Chapter 1: Take Care Not to be Fooled by Appearances (Aomame)

1Q84, By Murakami Haruki

Chapter 1: Take Care Not to be Fooled by Appearances (Aomame)

An FM classical music station was playing on the taxi's radio. The song was Janacek's Sinfonietta. You couldn't really say that it was appropriate music to listen to in a taxi that was caught up in traffic. The driver didn't seem to particularly be listening to the music. The middle-aged driver was staring open-mouthed out at the unending line of cars like an unfortunate old fisherman standing at the bow reading the currents. Aomame was leaning back deeply in the back seat, lightly closing her eyes and listening to the music.

Just listening to the opening section of Janacek's Sinfonietta, how many average people would be able to guess that it was Janacek's Sinfonietta? Somehow, though, Aomame was able to do exactly that.

In 1926, Janacek composed this “winding-down” symphony. From the very beginning, he had written it intending for it to be a fanfare for a sporting event. Aomame imagined 1926 Czechoslovakia. Thanks to World War I, the country had at last been liberated from the long reign of the House of Hapsburg; in cafes people were drinking Piruzen beer, and due to the production of real, cool machine guns, from the midlands of Europe reaching to the East people tasted peace. Franz Kafka had left the world 2 years earlier. At that point, no one knew that before long Hitler would appear out of no where and greedily gobble up this small beautiful country. The most important lesson which history teaches humanity, that no one ever knows for sure what will happen next, was a lesson that Aomame herself probably didn't understand. Listening to the music, Aomame was surrounded by thoughts of the wind flowing across the Bohemian Plains, and how history should have been.

Because of the death of the Taisho Emperor in 1926, Japan entered the Showa Era. At this time, even Japan slowly began to enter a dark and disgusting period. After a short period of modernism and democracy, fascism began to sprout up all over the place.

Learning about the history of sports was something Aomame loved. She almost never read novels, but she would read almost anything about history. What she liked about history was knowing all the basic facts relating to a particular date and all the places connected with it. Memorizing historical dates was not such a difficult thing for her. She could could perfectly memorize numbers, and she could grasp the cause and effect relationship between various events, so dates just came to her automatically. Throughout middle school and high school, Aomame always got top grades on her history exams. Whenever she saw someone who was poor at remembering dates, Aomame thought it was strange. How could they not be able to do something so easy?

Aomame was really the woman's name. Her grandfather on her father's side had come from Fukutori Prefecture; in the small mountain towns and villages of that area many people actually had the last name Aomame. Aomame had never been there herself. Since before she was born, Aomame's father had cut all ties with his family home. The same was true of her mother. Because of this, Aomame had never once met her grandparents. She almost never traveled, but whenever she got the chance, Aomame had a habit of opening the hotel directory and looking for any other people with the last name Aomame. So far, however, she hadn't found a single person named Aomame in any of the cities or towns she had visited. On these trips she had the lonely kind of feeling of being cast out into a great ocean and left to drift by herself.

She was always reluctant to tell people her name. The times when she did say her own name, people would always look at her face with weird or confused eyes. “Miss Aomame?” “That's right. It's spelled A-O-M-A-M-E.” During the time she worked at a company, where having business cards is necessary, she had had this conversation often. Whenever she handed someone her business card, they would just stare at it for a second. They looked just like a person receiving a letter filled with bad news. If she told someone her name over the phone, they'd chuckle slightly. Whenever they called her name at a government office or a in a hospital waiting room, everyone would lift look up to try and catch a glimpse of her. Just what sort of face would a person named “Aomame” have?

From time to time someone would mistakenly call her “Miss Edomame.” Or they'd call her “Miss Soramame.” At these time she'd simply correct them: “No, it's not Edamame (or Soramame), it's Aomame. They're very similar names, but...” Whenever she did this the other person would smile embarrassedly and apologize. “Oh, don't worry, at any rate it's a very unusual name,” she would say. In the thirty years of her life, she'd had this same conversation countless times. People couldn't restrain themselves from making jokes about this sort of name. She often thought “If I didn't have this kind of last name, how different would my life be? If I were a Satou, or a Tanaka, or a Suzuki, or some other common name, wouldn't I live a more relaxed life? Wouldn't I see the world through more tolerant eyes? Maybe...”

