DEGREES OF COMPARISON OF ADJECTIVES In English, as in Russian, ...
Barnum and Bailey rule here
The world shines with gilding,
But if you believe in me -
You and I cannot be fooled.
It's a Barnum and Bailey world
Just as phony as it can be
But it wouldn't be make-believe
If you believed in me
It's Only a Paper Moon (E. Y. Harburg and Harold Arlen)
AOMAME
Don't believe your eyes
The radio in the taxi was playing Janacek's Sinfonietta. Inside a car stuck in a traffic jam, you can't even call this music. And the driver does not look like a person who listens to all this attentively. Like a seasoned fisherman trying to guess if there's going to be a storm or not, the middle-aged taxi driver kept a close eye on the line of cars stretching ahead. Crawling deeper into the back seat, Aomame listened to the music with her eyes closed.
I wonder how many people in the world, listening to the first part of Janacek's Sinfonietta, recognize Janacek's Sinfonietta in it? The answer here, perhaps, fluctuates somewhere between "very little" and "almost not at all." Only Aomame was an exception for some reason.
Janáček wrote this little symphony in 1926. And he composed the introduction on fanfare as an anthem for some sports festival. Aomame represented Czechoslovakia 1926. First World War ended, the centuries-old tyranny of the Habsburgs was finally overthrown. People sip Pilsen beer in taverns, collect cool real machine guns and enjoy the peace that briefly reigned in Central Europe. Kafka tragically died two years ago. Very soon Hitler will show up here - and will devour this little beauty country with giblets. But to foresee the impending nightmare, of course, no one has yet been given. Maybe the main wisdom that people learn from History lies in the bitter question: “Then who could have known that everything would turn out like this?” While listening to music, Aomame imagined the wind blowing across the Bohemian Plateau and returned to world history.
Emperor Taishō died in 1926, and the era of Emperor Showa* began. Dark times were also approaching Japan. The frivolous interludes of modernism and democracy passed like a dream, and fascism was already knocking on the door, asking where to quarter.
* The eras of the reign of Japanese emperors: Taisho - from 1912 to 1926, Showa - from 1926 to 1989 (Hereinafter, translator's note.)
World History was Aomame's second strong point, right behind sports news. Literature as such did not cause much interest, but the historical texts that caught her eye, Aomame read voraciously. What she liked most about History was how the facts were linked to the places and dates of the events. Remembering any date was always easy for her. There is no point in cramming the numbers themselves. It is enough to imagine what was the cause of what, what the consequences were in the end, and exact date popped up before my eyes. At school, Aomame's history was second to none. And when people complained that they couldn't keep the right dates in their heads, she was always surprised. Well, in fact, what's so difficult?
Aomame - Blue Polka Dots - was not a nickname at all *. Her paternal family came from Fukushima Prefecture. They say that somewhere out there, in a village lost among the mountains, there are still a few people with this strange surname still left. Although Aomame herself has never been there. Even before the birth of his daughter, the father cut off all ties with his relatives. And the mother is with hers. So Aomame did not see her grandmothers or grandfathers in her eyes and did not know. She did not travel often, but if she did happen to spend the night in a hotel, before going to bed she would certainly leaf through the telephone directory in search of namesakes. Alas! Wherever she was brought - to a metropolis or a provincial town - no one with her last name came across even once. So gradually she got used to feeling like a person thrown into a boundless ocean and doomed to swim out alone.
* Aomame (jap. "blue peas") - a kind of beans. It is grown in the mountainous regions of Japan and rarely appears on the table of the townspeople. It is most often used as an ingredient in making bean curd (tofu) or fermented bean paste (natto).
Explaining how to spell her name always took a lot of time. Whenever Aomame called herself, the interlocutor raised his eyebrows and looked at her in puzzlement. "Miss Blue Polka Dot?" Yes, yes, she clarified. So write: the hieroglyph "Blue", then "Polka Dots". And at work, getting to know clients, I constantly felt out of place. "Dazed" visitors accepted her business card, as if some kind of ominous message. When it was necessary to introduce themselves on the phone, the other end of the line often giggled. In the hospital or at the city hall, wherever they called her loudly, everyone around them looked up, wanting to see what a person called Blue Polka looked like.
