Харуки Мураками - Killing Commendatore

“Do you know something about him?” I asked, surprised.

“Affirmative,” the Commendatore said. “Of course I do.”

“Then could you tell me something about him? What kind of person he is, what work he does, what he’s doing now?”

“I wonder,” the Commendatore said, slightly inclining his head, a hard look coming over his face. When he made that sort of expression he looked like a goblin. Or like Edward G. Robinson from an old gangster movie. Who knows, maybe the Commendatore had “borrowed” that expression from Edward G. Robinson. That wouldn’t be impossible.

“There are things in the world my friends are better off not knowing,” the Commendatore said, the Edward G. Robinson look plastered on his face.

The same thing Masahiko Amada had said the other day, I recalled. There are things people are better off not knowing.

“In other words, you won’t tell me the things I’m better off not knowing,” I said.

“Affirmative. Even if you hear it from me, the truth is that my friends already know it .”

I was silent.

“As my friends paint that picture, you will be subjectively giving form to what my friends already comprehend. Think of Thelonious Monk. Thelonious Monk did not get those unusual chords as a result of logic or theory. He opened his eyes wide, and scooped those chords out from the darkness of his consciousness. What is important is not creating something out of nothing. What my friends need to do is discover the right thing from what is already there.”

So he knew about Thelonious Monk.

“Affirmative! And of course I know Edward whatchamacallit, too,” the Commendatore said, grabbing hold of my thoughts.

“No matter,” the Commendatore continued. “Ah, there is one thing I must raise at this point, as a matter of courtesy. It is about your lovely girlfriend… Right, the married woman who drives a red car. Apologies, but I have been watching all you have been doing here. What you all enjoy doing in bed after you take off your clothes.”

I stared at him without a word. What we enjoy doing in bed … To borrow her words for it, what one hesitates to mention .

“But you really should not mind. My apologies, but an Idea watches everything that happens. I cannot choose what I watch. But there is nothing to worry about, at all. Sex, radio exercise routines, chimney sweeping, it is all the same to me. Nothing that interesting to see. I just watch.”

“There’s no notion of privacy in the world of an Idea?”

“Affirmative,” the Commendatore said, rather proudly. “Not a speck of that. So if my friends do not mind, then that is all we need to say. So, are you okay with it?”

I shook my head slightly again. How about it? Was it possible to focus while having sex if you knew somebody else was watching the whole time? Could you call up a healthy sexual desire if you knew you were being observed?

“I have a question for you,” I said.

“I would be happy to answer if I can,” the Commendatore said.

“Tomorrow, on Tuesday, I’m invited to dinner at Mr. Menshiki’s. And you’re invited as well. Mr. Menshiki used the expression “inviting a mummy,” which actually means you. Since at that point you hadn’t yet appeared as the Commendatore.”

“That does not matter. If I decide to be a mummy, I can do that in a flash.”

“No, stay as you are,” I said hurriedly. “I would appreciate it if you stay the way you are.”

“I will accompany you to Menshiki’s house. You will be able to see me, but Menshiki will not. So it does not matter if I am a mummy or a commendatore. Though there is one thing I would like my friends to do.”

“And what would that be?”

“My friends should call Menshiki now and make sure the invitation for Tuesday night is still open. When you do, make sure to say, ‘It will not be a mummy coming with me that day, but the Commendatore. Would that still be all right?’ As I mentioned, I cannot set foot in a place unless I have been invited. The other party needs to invite me, in some form or other say ‘Please, come on in.’ Once I have been invited, then I can go whenever I feel like it. For this house, that bell over there acted as a substitute invitation.”

“I see,” I said. The one thing I couldn’t have was him turning into a mummy. “I’ll call Mr. Menshiki, see if the invitation is still on, and tell him I’d like him to revise the guest list from mummy to Commendatore.”

“Affirmative. I would be grateful. Receiving an invitation to a dinner party is quite unexpected.”

“I have another question,” I said. “Weren’t you originally a priest who undertook certain death austerities? A priest who voluntarily was buried underground, stopped eating and drinking, and chanted the sutras until you passed away? Didn’t you die in the pit while you continued to ring the bell, and eventually turned into a mummy?”

“Hmm,” the Commendatore said, and shook his head a little. “Unclear. I can’t say, really. At a certain point I became a pure Idea. But I have no linear memory of what I was before that, where I was or what I did.”

The Commendatore was silent, staring fixedly into space.

“Anyway, I have to disappear soon,” the Commendatore said in a quiet, slightly hoarse voice. “The time during which I can materialize is nearly over. The morning is not my time. Darkness is my friend. A vacuum is my breath. I must be saying goodbye soon. So, thank you in advance for calling Mr. Menshiki.”

As if meditating, the Commendatore closed his eyes. His lips were tightly sealed, his fingers locked together, as he steadily grew fainter and then disappeared. Just like the night before. Like fleeting smoke, he silently vanished in the air. In the bright morning sunshine, all that was left was me and the painting I’d started. The outline of the man with the white Subaru Forester glaring at me.

I know exactly where you’ve been and what you’ve been up to.

After noon I called Menshiki. I realized this was the first time I’d ever phoned his home. He was the one who always called me. He picked up after six rings.

“I’m glad you called,” he said. “I was just about to call you. But I didn’t want to bother you while you’re working, so was waiting until the afternoon. I remember you mainly work in the morning.”

“I just finished for the day,” I said.

“Is it going well?” Menshiki asked.

“Yes, I started a new painting. Though I’ve barely begun.”

“That’s wonderful. I’m so glad to hear it. By the way, I hung the portrait you painted on the wall of my study, not yet framed. I’m letting it dry there. Even without a frame it looks wonderful.”

“About tomorrow…,” I said.

“I’ll send a car to pick you up at six,” he said. “The same car will take you back. It’ll just be the two of us, so you don’t need to dress up, or bring a gift or anything. Please just come as you are.”

“There’s one thing I wanted to check with you.”

“Yes?”

“The other day you said you wouldn’t mind having a mummy join us for dinner, right?”

“I did say that, yes. I remember.”

“Is that invitation still open?”

Menshiki considered this for a moment and then gave a cheery laugh. “Of course it is. I meant what I said. The invitation is still open.”

“Something happened and the mummy won’t be able to come, but instead the Commendatore says he’d like to. Is it all right to invite the Commendatore?”

“Of course,” Menshiki said without hesitation. “Like Don Giovanni invited the statue to dinner, I would be pleased to have the Commendatore come to dinner in my humble abode. But unlike Don Giovanni in the opera, I haven’t done anything so bad that I deserve to be thrown into hell. At least I don’t think I have. After dinner I’m not going to be pulled into hell or anything, I hope?”