Killing Commendatore

by Haruki Murakami

  —

  Then, before she knew it, the Commendatore was there.

  “My friends must leave immediately,” he whispered. “Now, at this very moment. Wake up, it is now time.”

  Mariye was at a loss. It was hard to stand up. When she imagined leaving the closet she was assaulted by a new fear. Even greater dangers might await her in the world outside.

  “Menshiki is in the shower,” the Commendatore said. “You know what a clean person he is. So he should linger there awhile. But he will come out by and by. This is the one and only chance that my friends will have. Make haste!”

  Marshaling her strength, Mariye pulled herself to her feet. She pushed the door of the closet open. The room was dark and empty. Before she stepped out, she turned to take one last look at the clothes hanging there. She inhaled the smell of mothballs. She might never see these clothes again. For some reason, they had become so close to her, so dear.

  “My friends must go now,” said the Commendatore. “There is not much time. Go into the hallway and turn left.”

  With her bag over her shoulder, Mariye walked out the door and down the corridor. She ran up the stairs, cut across the big living room, and slid open the glass door to the deck terrace. The hornet might still be around. Or he might have retired for the night. He could be the kind of insect that wasn’t fazed by the dark. But she couldn’t dwell on that now. She stepped out, unscrewed the binoculars from their stand, and returned them to their plastic cover. She folded the stand and leaned it back against the wall. Her nerves made her hands fumble, so it took longer than she had expected. Then she picked her black loafers up off the deck. All the while, the Commendatore sat on the stool and watched her. The hornet never showed itself. To Mariye’s great relief.

  “Well done,” said the Commendatore, with a nod. “Now go back inside, shut the door, and descend the stairs to the very bottom.”

  Down two flights of stairs? That would mean plunging into the depths of the house. Wasn’t she trying to escape?

  “There is no chance of escaping now,” the Commendatore said, reading her mind. He shook his head from side to side. “The gate is strictly barred. My friends are constrained to hide a while longer. I beseech you to listen.”

  Mariye had no choice but to believe the Commendatore. She hurried through the living room and down the two flights of stairs.

  The maid’s room was at the bottom. Beside it was the laundry room and next to that a storeroom. At the end of the hallway was the gym with its row of exercise machines. The Commendatore pointed to the maid’s room.

  “This is your hiding place,” he said. “Menshiki seldom ventures into that room. He descends once a day to do his laundry and to exercise, but he almost never enters there. It is unlikely he will find my friends, should you remain quiet. The room has a sink and a refrigerator. In case of earthquake, an ample store of food and mineral water has been set aside. So my friends will not starve. There is enough to live in relative safety for a number of days.”

  A number of days? Mariye asked (albeit without speaking) incredulously, her shoes in hand. I must remain here that long?

  “Affirmative. It is a shame, but my friends are obliged to stay here for such a time,” the Commendatore said, shaking his tiny head. “This house is kept under tight guard. In more than one way. This is a fact I cannot alter. An Idea’s powers are limited, I am sad to say.”

  “How long will I have to stay here?” Mariye asked in a small voice. “I have to go home soon. My aunt will worry about me. If I’m missing too long, she’ll have to report it to the police. Then there’ll be a real mess.”

  The Commendatore shook his head. “A million pardons, but this is outside my control. My friends must wait here.”

  “Is Mr. Menshiki dangerous?”

  “A very hard question to answer,” the Commendatore said. He made an exaggerated frown. “Menshiki himself is not an evil man. He is a decent sort, one could say, with abilities that exceed those of most people. There is even a hint of nobility in him, if one looks hard enough. Yet there is a gap in his heart, an empty space that attracts the abnormal and the dangerous. It is there that the problem lies.”

  Mariye wasn’t clear what all of this meant, of course. The abnormal?

  “Who was the person standing outside the closet door?” she asked. “Was that Menshiki?”

  “It was Menshiki, but at the same time it was not Menshiki.”

  “Is he aware of any of this?”