Every now and then it was called with errors. "Madam Green pea? - they asked in the phone. "Mistress Salted Peas?" “Well, almost…” she answered and corrected. Often hearing in response: “Oh, what a rare surname!” Thirty years of her life were wasted explaining her name and defending herself from ridiculous jokes about the Blue Peas. Had I been born under a different surname, she thought, maybe my whole life would have turned out differently? Say, if I lived Tanaka, Sato or Suzuki - you see, I myself would be calmer, and I would look at the world around me much more condescendingly? Who knows…
Aomame closed her eyes and immersed herself in the music. The brass unison filled my head. Despite the muffled volume, the sound was deep and rich. Opening her eyes, Aomame glanced at the control panel. The built-in stereo system proudly gleamed with black edges. Aomame could not read the name of the manufacturer, but there is no doubt that the equipment is solid. A cloud of incomprehensible buttons, green numbers on the screen. At first glance it is clear: "hi-tech". It is not even worth thinking about installing such a toy in an ordinary corporate taxi.
Aomame took another look around the salon. Getting into the car, she thought about her own thoughts and at first did not pay attention, but this car really looked unusual. Interior trim - beyond praise, seats - just do not get up. Plus, perfect silence. The soundproofing is top notch, you can't hear a sound from outside. It's like being in a recording studio booth, completely sealed off from outside noise. Private taxi? Many owners of private taxis do not spare money to finish their car. Aomame looked around for the driver's nameplate, but couldn't find it. However, it does not look like an illegal taxi, whatever one may say. The counter is screwed as it should be. Here, already hit 2150 yen. Find another nameplate...
“Great car,” Aomame said at the taxi driver’s back. “So quiet.” What is the name of?
- Toyota! – willingly answered the driver. – “Crown”, royal saloon.
- The music is very good.
Yes, it's a quiet car. In fact, that's why I chose her. Still, Toyota's soundproofing is the best in the world!
Aomame nodded. And settled into a comfortable seat. There was something strange in the taxi driver's speech. It was like he was going to say more, but he didn't. For example (except for “for example”, she didn’t have any other arguments): “Of course, no one can compare with Toyota in terms of soundproofing, but she has problems that I won’t say anything about.” And the pause that followed after that absorbed, like a sponge, all the understatement. A tiny cloud of meaning, not expressed in words, drifted in the middle of the cabin and did not let me calm down.
“Very quiet indeed,” Aomame repeated, trying to track where this cloud would float. “And the stereo seems to be top class?”
“When choosing a car, it was necessary to stop at something,” the driver explained in the tone of a veteran recalling a historic battle. “In the end, I decided that if you spend so much time behind the wheel, it is very important to listen to high-quality sounds. Well, again...
1Q84-3
Chapter 1
USIKawa
On the inside of the subconscious
"Would you please refrain from smoking, Mr. Ushikawa?" said the one below.
Ushikawa glared at the intruder. Then he shifted his gaze to the Seven Stars in his fingers. The cigarette didn't burn.
Ushikawa's face showed almost sincere surprise - and where did this cigarette come from in his hand?
- Yes of course! He supposedly chimed in. - And really, what am I? I wouldn't smoke anyway. And the fingers are stretching, be they wrong ...
The interlocutor nodded slightly. But his gaze, which pinned Ushikawa to the chair, did not waver for a second. Ushikawa returned the cigarette to the pack and hid it in a drawer.
The second visitor, a head taller than the first, his hair pulled back in a ponytail, propped up the doorframe and fixed Ushikawa with a look as if he were examining a dirty spot on the wall. Damn them, flashed through Ushikawa's head. This couple had come here for the third time and, as before, they were very annoying to him.
In Ushikawa's cramped office, there was only one table, and in front of it was a chair, in which a shaven-headed man, who looked like a bonzo, was now lounging. As before, only he spoke. Tailed from the beginning to the end of the visit was silent as a fish. Like a formidable koma-inu at the entrance to the temple, he remained absolutely motionless, and only his gaze did not leave Ushikawa's face for a second.
"It's been three weeks," the skinhead said. Ushikawa took a calendar from the table, read his notes, and nodded vigorously.
— Quite right! The last time you came was exactly three weeks ago.
“Since then, we haven't received a single message from you. But we warned: the bill is literally on the clock. We don't have time to spare, Mr. Ushikawa.
— Oh yes, of course! Ushikawa grabbed a golden lighter and fiddled with it instead of a cigarette. - You can't hesitate. I understand you very well...
