Killing Commendatore

by Haruki Murakami

Today when I awoke from a nap the faceless man was there before me.

Look deep enough into any person and you will find something shining within.

Why had I been so optimistic? Or so stupid? It’s like I’d been born with a blind spot, and was always missing something. And what I missed was always the most important thing of all.

From a distance, most things look beautiful.

But there are all kinds in the world. You can’t generalize.

But what awaited me was, of course, not some “amusing fairy tale.” Or a blessing in disguise, either. But by the time that became clear to me, there was no turning back.

“The way I see it,” Menshiki said, “there’s a point in everybody’s life where they need a major transformation. And when that time comes you have to grab it by the tail. Grab it hard, and never let go.

Thinking about it wasn’t going to get me anywhere. It was like trying to put together a puzzle that was missing some pieces. I could think all I wanted and never arrive at any conclusion. But I couldn’t help but think about it.

The passage of the right amount of time would show me what was needed. I had to wait for it, like waiting patiently for the phone to ring. And in order to wait that patiently, I had to put my faith in time. I had to believe that time was on my side.

There are hammers in the world that need to pound in nails, and nails that need to be pounded by hammers. Now who said that? Nietzsche? Or was it Schopenhauer? Or maybe nobody said it.

“Curiosity always involves risk. You can’t satisfy your curiosity without accepting some risk. Curiosity didn’t just kill the cat.”

“There are things people are better off not knowing. That’s all I can say.”

“Try to look on the bright side,” Masahiko said as he was leaving. “This might sound like dumb advice, but if you’re going to walk down a road, it’s better to walk down the sunny side, right?”

There are things people are better off not knowing, Masahiko had said. Maybe so. There are probably things people are better off not hearing, as well. But they can’t go forever without hearing them. When the time comes, even if they stop their ears up tight, the air will vibrate and invade a person’s heart. You can’t prevent it. If you don’t like it, then the only solution is to live in a vacuum.

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.”

When he spoke, his voice was calm, like he was explaining to some large, intelligent dog how to conjugate simple verbs.

“My motto is: Thinking three times is better than two. And if time allows, thinking four times is better than three.”

“A successful marriage is up to the people involved, but I can tell you, this one won’t last long. Four, five years at the most.”

I could reproduce exactly what it looked like. I’m a painter—it’s what I do. But I can’t explain what went into it.

“There are plenty of things in history that are best left in the shadows. Accurate knowledge does not improve people’s lives. The objective does not necessarily surpass the subjective, you know. Reality does not necessarily extinguish fantasy.”

“If that painting wants to say something, then best to let it speak. Let metaphors be metaphors, a code a code, a sieve a sieve. Is there something wrong with that?”

“The truth is a symbol, and symbols are the truth.

When people try to use a method other than the truth to follow along the path of understanding, it is like trying to use a sieve to hold water.

“No one can ever float something full of holes on water.”

Allegories and metaphors are not something you should explain in words. You just grasp them and accept them.”

A hard-and-fast rule in business is to never accept the first offer. Remember that, and you will never go wrong.”

Once I have a secret I lock it away in a safe and swallow the key. I don’t seek advice from others or reveal things to them.”

What could I say? I couldn’t imagine what lay deep in other people’s minds.

My rule was not to drink while it was still light out, but I figured it was okay sometimes.

Changes in a person’s feelings aren’t regulated by custom, logic, or the law. They’re fluid, unstable, free to spread their wings and fly away. Like migratory birds have no concept of borders between countries.

The numbness your heart automatically activates to lessen the awful pain when you want somebody desperately and they reject you. A kind of emotional morphine.

“I’m sorry. She really goes her own way sometimes,” Shoko said, interceding. “She focuses so hard sometimes she blocks out everything else. She’s always been that way. With books and music, paintings and movies.”

“Drawing someone means understanding and interpreting another person. Not with words, but with lines, shapes, and colors.”

“A bit bizarre, I guess. Like you’re walking along as always, sure you’re on the right path, when the path suddenly vanishes, and you’re facing an empty space, no sense of direction, no clue where to go, and you just keep trudging along. That’s what it feels like.”

“I’ve always had a weakness for good-looking men,” she said, as if making a confession. “Whenever I meet a handsome man it’s like my brain goes out the window.

However we thrash about, we are all thrown in one direction or another by our natural talent, or lack of it. That’s a basic truth we all have to learn to live with.

Mariye nodded. “I like things I can see as much as things I can’t,” she said.

Once she’d drawn a straight line, good luck getting her to bend it.

“Time steals some things, but it gives us back others. Making time our ally is an important part of our work.”

In this world, what we think of as a single sound can have so many permutations. Just as we know, from one note struck on the open string of a double bass, whether it’s Charlie Mingus or Ray Brown.

But artistic impressions and objective reality are separate things. Impressions don’t prove anything. They’re like a butterfly in the wind—totally useless.

It seemed a woman at any age—thirteen, forty-one, you name it—felt she was facing a delicate time in her life. This was one thing my modest experience with the opposite sex had taught me.

It seems as if, year after year, the world becomes a more difficult place to live.

“Everything has a bright side,” he said. “The top of even the blackest, thickest cloud shines like silver.”

People can forget what they should remember, and remember what by all rights and purposes they should forget. Especially when death approaches.

There has to be an exchange. Artistic creation can never be a one-way street.”

In the end, to stop thinking about something means to stop thinking about stopping thinking.”

“In other words,” I said, “it’s impossible for people to escape Ideas unless they lose either their memory or their interest in Ideas.”

“That’s when the pointlessness of all my accomplishments and successes, and all the money I’ve accumulated, hit me. That I’m no more than an expedient and transitory vehicle meant to pass a set of genes on to someone else. What other function do I serve? Beyond that, I’m just a clod of earth.”