Having model entries on hand made it possible to decide font size, layout, and design. The number of pages, total number of entry words, and cost would all come into focus. Normally, only then would requests for contributions go out, accompanied by guidelines and models. They had just started to create writing guidelines for The Great Passage, so under normal circumstances it would be premature to begin outsourcing.
But Majime thought they should go on the offensive. The world of lexicography was surprisingly small; few publishing companies even had dictionary editorial departments. So far they had reached out only to fashion experts, but that was enough to start a rumor that a brand-new dictionary was in the works. In that case, all they needed to do was fan the flames of this rumor. Sending out requests to experts in a variety of fields would show everyone within the company and outside of it that The Great Passage editorial staff meant business.
Yes, making the dictionary would cost money. But a dictionary was a publishing company’s pride, and a valuable asset as well. Publishing a dictionary that people trusted and loved would set Gembu on a solid foundation for the next twenty years. Killing the project at this point would give rise to unsavory rumors. People would suspect that Gembu was struggling or that management cared only about short-term profit—outcomes they would surely rather avoid.
“Got a head for strategy, don’t you?” said Nishioka. “Way to go.” He started out the door, on his way back to the main building to see what further information he could pick up, and then turned around. “By the way, go ahead and use that approach to try to one-up me, if you want. Fine with me.”
“Huh?”
“I mean with Kaguya. You’ll need to pull off some kind of trick to stand a chance against me.” He went off laughing.
That might very well be, but it begged the question: What gave Nishioka such boundless self-confidence? Some people really did hold themselves in high regard. Majime could only marvel, watching him go. Then he picked up the phone to convey the urgent news to Araki and Professor Matsumoto.
The Great Passage wasn’t yet scuttled. They decided to go all-out to keep it afloat. Nishioka and Mrs. Sasaki selected contributors and made phone calls, or paid personal visits to solicit contributions confidentially. Araki, in between visits to his wife in the hospital, stayed busy sounding out people at the highest levels, gathering support and feedback, while Majime and Professor Matsumoto struggled to hammer out a style sheet.
To define one word, you inevitably had to use others. Whenever Majime thought about words, something like a wooden image of Tokyo Tower rose in the back of his mind: a precarious structure of words in exquisite balance, words supplementing words. However he compared existing dictionaries, and no matter how much data he gathered, just when he thought he had captured a word, it would slip through his fingers, crumble to bits, and vanish.
Majime stayed home that weekend to think about words. In the back room on the first floor where he kept his stacks, he spread books on the floor and racked his brain. Wasn’t there some straightforward way to pinpoint the difference between agaru and noboru? They were both verbs meaning “to rise, ascend,” sometimes but not always interchangeable.
“Still working on the dictionary?” said Kaguya, entering the room followed by Tora. “On a Sunday?”
“Meow,” mewed the cat.
Kaguya crouched on the floor across from Majime. Umenomi was closed Sundays, so instead of leaving early in the morning to buy fresh produce as she did other days of the week, she stayed home. Although stunning in her chef’s garb, she looked great in jeans and a sweater, too. Majime felt his pulse rise. It struck him that this rise was connected to another meaning of agaru, “to get nervous.” Being with Kaguya made him happy, but it put a strain on his heart.
“Um, it’s pretty dusty in here,” he stuttered.
“Am I bothering you?”
Tora maneuvered around the piles of reference materials and gave Majime’s thigh an encouraging flick with his tail.
“No, you’re not,” Majime quickly said.
“I wanted to borrow a book on cooking, if you have any.”
Just as he thought of nothing but the dictionary, she couldn’t stop thinking of work even on her day off. And yet she never cooked at home. She said she didn’t want to have to cook on her day off. “Listen to the girl,” Také would say with a shake of her head. “With an attitude like that, she won’t find herself a husband anytime soon.”
In no position to entertain ambitions of tasting Kaguya’s home cooking, Majime took the initiative and, when he had the chance, would prepare three servings of Nupporo Number One. Kaguya seemed to like the junky taste of the instant ramen and ate hers with relish. The thought that food he had prepared was entering her body, would become her flesh and blood, always made him lean slightly forward to watch as she ate.
If only she would stay in his room now and not be put off by him. Praying for this, he stood in front of the shelves and searched. Unfortunately, he saw no books on cooking.
“I’m afraid I’ve only got one that’s remotely connected to cooking.”
With slight dissatisfaction, she regarded the book he held out: The World of Fungi. On the cover was a photograph of a bright-red mushroom growing in damp earth. It didn’t look edible in the least.
“I’ll collect more books on cooking from now on,” he said apologetically.
“I’ll take a look at it, anyway.” She flipped through the pages, tucked The World of Fungi under her arm, and stood up. “It’s a nice day. You want to go somewhere?”
“Where?”
“How about Korakuen?”
His heart started pounding hard enough to knock his soul right out of his body. This must be what was meant by the phrase ten ni mo noboru kimochi, “being on cloud nine,” literally “rising to heaven” with joy.
In that moment, the difference between agaru and noboru became clear. Words that had been floating in chaos swiftly grouped themselves into interlocking sets. In his mind’s eye he saw an agaru tower and a noboru tower, each one soaring high in perfect, beautiful balance. Forgetful of Kaguya’s presence in the room, forgetful of her invitation, he pursued the thoughts unfolding in his mind at bewildering speed. Controlling his excitement, he murmured, “That’s it. That’s it.”
Agaru emphasized the place reached by upward movement, whereas noboru emphasized the process of upward movement. When inviting someone to “come on up for a cup of tea,” you used agaru, never noboru. That’s because the focus was on reaching a place suitable for drinking tea—the interior of the house, a step up from the outside—rather than the process of moving indoors. For “to climb a mountain,” the reverse was true; the correct verb was definitely noboru, as the emphasis was on the action of physically moving up the face of the mountain toward the summit, not just the moment of reaching the summit.