Without saying a word, Bonza waited for the sequel. And Ushikawa continued:
“It’s just, you see, I really don’t want to bother you over trifles. A little about this, a little about that - I don't work like that. That's when a critical mass of information has accumulated in order to connect all the causes with the consequences and analyze the phenomenon as a whole, there will be a completely different conversation. I assure you, fried facts, pulled at random, can greatly disorientate you. I'm sorry if I sound overconfident, Mr. Onda, but that's my way of working. Professional handwriting, if you will.
The skinhead Onda looked at Ushikawa with icy eyes. Ushikawa knew that this man did not love him, although he did not see much tragedy here. As far as Ushikawa could remember, from an early age no one loved him - neither his parents, nor his brothers, nor school teachers, nor his wife, nor his own children, and this was the norm for him. Now, if someone suddenly felt sympathy for him - yes, it's just out of the ordinary. But he took the next hostility calmly.
— Your professional handwriting, Mr. Ushikawa, we try to respect. And, as you can see, they are still respected. Literally until recently. However, now the situation has changed, and the conversation will go differently. We're sorry, but we can't wait any longer for you to stock up.
“As far as I understand, Mr. Onda,” Ushikawa said, “you, too, did not sit idly by and tried to take some steps on your part. Or am I wrong?
Onda didn't answer.
Thousand Bridesmaids Eighty-fourth year.
I can't write a decent review, as this is only the first book out of three, but after reading even one, there is something to say.
In the second chapter, it became clear that all this reminded me of the same “Wonderland without brakes or the end of the world”, where two narratives lived separately from each other and followed each other. And only after the middle one could see small threads that would later connect them into one whole.
In general, I am very pleased with the fact that I guessed correctly about these interweaving of narratives and stories. Well, if you can’t guess the killers in the detectives, then I can at least logically suggest something.
Actually, in 1Q84, two stories turned out to be completely different people, at first glance - Aomame and Tengo.
She is a girl with a strange job that you won't tell anyone about. Can distinguish Janáček's symphonietta immediately from the introduction. When she gets angry, her face changes in such a way that even children are frightened. Not looking for a permanent relationship. Picks up a bald man in a bar once a month for one-time sex.
He is a guy who is hard to miss because of his size, and if you get to know him, you are unlikely to forget. Hiding from the real world in the world of numbers, teaching math three times a week. Tries to write a book. He does not want a serious and long-term relationship. Once a week he sleeps with a married friend.
Both seem to be out of this world. And there is a feeling that these two are unlikely to even be able to pass each other.
In her story, the plot is built around a non-main work. I'll do without spoilers about what kind of work it is. The main thing in it is justice and peace, where there can be no rapists, and even more so pedophilia.
In his story, the usual order of life is disrupted due to one eccentric publisher who asks to rewrite the story of a 17-year-old girl for an award, well, the text falls short. The main thing in it is something that will make you read to the end. A story in which there are two moons in the sky and LittlePeople weave an air cocoon.
Easy to read. Murakami's language is always easy in principle, and especially for everyone who likes it. I didn’t particularly notice any boring and drawn-out moments, except for the description of books and politics, but they are rather short and do not have time to strain. I will definitely read further, I can’t pick up and drop a book by an author like Murakami. Even though not everyone likes him that much, it's always a pleasure for me to sit down with his book and dive into something unusual.
And even if it seems that there are too many “adult” scenes, it doesn’t really spoil the book. It all depends on what the reader likes, what confuses or annoys him.
There was one moment that even made me laugh, but those who read it will probably understand:
- Tell us about your sensei. What kind of person is he? She looked at him dumbfounded. "Well, you asked!" her eyes seemed to say.
One has only to imagine this view)
Haruki Murakami
(one thousand bride hundred and eighty-four)
JULY - SEPTEMBER
Chapter 1
_______________________
AOMAME
The most boring city in the world
The rainy season had not yet ended, but the sky was already turning blue, and the sun was generously baking the earth. The shadows from the lush willows swayed measuredly on the sidewalk.
Tamaru met Aomame at the gate. In a dark summer suit and shirt and tie. Without a single drop of sweat on his face. How such big men manage not to sweat in such a wild heat has always remained a mystery to Aomame.
Seeing her, Tamaru nodded curtly and muttered something unintelligible. The easy conversation that usually ensued between them did not follow this time. Tamaru walked down the long corridor, without looking back, all the way to the door to the living room, where the hostess was waiting for them. He didn't seem to want to talk to anyone at all today. Probably because of the death of the shepherd dog, Aomame thought. Although he told her on the phone that it was not difficult to find a replacement for a dog, he simply hides his true feelings. With this dog, he lived for several years in perfect harmony. And her sudden, inexplicable death probably perceived as a tragedy, and even as a personal challenge.
