The Border of Hakone

Chapter 1, p17

“One December day near Christmas, Shimamoto and I were sitting in her living room. On the sofa, as usual, listening to records. Her mother was out of the house on some errand, and we were alone. It was a cloudy, dark winter afternoon. The sun’s rays, streaked with fine dust, barely shone through the heavy layer of clouds. Everything looked dim and motionless. It was nearing dusk, and the room was as dark as night A kerosene space heater bathed the room in a faint red glow. Nat King Cole was singing “Pretend.” Of course, we had no idea then what the English lyrics meant. To us they were more like a chant. But I loved the song and had heard it so many times I could imitate the opening lines:

Pretend you’re happy when you’re blue
It isn’t very hard to do

The song and the lovely smile that always graced Shimamoto’s face were one and the same to me. The lyrics seemed to express a certain way of looking at life, though at times I found it hard to see life in that way.”


Chapter 6, p73

“I tailed her for a long while, walking a little ways behind her. It wasn’t easy keeping pace with her, walking at a speed quite the opposite of the crowd around. I adjusted my pace, stopping sometimes to stare into a store window, or pretending to rummage around in my pockets. She had on black leather gloves and carried a red department store shopping bag. Despite the overcast winter day, she wore a pair of sunglasses. From behind, all I could make out was her beautiful, neatly combed hair curled fashionably outward at shoulder length, and her back tucked away in that soft, warm-looking red coat Of course, if I really wanted to see if she was Shimamoto, I could have circled around in front and got a good look at her. But what if it was Shimamoto? What should I say to her—and how should I act? She might not even remember me, for one thing. I needed time to pull myself together. I took some deep breaths to clear my head.

Taking care not to overtake her, I followed her for a long time. She never once looked back or stopped. She hardly glanced around her. She looked as if she had a place to get to and was determined to get there as soon as she could. Like Shimamoto, she walked with her back erect and her head held high. Looking at her from the waist up, no one would ever have suspected that she had something wrong with her leg. She just walked slower than most people. The longer I looked at her, the more I remembered Shimamoto. If this wasn’t Shimamoto, it had to be her twin.”






Chapter 12, p197

“But since Shimamoto had stopped coming to see me, I was stuck on the airless surface of the moon. If she was gone forever, no one remained to whom I could reveal my true feelings. On sleepless nights I’d lie in bed and replay over and over in my mind that scene at the snowy Komatsu Airport. Recall it enough times, and the memories would start to fade. Or so I thought. The more I remembered, the stronger the memories became. The word “Delayed” flashing on the flight information board; outside the window, the snow coming down hard. You couldn’t see more than fifty yards. On the bench, Shimamoto sat still, hugging herself tight. Her navy pea coat and muffler. Her body with its mixed scent of tears and sadness. I could smell that scent. Beside me, in bed, my wife breathed quietly, asleep. She knows nothing. I closed my eyes and shook my head. She knows nothing.

The abandoned bowling alley parking lot, my melting snow in my mouth and feeding it to her. Shimamoto in the airplane, in my arms. Her closed eyes, the sigh from her slightly parted lips. Her body, soft and limp. She wanted me then. Her heart was open to me. Yet I held myself back, back on the surface of the moon, stuck in this lifeless world. And in the end she left me, and my life was lost all over again.”






Chapter 14, p223

“It was only the beginning of October, but nights in Hakone were chilly. We arrived at the cottage, and I turned on the lights and lit the gas stove in the living room. And took down a bottle of brandy and two snifters from the shelf. We sat next to each other on the sofa, as we used to do so many years before, and I put the Nat King Cole record on the turntable. The red glow from the stove was reflected in our brandy glasses. Shimamoto sat with her legs folded underneath her. She rested one arm on the back of the sofa, the other in her lap. The same as in the old days. Back then she probably wanted to hide her leg, and the habit remained even now. Nat King Cole was singing “South of the Border.” How many years had it been since I heard that tune?”

…….

