The Cat Who Saved Books(33)

“Stop it,” Rintaro said.

“No. I’m not done yet.”

There was no emotion whatsoever in the president’s voice. The room temperature suddenly dropped by several degrees. A chill ran through Rintaro, although his forehead had broken out in sweat.

The president adjusted his chair and watched Rintaro from an angle.

“There’s a big difference between the books you value and the ones that the rest of society wants,” he said with pity in his eyes. “Think back—did you ever really have customers at Natsuki Books? Who even reads Proust or Romain Rolland nowadays? Would anyone cough up their hard-earned money to buy books like those? You know what most readers are looking for in a book? Something easy, cheap, and exciting. We have no choice but to adapt the form of books to suit those readers’ tastes.”

“That’s really . . . Then, in that case . . .”

Rintaro searched desperately for the right words.

“Books just keep losing weight.”

“Books losing weight? That’s an interesting way of putting it. But poetic turns of phrase don’t help with book sales.”

“It’s not all about sales. At least my grandpa believed in what he did and kept true to his beliefs till the end.”

“So we should stock books that don’t sell, so that World’s Best Books can die along with all the world’s greatest works of literature? Just like Natsuki Books did?”

Rintaro glared back at the president. Glaring was all he could do.

“Nobody’s interested in truth or ethics or philosophy. People are worn out from living. All they want is either to be stimulated or healed. The only way for books to survive in such a world is for them to metamorphose. Dare I say it? Sales are everything. No matter how great a masterpiece, if a work doesn’t sell it vanishes.”

Rintaro felt slightly dizzy and put his hand to his forehead. He touched the rim of his glasses, but as usual, no coherent thought came to him. The words he was hearing were too far beyond anything he could have imagined. He knew he could talk to his heart’s content about the value and appeal of books. But to this man before him, books had a completely different value—one that Rintaro had never considered. This man lived in a whole other world.

“It’s okay, Natsuki.”

It was Sayo’s voice. He felt her strong presence by his side. Sayo had stepped up and had taken a firm grip of his left arm.

“You’re okay.”

“I don’t feel okay, though.”

“But you are.”

She glared at the man behind the desk.

“Everything he’s saying is wrong. I’m certain of it.”

“Yeah, but his logic makes sense.”

“This isn’t about logic,” she said decisively. “I don’t know anything about that. What I can say is that he sounds like he doesn’t even believe half the things he’s telling you.”

Rintaro turned his head to look at Sayo. And in that moment, he recalled the tabby cat’s words: “This labyrinth runs on the power of truth . . . But not everything he says is true . . . There’s got to be a lie in there somewhere.”

Yes, that’s right, thought Rintaro. He had been overwhelmed by how extreme the man’s words had been. But something about them didn’t quite add up.

Once again, Rintaro reached up and touched his glasses frame.

“Thinking won’t help you, Rintaro Natsuki,” said the president serenely, his words accompanied by a thick cloud of cigarette smoke. “You’re still young. There are realities of life that you don’t want to accept. I, on the other hand, am intimately familiar with how the world works. Your feelings about a book don’t determine its value. The number of copies in circulation does. In other words, in our society it is the banknote that is the arbiter of value. Those who forget this rule and try to embrace something idealistic have no choice but to drop out of society altogether. It truly is a shame.”

The president spoke like a preacher—his speeches resembled sermons. It was a blatant attempt to gaslight Rintaro, to throw his chain of thought out of whack. However, Sayo’s grip on his arm was firm, as if to offer support.

As the president quietly chuckled to himself, Rintaro thought furiously.

He thought and thought, and then finally stepped forward. The president’s laughter and his thick cigarette smoke had formed a kind of fog in the air, but Rintaro seemed to cut his way through the fog. He didn’t falter.

“It’s true that Natsuki Books isn’t your average secondhand bookshop.”

Rintaro looked at his formidable adversary behind his grand desk.

“We don’t have many customers and we don’t sell that many books. But it’s a very special place.”

“Yes, there’s a word for that—despair,” said the president, shaking his head. “And it’s the perfect word for my current state of mind. Really, your personal sentiments are of no concern to me.”

“But it’s not personal. Every single customer who came in the door felt the same way I do. That little used bookshop was filled with my grandfather’s thoughts and feelings—anyone who stepped over the threshold could feel them. And that’s what made it special.”

“Well, that’s vague. Nobody’s going to be convinced by an abstract argument like that. Would you mind being a bit more specific about your grandfather’s thoughts and feelings?”