Having opened the door, Tamara let the guest go ahead, while he himself froze in the aisle, waiting for the instructions of the hostess.
Drinks are not needed yet, she said.
The man nodded and, closing the door behind him, left the women alone. On a table to the side of the hostess' chair was a round aquarium with two fish. The most common, golden and banal sea grass. No wonder, that's just... Aomame has appeared in this spacious living room many times already, but she saw fish here for the first time. The air conditioner worked quietly: a barely perceptible breeze walked over the skin every now and then. Behind the hostess was a vase with three snow-white lilies. Large, invitingly open flowers resembled outlandish creatures from another world, frozen in meditation.
With a weak wave of her hand, the hostess invited the girl to sit down. Aomame walked over and sat down on the couch across from her. The lace curtain on the window overlooking the garden did little to keep out the summer sun. In its bright rays, the hostess looked unexpectedly tired and broken. Limply propping her cheek with a narrow palm, the old woman sank into a huge armchair. Her eyes were sunken, the wrinkles on her neck almost doubled. Pale lips corners and tips long eyebrows, as if tired of fighting gravity, slid down to the limit. Possibly the slow blood flow caused the skin on her face and arms to be coated with white dust. It seemed as if the hostess had aged five or six years since Aomame's last screech. And now she no longer had the strength to hide her fatigue from anyone. Which struck me the most. Usually - at least in front of Aomame - the old woman used all her willpower to look cheerful and fit. And it is worth noting that so far she has succeeded in almost one hundred percent.
But a lot has changed in this house now, Aomame noticed. Even the light in the living room took on a different tone. Not to mention that the fish in the aquarium didn't go well with the high ceilings and antique furniture.
For a long time the hostess did not say a word. She just sat there, resting her cheek on her palm, and looked at one point. Even though it was clear from her face that there was nothing at that point.
Don't you want to drink? the old woman finally asked.
No thanks," Aomame replied.
There's iced tea. If you want, pour...
On a folding table by the door stood a jug of tea and three glasses of carved glass, each a different color.
Thank you," Aomame nodded. But she remained seated, waiting to continue.
However, the hostess fell silent again. Perhaps it was simply delaying the moment when the truth, spoken out loud, would finally turn into reality. The old woman looked at the fish in the aquarium. Finally making up her mind, she looked straight at Aomame.
Has Tamara told you about the death of the dog guarding the orphanage?
Yes I heard.
Wild, incomprehensible death ... - The hostess pursed her lips. "And now little Tsubasa is missing too."
Aomame's face fell.
How did you disappear?!
Disappeared somewhere. Seems like right in the middle of the night. Nobody saw her in the morning.
Biting her lips, Aomame tried to say something. But the right words didn't come to mind.
But... After all, you said that the girl is not left alone! - she exclaimed. “And that someone else always sleeps in her room just to be safe.
Yes, but a strange thing: that night the woman who stayed with her fell asleep so soundly that she didn’t hear anything at all. I woke up in the morning, and Tsubasa's bed was empty.
So the baby went missing the night after the dog died? Aomame stated.
The hostess nodded.
I don’t know yet if there is any connection here ... But it seems so, there is something in common in this.
Aomame's wandering gaze lingered on the goldfish. The hostess intercepted him and looked in the same direction. Two small fish, barely perceptibly moving their fins, slowly moved back and forth across the glass pond. The rays of the summer sun were so wonderfully refracted in the water that it involuntarily seemed as if you were spying on life at the bottom of the ocean.
I bought these goldfish for Tsubasa,” the hostess explained. - Here, in Azabu, there was a street festival, I took the girl out for a walk. Still, sitting in four walls for a long time is unhealthy. Tamara, of course, was with us all the way. It was there in one shop that I bought fish, and at the same time an aquarium. She really liked them. When I put it in her room, she looked at them all day, not looking up. And today, when the baby went missing, I took the aquarium here. I've been staring all day and can't take my eyes off it. I don't do anything else, I just sit and watch. Oddly enough, this activity never gets boring. Until now, I have not tried to look at aquarium fish for so long and intently.
But where could the girl have gone? Aomame asked. - Do you have any guesses?
