海边的卡夫卡 disc 1 -track03

1

Cash isn’t the only thing I take from my father’s study when I leave home. I take a small old gold lighter 1 – I like the design and feel of it – and a folding knife with a really sharp blade. Made for skinning deer, it has a five-inch blade and a nice heft. Probably something he bought on one of his trips abroad. I also take a sturdy, bright pocket torch from a drawer. Plus sky-blue Revo sunglasses to disguise my age.

I think about taking my father’s favourite Sea Oyster 2 Rolex. It’s a beautiful watch, but something flashy will only attract attention. My cheap plastic Casio watch with an alarm and stopwatch will do just fine, and might actually be more useful. Reluctantly, I return the Rolex to its drawer.

From the back of another drawer I take out a photograph of me and my older sister when we were little, the two of us on a beach somewhere with grins plastered across our faces. My sister’s looking off to one side so half her face is in shadow and her smile is neatly 3 cut in half. It’s like one of those Greek tragedy masks in a textbook that’s half one idea and half the opposite. Light and dark. Hope and despair. Laughter and sadness. Trust and loneliness. For my part I’m staring straight ahead, undaunted, at the camera. Nobody else is there at the beach. My sister and I have on swimsuits – hers a red floral print one-piece, mine some baggy 4 old blue trunks. I’m holding a plastic stick in my hand. White foam 5 is washing over our feet.

Who took this, and where and when, I have no idea. And how could I have looked so happy? And why did my father keep just that one photo? The whole thing is a total mystery. I must have been three, my sister nine. Did we ever really get along that well? I have no memory of ever going to the beach with my family. No memory of going anywhere with them. No matter, though – there’s no way I’m going to leave that photo with my father so I put it in my wallet. I don’t have any photos of my mother. My father threw them all away.

After giving it some thought I decide to take the mobile phone with me. Once he finds out I’ve taken it, my father will probably get the phone company to cut it off. Still, I toss it in my backpack, along with the adapter. Doesn’t add much weight, so why not. When it doesn’t work any more I’ll just throw it away.

Just the bare necessities, that’s all I need. Choosing which clothes to take is the hardest thing. I’ll need a couple of sweaters and pairs of underwear. But what about shirts and trousers? Gloves, scarves, shorts, a coat? There’s no end to it. One thing I do know, though. I don’t want to wander around some strange place with a huge backpack that screams out, Hey, everybody, check out the runaway 6! Do that and someone was bound to sit up and take notice. Next thing you know the police will haul me in and I’ll be sent straight home. If I don’t wind up in some gang first.

Any place cold is definitely out, I decide. Easy enough, just choose the opposite – a warm place. Then I can leave the coat and gloves behind, and get by with half the clothes. I pick out wash-and-weartype things, the lightest ones I have, fold them neatly and stuff them in my backpack. I also pack a three-season sleeping bag, the kind that rolls up nice and tight, toiletries, a rain poncho 7, notebook and pen, a Walkman and ten discs – got to have my music – along with a spare rechargeable battery. That’s about it. No need for any cooking gear, which is too heavy and takes up too much room, since I can buy food at the local shop.

It takes a while but I’m able to subtract a lot of things from my list. I add things, cross them off, then add a whole lot of other things and cross them off, too.