Until about a month ago, I was occasionally submitting translations that I had done of various yet-to-be translated Murakami short stories. Most of those were very, very short, and I thought maybe I should try something a little longer. I started paging through a book called "Lexington no Yuurei" (The Lexington Ghosts), and it seemed like the stories therein were in my range. Ive now finished two of them. The following is the first one, called Koori Otoko (The Ice Man). Its a weird little story, and I dont know quite what to make of it. Ill be curious to see what other people think. SInce its fairly long, Im going to divide it up into pieces, and serialize it over a couple of days. Enjoy!
P.S. As always, I would appreciate any criticism or advice, especially from the Japanese-literate.
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The Ice Man
I married the Ice Man.
I first met the Ice Man at this ski resort hotel. I guess thats the kind of place one ought to meet an Ice Man. In the boisterous hotel lobby, crowded with young people, the Ice Man was sitting in a chair at the furthest possible remove from the fireplace, silently reading a book. Though it was approaching high noon, it seemed to me that the cool, fresh light of the winter morning still lingered around him. Hey, thats the Ice Man,?my friend informed me in a low voice. But at that time, I had no idea what in the world an Ice Man was. My friend didnt really know, either. She just knew that he existed and was called the Ice Man. Shes sure hes made out of ice. Thats why hes called the Ice Man,?she said to me with a serious expression. It was like she was talking about a ghost or somebody with a contagious disease or something.
The Ice Man was tall, and from looking at him, his hair seemed bristly. When I saw his face, he looked fairly young still, but that thick, wiry hair was white, like it had been mixed with melted snow. He had high cheek-bones that appeared to have been chiseled out of cold, hard rock, and there was a slight coating of unmelted white frost on his fingers, but other than that the Ice Mans appearance wasnt much different from a normal person. While he probably couldnt have been called handsome, there was undeniably something charming in his bearing. There are some people that just jab you sharply in the heart. It was especially this way with him, so he really stood out. He had a shy, transparent look, like an icicle on a winter morning. There was something in the way his body was put together that made his whole being seem to sparkle. I stood there for a moment and gazed at the Ice Man from afar. But the Ice Man didnt lift his face from his book even once. Without moving so much as a muscle, he continued reading. It was as if he was trying to persuade himself that there wasnt anybody at all around him.
The next day, the Ice Man was in the same place, reading a book exactly the same way. When I went to the cafeteria to get lunch, and again when I came back in the evening from skiing with everybody else, he was sitting in the same chair as the day before, pouring over the top of a page of the same book with the same expression on his face. And the next day was the same. The day passed, the night grew late, and he sat there as quietly as the winter outside the window, reading his book alone.
On the afternoon of the fourth day, I fashioned an appropriate excuse and didnt go out to the slopes. Staying behind alone in the hotel, I wandered around the lobby for a while. Since everyone had gone out for an afternoon skiing, the lobby was deserted like a ghost town. The air in the lobby was unnecessarily warm and moist, and there was a strange, dank smell mixed in with it. It was the smell of people tracking snow into the hotel on the bottom of their boots and then carelessly sitting by the fireplace, where it slowly melted off. I stared vacantly out the various windows, and flipped through the newspaper. Then, bravely walking up to the Ice Man, I boldly started a conversation. Im normally a very shy person, and not at all in the habit of talking to total strangers. But at that time, I really wanted to talk to the Ice Man, no matter what. It was our last night in that hotel, and I thought that if I let it slip away, I might never have another chance to talk to an Ice Man.
Dont you ski? I asked the Ice Man, trying to sound as casual as possible. He slowly raised his head. He had an expression on his face like he could a hear the sound of wind blowing from incredibly far away. He looked at my face with eyes like that. He silently shook his head. I dont ski. Im fine just reading a book and watching the snow fall, he said. His words made little white clouds in the air, like when you breathe on a TV screen. I could literally see his words with my own eyes. He gently brushed off the frost that had accumulated on his fingers.
I didnt know what to say after that. I just stood there blushing. The Ice Man looked in my eyes. Then he seemed to smile a little. But I wasnt really sure. Did he really smile? Or was it just a feeling? Wont you sit down? the Ice Man said. Lets have a little conversation. Youre curious about me, right? You want to know what an Ice Man is, right? Then he really did laugh a little. Its OK. Theres nothing to worry about. You wont catch a cold or anything talking to me.
This is how I came to talk to the Ice Man. Sitting side-by-side on the sofa in the corner of the lobby, watching the snow flakes dance on the other side of the window, our conversation proceeded haltingly. I ordered some cocoa and drank it. The Ice Man didnt have anything. He was just as bad a conversationalist as me. In addition, we didnt really have anything in common to talk about. At first, we talked about the weather. Then, how cozy the hotel was. Did you come here alone? I asked the Ice Man. Yes, the Ice Man replied. The Ice Man asked me whether I liked to ski. Not really, I responded. My girlfriends invited me to go skiing with them for some reason, but Im not very good at it. I really wanted to know what kind of thing the Ice Man was: whether he was really made out of ice or not; what he ate; where he spent the summer; whether he had a family--that type of thing. But the Ice Man didnt seem to want to talk about himself. I didnt dare to broach the subject either. He probably just doesnt like to talk about stuff like that, I thought.
Instead, we talked about me as a human being. I really couldnt believe it, but, for whatever reason, the Ice Man knew all kinds of things about me: the make up of my family, my age, my hobbies, my health, the school I attended, the friends I hung out with--he knew it all from beginning to end. He knew things about me that had happened so long ago that I had forgotten about them.
I dont understand, I said, blushing. I had this feeling like I was naked in public. How do you know so much about me? I asked. Can you read peoples minds?
No, it is not possible for me to read peoples minds. But I know. I just know, he said. Its just like seeing something frozen in ice. So, when I looked at you, I could see all kinds of things about you clearly.
Can you see my future? I asked.
I cant see the future, the Ice Man said expressionlessly. And he shook his head slowly. Im not interested in the future at all. To speak more precisely, I have no concept of the future. Ice has no future. It just captures the past. It captures everything just as it was in life, fresh, and preserves it that way. Ice can preserve all kinds of things in this way. Totally freshly, totally clearly. Just as it is. Thats the purpose of ice, its true quality.
Good, I said. I laughed a little. Im relieved to hear it. I dont want to know anything about my future.
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