by Shion Miura
She took off her mask and said proudly, “I worked in the library all the way from kindergarten through high school. You develop a feel for it. But be sure to let me know if I got anything wrong.”
“Miss Kishibe, I can tell you’re suited for dictionary work.”
Majime sounded so impressed that she quickly waved her hands in protest. “Oh, no. I don’t know anything about seiji, and I’ve always left proofs to proofreaders.”
“All that sort of thing you can learn.” He smiled. “It may sound obvious, but working on a dictionary differs considerably from working on a magazine. If someone asked me to check the colors on a color proof for a magazine, for example, I wouldn’t have the foggiest idea what to do.”
“What makes you think I’m suited for dictionary work?” she ventured to ask, eager for any boost to her self-confidence.
“Because you’re so efficient at putting things away.”
“Oh.” She was disappointed. She wished he had found something to praise that sounded a bit more professional. And if this department was full of people suited for dictionary work, then why hadn’t things been put in their proper places to begin with? It made no sense.
Majime picked up on her misgivings. He gave an embarrassed laugh. “Usually things are more organized here. The problem is that just as we were finishing up Wordmaster proofs, we had to start editing the Sokéboo Encyclopedia, so everything’s been at sixes and sevens.”
At sixes and sevens? He actually uses that expression? The oddness of it struck her. As she was pondering it she stood with a stupid expression on her face and failed to reply. Then she realized he had just said something even stranger than “sixes and sevens.”
“Sokéboo?” she parroted, thinking she might have misheard him.
“That’s right.” He looked at her quizzically. “Don’t you know Sokéboo?”
Of course she did. Socket Booster, aka Sokéboo, was a video game and anime series popular with children and adults alike. Ten-year-old Socket Booster traveled the universe, befriending all manner of creatures on the planets he visited. The creatures of the universe were of every imaginable shape, ranging from adorable to grotesque, and vivid in coloration. Some of them were more popular than Socket Booster. Even Kishibe, who had never played the game or seen the anime, was familiar with several of the characters.
What possible connection could there be between Sokéboo and this department? She wanted to ask, but Majime went around checking that everything was turned off and then, after he had called to Mrs. Sasaki in the reference room, the three of them left the building.
The rainy season hadn’t ended yet. The sky over Jimbocho was lit by a tapestry of gray clouds reflecting illuminated buildings and car headlights. Majime went swiftly down the subway stairs.
Nobody had told Kishibe the location of her welcome party. Majime made no sign of telling her now as he charged ahead obliviously. This wasn’t the time to ask about Sokéboo. If Mrs. Sasaki hadn’t been there, she might have gotten lost.
She studied Majime’s appearance from behind. He was still wearing black sleeve covers over his shirtsleeves. She couldn’t believe anyone would go out dressed like that. What did he think about fashion, about maintaining one’s appearance? Nothing, probably. She sighed. Where was his suit coat? Had he left it in the office?
“He always looks like that.” Mrs. Sasaki, walking alongside her, seemed to have picked up on Kishibe’s internal monologue.
They changed trains once and arrived in Kagurazaka in about ten minutes. The Belle editors would have gone by taxi, since the company would pay and changing trains was a pain. Didn’t these people ever use taxis? Majime and Mrs. Sasaki swayed back and forth with the lurching subway, and went up and down stairs without the least sign of discontent. Majime was carrying a heavy-looking briefcase. Now she remembered: before leaving he had crammed it with books. After spending all day chasing hieroglyphics, now he was going to go home and read some more.
Unbelievable. Kishibe sighed again.
They made their way through the maze of back streets in Kagurazaka and came to a little old house at the end of a narrow cobblestone lane. Square lanterns hung from the eaves. On the lanterns, which emitted a soft orange light, she read the words BACK OF THE MOON.
When they slid open the latticed door, a young man in chef’s garb greeted them courteously. They removed their shoes in the vestibule.
