He listened to the whole side again, then changed into pajamas and got into bed. He switched off the light beside his bed, and once more felt grateful that what had taken hold of his heart was a deep sorrow, not the yoke of intense jealousy. That would have snatched away any hope for sleep.

Finally sleep came, wrapping him in its embrace.

For several fleeting moments he felt that familiar softness throughout his body. This, too, was one of the few things Tsukuru felt thankful for that night.

In the midst of sleep he heard birds calling out in the night.

Chapter 14

As soon as he arrived at the Helsinki airport, Tsukuru exchanged his yen for euros, found a cell phone store, and bought the most basic, prepaid phone they had. This done, he walked out of the terminal, his carry-on bag hanging from his shoulder, and walked to the taxi stand. He got into a taxi, an older model Mercedes-Benz, and told the driver the name of his hotel in the city.

They left the airport and drove onto the highway. Though this was Tsukuru’s first trip abroad, neither the deep green woods they passed nor the billboards in Finnish gave him the sense he had come—for the first time ever—to a foreign country. Obviously it took much longer to come here than to go to Nagoya, but he felt no different than when he’d gone back to his hometown. Only the currency in his wallet had changed. He wore his usual outfit—chinos, black polo shirt, sneakers, and a light brown cotton jacket. He’d brought the bare minimum when it came to extra clothes. He figured if he needed anything more, he could always buy it.

“Where are you from?” asked the taxi driver in English, shooting Tsukuru a glance in the rearview mirror. He was a middle-aged man with a full, thick beard.

“Japan,” Tsukuru replied.

“That’s a long way to come with so little luggage.”

“I don’t like heavy baggage.”

The driver laughed. “Who does? But before you know it, you’re surrounded by it. That’s life. C’est la vie.” And again, he laughed happily.

Tsukuru laughed along with him.

“What kind of work do you do?” the driver asked.

“I build railroad stations.”

“You’re an engineer?”

“Yes.”

“And you came to Finland to build a station?”

“No, I came here on vacation to visit a friend.”

“That’s good,” the driver said. “Vacations and friends are the two best things in life.”

Did all Finns like to make clever witticisms about life? Or was it just this one driver? Tsukuru hoped it was the latter.