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the budding youth who will carry the next generation on their shoulders in all fields of
Japan’s contemporary culture. We contract with specialists to propose candidates for
us in each category. We choose five artists and scholars each year and provide them
with grants. They can do anything they like for one year, no strings attached. All we
ask is that they submit a simple report at the end of their year—a mere formality—
outlining their
activities and results, to be included in the foundation’s magazine.
Nothing more burdensome than that. We have just begun this activity, so the
important thing for us is to produce tangible results. We are, in other words, still in
the seed-planting stage. In concrete terms, what this means is that we will provide
each recipient with an annual stipend of three million yen.”
“Very generous,” Tengo said.
“It takes both time and money to build up or discover something important. Of
course, time and money are not in themselves a guarantee of great results, but they
can’t hurt. The total amount of time available is especially limited.
The clock is
ticking as we speak. Time rushes past. Opportunities are lost right and left. If you
have money, you can buy time. You can even buy freedom if you want. Time and
freedom: those are the most important things that people can buy with money.”
Hearing this, Tengo almost reflexively glanced at his watch. True, time was ticking
past without a letup.
“Sorry for taking so much of your time,” Ushikawa added, obviously interpreting
Tengo’s gesture as a demonstration of his own argument. “Let me be quick about this.
These days, of course, a mere three million yen is not going to enable a lavish
lifestyle, but it ought to help a young person pay the bills very nicely. Which is our
basic purpose: to make it possible for recipients to spend a full year
concentrating on
their research or creative projects without struggling to support themselves. And if the
governing board determines at the end-of-year evaluation that the person produced
noteworthy results during the period, the possibility remains for the stipend to be
extended beyond the single year.”
Tengo said nothing but waited for Ushikawa to continue.
“The other day I took the liberty of listening to you lecture for a full hour here at
the cram school, Mr. Kawana. Believe me,
I found it
very
interesting. I am a total
outsider when it comes to mathematics, or should I say I’ve always been terrible at it
and absolutely hated math class in school. I just had to hear the word ‘mathematics’ to
start writhing in agony and to run away as far as I could. But your lecture, Mr.
Kawana, was utterly enjoyable. Of course, I didn’t understand a thing about the logic
of calculus, but just listening to you speak about it, I thought, if it’s really so
interesting, I ought to start studying math. You can be proud of yourself. You have a
special talent—a
talent for drawing people in, should I say. I had heard that you were
a popular teacher, and I could see why.”
Tengo had no idea when or where Ushikawa could have heard him lecture. He
always paid close attention to who was in the room when he was teaching, and though
he had not memorized every student’s face, he could never have missed anyone as
strange-looking as Ushikawa, who would have stood out like a centipede in a sugar
bowl. He decided
not to pursue the matter, however, which would only have
prolonged a conversation that was already too long.
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“As you must know, Mr. Ushikawa, I’m just an employee here, somebody the
cram school hires to teach a few courses,” Tengo began, anxious to waste as little
time as possible. “I don’t do any original research in mathematics. I just take
knowledge that is already out there and explain it to students as simply and
entertainingly as I can. All I’m doing is teaching them more effective methods for
solving problems on college placement tests. I may have a certain talent for that, but I
gave up the idea of being a professional researcher in the field a long time ago. For
one thing, I couldn’t afford
to stay in school any longer, and I never thought I had the
aptitude or the ability to make a name for myself in the academic world. In that sense,
I’m just not the kind of person you’re looking for.”
Ushikawa hurriedly raised his hand. “No, that’s not what I’m getting at at all. I’m
sorry, I might have made this more complicated than it has to be. It’s true that your
math lectures are interesting and unique and original. But I didn’t come here today
about that. What we have our eye on, Mr. Kawana, is your activity as a novelist.”
Tengo was so unprepared for this that he was momentarily at a loss for words.
“My activity as a novelist?”
“Exactly.”
“I don’t understand. It’s true, I’ve been writing fiction for several years, but
nothing of mine has ever been published. You can’t call someone like that a novelist.
How could I have possibly attracted your attention?”
At Tengo’s reaction, Ushikawa smiled in great delight, revealing a mouthful of
horribly crooked teeth. Like seaside pilings that
had been hit by huge waves, they
pointed off in all directions and were befouled in a great many ways.
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