Work in a library.
But how to find that kind of job? For years I had been in charge of book distribution, but libraries were handled by a specialty division, and I had almost nothing to do with them. And after I graduated from college, I don’t think I’ve ever used any place you could call a library.
Just a rough estimate on my part, but if you put together all the facilities that fell into the category of library, big and small, public and private, there must be several thousand of them operating, in Japan. (Hmm…am I overestimating? I don’t know.) Among all those libraries, which would be the right fit, the kind of library I was looking for? And would that library have a position for me?
I hauled out my computer for the first time in ages and searched online for libraries. I stopped by libraries in my neighborhood, perusing specialized materials regarding libraries. But I couldn’t find the kind of information I was looking for. Everything I found out was either too vague and broad, or focused on practical details. One or the other.
After wasting a week in this pointless exercise, I gave up trying to get information from outside sources and went back to the information my own memories provided. That lengthy dream I had—what kind of library did I see there? What kind of place did my imagination suggest?
I reread the notes I’d taken right after waking up, mentally reconstructing the library from my dream. I retraced my memories to see if that place provided any hints. The voices of the people talking, the posters on the walls…but I couldn’t make these out. The people were silent (it was a library, after all), and the fine print on the posters was too far away to read. For some reason, though, I knew this place was far from Tokyo. I could sense that from the way the air felt.
I focused on the room where I’d been working in the dream, studying it carefully again, so as not to overlook anything.
It was a rectangular room that went back quite a ways, with a wooden floor and a large old area rug that was getting threadbare in spots (though it might have been quite wonderful back when it was new). On the wall in back were three vertical windows, with the same antique brass fittings as the windows in the hallway. Fluorescent lights on the ceiling. On top of the office desk along the wall, which faced forward, was an old desk lamp, a document tray, a daily calendar, an old-fashioned black phone, a ceramic pen holder, a glass ashtray that seemed to never have been used (now a receptacle for paper clips), and, on one corner, that navy-blue beret. Near the front door were four chairs and a low table. And a coatrack. All of them quite plain. A classic clock topped a wooden cabinet. No computer in sight. That was it. Nothing to give a hint of location.
Sunlight slanted in through the windows, but the faded curtains were drawn, and I couldn’t see what lay outside. There was a calendar on the wall, with a photo of a mountain and a lake. The mountain was reflected in the surface of the lake. But I couldn’t make out what month it was. I couldn’t tell where that mountain and lake were located. A lovely scene, but basically the typical kind of mountain and lake you might find in any tourist spot. From the scenery on the calendar, though, I guessed that this place was somewhere inland.
Of course it wasn’t a given that the photo on the calendar depicted scenery near the library, but the quality of the light shining in through the window, and the air I breathed, told me this library wasn’t located near the sea but somewhere in a mountain valley. And I felt—it was nothing more than a personal impression—that a beret would suit a mountainous region more than near the sea.
That was the extent of the information I could glean from retracing my dream. I could recall all the details of that scene very clearly but had no idea what the name of the library was, or where to find it.
I needed someone’s help—the expertise of a specialist.
I called the company I’d worked at until recently and asked to speak to a man I knew from the library division. Oki was his name. He’d been three years behind me in college. We weren’t particularly close, but we’d gone out drinking a few times after work. He was the quiet type, not so friendly, but someone I felt I could trust. He could really hold his liquor, and his face never showed it, no matter how much he put away.
“Hello, how are you?” Oki asked. “To tell the truth, I was pretty surprised that you quit so suddenly.”
I apologized for not dropping by to say good-bye when I retired. There were personal reasons, I explained. Oki didn’t ask any more and didn’t say anything. He waited for me to tell him why I’d called.
“I wanted to ask you a little about libraries.”
“If I can help, I’d be happy to.”
“The thing is, I’m thinking of working at a library.”
Oki was silent, then said, “What type of library did you happen to have in mind?”
“If possible, a smaller library in a regional town, a library that isn’t so big. I don’t care if it’s far away from Tokyo. I’m single, so I can move anywhere.”
“A small, regional library…well, that covers a lot of territory, doesn’t it.”
“My personal preference would be for something inland rather than near the sea.”
Oki laughed. “What an odd wish. But I get it. Let me check things out and get back to you. It might take a while. But even if you count only regional libraries, there are tons of them. Even if you only include ones that are inland.”
“I have plenty of time.”
“Do you have any other preferences?”
I wanted to tell him I’d prefer a place with a woodstove, but of course I didn’t. There were probably no libraries nowadays that had woodstoves.
“Not particularly. As long as I can work there.”
“By the way, do you have the qualifications to be a librarian?”
“No, I don’t. Do I have to?”
“Not necessarily,” Oki said. “It’ll depend on the size of the library and the type of work. Maybe I shouldn’t say this, but positions like that won’t pay well. It’ll be a pittance, like you’re a volunteer. You don’t mind that?”
“I don’t. I’m doing okay financially.”
“Alright. I’ll look into it and get back to you.”
I told him my home phone number, thanked him, and hung up.
I felt surprisingly relieved to leave it all in Oki’s hands. No guarantee what results we’d get, but the simple fact that things were moving ahead felt like a fresh breath of wind. At long last I got out of bed and started to get going physically, at least gradually. I cleaned my apartment, washed the sheets, went shopping, and cooked meals. I organized my clothes and books so I could move out quickly, and donated things I didn’t need to a local organization. I didn’t own all that much to begin with, but all these little tasks kept me busy, kept my thoughts from swirling around in my head too much, at least during the day.
