“Is it interesting?” Mrs. Sasaki asked evenly.
“Yes, it is.” Majime leaned forward slightly. “After I step off the train onto the platform, I make a point of walking slowly. People rush past me to get on the escalator, but there’s never any struggle or confusion. You’d think somebody was controlling them, the way they line up in two rows and get on the escalator. Not only that. The people on the left stand still and are carried up, while the ones on the right walk. They divide up neatly, even at rush hour. It’s beautiful.”
“Sorry, boss, but isn’t he kind of a weirdo?” Nishioka whispered in Araki’s ear.
Ignoring this, Araki looked over Nishioka’s head and locked eyes with Professor Matsumoto, who nodded comprehendingly. They both understood what it was that Majime sought to convey. People swarming onto the train platform, lining up at the escalator as if controlled by a puppet master, and then whisked neatly upward—just as vast numbers of sprawling words were codified and connected, ending up arranged in orderly fashion on the pages of a dictionary. Majime’s perception of beauty and joy in that process marked him beyond all doubt as a born lexicographer.
“Do you know why we decided to call our new dictionary The Great Passage?” Araki asked, unable to contain himself.
Majime was nibbling peanuts one at a time, squirrel-like. Mrs. Sasaki tapped a finger lightly on the table to draw his attention. Only then did he realize that the question had been addressed to him. Flustered, he shook his head.
“A dictionary is a ship that crosses the sea of words,” said Araki, with a sense that he was laying bare his innermost soul. “People travel on it and gather the small points of light floating on the dark surface of the waves. They do this in order to tell someone their thoughts accurately, using the best possible words. Without dictionaries, all any of us could do is linger before the vastness of the deep.”
“We need to build a ship suitable for an ocean crossing,” Professor Matsumoto said quietly. “With that thought in mind, Araki and I decided on this title.”
It’s in your hands now. As if he had heard these unspoken words, Majime lowered his hands to the table and straightened his back. His eyes were shining. “How many entries will there be? What will set The Great Passage apart from other dictionaries? I want to hear all about it.”
Professor Matsumoto put down his chopsticks and picked up his pencil. Mrs. Sasaki took out a notebook from her briefcase and laid it open.
Araki said, “Okay, here goes,” and opened his mouth to relate his conception of the new dictionary.
“Wait!” interrupted Nishioka. “There’s something else we need to do first. This calls for another toast.” With one hand he refilled Professor Matsumoto’s glass with Shaoxing wine, and with the other he gave the lazy Susan a spin so that the beer traveled around the table and everyone had something to drink.
“Allow me to do the honors.” Nishioka held his glass high. “May there be smooth sailing ahead for the Dictionary Editorial Department! Kampai!”
“Kampai!” everyone echoed.
Laughter broke out. Majime cheerfully clinked glasses with Professor Matsumoto.
Make it a good stout ship, Araki thought, closing his eyes. One that many people can travel on safely for a long time. One that will be a comforting partner throughout their journey, even on days of crushing loneliness.
I know you people can do it.
CHAPTER 2
“I’m back,” Mitsuya Majime announced to his empty room upon his return.
He set down his heavy briefcase and opened the wood-frame window, humming a line from a popular song: “Under the window, the River Kanda.” Except that in his case it wasn’t the River Kanda but a narrow canal. He sang anyway, out of habit. The Ferris wheel in Korakuen Amusement Park loomed high in the evening sky.
He felt worn out.
Leaving the light off, he sprawled on the floor in the middle of the six-mat room. It had been nearly three months now since his transfer, but he still wasn’t used to his new job. The hours were nine to six, with none of the usual obligatory drinking with colleagues afterward. It should have been many times easier to handle than his old job in sales, yet he was always worn out.
Today he’d taken the long way home, transferring on the subway line even though it was an easy walk from Gembu to his lodging house. He’d wanted to watch passengers ride the escalator, but the sight hadn’t cheered him the way he’d hoped. He’d been a little ahead of the evening rush hour, so the passengers were mostly old people and housewives. Perhaps unused to station escalators, they had fumbled and ridden in chaotic fashion, with none of the orderly beauty he craved.
All at once he felt a heavy warmth on his stomach. He lifted his head and checked. Yes, it was the cat, Tora. Whenever he came home and opened the window, Tora dropped in to say hello.
There was nothing on hand to eat, and Majime didn’t have the energy to go out shopping. He could make do with instant ramen noodles, but what about Tora?
“Dried sardines okay with you?” he asked, stroking the cat’s head. Tora purred and flicked his bobtail, striking Majime on the chest. The pressure of the cat’s weight was uncomfortable. Tora was getting tubby.
Majime had been living in this lodging house for nearly ten years. A college freshman in the beginning, he was now pushing thirty. Tora, once a bedraggled kitten mewing piteously in the rain, had grown into this oversized specimen of a ginger tabby. Only the two-story wooden building in this quiet residential neighborhood was unchanged. Maybe it had already been so old when he’d moved in that it couldn’t look any older.
With Tora still curled up on him, he reached up and pulled the long cord hanging from the fluorescent light overhead. He called it his “lazycord.” There was a small gold bell attached to the tip, and he tapped it to rouse Tora’s interest. When the big cat finally jumped off him, he stood up.
Looking around the brightened interior, Majime sighed. The first-floor room was pretty drab. All his clothes and everyday items were shelved in the built-in closet, behind sliding doors. A small writing desk and wall-to-wall bookshelves were the only other pieces of furniture in the room. Still more books lay piled—or spilled—on the tatami mats.
In fact, this was only part of Majime’s collection; his books occupied the entire downstairs floor.