3 Murakami Stories

[The three following translations I have taken again from Haruki Murakami's collection of ultra short stories, Night of the Spider Monkey. I chose these three specifically because they all contain the character of Noboru Watanabe. Of course, this is a name Murakami uses quite freely in his writing, and I don't think they are all supposed to be the same person, even if they do share a name. Murakami fans might recall that the missing cat from The Wind-up Bird Chronicles was also called Noboru Watanabe. Here, the first two stories, no doubt, do share the same character, but the third could be incidental. By the way, here's a link to another story I translated from the same collection.]

Pencil Sharpeners (or, Luck in the Form of Noboru Watanabe, No. 1)

If it were not for Noboru Watanabe, I would most probably still be using that dingy old pencil sharpener. Thanks to him, I was able to come into possession of a brand spanking new one. This kind of good luck is not such an everyday occurrence.

No sooner had he entered the room than his eyes halted on my old pencil sharpener atop the table. On that day I was doing my work in the kitchen for a change of mood; and so it was that the pencil sharpener was placed between a bottle of soy sauce and the salt.

As Noboru Watanabe repaired the drainage pipe on the sink -- he was after all in the plumbing business -- he occasionally made furtive sideways glances at the table. At the time, though, I had no way of knowing that he was an obsessive pencil sharpener collector, so wherever on earth his sharp eyes were being drawn to I hadn't the faintest idea. There was stuff scattered all over the table.

"If you don't mind me saying, that's a nifty pencil sharpener you've got there," he said after he'd finished his repairs.

"This?" I said, surprised, holding it in my hand. It was one of those regular hand-operated pencil sharpeners, and one which I'd been using for the past twenty years, since junior high. If you compared it to any other, you wouldn't notice any differences. The metallic parts were for the most part rusty, and an Astro Boy sticker was stuck on top. In other words, it was old and dirty.

"That's a 1963 Max PSD, and I can tell you, it's pretty rare," he said. "The setting of the blade on this model is a little different from other types, and so the shape of pencil shavings are subtly changed."

"You don't say?" I replied.

And so it was that I was put in possession of a brand spanking new pencil sharpener, and Noboru Watanabe took my 1963 Max PSD (with Astro Boy sticker). Apparently he always walks around with new pencil sharpeners he can trade in his bag. I know I'm repeating myself, but in my life this kind of good luck is just not such a common thing.

Time Machines (or, Luck in the Form of Noboru Watanabe, No. 2)

There was a knock.

I placed the rind of my half-eaten tangerine on the kotatsu, and when I went to the front door Noboru Watanabe (the pencil sharpener enthusiast plumber guy) was standing there.

It being already 6 o'clock in the evening, he said to me, "Good evening."

"Good evening," I replied, not really knowing what was going on. "I, um, can't remember calling for any repair work."

"Yes, that's not why I'm here. The reason I came today is to ask a small favour of you. I was wondering if in your home you might not have an old time machine, and if so, might I be able to exchange it for a newer model?"

Time machine, I said to myself, a little shocked, though I didn't let it show on my face. "Yes, I have one," I spoke without any discernible emotion. "Do you want to see it?"

"Oh, yes, if you would be so kind."

So I went with Noboru Watanabe to my four-and-a-half tatami mat sized room, and I showed him my electric kotatsu with the rind of the half-eaten tangerine still there. "Look, a time machine!" I declared. It cannot be said that I do not have a sense of humour.

But Noboru Watanabe did not laugh. He picked up the rug covering the kotatsu, and with a serious face he turned the dials, checked the temperature gauge, and tugged on each of the four table legs.

"I have to say, sir, this is a real rarity," he said with a sigh. "Unbelievable. What you've got here is a 1971 'Toasty Warm' by National. This must have given you some good times, right?"

"Yeah, I suppose," I replied without thinking. One of the legs was a little shaky, but it certainly did keep me warm.

He asked me if I would like to exchange it for a newer model, so I replied, "Sure." He went outside, and from a van parked in front of my house he brought out a new electric kotatsu (or, rather, a time machine) kept I imagine for occasions such as these, which he then carried to my room and in exchange took away my National 'Toasty Warm' (or, rather, my time machine).

"Thanks for everything," he said waving from the driver's seat. I waved back, then I returned to my room to continue eating my tangerine.