Aomame closed her eyes and listened to the music. The mixture of wind instruments produced a beautiful sound that soaked into her head. This made her notice something. The radio in the taxi was too good. If she had to say why, it would be that despite the low volume she could understand the beauty of the song, even though the piece was very deep. She opened her eyes and leaned forward to look at the car stereo embedded in the dashboard. The jet black glossy machine gleamed proudly. She was unable to decipher the maker's name, but she could tell from the way it looked that it was a high quality product. In addition to many buttons, green numbers stuck out from the panel. It was probably very high-end equipment. You wouldn't expect a normal company to outfit their cabs with such nice sound systems.

Aomame looked around the inside of the cab again. Because she took cabs often, she hadn't been paying attention, but now that she looked this didn't seem like a normal taxi. The interior was decorated with nice things, and the fine seats were comfortable. The soundproofing seemed to be well done; almost no sound from the outside entered the cab. The acoustics system made it seem like she was in a recording studio. The driver must own this taxi himself. Among owner-driver taxis, there were some drivers who would spare no expense on their own cabs. She moved her eyes around the cab looking for the driver's registration card, but she wasn't able to find it. Even so, this didn't seem like an illegally unlicensed taxi. A normal taxi meter was hanging up, ticking away the exact right fare. The displayed fare was 2150 yen. Even so, there wasn't a registration card with the driver's name anywhere.

“This is a very nice car. Because it's so quiet,” Aomame said to the driver's back. “What kind of car is it?”

“It's a Toyota Crown Royal Saloon,” the driver answered simply.

“The music sounds lovely.”

“It's a quiet car. That's why I chose it; Toyota is the best in the world at soundproofing.”

Nodding her head, Aomame leaned forward again. There was something in the taxi driver's way of speaking that caught her attention. During work he'd save his words only for important things. For example (strictly speaking), if he didn't have much to say about soundproofing in Toyota cars, just what sort of things would he have questions about? The conversation having ended in this way, a small amount of silence returned. It seemed as though an imaginary cloud was filling the space inside the car. Because of this, something was giving Aomame an uncomfortable feeling.

“It definitely is quiet,” she said as though to push back against the cloud. “The stereo system seems really high-end as well.”

“At the time that I bought it, I decided it was necessary,” the driver said, like a retired old general discussing tactics. “Since I spend so much time in the car like this, the only thing I can do is listen to music. Still...”

Aomame waited for him to continue speaking. He didn't continue, though. She once again closed her eyes and focus on listening to the music. Just what sort of person Janacek was, Aomame didn't know. Anyhow, it didn't matter since Janacek probably couldn't imagine someone listening to his own piece of music inside a Toyota Crown Royal Saloon on the badly jammed Shuto highway in Tokyo in the year1984.

Anyway, just why would she be able to recognize this piece as Janacek's Sinfonietta so quickly? Aomame thought it was weird. Why should I know that this was composed in 1926? She wasn't particularly a fan of classical music. And it's not as if she had any knowledge of Janacek in particular. Somehow, though, after hearing the beginning of the opening section of this music, various bits of knowledge had popped into her heard as if by reflex. It was as if someone had opened a window and a bird had flown in. Also, the music was giving Aomame an oddly twisted feeling. Discomfort or unpleasantness didn't even come close to describing it. It was more like the piece was gradually just squeezing her body. Aomame didn't understand what it meant. Why is the music of the Sinfonietta causing such a mysterious feeling in me?

She had started to say “Janacek.” After she had started to say it, though, she had thought better of it.

“What?”

“Janacek. This song's composer.”

“Oh, I didn't know.”

“He's a Czech composer,” Aomame said.

“Huh,” the taxi driver said in a way that seemed impressed.

“Is this your own taxi?” Aomame asked, hoping to change the subject.

“That's right,” the driver said. After that he paused for a moment. “I do this by myself. This car is one of two.”

“It's good that the seat is comfortable.”

“Thank you very much. By the way, Miss,” the driver said, turning his head toward her a bit. “Are you possibly in a hurry?”

“I'm meeting someone in Shibuya. But you can take as long as you need.”

