The Great Passage Read online

  Seizing his chance, he asked, “Who are you?”

  “Kaguya.” (Shining Night.) “I just arrived today. Nice to meet you.”

  He gazed up at the young woman, her figure silhouetted against the great full moon.

  “All right, Majime, what’re you mooning about?”

  Nishioka poked him, and Majime hastily brought his thoughts down to earth. If he wasn’t careful, when he opened his mouth the name “Kaguya” might slip out, along with his soul.

  Ignoring Majime’s flustered appearance, Nishioka peered at his desktop. “What’re you working on, anyway?”

  Nishioka was the biggest reason Majime felt out of place in this department. The tempo of his conversation; the fluctuating distances—both physical and psychological—that he maintained with coworkers; the precision of his work—all were beyond the bounds of Majime’s understanding. Every time he came into contact with Nishioka, he flinched.

  “Um, nothing in particular . . .”

  “Ren’ai.” (Love. Romantic attachment.)

  Nishioka’s sharp eyes had caught the entry Majime had been examining, and he proceeded to read the definition aloud: “‘Love (noun): a feeling of special affection for a particular member of the opposite sex that causes exhilaration and the desire to be alone with that person and share a sense of emotional intimacy, including, if possible, physical intimacy, so that one fluctuates between a state of despair when unfulfilled and, on rare occasions of fulfillment, one of delight.’”

  “Oh, I know this one!” said Nishioka. “It’s from The New Clear Dictionary of Japanese, right?”

  “Yes. Fifth edition.”

  “The one that’s famous for its quirky definitions. So what’s the story?”

  “Beg your pardon?”

  “You can’t fool me!” Nishioka rolled his chair closer and laid an arm across Majime’s shoulder. “You’re in love! Fess up.”

  “No, I was just thinking.” Majime straightened his glasses and pushed them back to the top of his nose, where they’d been before Nishioka jostled him. “It’s certainly a unique definition, but I wonder if it’s appropriate to limit the object of romantic love to ‘a particular member of the opposite sex’?”

  “Whoa.” Nishioka removed his arm and slid his chair back to his own desk. “Are you by any chance one of those people?”

  What people? What was he talking about? Letting Nishioka’s comment pass, Majime began to thumb through the various dictionaries on his desk. They all had an entry for ren’ai, but in every case it was defined as an emotion between a man and a woman. In light of reality, such an explanation was hardly accurate.

  On the example collection card, he drew a double circle to signify “a word of high importance that should definitely be included.” In the column for comments he wrote, “Just between men and women? Check foreign dictionaries as well.”

  Only then did the significance of Nishioka’s question penetrate his brain.

  “No, I don’t think so,” he said. “Probably not.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “So far everyone I’ve ever felt a desire to ‘share a sense of emotional and physical intimacy with’ has been a member of the opposite sex. But I’ve yet to experience a state of delight on a ‘rare occasion of fulfillment,’ so in that sense I haven’t yet had a complete experience of love, which is why I qualified my statement by saying ‘probably not.’”

  Nishioka digested this for a few seconds, then burst out, “Are you telling me you’re a virgin?”

  Mrs. Sasaki, who had just then entered the office, shot them a frosty look and raised her voice: “Professor Matsumoto and Mr. Araki are here.”

  Weekly staff meetings were held to hammer out the editorial policy for The Great Passage. The planned number of entries was around 230,000, making it a medium-sized dictionary similar in scale to Wide Garden of Words and Great Forest of Words. Some ingenuity would be needed to make The Great Passage, a latecomer to the field, attractive to users.

  “We need to come up with definitions in line with contemporary sensibilities,” Professor Matsumoto was fond of saying.

  Araki, though now officially retired, came to the meetings as overseer. He advised, “Let’s put in all the proverbs, technical terms, and proper nouns we can. Our dictionary should function as a mini-encyclopedia, too.”

