“But . . .”
Still clutching the scissors, the scholar let out a strangled voice.
“These days people have forgotten how to sit and read a book. Don’t you think that synopses and speed-reading are what our modern society demands?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care.”
At this unexpectedly aggressive response, the scholar’s beady eyes widened.
“I simply love books.”
Rintaro paused to look at his adversary.
“It doesn’t matter how much society might demand it. I object to cutting up books.”
At some point, the musical performance had come to an end. All that could be heard was the slight rattle of the cassette tape turning. Without the music dominating the air of the study, the strange mechanical sound echoed through the room. The scholar looked down at the desk.
“I love books, too,” he mumbled.
Rintaro gave him a small nod. He felt no ill will for the man in front of him. No human being who genuinely hated books would have come up with a plan like this. And there were grains of truth mixed in with his words. He wanted to preserve books. He wanted them to reach as many people as possible. Someone who thought this way didn’t hate books at all. However . . .
“And yet here you are shredding them!” Rintaro couldn’t help himself. “And you’re telling me you’re a person who loves books?”
The scholar raised an eyebrow, before taking a deep sigh.
“I don’t appreciate being spoken to that way.”
With a hint of a smile, he raised his right hand. The scissors immediately vanished in a flash of light. Simultaneously, there was a great fluttering sound, as the scraps of paper that had been piled on the desk leapt up and began to dance through the air.
Startled, Rintaro backed up a few paces.
As more and more scraps of paper joined the dance, the view quickly became a paper blizzard. Rintaro watched as the whirling scraps and shreds began to overlap here and there, connecting with one another, before gradually taking on the form of complete books.
In the midst of it all stood the scholar, utterly dejected. Seeing how forlorn his adversary looked, Rintaro picked up a reconstituted book from the desktop and offered it to him. The scholar looked at the cover.
“‘Run, Melos!’ . . .”
“I like that story, too. Why don’t you read it aloud to yourself once in a while? It’ll take a while, but I’m sure you won’t regret it.”
The scholar took the slim volume and stared at it. Meanwhile, the paper snowstorm continued to gather momentum. Books were returning to their original form and slipping from the blizzard to settle into their places on the bookshelves. It was a magnificent sight; from plain simple paperbacks to opulent, leather-bound volumes—one after the other books were taking up their rightful places.
Rintaro had barely noticed, but the room began to fill with a soft light, and the notes of “Ode to Joy” began to play. He glanced at the boom box but the little wheels of the cassette tape were no longer turning. It was the scholar—he was humming.
Bobbing his head happily along to the music with “Run, Melos!” in hand, the scholar unbuttoned his white coat and casually tossed it onto the desk. The discarded coat became enveloped in the brightening light.
“My young guest,” he addressed Rintaro with a smile as he pulled off his tie and tossed it after his coat. “I’ve had a delightful time. I wish you all the best for the future.”
And with an amicable nod of the head, the scholar spun around and began to walk away. His retreating figure, along with its cheerful humming, was quickly swallowed up. The tune faded farther and farther away, until eventually everything melted into the light.