Харуки Мураками - Killing Commendatore

Mariye nodded slightly.

“Then I uncovered that strange hole behind the shrine in the woods. I heard a bell ringing in the middle of the night and traced it to that spot. It was coming from beneath a pile of stones. They couldn’t be moved by hand—they were too big and too heavy. So Menshiki arranged for a landscaper to come in with his backhoe. I didn’t understand why Menshiki would go to such lengths, and I still don’t. At any rate, the stones were moved at great cost of time and money. Underneath them was a hole. A round pit about six feet across, made of smaller stones tightly set together in a perfect circle. Who built it, and for what purpose, is a mystery. Of course you know about the pit.”

Mariye nodded.

“The Commendatore came out of that opened pit. This guy.”

I went up to the painting and pointed to the figure. Mariye looked at him. But her expression didn’t change.

“He looked exactly the same as you see here, same face, same clothes. But he was only two feet tall. Very compact. And with a peculiar way of speaking. For some reason, I seem to be the only person able to see him. He called himself an ‘Idea.’ And said he had been stuck in that pit. In other words, Mr. Menshiki and I had set him free. Do you get what he meant by ‘Idea’?”

Mariye shook her head no.

“It’s hard for me, too. The way I understand it, an idea is a type of concept. But not all concepts are ideas. Love, for example, is not an idea. But ideas are what make love possible. Without ideas, love cannot exist. This discussion can go on forever, though. And to tell you the truth, I’m not even sure of the correct definitions. Anyway, an idea is a concept, and concepts have no physical shape. They are pure abstractions. Nevertheless, this Idea temporarily borrowed the form of the Commendatore in the painting to make itself visible to me. Do you follow me so far?”

“Pretty much,” Mariye broke her silence for the first time. “I met him too.”

“You did?” I exclaimed. I looked at her in stunned silence. Then I recalled what the Commendatore had said to me in the Izu nursing home. I met her not long ago , he had told me. We exchanged a few words .

“So you met the Commendatore too.”

Mariye nodded.

“When? Where?”

“At Mr. Menshiki’s,” she said.

“What did he say?”

Mariye clamped her lips together again. To signal, it seemed, that she didn’t want to talk any more for the moment. I didn’t push her further.

“Other characters in this painting have appeared as well,” I said. “For example, the man in the lower left-hand corner of the painting, the bearded guy with the strangely shaped face. Right here.”

I pointed to Long Face.

“I call him ‘Long Face,’ and he’s a weird one, all right. He’s about two and a half feet tall. He slipped out from the painting too—I caught him holding up the cover of his hole just as he is doing here, and he helped me reach the underground world. I had to get a bit rough, though, before he gave me directions.”

Mariye looked at Long Face for some time. But she didn’t say anything.

I continued. “I walked through that dim world, climbing hills, crossing a rapid river, until I met the pretty young woman you see right here. This person. I call her ‘Donna Anna,’ after the character in Mozart’s opera Don Giovanni . She’s also very small. She led me to a tunnel in the back of a cave. Then she and my dead sister helped me worm my way through to where it ended. If they hadn’t cheered me on I never would have made it—I’d have been trapped in the underworld forever. My hunch—though of course it’s pure guesswork—is that Donna Anna in this painting may be the young woman Tomohiko Amada loved when he was a student in Vienna. She was executed as a political prisoner seventy years ago.”

Mariye looked at Donna Anna in the painting. Her face still as impassive as the white winter moon.

Then again, Donna Anna could have been Mariye’s mother, stung to death by a swarm of hornets. Perhaps she was the one who had protected Mariye. Depending on who was looking at her, Donna Anna might embody many things. Of course, I didn’t say this out loud.

“Then we have this man here,” I said. I turned the painting leaning against the wall around so we could see its front. It was my portrait in progress, The Man with the White Subaru Forester . On the surface, it was just thick layers of paint, three colors in all. Behind those layers, though, was the Subaru Forester guy. I could see him. Though other people couldn’t.

“I showed you this before, didn’t I?”

Mariye gave a firm nod, but said nothing.

“You told me it was finished as it was.”

Mariye nodded again.

“I call the person portrayed here—or the person I must eventually portray—‘the man with the white Subaru Forester.’ I ran across him in a small coastal village in Miyagi Prefecture. Our paths crossed twice. In a very mysterious and meaningful way. I have no idea what sort of person he is. I don’t even know his name. But a moment came when I realized I had to paint him. I was compelled to. I started painting him from memory, but had to stop when I reached a certain point. So I painted over him like this.”

Mariye’s lips were still set in a straight line.

Then she shook her head from side to side.

“That man is really scary,” she said.

“That man?” I said. I followed her eyes. They were fixed on The Man with the White Subaru Forester . “Do you mean the painting? Or the man?”

She gave another firm nod. Despite her fear, she seemed unable to look away.

“Can you see him?”

She nodded. “I can see him behind the paint. He’s standing there looking at me. Wearing a black cap.”

I turned it around and set it back, face against the wall.

“You have the ability to see the man with the Subaru Forester standing there. Most people don’t,” I said. “But I think it’s better if you don’t look at him anymore. There’s probably no need at this stage.”

Mariye nodded as if in agreement.

“I don’t know if the man with the white Subaru Forester is of this world or not. It’s possible that someone, or something, merely borrowed his form. In the same way an Idea borrowed the form of the Commendatore. Or it could be that I saw part of myself reflected in him. But when I was surrounded by real darkness, it was no mere reflection, believe me. It was a tangible, living, moving thing . The people in that land call it a ‘Double Metaphor.’ I do plan to finish the painting someday. But not yet—it’s still too early. And too dangerous. Some things shouldn’t be recklessly dragged into the light. But I may not be…”

Mariye was looking straight at me without saying a word. I found it difficult to continue.

“Anyway, thanks to the help of many people, I was somehow able to cross the underworld and squeeze through a narrow, black tunnel to make my way back to this world. At virtually the same moment, you were freed from somewhere . I can’t believe that was a mere stroke of luck. On Friday, you disappeared somewhere for four days. Then on Saturday I disappeared for three days. On Tuesday, we both returned . There has to be a connection. My guess is that the Commendatore connected us. And now he’s gone from this world. He fulfilled his role and moved on. Only you and I are left. We’re the only ones who can close the circle. Do you believe what I’m saying?”

Mariye nodded.

“That’s what I wanted to tell you. Why I asked to talk to you alone.”

Mariye’s eyes were trained on my face.

“No one else would believe me,” I went on, “even if I told the truth. They’d think I was nuts. I mean the story just doesn’t fly—it’s too far removed from reality—though I figured you’d believe me. And then I’d have to show them Killing Commendatore . Without that painting, nothing I said would make sense. But I don’t want anyone else to see it. Only you.”