The Cat Who Saved Books(7)

They walked across the neat flagstones, passed through the latticed front door, and took off their shoes at the genkan entrance foyer. Then they stepped up into a corridor with a polished wood floor. This led into the engawa veranda that surrounded the house, which in turn led into a kind of connecting bridge that took them over toward an annex building.

From the connecting bridge they could see extensive Japanese-style gardens. Birds chirped in the trees, and the neatly pruned azalea bushes were in full flower—once again, blooming out of season.

“Didn’t you say the house would be modest?” said Rintaro.

“I was speaking allegorically. Stop prattling on. Save your breath.”

Rintaro and the cat were whispering furiously to each other, but the woman leading the way didn’t say a single word.

As they walked, the scenery began to change. What had at first appeared to be a traditional Japanese residence underwent a very bizarre transformation.

First, the wooden veranda became a marble staircase, and the extensive gardens that at one moment they had been viewing from the balustrade of a Chinese arched bridge suddenly became those of a Western palace, dotted with exquisite stone fountains and nude statues. And just ahead, beyond Japanese fusuma paper doors painted with delicate bamboo designs, they could see glittering chandeliers and brightly painted vases sitting on art deco tea tables.

“I don’t know about you but I’m getting a headache,” said Rintaro.

“Same here.”

It was the first time the cat had ever agreed with him.

“It’s like they threw a whole bunch of stuff from all over the world together in one place,” Rintaro continued.

“It looks like it’s full, but in fact it’s empty.”

The cat’s response was very Zen.

“There’s no philosophy behind it and no taste. No matter how rich and wonderful it all looks on the outside, when you take off the lid and look inside there’s nothing but a jumble of borrowed junk. It’s the worst kind of ignorance.”

“I think that’s going too far,” said Rintaro.

“I’m just telling it like it is. And anyway, it’s really common. You see it everywhere, every day.”

“This mansion,” said the woman, gently interrupting the cat, “has been decorated to reflect my husband’s rich and varied wealth of experiences and excellent judgment. I imagine it may be beyond your understanding.”

For a split second, Rintaro thought this was some kind of joke. The woman was walking ahead so he couldn’t see her face, but then he realized she sounded far from amused.

There was a strange tension in the air as they advanced farther and farther into the residence. Corridors, staircases, connecting verandas—the distance they were covering was extraordinary. And all the while they passed ivory carvings mixed in among Japanese ink paintings, statues of Venus, katana swords. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason behind the arrangement of any of these ornaments.

The direction they were moving seemed to change without warning, so that they had absolutely no idea where they were in the midst of the chaos.

From time to time, the woman would turn and call over her shoulder, “Are you all right?” Rintaro and his tabby friend had no choice but to nod and follow.

“Even if we were told to leave now, I’m not sure that I would be able to find my way back,” whispered Rintaro.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Proprietor,” said the cat, glancing up at the boy. “I have no idea how to get out of here either.”

As usual, the cat didn’t sugarcoat the truth.

At last, they came to the end of their long journey. They walked down one final, red-carpeted corridor, at the far end of which was a checkered fusuma sliding door. The woman stopped in front of it.

“Thank you for your patience,” she said, placing her hand lightly on the door. It slid open. Rintaro’s eyes grew wide as he took in the contents of the room beyond.

It was a massive hall, its walls, floor, and ceiling all painted white. The whiteness made it impossible to gauge the exact size of the space, but at the very least Rintaro could tell that it was unlike anything he had seen before. The ceiling was as high as a school gymnasium’s, and the walls seemed to go on forever.

The hall was filled with neat rows of white-painted display cases. Each of these glass-fronted cases was taller than Rintaro and arranged in what must have been around twenty rows, all perfectly aligned. But even though the start of each row was visible, they stretched farther back than the eye could see.

However, what amazed Rintaro more than anything wasn’t the size or the number of these display cases; it was their contents. Every single case was filled with books. Every shelf of every case was stuffed full. He couldn’t tell exactly how many of these giant bookcases there were, or the total number of books being stored here, but one thing he knew: the figure must be mind-boggling.

“Wow!”

He began to walk down one of the rows of cases. It was breathtaking. There was a huge variety of books from all different periods. Literature, philosophy, poetry, collections of letters, diaries—every genre you could imagine. The quality and the number were overwhelming.

And yet every single book appeared to be brand new. There was not a mark to be seen on any of them—they were beautiful.

“I’ve never seen such an amazing collection,” said Rintaro.