Nishioka left the office in high dudgeon, but as he had to avoid sudden, painful movements, he crept with the stealth of a burglar.
Pale winter afternoon sunshine lit up the mosaic-tiled stair landing. Nishioka climbed to the fourth floor of the old, imposing staircase, holding on to the wooden railing, and went to the door of the professor’s office. Before knocking, he took off his coat and laid it neatly over his arm, following proper etiquette. With one hand he massaged the small of his back, and with the other he knocked.
In answer to the response from within he opened the door and found the professor, a specialist in medieval Japanese literature, just finishing lunch at his desk.
“Oh, Mr. Nishioka!” The professor swiftly wrapped up the lunch box in a large handkerchief.
“I’m sorry to interrupt you at lunchtime.”
“It’s fine. I just finished. Have a seat.”
Nishioka pulled up a chair covered in books and perched on the edge. “Does your wife make your lunch for you?” he asked sociably.
“Ah, well.” The professor uneasily stroked his fine head of silver-gray hair. “If it’s the dictionary entries you’re here for, I’m afraid they’re not done.”
“Please do finish them by the deadline, if you would.” Nishioka then sat up straighter. “I came here today to let you know that next year I will be transferring to the company’s advertising department. Someone else from the Dictionary Editorial Department will work with you from now on.”
The professor frowned slightly and leaned forward. He looked either concerned or eagerly curious, Nishioka couldn’t tell which.
“So the rumor is true?” he asked.
“What rumor would that be?”
“I heard that Gembu isn’t on board with the new dictionary. That must be why they’re reducing staff.”
“Not at all.” Nishioka smiled. “If that were true, we would hardly be asking you to write contributions for us.”
“Good to know.” The professor seemed to take this at face value, but shrewdly added, “I hate to say it, but considering the work involved, writing dictionary entries certainly doesn’t pay. Of course, dictionaries are invaluable and I intend to do my best, but you need to understand that my time is taken up by meetings and academic conferences and such. I have very little time to myself. Which is why I would be disturbed to find the Dictionary Editorial Department had bitten off more than it can chew.”
“Sir, only you can help us with entries relating to medieval Japan. When the time comes I’ll be back to introduce the new member of the editorial staff. Thank you for your understanding.” Nishioka bowed politely.
College professors. If they weren’t babes in the woods who knew nothing outside the covers of their books, they were political savants with one ear always to the ground. But when it came to reconnaissance, Nishioka himself was no slouch. He knew full well that those boxed lunches were prepared not by the professor’s wife but by his mistress. And if he had to, he was prepared to use that information to get the entries on time.
Worn out by his encounter with the professor, who looked so distinguished on the outside and was such a sleazeball on the inside, Nishioka went home and got into a hot tub. Almost immediately, he fell asleep. The next thing he knew, he was sputtering in water that had cooled to lukewarm.
Later he poked his head into the living room. “Hey! You didn’t notice I was in the bath too long? I nearly drowned!”
“Oh, no!” Remi never took her eyes off the television. “I did think you were taking your time, but I was busy so I didn’t go check. Sorry.”
On the screen, a comedian was yammering about his favorite electrical appliance. A weird show, Nishioka had always thought, but when it was on he couldn’t help getting caught up in it. Listening to the guy go on about people and things he cared about was annoying and ridiculous, but there was something about it that amused Nishioka at the same time. Before he knew it he found himself drawn in, interested despite himself. Kind of like the way he felt around Majime and the others.
The program ended, and they sat on the sofa sipping hot tea.
“So what do you think about dictionaries?” Nishioka asked casually. He offered the conversation topic the way you might fill an empty space with a potted plant.
His surprisingly serious expression gave her pause.
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, you know. What kind do you like, what kind did you use in school, that kind of stuff.”
“Huh?” Her eyes grew so wide, you’d have thought she’d been startled by a voice from the dead. “You mean some people have likes and dislikes about dictionaries?”
Right. Of course. That’s how normal people react. Nishioka thought perhaps he’d caught the dictionary bug at work, after all. The thought scared him a little, but it was reassuring to know that Majime and the rest, all of whom could spend hours debating which dictionaries they liked and why, were really cranks.
“Some do.”
“Yeah? I couldn’t even tell you the name of the one I used to use.”
She set her cup on the coffee table and drew her legs up onto the sofa, arms around her knees. “But now that you mention it, back in junior high the expression ‘fish and chips’ came up in our English textbook, and I didn’t know what it meant.”
“Oh, right, you grew up somewhere out in the sticks where there were no pubs.”
“Give me a break. I was in junior high. What would I know about pubs?” She gave his knee a little kick and went on. “Anyway, I looked it up in the dictionary, and what do you think it said? Fisshu & chippusu.”
Nishioka hooted. “Some help. They call that a definition?”
“I know! Isn’t it awful?” She laughed, too, and rocked back and forth on her bottom. “Masa, make a good dictionary, okay?”
With painful swiftness, a hot lump rose in his throat. The reason he’d stayed with Remi all this time, stuck it out, hit him with force: he loved her. She drove him crazy sometimes, but he could never—would never—let her go. I love you, Remi. You may be no beauty, but you’re adorable to me.
He opened his mouth to say the words, but he heard his hoarse voice say something completely different. “I can’t.” It wasn’t just his throat now—even his eyes felt hot. He looked down. “I’m being transferred to advertising. I’m off the team.”
It was demoralizing to sound like a whiner. Pitiful. But finally he’d been able to get it off his chest. Finally he had been able to give voice to how demoralized he felt, the sense of emptiness that had been like a small sharp stone cutting into his flesh.
Remi sat silent and motionless for a moment. Then without a word she drew his head to her breast, as if scooping up a flower fallen onto the water.
The professor sent in his entries at the end of February. Nishioka opened the attached file, read it over, and groaned. The professor had been asked to write definitions for terms relating to medieval Japanese literature as well as encyclopedic entries for major authors and works. Nishioka had given him guidelines and models, yet every entry was over the word limit and full of personal opinions.