Haruki Murakami: Burning a warehouse

Halie 2021-12-27 08:02:05

Three years ago, I met her at the wedding of an acquaintance, and we wanted to get better. My age is almost one round away from her. She is 20 and I am 31. But this is not a big problem. There were many other things that were bothering me at the time. To be honest, there is no time to consider the age one by one. She didn't care about her age at all from the beginning. I'm married, that's nothing to say. What age, family, and income, in her opinion, are the same as the size of the feet, the height and the shape of the nails, which are purely congenital products. In short, it is not a matter of the nature that there can be countermeasures without consideration.

While learning pantomime from a famous teacher, she worked as an advertising model for a living. However, because she finds it troublesome, she often pushes off the work assigned by the agent, so the income is really minimal. The shortcomings seem to be mainly aided by the kindness of a few men. Of course, I don't know the specific situation, but based on her tone of voice, I guess that's the case.

That being said, I am not implying that she is sleeping with men for money. Occasionally there may be similar situations. Even if it does, it is not an essential problem. I am afraid it is much simpler in nature. It is this unobtrusive and eclectic simplicity that attracts a certain type of people. In front of her innocence, they couldn't help but want to put the intertwined feelings in their hearts on her. Although the explanation is not good enough, I think it is so. According to her, she lives under this kind of pure support.

Of course, such an effect cannot last forever. This is the same as "peeling orange peel".

Just talk about "peeling the orange peel".

When I first met her, she told me that she was learning pantomime.

I said "Oh", not surprised. What the girls are doing recently. And she didn't seem to be the type who single-mindedly hone her talents.

Then she began to "peel the orange peel." As literally means, "peeling an orange" means peeling an orange. There is a small glass basin full of oranges on her left, and a basin filled with orange peels on the right---this is a hypothesis, in fact, there is nothing. She picked up an imaginary orange, peeled it slowly, and put it into her mouth piece by piece, spitting out the scum. After eating one, gather the slag and wrap it with orange peel and put it into the basin on the right. This keeps repeating. Speaking of words, naturally it is nothing. However, I actually watched for 10 minutes and 20 minutes in front of my eyes---I was chatting with her in front of the high bar in the bar. During the time she was talking and "peeling the orange peel" almost subconsciously---I gradually felt that the sense of reality was sucked from my surroundings. . This is really an inexplicable mood. In the past, Karl Adolf Eichmann (1906~1962), a lieutenant colonel of the Nazi SS, was the main criminal in the massacre of Jews in World War II. He was arrested by the Israeli secret police in Argentina and sentenced to death in Jerusalem. When being sent to an Israeli court, some people suggested that the most appropriate criminal law is to put it in a sealed room and then evacuate the air little by little. I don't know the details of what kind of death he encountered, but I remember it suddenly.

"You seem to be full of talent." I said.

"Oh, it's not easy, how can you talk about talents! Anyway, I don't think there are oranges here, but just forget that there are no oranges here, it's very simple."

"It's just talking about Zen."

I like her for this.

She and I don’t meet each other often. Usually once a month, at most two times. I called her and asked her out to play. We eat together, or go to a bar to drink, and talk vigorously. I listened to her, she listened to me. Although there is almost no common topic between the two, it doesn't matter. It can be said that we are already friends. Of course I will pay for food and drink. Sometimes she also called me, basically when she had no money and was hungry. She did eat a lot back then, incredible.

With her, I was able to relax completely. Some unwilling work, trivial things that don't make sense, and inexplicable thoughts of inexplicable people can all be forgotten. She seems to have such an ability. What she said had no serious meaning, and sometimes I even just hummed in reply and hardly listened. And whenever I listened, it seemed as if I was looking into the distant clouds, there was a leisurely warmth.

I have told her a lot. From personal matters to general discussions, you can speak freely. Or she might be just as inattentive as me and just casually agree. If that's the case, I don't care. What I want is a certain mood, at least not understanding and sympathy.

