The Cat Who Saved Books(11)

He paused a moment, then turned to look the man straight in the eye.

“People who truly love books don’t treat them this way.”

Into his mind had slipped a memory of his grandpa, smiling contentedly as he read one of his favorites over and over until it fell apart. He’d been completely absorbed in every story.

Rintaro’s grandpa had always handled the books in his store with the greatest of care, but that didn’t mean he treated them as decorations. He hadn’t been obsessed with having some sort of gorgeous exhibition—he had concentrated on creating a well-maintained space filled with the kind of books people wanted to reach out and pick up, no matter how old or well-worn they might be. That was what had made Rintaro a reader.

Rintaro repeated something his grandpa had told him that had always stuck with him.

“It’s good to read lots of books, but make no mistake . . .”

The man in the white suit flinched again, but he didn’t speak. In the silence, Rintaro found his memories turning ever more fluidly into words.

“. . . Books have tremendous power. But take care. It’s the book that holds the power, not you.”

That’s what his grandpa had said back when Rintaro was skipping school and spending his days frenziedly raiding the shelves of Natsuki Books. Rintaro would shut himself away between the walls of books, immersed in the world of letters and gradually losing all interest in the outside world. The normally taciturn old man would warn his grandson: “It’s not true that the more you read, the more you see of the world. No matter how much knowledge you cram into your head, unless you think with your own mind, walk with your own feet, the knowledge you acquire will never be anything more than empty and borrowed.”

Rintaro would respond with a shrug, but his grandpa calmly continued:

“Books can’t live your life for you. The reader who forgets to walk on his own two feet is like an old encyclopedia, his head stuffed with out-of-date information. Unless someone else opens it up, it’s nothing but a useless antique.”

The old man gently ruffled the boy’s hair.

“Do you want to end up a walking encyclopedia?” he teased.

Rintaro couldn’t recall how he’d answered. But he did remember it wasn’t long after that that he started going to school again.

Even so, he still tended to burrow himself completely in the world of books. His grandpa would sit there, sipping at his cup of tea, and issue him the occasional reminder: “It’s all very well to read a book, but when you’ve finished, it’s time to set foot in the world.”

It finally occurred to Rintaro that this was his grandpa’s awkward way of encouraging him, of guiding him—he had done his best.

The man in white broke into Rintaro’s thoughts.

“But that’s how I’ve elevated my status—by collecting all these books. The more books you have, the more powerful you are. That’s how I got to where I am.”

“And is that why you’ve imprisoned them? To show them off as if their power belongs entirely to you?” Rintaro said.

“What are you talking about?”

“You think you’re so impressive—you built this ridiculous, pretentious showroom just so that everyone can see how many books you’ve read.”

“Shut up!”

The man couldn’t sit still any longer. Abandoning all pretense of reading his book, he glared angrily at Rintaro.

“What would a brat like you know?”

Beads of sweat had appeared on his forehead.

“Who does society value more—the man who reads the same book ten times, or the one who reads ten books once each?” he went on. “Obviously, the more books you read, the more respect you get. The more well-read you are, the more fascinating and attractive people find you. Am I wrong?”

“I couldn’t tell you if you’re right or wrong. But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“What?” The man was totally confused.

“What society demands, what kind of people get respect—I’m not talking about any of that.”

“So what are you—”

“All I’m saying is that you don’t love books. The only thing you love is yourself. As I think I already mentioned, people who truly love books don’t treat them this way.”

Once again, a deep silence fell over the room. The man seemed to have turned to stone. He didn’t move from his spot in the chair; his hands still grasped his open book. Previously so stuck up and arrogant, it looked as if he had shrunk a whole size smaller.

The slight breeze dropped away, and the room became still. Rintaro turned to see that the fusuma door had closed again.

“Do y—”

The man opened his mouth to speak, but stopped again right away. The room was quiet again as he searched for the right words. Finally, he seemed to settle on a phrase.

“Do you love books?”

It wasn’t the abruptness of the question that surprised Rintaro. It was the sincere light that radiated from the man’s eyes. It was such a difference from the coldness, the overbearing attitude he had demonstrated until now. It was a light that showed a new kind of consideration, along with a deep sense of loneliness.

“Despite everything, do you still love books?”

The phrase “despite everything” held so much meaning. Rintaro took a moment to consider all its implications.