by Shion Miura
“Pretty cavalier, aren’t you?” Majime seemed to be enjoying this.
Nishioka plowed on. “But the idea that ‘Saigyo’ also means ‘invulnerable’ I think has to be included, along with its origin in the image of Saigyo looking at Mount Fuji. Suppose you were reading and came upon a character who goes, ‘I am Saigyo! Bwa ha ha.’ Unless you knew ‘Saigyo’ was a synonym for ‘invulnerable,’ you’d be totally confused.”
“And for the same reason you think we should include the meaning of a wanderer or pilgrim, right?”
“Well, it’s partly that.” Nishioka hesitated slightly. “Suppose an actual drifter is leafing through a dictionary at a library and comes across an entry for the word saigyo that says ‘a wanderer or pilgrim (after Saigyo, the itinerant priest-poet).’ Think how he’d feel. He’d tell himself, ‘So Saigyo was just like me! Even in the old days, there were people who never stayed put.’”
Nishioka became aware of Majime’s eyes on him and turned to look. Majime had swiveled his chair around to face him.
“I never thought of it that way before.” Majime’s voice was full of admiration.
Embarrassed, Nishioka quickly added, “It’s probably no basis for including words in a dictionary, I realize.”
“You’re wrong.” Majime shook his head, his expression intent. “Nishioka, I’m so sorry you’re leaving. We need you to make The Great Passage a really human dictionary.”
“Yeah, right,” Nishioka said dismissively, and swiped the paper back. With Majime’s red-pencil corrections as reference, he typed the professor an e-mail informing him of the changes. He stared at the computer screen and tried not to blink, afraid he might cry tears of happiness.
If anybody but Majime had told him such a thing, he’d have thought they were just saying it to make him feel better. But he knew Majime’s words were heartfelt. He’d always thought of Majime as a lexicographical genius but also as an awkward weirdo he had nothing in common with. He still thought so. If they’d gone to school together, they never would have been friends. Which was exactly why what he said meant so much. Majime was incapable of flattery. Since Majime had said it, Nishioka could believe it: he was needed. He wasn’t deadweight after all. He felt a burst of joy and pride.
Majime had turned back to his desk with an unconcerned look on his face, little suspecting that he had been Nishioka’s salvation. He was twisting his hair with his left hand while making corrections on another entry. Majime always came straight out with what he thought; he seemed unaffected by what he had just said. Whereas Nishioka, though happy, was all but squirming with embarrassment.
Majime was one of a kind. Nishioka knew that now as never before.
When he showed up at the professor’s office in answer to the summons he had received, he again found the professor just eating lunch at his desk.
“Nishioka, what’s the meaning of this?” barked the professor.
“I beg your pardon?” Standing in the doorway, Nishioka spoke politely and respectfully.
“That e-mail from you yesterday. What did you mean by rewriting my text?”
“I believe that when I asked you to write for us, I mentioned that there might be some revisions.”
“Did you?”
Nishioka smiled courteously and said nothing.
“Nothing you said ever led me to expect radical changes of this order.”
If you don’t want us to rewrite it, get it right the first time. How did you expect us to use that crap you sent? What’s the matter, old man, you’ve never opened a dictionary?
Still smiling, Nishioka replied, “I am very sorry. However, it’s necessary for us to ensure that all the entries are uniform in style. I hope you will be so kind as to give us your consent.”
“Are you the one who made those corrections?”
A pause. “No.” He decided to be up-front. “I consulted with my colleague, Majime.”
“Fine. Then let your Majime write all the entries. I’m washing my hands of the whole thing. It’s not my work anymore.”
“Sir!” Nishioka rushed over to the desk. “Please don’t say that. Majime is someone you can trust. After I leave the editorial department, he’ll work with you in absolute good faith. All we had to do was make stylistic changes once we had your text in hand. He and I are both grateful.” Of course, rather than simply stylistic changes, it had been more of a complete overhaul. Unlike Majime, Nishioka could lie like a trooper. He lowered his voice and said confidentially, “To tell you the truth, contributions from other people have had to be much more drastically revised.”
