The Great Passage

by Shion Miura

  Working up his courage, he opened the door. Kaguya and Také were munching rice crackers and watching television. The screen showed highlights of a popular daytime variety show.

  “That emcee isn’t really into it, is he?” Kaguya was still laughing. “It makes it all the funnier!”

  “Keep eating all those rice crackers and you won’t have room for lunch.”

  After this mismatched exchange, the two women simultaneously took a sip of tea. Majime stood transfixed in the doorway, sensing the mystery of the blood bond between this pair, who outwardly looked nothing alike. Realizing that Kaguya had been laughing at somebody’s antics on television flooded him with relief.

  Finally she became aware of his presence, turned to him, and smiled.

  “All done thinking?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry.”

  “Okay, shall we go, then?”

  He was astonished. She’d been waiting until he came out of his reverie. This revelation was so astounding that Majime was less overjoyed than dumbstruck. Ignoring his apparent distracted state, she put a jacket over her shoulders and pocketed her wallet and phone.

  “You coming, Grandma?”

  “Where?”

  “Korakuen Amusement Park.”

  Také looked from her granddaughter to Majime. She pressed the top of the electric kettle and filled her teapot with hot water. Majime looked at her pleadingly.

  All of a sudden Také clutched her side and bent over in evident pain.

  Kaguya patted her back in alarm. “What is it, Grandma?”

  “My spasms. You know how I always get them.”

  “What are you talking about? What spasms?”

  “You know. Spasms.”

  Majime bent over Také and helped her right herself. “Are you okay?” he said.

  She turned to him and blinked. She probably meant to wink, but it didn’t come off just right. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “I just need to go lie down for a while. You two run along without me.”

  “But Grandma . . .”

  With a burst of strength so powerful that spasms seemed impossible, Také shoved the hesitating Kaguya out the door. “Never you mind me. Have a grand time spinning around, getting tossed in the air, and plunging back to earth.”

  That was her way of describing the rides. Her act was a bit phony, Majime thought, but he looked her thankfully in the eyes. She winked both eyes at him again.

  And so Majime and Kaguya set out for Korakuen Amusement Park. Tora stuck his head out from under the heated quilt and meowed once, as if in blessing.

  On that Sunday, the amusement park was crowded with young families and couples. Over the loudspeaker came the announcement of a live-action show. A roller coaster thundered by overhead.

  It was still early afternoon. Majime hadn’t been to an amusement park since grade school, and he looked around in agitation. “Roller coasters nowadays are something, aren’t they?” he said. “Bigger and twistier than they used to be. Scary.”

  “Grandma was trying to be nice to us, don’t you think?”

  Another mismatched conversation. He looked at her. She was looking up at him, her dark eyes sparkling with determination and some kind of emotion. His chest hurt. He knew he needed to say something, but he also knew that no matter how big a dictionary he consulted, he would never come up with the right words.

  “Which ride do you want to go on?” he asked, looking away.

  She let out her breath, feeling perhaps that he had dodged the question. “That one.”

  She pointed to the merry-go-round. Getting on one of the gaudily painted horses would be embarrassing, but at least it was better than the roller coaster. The constant noise of shrieking over their heads made him nervous, so he quickly nodded.

  They rode the merry-go-round three times and in between wandered through the park. They didn’t talk much, but there was no awkwardness, either. It felt calm. When they sat on a bench, he stole a look at her profile. She seemed to feel peaceful, too. She was chewing her sandwich, watching as a pair of small brothers dragged their parents toward a big trampoline.

  “Have you got brothers and sisters?” he asked.

  “One older brother. He’s married and lives in Fukuoka. Works for a company there.”

  “My parents have been living in Fukuoka for a long time now, ever since my dad got transferred.”

  “Brothers and sisters?”

  “I’m an only child. I only see my folks once a year, if that.”

  “That’s what happens after you grow up.”