In the spring two years ago, her father died of a heart attack, and a small amount of cash went to her. At least according to her. She said she wanted to use the money to go to North Africa for a while. I don't know why I went to North Africa. I happened to know a girl who worked in the Algerian Embassy in Beijing and introduced her to her. So she went to Algeria. In response to the trend, I went to the airport to see her off. She only carried a cold Boston travel bag stuffed with replacement clothes. From the outside, she felt that she was going back to North Africa rather than going to North Africa.

"Return to Japan?" I asked jokingly.

"Of course, return!" she said.

She returned to Japan three months later. He lost 3 kilograms more than he left when he left, was tanned, and brought back a new lover, saying that the two met in a restaurant in Algeria. There are not many Japanese in Algeria, the two quickly got close and soon became lovers. As far as I know, this person is the first more formal lover to her.

He was twenty-seven or eighteen years old, tall, well-dressed, and gentle. Although the expression is not rich enough, but the appearance is basically pretty, and it doesn't feel bad. The hands are big and the fingers are very long.

So I understand this in detail because I was picking up two people at the airport. Suddenly there was a telegram calling from Beirut with only the date and flight. It meant to be picked up by me. As soon as the plane landed---in fact, due to bad weather, the plane was delayed for 4 hours. I read this weekly magazine in the coffee shop---the two walked out through the cabin door arm in arm, like a peaceful and beautiful young couple. She introduced the man to me. We shook hands almost reflexively. Like someone who has lived in a foreign country for a long time, he holds it very powerfully. Then we walked into the restaurant. She said that she would eat rice bowls anyway, and I would drink beer with him.

He said he was engaged in trade. What trade did not say. As for whether I don’t like to talk about my work, or I’m afraid that talking about it will only make me boring, so I’m polite not to talk about it, I don’t know. But to be honest, I don't really want to hear about trade, so I didn't specifically inquire about it. Since there was nothing to talk about, he talked about the security situation in Beirut and the waterways in Tunisia. It seems that he is quite familiar with the situation from North Africa to the Middle East.

After eating the rice bowl, she yawned greatly, saying that she was sleepy, and she looked like she could fall asleep on the spot. Forgot to mention, her problem is that she is sleepy no matter where she is. She offered to take a taxi to take me home, and I said that the tram should take the tram back by myself. I don't know why I came to the airport specially.

"It's nice to see you." He said to me apologetically.

"Happy meeting." I replied.

I met him several times afterwards. Whenever I meet her, there must be him next to me. I dated her, and he even drove her to the meeting place. He drove a shiny silver German racing car. I don’t know anything about cars, and I can’t introduce them specifically. I just think it looks a lot like the cars in Fellini’s black-and-white movies. It’s not something ordinary salaried workers can own.

"Surely there is a lot of money." I tried her once.

"Yes." She said as if not interested, "it must be, maybe."

"Can you earn so much from trading?"

"Trade?"

"He said that, saying that he was engaged in trade work."

"So it's like that. But...I don't know. Because he doesn't look like how to do things. He always sees people and makes phone calls."

This has become Fitzgerald's "The Great Gatsby," I think. I don't know what to do, anyway, it's a rich, enigmatic young man.

※ ※ ※ ※

She called on a Sunday afternoon in October. My wife went to relatives' house early in the morning, but I was home alone. It was a nice and pleasant Sunday, and I was eating apples while looking at the camphor tree in the yard. I ate seven apples on that day alone. I have this situation from time to time, and I want to eat apples crazy. Maybe it is a kind of omen.

"It's not far from your home, so why don't you two go to play with you right away?" she said.

"Two people?" I asked back.

"Me and him."

"Yes, of course." I replied.

"Okay, we will arrive in 30 minutes." After she said, she hung up the phone.

I spent a while on the sofa and went to the bathroom to shower and shave. Waiting for the body to dry, picking his ears. He also wondered if it was time to tidy up the room, but finally gave up. It’s because time is not enough to manage everything properly, and if you can’t manage everything properly, it’s better to just stay still. In the room, books, magazines, letters, records, pencils, sweaters, and sweaters were thrown in a mess, but they didn't think it was so unclean. Just finished a job and didn't mind what to do. I sat on the sofa and looked at the camphor tree to eat an apple.