“Is that so?” The professor’s attitude softened a little. With a sidelong glance at Nishioka, who maintained a humble stance, he wrapped a handkerchief around his lunch box—packed not by a loving wife but by his mistress. “Anyway, it’s most unpleasant having one’s writing tampered with.”
What kind of literary genius does this guy think he is? Despite the thought, Nishioka remained a smiling statue, determined to ride out the professor’s displeasure. If the professor backed out now, they would be up a tree.
Dictionaries, like any product, needed name recognition as a guarantee of quality. Having Professor Matsumoto’s name on the cover as chief editor was one example. Of course, Professor Matsumoto was genuinely involved in the compilation of The Great Passage, but often people like him just lent their names without actually doing any work. Contributors had to be trusted scholars in their respective fields. Since their names were listed at the end of the dictionary, people in the know could tell at a glance whether the selection was appropriate or not. One measure of a dictionary’s precision and rigor was the roster of contributors.
This particular professor might not have been such a great choice, Nishioka now realized, and yet he was a recognized authority on Japanese medieval literature. His name would add cachet. If he would just leave the editing of his manuscripts to Majime, all would be well.
“Well, as long as you properly apologize I’m prepared to accept the suggested revisions,” the professor said, sipping his tea. “I’m not saying you have to prostrate yourself.”
“Prostrate myself?”
Dogeza, the most abject form of apology in the book—getting down on all fours and striking the ground with your forehead. Damn.
A smile hovered on the professor’s lips. He knew Nishioka was in no position to resist what he said and was enjoying badgering him. Nasty. Nishioka looked down at the dusty floor. He’d just gotten this suit back from the cleaners, too. But if dogeza was what it took to make the professor happy, he’d do it all day long.
Just as he had resigned himself to kneeling down and his muscles began to respond, a bolt of reason went through him. He froze. Was The Great Passage such a shabby dictionary? What was the point of his prostrating himself in abject apology if he didn’t even mean it? With Majime, Araki, and Professor Matsumoto knocking themselves out to make a first-rate dictionary, how could humiliating himself in front of this jackass make any difference? The dictionary was above such shenanigans.
Nishioka reconsidered. Hell no. He wasn’t going to let the professor get his kicks. Instead of kowtowing he laid a hand on the professor’s desk. Right next to the lunch box. He bent down, put his face close to the professor’s ear, and said, “Oh, that was a good one, sir.”
“Wh-what do you mean?” The professor faltered, flustered at having his personal space invaded, and tried to push his chair back. To keep him from escaping, Nishioka laid his free hand on the back of the chair, fixing it in place.
“I get it,” he said. “You’re not the type of man to go around putting people’s sincerity to the test. You only mentioned me prostrating myself as a joke, isn’t that right?”
“I never—” Sensing that something ugly had come over Nishioka, the professor mumbled a disclaimer.
“But I don’t much care for such jokes. I don’t think people should put each other to the test.” Okay, he had tested Majime’s knowledge about Saigyo, but neve
r mind. He continued in as deep and threatening a voice as he could muster. “Now, let’s suppose you had a lover.”
“What?” The professor almost jumped out of his chair.
“Just for fun.” This was kind of fun. Nishioka let a sly smile play about the corners of his mouth. “Why so jumpy?” Casually he slid his hand over and laid it on the lunch box. “Actually, I happen to know that you do have a lover. I know who and where she is, and all you’re doing for her, too.”
“But how?”
“Making a dictionary requires help from all sorts of people. Knowing how to gather information is part of my job.”
Nishioka hadn’t just randomly made the rounds from one professor’s office to the next. He’d made a point of visiting the lounges where the research assistants hung out and being generous with little gifts. Now his thoroughness was paying off.
