Chapter 41 40

Finally, let’s talk about Dalek.Hadfield. Hadefell was born in a small town in Ohio in 1909 and grew up there.His father is a telecommunications technician who doesn't like to talk, and his mother is a slightly fat woman who is good at astrology and biscuit making.The introverted Hadfair had no friends as a teenager, binge-reading comic books and cheap magazines and eating cookies made by his mother in every spare moment until he graduated from high school.After graduating, he took a job at the town post office for a while, and it didn't take long for him to believe that the path he should take was that there was no other path than a novelist.

His fifth short story was sold to Wade Publishing House in 1930 for a fee of 20 dollars.In the next year, he wrote 70,000 words of manuscript paper every month, and the speed increased to 100,000 words in another year, and reached 150,000 words in the year before his death.A new Remington typewriter is bought every six months.Such legends have been left behind. Most of his novels are adventure novels and fantasy novels.The "Adventurer Watt" series, which combined the two, has become his most popular masterpiece, with a total of forty-two articles.In it, Watt died three times, killed 5,000 enemies, and handed in a total of 375 women, including the Martian women.We can read several of them in translation.

Hadfair really hated a lot of things.Post office, high school, publishing house, carrots, women, dogs, the list goes on and on.But there are only three things he likes, guns, cats and biscuits baked by his mother.His collection of guns, apart from Paramount Studios and the FBI Research Institute, is the closest to being intact in the United States, except for anti-aircraft guns and anti-tank guns.One of the items he was most proud of was a 38-gauge revolver with pearls on the handle.There's only one bullet in it, and his catchphrase is that I'll use this to make my own rotation one day.

But when his mother died in 1938, he went all the way to New York, climbed the Empire State Building, jumped off the roof, and fell flat like a frog. According to his last words, Nietzsche is quoted as follows on his tombstone. How can the light of day understand the depth of darkness at night? ◇ Hadfield's remark (replacing postscript) Although I'm not going to say yet: If I hadn't met a writer like Hadefell, I probably wouldn't have written any novels.It is certain, however, that the path I take will be very different from what it is now. When I was in high school, I used to buy paperbacks of Hadfield, which seemed to be left behind by foreign sailors, at a second-hand bookstore in Kobe. I bought several copies at a time, 50 yen each.If it wasn't a bookstore, it would be hard for people to think that it was a book.It seems that the rather luxurious cover is almost torn off, and the pages have turned orange.Likely to have crossed the Pacific in the bed of a junior crew member of a cargo ship or destroyer, and come to my desk from the far reaches of time.

◇ A few years later, I came to the United States.Just enough for a short trip to find Hardfell's grave.The site of the grave is that of an ardent (and only) Hadfield researcher, Thomas S.Mark Lew wrote to me.He wrote: A grave as small as the heel of a high-heeled shoe, I hope you don't miss it. It was seven o'clock in the morning when I got on the huge coffin-like Greyhound bus from New York to that small town in Ohio.None of the guests got off in that town except me.Across the grassland outside the town is the cemetery, which is wider than the small town.On my head there are a few larks, drawing circles around and singing a song of flight.

It took me an hour to find Hadfield's grave.After offering the dusty wild roses that I picked in the surrounding meadows, I clasped my hands in front of the grave and sat down to smoke again.In the soft May sun, life and death seemed equally peaceful.I lifted my head, closed my eyes, and continued to listen to the lark for hours on end. This novel begins in that kind of place.As for where it went, I don't know.Compared with the complexity of the universe, our world is like the brain of an earthworm.Hadfield said so. I hope so too. ◇ It has come to the end, for Hadfield's account has cited several places from the aforementioned Thomas McClure: The Legend of the Sterile Stars (1968).Thank you very much.

Haruki Murakami May 1979 (End of the book)