The two arrived just after two o'clock. There was the sound of car brakes from the room. When I went out, I saw the impressive silver racing car parked on the road. She poked her face out of the car window and beckoned. I led the car to the parking spot in the backyard.

"Here," she said with a smile. She wore a short shirt that was thin enough to see the shape of the breast peak, and an olive green miniskirt underneath.

He wore a navy blue light suit, and felt that his impression was somewhat different from when he met before—at least because he had grown a beard for about two days. Although he didn't shave his beard, he didn't feel sloppy at all, but the shadows became slightly thicker. After getting out of the car, he immediately took off his sunglasses and stuffed them into his breast pocket.

"You are taking a break and interrupted suddenly. I'm really sorry." He said. "Where, it doesn't matter. Every day is considered a break, and besides being bored by myself." I answered.

"I have brought food." As he said, he took out a large white paper bag from behind the car seat.

"Meals?"

"It's nothing. I just think it's appropriate to bring some food for a sudden visit on Sunday," he said. "Thank you so much. I have just eaten apples since the morning."

Entering the door, we spread the food on the table. The stuff is quite impressive: roast beef sandwiches, salads, smoked salmon, blue berry ice cream, and enough. She moved things to the plate while I took out the white wine from the refrigerator and pulled out the corkscrew. It's like a small banquet.

"Okay, okay, I'm hungry." She said, hungry for a long time.

We chew sandwiches, eat salads, and catch smoked salmon. After the wine was drunk, I fetched beer from the refrigerator. The only thing in my refrigerator is beer. A friend started a small company, and gave me a low price for the beer coupons used for entertainment.

He doesn't change his face no matter how he drinks. I can also be considered quite capable of drinking beer. She also drank a few bottles with her. As a result, empty beer cans filled the table in rows in less than an hour. Drink quite well. She picked a few from the record rack and put them on the record player that automatically changed records. Miles Dibath's "Air Spirit" reached the ears.

"The record player that automatically converts records---you really have something rare these days." He said.

I explained that I was a fan of auto-switching players. It is not easy to tell him to find a good type of record player. He listened politely and agreed as he listened.

After talking about the record player for a while, he was silent for a moment. Then said: "There are tobacco leaves, don't you smoke?"

I hesitate a bit. Because I just quit smoking a month ago, it was a delicate period. I don't know how smoking marijuana leaves at this time has an effect on smoking cessation. But after all I decided to suck it. He took out the black tobacco leaf wrapped in tin foil from the bottom of the paper bag, put it on the cigarette paper and quickly rolled it up, licking it with his tongue at the corner. Then I ignited it with a lighter, took a few deep breaths to confirm that the fire was good, and then forwarded it to me. The quality of hemp leaves is really good. We were silent for a long time, and we took turns inhaling each other. Miles Dibs is over and replaced with the Waltz Collection by Johann Strauss. The match is inexplicable, but not bad.

After sucking one, she said she was sleepy. She didn't get enough sleep, so she drank three more bottles of beer and smoked marijuana. She did say that she was sleepy when she was sleepy. I led her to the second floor and let her lie down on the bed. She said she wanted to borrow a T-shirt. I handed her the T-shirt. She took off her clothes in twos or twos, leaving only her underwear, slipped into a T-shirt from the top of her head and lay down. When I asked if it was cold, she had already hissed to sleep. I shook my head and went downstairs.

In the living room, her lover has rolled a second cannabis. The kid is really amazing. Speaking of which, I would also like to get a quick sleep next to her. But it can't. We smoked the second cannabis. Johann Strauss' waltz is still going on. For some reason, I remembered the drama performed at the elementary school art festival. I acted as the old man in the glove shop, and the little fox came to the shop to find the old man to buy gloves. But the little fox brought not enough money.

"That's not enough to buy gloves." I said. The role is not authentic.

"But my mother was so cold that it was red and cracked. Please, please." said the little fox.

"No, no. Save enough money and come again. That way..."

"...I often burn warehouses." He said.

"I'm rude?" I was absent, stupefied that I had heard it wrong.

"We often burn warehouses." He repeated.

I looked at him. He rubbed the lighter pattern with his fingertips, then inhaled the marijuana into his lungs for 10 seconds, and then slowly exhaled it. The smoke ring floated out of his mouth like actoplasm [a substance hypothesized to be released by a psychic in the science of mind]. He passed the marijuana to me.

