Free Vintage Murakami by Haruki Murakami

no idea her parents were divorced. Junpei played his assigned role perfectly without the slightest objection. The three joked around as always and talked about the old days. The only thing that Junpei understood about all this was that it was something the three of them needed.
    “Hey, Junpei, tell me,” Takatsuki said one January night when the two of them were walking home, breath white in the chill air. “Do you have somebody you’re planning to marry?”
    “Not at the moment,” Junpei said.
    “No girlfriend?”
    “Nope, guess not.”
    “Why don’t you and Sayoko get together?”
    Junpei squinted at Takatsuki as if at some too-bright object. “Why?” he asked.
    “ ‘Why’?! Whaddya mean ‘why’? It’s so obvious! If nothing else, you’re the only man I’d want to be a father to Sala.”
    “Is that the only reason you think I ought to marry Sayoko?”
    Takatsuki sighed and draped his thick arm around Junpei’s shoulders.
    “What’s the matter? Don’t you like the idea of marrying Sayoko? Or is it the thought of stepping in after me?”
    “That’s not the problem. I just wonder if you can make, like, some kind of deal. It’s a question of
decency.
”
    “This is no deal,” Takatsuki said. “And it’s got nothing to do with decency. You love Sayoko, right? You love Sala, too, right? That’s the most important thing. I know you’ve got your own special hang-ups. Fine. I grant you that. But to me, it looks like you’re trying to pull off your shorts without taking off your pants.”
    Junpei said nothing, and Takatsuki fell into an unusually long silence. Shoulder to shoulder, they walked down the road to the station, heaving white breath into the night.
    “In any case,” Junpei said, “you’re an absolute idiot.”
    “I have to give you credit,” Takatsuki said. “You’re right on the mark. I don’t deny it. I’m ruining my own life. But I’m telling you, Junpei, I couldn’t help it. There was no way I could put a stop to it. I don’t know any better than you do why it had to happen. There’s no way to justify it, either. It just happened. And if not here and now, something like it would have happened sooner or later.”
    Junpei felt he had heard this speech before. “Do you remember what you said to me the night Sala was born? That Sayoko was the greatest woman in the world, that you could never find anyone to take her place.”
    “And it’s still true. Nothing has changed where that’s concerned. But that very fact can sometimes make things go bad.”
    “I don’t know what you mean by that,” Junpei said.
    “And you never will,” Takatsuki said with a shake of the head. He always had the last word.
    TWO years went by. Sayoko never went back to teaching. Junpei got an editor friend of his to send her a piece to translate, and she carried the job off with a certain flair. She had a gift for languages, and she knew how to write. Her work was fast, careful, and efficient, and the editor was impressed enough to bring her a new piece the following month that involved substantial literary translation. The pay was not very good, but it added to what Takatsuki was sending and helped Sayoko and Sala to live comfortably.
    They all went on meeting at least once a week, as they always had. Whenever urgent business kept Takatsuki away, Sayoko, Junpei, and Sala would eat together. The table was quiet without Takatsuki, and the conversation turned to oddly mundane matters. A stranger would have assumed that the three of them were just a typical family.
    Junpei went on writing a steady stream of stories, bringing out his fourth collection,
Silent Moon
, when he turned thirty-five. It received one of the prizes reserved for established writers, and the title story was made into a movie. Junpei also produced a few volumes of music criticism, wrote a book on ornamental gardening, and translated a collection of John Updike’s short stories. All were well received. He had developed his own