  Then they talked about where in Fukuoka their respective family members lived, what to eat in Fukuoka, and which brand of seasoned cod roe was best as a souvenir. They exhausted the topic rather quickly and fell silent again.

  There was the sound of a ride starting up. Screams, whether of joy or of fear, filled the air, along with cheerful music.

  “Let’s go on that.”

  She caught him lightly by the elbow and indicated a huge Ferris wheel. Her hand soon left his elbow, but the impression of her slim fingertips and their gentle pressure lingered in his mind.

  The Ferris wheel was ultramodern, without central spokes, just an enormous wheel rising into the sky.

  All the rides Kaguya had chosen were slow-moving. He wasn’t sure if it was because she couldn’t handle screamy ones herself, or if she was looking out for him as someone who was clearly not the screamy type. There was no line, so they climbed right into one of the little carriages and watched as the sky slowly opened up before them and the city spread out beneath their feet.

  “I wonder who invented a ride like this,” Kaguya said, looking out the window. “It’s fun but a bit lonely, I always think.”

  Majime had just been feeling the same thing. Even though they were thrown together in this narrow space—or rather, because the space was so narrow—he was keenly aware of the impossibility of touching her or looking her in the eye. Even away from the confines of earth, the two of them were still separate. They saw the same scenery and breathed the same air, but they could not come together.

  “Sometimes when I’m preparing food, I feel like it’s a Ferris wheel ride.” She put her elbow on the edge of the window and rested her cheek up next to the pane.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Because no matter how fine a dish I make someone is, it goes around once and then out.”

  Strange notion, comparing a Ferris wheel ride to the ingestion and excretion of food. Yet the kind of emptiness and loneliness she’d described applied no less to lexicography. However many words were gathered, however they were interpreted and defined, no dictionary was ever truly complete. The moment you thought you had captured words in a volume, they became a wriggling mass impossible to catch hold of, slipping by you, changing their shape as if to laugh off the compilers’ exhaustion and passion, and issuing a challenge: “Try again! Catch us if you can!” All Majime could do with a word’s endless motion and vast energy was capture it as it was, in one fleeting moment, and convey that state in written form.

  However much food you ate, as long as you were alive, you would experience hunger again, and words, however you managed to capture them, would disperse again like phantoms into the void.

  “But you would still choose to be a cook, wouldn’t you?” he said.

  Even if no one could ever stay full forever, he was sure she would go on giving her all to her abilities in the kitchen as long as there was even one person who wanted to eat good food. And even if no dictionary could ever be perfect, as long as there were people who used words to convey their thoughts, he would pursue his calling with all his might.

  Kaguya nodded. “Yes, I would. I love it.”

  Majime looked at the sky, which was changing to evening colors. The little carriage they were riding in reached the top and slowly began its descent toward the ground. Soon they would be back where they’d started.

  “Of all the rides in the amusement park,” he said, “this is my favorit
e.” Despite the loneliness, he liked its quiet, persistent energy.

  “Mine, too.”

  Majime and Kaguya smiled at each other like conspirators.

  “So you didn’t tell her you like her, and you didn’t even get to first base? What the hell did you go to the amusement park for, then?”

  Berated by Nishioka at work, Majime sat moaning at his desk.

  Nishioka wasn’t the only one fed up with Majime’s deliberateness. That morning, Také had lamented, too. “Then what was the use of my coming down with chronic spasms?” she had demanded.

  Lacking any reply, all Majime had been able to do was chew his takuan pickle as quietly as possible. Kaguya had long since left for work.

  Now Nishioka wouldn’t let up. “This is no time to play games! She’s probably getting it on with somebody at work, you know.”

  “No, she isn’t.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I asked her if she was seeing anybody, and she said, ‘No, work keeps me busy, and I was never interested.’”

  “And you believed her, you stupid ass!” Nishioka was merciless. “She meant she wasn’t interested in you. Wake up! You don’t fold, you tell her, ‘Even so, I want you to be my girlfriend.’ Why do you think they have love hotels next door to Korakuen?”