Just inside was a room with a wooden floor, some fifteen mats big. On the left was a counter of unvarnished wood with five wooden chairs in front of it. There were also four tables seating four apiece. The seats were about 80 percent filled. The customers included businessmen entertaining clients as well as young couples, perhaps self-employed professionals.
“Irasshaimase.” A woman chef behind the counter called out a welcome. She looked forty at most. Her hair was tied in a bun. She was very pretty.
The young man led their party up a staircase on the right. Upstairs was an eight-mat tatami room with an arrangement of snow flowers in the simple alcove. Across the corridor were two doors, one to the washroom and another to an employee lounge.
Two men were already seated at the table. Majime introduced them as Professor Matsumoto and Kohei Araki, the other members of the Great Passage team. When he introduced her in turn, she offered her business card to each man and said hello. Professor Matsumoto was bald and older, thin as a rail. Araki seemed a bit younger; he looked stubborn to her.
The young man took their orders for drinks and went back downstairs, soon returning with bottles of beer, sake, and hors d’oeuvres. Tiny dishes that could fit in the palm of the hand held sliced raw flounder with marinated kelp. The kelp flavor delicately permeated the fish, and with her first bite Kishibe realized she was hungry.
The welcome party proceeded amiably, with everyone pouring beer for one another. Professor Matsumoto sipped sake. Araki explained the Sokéboo mystery.
“At Gembu, it’s the practice for all types of dictionaries and reference works to be made by the Dictionary Editorial Department. That’s why Majime took on the Sokéboo Encyclopedia.”
“The director is a real stickler, so we had our hands full,” Mrs. Sasaki said. “We tried to tell him that the purpose of the encyclopedia was to explain the creatures of the universe in terms children could understand, but he wouldn’t listen. ‘If creatures on the planet Pekébo came to Earth, what would their average weight be in kilograms?’ he’d ask, or ‘It says in the guidelines that the aristocrats on planet Aum communicate by telepathy, but tell me in detail about the class system on Aum. And what does it actually mean to communicate by telepathy? Do they transmit language from brain to brain, or is it pictures or music or something else? And what about ordinary people? Do we assume that they communicate in words, the same as earthlings?’ He’d fire off these detailed questions to the makers of the anime series and games. Finally they threw up their hands and said, ‘Whatever you think will be fine. We’ll go along with what you come up with.’”
“Mrs. Sasaki, I’ve never heard you talk so much.” Professor Matsumoto shook his head with a look of admiration and surprise.
“Trying to curb Majime must have been hard.” Araki looked at Mrs. Sasaki with sympathetic eyes.
Kishibe was astounded at this level of dedication to a child’s dictionary of fictional characters. Why had someone like her, with no knowledge of dictionaries to speak of, been transferred to this department? The question had been nagging at her. Now she tried to think. Perhaps she was here to curb Majime, rein him in? It made sense. Without someone in the same room constantly keeping an eye on him, it sounded like he was liable to go way over budget.
“Well, one way or another the Sokéboo Encyclopedia has been a great success.” Majime looked happy. “It’s a credit to the Dictionary Editorial Department. We saved face.”
“We were low man on the totem pole for a long time, but now we can really get to work on The Great Passage.” Araki made a fist on the tabletop. �
�And we have Miss Kishibe on board now.”
“What’s The Great Passage?” asked Kishibe.
Professor Matsumoto explained. “It’s a dictionary of the Japanese language that we’ve been planning for a long time. It’s been thirteen years now since we started work on it.”
“Thirteen years!” Kishibe was gobsmacked. “Thirteen years, and it’s still not ready? What have you been doing all that time?”
“As I said, revising other dictionaries, making the Sokéboo Encyclopedia,” Majime said.
“Not only that,” said Professor Matsumoto. “You got married!”
“So he did,” chimed in Araki. “I always thought it was a miracle.”
Majime laughed shyly.
Kishibe was so surprised she didn’t know where to begin. This geek was married? Her boyfriend had dumped her, and this guy had a wife? Life was unfair. But no, that wasn’t the important thing. How in God’s name could they have spent thirteen years making a dictionary and still not be finished? Wasn’t that way too long by any stretch of the imagination?
