5



A Place You Can Figure Out
If You Think About It Really, Really Hard
(May Kasahara's Point of View: 1)

*


Hi, Mr. Wind-Up Bird.
I'll bet you think I'm in a classroom somewhere, studying with a textbook open in front of
me, like any ordinary high school kid. Sure, last time we met I told you myself that I was
going to go to "another school," so it would be natural for you to think so. And in fact, I did
go to another school, a private boarding school for girls, far, far away, a fancy one, with big,
clean rooms like hotel rooms, and a cafeteria where you could choose whatever you wanted
to eat, and big, shiny new tennis courts and a swimming pool, so'naturally it was pretty
expensive, a place for rich girls. Problem rich girls. You can imagine what it was like-an
honest-to-goodness refined-country-school kind of thing in the mountains. It was surrounded
by a high wall topped with barbed wire, and it had this huge iron gate that Godzilla himself
couldn't have kicked in and round-the-clock guards clunking around like robots-not so much
to keep people on the outside from getting in as to keep people on the inside from getting out.
So now you're going to ask me, "Why go to such an awful place if you know it's so
awful?" You're right, but I had no choice. The main thing I wanted was to get out of the
house, but after all the problems I had caused, that was the only school "charitable" enough
to accept me as a transfer student. So I made up my mind to stick it out. But it really was
awful! People use the word "nightmarish," but it was worse than that. I really did have
nightmares in that place- all the time- and I'd wake up soaked in sweat, but even then I'd
wish I could have kept dreaming, because my nightmares were way better than reality in that
place. I wonder if you know what that's like, Mr. Wind-Up Bird. I wonder if you've ever been
in the pits like that.



So finally, I stayed in this high-class hotel/jail/country school for only one semester. When
I got home for spring vacation, I announced to my parents that if I had to go back there, I was
going to kill myself. I'd stuff three tampons down my throat and drink tons of water; I'd slash
my wrists; I'd dive headfirst off the school roof. And I meant what I said. I wasn't kidding.
Both my parents put together have the imagination of a tree frog, but they knew- from
experience- that when I got going like that, it wasn't an empty threat.
So anyhow, I never went back to the place. From March into April, I shut myself up in the
house, reading, watching TV, and just plain vegging out. And a hundred times a day, I'd
think, I want to see Mr. Wind-Up Bird. I wanted to slip down the alley, jump the fence, and
have a nice long talk with you. But it wasn't that easy. It would've been a replay of the
summer. So I just watched the alley from my room and wondered to myself, What's Mr. Wind-
Up Bird up to now? Spring is slowly, quietly taking over the whole world, and Mr. Wind-Up
Bird is in it too, but what's happening in his life? Has Kumiko come home to him? What's
going on with those strange women Malta Kano and Creta Kano? Has Noboru Wataya the
cat come back? Has the mark disappeared from Mr. Wind-Up Bird's cheek ... ?
After a month of living like that, I couldn't take it anymore. I don't know how or when it
happened, but for me that neighborhood is nothing now but "Mr. Wind-Up Bird's world,"
and when I'm in it, I'm nothing but "the me contained in Mr. Wind-Up Bird's world." And
it's not just a sort-of-kind-of thing. It's not your fault, of course, but still... So I had to find my
own place.
I thought about it and thought and thought, and finally it hit me where I had to go.

(Hint) It's a place you can figure out if you think about it really, really hard. You'll be
able to imagine where I am if you make the effort. It's not a school, it's not a hotel, it's not a
hospital, it's not a jail, it's not a house. It's a kind of special place way far away. It's... a
secret. For now, at least.

