Majime laughed shyly.
Kishibe was so surprised she didn’t know where to begin. This geek was married? Her boyfriend had dumped her, and this guy had a wife? Life was unfair. But no, that wasn’t the important thing. How in God’s name could they have spent thirteen years making a dictionary and still not be finished? Wasn’t that way too long by any stretch of the imagination?
“We couldn’t help it,” Mrs. Sasaki said, helping herself to some sea bream sashimi. “Time and again, the company forced us to interrupt work on The Great Passage.”
“If a dictionary turns out well and attracts users,” said Araki, “it can be highly profitable, but unfortunately the work is just too slow and painstaking. Companies are interested in quick profits, so it’s hard for them to back making a new dictionary. Such a project requires a huge investment of time and money.”
He drank the rest of his beer and ordered a refill from the young man who had brought them a side dish: fine strips of leek mixed with Szechuan pickles and chicken breast, seasoned with pepper. The mouthfeel was refreshing, and the spiciness encouraged everyone to drink more beer. This was more like a snack to go with drinks than true cuisine. Maybe they’d been eating and drinking with such gusto that the chef was having trouble keeping pace.
“The Sokéboo Encyclopedia is selling well, so now we can finish The Great Passage. We must finish it.” Majime topped off everyone’s glasses.
“Yes,” Professor Matsumoto murmured, raising up his sake cup. “Otherwise my life will finish first.”
This was no laughing matter. Unable either to agree or offer reassurances, everyone wore vague smiles and fell silent. Majime cleared his throat and said, as if pulling himself together, “Well, now Midori Kishibe has joined our team. Let’s all join forces and do our best. Kampai!”
They’d been eating and drinking all this time, and he was finally getting around to proposing a toast? Strange. Usually such occasions started off with a toast. Everyone else seemed accustomed to drinking toasts whenever the mood struck. Four beer steins and one sake cup clinked together in midair.
“Excuse me for interrupting.”
The woman chef who’d been behind the counter now appeared at their table. After distributing bowls of savory boiled vegetables she’d brought up on a tray, she seated herself formally on the tatami floor, turned to Kishibe, and introduced herself.
“I am Kaguya Hayashi, the owner of Back of the Moon. Thank you for coming tonight. I hope you’ll come back often.”
Before Kishibe could say anything, Araki laughed. “That could be a bit impossible. Tonight is our welcome party, so we splurged, but normally Seven Treasures Garden is more our speed. Right, Majime?”
“I’m afraid we’re chronically short of cash. Sorry about that.” Indicating Kishibe, he added, “Kaguya, this is Midori Kishibe.”
“Well, you could come not just for work-related meetings, but on a date.” Without a trace of a smile, Kaguya appealed to Kishibe.
I’m not dating anyone, Kishibe thought, but kept this to herself and smiled in acknowledgment of the invitation.
“How unusual!” Araki looked from Kishibe to Kaguya and back again. “Kaguya takes great pride in her work, but this is the first time I’ve ever heard her promote her restaurant to anyone so intensely.”
Kaguya looked down in evident embarrassment. She looked as if she might start apologizing. She was pretty, Kishibe thought, but kind of . . . different. Still, she found her appealing.
“And this is Kaguya Hayashi.”
Majime proceeded with his introductions—unnecessarily, Kishibe thought, since Kaguya had already said her name. Preoccupied with finding reasons to fault Majime’s lack of sophistication, she missed his next words. Or perhaps her brain simply couldn’t process them.
“My spouse.”
A full five seconds went by before she said blankly, “What?”
Majime repeated the words. “My spouse.”
Kishibe looked at him, then at Kaguya. He was beaming; Kaguya, solemn as ever, was slightly red faced.
Life was definitely unfair and absurd. Kishibe lodged an inward protest: Dear God, who may exist somewhere. Why did you give this woman such outstanding cooking ability and then deprive her of judgment in men? That’s awful. How could a beautiful creature like her end up with a guy whose hair is a mess and who wears covers on his sleeves?
The next day, hungover, Kishibe dragged herself to work. Majime was already seated at his desk, carefully sharpening a red pencil by turning the handle on a pencil sharpener.
She greeted him and slowly took her seat, trying to avoid setting off vibrations that would make her head pound.
“You don’t look very good.” Majime raised his head and looked at her across the mounds of books and papers. “Come to think of it, you seemed pretty meren last night.”
“Meren? What does that mean?”
“If you don’t know a word, it’s a good idea to look it up.” He indicated a bookshelf, but she lacked the energy.
“What shall I do today?”
“Someone from the paper company will be coming by soon. I’d like you to sit in on the discussion.”
Today of all days someone has to be coming in for a meeting. Here it comes, my first sneeze of the day. Oh, my aching head! I don’t think I’m up to meeting anyone, not without an energy drink at least.
She excused herself, went to the nearby convenience store, and bought an energy drink said to be effective against hangovers. She drank it down as she left the store. A middle-aged man gave her a disapproving glance, but she didn’t let it bother her.
Feeling a bit better, she went back to work. Majime was standing by the big desk next to a young man in a business suit. Setting aside the pile of galleys, the young man was spreading out sheet after sheet of paper.
“Sorry I’m late.” Hurriedly she exchanged cards with the visitor. His read:
SHIN’ICHIRO MIYAMOTO
SALES DEPARTMENT
AKEBONO PAPER COMPANY
He looked to be about her age. He seemed the quiet type, but clearly he was patient and devoted to his work. His eyes, filled with the light of determination, impressed her.
A visitor this good-looking, and I have to be hungover. Worried that he might smell alcohol on her breath, she tried to talk without exhaling. This was not easy, but she didn’t want to make a bad first impression.
Miyamoto had brought a variety of paper samples for The Great Passage. Majime was touching them, sliding his fingers over them, and turning them over. He ignored Miyamoto, so Kishibe tactfully came up with a topic of conversation.
“They’re all extremely thin, aren’t they?”
“Yes. Our company designed this paper for The Great Passage, and we’re very proud of it. It’s fifty microns thick and weighs only forty-five grams per square meter.”
She didn’t quite get the picture, but evidently the paper was very thin and lightweight.
Miyamoto went on. “And yet it has almost no show-through!”