“Listen to me. Daitokai—The Great Passage—is the name of a new dictionary, one that’s still in the planning stage. The title is written with the characters for ‘crossing the ocean.’ And I want to entrust the job to you.”
“A dictionary?” Majime’s eyes and mouth went round with astonishment. He stood frozen.
Like a pigeon hit by a peashooter, mused Araki. This was exactly the look of thunderstruck astonishment the phrase referred to. Yes, and just the other day he’d read that in a row of chanters for certain scenes in bunraku, the traditional puppet theater, the last one is called a mamegui (pea-eater), supposedly because of the way he moves his mouth while trying to keep up, as if munching on peas. I wonder if any dictionaries carry that word. I’ll have to check it out and then decide whether or not to include it in The Great Passage . . .
The two men stood silent, each absorbed in his private rumination, while others passed by them with strange looks.
At last Majime unfroze. “Actually—I’m sorry. Today I’m scheduled to make the rounds of Shibuya bookstores, starting at one thirty.”
“I see.” It was already one fifteen. He couldn’t possibly make it to Shibuya on time. Would he be all right?
Majime checked his watch, then scrambled back to his desk with that same ungainly gait, grabbed his suit coat and a black briefcase, and was back. “I’m really sorry,” he said again with a bow, managing to muss his long hair still more. Then he dashed off, twice tripping over his own feet on the way.
Watching Majime go, Araki wondered again if he would be all right—in more senses than one. Majime seemed to be under the impression that he’d been asked to work on the dictionary just for today. Why would he think such a thing? Shaking his head, Araki got into the elevator to sound out the head of the sales department.
After patient negotiations, official permission was finally granted for the making of a new dictionary to be entitled The Great Passage. At the same time, Majime was transferred out of sales to join the dictionary editorial staff, bringing with him a small cardboard box packed with his things. There were two months remaining until Araki’s retirement. Seeing Majime standing in the office doorway, Araki breathed a sigh of relief. This was cutting it close, but he had pulled it off.
No negotiations had been necessary to pry Majime from the sales team. The department head had been delighted—“Majime? Yeah, we’ve got someone by that name. Seriously? You’ll take him?” The personnel manager was merely mystified: “Who?”
Araki felt he understood why. When he’d first approached Majime, the young man’s reaction had been off-the-wall. He must never have expected anyone to take him seriously. He’d languished in such obscurity that if Araki hadn’t asked for him by name, his immediate superiors never would have taken note of his existence.
Araki also sensed just why Majime’s profile had been so low. Beyond the admitted oddity of his ways—who else would burst into a loud, off-key rendition of a popular song on company time?—he was a square peg in a round hole. The firm had failed to assess him properly, breaking its own rule—“the right person in the right place.” His strengths were many: an uncanny feeling for words; a conscientiousness that had led him to marshal every scrap of knowledge he possessed to answer Araki’s questions. Conscientiousness that went overboard, which was what made him such an odd fish—and would make him a great lexicographer.
Responding to Araki’s body language, Nishioka got up and greeted Majime cheerily. “Welcome to the Dictionary Editorial Department!” He snatched the cardboard box from Majime’s hands and led him inside the office. “We’re shorthanded right now, so there are plenty of desks to choose from. How about this one?”
Majime glanced around the room with its rows of tall bookcases as he proceeded to the desk beside Nishioka’s. “Sure,” he said, nodding meekly.
“So, Majime,” said Nishioka. “Got a girlfriend?”
Nishioka had the notion that talking about girls was a good way to break the ice. From his desk, at a remove from theirs, Araki silently observed Majime’s reaction.
“No.”
“Then let’s organize a mixer. I’ll set it up. Let me have your cell number and address.”
“I don’t have a cell phone. I returned the company one I was using before.”
“How come?” Nishioka looked as shocked as if he’d seen a walking mummy. “Don’t you want a girlfriend?”
“I don’t know. Never really thought about it. Whether I want a girlfriend or a cell phone, either one.”
Nishioka shot Araki a pleading look.
Stifling a laugh, Araki managed to smooth things over and maintain his dignity. “Majime, there’s a welcome party for you tonight. We reserved a table at Seven Treasures Garden for six o’clock. Nishioka, go get Mrs. Sasaki.”
At Seven Treasures Garden, Professor Matsumoto was already seated at a round red table, drinking Shaoxing wine. Once a week he allowed himself to enjoy a drink, or two or three. Even while drinking, he was never without his cards and pencil.
Araki sat down and began the introductions. “Masashi Nishioka here, you already know. Next to him is Mrs. Kaoru Sasaki. She mostly keeps track of the index cards and classifies them for us.”
As her name was spoken, Mrs. Sasaki, a woman in her early forties, nodded without changing her expression. What she lacked in warmth she made up for in efficiency, Araki thought. She was an indispensable member of the team. At first she’d been a part-time employee, but now, her children nearly grown, she was a full-time contract employee.
What would Professor Matsumoto think of Majime? Araki was tense. The professor greeted him with a light, unreadable smile.
Majime bowed his head awkwardly to each person in turn.
Someone proposed a toast, and then the food started to arrive.
With his usual tact, Nishioka first served Professor Matsumoto from the array of appetizers, making sure to skip the preserved duck eggs, which he knew the professor disliked. Ah, but what about the all-important Majime? Araki glanced toward him in time to see him pour beer into Mrs. Sasaki’s glass with such exuberance that the froth overflowed. Nice try. You almost had it. Araki was beginning to feel as if he’d taken on a kindergartener. Mrs. Sasaki seemed to share the impression. Still impassive, she was tolerantly filling Majime’s glass in return.
“What’s your hobby, Majime?” Nishioka boldly asked, searching for a friendly overture.
A bit of wood ear mushroom was sticking out of a corner of Majime’s mouth. He swallowed it and considered the question before answering. “If I had to pick something, I guess it would be watching people get on the escalator.”
Silence descended on the table.