Haruki Murakami - Kafka on the Shore

Hoshino ordered another cup of coffee.

"You like our coffee, then?" the gray-haired owner came over and asked. (Hoshino didn't know this, of course, but the man used to be an official in the Ministry of Education. After retirement, he came back to his hometown of Takamatsu and opened up this coffee shop, where he made fine coffee and played classical music.)

"It's great. Such a nice aroma."

"I roast the beans myself. Select each bean individually."

"No wonder it's so good."

"The music doesn't bother you?"

"The music?" Hoshino replied. "No, it's great. I don't mind it at all. Not one bit. Who's playing?"

"The Rubinstein, Heifetz, and Feuermann trio. The Million-Dollar Trio, they were dubbed. Consummate artists. This is an old 1941 recording, but the brilliance hasn't faded."

"It really hasn't. Good things never grow old, do they?"

"Some people prefer a more structured, classic, straightforward version of the Archduke Trio. Like the Oistrach Trio's version."

"No, I think this one's nice," Hoshino said. "It has a, I don't know, gentle feel to it."

"Thank you very much," the owner said, thanking him on behalf of the Million-Dollar Trio, and went back behind the counter.

As Hoshino enjoyed his second cup he went back to his reflections. But I am helping Mr. Nakata out. I read things for him, and I was the one who found the stone, after all. I've hardly ever noticed this before, but it feels kind of nice to be helpful to someone… I don't regret any of it-skipping out on work, coming over to Shikoku. All those crazy things happening one after another.

I feel like I'm exactly where I belong. When I'm with Mr. Nakata I can't be bothered with all this Who am I? stuff. Maybe this is going overboard, but I bet Buddha's followers and Jesus' apostles felt the same way. When I'm with the Buddha, I always feel I'm where I belong-something like that. Forget about culture, truth, all that junk. That kind of inspiration's what it's all about.

When I was little, Grandpa told me stories about Buddha's disciples. One of them was named Myoga. The guy was a complete moron and couldn't memorize even the simplest sutra. The other disciples always teased him. One day the Buddha said to him, "Myoga, you're not very bright, so you don't have to learn any sutras. Instead, I'd like you to sit at the entrance and polish everybody's shoes." Myoga was an obedient guy, so he didn't tell his master to go screw himself. So for ten years, twenty years, he diligently polished everybody's shoes. Then one day he achieved enlightenment and became one of the greatest of all the Buddha's followers. That's a story Hoshino always remembered, because he'd thought that had to be the crappiest kind of life, polishing shoes for decades. You gotta be kidding, he thought. But when he considered it now, the story started to take on a different undertone. Life's crappy, no matter how you cut it. He just hadn't understood that when he was little.

These thoughts occupied him till the music, which was helping him meditate, stopped playing.

"Hey," he called out to the owner. "What was that music called again? I forget."

"Beethoven's Archduke Trio."

"March Duke?"

"Arch. Archduke. Beethoven dedicated it to the Austrian archduke Rudolph. It's not the official name, more like the piece's nickname. Rudolph was the son of Emperor Leopold the Second. He was a very skilled musician, who studied piano and music theory with Beethoven starting when he was sixteen. He looked up to Beethoven. Archduke Rudolph didn't make a name for himself as either a pianist or a composer, but sort of stood in the shadows lending a helping hand to Beethoven, who didn't know much about getting ahead in the world. If it hadn't been for him, Beethoven would have had a much tougher time."

"Those kind of people are necessary in life, huh?"

"Absolutely."

"The world would be a real mess if everybody was a genius. Somebody's got to keep watch, take care of business."

"Exactly. A world full of geniuses would have significant problems."

"I really like that piece."

"It's beautiful. You never get tired of listening to it. I'd say it's the most refined of all Beethoven's piano trios. He wrote it when he was forty, and never wrote another. He must have decided he'd reached the pinnacle in the genre."

"I think I know what you mean. Reaching the pinnacle's important in everything," Hoshino said.

"Please come again."

"Yeah, I'll do that."

When he got back to the room Nakata was, as expected, out cold. He'd gone through this before, so this time it didn't strike him as odd. Just let him sleep as much as he wants, he decided. The stone was still there, right next to his pillow, and Hoshino put his sack of bread down beside it. He took a bath and changed into his new underwear, then balled up his old set inside a paper bag and tossed it in the trash. He crawled into his futon and was soon sound asleep.

He woke up the next morning just before nine. Nakata was still asleep, his breathing quiet and regular.

Hoshino went to eat breakfast alone, asking the maid not to wake up his companion. "You can just leave the futon like it is," he said.

"Is he all right, sleeping that long?" the maid asked.

"Don't worry, he's not about to die on us. He needs to sleep to regain his strength. I know exactly what's best for him."

He bought a paper at the station and sat on a bench and looked through the movie listings. A theater near the station was having a François Truffaut retrospective. Hoshino had no idea who Truffaut was, or even if it was a man or a woman, but a double feature was a good way of killing time till evening, so he decided to go. The featured films were The 400 Blows and Shoot the Pianist. There were only a handful of customers in the theater. Hoshino wasn't by any means a movie buff. Occasionally he'd go see one, a kung fu or action film. So these early works of Truffaut were over his head in spots, the pace, as you'd expect of older films, a bit sluggish. Still, he enjoyed the unique mood, the overall look of the films, how suggestively the characters' inner worlds were portrayed. At the very least he wasn't bored. I wouldn't mind seeing some more films by that guy, he told himself afterward.

He exited the theater, walked to the shopping district, and went inside the same coffee shop as the night before. The owner remembered him. Hoshino sat in the same chair and ordered coffee. As before, he was the sole customer. Something with stringed instruments was playing on the stereo.

"Haydn's first cello concerto. Pierre Fournier's playing the solo," the owner explained as he brought over Hoshino's coffee.

"It's a real natural sound," Hoshino commented.

"It is, isn't it?" the owner said. "Pierre Fournier's one of my absolute favorite musicians. Like an elegant wine, his playing has an aroma and substance that warms the blood and gently encourages you. I always refer to him as Maestro Fournier out of respect. I don't know him personally, of course, but I've always felt like he's my mentor."

Listening to Fournier's flowing, dignified cello, Hoshino was drawn back to his childhood. He used to go to the river every day to catch fish. Nothing to worry about back then, he reminisced. Just live each day as it came. As long as I was alive, I was something. That was just how it was. But somewhere along the line it all changed. Living turned me into nothing. Weird… People are born in order to live, right? But the longer I've lived, the more I've lost what's inside me-and ended up empty. And I bet the longer I live, the emptier, the more worthless, I'll become. Something's wrong with this picture. Life isn't supposed to turn out like this! Isn't it possible to shift direction, to change where I'm headed?

"Excuse me…," Hoshino called out to the owner at the register.