Read Online The Elephant Vanishes by Haruki Murakami - Free Book Online
Authors: Haruki Murakami
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directly record my letter to you.
[Whistling—eight bars of the “Colonel Bogey” march]
T ESTING , can you hear me?
I DON’T REALLY KNOW how you will take to receiving this letter—that is, this tape—I really can’t imagine. I suppose you might even get quite upset by it all. Why? … Because it’s highly unusual for a product-control clerk of a department store to reply to a customer complaint by cassette tape—with a personalized message, too, mind you! You could even, if you were so inclined, say the whole thing was downright bizarre. And say, were you to get so upset that you sent this tape back to my boss, my standing within the organization would be placed in a terribly delicate balance indeed.
But if that is what you want to do, please do so.
If it comes to that, I will not get mad or hold a grudge against you.
Clear enough? We are on 100% equal terms: I have the right to send you a letter and you have the right to threaten my livelihood.
Isn’t that right?
We’re even Stephen. Just remember that.
C OME TO THINK OF IT , I forgot to mention that I’m calling this letter
The Kangaroo Communiqué
.
I mean, everything needs a name, right?
Suppose, for instance, you keep a diary. Instead of writing this long-drawn-out entry, “Department-store product-control clerk’s reply re complaint arrives,” you could simply write
“Kangaroo Communiqué
arrives” and be done with it. And such a catchy name, too, don’t you think?
The Kangaroo Communiqué:
Makes you think of kangaroos bounding off across the vast plains, pouches stuffed full of mail, doesn’t it?
[Thump, thump, thump
(rapping on tabletop)]
Now for some knocking.
[Knock, knock, knock]
Stop me if you’ve heard this.
Don’t open the door if you don’t feel like it. Either way is perfectly fine. If you don’t want to listen anymore, please stop the tape and throw it away. I just wanted to sit down awhile by your front door talking to myself, that’s all. I have no idea whatsoever if you’re listening or not, but since I don’t know, it’s really all the same whether you do or you don’t, isn’t it? Ha, ha, ha.
O KAY, WHAT THE HELL , let’s give it a go.
• • •
S TILL AND ALL , this imperfection business is pretty tough going. Who’d have thought talking into a microphone without any script or plan would be so hard? It’s like standing in the middle of the desert sprinkling water around with a cup. No visible sign of anything, not one thing to cling to.
That’s why all this time I’ve been talking to the VU meters. You know, the VU meters? Those gizmos with the needles that twitch to the volume? I don’t know what the
V
or the
U
stand for, but whatever, they’re the only things showing any reaction to my ranting.
Hey, hey.
All the same, their criteria are really quite simple.
V
and
U
, well, they’re like a vaudeville duo. There’s no
V
without
U
and no
U
without
V
—a nice little setup. As far as they’re concerned, it really doesn’t matter what I babble on about. The only thing they’re interested in is how much my voice makes the air vibrate. To them, the air vibrates, therefore I am.
Pretty swift, don’t you think?
Watching them, I get to thinking it doesn’t matter what I say so long as I keep talking.
Whoa!
Come to think of it, not too long ago I saw a movie. It was about a comedian who just couldn’t make anyone laugh no matter what jokes he told. Got the picture? Not one soul would laugh.
Well, talking into this microphone, I’m reminded of that movie over and over again.
It’s all very odd.
The very same lines when spoken by one person will have you dying with laughter but when spoken by another won’t seem funny in the least. Curious, don’t you think? And the more I think about it, that difference just seems to be one of these things you’re born with. See, it’s like the curvature of the semicircular canals of your ears having the edge over somebody else’s, or …
[Whistling—eight bars of the “Colonel Bogey” march]
T ESTING , can you hear me?
I DON’T REALLY KNOW how you will take to receiving this letter—that is, this tape—I really can’t imagine. I suppose you might even get quite upset by it all. Why? … Because it’s highly unusual for a product-control clerk of a department store to reply to a customer complaint by cassette tape—with a personalized message, too, mind you! You could even, if you were so inclined, say the whole thing was downright bizarre. And say, were you to get so upset that you sent this tape back to my boss, my standing within the organization would be placed in a terribly delicate balance indeed.
But if that is what you want to do, please do so.
If it comes to that, I will not get mad or hold a grudge against you.
Clear enough? We are on 100% equal terms: I have the right to send you a letter and you have the right to threaten my livelihood.
Isn’t that right?
We’re even Stephen. Just remember that.
C OME TO THINK OF IT , I forgot to mention that I’m calling this letter
The Kangaroo Communiqué
.
I mean, everything needs a name, right?
Suppose, for instance, you keep a diary. Instead of writing this long-drawn-out entry, “Department-store product-control clerk’s reply re complaint arrives,” you could simply write
“Kangaroo Communiqué
arrives” and be done with it. And such a catchy name, too, don’t you think?
The Kangaroo Communiqué:
Makes you think of kangaroos bounding off across the vast plains, pouches stuffed full of mail, doesn’t it?
[Thump, thump, thump
(rapping on tabletop)]
Now for some knocking.
[Knock, knock, knock]
Stop me if you’ve heard this.
Don’t open the door if you don’t feel like it. Either way is perfectly fine. If you don’t want to listen anymore, please stop the tape and throw it away. I just wanted to sit down awhile by your front door talking to myself, that’s all. I have no idea whatsoever if you’re listening or not, but since I don’t know, it’s really all the same whether you do or you don’t, isn’t it? Ha, ha, ha.
O KAY, WHAT THE HELL , let’s give it a go.
• • •
S TILL AND ALL , this imperfection business is pretty tough going. Who’d have thought talking into a microphone without any script or plan would be so hard? It’s like standing in the middle of the desert sprinkling water around with a cup. No visible sign of anything, not one thing to cling to.
That’s why all this time I’ve been talking to the VU meters. You know, the VU meters? Those gizmos with the needles that twitch to the volume? I don’t know what the
V
or the
U
stand for, but whatever, they’re the only things showing any reaction to my ranting.
Hey, hey.
All the same, their criteria are really quite simple.
V
and
U
, well, they’re like a vaudeville duo. There’s no
V
without
U
and no
U
without
V
—a nice little setup. As far as they’re concerned, it really doesn’t matter what I babble on about. The only thing they’re interested in is how much my voice makes the air vibrate. To them, the air vibrates, therefore I am.
Pretty swift, don’t you think?
Watching them, I get to thinking it doesn’t matter what I say so long as I keep talking.
Whoa!
Come to think of it, not too long ago I saw a movie. It was about a comedian who just couldn’t make anyone laugh no matter what jokes he told. Got the picture? Not one soul would laugh.
Well, talking into this microphone, I’m reminded of that movie over and over again.
It’s all very odd.
The very same lines when spoken by one person will have you dying with laughter but when spoken by another won’t seem funny in the least. Curious, don’t you think? And the more I think about it, that difference just seems to be one of these things you’re born with. See, it’s like the curvature of the semicircular canals of your ears having the edge over somebody else’s, or …
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