« The old man was bald and wore glasses with thick
lenses. His baldness looked incomplete ; he had frizzy white hairs
plastered against both sides of his head. It looked like a mountain after a big
forest fire. »
« I want to learn how taxes were collected in the
Ottoman Empire, I said. »
« At long last the old man returned, carrying three fat
books. They were all terribly old – the smell of ancient paper rose in the
air. »
« ‘Mr. Sheep Man,’ I asked, ‘why would that old man
want to eat my brains ?’
‘Because brains packed with knowledge are yummy, that’s
why ; they’re nice and creamy. And sort of grainy at the same
time.’ »
« A key turned in the lock, and in came a girl pushing
a teacart. She was so pretty that looking at her made my eyes hurt. She appeared
to be about my age. Her neck, wrists, and ankles were so slender they seemed as
if they might break under the slightest pressure. Her long, straight hair shone
as if it were spun with jewels. She studied my face for a moment. Then she took
the dishes of food that were on the teacart and
arranged them on my desk, all without a word. I remained speechless,
overwhelmed by her beauty. »
« She didn’t answer. Instead, she smiled sweetly. It
was a smile so radiant that the air seemed to thin around it. »
« Her movements were as quick and light as a May
breeze. »
« I picked up The Diary of an Ottoman Tax Collector and
began to read. The book was written in classical Turkish ; yet, strangely,
I found it easy to understand. Not only that, but each page stuck in my memory,
word for word. For some reason or other, my brain was sopping up everything
that I read. As I flipped the pages, I became the Turkish tax collector Ibn
Armut Hasir, who walked the streets of Istanbul with a scimitar at his waist,
collecting taxes. The air was filled with the scent of fruit and chickens,
tobacco and coffee ; it hung heavily over the city, like a stagnant river.
Hawkers squatted aling the streets, shouting over their wares : dates,
Turkish oranges, and the like. Hasir was a quiet, relaxed sort of fellow, with
three wives and six children. He also had a pet parakeet every bit as cute as
my starling. »
« No matter what the situation may be, I still take
pleasure in witnessing the joy of others. »
The Strange Library – Haruki Murakami
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