  To meet these demands, Majime busied himself day and night, checking file cards. First, he searched for words included in existing dictionaries and marked those cards with a double circle. These words represented the basic building blocks of the Japanese language. Words found in small dictionaries got a single circle; those in medium-sized dictionaries, a triangle. The marks provided a rough guideline for whether or not to include a word in The Great Passage. Those with a double circle could not be omitted without a strong reason, whereas those with a triangle could conceivably be left out. Naturally, the data acquired from existing dictionaries was only for reference. Ultimately the team would make its own selection based on The Great Passage editorial policy. They would gather every kind of word—archaisms, neologisms, loanwords, technical terms—and sift through them one by one.

  Majime divided up the cards with Mrs. Sasaki. Together they flipped through dictionaries of every description until their fingertips had been worn so smooth they had trouble picking up things. In the meantime, Nishioka mostly goofed off, taking breaks in nearby coffee shops and going to singles parties.

  At one of their weekly meetings, Majime looked around at the assembled faces and made an announcement: “I think one potential problem is that we’re conspicuously lacking in terms from the fashion world.”

  “I think so, too.” Nishioka folded his arms and leaned back in his chair so it squeaked. “We should include the biggest designers or at least the top three collections.”

  “Then why are there no file cards for them?” demanded Araki.

  “Forgive me.” Professor Matsumoto fingered his bolo tie in evident embarrassment. “That’s beyond my field of expertise.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean you, professor,” said Araki hastily. “I meant this nitwit Nishioka.”

  With a sideways glance at Araki, Majime wondered aloud, “What would be the top three collections? Stamps, cameras, and . . . the envelopes that chopsticks come in? No, I guess netsuke carvings would be more common.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” said Nishioka. “Everybody knows the top three fashion shows are in Paris, Milan, and New York. Envelopes for chopsticks? What are you talking about, Majime? God only knows how your brain works. It’s a mystery, for real.”

  Nishioka looked at him as if he were some unusual bug, but Majime paid no attention. Something else had caught his interest. Nishioka had used the phrase riaru ni—for real—an expression based on English that was new to him. Was it often used? Then and there he filled out a new file card, marking it with the day’s date. First occurrence in writing, unknown. In the comments column, he wrote, “Spoken by Nishioka.”

  Seeing Majime engrossed in making a new file card even in the middle of the meeting, Mrs. Sasaki sighed. “I’ll get right on it and draw up a list of fashion experts,” she said. “I’ll ask them to help with selecting entry words and writing definitions.”

  “Dictionaries do tend to be written from the male perspective,” Professor Matsumoto said mildly. “They’re mostly put together by men, so they often lack words having to do with fashion and housework, for example. But that approach won’t work anymore. The ideal dictionary is one that everyone can join in using together, men and women of all ages, interested in all matters of life.”

  “Come to think of it,” said Araki, nodding, “we’ve never had a young woman here in the editorial department.” He was quick to add, “Though of course, Mrs. Sasaki here is still quite young.”

  “Trying to pry your foot out of your mouth?” she said drily. “Don’t bother. Majime, did you notice anything else this week?”

  Majime shook his head and starte
d to say something, but Nishioka raised a hand and cut him off.

  “Majime here is a virgin.”

  All eyes turned to Majime.

  After a beat, Araki growled, a blue vein pulsing in his forehead, “What possible difference does that make? Is there some problem, some reason a man can’t edit a dictionary if he’s a virgin?” He began to gather his papers in exasperation, preparing to leave.

  In the face of Araki’s outburst, Majime felt somehow impelled to offer an apology. “I’m sorry.”

  Nishioka, however, was unabashed. “A problem? Yeah, there’s a problem. Just now he was sitting in a daze at his desk, looking up the definition of ‘love.’”

  Even in a daze, I get a lot more done than you do, Majime thought. But pointing this out would only aggravate the situation. Once again, he meekly apologized.

  “Has a young woman caught your eye, Mr. Majime?” Professor Matsumoto inquired, holding his heavy black briefcase.

  The briefcase was full of used books. On his way to Gembu, the professor liked to browse through the secondhand bookshops in nearby Jimbocho, picking up first editions of novels old and new. His purpose was not to read for pleasure but to search for sentences that might serve as examples of usage. In dictionaries, noting the first recorded occurrence of a word was a matter of great importance. Collecting first editions of novels had become a habit, part of his never-ending research.