Not the slightest, - answered the hostess. - In her life there are no relatives who can hide. As far as I know, she has absolutely nowhere to go in this world.
Or maybe someone took her away by force? Don't you think about it?
The hostess shook her head - nervously and briefly, as if driving away an annoying mosquito.
No, this is impossible. No one could force her away. If that happened, the whole orphanage would wake up. Someone who, and these women always sleep very sensitively. I think Tsubasa left of her own free will. On tiptoe, so that no one would hear, she went down the stairs, quietly unlocked the door and left. This is just what I can imagine easily. If she had passed the guard dog to the gate, he would not have dared to bark. Even though the dog died last night. The girl didn't even change. Although her clothes were ready for her and folded by the bedside, she left in her pajamas. And I didn't take any money with me...
Aomame frowned even more.
One? In pajamas?
Exactly, the hostess nodded. - Where can a ten-year-old child go at night - alone, in pajamas, without money? Yes, this is simply unthinkable! But I don't think there is any anomaly. On the contrary, something similar was bound to happen sooner or later. That's why I don't even try to look for the poor child. And just sit and look at the fish. - The hostess glanced at the aquarium, then again turned it to Aomame: - It's just that I already understand: it's useless to look for her. She's there now, as long as we can't reach...
Having said this, the old woman removed her hand from her chin and exhaled - so longly, as if she were releasing all the tension that had accumulated in her soul. And helplessly dropped her hand on her knee.
But why did she have to leave? Aomame was surprised. - Still, she is under protection in the shelter, and there is nowhere else to go ...
Why - I do not know. But I am sure that the death of the dog played a fatal role. Once here, the baby immediately fell in love with this dog, and he became very attached to the girl. They were inseparable friends. From his terrible, inexplicable death, the girl seemed to have been replaced. Why, all the adult residents of the shelter are still in shock! But still, it seems very likely that killing a dog is a signal for little Tsubasa.
Signal? Aomame raised her eyebrows. - What is it?
“You shouldn't be here. We know where you are. Get out of here. Otherwise, something even worse will happen to those around you.”
The mistress's fingers tapped her knee measuredly, as if counting the seconds. Without saying a word, Aomame waited for the continuation.
Most likely, the girl understood what she was being warned about and decided to leave on her own. Against own desire. Knowing full well that there is nowhere else to go. But you can't leave. How can I imagine that "the poor thing was going on in my head, I'm just going crazy ... For a ten-year-old child to make such a decision himself? ..
Aomame wanted to reach out her hands and squeeze her mistress's fingers in hers. But she restrained herself: the conversation was not over yet.
© 2009 by Haruki Murakami
© Kovalenin D., translation into Russian, 2018
© Edition in Russian, design
(E. Y. Harburg and Harold Arlen)
Don't believe your eyes
The radio in the taxi played Janacek's Sinfonietta. Inside a car stuck in a traffic jam, you can't even call this music. And the driver does not look like a person who listens to all this attentively. Like a seasoned fisherman trying to guess if there's going to be a storm or not, the middle-aged taxi driver kept a close eye on the line of cars stretching ahead. Crawling deeper into the back seat, Aomame listened to the music with her eyes closed.
I wonder how many people in the world, listening to the first part of Janacek's Sinfonietta, recognize Janacek's Sinfonietta in it? The answer here, perhaps, fluctuates somewhere between "very little" and "almost not at all." Only Aomame was an exception for some reason.
Janáček wrote this little symphony in 1926. And he composed the introduction on fanfare as an anthem for some sports festival. Aomame represented Czechoslovakia 1926. The First World War is over, the centuries-old tyranny of the Habsburgs is finally overthrown. People sip Pilsen beer in taverns, collect cool real machine guns and enjoy the peace that briefly reigned in Central Europe. Kafka tragically died two years ago. Very soon Hitler will show up here and devour this little beauty country with giblets. But to foresee the impending nightmare, of course, no one has yet been given. Maybe the main wisdom that people learn from History lies in the bitter question: “Then who could have known that everything would turn out like this?” While listening to music, Aomame imagined the wind blowing across the Bohemian Plateau and returned to world history.
Emperor Taishō died in 1926, and the Showa era began. Dark times were also approaching Japan. The frivolous interludes of modernism and democracy passed like a dream, and fascism was already knocking on the door, asking where to quarter.