“But I’m not going to use that information to make you accept the revisions. I would never do such a thing. Like you, I understand the meaning of dignity.” Nishioka lifted his hand off the lunch box and straightened up. “I hope I’ve made my meaning sufficiently clear.”
The professor nodded silently.
“Thank you. Then we will proceed with the revised version as planned.”
His business here finished, Nishioka did an about-face and headed for the door, maneuvering around piles of books. As he grabbed the doorknob, a sudden thought came to him and he turned around.
“Sir.”
The professor looked at him, quailing like a small animal.
“Majime is going to make a dictionary that people will love and trust for years to come. Your name will be on it—but he’ll be the one who really writes your entries.”
The professor couldn’t let this pass. Hearing the truth spelled out, he turned pale. “How dare you!” he blustered, his voice shaking with anger. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that you just made a very wise choice, going for appearance over substance. Good day.”
Nishioka closed the door behind him without a backward glance and started down the corridor. That parting shot might have been too much, he thought, but he couldn’t keep from laughing as he walked along.
Damn, he felt good. He didn’t give a flying frittata now whether the professor stormed into the office or even quit the project. Either way, The Great Passage would sail along, steady on its course. The determination of Majime and the other editors was firmer than the earth’s core, hotter than magma. Even if they and the professor argued, they would take it in stride and charge ahead toward completion of the dictionary.
Come spring Nishioka would gone. If there was trouble, Majime would have to handle it. Sorry, he thought. Hang in there, buddy.
While mentally dodging responsibility for future consequences of his clash with the professor, Nishioka pledged to himself that he would choose substance over appearance. Araki often said, “A dictionary is the product of teamwork.” The meaning of that statement was now clear to him. He wouldn’t be like the professor—dash off any old thing and have his name on the dictionary as a matter of form. He’d do all he could to aid completion of The Great Passage, wherever in the company he was assigned. Getting his name on it wasn’t the point. Even if all trace of his time in the Dictionary Editorial Department vanished and Majime said, “Nishioka? I kind of remember somebody by that name,” it didn’t matter. All that mattered was putting together a fine dictionary. He would still be in the same company, and he would do his utmost to support the team going all out to make The Great Passage the best it could be.
Nishioka went down the stairs and out the door. The pale white light of a winter afternoon lit up the campus. Leafless branches of a gingko tree made cracks in the sky.
He would respond to the passion of others with passion of his own. Until now he had avoided doing so out of sheer embarrassment, but something had changed. Having made up his mind, he felt a thrill of excitement.
Back in the office, Nishioka gave Majime a full report on his run-in with the professor. Majime stopped what he’d been doing to listen and, when Nishioka was finished, looked at him with respect.
“Wow! You’re like an extortionist!”
The gap between his awed expression and his choice of words left Nishioka bewildered.
“That’s your response?”
“Absolutely. If it had been me, I’d have gotten down on all fours or eaten out of the palm of his hand.” The use of irony was not in Majime’s skill set. He apparently meant this as sincere praise.
“Listen, Majime.”
“What?”
Nishioka swiveled his chair to face Majime, sitting knee to knee with him. The chair cushion had slipped out of place, and he took time to set it to rights before going on. Majime waited. Finally Nishioka sat down again and said seriously, “What I’m saying is, because I bungled it he might come back and cause trouble.”
“I doubt it.” Majime said. “As you said, he’ll choose appearance over substance.”
“What if he quits?”
“Let him. I really couldn’t care less.”
The cold tone took Nishioka by surprise.
“Sorry,” said Majime, smiling wryly. “I can’t help it—I expect others to be at least as committed as I am.”
Nishioka nodded. The more you took a project to heart, the more your expectations of others on the team were bound to rise. The same way that if you loved someone, you wanted them to love you back.
At the same time, he found the depth and intensity of Majime’s commitment to the dictionary remarkable. Meeting his expectations and demands would be no easy task. Majime looked easygoing, but his soul was on fire. Nishioka let out a small sigh. Kaguya might find she had bitten off more than she could chew, getting involved with this guy. And if a new hire came to the Dictionary Editorial Department, that person would have their work cut out for them, too.
