laughing matter, young lady,’ they said. They’re so damned seeerious. Did you know that? Everybody in the whole damned world is so damned serious.”
I took out my lemon drops, popped one in my mouth, and offered one to May Kasahara. She shook her head and took out a cigarette.
“Come to think of it, Mr. Wind-Up Bird,” she said, “you were unemployed. Are you still?”
“Sure am.”
“Are you serious about working?”
“Sure am.” No sooner had the words left my mouth than I began to wonder how true they were. “Actually, I’m not so sure,” I said. “I think I need time. Time to think. I’m not sure myself what I need. It’s hard to explain.”
Chewing on a nail, May Kasahara looked at me for a while. “Tell you what, Mr. Wind-Up Bird,” she said. “Why don’t you come to work with me one day? At the wig company. They don’t pay much, but the work’s easy, and you can set your own hours. What do you say? Don’t think about it too much, just do it. For a change of pace. It might help you figure out all kinds of things.”
She had a point there. “You’ve got a point there,” I said.
“Great!” she said. “Next time I go, I’ll come and get you. Now, where did you say your house is?”
“Hmm, that’s a tough one. Or maybe not. You just keep going and going down the alley, taking all the turns. On the left you’ll see a house with a red Honda Civic parked in back. It’s got one of those bumper stickers ‘Let There Be Peace for All the Peoples of the World.’ Ours is the next house, but there’s no gate opening on the alley. It’s just a cinder-block wall, and you have to climb over it. It’s about chin height on me.”
“Don’t worry. I can get over a wall that high, no problem.”
“Your leg doesn’t hurt anymore?”
She exhaled smoke with a little sighing kind of sound and said, “Don’t worry. It’s nothing. I limp when my parents are around because I don’twant to go to school. I’m faking. It just sort of turned into a habit. I do it even when nobody’s looking, when I’m in my room all by myself. I’m a perfectionist. What is it they say—‘Fool yourself to fool others’? But anyhow, Mr. Wind-Up Bird, tell me, have you got guts?”
“Not really, no.”
“Never had ’em?”
“No, I was never one for guts. Not likely to change, either.”
“How about curiosity?”
“Curiosity’s another matter. I’ve got some of that.”
“Well, don’t you think guts and curiosity are kind of similar?” said May Kasahara. “Where there’s guts there’s curiosity, and where there’s curiosity there’s guts. No?”
“Hmm, maybe they are kind of similar,” I said. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe they do overlap at times.”
“Times like when you sneak into somebody’s backyard, say.”
“Yeah, like that,” I said, rolling a lemon drop on my tongue. “When you sneak into somebody’s backyard, it does seem that guts and curiosity are working together. Curiosity can bring guts out of hiding at times, maybe even get them going. But curiosity usually evaporates. Guts have to go for the long haul. Curiosity’s like a fun friend you can’t really trust. It turns you on and then it leaves you to make it on your own—with whatever guts you can muster.”
She thought this over for a time. “I guess so,” she said. “I guess that’s one way to look at it.” She stood up and brushed off the dirt clinging to the seat of her short pants. Then she looked down at me. “Tell me, Mr. Wind-Up Bird, would you like to see the well?”
“The well?” I asked. The well?
“There’s a dried-up well here. I like it. Kind of. Want to see it?”
•
We cut through the yard and walked around to the side of the house. It was a round well, maybe four and a half feet in diameter. Thick planking, cut to shape and size, had been used to cap the well, and two concrete blocks had been set on the round wooden cap to keep it in place. The well curb stood perhaps
I took out my lemon drops, popped one in my mouth, and offered one to May Kasahara. She shook her head and took out a cigarette.
“Come to think of it, Mr. Wind-Up Bird,” she said, “you were unemployed. Are you still?”
“Sure am.”
“Are you serious about working?”
“Sure am.” No sooner had the words left my mouth than I began to wonder how true they were. “Actually, I’m not so sure,” I said. “I think I need time. Time to think. I’m not sure myself what I need. It’s hard to explain.”
Chewing on a nail, May Kasahara looked at me for a while. “Tell you what, Mr. Wind-Up Bird,” she said. “Why don’t you come to work with me one day? At the wig company. They don’t pay much, but the work’s easy, and you can set your own hours. What do you say? Don’t think about it too much, just do it. For a change of pace. It might help you figure out all kinds of things.”
She had a point there. “You’ve got a point there,” I said.
“Great!” she said. “Next time I go, I’ll come and get you. Now, where did you say your house is?”
“Hmm, that’s a tough one. Or maybe not. You just keep going and going down the alley, taking all the turns. On the left you’ll see a house with a red Honda Civic parked in back. It’s got one of those bumper stickers ‘Let There Be Peace for All the Peoples of the World.’ Ours is the next house, but there’s no gate opening on the alley. It’s just a cinder-block wall, and you have to climb over it. It’s about chin height on me.”
“Don’t worry. I can get over a wall that high, no problem.”
“Your leg doesn’t hurt anymore?”
She exhaled smoke with a little sighing kind of sound and said, “Don’t worry. It’s nothing. I limp when my parents are around because I don’twant to go to school. I’m faking. It just sort of turned into a habit. I do it even when nobody’s looking, when I’m in my room all by myself. I’m a perfectionist. What is it they say—‘Fool yourself to fool others’? But anyhow, Mr. Wind-Up Bird, tell me, have you got guts?”
“Not really, no.”
“Never had ’em?”
“No, I was never one for guts. Not likely to change, either.”
“How about curiosity?”
“Curiosity’s another matter. I’ve got some of that.”
“Well, don’t you think guts and curiosity are kind of similar?” said May Kasahara. “Where there’s guts there’s curiosity, and where there’s curiosity there’s guts. No?”
“Hmm, maybe they are kind of similar,” I said. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe they do overlap at times.”
“Times like when you sneak into somebody’s backyard, say.”
“Yeah, like that,” I said, rolling a lemon drop on my tongue. “When you sneak into somebody’s backyard, it does seem that guts and curiosity are working together. Curiosity can bring guts out of hiding at times, maybe even get them going. But curiosity usually evaporates. Guts have to go for the long haul. Curiosity’s like a fun friend you can’t really trust. It turns you on and then it leaves you to make it on your own—with whatever guts you can muster.”
She thought this over for a time. “I guess so,” she said. “I guess that’s one way to look at it.” She stood up and brushed off the dirt clinging to the seat of her short pants. Then she looked down at me. “Tell me, Mr. Wind-Up Bird, would you like to see the well?”
“The well?” I asked. The well?
“There’s a dried-up well here. I like it. Kind of. Want to see it?”
•
We cut through the yard and walked around to the side of the house. It was a round well, maybe four and a half feet in diameter. Thick planking, cut to shape and size, had been used to cap the well, and two concrete blocks had been set on the round wooden cap to keep it in place. The well curb stood perhaps
Similar Books