“We couldn’t help it,” Mrs. Sasaki said, helping herself to some sea bream sashimi. “Time and again, the company forced us to interrupt work on The Great Passage.”
“If a dictionary turns out well and attracts users,” said Araki, “it can be highly profitable, but unfortunately the work is just too slow and painstaking. Companies are interested in quick profits, so it’s hard for them to back making a new dictionary. Such a project requires a huge investment of time and money.”
He drank the rest of his beer and ordered a refill from the young man who had brought them a side dish: fine strips of leek mixed with Szechuan pickles and chicken breast, seasoned with pepper. The mouthfeel was refreshing, and the spiciness encouraged everyone to drink more beer. This was more like a snack to go with drinks than true cuisine. Maybe they’d been eating and drinking with such gusto that the chef was having trouble keeping pace.
“The Sokéboo Encyclopedia is selling well, so now we can finish The Great Passage. We must finish it.” Majime topped off everyone’s glasses.
“Yes,” Professor Matsumoto murmured, raising up his sake cup. “Otherwise my life will finish first.”
This was no laughing matter. Unable either to agree or offer reassurances, everyone wore vague smiles and fell silent. Majime cleared his throat and said, as if pulling himself together, “Well, now Midori Kishibe has joined our team. Let’s all join forces and do our best. Kampai!”
They’d been eating and drinking all this time, and he was finally getting around to proposing a toast? Strange. Usually such occasions started off with a toast. Everyone else seemed accustomed to drinking toasts whenever the mood struck. Four beer steins and one sake cup clinked together in midair.
“Excuse me for interrupting.”
The woman chef who’d been behind the counter now appeared at their table. After distributing bowls of savory boiled vegetables she’d brought up on a tray, she seated herself formally on the tatami floor, turned to Kishibe, and introduced herself.
“I am Kaguya Hayashi, the owner of Back of the Moon. Thank you for coming tonight. I hope you’ll come back often.”
Before Kishibe could say anything, Araki laughed. “That could be a bit impossible. Tonight is our welcome party, so we splurged, but normally Seven Treasures Garden is more our speed. Right, Majime?”
“I’m afraid we’re chronically short of cash. Sorry about that.” Indicating Kishibe, he added, “Kaguya, this is Midori Kishibe.”
“Well, you could come not just for work-related meetings, but on a date.” Without a trace of a smile, Kaguya appealed to Kishibe.
I’m not dating anyone, Kishibe thought, but kept this to herself and smiled in acknowledgment of the invitation.
“How unusual!” Araki looked from Kishibe to Kaguya and back again. “Kaguya takes great pride in her work, but this is the first time I’ve ever heard her promote her restaurant to anyone so intensely.”
Kaguya looked down in evident embarrassment. She looked as if she might start apologizing. She was pretty, Kishibe thought, but kind of . . . different. Still, she found her appealing.
“And this is Kaguya Hayashi.”
Majime proceeded with his introductions—unnecessarily, Kishibe thought, since Kaguya had already said her name. Preoccupied with finding reasons to fault Majime’s lack of sophistication, she missed his next words. Or perhaps her brain simply couldn’t process them.
“My spouse.”
A full five seconds went by before she said blankly, “What?”
Majime repeated the words. “My spouse.”
Kishibe looked at him, then at Kaguya. He was beaming; Kaguya, solemn as ever, was slightly red faced.
Life was definitely unfair and absurd. Kishibe lodged an inward protest: Dear God, who may exist somewhere. Why did you give this woman such outstanding cooking ability and then deprive her of judgment in men? That’s awful. How could a beautiful creature like her end up with a guy whose hair is a mess and who wears covers on his sleeves?
The next day, hungover, Kishibe dragged herself to work. Majime was already seated at his desk, carefully sharpening a red pencil by turning the handle on a pencil sharpener.