  “There’s no need to go along with Nishioka’s idea of conversation,” said Araki.

  “No, Araki, you’re missing the point,” returned the professor. “Falling in love and keeping company with someone—these are matters of great importance, especially for an innocent like Mr. Majime.”

  Hearing himself described as an “innocent,” Majime felt his earlobes burn. He was quite aware of his own innocence, but never before had his love life, or rather his lack of it, been the subject of public debate. He didn’t know where to look.

  Ignoring Majime’s discomfiture, the professor went on. “All of us have to give our utmost to the making of The Great Passage. Our time, our money, and our energy. That leaves the bare minimum for living. Everything else goes into the dictionary. ‘Family trip,’ ‘amusement park’—I know the words, but I have no experience of what they represent. For Mr. Majime’s sake, and for the sake of our dictionary, it’s crucial to find out whether the young woman will understand that way of life.”

  They had been expecting an encomium on the preciousness and beauty of love, so this conclusion came as an anticlimax. At the same time, they regarded the professor with renewed respect and a slight cringe: Who else would judge a romance by whether or not it interfered with lexicography?

  “Wait, professor,” said Nishioka. “Are you saying you’ve never been to Tokyo Disneyland?”

  “I have heard of the place, but to me it is unreal, a mere phantasm.”

  “Don’t your grandchildren beg to go?”

  As Nishioka and the professor continued back and forth, Mrs. Sasaki turned to Majime. “What’s she like, your girlfriend?”

  “She’s not my girlfriend. We’re not going out.” He shook his head vigorously but weakened under the intensity of Mrs. Sasaki’s gaze. “Her name is Kaguya Hayashi. She just moved into the same lodging house as me. She’s my landlady’s granddaughter.”

  “What?” Nishioka broke in excitedly. “You’re living under the same roof? Whoa, steamy! Watch it, Majime, don’t lose control.”

  “Follow your own advice.” Araki whacked Nishioka on the head. To Majime he said, “And? Go on.”

  Majime was no match for Araki’s gaze, either. Defeated, he started spouting information like a merlion, the mythical sea lion that spewed water. Everything he knew about Kaguya came tumbling out.

  “She’s the same age as me, twenty-seven. Came here to live with my landlady, Také, I think because Také’s getting old. Before that she lived in Kyoto, undergoing training.”

  “Training? What kind of training?” asked Nishioka.

  “As a chef.”

  Nishioka gawked. Before he could say anything, Majime said, “Yes, a female chef. There are such things.”

  “Where does she work?” Mrs. Sasaki sat down at her computer and opened a search screen.

  “I think in Yushima, a place called Umenomi.” (Apricot.)

  Mrs. Sasaki typed a few words, reached for the telephone, and made a call. In short order she announced, “I reserved a table for four in Araki’s name. I have to cook dinner at home tonight, so I won’t be joining you.” She thrust a printout of a map at Majime, excused herself, and left.

  Araki nodded approvingly. “Doesn’t look too expensive.”

  Nishioka checked the contents of his wallet.

  Professor Matsumoto genially suggested, “All right then, let’s be off and meet the girl who has won Mr. Majime’s heart.”

  A clean white shop curtain hung at the narrow entrance to Umenomi. Along the edge were three apricots drawn in indigo.

  They slid open the door, and the voices of two chefs behind the counter rang out a welcome: “Irasshai!” One was evidently the master, the other an apprentice in his early thirties. To their right was a counter of plain unvarnished wood with seating for eight. On the left were three tables with seating for four apiece. In the back was a raised area with low tables on tatami mats. The interior was clean and spruce, the air full of energy, the seats nearly full.

  Kaguya emerged from the tatami area carrying an empty tray. Having the least seniority, she apparently did double duty, serving as waitress as well as chef. To Majime she was blindingly beautiful in her white coat and apron. Her hair was twisted up neatly in a bun, and she had on a small white chef’s cap.

