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"That sounds like fun. Hey, what d'ya say, Mr. Nakata?"
All the time Hoshino and Oshima had been talking at the counter, Nakata stood off to one side, cap in hand, gazing vacantly at his surroundings. At the sound of his name, he came out of his daze. "Yes, how can I help you?"
"They have a tour of the library at two. You want to go on it?"
"Yes, Mr. Hoshino, thank you. Nakata would like to."
Oshima watched this exchange with great interest. Messrs. Hoshino and Nakata-what sort of relationship did they have to each other? They didn't seem like relatives. A strange combo, these two-with a vast difference in age and appearance. What could they possibly have in common? And this Mr. Nakata, the older one, had an odd way of speaking. There was something about him Oshima couldn't quite pin down. Not anything bad, though. "Have you traveled far to get here?" he asked.
"We came from Nagoya," Hoshino said hurriedly before Nakata could open his mouth. If he started in about being from Nakano, things could get a little sticky. The TV news had already put out the word that an old man like Nakata was co
"That's quite a journey," Oshima commented.
"Yes, we crossed a bridge to get here," Nakata said. "A long, wonderful bridge."
"It is pretty long, isn't it?" Oshima said. "Though I've never been over it myself."
"Nakata had never seen such a long bridge in all his life."
"It took a lot of time and a tremendous amount of money to build it," Oshima went on. "According to the newspaper, each year the public corporation that operates the bridge and the highway over it is a billion dollars in the red. Our taxes make up the shortfall."
"Nakata has no idea how much a billion is."
"I don't either, to tell you the truth," Oshima said. "After a certain point amounts like that aren't real anymore. Anyway, it's a huge amount of money."
"Thanks so much," Hoshino butted in. There was no telling what Nakata might say next, and he had to nip that possibility in the bud. "We should be here at two for the tour, right?"
"Yes, two would be fine," Oshima said. "The head librarian will be happy to show you around then."
"We'll be reading until then," Hoshino said.
Twirling his pencil in his hand, Oshima watched the retreating figures and then went back to work.
They picked some books from the stacks, Hoshino going for Beethoven and His Generation. Nakata picked out some photo collections and placed them on the table. Next, much like a dog might, he circled the room, carefully checking out everything, touching things, sniffing their odor, stopping at select spots to stare fixedly. They had the reading room to themselves until past twelve, so no one else noticed the old man's eccentric behavior.
"Hey, Gramps?" Hoshino whispered.
"Yes, how may I help you?"
"This is kind of sudden, but I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't mention to anyone that you're from Nakano."
"Why is that?"
"It's a long story, just take my word for it. If people find out that's where you're from, it might cause them some trouble."
"I understand," Nakata said, nodding deeply. "It's not good to trouble others. Nakata won't say a word about being from Nakano."
"That'd be great," Hoshino said. "Oh-did you find whatever it is you're looking for?"
"No, nothing so far."
"But this is definitely the place?"
Nakata nodded. "It is. Last night I had a good talk with the stone before I went to bed. I'm sure this is the place."
"Thank God."
Hoshino nodded and returned to his biography. Beethoven, he learned, was a proud man who believed absolutely in his own abilities and never bothered to flatter the nobility. Believing that art itself, and the proper expression of emotions, was the most sublime thing in the world, he thought political power and wealth served only one purpose: to make art possible. When Haydn boarded with a noble family, as he did most of his professional life, he had to eat with the servants. Musicians of Haydn's generation were considered employees. (The unaffected and good-natured Haydn, though, much preferred this arrangement to the stiff and formal meals put on by the nobility.)
Beethoven, in contrast, was enraged by any such contemptuous treatment, on occasion smashing things against the wall in anger. He insisted that as far as meals went he be treated with no less respect than the nobility he ostensibly served. He often flew off the handle, and once angry was hard to calm down. On top of this were radical political ideas that he made no attempt to hide. As his hearing deteriorated, these tendencies became even more pronounced. As he aged his music also became both more expansive and more densely inward looking. Only Beethoven could have balanced these two contrasting tendencies. But the extraordinary effort this required had a progressively deleterious effect on his life, for all humans have physical and emotional limits, and by this time the composer had more than reached his.
Geniuses like that don't have it easy, Hoshino thought, impressed, and laid down his book. He remembered the bronze bust of a scowling Beethoven in the music room of his school, but until now he'd had no idea of the hardships the man had endured. No wonder the guy looked so sour. I'm never go
He looked over at Nakata, who was deep into a photo collection of traditional folk furniture, and working an imaginary chisel and plane. These photos must've made him unconsciously feel like he was back at his old job. And Nakata-who knows? He might become a great person someday, Hoshino thought. Most people can't do the kinds of things he does. The old codger's definitely in a class all his own.
After twelve, two other readers, middle-aged women, came into the reading room, so Hoshino and Nakata used the opportunity to take a breather outside. Hoshino had brought some bread along for their lunch, while Nakata was lugging around his usual thermos of hot tea. Hoshino first asked Oshima at the counter whether it was all right to eat on the library grounds.
"Of course," Oshima replied. "It's nice to sit on the veranda overlooking the garden. Afterward, feel free to come in for a cup of coffee. I've already made some, so help yourself."
"Thanks," Hoshino said. "This is quite a homey place you have here."
Oshima smiled and brushed back his hair. "It is a little different from your normal library. Homey is a good way to describe it. What we're trying to create is sort of an intimate space where people can relax and enjoy reading."
Hoshino found Oshima an appealing young man. Intelligent, well groomed, obviously from a good family. And quite kind. He's got to be gay, right? Not that Hoshino cared. To each his own, was his thinking. Some men talk with stones, and some sleep with other men. Go figure.
After lunch, Hoshino stood up, stretched his whole body, then went back to the reception area to take Oshima up on his offer of a cup of coffee. Since Nakata didn't drink coffee, he stayed on the veranda sipping his tea and gazing at the birds flitting around the garden.
"So, did you find anything interesting to read?" Oshima asked Hoshino.
"Yeah, I've been reading a biography of Beethoven," Hoshino replied. "I like it. His life really gives you a lot to think about."
Oshima nodded. "He went through a lot-to put it mildly."
"He did have a tough time," Hoshino said, "but I think it was mainly his fault. I mean, he was so self-centered and uncooperative. All he thought about was himself and his music, and he didn't mind sacrificing whatever he had to for it. He must've been tough to get along with. Hey, Ludwig, gimme a break! That's what I would have said if I knew him. No wonder his nephew went off his rocker. But I have to admit his music is wonderful. It really gets to you. It's a strange thing."