“A fine young man.” Majime returned to his seat with a cheerful expression, and as soon as he sat down began writing something. Kishibe peered over his shoulder and saw that he was making a file card for paper machine.
Everyone connected in any way with dictionaries is daffy, Kishibe thought, vaguely appalled by the level of her new colleagues’ commitment and unsure whether she could keep up with them. For now, she set about clearing off the big desk. Picking up Wide Garden of Words, she remembered the word meren that Majime had used before and looked it up. The definition read: “to drink a great quantity of alcohol; extreme drunkenness.”
Now she understood. Majime had been telling her, “Yesterday you were rip-roaring drunk.” Well, if that’s what he meant, why not come out and say so? She started to get angry.
The definition was followed by an illustrative quotation from Kanadehon Chushingura, The Revenge of the Forty-Seven Samurai—the story of the 1703 vendetta carried out by samurai to avenge their master’s death. But puh-leez! The example was incomprehensible, written in classical Japanese. A period drama, set centuries ago! Who in their right mind used a word like meren in this day and age?
He deliberately used a hard word to test my knowledge. Even though he knows perfectly well that I don’t know much about words and I’m a complete amateur when it comes to dictionaries. That’s just mean!
She felt frustrated and humiliated, on the edge of tears. But to break down and weep at such treatment would only add to her misery, so she fought back her tears and went on cleaning the office.
Majime still did not give her any assignments. He sat hunched at his desk, engrossed in writing something. Maybe he had forgotten she was even there. Maybe she could bawl or sneeze all she wanted, and it wouldn’t make any difference.
She ate lunch, deep-fried horse mackerel, alone in the cafeteria.
She’d felt like talking to someone, so she’d peeked in the reference room on her way out, but Mrs. Sasaki had evidently gone out to eat. And today of all days she saw no one she knew in the cafeteria. Come to think of it, all her colleagues now belonged to an older generation.
She was fond of deep-fried horse mackerel, but today it tasted like sawdust.
When she was on the staff of Belle she’d been surrounded by plenty of editors and writers her own age. And the editorial team, except for the editor-in-chief, had all been women. There’d been some rivalry, but basically they’d looked out for each other, talked to each other, and worked extremely hard. During downtime they would share a laugh over frivolous topics like food and romance.
Only now, on her second day at her new post, did she realize what a needed diversion that had been.
In truth, Majime was really the only person in the Dictionary Editorial Department. It was bad enough that they had nothing in common to talk about, but on top of that he used unintelligible, archaic words when he did manage to talk. What was she supposed to do?
She thought back to what it used to feel like on the first day of classes. Wondering if she would fit in, filled with nervous anxiety, she would pick out as safe a seat as possible—an interim place to be until the homeroom teacher gave out assigned seats.
The biggest difference between the first day of school and now was the absence of any sense that something new was about to begin. Working at the company wasn’t an obligation, but it had none of the freshness and excitement of a new school term. Maybe psychologically people just weren’t built to work only for money. She sighed. The company’s plans, her slipping into sheer habit and inertia—amid the need to reconcile these and other things, losing the pleasure of associating with colleagues was a blow. What could sustain her at work now? She felt herself losing her grip.
Yet she had neither the sense of adventure nor the personality to up and quit her job. She polished off her lunch and returned her tray and dishes, reflecting that all she could do was keep on working in the Dictionary Editorial Department with an eye on her winter bonus. She’d gotten her summer bonus just last month, but it was already gone, spent on shoes and clothes. She sighed again.
The moment she returned to the annex, her sighs changed to sneezes. Everything really just had become too much.
The task of straightening up the office finally ended on her third day of her new position. The amount of dust in the air began to decrease.
Kishibe removed her mask and relaxed at her own desk. Sipping on a cup of coffee, she opened a file with a blue cover.
On her way to the kitchenette, she had asked Majime if he wanted a cup of coffee, too, but all she got out of him was an indecipherable mutter. He never looked up from the old-fashioned book he was studying. She decided to let it go.
Next came her big discovery. She found a file on one of the bookshelves right at eye level and so easily accessible to anyone—and yet it was marked in big letters: TOP SECRET: NOT TO BE REMOVED FROM THE DICTIONARY EDITORIAL OFFICE. Certainly a bold way of marking something top secret, she thought, and laughed aloud. Then, full of curiosity, she took the file in hand.
The contents turned out to be about contributors to The Great Passage. Data on university professors and researchers, mostly. For each person, the file listed not only their field of expertise and major published works but also their family structure, favorite foods, and how to deal with any trouble that might arise. A former employee had evidently compiled all this information for the benefit of his or her successor. Some of it was outdated, however. On the list of contributors she spotted the name of a famous psychologist who had been dead for several years. She folded her arms. Who on earth had put this together, and when? The paper was yellowing.
She flipped through the pages and at the very end found this note: “Majime is somewhat out of his element when it comes to interacting with outsiders. You, the newcomer to the Dictionary Editorial Department! Use this file to back him up and bring The Great Passage to completion. Wishing you the best of luck.”