The housekeeper and the professor - By Yoko Ogawa Page 0,56

he would have been happy to show Root his collection had we simply asked, so I wasn't sure why I was sneaking around like this, or why I was hesitant to raise the subject of the cookie tin. For some reason, I had convinced myself that the Professor would not want other people to see the cards.

"This is Shirasaka, so 'shi' should go right after Kamata Minoru."

"How do you read this one?"

"It's written next to the characters in the syllabary—Hondo Yasuji. So it goes back here."

"Do you know who he is?"

"No, but he must have been important to have a card. We can't worry about that now, we've got to hurry."

As we concentrated on putting the cards back in order, I suddenly noticed something: the tin had a second layer underneath the one holding the cards. I was about to file a Motoyashiki Kingo when I realized that the tin was slightly deeper than the height of the card.

"Hang on a second." Stopping Root for a moment, I wiggled my finger into the space where the second basemen had fallen out. There was no doubt about it: the tin had a false bottom.

"What?" said Root, looking puzzled.

"Nothing," I said. "Just hold on a minute." I had Root fetch a ruler from the desk and I very carefully slipped it under the row of cards. "Look, there's something down there. If I hold them up like this, can you pull it out?"

"Yep, I see it. I think I can get it." Root's small hand slipped into the narrow opening, and in a few seconds he extracted the contents of the hidden compartment.

It was a thesis of some sort. It had been typed in English and was bound with a cover page bearing what looked to be a university seal—a hundred-odd-page mathematical proof. The Professor's name was printed in Gothic letters and the work was dated 1957.

"Is it a problem the Professor solved?"

"It seems to be."

"But why would he hide it here?" Root said, sounding thoroughly mystified. I did a quick mental calculation: 1992–1957—the Professor had been twenty-nine. Since the noises from the next room had stopped, I began to flip through the thesis, the Motoyashiki card still in my hand.

This paper had been handled with as much care as the baseball cards. The paper stock and the type were showing signs of age, but there was no trace of dirt or damage from human hands, no folds or wrinkles or spots—mint condition. The high-quality paper was still soft to the touch and the typist had made no mistakes. The binding, too, was perfect, with the pages neatly gathered at the corners. An edict left by a noble king could hardly have been more carefully produced or preserved.

Taking my cue from those who had handled it so gingerly in the past, and remembering Root's recent mishap, I held it with the greatest care. The paper smelled faintly of cookies, but it still looked impressive, in spite of being pressed down at the bottom of a tin for years under rows of baseball cards.

As for the content, the only thing I could decipher on the first page was the title: Chapter 1. But as I flipped through the pages that followed, I came across the name Artin, and remembered the Artin conjecture that the Professor had explained with a stick in the dirt on the way home from the barber—and the formula he had added when I'd brought up the perfect number 28, and how the cherry blossoms had fluttered to the ground.

Just then, a black-and-white photograph fell from the pages. Root picked it up. It showed the Professor seated on a clover-covered riverbank. He was young and handsome, and he looked completely relaxed with his legs stretched out in front of him. He was squinting slightly in the bright sun. His suit was much like the one he still wore, but, needless to say, there were no notes on his jacket and he seemed to radiate intelligence.

A woman was seated next to the Professor. She leaned timidly toward him, the toes of her shoes poking out from under her flared skirt. Their bodies did not touch, but it was clear that they shared a bond. And in spite of the years that had passed since the picture was taken, I had no doubt that the woman was the Professor's sister-in-law.

There was one more thing I could read. At the top of the cover page, a single line in Japanese:

"For N, with my