Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World by Haruki Murakami
Authors: Haruki Murakami
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just to escape inquisitive eyes?
He was one strange individual.
As a commercial product, his sound-alteration technolo-gies would have all sorts of applications. Imagine, concert hall PA equipment obsolete—no more massive amps and speakers. Then, there was noise reduction. A sound-removal device would be ideal for people living near airports. Of course, sound-alteration would be ripe for military or criminal abuse. I could see it now: silent bombers and noiseless guns, bombs that explode at brain-crushing volumes, a whole slew of toys for destruction, ushering in a whole new generation of refinements in mass slaughter. The old man had obviously seen this too, giving him greater reason to hide his research from the world. More and more, I was coming to respect the old guy.
I was into the fifth or sixth time around in the work cycle when the old man returned, toting a large basket.
"Brought you fresh coffee and sandwiches," he said. "Cucumber, ham, and cheese. Hope that's all right." "Thanks. Couldn't ask for more," I said. "Want't'eat right away?" "No, after the next tab-cycle."
By the time the alarm went off, I'd finished laundering five of the seven pages of numeric data lists. One more push. I took a break, yawned, and turned my attention to food.
There were enough sandwiches for a small crowd. I devoured more than half of them myself. Long-haul tabulations work up a mean appetite. Cucumber, ham, cheese, I tossed them down in order, washing the lot down with coffee. For every three I ate, the old man nibbled at one, looking like a terribly well-mannered cricket.
"Have as many as you like," said the old man. "When you get't'my age, your eatin' declines. Can't eat as much, can't work as much. But a young person ought't'eat plenty.
Eat plenty and fatten up plenty. People nowadays hate't'get fat, but if you ask me, they're looking at fat all wrong. They say it makes you unhealthy or ugly, but it'd never happen 'tall if you fatten up the right way. You live a fuller life, have more sex drive, sharpen your wits. I was good and fat when I was young. Wouldn't believe it't'look at me now. Ho-ho-ho."
The old man could hardly contain his laughter. "How 'bout it? Terrific sandwiches, eh?"
"Yes, indeed. Very tasty," I said. The sandwiches really were very tasty. And I'm as demanding a critic of sandwiches as I am of sofas.
"My granddaughter made them. She's the one deserves your compliments," the old man said. "The child knows the finer points of making a sandwich."
"She's definitely got it down. Chefs can't make sandwiches this good."
"The child'd be overjoyed to hear that, I'm sure. We don't get many visitors, so there's hardly any chance't'make a meal for someone. Whenever the child cooks, it's just me and her eatin'."
"You two live alone?"
"Yessiree. Just us two loners, but I don't think it's so healthy for her. She's bright, strong as can be, but doesn't even try't'mix with the world outside. That's no good for a young person. Got't'let your sex drive out in some constructive way. Tell me now, the child's got womanly charms, hasn't she?"
"Well, er, yes, on that account," I stammered.
"Sex drive's decent energy. Y' can't argue about that. Keep sex drive all bottled up inside and you get dull-witted. Throws your whole body out of whack. Holds the same for men and for women. But with a woman, her monthly cycle can get irregular, and when her cycle goes off, it can make her unbalanced."
"Uh, yes."
"That child ought't'have herself relations with the right type of man at the earliest opportunity. I can say that with complete conviction, both as her guardian and as a biologist,"said the old man, salting his cucumbers.
"Did you manage with her to… uh… did you get her sound back in?" I asked. I didn't especially feel like hearing about people's sex drive, not while I was still in the middle of a job.
"Oh yes, I forgot't'tell you," said the old man. "I got her sound back't'normal, no trouble. Sure glad you
He was one strange individual.
As a commercial product, his sound-alteration technolo-gies would have all sorts of applications. Imagine, concert hall PA equipment obsolete—no more massive amps and speakers. Then, there was noise reduction. A sound-removal device would be ideal for people living near airports. Of course, sound-alteration would be ripe for military or criminal abuse. I could see it now: silent bombers and noiseless guns, bombs that explode at brain-crushing volumes, a whole slew of toys for destruction, ushering in a whole new generation of refinements in mass slaughter. The old man had obviously seen this too, giving him greater reason to hide his research from the world. More and more, I was coming to respect the old guy.
I was into the fifth or sixth time around in the work cycle when the old man returned, toting a large basket.
"Brought you fresh coffee and sandwiches," he said. "Cucumber, ham, and cheese. Hope that's all right." "Thanks. Couldn't ask for more," I said. "Want't'eat right away?" "No, after the next tab-cycle."
By the time the alarm went off, I'd finished laundering five of the seven pages of numeric data lists. One more push. I took a break, yawned, and turned my attention to food.
There were enough sandwiches for a small crowd. I devoured more than half of them myself. Long-haul tabulations work up a mean appetite. Cucumber, ham, cheese, I tossed them down in order, washing the lot down with coffee. For every three I ate, the old man nibbled at one, looking like a terribly well-mannered cricket.
"Have as many as you like," said the old man. "When you get't'my age, your eatin' declines. Can't eat as much, can't work as much. But a young person ought't'eat plenty.
Eat plenty and fatten up plenty. People nowadays hate't'get fat, but if you ask me, they're looking at fat all wrong. They say it makes you unhealthy or ugly, but it'd never happen 'tall if you fatten up the right way. You live a fuller life, have more sex drive, sharpen your wits. I was good and fat when I was young. Wouldn't believe it't'look at me now. Ho-ho-ho."
The old man could hardly contain his laughter. "How 'bout it? Terrific sandwiches, eh?"
"Yes, indeed. Very tasty," I said. The sandwiches really were very tasty. And I'm as demanding a critic of sandwiches as I am of sofas.
"My granddaughter made them. She's the one deserves your compliments," the old man said. "The child knows the finer points of making a sandwich."
"She's definitely got it down. Chefs can't make sandwiches this good."
"The child'd be overjoyed to hear that, I'm sure. We don't get many visitors, so there's hardly any chance't'make a meal for someone. Whenever the child cooks, it's just me and her eatin'."
"You two live alone?"
"Yessiree. Just us two loners, but I don't think it's so healthy for her. She's bright, strong as can be, but doesn't even try't'mix with the world outside. That's no good for a young person. Got't'let your sex drive out in some constructive way. Tell me now, the child's got womanly charms, hasn't she?"
"Well, er, yes, on that account," I stammered.
"Sex drive's decent energy. Y' can't argue about that. Keep sex drive all bottled up inside and you get dull-witted. Throws your whole body out of whack. Holds the same for men and for women. But with a woman, her monthly cycle can get irregular, and when her cycle goes off, it can make her unbalanced."
"Uh, yes."
"That child ought't'have herself relations with the right type of man at the earliest opportunity. I can say that with complete conviction, both as her guardian and as a biologist,"said the old man, salting his cucumbers.
"Did you manage with her to… uh… did you get her sound back in?" I asked. I didn't especially feel like hearing about people's sex drive, not while I was still in the middle of a job.
"Oh yes, I forgot't'tell you," said the old man. "I got her sound back't'normal, no trouble. Sure glad you
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