Харуки Мураками - Killing Commendatore

Something is about to happen. I felt this again as I looked at the landscape. Until that afternoon it had been a premonition of sorts, but now it was encroaching on reality. The movement was already under way. Mariye’s disappearance and the pit in the woods were linked in some way. I could sense it. By finishing the painting I had set the gears in motion. And Mariye’s vanishing act was the likely result.

Yet I could tell Shoko none of this. All that would do was confuse her even more.

I went back to the kitchen and rinsed the whiskey taste from my mouth with several glasses of water. When that was done, I picked up the phone and called Menshiki. I called three times before he picked up. I detected a slight edge to his voice, as if he were waiting for an important call. That it was me on the line seemed to surprise him. It only took a second, though, for the edge to disappear and the voice to turn cool and collected, as always.

“I’m very sorry to call so late,” I said.

“Not at all. I stay up late, and I’ve got plenty of time. I’m always happy to hear your voice.”

Skipping the normal pleasantries, I gave him a brief report of Mariye’s disappearance. The girl had left home for school in the morning but hadn’t returned. Nor had she shown up at my painting class. The news seemed to throw Menshiki for a loop. He took a moment to reply.

“And you have no idea where she might have gone, right?” he asked me.

“None at all,” I replied. “It came out of left field. How about you?”

“I have no idea either, of course. She barely says a word to me.”

There was no anger or regret in his voice. He was simply relating the way she treated him.

“That’s just how she is—she’s like that with everybody,” I said. “But Shoko is at her wit’s end. Mariye’s father isn’t home either, so she’s all alone and unsure what to do.”

Menshiki paused again. It was rare to see him at a loss for words—in fact, I had never witnessed it before.

“Is there anything I can do?” he said at last.

“I know it’s sudden,” I said, “but is there any chance you could drop by now?”

“To your home?”

“Yes. There’s something in this connection that I need to talk to you about.”

Menshiki took a moment to respond. “All right,” he said. “I’ll leave right away.”

“Are you sure you don’t have to take care of a matter there first?”

“It’s not big enough to call a ‘matter.’ It’s just a trivial thing,” he said. He cleared his throat. He seemed to be checking his watch. “I can be there in about fifteen minutes.”

When the phone call ended, I got ready to go out. I laid out a sweater and my leather jacket, and placed the big flashlight within easy reach. Then I sat on the sofa and waited for the purr of Menshiki’s Jaguar rolling up the hill.

Menshiki arrived at eleven twenty. The moment I heard his Jaguar, I slipped on my leather jacket and headed out the door. He stepped from the car wearing a padded, dark-blue windbreaker, narrow-cut black jeans, and leather sneakers. A light scarf was draped around his neck. His mane of white hair glowed in the dark.

“If it’s okay, I’d like you to come with me to check out the pit in the woods,” I said.

“Of course,” Menshiki said. “Do you think it’s connected to Mariye’s disappearance?”

“I’m not sure. But I’ve had a premonition for a while that something bad was going to happen. Something connected to that pit.”

Menshiki asked no more questions after that. “Fine,” he said. “Let’s go take a look.”

He opened the trunk of his Jaguar and pulled out what looked like a lantern. Then he closed the trunk and set off with me toward the woods. Neither moon nor stars were out, so it was very dark. There was no wind.

“Sorry to ask you to venture out so late,” I said. “But it seemed safer to have you come along. If something went wrong, I might not be able to handle it alone.”

He patted my arm. As though to encourage me. “It’s no trouble at all—I’m happy to do what I can.”

We picked our way through the trees, shining the flashlight and lantern on our feet to avoid tripping over the roots. The only sound was the crunch of dry leaves underfoot. Otherwise it was dead silent. I sensed the animals of the woods silently watching us from their hiding places. The dark depths of midnight give rise to illusions like that. Had someone seen us, they might have mistaken us for a pair of grave robbers on their way to ransack a tomb.

“There’s just one thing I’d like to ask,” Menshiki said.

“What’s that?”

“Why do you think Mariye’s disappearance and the pit might be connected?”

I explained that she and I had visited the pit together not long before. That she had already known about its existence. That the whole area was her playground. That nothing happened here without her knowledge. Then I told him what she had said: You should have left the place as it was. You should never have opened it up.

“When she stood in front of the pit she seemed to have experienced something,” I said. “A special feeling… I guess you could call it spiritual.”

“And she was drawn to it?”

“Yes. She was leery, but at the same time something about the pit was drawing her in. That’s why I worry it might have played a role. That she might be down there, unable to get out.”

Menshiki thought for a moment. “Did you tell her aunt this?” he asked. “Does Shoko know?”

“No, I haven’t said anything yet. If I mentioned the pit to her, I’d have to go back to the beginning. To how we opened it, and why you were involved. It would turn into a very long story, and I doubt I could explain myself very well.”

“Yes, it would cause her a lot of needless worry.”

“It would be even more awkward if the police got involved. If they grew interested in the pit.”

Menshiki looked at me. “Are they investigating already?”

“She hadn’t contacted them yet when I talked to her. But she could have put in a search request by now. After all, it’s getting pretty late.”

Menshiki nodded several times. “Yes, it’s only natural. It’s almost midnight, and a thirteen-year-old girl hasn’t come home. No one knows where she’s gone. What can her family do but call the cops?”

I could tell from his tone that Menshiki wasn’t too thrilled that the police would be entering the picture.

“Let’s keep the pit between ourselves if we can,” he said. “The fewer people know, the better. Otherwise we could run into problems.” I agreed.

The biggest problem for me was the Commendatore. It was almost impossible to explain the significance of the pit without bringing him—as an Idea, no less—into the mix. Yes, as Menshiki said, mentioning the pit would only make things worse. (And even if I did reveal the existence of the Commendatore, who would believe me? They’d just question my sanity.)

We emerged from the trees in front of the small shrine and circled around to the back. Stepping across the clump of pampas grass, whose plumes still lay cruelly flattened by the backhoe’s treads, we arrived at the pit. The first thing we did was shine our lights on the boards covering the hole and the row of stones that held them down. I checked the placement of the stones. The change was subtle, but I could tell they had been moved. Someone had come after Mariye and me, removed the stones and several boards, and then, when they left, tried to return everything to its original position. My eyes could spot that slight difference.