Ease up, Majime, he thought. Otherwise everyone around you is going to end up choking. Expectations and demands that weigh too heavy are poison. You’ll be worn down in the end, when you don’t get what you’re looking for. You’ll wind up exhausted, resigned, and alone, unable to trust anyone.
As Nishioka pondered, the late afternoon passed into evening, and soon it was quitting time. Majime, unusually for him, prepared to leave on the dot.
“Going home already?”
“Tonight Kaguya has sole charge of one item on the menu. I thought I’d go to Umenomi and try it out.” He cheerfully stuffed reference materials and a sheaf of manuscripts into his briefcase. “Want to come?”
“That’s okay,” Nishioka said, shooing him off.
Majime went around to each student worker and apologized for leaving first. Finally he was gone. Nishioka turned back to his desk and set to work. The details of his replacement were uncertain. Majime might be the only full-time employee in the department for some time. With the faint sound of the part-timers working in the background, Nishioka bestirred himself. If put upon by someone like the professor today, Majime would be hard pressed to deal with it. Somebody had to help him handle such scenarios. Nishioka wanted to leave a record of all he knew to help his successor.
He began typing up all the information he had gathered about the various contributors—their quirks, their likes and dislikes, their foibles, their academic stature, their private lives, trouble that was likely to occur and how to deal with it. He made it as detailed as possible. When he’d finished, he printed the document and put it in a file with a blue cover. Since the information was sensitive, he deleted the computer file and marked the blue file with a magic marker: TOP SECRET: VIEW ONLY IN DICTIONARY EDITORIAL DEPARTMENT OFFICE. It ended up being a pretty voluminous file, but something was missing.
Nishioka thought it over and then had an idea. He opened his drawer and took out the love letter Majime had written. When asked to critique it, he hadn’t missed the opportunity to make a copy. Fifteen sheets of paper. Made him laugh every time he read it.
One of the college students gave him a funny look as he sat laughing silently to himself. Nishioka hastily composed his expression and began hunting for a hiding place. A bookshelf would be ideal, but if he stuck it between two books, somebody was sure to find it right away. He pretended to examine the rows of books while carefully selecting a place to hide the love letter. In the end he stuck it under a bookend on the shelf holding miscellaneous titles like How to Write a Letter and All You Need to Know about Weddings and Funerals.
After concealing the love letter, Nishioka returned to his desk and added a new sheet of paper to a clear pocket in the blue file. On it were the words: “Worn out by dictionary editing? Ready to be cheered up? Drop Masashi Nishioka a line: [email protected].”
That would do it. He put the top-secret file in a conspicuous place on the bookshelf. Then he stretched and reached for his briefcase. It was after nine, and most of the student workers had gone home. He called out to the two remaining part-timers.
“Let’s call it a day and go get something to eat. My treat.”
“All right!” said one enthusiastically. “I vote for Chinese.”
“Korean barbecue sounds good to me,” said the other.
They punched their time cards, chattering with excitement.
“Whoa. You want me to go broke? Make it ramen or a beef bowl.”
“What?”
“No way!”
Despite their disappointment, they were laughing.
Nishioka checked to make sure the gas was not on and switched off the lights. Since the office door was gone he locked only the reference room. The vast number of words waiting to be set in order made their presence felt even out in the dark corridor.
“You two enjoy working on the dictionary?” Nishioka asked as they walked toward the exit.
“Sure,” said one. “Don’t we?”
“Yeah,” agreed his friend. “It was tedious at first, but once I get into it I lose track of time.”
Same here, Nishioka silently concurred.
People with a finite amount of time at their disposal, setting out together across the broad, deep sea of words. The voyage was scary but enjoyable. He didn’t want it to ever end. To get closer to the truth, he wanted to stay on board that ship forever.