Nishioka checked to make sure the gas was not on and switched off the lights. Since the office door was gone he locked only the reference room. The vast number of words waiting to be set in order made their presence felt even out in the dark corridor.
“You two enjoy working on the dictionary?” Nishioka asked as they walked toward the exit.
“Sure,” said one. “Don’t we?”
“Yeah,” agreed his friend. “It was tedious at first, but once I get into it I lose track of time.”
Same here, Nishioka silently concurred.
People with a finite amount of time at their disposal, setting out together across the broad, deep sea of words. The voyage was scary but enjoyable. He didn’t want it to ever end. To get closer to the truth, he wanted to stay on board that ship forever.
Out on the street, the students started a game of rock, paper, scissors to decide between ramen and a beef bowl. Nishioka looked on, smiling.
An idea popped into his head: maybe he would propose to Remi. How would she feel? What would she say? He had no idea, but he was done averting his eyes from his real feelings. No more masquerading. For a pretty long time now he’d had no desire to sleep with anyone else, and that wasn’t going to change. He wanted her to know it.
Dinner was ramen. That meant he’d have to propose with garlic on his breath, but with Remi he was past worrying about such things. He sent her a quick text message: Hey. Where RU? If @ my place, W8 for me. If @ home, can I come over? I’ll eat first. CU
At the Jimbocho intersection, the cell phone buzzed in his pocket to let him know he had a new message.
Hey. I’m home. Come anytime. No hurry. I’ll W8.
He smiled and reread it. No emoji. Her messages were always the same, surprisingly terse. All the same, he felt as if he could hear her voice. He felt warmed. There it was again, the mysterious power of writing, of words.
“All right,” he announced, “just to liven things up, you can each have a hard-boiled egg with your toppings.”
“What’s this, all of a sudden?” said one of the students.
“How about an extra-large bowl with roast pork topping?” said the other.
“Go for it.”
Nishioka put away his cell phone and went into the ramen shop with the students, his spirits high.
CHAPTER 4
For the first time in her three years at Gembu Books, Midori Kishibe set foot in the annex, located in a corner of the company grounds, and promptly sneezed three times.
She was allergic to dust and sudden temperature changes. Entering rooms that hadn’t been adequately cleaned or that were a different temperature gave her sneezing spells and a runny nose. The annex was the kind of place that might give her a hard time. As soon as she opened the heavy wooden door, she felt the chill in the dim corridor. The air smelled musty, like a library.
This was nothing like the modern main building. Could she really be in the right place? She’d always known about the annex, but assumed it was some sort of storage facility. The Western–style wooden structure was so old-fashioned. Yet once inside, she could tell that despite its age, the building was currently being used. The floorboards and the staircase railing were worn to a deep amber. The walls were white plaster, the ceiling high and elegantly arched. Her nose itched, but no dust bunnies lay in the corners. The building was clearly in daily use and kept up well.
“Excuse me,” she called down the corridor. “Hello?”
“What is it?” said a voice beside her, making her jump.
She timidly looked and realized that nervousness and poor lighting had caused her to overlook a small window just inside the door, where now a custodian or security guard was peering out at her. A faded piece of paper taped to the window was hand-lettered RECEPTION. Just beyond the window was a small room where the man had been sitting, watching television in the breeze from an electric fan.
The entrance to the main building had a metallic reception counter with a smiling woman to greet visitors. What a difference, Kishibe thought, and started to announce herself. Before she could get a word out, the man waved his right hand carelessly.
“Second floor,” he said, twice, before closing the window and turning back to his show.
She decided to follow his instructions and go on up to the second floor. Her footsteps rang out in the corridor. In the main building, her high heels clattered pleasantly on the tile floor, but on this wooden floor the sound was muffled. She thought it sounded like a bird pecking for food.
Every time she stepped on a riser, the stairs creaked. Have I gained weight? My waist size hasn’t changed, but lately I’ve been pigging out on snacks from all the stress. She tiptoed the rest of the way up.
The second floor was a little brighter, thanks to light coming through the windows. Only one of the doors leading off the corridor was open. She headed for that one.
As she drew closer, she saw the door wasn’t open but had in fact been removed. Inside, bookshelves lined the walls and every desk was buried in piles of paper. She sneezed three times. She hesitated to go into the room. It had to be full of dust. Also, there was a strange moaning coming from inside. A low and continuous sound. Like a tiger in labor, she thought.
As she gingerly peered inside, a voice behind her said, “Oh, we’ve been expecting you!”
Kishibe turned with a squeal of surprise to find a woman standing in the corridor that moments before had been empty. She was slender and bespectacled, and seemed high-strung.
“Um, I—”
“Yes, yes, I know.”
Once again, Kishibe was cut off and prevented from introducing herself. The woman slid past her into the room, maneuvering around stacks of paper.
“Director! Director Majime!”
As if in response, the moaning stopped. After a bit, the pile of papers farthest back in the room gave way to reveal the figure of a man.
“Over here. What is it, Mrs. Sasaki?”
Apparently he had fallen asleep at his desk. When he stood up, there was a red line on his cheek from the paper he had dropped his head on. He too was thin, but unlike the woman named Mrs. Sasaki, he had a disheveled air. His shirt was wrinkled and his hair, which looked naturally curly, was thick and unruly.
About forty, she thought, taking note of the wisps of gray mixed in with that explosive hair. And he’s this careless with his appearance? Hmm. And he’s the one in charge. Maybe that explains what they say about this place—that it’s a paper-eating money pit.
The man scrabbled around on his desktop without a scrap of dignity. Finally he found what he was looking for—his glasses. With these in place, he seemed to finally notice Kishibe, and began groping on his desktop again.
Now what’s he doing? Unsure whether she should speak or remain silent, Kishibe stole a look at Mrs. Sasaki, who was standing perfectly still, as if in a trance, not rushing the man. Kishibe had no choice but to wait for him to do something.
“Found it!” he announced happily, and approached Kishibe with a silver card case in hand. To reach her he had to skirt around piles of paper on the floor, so this took a bit of time. “I’m Mitsuya Majime. How do you do?”
The business card he held out was printed with these words: