Lately, Miss Kishibe was noticeably more enthusiastic about her work. This thought came to Majime as, out of the corner of his eye, he watched her talking to someone on the telephone. Despite suffering from the fall pollen, she was speaking cheerfully and politely into the receiver. The bottom half of her face was covered by a white hay-fever mask, but her skin and hair were lustrous and beautiful.
Uh-oh, better watch it. Did thoughts like these constitute sexual harassment? He dropped his eyes back on the fourth-proof galleys spread out on his desk, while his ears went on following Miss Kishibe’s voice. It wasn’t that he was attracted to her. It was that the person she was talking to was insufferable.
The Dictionary Editorial Department received all sorts of calls from dictionary users. They had found an error, or they wanted to know why such-and-such a word wasn’t included, or something else along those lines. In order to keep on producing better and better dictionaries, the office paid careful attention to user opinions and kept them on file.
Yet some callers were a pain. Like the one Miss Kishibe was talking to right now—Mr. Particle, they called him. When the seasons changed—in the spring and fall—he called almost daily. Whether he was talking to someone or reading the newspaper, usage of grammatical particles seemed to bother him—particularly usage of the particle e, one of the most common in the Japanese language. If you obsessed over a thing like that, interesting examples popped up everywhere. Every time a new one came to his attention, Mr. Particle would call to inquire exactly which shade of meaning was intended, with reference to the explanations in Gembu Student’s Dictionary of Japanese. “How do I know?” would have seemed a choice reply, but Miss Kishibe never failed to respond patiently. Since she’d started going out with Miyamoto, she seemed to take her work more seriously than ever before.
“Well,” she was saying now, “in the phrase tsuki he mukau roketto”—a rocket heading toward the moon—“the particle he is clearly directional, so it would correspond to the first sense. Pardon? What about Jikka e tsuitara, haha ni okorareta?” (When I got home, I was scolded by my mother.) “Well, let’s see.” She paused. “That would be number four, expressing imminence.”
She sounded positive, but Majime wasn’t so sure. An example of usage expressing imminence would be more like this: Jikka ni tsuita tokoro he, takkyubin ga kita (Just as I got home, the package arrived). The caller’s example fit rather with number two, indicating resolution of an action or effect.
The caller deserved to know the correct answer. Majime started to get up, but just then Professor Matsumoto returned from the restroom. Glancing quickly around, he seemed to grasp the situation and motioned to Majime to sit back down.
“Let Miss Kishibe handle it.”
“But she’s giving him the wrong answer.”
“Our friend is satisfied as long as someone here joins him in thinking about particle usage. If you took over the phone and gave him a different answer, you’d only confuse him more.”
Majime lowered himself back onto his chair cushion. Professor Matsumoto sat down beside him and resumed work on the fourth proof. Stealing a glance at the professor’s profile, Majime became worried. The professor’s color wasn’t good, and he had lost weight. Since he’d always been thin as a rail, the difference was slight, but there it was.
“Aren’t you getting tired, sir?” He glanced at his watch. Past six already. The professor had been in the office all day and had hardly eaten any lunch. “What do you say we call it a day and go grab a bite to eat?”
At that, the professor laid down his red pencil and looked up. “Thank you,” he said. “But aren’t you going to work on the galley proofs any more today?”
“It’s all right.” He did intend to work late and take the last train home, as a matter of fact, but in any case, they had to eat. He picked up his suit coat from the back of the chair and felt the pocket to make sure his wallet was inside. “What kind of food are you in the mood for?” he asked, helping the professor gather up his things.
Slowly the professor put his pencils and eraser away in a well-worn leather pen case. “I spent all day sitting down, so I’m not very hungry. How about soba noodles?”
“Fine with me. Let’s go.”
Majime carried the professor’s briefcase and informed the part-timers that they were going out to eat. They left to a chorus of see-you-laters. Kishibe, still on the phone, nodded and waved. Mr. Particle’s curiosity was apparently still not sated.
The professor slowly descended the poorly lit staircase.
Damn, he’s old. Following close behind the professor, Majime was struck by this thought. But of course he was old. He’d been an old man when they first met, fifteen years ago. How old would that make him now?
Majime was anxious to bring The Great Passage to completion. Perhaps because they were so close now, he was feeling intense impatience. If we don’t hurry, it’ll be too late. He dismissed the thought. Too late for what? Mustn’t be morbid.
As always, the professor’s briefcase was heavy, stuffed with papers and books. If he could lug it to the office every day, he had to be in pretty good health, Majime told himself. Yet in the old days, the professor would definitely have suggested dinner at Seven Treasures Garden. Perhaps, knowing that Majime would be heading back to the office afterward, he had deliberately chosen a quick, light meal. Or perhaps he wasn’t feeling quite himself.
As if he could sense Majime’s probing gaze on his back, the professor paused on the landing to catch his breath and said with a deprecatory laugh, “Age will tell. Lately the least bit of walking gets me out of breath.”
“Shall we send out for dinner?”
“Oh, no. I’ll be going home after this, and I wouldn’t want to get in the way of people hard at work. I could use some fresh air, anyway.” He started down the next flight of stairs. “This summer was so hot, I feel lethargic. But now that the temperature’s cooled off, I’m sure I’ll bounce back.”
They left the building and headed for the Jimbocho intersection. The professor was right; there wasn’t a trace of summer in the evening breeze. Night came on earlier now.
In the noodle joint, several men in suits, probably company workers, were swiftly fortifying themselves. The owner knew Majime and the professor and led them to seats with a clear view of the television. She even turned up the volume, out of consideration for the professor. During meals he never was without his file cards, and always kept an ear cocked to the flow of words emanating from the television.
They both knew the shop’s menu by heart and didn’t have to look at it.
“Will you have a glass of something?” Majime asked.
“No, not today.”
Maybe he was feeling ill after all. Ordinarily he enjoyed a large carafe of hot sake.