Octopus

Noboru Watanabe sent me a postcard with a drawing of an octopus on it. Underneath the picture of the octopus were these words, written in his typically messy hand.

"Thank you so much the other day on the subway for taking such good care of my daughter. Let's meet up over a meal of octopus some time soon."

I was surprised when I read this. I'd just been on holiday for a short while, I hadn't ridden a train for the past two months or so, and I definitely couldn't remember taking care of Mr Watanabe's daughter. I mean, in the first place, I didn't even know he had a daughter. Perhaps he's mistaken me for somebody else.

Although eating octopus doesn't sound too bad.

I wrote Noboru Watanabe a letter. I drew a picture of a dusky thrush, and underneath that I wrote, "Thanks for the postcard. Octopus doesn't sound like a bad idea at all. Let's do it. Contact me at the end of the month."

However, after a full month had passed, I received no reply. Perhaps, as per usual, he had forgotten, I thought. Strangely, in that last month I'd had cravings for octopus, but I figured I'd eat it with Mr Watanabe, so in the end, while waiting for it I missed my chance.

It was around the time I'd forgotten both about octopus and Noboru Watanabe when I received another postcard from him. This time there was a picture of a sun fish. Beneath that, there was some writing.

"Wasn't that meal the other day delicious? It's been a long time since I've been able to eat such exemplary octopus. However, I must say, I do object a little to the views you stated that day. As the father of a daughter of marriageable age, I cannot bring myself round to your way of thinking regarding the value of sex. Let's meet up some time soon and talk about it over a pot of hot stew."

Well, well, I sighed. It seems Noboru Watanabe has mistaken me for somebody else again.

A couple of portraits from 2006 平成18年に描いた二つの自画像

Back in England, life is good. In spite of our poor performance in the World Cup, my bowel movements have become far more regular, so I'm happy.

Looking through my old paintings, I was struck by a couple - I could hardly believe I'd done them to be honest. Has that ever happened to you? Where you've read an old essay, or, in my case, looked at a painting you did long ago, and sincerely believe that another person did it? Well, anyway, I recommend them to you as fine examples of paintings done in oil. The depth of them, the richness of colour despite the darkness, is incomparable. I maintain of course that good paintings can be done in any medium, but it's like the difference between LPs and CDs, or analog and digital; one approximates the other, and in many cases is a poor substitute.

Self portrait of old G Dawg. Size, 20x30 inches.

"Faceless Portrait". Size, 24x30 inches.

The First Documented Labyrinth 最初の記録された迷宮

“...they decided to leave a common memorial of their reigns, and for this purpose constructed a labyrinth a little above Lake Moeris, near the place called the City of Crocodiles. I have seen this building, and it is beyond my power to describe... The pyramids, too, are astonishing structures, each one of them equal to many of the most ambitious works of Greece; but the labyrinth surpasses them. It has six covered courts – six in a row facing north, six south – the gates of one range exactly fronting the gates of another, with a continuous wall round the outside of the whole. Inside, the building is of two storeys and contains three thousand rooms, of which half are underground, and the other half directly above them... the underground ones I can speak of only from report, because the Egyptians in charge refused to let me see them, as they contained the tombs of the kings who built the labyrinth, and also the tombs of the sacred crocodiles. The upper rooms, on the contrary, I did actually see, and it is hard to believe that they are the work of men; the baffling and intricate passages from room to room and from court to court were an endless wonder to me, as we passed from a courtyard into rooms, from rooms into galleries, from galleries into more rooms, and thence into yet more courtyards. The roof of every chamber, courtyard, and gallery is, like the walls, of stone. The walls are covered with carved figures, and each court is exquisitely built of white marble and surrounded by a colonnade...”

~Herodotus

“...others, again, assert that it was a building dedicated to the Sun-god...”

“...in addition it must contain temples of all the gods of Egypt and forty statues of Nemesis in the same number of sacred shrines, as well as numerous pyramids... banquet halls reached by steep ascents, flights of ninety steps leading down form the porticoes, porphyritic columns, figures of gods and hideous monsters, and statues of kings. Some of the palaces are so made that the opening of a door makes a terrifying sound as of thunder. Most of the buildings are in total darkness...”