She greeted him and slowly took her seat, trying to avoid setting off vibrations that would make her head pound.
“You don’t look very good.” Majime raised his head and looked at her across the mounds of books and papers. “Come to think of it, you seemed pretty meren last night.”
“Meren? What does that mean?”
“If you don’t know a word, it’s a good idea to look it up.” He indicated a bookshelf, but she lacked the energy.
“What shall I do today?”
“Someone from the paper company will be coming by soon. I’d like you to sit in on the discussion.”
Today of all days someone has to be coming in for a meeting. Here it comes, my first sneeze of the day. Oh, my aching head! I don’t think I’m up to meeting anyone, not without an energy drink at least.
She excused herself, went to the nearby convenience store, and bought an energy drink said to be effective against hangovers. She drank it down as she left the store. A middle-aged man gave her a disapproving glance, but she didn’t let it bother her.
Feeling a bit better, she went back to work. Majime was standing by the big desk next to a young man in a business suit. Setting aside the pile of galleys, the young man was spreading out sheet after sheet of paper.
“Sorry I’m late.” Hurriedly she exchanged cards with the visitor. His read:
SHIN’ICHIRO MIYAMOTO
SALES DEPARTMENT
AKEBONO PAPER COMPANY
He looked to be about her age. He seemed the quiet type, but clearly he was patient and devoted to his work. His eyes, filled with the light of determination, impressed her.
A visitor this good-looking, and I have to be hungover. Worried that he might smell alcohol on her breath, she tried to talk without exhaling. This was not easy, but she didn’t want to make a bad first impression.
Miyamoto had brought a variety of paper samples for The Great Passage. Majime was touching them, sliding his fingers over them, and turning them over. He ignored Miyamoto, so Kishibe tactfully came up with a topic of conversation.
“They’re all extremely thin, aren’t they?”
“Yes. Our company designed this paper for The Great Passage, and we’re very proud of it. It’s fifty microns thick and weighs only forty-five grams per square meter.”
She didn’t quite get the picture, but evidently the paper was very thin and lightweight.
Miyamoto went on. “And yet it has almost no show-through!”
“Show-through?”
“That’s when words printed on one side of the paper are visible on the other side, which makes reading difficult.”
According to Miyamoto, paper for dictionaries had to be as thin and light as possible without allowing show-through. That was because the
number of pages in a dictionary was so much greater than in any other type of book. The wrong thickness of paper would make the finished book unwieldy and impractical, too heavy to lift.
“You said you designed this paper for The Great Passage,” said Kishibe. “You mean this new product was specially made for our dictionary?”
“That’s right. We received the order from Mr. Majime a year ago, and our technical staff and development team put all their energy into creating these samples. It’s my great privilege to finally be able to present them today. Everyone at Akebono, including me, is filled with emotion at having finally reached this milestone.”
Miyamoto spoke with intensity. Majime must have presented the company with a challenge of daunting difficulty.
“Is it common for new dictionaries to use specially ordered paper?”
“That depends. The Gembu Student’s Dictionary of Japanese, for example, uses previously developed paper, but for Wordmaster our company came up with new paper. And as I say, we received the order for The Great Passage quite some time ago. We put enormous effort into creating something very special.”
He flipped through a sheaf of paper and looked at her with pride. “What do you think?”
“Tell me what I’m looking for.”
“The paper has a slightly yellowish tint with just a hint of red. We went through a lot of trial and error to come up with a color this warm.”
Ah, another weirdo. Too bad. She stopped trying to speak without exhaling. “But a paper this thin has no other uses besides dictionaries, does it?”
“Oh, yes it does.” He straightened the edges of the paper. “Of course, we wouldn’t use specially ordered paper like this anywhere but in The Great Passage. But the challenge of developing thinner and thinner paper is very important for our company as it helps us advance technically. There’s demand in all sorts of fields besides dictionaries: Bibles, for example, or insurance papers, or drug information leaflets, or industrial products.”
“I see.”