"It's pretty good, right?" he asked.

I nodded.

"Brought from India, only the very good ones are selected. People who breathe in this stuff will remind me of a lot of things inexplicably. And they are all in terms of light and smell. The quality of memory..." At this point, he paused for a while. Yes, snap a few fingers as if looking for the exact word. "It seems that the whole thing has changed. Don't you think so?"

"So think." I said. I also happened to think of the noise of the stage and the smell of paint on the cardboard used for the background.

"I want to hear you talk about warehouses." I said.

He glanced at me. There is still no expression that can be called an expression on his face.

"Is it okay?" he asked.

"certainly."

"It's actually very simple. Pour gasoline, throw a grazing match, and watch it suddenly catch fire---this is the end of it. It won't take 15 minutes to burn it."

"So," I held the cigarette in my mouth, but couldn't find the next word. "Why burn the warehouse?"

"Abnormal?"

"I don't understand. You burn the warehouse, I don't burn the warehouse. It can be said that there is an obvious difference. As me, I want to find out what the difference is rather than whether it is abnormal. Besides, you first said the warehouse. "

"Yes," he said, "it's exactly what you said. By the way, is there a Rabbi Shakar record?"

No, I said.

He was stunned for a moment. His consciousness seemed to pull the rubber mud that he couldn't tear apart. Or it is my consciousness that I can't pull it apart.

"Burn a warehouse in about two months." He said, then snapped his fingers, "I think this progress is the most appropriate. Of course I mean it to me."

I nodded nonchalantly. schedule?

"Is it impossible to burn my own warehouse?" I asked.

He looked at my face inexplicably. "Why do I have to burn my own warehouse? Why do you think I have several warehouses?"

"So that means," I said, "Is it burning someone else's warehouse?"

"Yes," he replied, "Of course it is, someone else's warehouse. So in a word, this is a crime. If you and I suck the door here, it is both a crime."

I slid my elbows on the arm of the chair and made no sound.

"In other words, I set fire to other people's warehouses without authorization. Of course I chose not to develop into a serious fire. After all, I didn't deliberately stoke a fire. As me, I just wanted to burn the warehouses."

I nodded, crushing a short shot of marijuana to death. "But once you get caught, it's a problem. After all, it's arson, so it might be punished."

Where can I catch it! "He said confidently, "Pour gasoline, light a match, turn around and run, slowly admiring it with a telescope from a distance. Can't catch it at all. What's more, the burnt is just a small barn, and the police are not so easily dispatched. "

The words may not be bad, I think. Besides, no one should think that such a well-dressed young man driving a foreign car would burn people's warehouses everywhere.

"Does she know about this?" I asked, pointing to the second floor.

"I don't know anything. To be honest, I haven't told anyone about this matter except you. After all, it's not the kind of thing that can be told to everyone."

"Why tell it to me?"

He stretched out his left finger straight, rubbed his cheek, and made a dry sound like a rustle of long beard, like a bug crawling on the tight tissue. "You are writing novels, and you may be interested in people's behavior patterns, I think. And guess that people like novelists can admire something intact before they make a judgment about something. If you admire the wording It’s not appropriate. It’s okay to say that you accept it all. So I told you. I also want to say it, as me."

I nodded. But frankly, I really don't know how to accept it in its entirety.

"It might be strange to say that," he spread his hands in front of me, and slowly put them together, "I think there are many warehouses in the world, waiting for me to burn them. The lone warehouse on the seashore, the warehouse in the middle of the field... …Anyway, all kinds of warehouses. It burned completely in only 15 minutes, as if there were no toys at all. No one was sad. It just---disappeared, suddenly."

"But is the warehouse useless? It's up to you to judge, right?"

"I don't make any judgments. That thing is waiting for someone to burn, I just accept it. Understand? Just accept what exists there. It is the same as rain. When it rains, the river rises, what is washed away---rain What kind of judgment? Tell you, I don't specifically want to do something that is against morality. I still support ethics. The existence of people is an important force in the factory. Without ethics, people cannot exist. And I think the so-called ethics, I am afraid it refers to a kind of equilibrium that exists at the same time."