  “Most likely,” the Commendatore said. “Most likely. But there is nothing he can do about it.”

  The abnormal and the dangerous? Perhaps the hornet she had seen was one of the forms those things took, Mariye thought.

  “Affirmative. Beware of those hornets. They are most virulent creatures,” the Commendatore read her mind.

  “Virulent?”

  “They have the power to kill my friends,” the Commendatore explained. “For now, my friends have no choice but to stay here. Do not go outside.”

  “Virulent,” Mariye repeated in her mind. The word sure had a sinister ring.

  Mariye opened the door of the maid’s room and went in. It was little larger than Menshiki’s bedroom closet. There was a kitchenette with a fridge, a hot plate, a small microwave oven, and a sink and faucet. There was also a bed and a tiny bathroom. The bed was bare, but there were blankets, quilts, and a pillow on the shelf, and a simple table and chair for meals. Only a single chair, though. A small window faced the valley. She could look out across it through a crack in the curtain.

  “It is best to make as little noise as possible,” the Commendatore said. “Do my friends understand?”

  Mariye nodded.

  “You are a brave girl, my friends,” said the Commendatore. “A touch reckless, perhaps, but brave nonetheless. It is an admirable quality. But while you are here, you must be very alert. Never be caught off guard. This is no ordinary place. Sinister things are skulking out there that could cause you harm.”

  “Skulking?”

  “Prowling about, in short.”

  Mariye nodded. In what way was this “no ordinary place,” and what sort of sinister things were skulking? She wanted to know, but couldn’t think how to ask. Where to begin? There was just so much she couldn’t understand.

  “I may not be able to come again,” the Commendatore said, as if imparting a secret. “There is another place I must go, and another task I must look after. A very important task, if I may say. So I fear I cannot help my friends any further. Hereafter, my friends must manage on your own.”

  “But how can I escape this place by myself?”

  The Commendatore narrowed his eyes and looked squarely at Mariye. “Be sure your ears are open and your eyes are peeled. And keep your wits about you. It is the only way. Then you will know when the right moment comes. As in, ‘Aha, now is the time!’ You are a brave, smart girl, my friends. Just stay alert.”

  Mariye nodded. I have to be a brave, smart girl, she thought.

  “I wish my friends all the very best,” the Commendatore said, encouraging her. Then, as if by afterthought, “And worry not, my friends. Your chest will soon fill out.”

  “Enough to fill a C-cup bra?”

  The Commendatore gave an embarrassed shrug. “I fear I am a mere Idea. I know not how the undergarments of women are measured. But all the same, I can assure you that your breasts will grow. No need to worry. Time is the remedy for your concerns. It is the key for all things that possess form. True, time does not last forever, but as long as you have it, it is remarkably efficacious. So look forward to the future, my friends!”

  “Thank you,” Mariye said. It was certainly good to hear. She needed every bit of support to be the brave girl she knew she had to be.

  Then the Commendatore vanished. Again, like vapor into thin air. The silence around her deepen
ed the moment he was gone. The thought that she might never see him again left her sad and lonely. I have no one to rely on now, she thought. She sprawled out on the bare mattress and stared at the ceiling. It was low, and made of white plasterboard. In its exact center was a fluorescent light. But of course she couldn’t turn it on. That was a definite no-brainer.

  How long would she be stuck in this room? It was almost dinnertime. If she wasn’t home by seven thirty, her aunt would call the arts-and-culture center. They would inform her that she’d been absent that day. The thought hurt. Her aunt would be hysterical, terrified that something bad had happened to her. Somehow, she needed to let her know she was all right. Then she remembered—there was a cell phone in the pocket of her school blazer. She had left it turned off.

  She pulled it out and switched it on. The words “Low Battery” flashed on the screen. A split second later the screen went black. Her phone was dead. She could hardly blame the phone: she hadn’t used it in ages (she seldom needed it in her daily life, and had little interest in—or affection for—cell phones), so no surprise the battery was drained.

