The Sheep Mans Christmas
by MURAKAMI Haruki
Translated by Christophor Allison
While it was yet high summer, the Sheep Man was asked to compose some music for Christmas. The Sheep Man and his sheep visitor, who had come to ask him to undertake the composition, sweated profusely under their summer sheep suits. As long as summer lasted, the Sheep Man was quite miserable, because he was but a poor sheep man and could not afford an air conditioner. As the fan slapped around and around in circles, the sheep ears of the two sheep fellows fluttered softly in the breeze.
“We, the Sheep Men’s Council,” began the Sheep Man’s visitor, unloosening the fastener at his collar so as to allow the wind from the fan to blow in, “every year select one sheep, blessed with prodigious musical talent, to compose music in honour of our Most Holy Patron, the Sheep Saint. This music will thence be performed on Christmas Day. This year, happily, you have been chosen.”
“Oh, I see,” said the Sheep Man.
“This year especially, it being the 2500th anniversary of His passing, we desire particularly splendid music, befitting to this sacred event,” he concluded.
“I see, I see,” said the Sheep Man, scratching his ears.
“Christmas is still four and a half months away,” he thought to himself. “With that much time, I can certainly compose some magnificent sheep music.”
“I’ll be happy to do it. You can count on me,” he replied, his chest swelling with pride. “I’ll certainly do my best to write excellent sheep music.
September passed, and then October and November, but the Sheep Man hadn’t been able to begin the music requested by the Sheep Men’s Council. Because the Sheep Man worked in the neighborhood donut shop, he had very little time to devote to the composition. Moreover, whenever he began to play his ramshackle old piano, the wife of the boarding house’s landlord would invariably come up the steps and pound on his door.
“Cut that racket out! I can barely here the television.”
“I’m terribly sorry. But since I have to have this music done by Christmas, might I beg of you to bear with me a little while?” the Sheep Man said meekly.
“What a idiotic thing to say,” erupted the landlord’s wife. “If you don’t like it, you can just leave right now. Just because we let weirdoes like you live here doesn’t mean that you can make a laughing stock out of us. If this is a problem for you, well, too bad.”
The Sheep Man gazed at the calendar with a feeling of dread. Even though Christmas was just four short weeks away, he hadn’t been able to write a single bar of the promised music, since he couldn’t play the piano.
One day, the Sheep Man was sitting in the park, eating donuts with something of a disturbed countenance, when he was approached by the Sheep Professor. “What’s wrong, my dear Sheep lad?” the Sheep Professor enquired.
“I’m not feeling very well. Even though Christmas is coming, something is really bothering me. That is to say, Christmas is part of the problem,” the Sheep Man began, and then confessed the whole story to the Sheep Professor.
“Hmmm...” said the Sheep Professor, stroking his beard. “If that’s the case, I think I can help you.”
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