Read Online Ghostwritten by David Mitchell - Free Book Online

around the shop. He was laughing as usual. He laughed because he was pleased to see me. He put a little parcel of books down on the counter for me. I always try to pay for them, but he never lets me. He says it’s a jazz disc consultancy fee.
    “Mr. Fujimoto! How’s work today?”
    “Terrible!” Mr. Fujimoto only has one voice, and that is very loud. It’s as though his greatest fear is to not be heard. And when he really laughs the noise almost pushes you backwards.
    The shop is smack bang between the business district of Otemachi and the publishing district around Ochanomizu, so oursalaryman customers usually work in one or the other. You can always tell the difference. There’s a certain look that megamoney bestows on its handlers. A sort of beadiness, and hunger. Hard to put your finger on, but it’s there all right. Money is another of those inner places, by the way. It’s a way to measure yourself.
    The publishing salarymen, however, often have a streak of manic jollity. Mr. Fujimoto is a prime specimen. He puns regularly and appallingly. For example:
    “Afternoon, Satoru-kun! Say, couldn’t you get Takeshi to give this place a new coat of paint? It’s looking kind of run-down.”
    “Do you think so?” I can smell the payoff approaching.
    “Definitely! It’s positively seedy!”
    Uh?
    “Seedy! CD! See-Dee!”
    I wince in genuine pain and Mr. Fujimoto gurgles appreciatively. The worse the better.
    This lunchtime Mr. Fujimoto was looking for something Lee Morgan-ish. I recommended Hank Mobley’s “A Caddy for Daddy,” which he promptly bought. I know his tastes. Anything on the loony side of funky. As I handed over his change he suddenly became serious. He switched to a more formal mode of speech, took off his heavy glasses, and started cleaning the lenses.
    “I was wondering whether you might be planning to apply for college next year?”
    “Not really, no …”
    “So, would you be thinking about entering a particular profession?”
    He’d rehearsed this beforehand. I guessed what was coming. “I don’t really have any plans at the moment. I guess I’ll just wait and see.”
    “Of course, Satoru, it’s absolutely none of my business, and please forgive me for interfering in your plans, but the only reason I’m asking is that a couple of positions in my office have just become available. Very humble. Just glorified editorial assistants, basically, but if you were interested in applying then I’d be happy to recommend you for one of them. Certainly I could get you to the interview stage. And it would be a foot in the door. I startedout myself this way, you know. Everybody needs a step up, occasionally.”
    I looked around the shop.
    “That’s a very generous offer, Mr. Fujimoto. I’m not sure how to answer.”
    “Think it over, Satoru. I’m going to Kyoto for a few days on business. We won’t start interviewing until I get back. I’d be happy to have a word with your present employer on your behalf, if that’s what’s worrying you.… I know Takeshi has a lot of respect for you, so he wouldn’t stand in your way.”
    “No, it’s not really that. Thank you. I’ll think seriously about it. Thank you … How much are the books?”
    “Nothing. Your consultancy fee. They’re just a few samples, we give ’em out free to people in the trade. These pocket paperback classics, they walk off the shelves. I remember you said you enjoyed
The Great Gatsby
—there’s a new Murakami translation of Fitzgerald’s short stories we’ve just brought out,
Lord of the Flies
, that’s a laugh a minute, and a new García Márquez.”
    “It’s very kind of you.”
    “Nonsense! Just give the idea of publishing a serious think. There are worse ways to make a living.”
    I’d thought about the girl every day since. Twenty or thirty or forty times a day. I’d find myself thinking of her and then not want to stop, like not wanting to get out of a hot shower on a winter morning. I ran my fingers