  She called out a cheery welcome and swiftly approached the group standing clustered in the doorway. Araki, who was in the lead, said, “We just phoned in a reservation. The name is Araki.”

  “Certainly.” Then, seeing Majime standing behind Araki, her smile brightened. “Oh, Mitsu! How nice, you came! Are these your coworkers?”

  “Yes. The members of the Dictionary Editorial Department.”

  “Follow me, right this way.”

  She led the four of them to a table in the rear. They wiped their hands on moist hot towelettes and studied the menu, handwritten with brush and ink on washi paper. Everything from elaborate dishes to simple home-style cooking was available. They placed their orders and then slaked their thirst with beer.

  Araki opened the conversation. “Well, this is a pleasant surprise.”

  “She’s a lovely girl.” Professor Matsumoto nodded, helping himself to shimeji mushrooms in a rich sauce and custardy deep-fried tofu served in a warm savory broth and garnished with scallions and grated daikon.

  “She calls you Mitsu?” It was hard to tell if Nishioka was grinning or grimacing.

  “That’s what my landlady calls me, so Kaguya is just imitating her,” said Majime, feeling uneasy.

  He kept sneaking glances at the counter as unobtrusively as possible—though to the others his interest was evident. Kaguya was focused on the master as he worked, her eyes intent on his hands. Once in a while the senior apprentice would say something to her, and she would crisply perform the task assigned. The senior apprentice was good-looking, with clean-cut, even features. Majime became acutely aware of his hair, unruly to begin with and smooshed more than usual. For the first time all day, he had an urge to smooth it down. He picked up the moist towelette, but it had already cooled off. He put it back down, giving up on the idea of fixing his hair. He felt as if air were stuck in his throat like a gob of sticky rice cake. He could hardly eat anything.

  Fortunately, Kaguya seemed unaware that he was acting strangely. Maybe he acted this way all the time so it didn’t bother her anymore. She brought dish after dish to their table: sashimi, stewed vegetables, Miyazaki beef simmered in miso-flavored broth. Each time she would check whether they needed extra plates or refills on their drinks, without being at all intrusive.

  “
Majime tells us your name is Kaguya,” said Nishioka, looking up at her, his head tilted at what he probably thought was his best angle. “‘Shining Night.’ A lovely name.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “Though I’m not that fond of it myself. I always think it sounds like graffiti some biker might scribble on a wall.”

  “Not at all. Kaguya is the perfect name for one so beautiful.”

  Majime let out a yelp. Someone had just kicked his shin. Across the table, Araki was glaring at Nishioka, apparently trying to tell him to knock it off. He must have aimed at Nishioka’s shin and kicked Majime by mistake.

  “I happened to be born on the night of a full moon, that’s all.” Kaguya handled Nishioka deftly, dismissive yet civil.

  “Ah, so even the moon celebrated the occasion of your birth,” Nishioka said, undaunted.

  Another kick on the shin. Unable to speak up and say, “Hey, that’s my leg,” Majime gritted his teeth in silence.

  When they had finished all the food and the alcohol had pleasurably taken effect, they left the restaurant. The cool air, suggesting the approach of winter, barely registered.

  “The food was tasty, wasn’t it?” said the professor. “Next time Mrs. Sasaki will have to join us.”

  “If you liked the place that much, from now on we could eat there after our weekly meetings,” suggested Araki.

  “What?” Nishioka protested. “I can’t afford that. How about alternating between there and Seven Treasures Garden?”

  Their four shadows stretched out long on the pavement as they ambled in the dusk. Thinking the moon must be out, Majime looked up at the sky, but tonight there was no sign of it. The lambent glow on low-hanging gray clouds was the reflection of city lights.

  Shoved back by Araki, Nishioka fell into step alongside Majime. “Sometimes I scare myself,” he said with a sigh.

  “Why is that?”

  “See how Kaguya kept looking at me? That always happens. I feel bad about it, my friend, but there’s not much I can do. Women are drawn to my magnetic charms. Don’t hate me.”

  “Nishioka, you’re an idiot,” Araki said over his shoulder.