Haruki Murakami's odd and atmospheric short story collection First Person Singular looks at those moments in our lives where something inexplicable happens that alters us forever. Often it isn't the exact nature of the event that matters; it's that touch of weird surreality, the feeling that somehow we've just side-slipped into a place that is outside the realm of the ordinary.
All of the stories are good, but none hits the target quite so spot-on as "Cream." In it, a young man gets a printed invitation to a piano recital from a woman he'd known a few years earlier when they were both students of the same music teacher. The narrator wasn't nearly as good a musician as the woman was, and he'd always gotten the impression she didn't like him much, so the invitation was a complete surprise, especially since they'd had no contact during the intervening years.
He decides to go, and even buys her a bouquet of flowers. He takes the train to the remote village where the recital hall is, but when he gets there, the recital hall is padlocked, and appears not to have been occupied for some time. Odder still, he seems to be the only one around. There's no one out in the village, no cars passing, nothing. He goes to a nearby park and sits on a bench, and closes his eyes for a few moments. Then he becomes aware of a change. He opens his eyes to find an old man standing there. The old man gives him some cryptic instructions -- "Look for a circle with many centers and no circumference" -- and after a brief discussion of what that could possibly mean, the old man, too, is gone without a trace.
Ultimately the narrator gets back on the train toward home. There is no closure; he never finds out why the pianist had invited him to a non-existent recital, who the old man was, or what the odd message meant. "Things like this happen sometimes in our lives," the narrator concludes. "Inexplicable, illogical events that nevertheless are deeply disturbing. I guess we need to not think about them, just close our eyes and get through them. As if we were passing under a huge wave out on the ocean."
The entire collection, but especially "Cream," put me in mind of one of the weirdest experiences I've ever had. Like the narrator in the story, I still don't have an explanation -- and on some level, it's been worrying at me ever since.
The events in question happened about forty years ago, when I lived in Olympia, Washington. I was about twenty-five at the time, working a stupid desk job I hated, and to lighten the daily drudgery I decided on a lark to take an evening art class at Evergreen State College. Now, I'll say up front that I'm not much of an artist. My attempt in my biology classes to draw an animal on the whiteboard led to its being christened by students as the "All-Purpose Quadruped" because no one could figure out if it was a cow, a dog, an armadillo, or whatever. But even considering my lack of talent, I thought an art class could be fun, so I went for it.One of the students in the class was Laura L______. Laura was between thirty-five and forty, at a guess, and in very short order she kind of attached herself to me. There was nothing remotely sexual about it; I never got the impression she was coming on to me, or anything. It was more that she hung on my every word as if I was the smartest, most fascinating person she'd ever met. We discovered a mutual interest in languages -- and it was off to the races.
Now, I hasten to state that at twenty-five, I simply wasn't that interesting. I was a young, naive guy who had no idea what he wanted to do with his life, and at that point was just kind of flailing around trying to make enough money to pay for rent and groceries. So as flattering as it was, even then I recognized that there was something weird and over-the-top about Laura's attentions. Still, it was a sop to my ego, and I didn't do anything to discourage her.
About three weeks into the art course, I wrote a letter to a college friend of mine (remember, this is in the days before email and texting), and along with the usual newsy stuff, I mentioned the art class and "this weird woman named Laura." "Next time we talk, I have to tell you more about her," I wrote. Nothing more in detail than that -- a passing couple of sentences that didn't capture how peculiar she was, nor even in what way she was peculiar.
Around that time, Laura asked if my wife and I wanted to come over to her house, that she and her husband were throwing a party for a few friends, and that she'd love it if we came. I said okay -- again, with a mild feeling of trepidation, but not enough to say "oh, hell no" -- and she seemed really excited that I'd agreed, and was bringing along my wife.
Saturday came, and we showed up at Laura's house. And... Laura's husband, and the other guests, were all the same kind of way-too-bright-eyed intellectual that she was. The topics were all over the place. Science, linguistics, art, history, philosophy, you name it. And just like conversations with Laura, everything I said was met with "that's fascinating!" and "wow, that is so cool!" Looking at it from the outside, you'd have sworn that I was Neil deGrasse Tyson or something.
After about forty-five minutes of this, both my wife and I got freaked out enough that we decided to leave. We invented some kind of excuse -- I forget exactly what -- and told Laura we had to go.
"Oh, I'm so sorry you can't stay," she said, her forehead creasing with dismay. "Are you sure?"
I said I was sure, was "so sorry, too," and told her I'd see her next class. She didn't argue more, but definitely looked disappointed. Way more disappointed, in fact, that the circumstance seemed to warrant. My wife and I talked all the way home about how bizarre the evening had been, and how relieved we both were to leave -- even though nothing happened.
Two postscripts are what make this story even creepier.
About three or four days after the party, I got a letter from my college friend. Best I can recall, the relevant passage went something like this:
I know you'll probably think this is ridiculous, but I felt like I had to say something. When I read what you said in your letter about your classmate Laura, I got a real premonition of evil. There was immediately a feeling that she meant you harm. I know how skeptical you are about this sort of thing, so you'll probably laugh and then throw this letter in the trash, but I felt like I couldn't simply not tell you.The second thing is that Laura never came back to the art class.
The first time she missed, I just figured she was sick or something (and was actually a little relieved, because I didn't want to get into it with her about why we'd left her party). But then another class came, and another, and she never showed up.
I never saw her again.
My wife said, "Maybe she realized that she'd missed her chance to get you, and you weren't going to trust her enough to give her another opportunity."
I actually thought, several times, about driving past her house, just to see what I could see (I had no inclination to knock on her door). But each time, the idea that she might see my car driving past gave me such a chill up my backbone that I didn't do it. Where she lived wasn't on my way to work or anything, it was quite a bit out of the way, so I never did go back.
To this day, I don't have a good explanation for this. Were they just weird, over-enthusiastic intellectual types, and it was all just innocent overcompensation for social awkwardness? Was it a cult? Were they planning on drugging our drinks or something? If we'd stayed longer, were they going to drag out a display of Amway products?
I honestly have no idea. But even though nothing happened that evening -- "strange, extremely happy smart people freak out young couple," is really about the extent of it -- I still can't think of this incident without shuddering. What happened afterward (the letter from my friend, and Laura's odd disappearance) only add to the mystery. Even though my rational brain balks at the idea, it's left me with the sense of having had a momentary glimpse into a surreal and dangerous world of which I'm usually unaware. I've many times considered turning it into a short story or novel, but I have never been able to come up with a convincing ending.
interesting article Gordon. Thank you. Seems like it happens to me all the time in various ways, and luckily sometimes wonderfully…
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