“Don’t worry. Printing technology is advancing all the time. It’s only going to look as if it’s die-stamped with silver leaf. Of course, the front cover will be real silver leaf, but I’ll keep it well within budget.”
“I should have known.” Majime was embarrassed. “Go ahead with your plan, then. If Sales raises any issues, I’ll do all I can to fend them off.”
Now the packaging was settled. That was one burden off his shoulders. He returned to the office with a lighter step. On his desk lay the checked fourth proof. This would go back to the printers, and then they would send the fifth proof.
Peak after peak to climb.
Majime squared his shoulders and picked up his red pencil. Next he would go through the page proofs and make sure none of the changes affected the number of lines.
After the monthlong, all-hands-on-deck, round-the-clock proofreading marathon, it became clear that apart from blood, no other entry words were missing. Of course, through the extracareful check they did uncover typographical errors no one had caught before, as well as a few questionable definitions, so it hadn’t been a total loss.
“A hue and cry about trifles,” said Araki.
The deflated, exhausted expressions in the room echoed the sentiment.
“Everyone, I am sorry to have put you to so much extra effort for nothing. My apologies.” Majime was sincerely contrite.
“No, no,” said a student. “You know what they say: ‘Make assurance doubly sure.’”
“Right,” said another. “I can finally relax, knowing we left no stone unturned.”
Despite their exhaustion, they seemed to have a great sense of accomplishment.
The Great Passage was blessed to have a devoted crew. Majime stood to one side in the office doorway and formally saw the students off as they filed out.
The camp may have been hell, but it greatly increased Majime’s confidence in the dictionary. Dozens of pairs of eyes had checked the proofs from stem to stern and only uncovered a typographical error or two. The omission of blood had been a painful mistake, but they had escaped the awful fate of publishing The Great Passage with that glaring omission. All the other entry words were accounted for, and Majime was reassured that the definitions were meticulous. The dictionary would be balanced and precise, a pleasure to use or to browse through.
He saw that Kishibe was still there. “Thanks so much for all you’ve done, Miss Kishibe. Now go home and get a good night’s sleep.”
“Thank you. What about you?”
“Araki and I are going to go call on the professor.”
Supposedly the week in the hospital had been for the purpose of a routine checkup, yet even after his release, not once during their “hell camp” had Professor Matsumoto come by. His wife had called once to say apologetically that he wasn’t quite himself yet—that was all. The professor’s health was worrisome, but during the past month their hands had been tied. Now that the proofreading was back on track, he and Araki had decided to pay the professor a visit at home. Kishibe looked as if she would like to join them, but she was clearly exhausted. He told her he and Araki would have a look first. They discussed what time to show up the next day and parted with her in front of the annex.
The professor lived in Kashiwa City, Chiba Prefecture. Neither Majime nor Araki had ever been there before. They got on the subway and headed east, taking adjoining seats. They were ahead of the evening rush hour. Besides his briefcase, Majime held a box of éclairs on his lap. The professor was fond of the éclairs from a bakery near the office. While Majime had bought them, Araki had been silent, but now he began to talk.
“When I called before to say we were coming over, the professor answered the phone.”
“How did he sound?”
“Fine, I thought. But I’m concerned that he never came by the office last month.”
They were unsure how to get to his house, so they took a taxi from the station. A five-minute ride brought them to the door of a snug-looking wooden home.
They rang the doorbell, and Mrs. Matsumoto quickly welcomed them and showed them into the parlor. As they might have expected, the little house was overflowing with books. Bookshelves lined every wall, and the floor in front of them was piled high with more books. The hallways and stairs had so many books there was barely room to get by.
Did Mrs. Matsumoto and the children put up with this hodgepodge uncomplainingly? Even Majime was taken aback. But perhaps all the paper in the room absorbed sound; the atmosphere was peaceful and quiet.
Mrs. Matsumoto brought out tea and éclairs for three. “Thank you for this lovely gift. You’ll have to excuse me for turning around and offering you what you brought us.”
The door opened, and the professor came in.
“Thank you both for coming.”
At the sight of the professor, Majime was dumbstruck. Always thin, the professor had lost considerable weight. He was wearing a suit and bolo tie as usual, but his shirt collar, though buttoned, hung loose. Apparently he had gotten out of bed and dressed himself just to come out and see them.
Araki nudged Majime, who recovered his wits and apologized for the sudden visit.
The professor’s wife left the three men to themselves, and the professor sat down on the sofa across from his visitors. When he saw the éclairs, he broke into a smile. “Thank you for the lovely gift.”
Majime couldn’t help noticing that he and his wife used the same words to express their appreciation. They were clearly in perfect harmony.
“It turns out,” the professor went on, “I have cancer of the esophagus.”
What had he said? Majime heard the words without registering their significance. He felt Araki gasp beside him and sensed that something serious had happened, but he was unable to respond.
Araki asked discreet questions, and the professor answered them. He was taking anticancer drugs now and undergoing radiation therapy. The tumor had shrunk a bit, but side effects made it hard for him to get out of bed most days. His doctor was monitoring his progress, and he might possibly be readmitted to the hospital.
Majime and Araki were resolute and daring with words, but when it came to sickness, they were at a complete loss. Even words failed them. You’ll be fine. Hang in there. Unable to bring themselves to utter such platitudes, they fell silent.
Seeing their stifled anxiety and concern, the professor adopted a determinedly cheerful tone and inquired about the dictionary’s progress. Without touching on the hell camp, Majime reported that everything was proceeding in good order. He had brought the mock-up and took it out to show to the professor.
“It’s perfect for our ship,” he said.
The professor spread out the samples on his knees, tracing the silver waves with a finger. “I can’t wait for it to be finished. As soon as I feel able, I’ll drop by the office again. In the meantime, if you have any questions or problems, don’t hesitate to call me.”