always remembered, because he'd thought that had to be the crappiest kind of life, polishing shoes for decades. You gotta be kidding, he thought. But when he considered it now, the story started to take on a different undertone. Life's crappy, no matter how you cut it. He just hadn't understood that when he was little.
These thoughts occupied him till the music, which was helping him meditate, stopped playing.
'Hey,' he called out to the owner. 'What was that music called again? I forget.'
'Beethoven's Archduke Trio.'
'March Duke?'
'Arch. Archduke. Beethoven dedicated it to the Austrian archduke Rudolph. It's not the official name, more like the piece's nickname. Rudolph was the son of Emperor Leopold the Second. He was a very skilled musician, who studied piano and music theory with Beethoven starting when he was sixteen. He looked up to Beethoven. Archduke Rudolph didn't make a name for himself as either a pianist or a composer, but sort of stood in the shadows lending a helping hand to Beethoven, who didn't know much about getting ahead in the world. If it hadn't been for him, Beethoven would have had a much tougher time.'
'Those kind of people are necessary in life, huh?'
'Absolutely.'
'The world would be a real mess if everybody was a genius. Somebody's got to keep watch, take care of business.'
'Exactly. A world full of geniuses would have significant problems.'
'I really like that piece.'
'It's beautiful. You never get tired of listening to it. I'd say it's the most refined of all Beethoven's piano trios. He wrote it when he was forty, and never wrote another. He must have decided he'd reached the pinnacle in the genre.'
'I think I know what you mean. Reaching the pinnacle's important in everything,' Hoshino said.
'Please come again.'
'Yeah, I'll do that.'
When he got back to the room Nakata was, as expected, out cold. He'd gone through this before, so this time it didn't strike him as odd. Just let him sleep as much as he wants, he decided. The stone was still there, right next to his pillow, and Hoshino put his sack of bread down beside it. He took a bath and changed into his new underwear, then balled up his old set inside a paper bag and tossed it in the trash. He crawled into his futon and was soon sound asleep.
He woke up the next morning just before nine. Nakata was still asleep, his breathing quiet and regular.
Hoshino went to eat breakfast alone, asking the maid not to wake up his companion. 'You can just leave the futon like it is,' he said.
'Is he all right, sleeping that long?' the maid asked.
'Don't worry, he's not about to die on us. He needs to sleep to regain his strength. I know exactly what's best for him.'
He bought a paper at the station and sat on a bench and looked through the movie listings. A theater near the station was having a Francois Truffaut retrospective. Hoshino had no idea who Truffaut was, or even if it was a man or a woman, but a double feature was a good way of killing time till evening, so he decided to go. The featured films were The 400 Blows and Shoot the Pianist. There were only a handful of customers in the theater. Hoshino wasn't by any means a movie buff. Occasionally he'd go see one, a kung fu or action film. So these early works of Truffaut were over his head in spots, the pace, as you'd expect of older films, a bit sluggish. Still, he enjoyed the unique mood, the overall look of the films, how suggestively the characters' inner worlds were portrayed. At the very least he wasn't bored. I wouldn't mind seeing some more films by that guy, he told himself afterward.
He exited the theater, walked to the shopping district, and went inside the same coffee shop as the night before. The owner remembered him. Hoshino sat in the same chair and ordered coffee. As before, he was the sole customer. Something with stringed instruments was playing on the stereo.
'Haydn's first cello concerto. Pierre Fournier's playing the solo,' the owner explained as he brought over Hoshino's coffee.
'It's a real natural sound,' Hoshino commented.
'It is, isn't it?' the owner said. 'Pierre Fournier's one of my absolute favorite musicians. Like an elegant wine, his playing has an aroma and substance that warms the blood and gently encourages you. I always refer to him as Maestro Fournier out of respect. I don't know him personally, of course, but I've always felt like he's my mentor.'
Listening to Fournier's flowing, dignified cello, Hoshino was drawn back to his childhood. He used to go to the river every day to catch fish. Nothing to worry about back then, he reminisced. Just live each day as it came. As long as I was alive, I was something. That was just how it was. But somewhere along the line it all changed. Living turned me into nothing. Weird… People are born in order to live, right? But the longer I've lived, the more I've lost what's inside me-and ended up empty. And I bet the longer I live, the emptier, the more worthless, I'll become. Something's wrong with this picture. Life isn't supposed to turn out like this! Isn't it possible to shift direction, to change where I'm headed?
'Excuse me…,' Hoshino called out to the owner at the register.
'Can I help you?'
'I was wondering, if you had time, could you come over and talk with me? I'd like to know more about this Haydn guy.'
The owner was happy to give a mini lecture on Haydn, the man and his music. He was basically a reserved sort of person, but when it came to classical music he was eloquent. He explained how Haydn became a hired musician, serving different patrons over his long life, composing who knows how many compositions to order. Haydn was practical, affable, humble, and generous, he said, yet also a complex person with a silent darkness all his own inside.
'Haydn was an enigmatic figure. Nobody really knows the amount of intense pathos he held inside him. In the feudal time he was born in, though, he was compelled to skillfully cloak his ego in submissiveness and display a smart, happy exterior. Otherwise he would have been crushed. A lot of people compare him unfavorably to Bach and Mozart-both his music and the way he lived. Over his long life he was innovative, to be sure, but never exactly on the cutting edge. But if you really pay attention as you listen, you can catch a hidden longing for the modern ego. Like a far-off echo full of contradictions, it's all there in Haydn's music, silently pulsating. Listen to that chord- hear it? It's very quiet-right?-but it has a persistent, inward-moving spirit that's filled with a pliant, youthful sort of curiosity.'
'Like Francois Truffaut's films.'
'Exactly!' the owner exclaimed happily, patting Hoshino's arm reflexively. 'You've hit it right on the head. You find the same spirit animating Truffaut. A persistent, inward-moving spirit that's filled with a pliant, youthful sort of curiosity,' he repeated.
When the Haydn concerto was over Hoshino asked him to play the Rubinstein-Heifetz-Feuermann version of the Archduke Trio again. While listening to this, he again was lost in thought. Damn it, I don't care what happens, he finally decided. I'm going to follow Mr. Nakata as long as I live. To hell with the job!
Chapter 35
When the phone rings at seven a. m. I'm still sound asleep. In my dream I was deep inside a cave, bent over in the dark, flashlight in hand, searching for something. I hear a voice far away at the cave's entrance calling out a name faintly. I yell out a reply, but whoever it is doesn't seem to hear me. The person calls out my name, over and over. Reluctantly I stand up and start heading for the entrance. A little longer and I would've found it, I think. But inside I'm also relieved I didn't find it. That's when I wake up. I look around, collecting the scattered bits of my consciousness. I realize the phone's ringing, the phone at the library's reception desk. Bright sunlight's shining in through the curtains, and Miss Saeki's no longer next to me. I'm alone in bed.
I get out of bed in my T-shirt and boxers and go out to the phone. It takes me a while to get there but the
