Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World by Haruki Murakami Read Free Book Online Page A

lamplight. I rap upon this door, but there is no answer. I place my hand on the tarnished brass knob and turn it, whereupon the door opens inward. There is not a soul in the room.
    A great empty space, a larger version of a waiting room in a train station, exceedingly spare, without a single window, without particular ornament. There is a plain table and three chairs, a coal-burning iron stove, and little else besides an upright clock and a counter. On the stove sits a steaming, chipped black enamel pot. Behind the counter is another frosted glass door, with lamplight beyond. I wonder whether to knock, but decide to wait for someone to appear.
    The counter is scattered with paperclips. I pick up a handful, then take a seat at the table.
    I do not know how long it is before the Librarian appears through the door behind the counter. She carries a binder with various papers. When she sees me, her cheeks flush red with surprise.
    "I am sorry," she says to me. "I did not know you were here. You could have knocked. I was in the back room, in the stacks. Everything is in such disorder."
    I look at her and say nothing. Her face comes almost as a reminiscence. What about her touches me? I can feel some deep layer of my consciousness lifting toward the surface.
    What can it mean? The secret lies in distant darkness.
    "As you can see, no one visits here. No one except the Dreamreader."
    I nod slightly, but do not take my eyes off her face. Her eyes, her lips, her broad forehead and black hair tied behind her head. The more closely I look, as if to read something, the further away retreats any overall impression. Lost, I close my eyes.
    "Excuse me, but perhaps you have mistaken this for another building? The buildings here are very similar," she says, setting her binder down by the paperclips. "Only the Dreamreader may come here and read old dreams. This is forbidden to anyone else."
    "I am here to read dreams," I say, "as the Town tells me to."
    "Forgive me, but would you please remove your glasses?"
    I take off my black glasses and face the woman, who peers into the two pale, discolored pupils that are the sign of the Dreamreader. I feel as if she is seeing into the core of my being.
    "Good. You may put your glasses on." She sits across the table from me.
    "Today I am not prepared. Shall we begin tomorrow?" she says. "Is this room comfortable for you? I can unlock any of the other reading rooms if you wish."
    "Here is fine," I tell her. "Will you be helping me?" "Yes, it is my job to watch over the old dreams and to help the Dreamreader."
    "Have I met you somewhere before?" She stares at me and searches her memory, but in the end shakes her head. "As you may know, in this Town, memory is unreliable and uncertain. There are things we can remember and things we cannot remember. You seem to be among the things I cannot. Please forgive me."
    "Of course," I say. "It was not important." "Perhaps we have met before. This is a small town." "I arrived only a few days ago."
    "How many days ago?" she asks, surprised. "Then you must be thinking of someone else.
    I have never been out of this Town. Might it have been someone who looks like me?" "I suppose," I say. "Still, I have the impression that elsewhere we may all have lived totally other lives, and that somehow we have forgotten that time. Have you ever felt that way?"
    "No," she says. "Perhaps it is because you are a Dreamreader. The Dreamreader thinks very differently from ordinary people."
    I cannot believe her.
    "Or do you know where this was?"
    "I wish I could remember," I say. "There was a place, and you were there."
    The Library has high ceilings, the room is quiet as the ocean floor. I look around vacantly, paperclips in hand. She remains seated.
    "I have no idea why I am here either," I say.
    I gaze at the ceiling. Particles of yellow light seem to swell and contract as they fall. Is it because of my scarred pupils that I can see extraordinary things? The upright clock against the