World history was Aomame's second strong point, just behind sports news. Literature as such did not cause much interest, but the historical texts that caught her eye, Aomame read voraciously. What she liked most about history was how the facts were linked to the places and dates of the events. Remembering any date was always easy for her. There is no point in cramming the numbers themselves. It is enough to imagine what caused what, what consequences happened in the end - and the exact date itself jumped out before my eyes. At school, Aomame's history was second to none. And when people complained that they couldn't keep the right dates in their heads, she was always surprised. Well, in fact, what's so difficult?
Aomame - Blue Polka Dots - was not a nickname at all. Her paternal family came from Fukushima Prefecture. They say that somewhere out there, in a village lost among the mountains, there are still a few people with this strange surname still left. Although Aomame herself has never been there. Even before the birth of his daughter, the father cut off all ties with his relatives. And the mother is with hers. So Aomame did not see her grandmothers or grandfathers in her eyes and did not know. She did not travel often, but if she did happen to spend the night in a hotel, before going to bed she would certainly leaf through the telephone directory in search of namesakes. Alas! Wherever she was brought - to a metropolis or a provincial town - no one with her last name came across even once. So gradually she got used to feeling like a person thrown into a boundless ocean and doomed to swim out alone.
Explaining how to spell her name always took a lot of time. Whenever Aomame called herself, the interlocutor raised his eyebrows and looked at her in puzzlement. "Miss Blue Polka Dot?" Yes, yes, she clarified. So write: the hieroglyph "Blue", then "Polka Dots". And at work, getting to know clients, I constantly felt out of place. "Dazed" visitors accepted her business card, as if some kind of ominous message. When it was necessary to introduce themselves on the phone, the other end of the line often giggled. In the hospital or at the city hall, wherever they called her loudly, everyone around them looked up, wanting to see what a person called Blue Polka looked like.
Every now and then it was called with errors. "Mistress Green Peas?" - they asked in the phone. "Mistress Salted Peas?" “Well, almost…” she answered and corrected. Often hearing in response: “Oh, what a rare surname!” Thirty years of her life were wasted explaining her name and defending herself from ridiculous jokes about the Blue Peas. I was born under a different surname, I thought she is maybe my whole life would have turned out differently? Say, if I lived Tanaka, Sato or Suzuki - you see, I myself would be calmer, and I would look at the world around me much more condescendingly? Who knows…
Aomame closed her eyes and immersed herself in the music. The brass unison filled my head. Despite the muffled volume, the sound was deep and rich. Opening her eyes, Aomame glanced at the control panel. The built-in stereo system proudly gleamed with black edges. Aomame could not read the name of the manufacturer, but there is no doubt that the equipment is solid. A cloud of incomprehensible buttons, green numbers on the screen. At first glance it is clear: "hi-tech". It is not even worth thinking about installing such a toy in an ordinary corporate taxi.
Aomame took another look around the salon. Getting into the car, she thought about her own thoughts and at first did not pay attention, but this car really looked unusual. Interior trim - beyond praise, seats - just do not get up. Plus, perfect silence. Soundproofing - the highest class, outside you can not hear a sound. It's like being in a recording studio booth, completely sealed off from outside noise. Private taxi? Many owners of private taxis do not spare money to finish their car. Aomame looked around for the driver's nameplate, but couldn't find it. However, it does not look like an illegal taxi, whatever one may say. The counter is screwed as it should be. Here, already hit 2150 yen. Find another nameplate...
"Great car," Aomame said to the taxi driver's back. - It's so quiet. What is the name of?
- Toyota! the driver responded eagerly. - "Crown", the royal salon.
- The music is very good.
Yes, it's a quiet car. In fact, that's why I chose her. Still, Toyota's soundproofing is the best in the world!
Aomame nodded. And settled into a comfortable seat. There was something strange in the taxi driver's speech. It was like he was going to say more, but he didn't. For example (except for “for example”, she didn’t find any other arguments): “Of course, no one can compare with Toyota in terms of soundproofing, but she has problems that I won’t say anything about.” And the pause that followed after that absorbed, like a sponge, all the understatement. A tiny cloud of meaning, not expressed in words, drifted in the middle of the cabin and did not let me calm down.
“Very quiet indeed,” Aomame repeated, trying to track where the cloud would go. - Yes, and the stereo seems to be the highest class?
“When choosing a car, it was necessary to stop at something,” the driver explained in the tone of a veteran recalling a historic battle. - In the end, I decided that if you spend so much time behind the wheel, it is very important to listen quality sounds. Well, again...
