The Cat Who Saved Books(41)

“Welcome to Natsuki Books,” said the woman, flexing her fingers slightly. “I hope you enjoyed my little stage production. How was your journey?”

“I’ve come to get Sayo back.”

The woman merely narrowed her eyes.

“I’ve come to get Sayo back,” he repeated, but the woman’s expression didn’t change.

“Really? You’re not as clever as I thought you’d be,” she said, sighing. “You say the most obvious things. No trace of originality whatsoever.”

“‘Guy don’t need no sense to be a nice fella. Seems to me sometimes it jus’ works the other way around. Take a real smart guy and he ain’t hardly ever a nice fella,’” said Rintaro.

“Steinbeck? What did you quote him for?”

“I’d say it’s a very sharp observation. You seem like a real smart one yourself.”

The woman stopped moving her hands and turned her emotionless eyes on Rintaro.

“I take back what I just said. It appears you have a wonderful sense of humor. Inviting you here was apparently worth the effort.”

“You know, I have no idea what your intentions are, but I’ll try to be polite. Thank you for having me.”

“My, you have a shorter temper than rumor would have it. I’d heard you were a nice boy. Not the sort to trade barbs.”

Fair point, thought Rintaro. Even though his heart was racing, his mind was unusually clear. It was powered by his anger.

“I’ll ask you one more time. Let Sayo go. I don’t know what business you have with me, but she has absolutely nothing to do with it.”

“My business with you is straightforward. I just wanted to talk to you,” said the woman.

Rintaro was flummoxed.

“But if you wanted to talk to me, you could have just asked me to come. Why bother kidnapping Sayo? If you have so much spare time on your hands that you can relax on a fancy sofa all day, or lead a horse and carriage around fountains in a park, why can’t you just drop in at Natsuki Books? I’d even treat you to a cup of my grandfather’s Assam tea.”

“Don’t think I haven’t thought about it. But if I turned up out of the blue, would you have taken me seriously?”

“Taken you seriously?” Rintaro asked.

“I want to have a serious conversation. I’m not interested in gut reactions or platitudes or lazy attitudes. I want to observe a young man who truly loves books talking seriously about them.”

The woman raised both corners of her mouth in a smile. It was a beautiful smile—but as cold as ice.

Rintaro shuddered as if a frozen hand had brushed his neck. Then, as if to repress once again that nagging urge to flee, he began to talk.

“I’ll ask you again: Did you take Sayo in order to talk to me?”

“Yes, I did. And looking at you here right now, it looks like I made the right decision.”

Rintaro took a deep breath.

Things were moving at her pace. He didn’t even know if that was a bad thing or not. What he knew for certain was that it wasn’t advisable to let his emotions get the better of him; he needed to think with his head on straight. Especially if the woman wanted to have a serious conversation.

The woman didn’t seem satisfied by Rintaro’s sudden silence. She raised her right hand and indicated that he should sit on the sofa opposite her.

Rintaro didn’t move, so the woman looked at him curiously.

“I see. Well, I believe you’ll be more comfortable sitting here.”

With a snap of her fingers, the plush sofa melted away and was replaced by a small wooden stool. It was the very same battered old stool that Rintaro always sat on back at the bookshop.

Every aspect of her performance had been carefully devised. But there was not a hint of warmth or consideration for the boy who was trying mightily to stay standing. Every one of her actions was quite simply the shortest means to achieving her goal.

Rintaro realized that to fight it was pointless. He sat down on the stool.

“Okay—what do you want me to talk about?”

“So impatient! But I get it, you’re a boy worried about his girlfriend. I forgive you.”

She tossed out the words in a matter-of-fact way.

“Would you care to join me for a little movie?” she asked, snapping her fingers again. A large white projector screen appeared in front of the bookcases to Rintaro’s right.

“Here’s the first one . . .”

As she spoke, an image of a magnificent gate in a long stone wall appeared on the screen. Before Rintaro had time to search his memory for the familiar scene, the camera passed through the gate and on into the mansion beyond. Entering through the traditional Japanese door, it passed through corridors lined with traditional ink paintings, stuffed deer and statues of Venus, and a general mishmash of decorations. Finally, it stopped at the figure of a man sitting on the engawa veranda.

The first time Rintaro had met this man he had been dressed in a brilliant white suit, but now he was wearing a worn shirt and gazed blankly at the garden. The old arrogant overconfidence that had once filled him was gone, and he sat watching the carp swim in the garden pond. By his side were a few books, their covers all creased and wrinkled as if they had been read over and over.

“Look familiar?”

“Yes, it’s the first labyrinth.”