  She heaved a sigh. She should have recharged it once in a while at least. Just in case something happened. But there was no use crying over spilt milk. She stuck the cell phone back in her blazer pocket. But something had caught her attention, and she pulled it out again. The plastic penguin attached to it was gone! It had been her lucky charm since she had won it on points at a donut shop. The strap must have broken. But where on earth could she have dropped it? It was hard to imagine. She hardly ever took it out of her pocket.

  At first, she felt uneasy without her lucky charm. Then she thought some more. Her own carelessness was probably to blame for losing it. But a new kind of talisman had appeared in its place—that closetful of clothes—and those clothes had protected her. And that little man with the funny way of talking, the Commendatore, had led her to this place. So something, she thought, is still looking out for me. No need to mope about the missing penguin.

  Mariye wasn’t carrying much. Wallet, handkerchief, change purse, house key, and a half a pack of Cool Mint gum—that was about it. Her shoulder bag contained pencils and pens and a few school textbooks. None were likely to be very useful.

  She slipped out of the maid’s room and went to check the storage room. As the Commendatore had said, it was stocked with provisions in case of earthquake. The ground was comparatively stable in this mountainous part of Odawara, so an earthquake shouldn’t be that serious. The great Kanto earthquake of 1923 had devastated the city of Odawara, but here in the hills, the damage had been relatively minor (she’d done a summer project in grade school on the impact of the earthquake on the Odawara region). Nevertheless, it would be very difficult afterward to get food and water way up here. Thus Menshiki had taken pains to stock up on both. His caution knew no bounds.

  She selected two bottles of mineral water, a box of crackers, and a bar of chocolate and carried them back to her room. She was pretty sure Menshiki wouldn’t miss such a small amount. However meticulous he might be, he wouldn’t keep tabs on how many bottles he had stored. The water was necessary because she didn’t want to turn on the tap in her room if at all possible. That would make the pipes in the house gurgle. It is best to make as little noise as possible, the Commendatore had said. She had to be careful.

  Mariye returned to the maid’s room and locked the door from the inside. In a sense, it was a useless gesture, since Menshiki had keys to all the rooms in the house. Yet it might earn her a little time. At the very least, it eased her mind a bit.

  She wasn’t hungry at all, but she ate a few crackers and drank some of the water just to check. The crackers were mediocre, as was the water. She checked the labels—neither had reached its best-before date. I’m okay, she thought. I won’t starve.

  Outside was now completely dark. She pulled the curtain back a little farther and looked across the valley. She could see her house. She couldn’t see what was going on inside without the binoculars, but she could tell lights were burning in some of the rooms. If she looked hard, she might be able to observe someone moving around. Her aunt was there, freaking out, she was sure, because she hadn’t come home. Wasn’t there a way to call her? Menshiki must have a phone somewhere. All she had to do was say, “Please don’t worry. I’m all right,” and hang up. If she kept it short, Menshiki probably wouldn’t find out. But her room had no phone, nor had she seen one in that part of the house.

  Could she escape under cover of darkness? Find a ladder somewhere and scale the wall to freedom? She recalled seeing a fold-up ladder in the garden shed. Then she recalled the Commendatore’s words: This place is kept under tight guard. In more than one way. She was pretty sure that “tight guard” didn’t refer to the security company’s alarm system alone.

  I should believe the Commendatore, Mariye thought. This is no normal place. Many things are lurking about. I have to be super cautious. Super patient. This is no time to be rash or willful. I should sit back and wait for the right opportunity, like the Commendatore said.

  You will know when the right moment comes. As in, “Aha, now is the time!” You are a brave, smart girl, my friends. Just stay alert.

  That’s right, I have to be a brave, smart girl. Survive all this in good shape and then watch my breasts get bigger and bigger.

  So she thought as she lay there on the bare mattress. All around was growing darker. She could tell that darkness of a different order was about to arrive.

