the guy was not looking well the last time we met. He couldn’t live forever. He too had to grow old and die. But if he died, who would keep me connected to this world?

  I pushed the door open and pulled Yumiyoshi with me into the room. I shined my penlight around. The room had not changed. Old books and papers piled everywhere, a tiny table, and on it the plate used as a candle stand, with a five-centimeter stub of wax on it. I used my Bic to light it.

  The Sheep Man was not here.

  Had he stepped out for a second?

  “Who was this guy?” asked Yumiyoshi.

  “The Sheep Man,” I said. “He takes care of this world here. He sees that things are tied together, makes sure connections are made. He said he was kind of like a switchboard. He’s ages old, and he wears a sheepskin. This is where he’s been living. In hiding.”

  “In hiding from what?”

  “From war, civilization, the law, the system, … things that aren’t Sheep Man-like.”

  “But he’s not here. He’s gone.”

  I nodded. And as I did a huge shadow bowed across the wall. “Yes, he’s gone. Even though he’s supposed to be here.”

  We were at the edge of the world. That is, what the ancients considered the edge of the world, where everything spilled over into nothingness. We were there, the two of us, alone. And all around us, a cold, vast void. We held each other’s hand more tightly.

  “Maybe he’s dead,” I said.

  “How can you say a thing like that in the dark? Think more positively,” said Yumiyoshi. “He could be off shopping, right? He probably ran out of candles.”

  “Or else he’s gone to collect his tax refund.” Even in the candlelit gloom I could see Yumiyoshi smile. We hugged each other. “You know,” I said, “on our days off, let’s drive to lots of places.”

  “Sure,” she said.

  “I’ll ship my Subaru up. It’s an old car, but it’s a good car. It runs just fine. I like it better than a Maserati. I really do.”

  “Of course,” she said. “Let’s go everywhere and see lots of things together.”

  We embraced a little longer. Then Yumiyoshi stooped to pick up a pamphlet from the pile of papers that was lying at her feet. Studies in the Varietal Breeding of Yorkshire Sheep. It was browned with age, covered with dust.

  “Everything in this room has to do with sheep,” I explained. “In the old Dolphin Hotel, a whole floor was devoted to sheep research. There was this Sheep Professor, who was the father of the hotel manager. And I guess the Sheep Man inherited all this stuff. It’s not good for anything anymore. Nobody’s ever going to read this stuff. Still, the Sheep Man looks after it.”

  Yumiyoshi took the penlight from me and leafed through the pamphlet. I was casually observing my own shadow, wondering where the Sheep Man was, when I was suddenly struck by a horrifying realization: I’d let go of Yumiyoshi’s hand!

  My heart leapt into my throat. I was not ever to let go of her hand. I was fevered and swimming in sweat. I rushed to grab Yumiyoshi by the wrist. If we don’t let go, we’ll be safe. But it was already too late. At the very moment I extended my hand, her body was absorbed into the wall. Just like Kiki had passed through the wall of the death chamber. Just like quicksand. She was gone, she had disappeared, together with the glow of the penlight.

  “Yumiyoshi!” I yelled.

  No one answered. Silence and cold reigned, the darkness deepened.

  “Yumiyoshi!” I yelled again.

  “Hey, it’s simple,” came Yumiyoshi’s voice from beyond the wall. “Really simple. You can pass right through the wall.”

  “No!” I screamed. “Don’t be tricked. You think it’s simple, but you’ll never get back. It’s different over there. That’s the otherworld. It’s not like here.”

  No answer came from her. Silence filled the room, pressing down as if I were on the ocean floor.

  I was overwhelmed by my helplessness, despairing. Yumiyoshi was gone. After all this, I would never be able to reach her again. She was gone.

  There was no time to think. What was there to do? I loved her, I couldn’t lose her. I followed her into the wall. I found myself passing through a transparent pocket of air.

  It was cool as water. Time wavered, sequentiality twisted, gravity lost its force. Memories, old memories, like vapor, wafted up. The degeneration of my flesh accelerated. I passed through the huge, complex knot of my own DNA. The earth expanded, then chilled and contracted. Sheep were submerged in the cave. The sea was one enormous idea, rain falling silently over its vastness. Faceless people stood on the beachhead gazing out to the deep. An endless spool of time unraveled across the sky. A void enveloped the phantom figures and was encompassed by a yet greater void. Flesh melted to the bone and blew away like dust. Extremely, irrevocably dead, said someone. Cuck-koo. My body decomposed, blew apart—and was whole again.

  I emerged through this layer of chaos, naked, in bed. It was dark, but not the lacquer-black darkness I feared. Still, I could not see. I reached out my hand. No one was beside me. I was alone, abandoned, at the edge of the world.

  “Yumiyoshi!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. But no sound emerged, except for a dry rasping in my throat. I screamed again. And then I heard a tiny click.

  The light had been switched on. Yumiyoshi smiled as she sat on the sofa in her blouse and skirt and shoes. Her light blue blazer was draped over the back of the chair. My hands were clutching the sheets. I slowly relaxed my fingers, feeling the tension drain from my body. I wiped the sweat from my face. I was back on this side. The light filling the room was real light.

  “Yumiyoshi,” I said hoarsely.

  “Yes?”

  “Are you really there?”

  “Of course, I’m here.”

  “You didn’t disappear?”

  “No. People don’t disappear so easily.”

  “It was a dream then.”

  “I know. I was here all the time, watching you. You were sleeping
and dreaming and calling my name. I watched you in the dark. I could see you, you know.”

  I looked at the clock. A little before four, a little before dawn. The hour when thoughts are deepest. I was cold, my body was stiff. Then it was a dream? The Sheep Man gone, Yumiyoshi disappearing, the pain and despair. But I could remember the touch of Yumiyoshi’s hand. The touch was still there within me. More real than this reality.

  “Yumiyoshi?”

  “Yes?”

  “Why are you dressed?”

  “I wanted to watch you with my clothes on,” she said.

  “Mind getting undressed again?” I asked. It was one way to be sure.

  “Not at all,” she said, removing her clothes and easing under the covers. She was warm and smooth, with the weight of someone real.

  “I told you people don’t just disappear,” she said.

  Oh really? I thought as I embraced her. No, anything can happen. This world is more fragile, more tenuous than we could ever know.

  Who was skeleton number six then? The Sheep Man? Someone else? Myself? Waiting in that room so dim and distant. Far off, I heard the sound of the old Dolphin Hotel, like a train in the night. The cr-cr-crr-creaking of the elevator, going up, up, stopping. Someone walking the halls, someone opening a door, someone closing a door. It was the old Dolphin. I could tell. Because I was part of it. And someone was crying for me. Crying for me because I couldn’t cry.

  I kissed Yumiyoshi on her eyelids.

  She snuggled into the crook of my arm and fell asleep. But I couldn’t sleep. It was impossible for my body to sleep. I was as wide awake as a dry well. I held Yumiyoshi tightly, and I cried. I cried inside. I cried for all that I’d lost and all that I’d lose. Yumiyoshi was soft as the ticking of time, her breath leaving a warm, damp spot on my arm. Reality.

  Eventually dawn crept up on us. I watched the second hand on the alarm clock going around in real time. Little by little by little, onward.

  I knew I would stay.

  Seven o’clock came, and summer morning light eased through the window, casting a skewed rectangle on the floor.

  “Yumiyoshi,” I whispered. “It’s morning.”