He watched as the window slowly filled with the bright light of morning.
A week went by with no response. Just as before, they scarcely saw each other. On Sunday she went to take in a demonstration by a famous chef at a hotel, or some such event, and was out the door early in the morning. Was she avoiding him? He never should have resorted to a form of communication as maddeningly slow as a letter.
He moped the time away. Yet even though he was moping, he didn’t let up at work; being able to stay focused was one of his strengths. He talked with Professor Matsumoto about how to proceed with a revision of Gembu Student’s Dictionary of Japanese in tandem with the work on The Great Passage.
“Any time you edit a big new dictionary, there are bound to be setbacks along the way.” Professor Matsumoto took the company’s decision calmly. “But regrettably, there are not enough hands on deck. This could mean years before The Great Passage is finished.”
“Are they serious about our dictionary or not?” Mrs. Sasaki usually kept her feelings to herself, but for once she let her frustration show. “They don’t give us the staff we need, and now on top of everything we have to revise another book, too? They’re just waiting for us to abandon ship.”
Araki and Nishioka exchanged looks, Majime couldn’t help noticing. More than Kaguya’s failure to reply had been weighing on Majime this past week. There was something strange about Nishioka.
He’d told him about handing the letter to Kaguya, and also that he had yet to receive any response. Since Nishioka had reviewed the letter for him, he felt he owed him a report. But whenever he brought it up, Nishioka either just grinned or offered cold comfort: “Give it time. She’s not going to ignore a love letter, now, is she?” He was busy revising the work schedule for the dictionary, calling on contributors, and so on. Under normal circumstances he’d have been all over Majime with questions, clamoring to hear the latest developments. Something was definitely up. Majime found Nishioka’s newfound diligence somehow ominous.
He tried to lift the general mood by saying something positive. “Think of our predecessors, pioneers who compiled great dictionaries single-handedly. At least we have each other. Let’s not give up, let’s carry on.”
“Well said.” Professor Matsumoto nodded, looking at Majime approvingly.
“Uh, this is hard to bring up, but . . . ,” Nishioka began gingerly. “It looks like this spring I’m being transferred to advertising.”
“What?”
“Why?”
Professor Matsumoto and Mrs. Sasaki raised their voices in astonishment. Nishioka gave a small laugh and looked down.
Gloomily, Araki explained. “Company policy. They don’t want to spare people for our department.”
“This is a calamity.” Professor Matsumoto clutched the knot on a cloth-wrapped package on the desk. “Then The Great Passage may not be finished in my lifetime.”
“And I was just saying how understaffed we are!” Mrs. Sasaki shook her head irately, and, perhaps from built-up stress, her neck made a loud cracking noise.
Nishioka was being transferred? Majime was speechless. Araki worked part-time, Professor Matsumoto was a consulting editor, and Mrs. Sasaki was a contract worker. So the only one in a position to negotiate with the company and head the project was now him, Majime!
This was no time to be going on about predecessors who’d made dictionaries single-handedly and how noble they were. Responsibility for the entire Dictionary Editorial Department at Gembu was about to land on Majime’s shoulders.
Reeling from shock and loneliness, Majime finished work and returned home. He slurped down some Nupporo Number One and then retreated to his inner sanctum and his books. He couldn’t sleep. He didn’t own a television set. He had no hobbies. The only way he knew to calm himself was by reading.
He sat upright in the dusty night air and took a deep breath. His hand reached toward the shelf and took down the four-volume Sea of Words. A pioneering dictionary compiled single-handedly in the Meiji era by Fumihiko Otsuki. The man had poured all his assets and time—indeed, his whole life—into completing Sea of Words.
Have I got that much drive and determination?
He laid a volume, purchased in a secondhand bookstore, in his lap and carefully turned the musty pages. His eyes fell on the entry ryorinin (cook), written in old-fashioned orthography. The definition read: “One whose occupation is cooking. A chujin.” Chujin was an old-fashioned word for “chef,” one you hardly came across anymore. Any dictionary, no matter how well made, was destined to go out of date. Words were living things. If someone asked him whether Sea of Words was of practical use in the present age, in all honesty he would have to say it had grown outdated. And yet, the principles and passion that informed Sea of Words would never be old. They remained vibrantly alive, in other beloved dictionaries and in the hearts of lexicographers.
The entry ryorinin naturally made him think of Kaguya. The definition used the word waza, which could mean “occupation or job” but also went far deeper; it was closer to “a calling.” A ryorinin was someone called to cook; someone who felt compelled to prepare food to satisfy the stomach and the heart; someone chosen to do so. The character for waza could also be read go, a Buddhist term meaning “a karmic bond.” Kaguya, Fumihiko Otsuki, and probably Majime himself were each possessed by nothing less than a bond from past lives.
Majime indulged in a reverie. If Kaguya returned his feelings, how deliriously happy he would be. If she even so much as smiled at him, he would be thrilled to death. This was no mere figure of speech: having never gotten much exercise, Majime had little faith in his cardiovascular system and was not sure that his heart could withstand the impact of a Kaguya smile.
He never should have given her a love letter. She was immersed in her chef’s training, possessed by it. He didn’t want to stand in her way. He himself was bound to the editing of The Great Passage. He knew what it meant to be caught up in work, to be possessed. Her failure to answer his love letter was a sign of confusion. He shouldn’t have done anything to cause her a moment’s uneasiness. He should have kept his feelings—his love—tucked away in his heart.
He heard the quiet sound of the front door opening. She was home. Despite his best intentions, he jerked to his feet like a puppet on strings. His feet traveled of their own accord out of the room and into the hallway.
“Kaguya.” His voice was hoarse.
Midway up the stairs, she turned and looked back. She was wearing a black coat and her hair was down. Perhaps she was tired; her eyes, always dancing, looked sleepy for once.
“Give me your answer.”
“My answer?” She slowly blinked.
“Yes. If the answer is no, just tell me. I can take it.”
“Wait. Are you by any chance talking about that letter you gave me the other day?”