  62

  ONE CAN STUMBLE INTO A LABYRINTH

  Time followed its own principles, paying no heed to her thoughts. She lay there on the bare mattress in her little room, watching it sluggishly shuffle past. She had nothing else to do. It would be nice to have a book to read, she thought. But there were no books at hand, and even if there had been she couldn’t switch on the light. All she could do was lie there in the dark. She had found flashlights and spare batteries in the storeroom but had decided to use those as little as possible.

  The night deepened, and she fell asleep. She was nervous and apprehensive in such an unfamiliar place, and she wanted to stay awake, but at a certain point fatigue overcame her and she dropped off. She simply couldn’t keep her eyes open. The coverless bed was cold, so she took a quilt and blankets from the closet, wrapped herself up in them like a Swiss Roll, and closed her eyes. There was no space heater in the room, and she couldn’t use the central system for obvious reasons.

  (A note here on the time frame: Menshiki would have left to visit me while Mariye was asleep. He stayed over and went back the following morning. In other words, he wasn’t at home that night. The house was empty. But Mariye had no way of knowing that.)

  Mariye woke up once that night to use the bathroom, but didn’t flush the toilet. During the day was one thing, but in the still, wee hours of the morning the sound of running water could attract attention. Menshiki was without question a cautious and meticulous individual. He would notice even the slightest change. So why risk discovery?

  Her watch said two in the morning. Saturday morning, that was. Friday had passed. When she peeped through the curtain she could see her home across the valley. The lights in the living room were blazing. It was after midnight and she still hadn’t returned, so the people there—at night that would mean her father and her aunt—were unable to sleep. I’ve done an awful thing, Mariye thought. She even felt sorry for her father (very rare for her). I shouldn’t have been so reckless—it wasn’t my intention. This is what I get for acting so impulsively.

  Yet whatever her regrets, however much she might blame herself, she couldn’t transport herself across the valley. She was not a crow. She couldn’t sprout wings and fly through the air. Nor could she disappear and reappear like the Commendatore. She was confined within her still-growing body, and shackled by time and space. Hers was a clumsy, awkward existence. Look at her chest—as flat as a board. H
er breasts still pancakes that had failed to rise.

  Naturally, Mariye was scared alone there in the dark. Her powerlessness pained her. She wished the Commendatore were there. She had so many things to ask him. Whether he answered them or not, at least she would have someone to talk to. To be sure, his way of speaking was odd, somewhat different from modern Japanese, but she could still understand his general meaning. But he might never come back. “There is another place I must go, and another task I must look after,” he had told her. She was desolate to have lost him, perhaps forever.

  From outside the window came the resonant cry of a night bird. It sounded like an owl, perhaps a horned owl. They were cloistered in the dark forests, honing their wisdom. I must be as wise as they are, she thought. Be a smart, brave girl. But sleep overtook her a second time. She couldn’t keep her eyes open. Pulling the bedding around her once again, she lay down on the mattress and closed her eyes. It was a deep and dreamless sleep. When she woke up it was already growing light outside. Her watch said half past six.

  The world was welcoming a new Saturday.

  * * *

  —

  Mariye spent all that day holed up in the maid’s room. In place of breakfast, she had more crackers, a few chocolates, and mineral water. She crept into the gym and borrowed several issues from a small mountain of Japanese editions of National Geographic. She guessed Menshiki read them when he was working out on his exercise bike, since they were stained here and there with what appeared to be his sweat. She read through them several times. There were articles on the habitat of the Alaskan wolf, the mysteries of the rising and ebbing of the tides, the life of the Inuit, and the gradual shrinking of the Amazon rain forest. Not Mariye’s usual reading material by any means, but now, with nothing else to look at, she read them over and over until she had them practically memorized. She bored holes in the illustrations with her eyes.

  When she tired of reading, she napped. On occasion, she looked through the curtain at her home across the valley. I wish I had that telescope now, she thought. Then I’d really be able to see inside, even watch people moving around. She wanted to be back inside her room with the orange curtains. Scrub every inch of her body in a nice hot bath, change into fresh pajamas, and curl up in her warm bed with her cat.