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“In English, my name could be translated as ‘field of savages’—perfect for a
cultural anthropologist, which is what I used to be.” The Professor’s lips formed
something akin to a smile, but his eyes lost none of their attentiveness. “I cut my ties
with the research life a very long time ago, though. Now, I’m doing something
completely different. I’m living in a whole new ‘field of savages.’ ”
To be sure, the Professor’s name was an unusual one, but Tengo found it familiar.
He was fairly certain there had been a famous scholar named Ebisuno in the late
sixties who had published a number of well-received books. He had no idea what the
books were about, but the name, at least, remained in some remote corner of his
memory. Somewhere along the way, though, he had stopped encountering it.
“I think I’ve heard your name before,” Tengo said tentatively.
“Perhaps,” the Professor said, looking off into the distance, as if speaking about
someone not present. “In any case, it would have been a long time ago.”
Tengo could sense the quiet breathing of Fuka-Eri seated next to him—slow, deep
breathing.
“Tengo Kawana,” the Professor said as if reading a name tag.
“That’s right,” Tengo said.
“You majored in mathematics in college, and now you teach math at a cram school
in Yoyogi,” the Professor said. “But you also write fiction. That’s what Eri tells me. Is
that about right?”
“Yes, it is,” Tengo said.
“You don’t look like a math teacher. You don’t look like a writer, either.”
Tengo gave him a strained smile and said, “Somebody said exactly the same thing
to me the other day. It’s probably my build.”
“I didn’t mean it in a bad sense,” the Professor said, pressing back the bridge of his
black-framed glasses. “There’s nothing wrong with not looking like something. It just
means you don’t fit the stereotype yet.”
“I’m honored to have you say that. I’m not a writer yet. I’m still just trying to write
fiction.”
“Trying.”
“It’s still trial and error for me.”
“I see,” the Professor said. Then, as if he had just noticed the chilliness of the
room, he rubbed his hands together. “I’ve also heard that you’re going to be revising
the novella that Eri wrote in the hopes that she can win a literary magazine’s new
writers’ prize. You’re planning to sell her to the public as a writer. Is my
interpretation correct?”
“That is basically correct,” Tengo said. “An editor named Komatsu came up with
the idea. I don’t know if the plan is going to work or not. Or whether it’s even ethical.
My only role is to revise the style of the work,
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