  Kaguya hadn’t said, “I’m not interested.” She’d used the past tense: “I was never interested.” Still, Majime wasn’t so full of himself as to assume this meant she was now interested in him. He wanted to raise various points of objection to what Nishioka was saying, but he held his tongue. This was no time to be sparring.

  Although it was still working hours, Majime was busy writing a love letter. He didn’t need Nishioka or Také to tell him he’d dropped the ball. He was painfully aware of this, but in front of Kaguya words wouldn’t come. He’d demonstrated that already. Since he couldn’t tell her how he felt even while riding in the carriage of a Ferris wheel, it wasn’t ever going to happen—not unless a desperado held him at knifepoint and yelled, “Say it! Who do you love? Out with it!”

  If he couldn’t say the words, he could write them. Once he’d decided on that, he’d wrapped up the day’s work at top speed and was now bent over a sheet of stationery.

  Greetings

  Cold winds are blowing, a reminder of the swift approach of winter’s frosty skies. I trust that you are well.

  Nishioka had been watching from the side, chin in hand, as Majime penned his love letter. Now he leaned forward. “Too stilted, Majime. Not even corporate apologies are that stiff and wooden.”

  “It’s no good?”

  “Loosen up a little, make it fun. Who writes letters nowadays, anyway? She has a phone, doesn’t she? Send her a text message.”

  “I don’t have her contact information. Even if I did, I’d have to text her from work. That’s pretty unromantic, isn’t it?”

  “Your not having a cell phone in the first place is what’s unromantic. Go get one. Otherwise I’ll change your nickname from Majime to Busui.” (Unromantic.)

  “Majime isn’t my nickname, it’s my real name.”

  As they bickered, a deep voice resounded. “Are you two getting any work done?”

  They looked up. Araki stood with his hands on his hips in the office doorway, glowering. “You think we have all the time in the world to get this dictionary finished, is that it?”

  “No, boss.” Nishioka sprang up and offered Araki his chair. “We’re hard at work, absolutely.”

  Majime swept the unfinished love letter into his desk drawer.

  “You’re here even though there’s no meeting today?” said Nishioka.

  “I just extracted a commitment from the board.” Araki remained standing and removed his black scarf. “With certain conditions, The Great Passage has been given a green light.”

  Majime and Nishioka looked at each other, wary now. No matter what the company said, they were determined to see The Great Passage through to publication. They’d pushed ahead with their plans while the project was in limbo, seeking a fait accompli. What conditions were being imposed now? This could spell trouble.

  “First, we have to revise the Gembu Student’s Dictionary of Japanese. Second—”

  “We can’t do that,” Majime interjected. “How can we revise another dictionary when we’re in the middle of creating a brand-new one from scratch? We need to focus on The Great Passage and nothing else.”

  “Nobody on the board has ever worked on a dictionary,” said Araki. “That’s why they can make such a demand.”

  “Revising a dictionary is just as much work and takes just as much time as making a new one,” Nishioka said. “You know that better than anyone, boss.”

  “Regardless, we have to do it.” Araki grimaced. “Making The Great Passage will cost money. They want us to help pay for it. That’s the long and short of it.”

  Revised dictionaries sold well. Given the choice between a revised edition and an unrevised edition, most people would choose the one with more up-to-date information.

  Gembu Student’s Dictionary of Japanese was a smallish volume that Araki and Professor Matsumoto had put together, with solid sales among elementary and junior high school students. That must be why the company had ordered yet another revision, following on the heels of a major overhaul done just the year before.

  “What will Professor Matsumoto say?”

  “He’ll probably go along with it. The process of revision is bound to help in making The Great Passage.” Araki sounded as if he were trying to persuade himself of this. “And Majime, since you’re new to dictionary making, instead of plunging right into The Great Passage, you should get your feet wet with the Student’s Dictionary first.”