“What time are you meeting?”

“4 o'clock,” Aomame said.

“It's 3:45 now. That's not enough time.”

“Is this traffic jam really that bad?”

“There must have been some kind of big accident earlier. This isn't your average traffic jam. We've barely moved since we got here.”

Why isn't he listening for traffic information on the radio? Aomame thought it was odd. They were being held up because of this catastrophic traffic jam. If he was a normal taxi driver, he would ask to switch to the special frequency news broadcast.

“How do you know that without even listening to the traffic report?” Aomame asked.

“Traffic reports are unreliable,” the taxi driver said with a vacant sort of voice. “Half the things they say are lies. The public road companies only announce the good news. If you want to get the truth, you just have to see it with your own eyes and decide with your own head.”

“Well then, in your own judgment, is there no simple solution to this traffic jam?”

“For the time being, it's impossible,” the driver said nodding quietly. “I guarantee it. Once traffic gets frozen solid like this, the highway becomes hell. Is your meeting very important?”

Aomame thought about it. “Yes, very. It's with a client, so...”

“That's too bad. I feel bad, but we probably won't make it in time.”

Having said this, the driver slightly moved his neck as if to relieve the stiffness. Wrinkles like those of some ancient creature ran down the back of his neck. While she was unconsciously watching this movement,all of a sudden Aomame sharply remembered something in the bottom of her shoulder bag. The palms of her hands became sweaty.

“Well, I wonder what I should do?”

“There's nothing you can do. Since we're here on the highway, until we reach the next exit, it's out of our hands. At the next available road you can find the nearest station and take a train.”

“How far is the next exit?”

“It's Ikeshiri, but I can't even be sure we'll get there before sundown.”

Until sundown? Aomame imagined herself shut up inside the taxi until sunset. Janacek's music continued to play. The muted stringed instruments came to the forefront as though releasing a growing feeling. The twisting sense from before was now completely gone. Just what had that pain been?

Aomame had found the taxi near Kinuta, and rode from Youga to the third line of the Shuto Highway. At first the car had flowed along smoothly. But then, just before Sangen-Jaya, the traffic jam had suddenly started, and with a slight jerk the cab had stopped moving. On the lower road traffic was flowing smoothly. It was only on the upper road that this tragic traffic jam was occurring. Usually, if there was a traffic jam after 3PM, it wouldn't last very long on the upper #3 line. Aomame had instructed the driver to take the Shuto Highway because she knew this.

“I won't charge you the hourly rate for the time on the highway,” the taxi driver said, looking into the mirror. “That way you don't need to worry about the fare. But isn't it too bad that you'll be late for your meeting, Miss?”

“Of course it's too bad, but there's nothing I can do, is there?”

The driver glanced at Aomame's face in the mirror. He put on a pale pair of sunglasses. In the changing light, Aomame couldn't see his expression.

“There's no reason to say that it's completely out of your hands. Somehow, if you were forced to resort to drastic measures, you could get from here to a train station and then to Shibuya.”

“Drastic measures?”

“But they're ways that you don't really talk about in public...”

Aomame said nothing, squinting her eyes and waiting for him to continue speaking.

Look, there's a space over there next to that car,” the driver said, pointing with his finger. “The one by that big Exxon sign.”

Aomame looked and saw, two lanes over on the left of the road, a space for broken down cars to stop. Because there were no shoulders on the Shuto Highway, there were emergency stopping areas every so often. There were yellow boxes with emergency phones inside so that people could contact the highway offices. Right now, not a single car was stopped there. Under the overhang of a building separating this lane from the oncoming lanes was a large Exxon Oil sign. A grinning tiger had a fuel pump in his hand.

“Actually, there's a set of stairs over there to let you get down to the ground level. The reason is that if there was something like a fire or a big earthquake, drivers need to be able to leave their cars and get down to the ground. More generally, they're used by highway maintenance workers. If you use those stairs to get down, a station on the Tokyu line is nearby. You could ride that straight to Shibuya.”

“Why didn't I know there were emergency stairs on this highway?” Aomame asked.

“There aren't really very many people in general who know about them.”

“But, what I'm wondering is, am I allowed to use them even if it's not an emergency?”

