checking out everything, touching things, sniffing their odor, stopping at select spots to stare fixedly. They had the reading room to themselves until past twelve, so no one else noticed the old man's eccentric behavior.
'Hey, Gramps?' Hoshino whispered.
'Yes, how may I help you?'
'This is kind of sudden, but I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't mention to anyone that you're from Nakano.'
'Why is that?'
'It's a long story, just take my word for it. If people find out that's where you're from, it might cause them some trouble.'
'I understand,' Nakata said, nodding deeply. 'It's not good to trouble others. Nakata won't say a word about being from Nakano.'
'That'd be great,' Hoshino said. 'Oh-did you find whatever it is you're looking for?'
'No, nothing so far.'
'But this is definitely the place?'
Nakata nodded. 'It is. Last night I had a good talk with the stone before I went to bed. I'm sure this is the place.'
'Thank God.'
Hoshino nodded and returned to his biography. Beethoven, he learned, was a proud man who believed absolutely in his own abilities and never bothered to flatter the nobility. Believing that art itself, and the proper expression of emotions, was the most sublime thing in the world, he thought political power and wealth served only one purpose: to make art possible. When Haydn boarded with a noble family, as he did most of his professional life, he had to eat with the servants. Musicians of Haydn's generation were considered employees. (The unaffected and good-natured Haydn, though, much preferred this arrangement to the stiff and formal meals put on by the nobility.)
Beethoven, in contrast, was enraged by any such contemptuous treatment, on occasion smashing things against the wall in anger. He insisted that as far as meals went he be treated with no less respect than the nobility he ostensibly served. He often flew off the handle, and once angry was hard to calm down. On top of this were radical political ideas that he made no attempt to hide. As his hearing deteriorated, these tendencies became even more pronounced. As he aged his music also became both more expansive and more densely inward looking. Only Beethoven could have balanced these two contrasting tendencies. But the extraordinary effort this required had a progressively deleterious effect on his life, for all humans have physical and emotional limits, and by this time the composer had more than reached his.
Geniuses like that don't have it easy, Hoshino thought, impressed, and laid down his book. He remembered the bronze bust of a scowling Beethoven in the music room of his school, but until now he'd had no idea of the hardships the man had endured. No wonder the guy looked so sour. I'm never gonna be a genius, that's for sure, Hoshino thought.
He looked over at Nakata, who was deep into a photo collection of traditional folk furniture, and working an imaginary chisel and plane. These photos must've made him unconsciously feel like he was back at his old job. And Nakata-who knows? He might become a great person someday, Hoshino thought. Most people can't do the kinds of things he does. The old codger's definitely in a class all his own.
After twelve, two other readers, middle-aged women, came into the reading room, so Hoshino and Nakata used the opportunity to take a breather outside. Hoshino had brought some bread along for their lunch, while Nakata was lugging around his usual thermos of hot tea. Hoshino first asked Oshima at the counter whether it was all right to eat on the library grounds.
'Of course,' Oshima replied. 'It's nice to sit on the veranda overlooking the garden. Afterward, feel free to come in for a cup of coffee. I've already made some, so help yourself.'
'Thanks,' Hoshino said. 'This is quite a homey place you have here.'
Oshima smiled and brushed back his hair. 'It is a little different from your normal library. Homey is a good way to describe it. What we're trying to create is sort of an intimate space where people can relax and enjoy reading.'
Hoshino found Oshima an appealing young man. Intelligent, well groomed, obviously from a good family. And quite kind. He's got to be gay, right? Not that Hoshino cared. To each his own, was his thinking. Some men talk with stones, and some sleep with other men. Go figure.
After lunch, Hoshino stood up, stretched his whole body, then went back to the reception area to take Oshima up on his offer of a cup of coffee. Since Nakata didn't drink coffee, he stayed on the veranda sipping his tea and gazing at the birds flitting around the garden.
'So, did you find anything interesting to read?' Oshima asked Hoshino.
'Yeah, I've been reading a biography of Beethoven,' Hoshino replied. 'I like it. His life really gives you a lot to think about.'
Oshima nodded. 'He went through a lot-to put it mildly.'
'He did have a tough time,' Hoshino said, 'but I think it was mainly his fault. I mean, he was so self-centered and uncooperative. All he thought about was himself and his music, and he didn't mind sacrificing whatever he had to for it. He must've been tough to get along with. Hey, Ludwig, gimme a break! That's what I would have said if I knew him. No wonder his nephew went off his rocker. But I have to admit his music is wonderful. It really gets to you. It's a strange thing.'
'Absolutely,' Oshima agreed.
'But why did he have to live such a hard, wild life? He would've been better off with a more normal type of life.'
Oshima twirled the pencil around in his fingers. 'I see your point, but by Beethoven's time people thought it was important to express the ego. Earlier, when there was an absolute monarchy, this would've been considered improper, socially deviant behavior and suppressed quite severely. Once the bourgeoisie came to power in the nineteenth century, however, that suppression came to an end and the individual ego was liberated to express itself. Freedom and the emancipation of the ego were synonymous. And art, music in particular, was at the forefront of all this. Those who came after Beethoven and lived under his shadow, so to speak-Berlioz, Wagner, Liszt, Schumann-all lived eccentric, stormy lives. Eccentricity was seen as almost the ideal lifestyle. The age of Romanticism, they called it. Though I'm sure living like that was pretty hard on them at times. So, you like Beethoven's music?'
'I can't really say if I do or not. I haven't heard that much,' Hoshino admitted. 'Hardly any at all, actually. I just kind of like that piece called the Archduke Trio.'
'That is nice, yes.'
'The Million-Dollar Trio's great,' Hoshino added.
'I prefer the Czech group, the Suk Trio, myself,' Oshima said. 'They have a beautiful balance. You feel like you can smell the wind wafting over a green meadow. But I do know the Million-Dollar Trio version-Rubinstein, Heifetz, and Feuermann. It's an elegant performance.'
'Um, Mr.-Oshima?' Hoshino asked, looking at the nameplate on the counter. 'You know a lot about music, I can tell.'
Oshima smiled. 'Not a lot. I just enjoy listening to it.'
'Do you think music has the power to change people? Like you listen to a piece and go through some major change inside?'
Oshima nodded. 'Sure, that can happen. We have an experience-like a chemical reaction-that transforms something inside us. When we examine ourselves later on, we discover that all the standards we've lived by have shot up another notch and the world's opened up in unexpected ways. Yes, I've had that experience. Not often, but it has happened. It's like falling in love.'
Hoshino had never fallen head over heels in love himself, but he went ahead and nodded anyway. 'That's gotta be a very important thing, right?' he said. 'For our lives?'
'It is,' Oshima answered. 'Without those peak experiences our lives would be pretty dull and flat. Berlioz put it this way: A life without once reading Hamlet is like a life spent in a coal mine.'
'A coal mine?'
'Just typical nineteenth-century hyperbole.'
'Well, thanks for the coffee,' Hoshino said. 'I'm happy we could talk.'