"simultaneously exist?"

"That is to say, I am here and here again. I am in Tokyo and at the same time in Tunisia. It is me who condemns and I who forgive. This is the analogy. There is such an equilibrium. If there is no such equilibrium. , I think we will fall apart and fall apart completely. Because of it, our simultaneous existence is possible."

"That is to say, it is an ethical behavior for you to burn a warehouse. However, it is better to forget the ethics. It is not essential here. What I want to say is: there are many warehouses of this kind in the world. I have them. My warehouse, you have your warehouse, don’t lie to you. I have gone to almost all places in the world, so I have experienced everything. Several times I almost died. It’s not me who brags. But forget it, don’t say it. Usually I am He doesn't speak much, but he chatters as soon as he drinks."

We stayed silent for a long time as if we were going to cool off the heat. I don't know what to say. It feels like sitting on a train and watching the wonderful scenery that appears and disappears again and again outside the window. The body is slack, and the detailed movements are not allowed. But I can really feel the existence of my body as a concept. It is indeed possible to call it simultaneous. One I'm thinking, one I'm staring at and thinking. Time records multiple rhythms with great precision.

"Drink beer?" I asked after a while.

"Thank you, you're welcome?"

I brought four cans of beer from the kitchen, along with Camembert cheese. We each drank two cans of beer and ate cheese.

"When was the last time the warehouse was burned?" I tried to ask.

"Yes," he lightly held the empty beer can and groaned, "Summer, the end of August."

"When will it be burned next time?"

"I don't know, it's not that I set the schedule to mark the calendar and wait. I will burn it on a whim."

"But it's not that you just have a suitable warehouse when you want to burn it?"

"Of course." He said quietly, "So, you have to choose the ones that are suitable for burning in advance."

"Do inventory records?"

"That's it."

"May I ask a little more?"

"Please."

"The warehouse to burn next time has been decided?"

Wrinkles gathered between his eyebrows, and then he took a deep breath from his nostrils with a "sizzle". "Yes, it's already set."

I didn't say anything, sipping the rest of the beer in small sips.

"The warehouse is very good. I haven't encountered such a warehouse worth burning for a long time. Actually, I came to do a pre-investigation today."

"That means not far from here?"

"It's nearby," he said.

So the warehouse talked so far.

At 5 o'clock, he called his lover and apologized for the sudden visit. Although he drank quite enough beer, his face didn't change at all. He drove the car out of the backyard.

"Be careful about warehouse matters!" I said when we broke up.

"Yes." He said, "It's just around here anyway."

"Barn? What barn?" she asked.

"Men's words." He said.

"Yes," she said.

Then the two disappeared.

I returned to the living room and fell on the sofa. Everything on the coffee table is messy. I picked up my double-breasted trench coat, covered my head and fell asleep.

The room was dark when I woke up. 7 o'clock.

The blue faint night and the choking smell of marijuana obscured the room. The darkness of the night is very uneven, and the unevenness is strange. I collapsed on the sofa and didn't move, trying to recall the scene at the art performance, but I couldn't remember it. Did the little fox get the gloves?

I got up from the sofa and opened the window to change the air in the room. Then I went to the kitchen to make coffee and drank.

※ ※ ※ ※

The next day I went to the bookstore and bought a map of my neighborhood. One-twentieth-thousandths of the white map, even the small alleys are marked on it. I walked around my house with a map in hand, and hit X with a pencil to the location where there is a warehouse. I walked a radius of 4 kilometers in three days, and nothing was missed. My family is located in the suburbs, and there are many farmhouses around, so there are not a few warehouses: there are 16 in total.

The barn he wants to burn must be one of them. Based on his tone of voice when he said "nearby", I firmly believed that he would not be far away from my home.

I carefully checked the status of the 16 warehouses one by one. First, exclude those that are too close to the house or close to the plastic shed. Secondly, remove the piles of agricultural tools and pesticides that can be fully utilized. Because I think he never wants to burn agricultural tools and pesticides.