~the Roman writer, Pomponius Mela

屋久島 Yakushima

Man, I've been so damn busy recently, packing up my house, seeing buddies for last drinks, getting ready to go back to Blighty: hardly any time to myself. Deciding then to go on a hiking holiday last week to Yakushima was probably not such a great idea. Writing this blog entry, even, kind of makes me feel guilty. Boxes don't pack themselves. The gas company won't cut my gas if I don't tell them to (well, except those times I kept forgetting to pay the bills...). And somebody has to dump my mama-chari somewhere, before it's too late.

But anyway, back to the topic of Yakushima. What a fan-dabby-doozy place. Really beautiful island, sweet people, and superb food. Without going into details (and I really could, it was such a cool place, so many memorable encounters, mini-adventures, monkeys...) I post below some photos from the trip. Enjoy, and if you have the time, go yourself.

Some flying fish tempura, a local delicacy. All gravy, baby.

Old G Dawg is not just a pretty face. He hiked for a day just to get to this tree. A lover of mankind, he benevolently flashed a peace sign to the crowds, and then hiked all the way back. The tree in question is called the Jomon Sugi, so called because it is believed to be super old, dating from the Jomon period. It's 25 meters tall, and 16 meters around. It has a soul, too, according to locals.

Some more pictures of Old Jomon, sans Old G Dawg. They do little justice to the majesty of the real thing. You should go and see it for yourself.

Mrs G Dawg made claim of everything she saw.

According to travel guides, Yakushima and its primaeval forests gave Hayao Miyazaki the inspiration for the settings in his movie Princess Mononoke. Certainly, that is plain to see. The hiking trail he sites in particular is the Shiratani trail, and it is perhaps the most beautiful on the island. I can't help but feel, however, that though he may have found Shiratani more beautiful, he may have been influenced more by the path leading to the Jomon Sugi. A good half of the trail follows an abandoned railway, used in its day by a forestry company, who still, incidentally, own the area. It occurred to me that this plain evidence of man's activity, and his abandoned attempt to subdue nature, may have struck a chord with Miyazaki. Also, too, half-way along the tracks, are the remains of a school, deserted in 1970. All that is left is an ivy-covered staircase leading to nowhere. Ghostly, indeed, and beautiful. No doubt I am jumping to conclusions, but I find it hard to believe something so Miyazakiesque (otherworldly ancient remains, signs of a now gone culture and age (Spirited Away, Laputa, Princess Mononoke...)) would not have made an impression on him. I wish I had taken photographs, but the rain prevented me at the time.

An Exchange on the Merits of Mathematics vs. Mechanical Engineering as a Degree Choice, between Cousin James & Your Humble Servant

Cousin James

02 May at 02:33

Hey George could you give me your thoughts and views on doing a maths degree? Because I'm still undecided. I'm contemplating a 75% maths degree with management or economics. A possibility is Mech eng.
Your views would be helpful.

G Dawg
03 May at 01:42

Maths is a hard degree, whichever way you look at it. Only do it if you are: a) a natural mathematician, b) in love with the subject, or c) both. If you possess neither of these qualities, then you are in for a miserable three or four years. That said, a maths degree puts you in a really good position job-wise when you graduate, so it might be worth the pain.
Personally speaking, I suppose I would have come under class 'c)' from above (definitely more b) than a) however), though I can't say I loved every second of my time at university. The work-load was tough and there were times when I wished I'd done something different. Still, I got through it, and I wouldn't change my decision if I were able to make it again.
On a different tack, I suppose I should say that there are a million reasons why someone might study maths at university, and perhaps I've been too black and white in the matter. At the end of the day if you want to study it, do so, and if you are hesitant then perhaps you should think again.
Also, dude, there's really no need to rush. If you don't know what you want to do, keep thinking. Pick up a book, surf the internet, talk to friends, whatever. Hell, if you want to, take another year to think it over. I mean, at the end of the day, it's your life, right?
Hope I've been helpful. Any more questions, fire away.

Cousin James
04 May at 04:36

Thank You very much for your advice, George. It as been insightful.
Do you know anything about Mechanical Engineering, like how mathsy it is, and how respected it is with Employers?
And could you tell me what you got in your degree?

