Other than some light fiction she read to pass the time, Miu hardly ever touched novels. “I never can get it out of my mind that’s it’s all made up,” she explained, “so I just can’t feel any empathy for the characters. I’ve always been that way.” That’s why her reading was limited to books that treated reality as reality. Books, for the most part, that helped her in her work. What kind of work do you do? asked Sumire.
“Mostly it has to do with foreign countries,” said Miu.
“Thirteen years ago I took over my father’s trading company, since I was the oldest child. I’d been studying to be a pianist, but my father passed away from cancer, my mother wasn’t strong physically and besides couldn’t speak Japanese very well. My brother was still in high school, so we decided, for the time being, that I’d take care of the company. A number of relatives depended on the company for their livelihood, so I
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couldn’t very well just let the company go to pot.”
She punctuated all this with a sigh.
“My father’s company originally imported dried goods and medicinal herbs from Korea, but now it deals with a wide variety of things. Even computer parts. I’m still officially listed as the head of the company, but my husband and younger brother have taken over so I don’t have to go to the office very often. Instead I’ve got my own private business.”
“Doing what?”
“Importing wine, mainly. Occasionally I arrange concerts, too. I travel to Europe quite a bit, since this type of business depends on personal connections. Which is why I’m able, all by myself, to compete with some top firms. But all that networking takes a lot of time and energy. That’s only to be expected, I suppose… ” She looked up, as if she had just remembered something. “By the way, do you speak English?”
“Speaking English isn’t my strong suit, but I’m okay, I guess. I love to read English, though.”
“Do you know how to use a computer?”
“Not really, but I’ve been using a word processor, and I’m sure I could pick it up.”
“How about driving?”
Sumire shook her head. The year she started college she tried reversing her father’s Volvo estate into the garage and smashed the door on a pillar. Since then she’d barely driven.
“All right—can you explain, in 200 words or less, the difference between a sign and a symbol?”
Sumire lifted the napkin from her lap, lightly dabbed at her mouth, and put it back. What was the woman driving at? “A sign and a symbol?”
“No special significance. It’s just an example.”
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Again Sumire shook her head. “I have no idea.”
Miu smiled. “If you don’t mind, I’d like you to tell me what sort of practical skills you have. What you’re especially good at. Other than reading a lot of novels and listening to music.”
Sumire quietly laid her knife and fork on her plate, stared at the anonymous space hanging over the table, and pondered the question.
“Instead of things I’m good at, it might be faster to list the things I
Sumire took a quick breath and forged ahead.
“However, I can touch-type really fast. I’m not that athletic, but other than the mumps, I’ve never been sick a day in my life. I’m always punctual, never late for an appointment. I can eat just about anything. I never watch TV. And other than a bit of silly boasting, I hardly ever make excuses. Once a month or so my shoulders get so stiff I can’t sleep, but the rest of the time I sleep like a log. My periods are light. I don’t have a single cavity. And my Spanish is okay.”
Miu looked up. “You speak Spanish?”
When Sumire was in high school, she spent a month in the home of her uncle, a businessman who’d been stationed in Mexico City. Making the most of the opportunity, she’d studied Spanish intensively. She had taken Spanish in college, too.
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Miu grasped the stem of her wineglass between two fingers and lightly turned it, as if turning a screw on a machine. “What would you think about working at my place for a while?”
