Hear The Wind Sing Novel

Wind/Pinball Harvill Secker cover

I want to share my favorite part of my recently read book; Hear the Wind Sing by my favorite author, Haruki Murakami. This short novel (or novella, some people like to call it) is the first part of two consecutive series. The sequel is titled Pinball. This part does not necessarily represent the story or anything. I like this part because I just happen to find it fascinating. So here it goes in chapter 34;


I do tell lies on occasion. The last time was a year ago

Lies are terrible things. One could say that the greatest sins afflicting modern society are the proliferation of lies and silence. We lie through our teeth, then swallow our tongues.

All the same, were we to speak only the truth all year around, then the truth might lose its value.

Last year, my girlfriend and I were snuggling together in bed. We were famished.

“Is there anything to eat?” I asked her.

“Let me check.”

She walked naked to the fridge, found some sausage, lettuce, and stale bread, and threw together two sandwiches, which she brought back to bed with two cups of instant coffee. It was a chilly night for October; by the time she slipped back under the covers she was as cold as a can of salmon.

“No mustard, I’m afraid.”

“Fine by me.”

We curled up together and watched an old movie on TV as we munched on the sandwiches.

It was The Bridge of The River Kwai.

She was moved by the scene at the end, where they blow up the bridge.

“Then why did they work so hard to build it?” she sighed, pointing at Alec Guinness, who was standing transfixed by the sight.

“Out of pride.”

“Mmph,” she responded, her cheeks stuffed with bread, as she contemplated the nature of human pride. Then, as always, I had no idea at all what was going on inside her head.

“Do you love me?”

“Sure I do.”

“Enough to marry me?”

“Right away?”

“Someday. In the future.”

“Sure I want to marry you.”

“But you never said anything until I asked.”

“It slipped my mind.”

“How many kids do you want?”


“Boys? Girls?”

“Two girls and a boy.”

She took a swallow of coffee to wash down the rest of the bread, and looked at me squared in the eye.

“LIAR!” she said.

But she was wrong. I had lied only once.


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