Sputnik Sweetheart by Haruki Murakami Page A

transporting cars, and two medium-size trucks full of food and sundries and an old Peugeot sedan were already aboard, waiting for the ship to pull out of port. I bought a ticket and got on, and I’d barely taken a seat on a deck chair when the line to the dock was untied and the engines roared to life. I sighed and looked up at the sky. All I could do now was wait for the ship to take me where I was going.
    I took off my sweaty, dusty cotton jacket, folded it, and stuffed it in my bag. It was 5:00 p.m., but the sun was still in the middle of the sky, its brightness overwhelming. The breeze blowing from the bow under the canvas awning wafted over me, and ever so slowly I began to feel calmer. The gloomy emotions that had swept through me in the lounge at the Narita airport had disappeared. Though there was still a bitter aftertaste.
    T here were only a few tourists on board, which clued me in that the island I was heading for was not such a popular vacation spot. The vast majority of passengers were locals, mainly old people who’d taken care of business on Rhodes and were heading home. Their purchases lay carefully at their feet, like fragile animals. The old people’s faces were all deeply etched with wrinkles, and deadpan, as if the overpowering sun and a lifetime of hard work had robbed them of any expression.
    There were also a few young soldiers on board. And two hippie travelers, heavy-looking backpacks in hand, sitting on the deck. Both with skinny legs and grim looks.
    There was a teenage Greek girl, too, in a long skirt. She was lovely, with deep, dark eyes. Her long hair blew in the breeze as she chatted with a girlfriend. A gentle smile played around the corners of her mouth, as if something wonderful was about to occur. Her gold earrings glinted brightly in the sun. The young soldiers leaned against the deck railing, smoking, cool looks on their faces, throwing a quick glance in the girl’s direction from time to time.
    I sipped a lemon soda I’d bought in the ship’s store and gazed at the deep blue sea and the tiny islands floating by. Most were less islands than crags in the sea, completely deserted. White seabirds rested on the tips of the crags, scanning the sea for fish. The birds ignored our ship. Waves broke at the foot of the cliffs, creating a dazzling white border. Occasionally I spotted an inhabited island. Tough-looking trees grew all over, and white-walled houses dotted the slopes. Brightly colored boats bobbed in the inlet, their tall masts inscribing arcs as they rolled with the waves.
    A wrinkled old man sitting next to me offered me a cigarette. Thank you, I smiled, waving my hand, but I don’t smoke. He proffered a stick of spearmint gum instead. I took it, gratefully, and continued to gaze out at the sea as I chewed.
    It was after seven when the ferry reached the island. The blazing sun had passed its zenith, but the sky was as bright as before, the summer light actually increasing in brilliance. As if on some huge nameplate, the name of the island was written in gigantic letters on the white walls of a building in the harbor. The ship sidled up to the wharf, and one by one the passengers walked down the gangplank, baggage in hand. An open-air café faced the harbor, and people who’d come to meet the ship waited there until they recognized the people they were looking for.
    As soon as I disembarked I looked around for Miu. But there was no one around who might be her. Several owners of inns came up, asking me if I was looking for a place to stay for the night. “No, I’m not,” I said each time, shaking my head. Even so, each one handed me a card before leaving.
    The people who’d gotten off the ship with me scattered in all directions. Shoppers trudged home, travelers went off to hotels and inns. As soon as the people who’d come to greet their returning friends spotted them, they hugged each other tightly or shook hands, and off they went. The two trucks and the Peugeot, too,