As a result, there were only 5 warehouses left, 5 warehouses that should be burned, or 5 warehouses that could be burned---a warehouse that could be burnt down within 15 minutes and no one regrets it. As for which one of them he will burn, I'm not sure. Because further down is just a matter of preference. But as I still want to know where he chooses among the 5 places.

I spread out the map, leaving 5 warehouses, and erasing the X numbers for the rest. Get the right angle gauge, curve gauge, and line dividing gauge, go out and make a circle around 5 warehouses, and set the shortest route to return home. The road climbs along the river and curves, so this operation is quite laborious. The final measurement route distance is 7.2 kilometers. After repeated measurement several times, it can be said that there is almost no error.

At 6 o'clock the next morning, I put on my sportswear, got on light shoes, and ran along this route. Anyway, I run 6 kilometers every morning, and there is no pain to add 1 kilometer. The scenery is not bad. Although there are two railway crossings on the way, they rarely stop and wait for trains.

When I went out, I first circled the nearby university sports field, and then ran 3 kilometers along the dirt road where no one walked by the river. Encountered the first warehouse halfway through. Then through the woods, climb the slow slope. Encountered another warehouse. There is a stable for racing horses just ahead. The horse may sneer when he sees the fire. But that's all, there is no actual damage.

The third warehouse and the fourth warehouse resemble old and ugly twins, and the distance between them is only 200 meters. All of them are so old and dirty, and they even feel like they should be burned together.

The last warehouse is next to the railway crossing, 6 kilometers away. Has been completely abandoned. Nail a Pepsi iron signboard toward the railway. The building---I don't know if it can be called a building---has almost begun to disintegrate. As he said, it really seemed to be waiting for someone to light a fire.

I stood in front of the last barn for a while, took a few deep breaths, and then went home through the railway crossing. The running time is 31 minutes and 30 seconds. Take a shower and eat breakfast after running. After eating, I listened to a record on the sofa, and then started to work.

I ran this same route every morning for a month. Then the barn did not burn.

I glanced over from time to time: Will he tell me to burn the warehouse? In other words, he typed the image of burning a warehouse into my head, and then it swelled like a bicycle. Yes, sometimes I do think that instead of waiting for him to burn it, it's better to wipe the matches and burn them. After all, it's just a tattered little warehouse.

But I am afraid I have overthinked it. As a practical matter, I did not burn any warehouses. No matter how the image of the burning warehouse in my head expands, I am not the type of person who actually set the warehouse on fire. It was not me who burned the warehouse, it was him. Maybe he changed the warehouse that should be burned. Or it is too busy to find the time to burn the warehouse. There was no news from her either.

December is approaching, autumn is over, and the morning air is beginning to suffocate people's skin. The warehouse is still me. White frost fell on the roof of the warehouse. In winter, the birds flapped their wings loudly in the cold woods. The world continues to move as usual.

※ ※ ※ ※

Seeing him again, it was mid-December last year, on Christmas Eve. Christmas hymns are being played everywhere. I go to the streets to buy all kinds of Christmas gifts for all kinds of people. When Nogizakaichi took away, he found his car. It is undoubtedly his silver car. Shinagawa number, there is a slight injury next to the left headlight. The car was parked in a cafe parking lot. Of course, the car is not as impressive as it has been seen before. Maybe I'm nervous, and the silver looks somewhat sad. But it may be my illusion. I have a tendency to tamper with my memory to my advantage. I walked into the cafe decisively.

The cafe was black, with a strong smell of coffee. Baroque music can hardly stop, and Baroque music flows quietly. I found him soon. He was sitting alone by the window drinking milk coffee. Although the room was hot enough to completely whiten his glasses, he still wore a cashmere coat and his scarf was not taken off.

I hesitated a little, and decided to say hello anyway. But it didn't say that I found his car outside-anyway, I entered this cafe by accident and met him by accident.

"Sit down?" I asked.

"Of course. Please." he said.

Then we talked about gossip. Can't talk. There was no common topic at first, and he seemed to be thinking about other things. Even so, it doesn't seem to be inconvenient for me to sit with him. He mentioned the port of Tunisia and how to catch shrimp there. Speaking not out of sociality, but earnestly. However, the words so finely penetrated into the sand and stopped suddenly, and there was no more to follow.

