“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 started 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.