“What else?” he said, sneaking a look at the page. He felt like testing Majime.
“I think the mud snail tanishi used to be called saigyo. And there’s a Noh play called Saigyozakura.” (Saigyo and the Cherry Tree.) “Wearing a traditional bamboo hat pushed back on your head is called Saigyo-kazuki, and carrying a bundle wrapped in a furoshiki cloth and tied on the diagonal on your back is Saigyo-jiyoi. We also might need to include Saigyo-ki.” (Saigyo Memorial Day.) “That refers to February 15, the day he died—a word used in haiku to indicate that time of year.”
Nishioka thumbed through not just the Great Dictionary of Japanese but also Wide Garden of Words and Great Forest of Words to verify what Majime had said. Beyond impressed, he was in awe. “Man, don’t tell me you sat down and memorized a bunch of dictionaries?”
“As if anybody even could.” Majime hunched his shoulders apologetically. “Anyway, we won’t have space in The Great Passage for all these meanings. Which ones do you think we should include?”
“I vote for ‘wanderer, pilgrim’ and ‘invulnerable, immortal.’”
“Why?”
Faced with Majime’s quiet question, Nishioka folded his arms and looked up at the ceiling. He had voted by gut instinct, so being asked to defend his choices left him at a momentary loss.
“I guess it’s because not many people use traditional cloth wrappers or bamboo hats anymore. But suppose I’m carrying something wrapped in a furoshiki on my back, tied on the diagonal, and I run into a buddy of mine and he says, ‘Hey, that’s Saigyo-jiyoi!”
“Hmm, that’s not happening anytime soon.”
“That’s just a hypothetical example. When he says that, I think, Aha, so this way of carrying something is Saigyo-jiyoi! Or what about this. Say the company sends out a memo: ‘Employees are requested to forgo briefcases and use Saigyo-jiyoi.’”
“That’s never happening.”
“Like I said, these are hypotheticals. When I get the memo, I say, ‘What’s Saigyo-jiyoi?’ Somebody explains, and I get the picture. What I’m saying is, the meanings of both Saigyo-jiyoi and Saigyo-kazuki are easy to guess from context, and if somebody describes them in words, they’re easy to visualize.”
“Ah. So you’re saying there’s little practical need for them in a dictionary.”
“Right. Same goes for Saigyozakura. Chances are, anybody who sees or hears the word will already know it’s a Noh drama. Nobody starts a conversation or a letter right off the bat with ‘Now, take Saigyozakura . . .’ As long as someone could guess it was a Noh drama, all they’d have to do is look it up in a dictionary of Noh.”
“And Saigyo Memorial Day is self-explanatory. But what about calling mud snails saigyo? There I think you’d have a hard time figuring out the meaning.”
“Who calls mud snails that anymore? Nobody. If they did, all you’d have to do is ask them what they were talking about.”
“Pretty cavalier, aren’t you?” Majime seemed to be enjoying this.
Nishioka plowed on. “But the idea that ‘Saigyo’ also means ‘invulnerable’ I think has to be included, along with its origin in the image of Saigyo looking at Mount Fuji. Suppose you were reading and came upon a character who goes, ‘I am Saigyo! Bwa ha ha.’ Unless you knew ‘Saigyo’ was a synonym for ‘invulnerable,’ you’d be totally confused.”
“And for the same reason you think we should include the meaning of a wanderer or pilgrim, right?”
“Well, it’s partly that.” Nishioka hesitated slightly. “Suppose an actual drifter is leafing through a dictionary at a library and comes across an entry for the word saigyo that says ‘a wanderer or pilgrim (after Saigyo, the itinerant priest-poet).’ Think how he’d feel. He’d tell himself, ‘So Saigyo was just like me! Even in the old days, there were people who never stayed put.’”
Nishioka became aware of Majime’s eyes on him and turned to look. Majime had swiveled his chair around to face him.
“I never thought of it that way before.” Majime’s voice was full of admiration.
Embarrassed, Nishioka quickly added, “It’s probably no basis for including words in a dictionary, I realize.”
“You’re wrong.” Majime shook his head, his expression intent. “Nishioka, I’m so sorry you’re leaving. We need you to make The Great Passage a really human dictionary.”
“Yeah, right,” Nishioka said dismissively, and swiped the paper back. With Majime’s red-pencil corrections as reference, he typed the professor an e-mail informing him of the changes. He stared at the computer screen and tried not to blink, afraid he might cry tears of happiness.
If anybody but Majime had told him such a thing, he’d have thought they were just saying it to make him feel better. But he knew Majime’s words were heartfelt. He’d always thought of Majime as a lexicographical genius but also as an awkward weirdo he had nothing in common with. He still thought so. If they’d gone to school together, they never would have been friends. Which was exactly why what he said meant so much. Majime was incapable of flattery. Since Majime had said it, Nishioka could believe it: he was needed. He wasn’t deadweight after all. He felt a burst of joy and pride.
Majime had turned back to his desk with an unconcerned look on his face, little suspecting that he had been Nishioka’s salvation. He was twisting his hair with his left hand while making corrections on another entry. Majime always came straight out with what he thought; he seemed unaffected by what he had just said. Whereas Nishioka, though happy, was all but squirming with embarrassment.
Majime was one of a kind. Nishioka knew that now as never before.
When he showed up at the professor’s office in answer to the summons he had received, he again found the professor just eating lunch at his desk.
“Nishioka, what’s the meaning of this?” barked the professor.
“I beg your pardon?” Standing in the doorway, Nishioka spoke politely and respectfully.
“That e-mail from you yesterday. What did you mean by rewriting my text?”
“I believe that when I asked you to write for us, I mentioned that there might be some revisions.”
“Did you?”
Nishioka smiled courteously and said nothing.
“Nothing you said ever led me to expect radical changes of this order.”
If you don’t want us to rewrite it, get it right the first time. How did you expect us to use that crap you sent? What’s the matter, old man, you’ve never opened a dictionary?
Still smiling, Nishioka replied, “I am very sorry. However, it’s necessary for us to ensure that all the entries are uniform in style. I hope you will be so kind as to give us your consent.”
“Are you the one who made those corrections?”
A pause. “No.” He decided to be up-front. “I consulted with my colleague, Majime.”