The driver paused for a second. “Well, I wonder... Just how strict the highway company is, I don't really know. But since you wouldn't be bothering anyone, they're probably not watching too closely. Usually in this sort of place everyone is just looking out for themselves. The highway company has lots of employees all over the place, but they're not exactly famous for having hard-working employees.”

“Just what sort of stairs are they?”

“That's the spirit; they kind of resemble emergency fire stairs. Look, they're over near the other side of that old building. That building is only about three stories high, so you can probably get down without too much trouble. At the moment, the gate in the fence is shut, but it's not very tall, so if you wanted, even if you didn't have a real reason, you could probably climb over.”

“Have you ever used these stairs, Mr. Driver?”

He didn't answer. The driver just smiled slightly into the rear-view mirror. That smile could have held several meanings.

“You're becoming quite a demanding customer,” the driver said, adjusting the music with his finger tips, brushing the knob so lightly he might have been dusting it. “Sitting here listening to good music and living an easy-going lifestyle just doesn't fit me. No matter where I go or how hard I try, I always need to be prepared for anything. However, in the case of an emergency, even drastic measures might not be enough.”

Aomame frowned slightly, looked at her watch, then lifted her head and looked at the nearby cars. On her right was a black Mitsubishi Pajero lightly covered with white dust. A young woman was sitting in the passenger seat with the window open, looking bored and smoking a cigarette. She had long hair and was sunburned, wearing a dark red wind breaker. On the roof there were several dirty, well-used surf boards. Ahead of that a gray Saab 900 was stopped. With tinted glass windows that were tightly shut, outsiders could only guess what sort of person was riding inside. The car had been waxed looked really nice. If you were up close you'd be able to see your face in the reflection.

In front of the taxi which Aomame was riding in was a “Nejima Number” red Suzuki Alto with a dent in the rear bumper. A young mother was gasping the door handle. A small bored child was standing on the seat, spinning around. With a tired look on her face, the mother was looking at something. The way her lips moved as she looked through the glass made it seem like she was reading. For ten minutes the scene remained exactly the same. In this ten minutes the cars probably hadn't moved even ten meters.

For a while Aomame was surrounded by her thoughts. In her head she organized the priorities of various things. She didn't take much time to reach a decision. Fittingly, Janacek's music seemed to have entered the final movement.

Aomame made a small movement into her shoulder bag and pulled out a pair of Ray-band sunglasses. Next she took out 3000 yen bills and handed them to the driver.

“I'm getting out here. I really can't be late,” she said.

The driver nodded and accepted the money. “Would you like a receipt?”

“No thanks. I don't need one.”

“Thank you very much,” the driver said. “The wind is very strong, so please be careful. It's very easy to trip.”

“I'll be careful,” Aomame said.

“Also,” the driver said, looking into the rear-view mirror, “remember one thing for me: things are not what they seem.”

Things are not what they seem; Aomame repeated his words in her head. She slightly lowered her eyebrows. “Just what does that mean?”

The driver thought carefully about what he would say next. “What I'm saying is that from here on things aren't going to be normal. It's true, don't you think? You're about to climb down the emergency stairs of the Shuto Highway in the middle of broad daylight; that's not the sort of thing that an ordinary person would do. Women especially wouldn't do something like that.”

“That's probably true,” Aomame said.

“So, if you do it, your everyday scenery might seem a little bit different, though just how different I don't really know. That's how it is, in my experience. Take care not to be fooled by appearances. There's always only one reality at a given time.”

Aomame though about what the driver had said. While she was thinking, Janacek's piece ended and the audience began to clap. Just where was this concert recording being broadcast from? For a long time the audience eagerly clapped their hands. Occasionally she would hear someone shout “Bravo!” A scene of a conductor smiling, then turning to the audience and bowing his head several times floated before her eyes. He lifted his head, then raised his hands to shake hands with the concert master, then turned around and raised both hands in admiration of the orchestra members, then turned back to the audience and bowed once more. They had recorded the applause for a long time, and during that time it became difficult to hear. As it went on, Aomame had the feeling of hearing a sandstorm raging in her ear.

“There's always only one reality at a time,” he repeated as though underlining an important verse of literature.

