Kaguya had come to Tokyo to live with Také probably because she’d reached a certain stage in her training in Kyoto, but Také seemed to feel responsible for her happiness.
“Being a chef means lifelong training and discipline,” said Majime, trying to cheer her up. “The person she almost got engaged to wasn’t going to be posted overseas permanently, was he? If he’d really wanted to marry her, they could have lived apart for a while, or they could have put off the marriage until the time was right. There are any number of ways around that problem.”
He was getting heated. He felt jealous and riled. Here he couldn’t even get a relationship going with Kaguya, and some other guy had let slip a chance to marry her? And that made her turn chicken? His blood boiled.
“You know,” mused Také, “someone like you might be just the ticket for her.”
He looked up eagerly. “You really think so?”
“I do. Someone who’s a bit fuzzy on top and has his own world, I mean. Someone who wouldn’t be in a hurry to interfere with her world and what she wants to do. I think it’s better if two people don’t expect too much of each other. Live and let live.”
This struck him as a rather lonely prospect, but maybe she was praising him? He hesitated a little, but remembering Také’s previous advice about relying on people, he decided to go ahead and rely on her.
“Then put in a good word for me, would you, without making too much of it?”
“What? But I don’t know how she feels, and it’s not easy to be casual about a thing like that.”
Majime jumped up, flew downstairs, and came racing back with an armful of Nupporo Number One. All he owned was books. Instant noodles were the only incentive he could come up with. He didn’t care how ridiculous he might seem.
“Please reconsider. Please help me out.”
Looking at the heap of instant noodle packets on the tabletop, Také sighed yet again. “Well, if it means that much to you, I’ll see what I can do.”
She seemed to be stifling laughter.
The next day, for once Nishioka was already at his desk when Majime arrived.
“Well, Majime, I read your love letter.”
“And? What’s the verdict?”
“It’s fine! Go right ahead and give it to her.” He also seemed to be stifling laughter.
How come people laugh when I’m dead earnest? Confused and wretched, Majime took back the fifteen sheets of stationery and filed them in his briefcase. “What did Araki say yesterday?” he asked.
“Oh, that.” Nishioka started up his computer and began checking his e-mail. “Nothing.”
“But . . . he must have wanted to tell you the other condition for continuing with The Great Passage.”
“Nah. He just wanted to gripe about the board, let off some steam. I had to go out drinking with him till late. It was kind of a pain.”
Majime studied Nishioka’s profile dubiously. He was pretty sure he’d heard Araki say, “Second . . .” Had he misheard? If all Araki wanted to do was gripe about work in some bar, why had he asked only Nishioka to come along? Maybe it’s because I haven’t been here very long yet. Maybe with me around he wouldn’t feel free to say what was on his mind.
Here he was worrying about feeling distanced from his friends, like a junior high school girl. Of course he’d never been a junior high school girl, so this was pure supposition. He was aware that his personality made people generally uncomfortable, which was a major reason why he never seemed to fit in. Yet he had thought the atmosphere at work was becoming more relaxed, that lately even he and Nishioka were getting along. He was quietly disappointed.
As he skimmed his e-mail, Nishioka was humming to himself and saying things like, “Oh, boy, Professor Saijo, the historian, responded right away.” If only he, Majime, were more like Nishioka, cheerful and outgoing, and didn’t put up fences to keep others out. Then everything would go more smoothly—his work and his love life, too. He was well aware that Nishioka, though he might sometimes come across as unfeeling, would never deliberately set out to hurt another person.
“All right.” Nishioka stood up, jacket in hand. “I’m off. I’m going to go give a little nudge to the contributors we haven’t heard from yet.”
He must’ve only just arrived. This seemed hasty.
“There’s still time,” Majime said. “Why the rush?”
“You never know. They may not be exactly sure how to write what we asked them to. It’s important to be on top of potential problems before they arise . . . Check this out!”
Proudly he spread out a piece of paper showing the teaching schedule of every university professor they had invited to be a contributor. Majime had to admit that this certainly would make it easier to visit them efficiently, during their office hours. How had Nishioka found time? The prospect of calling on contributors seemed to energize him.
“That’s amazing,” Majime said. It crossed his mind that there was plenty of work to be done right there in the office, but he didn’t say so. He didn’t want to undermine Nishioka’s newfound enthusiasm.
“When I get back, let’s go over the schedule for Gembu Student’s Dictionary.”
“Sure.”
Majime put on black sleeve protectors and pulled up the file cards he’d been assigned for the day.
“Majime.”
Hearing his name called, he looked up. He’d thought Nishioka was gone, but he was standing in the doorway.
“Yes?”
“Have more confidence. Anyone who’s as serious and diligent as you are is bound to succeed in whatever he does.”
Majime set down his pencil in amazement.
“I’m behind you one hundred percent,” Nishioka blurted and then disappeared out the door.
Something must have happened. Even Majime, who Také had said was “fuzzy on top,” could tell. Either Nishioka had come down with a sudden fever or Araki had said or done something to him. It had to be one or the other.
When Kaguya came home late that night and found Majime crouching at the foot of the stairs, she seemed surprised, falling back against the front door she had just closed.
“What are you doing there?”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” As she stood in the tiled entryway with her shoes still on, Majime knelt down on the wooden floor in front of her and handed her the bulky love letter. “Please read this.”
“What is it?”
“Just a token.” Realizing he was beet red to the tips of his ears, Majime hurriedly stood up. “Anyway, good night.”
He flew back to his room, closed the door, and burrowed under the covers. He heard her continue upstairs. Once she read the letter, she might come right away with her answer. His heart pounded; his temples felt like they’d turned to stone. He had poured his soul into those pages. Whatever her answer, he would accept it calmly. He lay in his futon and stared up at the ceiling, waiting. Outside on the clothes-drying platform, Tora meowed. He heard Kaguya’s window open and shut. All was quiet. A fish jumped, or perhaps a twig fell, making a tiny splash in the canal.
He waited until his cold feet were warm, but she never came.