Yet when night fell and I was in bed with my eyes closed, my heart returned to that town surrounded by a high wall. I couldn’t stop it (not that I tried very hard). There a light autumn rain fell without stop, and she wore an oversized yellow raincoat that made a rustling sound every time she walked beside me. In that town my shadow could talk. Like he was my alter ego. It came back to me so vividly—the flavor of the thick herbal tea, the sweet taste of the apple dish she made.
The call came in from Oki a week later, after eight o’clock one night. I was seated, reading a book, but sprang to my feet at the phone suddenly ringing. It was so still around me, and it had been ages since the phone rang.
Hello, I said, my tone dry, my heart pounding.
“Hello. Oki here.”
“Ah.”
“Is that you? Your voice sounds different.”
“My throat’s been feeling a bit weird,” I said, coughing lightly, and clearing my throat.
“It’s about jobs at libraries,” Oki began. “It wasn’t so easy. To be a staff member at a public library, an official, public position, in most cases you need the necessary qualifications, or experience working in libraries. Becoming a civil servant midcareer isn’t easy. But you’ve worked for years in a job related to books and you have plenty of specialized knowledge, so I’m sure you’d have no trouble handling the work. There were several libraries looking for people with that kind of background. It would be hard to be hired as an official library staff member, but they’d welcome a person in a more versatile position.”
“So there are possibilities if it’s not full-time employment.”
“You could say that. Honestly the pay won’t be much, and don’t expect any benefits. But if they think you’re doing a good job, they might hire you full-time.”
I gave it some thought. “I don’t mind if it isn’t full-time, or if the pay’s low. As long as I can work in a library. So if you find any position that I’d fit could you let me know?”
“If you’re fine with that, I’ll look for some. I already have a few potential candidates. In a couple days I’ll show you a list of their locations and specifics. It might be better to meet and talk directly rather than over the phone.”
We decided to meet in three days and set a time and place.
Oki gave me a list of four regional libraries that were looking to hire. They were in Oita, Shimane, Fukushima, and Miyagi Prefectures, and three of them were run by larger cities, while one was a smaller town library. The conditions were all about the same, but for some reason I was intrigued by the town library in Fukushima. I’d never heard of the town before, but according to Oki, Z** wasn’t far from the city of Aizu. At the Aizuwakamatsu station you changed to a local rail line, and it took about an hour from there. The population was around fifteen thousand. Like many regional towns, its population had steadily decreased over the past two decades as young people moved to cities to seek better educational and work opportunities. Also, of the candidates on the list Z** was the farthest from the sea, and the smallest library. The town was in a small basin surrounded by mountains, with a river ringing the town.
“This library in Fukushima looks interesting,” I said after looking through the list.
“So would you like to go there to be interviewed?” Oki asked. “If you’d like, I could arrange for an interview. You should do it soon. They’re advertising for a head librarian, so could you send me your résumé before they decide on anyone else?”
I have it ready, I said. I passed a copy, in an envelope, to Oki, and he stowed it away in his leather briefcase.
“To tell the truth,” he said, “I also thought that Fukushima library might suit you best.”
“How so?”
“Officially it’s a town-run library, but the town isn’t actually involved in its operation. So you can avoid all the complications you’d have with being a local government employee.”
“It’s a town library but the town doesn’t run it?”
“That’s right.”
“So who does operate it?”
“Agriculture’s the only industry in the town, and there aren’t any tourist attractions. A small onsen hot springs is nearby, but that’s all. And the local government is, like many others, chronically underfunded. Maintaining a town library is hard for them, with the building aging and fire code problems, and at one time they thought of closing it for good. But the owner of a sake brewery insisted that a library is a necessary cultural facility and that losing it would hurt the town, so ten years ago he created a fund and invested enough to keep the library up and running. The library moved to a new place, and when it did, the town used that as the opportunity to officially delegate the operation to that entity. I couldn’t find out any more details beyond that. If you’d like, you can ask people directly when you get there.”
I’ll do that, I said.
“You’d describe it now as a library that’s been privatized,” Oki said. “I think it might be easier for you to work in a place like that. I haven’t actually been there, but I get the sense it’s a sort of laid-back area.”
Two days later Oki contacted me again to say that I could visit the library on any day that was convenient for me, other than a Monday, at three p.m.
“A day convenient for me?” I asked.
“You can choose the day. They said they can see you any day.”
I found that odd but had no reason to complain.
“And they’ll interview me there?”
“I would think so,” Oki said. “They seemed surprised that someone like you, in the prime of your life, with such a solid work background, would come all the way from Tokyo to apply, but I did my best to explain it to them. Said you’re getting tired of the rat race in Tokyo, and so on.”
“Thank you for all your kindness. I really appreciate it,” I said.
After a moment he said, “Maybe I shouldn’t say this, but I always felt there was something unusual about you. Unpredictable, perhaps, or hard to fathom…and the same goes for all this. Why leave your job so suddenly, and take some sketchy job in a remote library? Frankly, I don’t get it. But you must have your reasons. Someday I’d love to hear the whole story, if you feel like sharing.” He cleared his throat. “At any rate, I hope your life in this new place will be rewarding.”
“Thanks,” I said. Then I ventured to ask, “By the way, have you ever worried about your shadow?”
“My shadow? You’re talking about the dark shadow I cast?” On the other end of the phone Oki thought this over for a while. “No, can’t say I ever have.”
“I can’t help worrying about mine. Especially these days. I feel a sort of sense of responsibility, as a person, toward my shadow. Like whether I’ve been treating him right, or fairly.”
“Has…this been one of the reasons for you changing jobs?”
“It could be.”
Oki fell silent again, and then said, “I understand…Well, honestly, I’m not sure I totally get it, but I’ll think a bit more about my shadow. About what’s right, and fair.”