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devote all your energies to writing. We have heard that you are presently writing a
long novel. This would be a perfect opportunity, don’t you think?”
“How do you know I’m writing a long novel?” Tengo asked with a frown.
Ushikawa gave him another toothy grin, but upon closer inspection, Tengo realized
that his eyes were not smiling at all. The glow from them was icy cold.
“Our researchers are eager and capable. They choose a number of candidates and
examine them from every angle. Probably a few people around you know that you are
writing a novel. Word gets out …”
Komatsu knew he was writing a novel, and so did his older girlfriend. Was there
anyone else? Probably not.
“I’d like to ask a few things about your foundation,” Tengo said.
“Please do. Ask anything at all.”
“Where does it get the money it needs to operate?”
“From a certain individual. Or, you might say, from an organization of his.
Realistically speaking—just between us—it also serves as one of his many tax write-
offs. Of course, quite aside from that, this individual has a deep interest in scholarship
and the arts, and he wants to support members of the younger generation. I can’t go
into any more detail here. The person wishes to remain anonymous—and that
includes his organization as well. All day-to-day operations are entrusted to the
foundation’s committee, of which yours truly is, for now, a member.”
Tengo thought about this for a moment, but there really wasn’t that much to think
about. All he did was put the things that Ushikawa had told him in order.
“Would you mind very much if I smoked?” Ushikawa asked.
“Not at all,” Tengo said, pushing a heavy glass ashtray in his direction.
Ushikawa took a box of Seven Stars cigarettes from his breast pocket, put a
cigarette in his mouth, and lit it with a gold lighter. The lighter was slim and
expensive-looking.
“So, what do you say, Mr. Kawana?” Ushikawa asked. “Will you do us the honor
of accepting our grant? Speaking for myself, quite honestly, after having heard your
delightful lecture, I am very much looking forward to seeing what kind of world you
go on to create in your literature.”
“I am very grateful to you for bringing me this offer,” Tengo said. “It’s far more
than I deserve. But I’m afraid I can’t accept it.”
Smoke rose from the cigarette between Ushikawa’s fingers. He looked at Tengo
with his eyes narrowed. “By which you mean …?”
“First of all, I don’t like the idea of taking money from people I hardly know.
Secondly, as things stand now, I don’t really need the money. I have managed well
enough so far by teaching three days a week at the cram school and using the other
days to concentrate on my writing. I’m not ready to change that lifestyle.”
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