Харуки Мураками - Killing Commendatore

Finally, a vague shape appeared through the haze. It was not a natural object—its straight lines meant it had to be human-made. As I drew nearer I saw that it was a boat landing. A small wooden jetty extending from the shore. Turning left had been the correct decision. Then again, it was possible that, in a world governed by connectivity, things would shift to accommodate whatever action I chose. Apparently, Menshiki’s unconscious hint had helped steer me through to this point.

I could see the figure of a man, shrouded in the mist. He was tall. In fact, after the tiny Commendatore and Long Face, he looked like a giant. He was standing very still at the end of the jetty, as if lost in thought, leaning against some kind of dark machine. The swift-flowing river bubbled over his feet. He was the first human being I had encountered in this land. Or human-shaped being, perhaps. I approached him with trepidation.

I couldn’t see him clearly, so I took a chance and called out, “Hello!” through that cottony veil. But there was no reply. He just adjusted his posture slightly. I could see his dark silhouette shift in the mist. Perhaps my voice hadn’t reached him. The sound of the river might have blotted it out. Or the air in these parts might not carry sound very well.

“Hello!” I said again, moving somewhat closer. In a louder voice this time. Still, he didn’t speak. All I could hear was the unbroken rush of water. Perhaps he couldn’t understand what I was saying.

“I can hear you. And I do understand,” he said, as if reading my mind. His voice was deep and low, befitting his height. But it was also flat, utterly devoid of feeling. Just as the river was devoid of odor and taste.

The tall man standing before me had no face. He did have a head, of course. It sat on his shoulders in a normal way. But the head lacked a face. Where a face should have been was blank. A milky blankness, like pale smoke. His voice emerged from within that emptiness like wind from a deep cavern.

The man was wearing what looked like a dark raincoat. The coat ended just short of the ground, so I could see the tips of his boots peeking out. Its buttons were fastened up to his neck. It was as if there was a storm on the horizon, and he had dressed for it.

I stood there, rooted to the spot, unable to speak. From a distance, he had reminded me of the man with the white Subaru Forester, or Tomohiko Amada the night he had visited my studio. Or again, the young man who slayed the Commendatore with his sword in Killing Commendatore . All were similarly tall. A closer look, however, told me he was none of them. He was just the faceless man . A broad-brimmed black hat was pulled low over his eyes. The brim half concealed the milky emptiness.

“I can hear you. And I do understand,” he repeated. I didn’t see his lips move, of course. He had none.

“Is this the boat landing?” I asked.

“Yes,” the faceless man replied. “This is the boat landing. Only from here can one cross the river.”

“I must travel to the other side.”

“As must all.”

“Do many come?”

The man did not reply. My question was sucked into the void. There followed an interminable silence.

“What is on the other side?” I asked. The white mist over the river concealed the far shore.

I could feel the faceless man studying my face from within the emptiness. “What is on the other side depends on what you are seeking. It is different for everyone.”

“I am trying to locate the whereabouts of a young girl named Mariye Akikawa.”

“So that is what you seek on the other side, correct?”

“Yes. That is what I seek. That is why I have come.”

“And how was it, then, that you were able to find the entrance?”

“I killed an Idea that had taken the form of the Commendatore. I killed him with a carving knife in a nursing home in Izu Kogen. I did so with his permission. His death summoned Long Face, the Metaphor who opened the hole to the underground passageway. I forced him to let me in.”

The man fixed his empty countenance on me for some time. He didn’t speak. Had he understood me or not? I couldn’t tell.

“Was there blood?”

“A great deal,” I answered.

“Actual blood, I take it.”

“So it seemed.”

“Look at your hands.”

I looked. But no trace of blood remained. Perhaps it had been washed away when I drank from the river. There ought to have been a lot, though.

“No matter,” the faceless man said. “I have a boat, and I will ferry you across. But there is one condition.”

I waited to be told what that might be.

“You must pay me an appropriate fee. That is the rule.”

“And if I can’t pay, am I unable to cross to the far shore?”

“Yes. You would have to remain here for eternity. The river is cold and deep, and the current is strong. And eternity is a very long time. That is no figure of speech, I assure you.”

“But I have nothing to pay you with.”

“Show me what is in your pockets,” the faceless man said, in a quiet voice.

I emptied my jacket and pants pockets. My wallet containing slightly less than 20,000 yen. My credit card, my bank card, my driver’s license, and a gas station discount coupon. My key ring with three keys on it. A cream-colored handkerchief and a disposable ballpoint pen. Five or six coins. And that was it. Minus the flashlight, of course.

The faceless man shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I see nothing that can pay for your passage. Money has no meaning here. Don’t you have something else?”

I had nothing more in my possession. A cheap watch was on my left wrist, but time had no value here either.

“If you give me paper, I can portray your likeness. My skill as a painter is the only other thing I carry with me.”

The faceless man laughed. At least I think he did. A faint trill echoed in the emptiness.

“In the first place, I have no face. How can you sketch the likeness of a man with no face? Can you draw a void?”

“I am a professional,” I said. “I have no need of a face to draw your portrait.”

I wasn’t at all sure I could pull it off. But I figured it was worth a shot.

“I would be most interested to see what you come up with,” the faceless man said. “Unfortunately there is no paper in these parts.”

I looked down at the ground. Perhaps I could scratch something on its surface with a stick. But it was solid rock. I shook my head.

“Are you certain that is all you carry with you?”

I carefully searched a second time. The pockets of my leather jacket were empty. Completely. I did find something small tucked in the bottom of one of my jeans pockets, though. A tiny plastic penguin. Menshiki had picked it up from the floor of the pit and given it to me. It had an even tinier strap, which Mariye had used to fasten it to her cell phone. It was her lucky charm. Somehow, it had fallen into the pit.

“Show me what is in your hand,” the faceless man said.

I opened my hand, revealing the figurine.

The faceless man stared at it with empty eyes.

“This will do,” he said after a moment. “I will accept this as payment.”

Should I hand it over or not? It was Mariye’s precious lucky charm, after all. It wasn’t mine. Could I just give it away? What if something bad happened to her as a result?

But I had no choice. If I failed to turn it over, I would never reach the opposite shore, and if I didn’t reach the shore, then I would never find Mariye. The Commendatore’s death would have been in vain.

“I will give you the penguin as my fare of passage,” I said. “Please take me to the other side of the river.”