  Araki had knocked himself out planning The Great Passage. Now that a damper had been put on the project, he should have been feeling more frustrated than anyone, yet he was making the best of it. The advice to gain experience made sense, too, so Majime was forced to swallow his words.

  “There’s something else, isn’t there?” he asked. “What is it?”

  Araki made a noncommittal noise and looked away, scratching his chin as if troubled. “Nothing. Nishioka, come with me,” he said, and left the room.

  Majime and Nishioka exchanged looks again.

  “What’s up?”

  “Who knows?”

  From the corridor, Araki barked, “Nishioka, are you coming?”

  “Coming, boss!” To Majime he said, “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ve gotta go. Lock up when you leave.”

  Now Majime was alone in the office. He spread out the unfinished love letter on his desk, but all he could think about was Araki and Nishioka. He took his teacup out into the corridor, planning to make himself a cup of hot tea.

  The shadowy corridor was empty. He put his ear to the door of the reference room, but he couldn’t hear anything. They must have left the building. He went into the old kitchenette, prepared his tea, and returned to his desk.

  With dusk setting in, the room felt quieter than usual. He switched on the fluorescent light overhead. The shadows deepened until the bookshelves lining the walls looked like a black forest.

  He patted the cushion on his chair and sat down. Sipping his tea, he thought about what to write next. Everything was up in the air. No telling where either the dictionary or his love life might be headed. He sat in a room overflowing with books and words, but which of them might provide a way out of this impasse? He didn’t know.

  But that didn’t mean he should sit back and do nothing, petrified. If he did that, nothing would change. Feeling the weight of the bookcases bearing down on him from behind, he picked up his pen. Slowly and carefully he proceeded to fill in the space on the white sheet of paper in front of him, giving form to his feelings.

  By a little after eight he was finished. Nishioka hadn’t come back. Majime laid the missive on Nishioka’s desk, but then hesitated—he certainly didn’t want to create the impression that the love lette
r was intended for Nishioka. He attached a note: “Please give me your comments.”

  He turned out the light and locked the door, then made sure the reference room was locked and the gas was off in the kitchenette. No one knew quite how or when the practice got started, but it had become customary for the last person out to make sure the doors were locked and there was no danger of fire. Nothing in the office had any monetary value, but the materials they had gathered and the words they had accumulated were priceless.

  Majime dropped off the key with the custodian on his way out of the building. His breath made a thin, white cloud. Time to get out a warmer coat. Burying his chin in his scarf, he headed home.

  When Majime got back to the lodging house, he bumped into Také, just emerging from the bath.

  “You’re home. How was work?” Her cheeks were flushed pink.

  It occurred to Majime that although he and Kaguya lived under the same roof, they kept such different hours that he had never seen her fresh from the bath. He found this regrettable. Then he felt embarrassed for thinking such a thing and said an inward apology—though whether he owed an apology to Také or to Kaguya, he wasn’t sure.

  “Fine, thanks.”

  “It’s cold today, isn’t it? Why don’t you come up for tea?”

  “Thanks, I will.”

  He washed up before going to Také’s room. As he sat down at the kotatsu table heater, he let out a sigh. He felt something soft and heavy on his lap. Tora had been sleeping in the warmth under the kotatsu.

  “I guess you two had a nice time at the amusement park,” said Také, deftly setting out tea and a small dish of lightly pickled Chinese cabbage. “Kaguya told me about it. She sounded pleased.”

  “Did she? I hope she had a good time.”

  Majime reached for some Chinese cabbage with a toothpick. His heart was pounding so loud it was almost embarrassing. Také might not approve of his feelings for Kaguya. Why would she? He and his books had taken over the entire first floor, and now he was trying to get her granddaughter in his clutches, too. “Give him an inch and he’ll take a mile,” she must have been thinking. But he wasn’t trying to get Kaguya in his clutches—he sincerely wanted a relationship with her, that’s all. If she was willing.