G Dawg
06 May at 18:07

Mechanical Engineering is so incredibly mathsy that I would go so far as to say it is maths. Of course, it is not the whole of maths, though I suppose nothing is. I took myself a lot of engineering courses and I found them to be very interesting, and in terms of difficulty, some people find them a lot easier than the more abstract courses one has to do as part of a maths degree (like Analysis of Imaginary Numbers, Logic, or Number Theory). I mean, even though the courses are just as rigorous and difficult mathematically, they are far easier to relate to. It is the maths of how things move in the world (or in theoretical spaces, most commonly, a vacuum with constant gravity), from air to water to particles to clouds and so on. The movements of the planets might also be covered. Of course, since I did my courses as part of a maths degree, it is natural that my studies were all done with pen and paper, entirely theoretically. In a mechanical engineering degree, I imagine you would have to complete quite a few practical courses as well as the theoretical ones. Designing and building an efficient motor which can run on canola oil or some such thing... I can only guess. I myself contemplated doing an engineering degree but in the end it was maths which charmed me, with its theories and its aura of philosophy. Of the people who end up studying engineering, one hears tales of children dismantling car engines and putting them back together; or building small model steam trains &c. I found the engineering lot to be the kind of people who love cars and boats and planes and things (though, of course, there are always exceptions... Like I said, people study different subjects for all kinds of reasons...). And I would go so far as to say that a Mechanical Engineering degree is quite possibly more respected with employees than a normal maths one. You see, it is actually something one can use in the real world. It would give you a very solid base to go into almost any industry. Banking? No problem. The stock exchange? Cool. And countless other industries, too, no doubt.
I myself got a 2:1 for my degree, so not bad. A 2:2 is the absolute minimum you must aim for.
Just a thought, but have you considered computer science as a degree choice? I would heartily recommend it as a useful and interesting degree, and one suited to a person with a mathematical mind. I studied a bit of computation for my degree and I found it fascinating stuff.
So there we have it. Hope this helps. Sorry I'm a little late in replying, I've been away in the countryside for the past three days.
Yours,
Genetalius Dawg-breath

Aozora Bunko - Check it

I recently sent an email to Matt of No-sword, relating to things
pertaining to this article, about a section of Osamu Dazai's work,
The Setting Sun, and it's translation.

One thing which really interested me in his article was a link to the
website aozora.gr.jp. What follows is taken directly from the
emails we exchanged.

Me:
> Now, if you will excuse me for rushing ahead, one thing which really
> piqued my interested was this aozora bunko site. I looked at the
> link you gave for "the original Japanese" and bugger me if the whole
> of the Japanese text didn't just appear on my screen with one click.
> What exactly is the deal with this aozora website? If you'll indulge
> me, what kind of books do they have on this site, and are those books
> really there in their entirety and free to read?

Matt:
Yeah, man, Aozora Bunko is like the Japanese Gutenberg: they enter
out-of-copyright books as text files, and make them publicly available.
In Japan, copyright for books (currently) only lasts for life of author
+ 50 years, so anyone who died more than 50 years ago is fair game.
Dazai is in there, so is Soseki, Ogai, Miyazawa Kenji, Ango, etc. etc.
And since it's public domain, not only is it on the site for free,
you're also free to translate it, whatever (as far as I have been able
to figure out -- this is not legal advice etc.) That's why I was able to
e-publish Botchan without paying any money to Soseki's heirs.

Ironically, stuff that was published TOO long ago is usually only
available in edited editions, prepared painstakingly by comparing
original manuscripts etc., and this act creates a new copyrightable
work. So what they have is basically Meiji through early Showa at the
moment -- stuff that was originally published as a movable-type style
printed text.

Now back to the studio with G Dawg:
Isn't that cool? I feel kind of like a moron for not knowing until now
about this fabled Japanese Gutenberg. Well, I suppose there has to be
a first time for everything.

Here, to give some examples, is a link to Dazai Osamu's
No Longer Human, a book I recently read in English, and
quite frankly amazing; and another famous book, I am a cat,
by old Natsume Souseki. (Interestingly, for the latter
transcript, aozora seems to have provided
kana for every kanji. Very kind of them indeed.)

I really should say at this point, too, a big thank you to Matt from
No-sword. If ever you've a question that needs answering, he's your
man.

粘土頭 Clay Head

Sometimes, too, for the heck and the thrill of it, I like to mess around with clay. For this one I took a bunch of photos of my own head, and using them as a guide, just to keep the right proportions in mind, I made this kind of quasi-classical bust. It's quite small in real life, about fifteen centimeters tall.