First Person Singular by Haruki Murakami (best books for 8th graders .TXT) 📗

an athlete who, for some reason, can’t exercise for a while and packs on a few extra pounds, just temporary fat. He had broad shoulders but a relatively long, thin neck. His hair was disheveled, sticking out all over the place, as if he’d just woken up. It looked stiff and coarse, and he seemed about two weeks overdue for a haircut. He had on a crew-neck navy-blue sweater, the neck loose, and gray sweats that were baggy around the knees. His look was the complete opposite of my girlfriend’s—she was always neat and clean and well groomed.

He squinted at me for a while, like some scruffy animal that had, after a long hibernation, crawled out into the sunlight.

“I’m guessing you are…Sayoko’s friend?” He said this before I got a word out. He cleared his throat. His voice was sleepy, but I could sense a spark of interest in it.

“That’s right,” I said, and introduced myself. “I was supposed to come here at eleven.”

“Sayoko’s not here right now,” he said.

“Not here,” I said, repeating his words.

“She’s out somewhere. She’s not at home.”

“But I was supposed to come and pick her up today at eleven.”

“Is that right?” her brother said. He glanced up at the wall beside him, as if checking a clock. But there was no clock there, just a white plaster wall. He reluctantly turned his gaze back to me. “That may be, but the fact is she’s not at home.”

I had no clue what I should do. And neither did her brother, apparently. He gave a leisurely yawn and scratched the back of his head. All his actions were slow and measured.

“Doesn’t seem like anybody’s at home now,” he said. “When I got up a while ago nobody was here. They must have all gone out, but I don’t know where.”

I didn’t say anything.

“My father’s probably out golfing. My sisters must have gone out to have some fun. But my mom being out, too, is a little odd. That doesn’t happen often.”

I refrained from speculating. This wasn’t my family.

“But if Sayoko promised she’d be here, I’m sure she’ll be back soon,” her brother said. “Why don’t you come inside and wait?”

“I don’t want to bother you. I’ll just hang out somewhere for a while and then come back,” I said.

“Nah, it’s no bother,” he said firmly. “Much more of a bother to have you ring the bell again and me have to come and open the front door. So come on in.”

I had no other choice, so I went inside, and he led me to the living room. The living room with the sofa on which she and I had made out in the summer. I sat down on it, and my girlfriend’s brother eased himself into an armchair facing me. And once again let out a long yawn.

“You’re Sayoko’s friend, right?” he asked again, as if making doubly sure.

“That’s right,” I said, giving the same reply.

“Not Yuko’s friend?”

I shook my head. Yuko was her taller kid sister.

“Is it interesting going out with Sayoko?” her brother asked, a look of curiosity in his eyes.

I had no clue how to respond, so I stayed silent. He sat there, waiting for my reply.

“It’s fun, yes,” I said, finally finding what I hoped were the right words.

“It’s fun, but it’s not interesting?”

“No, that’s not what I mean…” My words petered out.

“No matter,” her brother said. “Interesting or fun—no difference between the two, I suppose. Hey, have you had breakfast?”

“I have, yes.”

“I’m going to make some toast. Sure you don’t want any?”

“No, I’m fine,” I replied.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“How about coffee?”

“I’m fine.”

I could have done with some coffee, but I hesitated to get more involved with my girlfriend’s family, especially when she wasn’t at home.

He stood up without a word and left the room. Probably went to the kitchen to make breakfast. After a while, I heard the clatter of dishes and cups. I stayed there alone on the sofa, politely sitting up straight, my hands in my lap, waiting for her to come back from wherever she was. The clock now read 11:15.

I scanned my memory to see if we really had decided that I would come at eleven. But, no matter how much I thought it over, I was sure that I’d gotten the date and time correct. We’d talked on the phone the night before and had confirmed it then. She wasn’t the type to forget or blow off a promise. And it was odd, indeed, for her and her family to all go off on a Sunday morning and leave her older brother by himself.

Puzzled by it all, I sat there patiently. Time passed excruciatingly slowly. I’d hear the occasional sound from the kitchen—the faucet turning on, the clatter of a spoon mixing something, the sound of a cupboard opening and closing. This brother seemed the type who had to make a racket, whatever he did. But that was it, as far as sounds went. No wind blowing outside, no dogs barking. Like invisible mud, the silence steadily crept into my ears and plugged them up. I had to gulp a few times to unblock them.

Some music would have been nice. “Theme from A Summer Place,” “Edelweiss,” “Moon River”—anything. I wasn’t picky. Just some music. But I couldn’t very well turn on the stereo in somebody else’s house without permission. I looked around for something to read but didn’t spot any newspapers or magazines. I checked out what was inside my shoulder bag. I almost always had a paperback I was reading in my bag, but not that day. As luck would have it, that was the day I’d forgotten to bring a book.

The only book I had in my bag that day was a supplementary reader for our school textbook, Japanese Language and Literature. I reluctantly pulled it out and started flipping through the pages. I wasn’t what you’d call a reader, who goes through books systematically and attentively, but more the type who finds it hard to pass the