今日、短い午睡から目覚めたとき、《顔のない男》が私の前にいた。
Hoy, al despertar de la pequeña siesta vespertina, el "hombre sin rostro" se encontraba enfrente de mi.

この女性はすみれを愛している。しかし性欲を感じることはできない。すみれはこの女性を愛し、しかも性欲を感じている。僕はすみれを愛し、性欲を感じている。すみれは僕を好きではあるけれど、愛してはいないし、性欲を感じることもせきない。
Esta mujer amaba a Sumire, pero no sentía ningún deseo sexual por ella. Sumire, en cambio, amaba a esta mujer y la deseaba sexualmente. En cuanto a mí, yo amaba a Sumire y la deseaba, y sé que ella me quería mucho, pero no me amaba ni me correspondía sexualmente.

Pero como siempre, las cosas nunca salen como uno desea. Es más, el mundo parecía conocer a la perfección qué era lo que él (Tengo) no deseaba

By living our lives, we nurture death. True as this might be, it was only one of the truths we had to learn. What I learned from Naoko's death was this: no truth can cure the sorrow we feel from losing a loved one. No truth, no sincerity, no strength, no kindness can cure that sorrow. All we can do is see it through to the end and learn something from it, but what we learn will be no help in facing the next sorrow that comes to us without warning.

We're all kind of weird and twisted and drowning.

April ended and May came along, but May was even worse than April. In the deepening spring of May, I had no choice but to recognize the trembling of my heart. It usually happened as the sun was going down. In the pale evening gloom, when the soft fragrance of magnolias hung in the air, my heart would swell without warning, and tremble, and lurch with a stab of pain. I would try clamping my eyes shut and gritting my teeth, and wait for it to pass. And it would pass....but slowly, taking its own time, and leaving a dull ache behind.
At those times I would write to Naoko. In my letters to her, I would describe only things that were touching or pleasant or beautiful: the fragrance of grasses, the caress of a spring breeze, the light of the moon, a movie I'd seen, a song I liked, a book that had moved me. I myself would be comforted by letters like this when I would reread what I had written. And I would feel that the world I lived in was a wonderful one. I wrote any number of letters like this, but from Naoko or Reiko I heart nothing.