“And tomorrow came. When I woke up, I was alone. The rain had stopped, and bright, transparent morning light shone in through the bedroom window. The clock showed it was past nine. Shimamoto wasn’t in bed, though a slight depression in the pillow beside me hinted at where she had lain. She was nowhere to be seen. I got out of bed and went to the living room to look for her. I looked in the kitchen, the children’s room, and the bathroom. Nothing. Her clothes were gone, her shoes as well. I took a deep breath, trying to pull myself back to reality. But that reality was like nothing I’d ever seen before: a reality that didn’t seem to fit.” “I dressed and went outside. The BMW was parked where I left it the night before. Maybe she’d wakened early and gone out for a walk. I searched for her all around the house, then got in the car and drove as far as the nearest town. But no Shimamoto. I went back to the cottage, but she was not there. Thinking maybe she’d left a note, I scoured the house. But there was nothing. Not a trace that she had ever been there.”

“Without her, the house was empty and stifling. The air was filled with a gritty layer of dust, which stuck in my throat with each breath. I remembered the record, the old Nat King Cole record she gave me. But search as I might it was nowhere to be found. She must have taken it with her.

Once again Shimamoto had disappeared from my life. This time, though, leaving nothing to pin my hopes on. No more probablys. No more for a whiles.”








Editor: Axel Wang

Photography & Design: Axel Wang

Words: Excerpts from South of the Border, West of the Sun (1992), by Haruki Murakami 村上 春樹, translated by Philip Gabriel


We use cookies to personalise content and ads, to provide social media features and to analyse our traffic. We also share information about your use of our site with our social media, advertising and analytics partners. View more
Cookies settings
Accept
Privacy & Cookie policy
Privacy & Cookies policy
Cookie name Active

Terms & Conditions
Privacy Policy
Payment
Order and Shipping
Return and Refund Policy

This Privacy Policy (the “Policy”) provides information regarding the management and protection by SYNONYM of personal data processed from website visits, purchases, calls and surveys. It also explains the process to exercise individual privacy rights regarding one’s personal data held by SYNONYM. SYNONYM respects every visitor’s right to privacy and is committed to personal data protection. By using the site you agree to the terms and policies, which may change occasionally.

1.Collection

The personal information we collect from you may include name, contact details such as email address, telephone number and residential or work address, as well as payment information when you submit an online order, emailing us information in regards to an order, creating an online account, and/or subscribing to the newsletter.

2.Usage

The information provided by you will only be used for its intended purpose unless otherwise noticed. Such collected information is used for providing goods and services that are requested, as well as for communication and website operation purposes. We may admend the terms or policies occasionally, you may also be notified if we consider any of the amendments is important enough.

3.Sharing

The information you provide may be disclosed to trusted partners of SYNONYM’s, who would need such information in order to provide goods or services on behalf of SYNONYM. You give the consent to the disclosure of the information when such request for goods or services is made. Any legal binding requests regarding disclosure of your personal information from government or law enforcement bodies we may have to comply. Under the circumstance where a request for information from other third parties is made, including potential buyers of the business or assets, we may be required to transfer collected data as assets, other data collected from you including website usage, browsing and operation histories and patterns may also be disclosed and transferred though statistics generated from our customers will remain anonymous and de-personalised.

4.Storage

Your data is stored and protected on our system for as long as necessary, our website and server provider will also ensure that your personal information is guarded against any illegal or unauthorised attempt or usage. No data transmission over the internet and wireless network is guaranteed to be 100% secure however, though we strive for protection any information you provide is at your own risk. You are within your rights to see, correct or delete all the information about you that is held by us; if you no longer wish to receive any materials from us you are entitled to withdraw your consent, please inform us at hello@synonym.jp.

5. Cookies

Cookies are pieces of information that a website transfers to your hard drive to store and sometimes track information about you. Cookies are common and won\\\\\\\'t do anything to harm your system – they simply store or gather information and for you to get the most out of the visit you make to the website. Information from your computer including IP address, operating system and browser type may also be collected, Cookies are unable to identify your passwords entered or credit card information; you may change your browser setting to prevent any acceptance of Cookies. The anonymous data we collect using Cookies on the website is only used for providing better services, it will never be used for the purpose of any targeted advertising. You agree to our use of Cookies by using the website.

Save settings
Cookies settings