He raised his hand to call the waiter and ordered a second cup of cream coffee.

"By the way, what happened to the warehouse?" I gritted my teeth and asked.

A smile was secreted at the corner of his lips, "Ah, you still remember," he said, he took out the handkerchief from his pocket, wiped the corner of his mouth and put it back in, "Of course it burned, it burned completely, as promised Like that."

"It's near my house?"

"Yes, it's really nearby."

"when?"

"About 10 days after I went to your house last time."

I told him to mark the location of the barn on the map and run in circles in front of it every day. "So it's impossible to overlook." I said.

"Really thorough." He looked happily. "Comprehensive, logical, but I must have missed it. That's a certain situation. It is too close and neglected."

"I don't understand."

He retired his tie and looked at his watch. "It's too close." He said, "but I have to go now. Shall we talk about this slowly next time? I'm sorry, but I have to wait."

I have no reason to dissuade him. He stood up and put the cigarette and lighter in his pocket.

"By the way, will she be visible from now on?" he asked.

"No, I haven't seen you. How about you?"

"Nor. I can't get in touch. There is no room in the dormitory, the phone can't get through, and she hasn't been to the pantomime class."

"Maybe where I went all of a sudden, I have done it several times before."

He stood with his hands in his pockets and fixed his eyes on the tabletop. "Penniless, another month and a half! Her head is not enough for survival!" He snapped his fingers in his pocket. "I know very well that she is indeed penniless. There are no decent friends. The address book is full of people, it's just names. The kid has no reliable friends. But she trusts you to come. . This is not a social rhetoric. I think you belong to her special existence. I'm a little jealous, really. I've hardly been jealous of anyone before." He sighed lightly and looked at his watch again, "I have to go. See you again somewhere!"

I nodded, but the words did not go smoothly. always like this. It is difficult to express the sentence in front of this kid.

After that, I called her many times. The phone has been cut off due to unpaid phone bills. I couldn't help but get worried and went to the dormitory to find her. The door to her room was tightly closed, and the direct mail was stuck in bundles in the mailbox. The manager was nowhere to be seen, and there is no way to confirm whether she still lives here. I tore a page from the manual, wrote a message: "Please contact me", wrote down the name and put it in the mailbox. But there is no connection.

When I went to the dormitory for the second time, the door had other occupants' name tags on it. No one came out even knocking on the door. The manager still disappeared. So I gave up trying. It's been almost a year.

She disappeared.

I still run in front of 5 barns every morning. None of the warehouses around my house have been burned. I didn't stop talking about where the barn was burned. Another December turned, and the winter bird swept overhead. My age continues to increase.

In the dark of the night, I think about the barn that will be burned from time to time.

View more about Burning reviews

Extended Reading
  • Grady 2022-03-23 09:02:34

    Throughout the whole process, I felt that Liu's confused, stupid, and a little heady state didn't act properly. Women's main line of motivation is just a simple element of desire and craving, and the sentence that no country is for women seems to have another meaning. The ending that Korea is a society lacking justice is very true. The psychological portrayal of the characters is thin and very fake, the social topic is blunt and empty, and the love seems to be deeper because of a well, and the disconnected field transitions are more like TV dramas.

  • Eugenia 2021-12-27 08:02:05

    After watching "Burning" for a while, my stomach suddenly became a little hungry. I remembered that I had made a bowl of yogurt ice cream before, so I took the ice cream out of the refrigerator and ate it while watching a movie. Because the freezing time is not enough, the ice cream has not completely solidified yet, it is a thick white viscous liquid. I ate it with a spoon, and I didn’t feel anything wrong except it was a bit too sweet, until Liu Yaren suddenly flew up in the movie...

Burning quotes

  • Shin Hae-mi: Do you know Bushmen in the Kalahari Desert, Africa It is said that Bushmen have two types of hungry people. Hungry English is hunger, Little hungry and great hungry. Little hungry people are physically hungry, The great hungry is a person who is hungry for survival. Why do we live, What is the significance of living? People who are always looking for these answers. This kind of person is really hungry, They called the great hungry.