Until about a month ago, I was occasionally submitting translations that I had done of various yet-to-be translated Murakami short stories. Most of those were very, very short, and I thought maybe I should try something a little longer. I started paging through a book called "Lexington no Yuurei" (The Lexington Ghosts), and it seemed like the stories therein were in my range. Ive now fiwo of them. The following is the first one, called Koori Otoko (The Ice Man). Its a weird little story, and I dont know quite what to make of it. Ill be curious to see what other people think. SIs fairly long, Im going to divide it up into pieces, and serialize it over a couple of days. Enjoy!
P.S. As always, I would appreciate any criticism or advice, especially from the Japaerate.
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The Ice Man
I married the Ice Man.
I first met the Ice Man at this ski resort hotel. I guess thats the kind of plae ought to meet an Ice Man. In the boisterous hotel lobby, crowded with young people, the Ice Man was sitting in a chair at the furthest possible remove from the fireplace, silently reading a book. Though it roag high noon, it seemed to me that the cool, fresh light of the winter m still lingered around him. Hey, thats the Ice Man,?my friend informed me in a low voice. But at that time, I had no idea what in the world an Ice Man was. My friend didnt really know, either. She just khat he existed and was called the Ice Man. Shes sure hes made out of ice. Thats why hes called the Ice Man,?she said to me with a serious expression. It was like she was talking about a ghost or somebody with a tagious disease or something.
The Ice Man was tall, and from looking at him, his hair seemed bristly. When I saw his face, he looked fairly young still, but that thick, wiry hair was white, like it had been mixed with melted snow. He had high cheek-bohat appeared to have been chiseled out of cold, hard rock, and there was a slight coating of ued white frost on his fingers, but other than that the Ice Mans appearance wasnt much different from a normal person. While he probably couldnt have been called handsome, there was undeniably something charming in his bearing. There are some people that just jab you sharply in the heart. It was especially this way with him, so he really stood out. He had a shy, transparent look, like an icicle on a winter m. There was something in the way his body ut together that made his whole beio sparkle. I stood there for a moment and gazed at the Ice Man from afar. But the Ice Man didnt lift his face from his book even once. Without moving so much as a muscle, he tinued reading. It was as if he was trying to persuade himself that there wasnt anybody at all around him.
The day, the Ice Man was in the same place, reading a book exactly the same way. When I went to the cafeteria to get lunch, and again when I came ba the evening from skiing with everybody else, he was sitting in the same chair as the day before, p over the top of a page of the same book with the same expression on his face. And the day was the same. The day passed, the night grew late, a there as quietly as the winter outside the window, reading his book alone.
Oernoon of the fourth day, I fashioned an appropriate excuse and didnt go out to the slopes. Staying behind alone iel, I wandered around the lobby for a while. Since everyone had go for an afternoon skiing, the lobby was deserted like a ghost town. The air in the lobby was u