“Of course,” Aomame said. That's right. One body can only be in one place at one time. Einstein had proved it. In reality, no matter how rational or irrational you are, there can only be one of a thing, no matter where you look.

Aomame pointed to the car stereo. “It's very good music.”

The driver nodded. “What did you say the composer's name was?”

“Janacek.”

“Janacek,” the driver repeated. It was as though he was memorizing an important phrase. After that he pulled the lever to automatically open the back door. “Be careful. I hope you make it to your appointment on time.”

Aomame took her large shoulder bag in her hand and got out of the car. Even up until the time she got out of the car, the clapping on the radio continued. She turned toward the emergency stopping space about ten meters in front of her and carefully walked over to the side of the highway. Whenever a large truck would drive by in the oncoming lanes the road would shake slightly beneath her high heels. The shaking almost seemed like waves. It was like walking on the deck of an aircraft carrier in rough seas.

A small girl was riding in the red Suzuki Aruto, sticking her face out the passenger-side window gazing at Aomame with her mouth absent-mindedly open. Then she turned to her mother and asked “Hey, hey, what's that woman doing? Where is she going? I want to get out and walk around too. Hey, Mom, I want to get out. Hey, Mom,” she demanded persistently. The mother only shook her head silently. After that, she cast an accusatory glance at Aomame. However, since that was the only voice being used, that was the only reaction that she saw. The other drivers smoked their cigarettes as usual; lowering their eyebrows as if they were watching something dazzling, they followed her with their eyes as she walked without hesitating between the stopped cars. It was as if they were temporarily withholding judgment. Even though the cars weren't moving, it wasn't as if pedestrians were an everyday sighting on the Shuto Highway. Even if you saw such a sight, it would take some time to believe what you saw. Even more so when it's a young woman in a mini skirt and high heels.

Aomame, setting her jaw and looking straight ahead, straightened her back, and, feeling the gaze of people on her skin, began taking deliberate steps forward. Her chestnut colored Charles Jourdan heels made a dry clicking sound as she walked along the road, and the hem of her coat flapped in the wind. It was already April, so the cold wind gave her a sense of foreboding. Over her thin wool Junko Shimada suit she was wearing a beige spring coat and holding her black leather shoulder bag. Her haircut was trimmed down to her shoulders. She didn't have anything that could be called an accessory. She was 168 cm, and though you wouldn't know it to look at her since she was wearing a coat, there wasn't a single bit of fat on her, and she carefully trained her entire body.

If you look closely at her face from the front, the thing that you'd be sure to notice was that there was a significant difference between her left and right ears. Because her left ear was larger than her right, her face seemed crooked. Even so, almost no one ever noticed it. This was because she generally hid her ears beneath her hair. Still, when she closed her lips squarely, something seemed to suggest that there was something unusual about her. People tended to guess that she had a small, thin nose, that her cheekbones stuck out a bit, that she had a wide forehead, or that she had long, straight eyebrows. Although she was mostly clean-cut, she had an egg-shaped head. Even if that was your preference, you probably wouldn't be able to call her a beauty. The problem was that she always had a completely vacant expression on her face. With her lips tightly shut, she wouldn't smile unless she really wanted to. With both eyes open like a deckhand on watch, she coolly observed her surroundings. Because of this, she gave people a strongly distasteful impression. In many situations, when people were sharing their thoughts and feelings, whether good or bad, her face would remain unchanged, natural and composed.

Most people were unable to really grasp Aomame's face. As soon as they looked away, they were unable to describe what sort of face she had. There was definitely something odd about her face, but they just couldn't remember which particular feature it was. This meant that to them Aomame seemed to be a kind of skillful mimic bug. What Aomame wanted was to be able to dive right into a changing background and become invisible so that people simply couldn't remember her. She had tried to hide her body this way ever since she was a child.

