Yôko Ogawa: The Gift of Numbers aka The Housekeeper and the Professor

The Professor was unstinting with his praise for Root. He never seemed to lose patience when time passed and they were making little progress; and like a miner sifting a speck of gold from the muddy river bottom, he always found some small virtue to compliment, even when Root was stuck.

"Well then, suppose we draw a picture of this little shopping trip. First, there are two handkerchiefs; then two pairs of socks-"

"Those aren't socks!" Root interrupted. "They look more like overweight caterpillars. Let me draw them."

"I see what you mean. That does look more like a caterpillar." "He bought the same number of handkerchiefs the second time but more socks. Five pairs is a lot to draw… Mine are starting to look like caterpillars, too."

"No, they're fine. And you're right, only the number of socks increases, along with the price. Why don't we check to see how much the price went up?"

"So, you'd subtract ¥380 from ¥710…"

"Always show your work, and do it neatly."

"I usually just scribble on the back of scrap paper."

"But every formula and every number has meaning, and you should treat them accordingly, don't you think?"

I was sitting on the bed, doing some mending. Whenever they started Root's homework, I tried to find something to do in the study in order to be near them. I would iron the Professor's shirts, or work on a stain in the rug, or snip string beans for supper. If I was working in the kitchen and heard their laughter drift in from the other room, I felt terribly excluded-and I suppose I wanted to be there when anyone was showing kindness to my son.

The sound of the rain seemed louder in the study, as if the sky were actually lower there. The room was completely private, thanks to the lush greenery that grew up around the house, and there was no need to close the curtains even after dark. Their reflections appeared dimly in windowpanes, and on rainy days the musty smell in the study was stronger than usual.

"That's right! Then it's just a matter of simple division and you've got it."

"So, you get the price of the socks first: ¥110."

"Okay, but you've got to be careful now. The handkerchiefs seem innocent, but they may turn out to be tricky."

"Right. But it's easier to do the sums when the numbers are small."

The desk was a bit too high, and Root was forced to sit up very straight as he leaned over his problem, a well-chewed pencil clutched tightly in his hand. The Professor sat back, legs crossed and looking relaxed, and his hand drifted to his unshaven chin from time to time as he watched Root work. He was no longer a frail old man, nor a scholar lost in his thoughts, but the rightful protector of a child. Their profiles seemed to come together, superimposed on one another, forming a single line. The gentle patter of the rain was punctuated by the scratching of pencil on paper.

"Can I write out the equations separately like this? Our teacher gets mad if we don't combine them all into one big formula."

"If you're doing them carefully and correctly, he has no reason to get mad."

"Okay, let's see… 110 times 2 is 220. Subtract that from 380… That's 160… 160 divided by 2… is 80. That's it. One handkerchief costs ¥80."

"That's right! Well done!"

As the Professor rubbed Root's head, Root glanced up into his face, not wanting to miss the look of approval and pleasure.

"I'd like to give you a problem myself," said the Professor. "Would you mind?"

"What?"

"No long faces now. Since we're studying together, I feel like playing the teacher and giving you homework."

"That's not fair," said Root.

"It's just one little problem. All right? Here it is: What is the sum of all the numbers from 1 to 10?"

"Okay, I'll let you give me homework if you'll do something for me. I want you to get the radio fixed."

"The radio?"

"That's right. I want to listen to the ball games. You don't have a TV and the radio's broken. And we're coming down to the pennant race."

"Oh, I see… baseball." The Professor let out a long, slow breath, his hand still resting on Root's head. "What team do you like?" he asked at last.

"Can't you tell from my hat?" Root said, picking up the cap he'd left with his backpack and pulling it over his head. "The Tigers!"

"The Tigers? Is that right? The Tigers," the Professor murmured. "Enatsu! Yutaka Enatsu, best pitcher of all time."

"Yes! Good thing you don't like the Giants. Okay, we've got to get the radio fixed," Root insisted. The Professor seemed to be muttering something to himself, but I closed the lid of the sewing box and stood up to announce it was time for dinner.

I finally managed to get the Professor out of the house. Since I'd come to work, he had not so much as set foot in the garden, let alone gone for a real outing, and I thought some fresh air would be good for him.

"It's beautiful outside today," I said, coaxing him. "It makes you want to go out, get some sun." The Professor was ensconced in his easy chair with a book. "Why don't we take a walk in the park and then stop in at the barbershop?"

"And why would we do that?" he said, glancing up at me over his reading glasses.

"No particular reason. The cherry blossoms are just over in the park and the dogwood is about to bloom. And a haircut might feel good."

"I feel fine like this."

"A walk would get your circulation going, and that might help you come up with some good ideas for your formulas."

"There's no connection between the arteries in the legs and the ones in the head."

"Well, you'd be much handsomer if you took care of your hair."

"Waste of time," he said, but eventually my persistence got the better of him and he closed his book. The only shoes in the cupboard by the door were old leather ones covered in a thin layer of mold. "You'll stay with me?" he asked several times as I was cleaning them off. "You can't just leave me while I'm having my hair cut and come home."

"Don't worry. I'll stay with you the whole time." No matter how much I polished, the shoes were still dull.

I wasn't sure what to do with the notes the Professor had clipped all over his body. If we left them on, people were bound to stare, but since he didn't seem to care, I decided to leave them alone.

The Professor marched along, staring down at his feet, without a glance at the blue sky overhead or the sights we passed along the way. The walk did not seem to relax him, he was more tense than usual.

"Look," I'd say, "the cherry blossoms are in full bloom." But he only muttered to himself. Out in the open air, he seemed somehow older.

We decided to go to the barbershop first. The barber recoiled at the sight of the Professor's strange suit, but he turned out to be a kind man. He realized quickly that there must be a reason for the notes, and after that he treated the Professor like any other customer. "You're lucky to have your daughter with you," he said, assuming we were related. Neither of us corrected him. I sat on the sofa with the men waiting in line for their haircuts.

Perhaps the Professor had an unpleasant memory of going to the barber. Whatever the reason, he was clearly nervous from the moment the cape was fastened around his neck. His face went stiff, his fingers dug into the arms of the chair, and deep creases lined his forehead. The barber brought up several harmless topics in an attempt to put him at ease, but it was no use.

"What's your shoe size?" the Professor blurted out. "What's your telephone number?" The room fell silent.

Though he could see me in the mirror, he craned around from time to time, checking to see that I'd kept my promise to stay with him. When the Professor moved his head, the barber was forced to stop cutting, but he would wait patiently and then go back to work. I smiled and gave a little wave to reassure the Professor that I was still there.