Majime and Kaguya smiled and waved to each other.
Gembu Books Hell Camp lasted a full month. Majime and Kishibe slept in the office practically every night. On rare occasions, they went home for fresh clothes but then came right back. For days on end he had no real conversations with Kaguya, nor did she with Miyamoto.
Majime saw to it that the students and Mrs. Sasaki periodically went home, urging them constantly not to wear themselves out. None of them were eager to leave. They slept at the office for days on end, sometimes for a whole week, and thought nothing of it. Everyone worked hard in near silence.
Araki’s wife was long dead. “I’ll see to the rest of this,” he would say. “Go on home, everybody!” He took on more than his share of the work and never went home once for the space of a month.
The problem was the air in the office, which grew fetid. The staff had increased, and the room was now crowded. With windows inaccessible behind bookshelves, the air was increasingly stale—stuffy and dusty and smelling of ink. When they were in the office together, they didn’t notice it so much, but coming back from a meal, they would grimace. Somebody would groan, “The air in here’s so thick you could cut it with a knife!”
The main building had a small shower, but complaints started to roll in: “The dictionary staff is in the shower morning, noon, and night!” They decided to use the one remaining public bath in Jimbocho. The owner looked delighted at this unexpected boon.
“But we can’t wash our clothes.” Kishibe sighed after returning from the bath with her wet hair in a towel turban, wearing no makeup. Jimbocho, a center of used bookstores and publishing houses, was supposed to be a students’ quarter, but for some reason there was no coin laundry. She and Mrs. Sasaki talked it over.
“There are lots of colleges around here, but you know, not that many students actually live in Jimbocho.”
“I know. And how many people would come here to browse used books and decide to wash their clothes while they’re at it?”
“People who go for used books are like potted plants anyway. I bet they don’t do much laundry to begin with.”
Majime protested inwardly. I go for used books, but I’m no potted plant. I’m an omnivore! And yes, when I go to a used bookstore I think about books. What else! Anybody who thought about their laundry while looking at books—anybody that incapable of concentrating on what was in front of them—could never qualify as a true used book lover. He gave his cuff a furtive sniff. He didn’t think it smelled too bad, but he couldn’t really judge.
Eventually, they designated someone to be in charge of laundry. They threw all the soiled clothes in one big bag, and every few days someone would take it to a coin laundry in Kasuga or Hongo. Those taking advantage of this service split the cost among themselves. Underwear was separate; they made do by buying new ones or washing the old ones out in restroom sinks. The ladies’ room in the annex was newly furnished with a drying rack. Men’s shorts hung on poles between the bookshelves. Needless to say, the women lodged protests about the sight of men’s underwear dangling like the flags of all nations.
“This is an emergency situation. Please bear up.” Majime went around with his head bowed and smoothed over the situation as best he could by extracting promises that the offending garments would be taken down as soon as they were dry.
While overseeing the final check of the fourth proofs, Majime had to visit the printing company frequently, accompanied by Miyamoto and his technicians. Dictionaries had large numbers of pages and high initial print runs, using that ultrathin paper, so the printing required meticulous care and expertise. Numerous test runs were made with Akebono’s “ultimate” paper.
Subtle changes in the ink affected the color and shading of the characters. Which ink was best suited to this paper? How should the presses be adjusted for maximum readability? Representatives of the paper company and the printing company met with Majime to hash it out. Sometimes he went to the factory for consultations with experienced printers.
When he had made the necessary decisions about the printing, he was next summoned by the in-house designer, a man in his midforties whose nickname was “Redshirt,” as he always wore a red T-shirt regardless of the season. Unlike the character of that name in Natsume Soseki’s novel Botchan, however, he was, although eccentric, frank and cheerful.
Thanks in part to Nishioka’s efforts, the publicity campaign for The Great Passage was unusually extensive. An advertising agency had contributed, helping to work out a strategy to unify the image of the dictionary in prepublication train station posters and bookstore pamphlets. Redshirt had been put in charge of production, the most crucial aspect of presentation, and was full of enthusiasm.
No sooner did Majime set foot in the design department office than Redshirt would come running up.
“Mr. Majimeee! It’s ready! Come see the final mock-up!” He dragged Majime over to his desk, where the final design plan had been laid out with the help of a high-power printer: there before them was the box, the wraparound band for the box, the dust jacket, the cover, the inside cover, and even a sample of the cloth for hanagire, the flower-patterned material used to bind the ends of the spine.
“When people start to use a dictionary, they usually throw away the box and the wraparound band and the dust jacket. It’s a shame. Anyway, I went all-out in the design.”
Only half-listening to Redshirt’s proud declaration, Majime was drawn to the design package spread out before him. The box, dust jacket, and cover were all a deep ultramarine blue, the color of the sea at night. The band was a pale cream, the color of moonlight. The inside cover was the same cream color, and the hanagire was the silver of the moon itself, shining in a dark sky. The title lettering was also silver, standing out boldly against the cover’s dark blue. Closer examination showed a narrow, wavelike pattern in silver along the base of the box and dust cover. On the spine was the outline of an ancient sailing ship, just cresting a swell. The front and back covers were marked unobtrusively with a crescent moon and ship.
Redshirt had perfectly captured the intentions of The Great Passage. Filled with gratitude, Majime stood and studied the design package a long time in silence.
“Well?” Redshirt blurted out anxiously, unable to wait any longer.
Majime organized his thoughts. “It has both sharpness and warmth. I think it’s terrific. What did the sales staff say?”
“I haven’t shown it to them yet. I wanted you to be the first to see it.”
“Thank you. One thing—is this die-stamped with silver leaf?”