“We came here because we heard you have lots of books imprisoned.”
“You shouldn’t believe everything you hear. See for yourself. I just have one copy of each book that I’ve read. I’m taking great care of them.”
“Each book that you’ve read? Are all the books here ones you’ve already read?”
“Naturally.” He gestured around the cavernous hall. “From the first bookcase by the door where you came in, all the way to where I’m sitting now—fifty-seven thousand six hundred and twenty-two books. That’s the number I have read thus far.”
“Fifty-seven thousand—”
The man gave a half smile.
“It’s not that shocking. All the intellectual leaders of our time, such as myself, are constantly reading. It’s vital for us always to be brushing up on our philosophy and expanding our knowledge. Books have made me the man I am today. They’re my dear companions. And thus, I’m completely bewildered by you two, coming here with your false accusations.”
He nonchalantly uncrossed his long legs and shot the boy a look. Rintaro was hit by a seething wave of self-importance and pride so strong he thought it would knock him off his feet. Nevertheless, he stood his ground—Rintaro was genuinely perplexed.
“But then why are you keeping your books like that?”
The glass cases were all tightly shut, their handles padlocked together. Rintaro still didn’t understand the exact meaning of the cat’s words—“books that have been imprisoned”—but he did know that this was no way to display books. The cases were beautiful but suffocating.
“It’s unnatural,” Rintaro said.
The man frowned.
“These books are important to me. I love books. What’s unnatural about guarding your treasure?”
“Because you’re treating them like museum pieces. Putting a great big padlock on them like that—they’re your books but you can’t even get to them.”
“Get to them? Why would I want to do that? I’ve already read them.”
Now Rintaro was even more confused than the man.
“You’re done after reading them once? You don’t want to reread—”
“Reread them? Are you an idiot?”
The words reverberated through the great hall. The man in the white suit reached out a long, slender finger and gently touched the glass of the nearest display case.
“Haven’t you been listening to anything I’ve said? I’m too busy reading new books. It’s already difficult enough to reach my monthly quota. I don’t have spare time to reread things.”
“So you never reread your books?” said Rintaro, taken aback.
“Of course not.” The man seemed genuinely shocked. He shook his head.
“I’m going to have to chalk your stupidity up to your age. Otherwise, the inanity of these last three minutes is going to throw me into despair. The world is full of books, you agree? It’s impossible to count the number of books that have been, and are still being, written. To find the time to read the same books over again—well, it’s just inconceivable.”
The words echoed hollowly in the cavernous space. Rintaro began to feel light-headed and queasy.
“The world is full of ‘readers,’” the man went on. “But a person of my standing is required to read far more books than the average reader. Someone who has read twenty thousand books is much more valuable than someone who has read only ten thousand. And so why would I reread the same book when there are still piles of books that need to be read? Out of the question! Ridiculous waste of time!”