Free Pinball, 1973 by Haruki Murakami

upswing. And seven stitches in my lower lip. A fall from a bicycle, trying to veer out of the way of a truck. Then there’s that chipped tooth...
    There we lay, all three of us on the cool turf, listening to the rustling of the susuki tassels in the breeze.
    The sun had completely disappeared before we made it back to the apartment for dinner. By the time I’d had myself a bath and a beer, three trout were cooked up and waiting, with some canned asparagus and gigantic sprigs of watercress alongside for color. The taste of trout brought back memories. It tasted like a mountain path on a summer’s day. We took our time polishing off those trout. The only things left on our plates were the white trout bones and pencil-thick watercress stalks. The twins immediately set about washing the dishes and brewing coffee.
    “About that switch-panel,” I said. “Something’s really starting to bother me.”
    They both nodded.
    “Why do you suppose it’s on its last legs?”
    “Probably’s sucked up something awful, don’t you think?”
    “It’s gone flat.”
    I considered the situation a while, a coffee cup in my left hand and a cigarette in my right.
    “And what can be done about it?”
    The two of them looked at each other and shook their heads. “Too late to do much of anything.”
    “Back to the soil it goes.
    “Ever see a cat with blood poisoning?”
    “No,” I said.
    “It starts getting hard as a rock from the outside in. Takes a long time. And the last thing to go is the heart. It just stops.”
    I sighed. “But I don’t want mine to die on me.”
    “We know how you feel,” said one. “But you know, the load’s too heavy for you.”
    That was putting it mildly. As offhandedly as you’d say, might as well not go skiing this winter because there’s not enough snow. At least I could still drink my coffee.

Chapter 10
    Wednesday night the Rat nodded off at nine o’clock, only to wake up again at eleven, unable to get back to sleep. Something squeezed tight around his head, as if he had on a hat two sizes too small. A downright unpleasant feeling. Nothing to do but get up. The Rat walked into the kitchen in his pajamas, and gulped down a glass of ice water. Then he started to think about her. As he stood at the window watching the beacon light, his eyes drew back along the jetty until he was looking in the vicinity of her apartment. He thought of the waves pounding in the darkness, the sand peppering her window. But no matter how much he thought about it, he never made any headway – who was he kidding?
    Ever since he’d met the woman, the Rat’s life had become an endless repetition, week after week. He couldn’t keep track of the date. What month was it?
    October, probably. Or was it? Saturdays he’d see her, then for three days from Sunday to Tuesday he’d dwell on the memory. Thursdays, Fridays, half the day Saturday, he’d be making weekend plans. That left only Wednesdays up in the air, with nothing to do. No progress, no setbacks. These Wednesdays...
    After a leisurely ten-minute smoke, he changed out of his pajamas, put on a windbreaker over his shirt, and went down to the underground parking garage. After twelve, there was hardly a soul out and about. Only the streetlamps shining on the darkened streets. The shutters on J’s Bar were already rolled down, but the Rat pushed them up half-way, ducked under, and headed on downstairs.
    J sat alone behind the counter smoking a cigarette, some dozen towels he’d washed draped over the backs of chairs to dry.
    “Just one beer, how about it?”
    “Fine by me,” came J’s cheerful reply.
    It was the first time the Rat had come to J’s Bar after hours. All the lights were out, save
    the ones over the counter, even the ventilation and air-conditioning were silent. Only the smell that had soaked into the floor and walls over the years lingered.
    The Rat stepped behind the counter, took a beer from the refrigerator, and poured himself a glass.
    The