If there was ever anything to make her frown, there would be a dramatic transformation on Aomame's cool face. The muscles in her face would powerfully tug in different directions, her features would emphasize the extreme twisting on the sides of her face, deep wrinkles would appear here and there, her eyes would quickly pull back, and her nose and mouth would twitch violently; she'd set her jaw and her lips would curl so that her white teeth showed. It was as though a mask had come untied and fallen off; during these times she became a completely different person. Anyone who saw these fierce transformations felt their stomachs turn. Surprised by this largely unknown side of her people would gasp and step back. Because of this she had decided not to frown in front of people she didn't know well. She limited herself to twisting up her face only when she was alone or perhaps to threaten men that she didn't like.

When she arrived at the emergency stopping space she stopped to look around for the emergency stairs down. She found them easily. Just as the driver had said, there was an iron fence at the entrance to the stairs which was a little taller than waist high, and the gate was locked. Because she was wearing a tight miniskirt, climbing over would pose a slight problem, but if she didn't mind attracting attention it wouldn't be especially difficult. She took off her flashy high heels and stuck them in her shoulder bag. Walking barefoot was probably bad for her stockings, but they were the kind that could be bought in any store, so she didn't mind.

People watched silently as she took off her high heels and then her coat. In the background Michael Jackson's shrill voice flowed out of the open window of a black Toyota Selika stopped a little further down the road. “Billy Jean.” She thought she looked like she was on stage at a strip show. It's fine. Look as much as you want. Being stuck in traffic is probably pretty boring. But, listen everyone, I'm not taking off anymore than this. It's just high heels and coats today. Too bad for you guys.

Aomame held the strap of her shoulder bag to keep it from falling. She saw that the brand-new black Toyota Crown Royal Saloon she had been riding in had moved forward. The way the afternoon sunlight hit the windshield made it shine like a mirror. She couldn't see far enough inside to see the driver. He must be looking this way, though.

Take care not to be fooled by appearances. There's always only one reality at a time.

Aomame took a deep breath and held it. While following the melody of “Billy Jean” she climbed up the fence. Her miniskirt slid all the way up to her waist. Do I care? she thought. Feel free to look if you want. Even if you look up my skirt, you won't be able to see what makes me human. And anyway, Aomame felt that her slender, beautiful legs were the parts of her body that she was most proud of.

When she got down on the other side of the fence, Aomame fixed the hem of her skirt, brushed the dirt off of her hands, put her coat back on, and slung her bag over her shoulder. She pushed the bridge of her sunglasses back. The emergency stairs were right in front of her. The iron steps had been painted gray. They were simple, business-like stairs, made to be functional. They hadn't been made so that miniskirt-wearing barefoot-except-for-stockings women could go up and down them. Junko Shimada had also not designed his suits with going up and down the emergency stairs of the #3 line of the Shuto Highway in mind. The large trucks in the oncoming lanes caused the stairs to shake and tremble. The wind howled through the gaps in the framework. Anyhow, the stairs were right there. The only thing to do is to go down to the bottom.

Aomame took a final look back at the unending line of cars in the road, first from left to right, then from right to left, like a lecturer who had just finished a lesson and was looking out at the audience waiting for questions. The line of cars remained completely motionless. Since they were stuck in traffic, the people probably had nothing better to do than to watch her every move. Just who is this woman and what is she doing? they probably wondered. Whether they were interested or not, Aomame had felt a bit of malice mixed in with their looks as she got climbed down on the other side of the fence. Their feelings seemed to shift back and forth like an unstable scale wobbling from side to side. A heavy silence hung in the air. No one raised their hands to ask a question (and of course Aomame had no intention of answering any questions anyway). They just kept waiting silently as if for a signal. Aomame, stuck out her jaw slightly, bit her lip, pushed back her dark green sunglasses and gave them all an appraising look.

You all can't even imagine what I'm doing, Aomame said without moving her lips. Since you guys are all stuck in traffic, you won't be going anywhere. You'll hardly move forward at all, and you might even go backwards, so you can't get down. But that's not true for me. I have work I have to do. I have a mission to carry out. Therefor, I'm going on ahead without you.

Lastly, at this point Aomame turned decisively to everyone and frowned. She didn't stay like that for long, though. She didn't have time for such useless things. She could have frowned one more time, but since she had work to do, she relaxed her expression.

Aomame turned her back on her silent audience, and, feeling the cold rough iron under her feet, she began to descend the emergency stairs. Her hair flapped occasionally in the early April winds, exposing her deformed ear.