I'm in the mountains again, in another place surrounded by a wall (but not such a huge
wall), and there's a gate and a nice old man who guards the gate, but you can go in and out
anytime you like. It's a huge piece of land, with its own little woods and a pond, and if you go
for a walk when the sun comes up you see lots
of animals: lions and zebras and-no, I'm kidding, but you can see cute little animals like
badgers and pheasants. There's a dormitory, and that's where I live.
I'm writing this letter in a tiny room at a tiny desk near a tiny bed next to a tiny bookcase
beside a tiny closet, none of which have the slightest decorative touch, and all of which are
designed to meet the minimum functional requirements. On the desk is a fluorescent lamp, a
teacup, the stationery for writing this letter, and a dictionary. To be honest, I almost never use
the dictionary. I just don't like dictionaries. I don't like the way they look, and I don't like
what they say inside. Whenever I use a dictionary, I make a face and think, Who needs to
know that? People like me don't get along well with dictionaries. Say I look up "transition"
and it says: "passage from one state to another." I think, So what? It's got nothing to do with
me. So when I see a dictionary on my desk I feel like I'm looking at some strange dog leaving
a twisty piece of poop on our lawn out back. But anyway, I bought a dictionary because I
figured I might have to look something up while I was writing to you, Mr. Wind-Up Bird.
Also I've got a dozen pencils, all sharpened and laid out in a row. They're brand-new. I
just bought them at the stationery store-especially for writing to you (not that I'm trying to
make you feel grateful or anything: just-sharpened, brand-new pencils are really nice, don't
you think?). Also I've got an ashtray and cigarettes and matches. I don't smoke as much as I
used to, just once in a while for a mood change (like right now, for instance). So that's
everything on my desk. The desk faces a window, and the window has curtains. The curtains
have a sweet little flower design-not that I picked them out or anything: they came with the


window. That flower design is the only thing here that doesn't look absolutely plain and
simple. This is a perfect room for a teenage girl-or maybe not. No, it's more like a model jail
cell designed with good intentions for first offenders. My boom box is on the shelf (the big
one-remember, Mr. Wind-Up Bird?), and I've got Bruce Springsteen on now. It's Sunday
afternoon and everybody's out having fun, so there's nobody to complain if I turn it up loud.
The only thing I do for fun these days is go to the nearby town on weekends and buy the
cassette tapes I want at a record store. (I almost never buy books. If there's something I want
to read, I can get it at our little library.) I'm pretty friendly with the girl next door. She bought
a used car, so when I want to go to town, I go with her. And guess what? I've been learning to
drive it. There's so much open space here, I can practice all I want. I don't have a license yet,
but I'm a pretty good driver.
To tell you the truth, though, aside from buying music tapes, going to town is not all that
much fun. Everybody says they have to get out once a week or they'll go nuts, but I get my
relief by staying here when everybody's gone and listening to my favorite music like this. I
once went on a kind of double date with my friend with the car. Just to give it a try. She's
from around here, so she knows a lot of people. My date was a nice enough guy, a college
student, but I don't know, I still can't really get a clear sense of all kinds of things. It's as if
they're out there, far away, lined up like dolls in a shooting gallery, and all these transparent
curtains are hanging down between me and the dolls.
To tell you the truth, when I was seeing you that summer, Mr. Wind-Up Bird, like, when
we were sitting at the kitchen table talking and drinking beer and things, I would think, What
would I do if Mr. Wind-Up Bird all of a sudden pushed me down and tried to rape me? I
didn't know what I would do. Of course, I would have resisted and said, "No, Mr. Wind-Up
Bird, you shouldn't do this!" But I also would have been thinking I had to explain why it was
wrong and why you shouldn't be doing it, and the more I thought, the more mixed up I would
get, and by that time you probably would have finished raping me. My heart would pound like
crazy when I thought about this, and I would think the whole thing was kind of unfair. I'll bet
you never had any idea I had thoughts like this going on in my head. Do you think this is
stupid? You probably do. I mean, it is stupid. But at the time, I was absolutely, tremendously
serious about these things. Which, I think, is why I pulled the rope ladder out of the well and
put the cover on with you down inside there that time, kind of like sealing you off. That way,
there would be no more Mr. Wind-Up Bird around, and I wouldn't have to be bothered by
those thoughts for a while.
I'm sorry, though. I know I should never have done that to you (or to anybody). But I
can't help myself sometimes. I know exactly what I'm doing, but I just can't stop. That's my
greatest weakness.
I don't believe that you would ever rape me, Mr. Wind-Up Bird. I know that now,
somehow. It's not that you would never, ever do it (I mean, nobody knows for sure what's
going to happen), but maybe that you would at least not do it to confuse me. I don't know how
to put it exactly, but I just sort of feel that way.
All right, enough of this rape stuff.
Anyhow, even though I might go out on a date with a boy, emotionally I just wouldn't be
able to concentrate. I'd be smiling and chatting away, and my mind would be floating around
somewhere else, like a balloon with a broken string. I'd be thinking about one unrelated thing
after another. I don't know, I guess finally I want to be alone a little while longer. And I want
to let my thoughts wander freely. In that sense, I guess, I'm probably still "on the road to
recovery."
I'll write again soon. Next time, I'll probably be able to go a little further into all kinds of
things.

P.S. Before the next letter comes, try to guess where I am and what I'm doing.