Nishioka’s eagle eyes spotted someone from an advertising agency, and he greeted him with a smooth, “Hey, Mr. Ogiwara! Thanks so much for coming! We owe you big-time.” Mr. Ogiwara, or whatever his name was, smiled benignly.
After he, too, had made the rounds and greeted people, Majime went over to the little table in the back of the room, where Mrs. Matsumoto had picked up the copy of The Great Passage and was examining it lovingly.
“You know,” she said quietly to Majime, “I think my husband was prepared for the worst from the day he first went into the hospital. He was never one to give up, but to the very end, even when he was delirious, all he talked about was this dictionary.”
“I’m so sorry I couldn’t show it to him while he was alive.” Majime bowed his head in contrition.
“Good heavens!” said Mrs. Matsumoto, shaking her head. “He died happy—I know he did. I’m happy, too. The Great Passage meant the world to him, and you made his dream a reality. I can never thank you enough.”
Gently, she laid the dictionary back on the table in front of her husband’s photograph. Then, with a faint smile, she walked away.
Majime watched her go and then turned toward the photograph and placed his palms together in reverence.
“Well done.”
Thinking the professor had said the words, he looked up in surprise. Araki had come up beside him without his realizing it. He’s gotten old, too, Majime realized. Well, of course he has. Fifteen years slipped away while we all worked on this dictionary.
“You’re a bit down, aren’t you?” said Araki. “I went to Back of the Moon the other day. Kaguya was worried.”
“I feel so bad for the professor. It’s all my fault, my second-rate skills got in the way.” Feeling it was immature of him, Majime still couldn’t stop the words from pouring out.
“I was afraid you might be brooding over something like that. I brought something that should help.” He took out a white envelope from an inner pocket. “This is a letter the professor sent to me.”
His eyes urged Majime to take it. Majime drew out a sheet of stationery and unfolded it. The letter was in the professor’s handwriting, so familiar from all those file cards.
I apologize for not being able to fulfill my responsibility as editor-in-chief to the very end. On the occasion of The Great Passage’s launching, I most likely will no longer be on this earth. But I feel neither anxiety nor regret. That’s because, as clear as day, I can visualize The Great Passage setting out on the sea, its hold filled with the treasure of words.
Araki, allow me to correct one thing I said. I told you I would never encounter another dictionary editor like you. I was wrong. Thanks to Mr. Majime, whom you brought into the department, I was able to press forward on the path of lexicography. I cannot tell you how fortunate I’ve been to encounter editors like you and him. Thanks to the two of you, my life has been extraordinarily fulfilled. In the next world I will keep on collecting word samples in search of words surpassing the only ones I know to say now: Thank you.
Editing The Great Passage has been a great pleasure. I wish everyone a long and happy voyage aboard her.
Majime carefully refolded the letter and inserted it in the envelope.
He looked around in turn at the professor’s photograph, the copy of The Great Passage inscribed with the professor’s name, and the many faces of the attendees.
Sometimes words were useless. No matter how they called out to him, Araki and Mrs. Matsumoto had been unable to tether the professor’s life to this earth. And yet the professor wasn’t completely gone, either. Because of words, the most important part of him was lodged in their hearts.
The memories of the professor were proof that even after life functions cease and the body turns to ash, beyond physical death, the soul lives on. In order to speak of the professor’s aura, his speech and behavior, in order to share their memories and pass them on, words were indispensable.
All at once, in the palm of his hand, Majime felt the professor’s touch—a touch he had never felt before. That last day in the hospital room, he had failed to take the professor’s hand in his, but he knew this was how it would have felt, cool and dry and smooth.
Human beings had created words to communicate with the dead, and with those yet unborn.
Miss Kishibe was eating cake with Miyamoto. The other staff members were busy attending to guests, joining them in eating and drinking although they had explicit orders not to do so. The two lovebirds were jabbing at each other’s pieces of cake with evident pleasure. Mrs. Sasaki was over by the wall, drinking a glass of white wine, and Nishioka was going around tossing off his usual stock of pleasantries. Everyone was all smiles, rejoicing at the completion of The Great Passage.
They had made a ship. A ship bearing the souls of people traveling from ancient times toward the future, across the ocean rich with words.
“Majime,” said Araki, drawing Majime back to the center of the room, “tomorrow we start work on the revised edition.”
Majime thought that the intensity of his emotions overflowed in a streak down his cheek, but it might have been his imagination. On this jubilant evening, Araki’s thoughts were of the future of The Great Passage, the evolving dictionary still to come. How like him that was! He was Professor Matsumoto’s true soul mate and fellow traveler.
Dictionary making knew no end. The voyage of the ship bearing hope as it crossed the bosom of the deep was everlasting.
Majime laughed and nodded. “Tonight, then, let’s drink!”
Taking care not to let the foam spill over, he poured beer in Araki’s glass.
A Love Letter from Majime to Kaguya (The Complete Edition)
Greetings
Cold winds are blowing, a reminder of the swift approach of winter’s frosty skies. I trust that you are well.
I am writing because I have a confession to make. My emotions are at full tide, and I know with certainty that this tide, unlike those of the ocean, will never ebb. The suddenness of this letter may surprise you, but I beg you to read it to the end.
Until now I have lived immersed in the world of books. My closest friends, therefore, are to be found not in the real world but in the pages of books.
Snow envelops the mountain house, tree shadows darken.
Eave-bells are still, night deepens.
Quietly arrange scattered books, ponder difficult things.
In the lamp’s blue flame, ten thousand ancient minds.1
Nishioka: Okay, let’s check out Majime’s love letter.
Kishibe: This is exciting! But it starts off in an awfully roundabout way. Doesn’t make much of an impression.
Nishioka: Yikes! A Chinese poem, right off the bat!1