By Yoko Ogawa
He is a superb math professor with a unusual problem--ever seeing that a anxious head harm, he has lived with merely 80 mins of temporary memory.
She is an astute younger housekeeper, with a ten-year-old son, who's employed to deal with him.
And each morning, because the professor and the housekeeper are brought to one another anew, a wierd and gorgeous courting blossoms among them. notwithstanding he can't carry stories for lengthy (his mind is sort of a tape that starts to erase itself each 80 minutes), the professor’s brain remains to be alive with stylish equations from the prior. And the numbers, in all in their articulate order, display a sheltering and poetic international to either the housekeeper and her younger son.
The Professor is able to learning connections among the easiest of quantities--like the housekeeper’s shoe size--and the universe at huge, drawing their lives ever nearer and extra profoundly jointly, while his reminiscence slips away.
The Housekeeper and the Professor is a fascinating tale approximately what it skill to stay within the current, and concerning the curious equations which can create a family.
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Extra resources for The Housekeeper and the Professor
Sample text
3 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. " The Professor was ensconced in his easy chair with a book. " 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. " "Waste of time," he said, but eventually my persistence got the better of him and he closed his book.
I wasn't sure why the Professor was so concerned about my son, but I went back to my recipe, adding some pepper and nutmeg. "Who takes care of him when you're not home? Does your husband come home early from work? " "No, unfortunately there's no husband or grandmother. " "So he's at home all alone? He sits and waits for his mother in a dark house while you're here making dinner for a stranger? " No longer able to control himself, the Professor jumped up from his chair and began circling the table.
The new housekeeper," it said. The words were written in tiny, delicate characters, and above them was a sketch of a woman's face. It looked like the work of a small child—short hair, round cheeks, and a mole next to the mouth—but I knew instantly that it was a portrait of me. I imagined the Professor hurrying to draw this likeness before the memory had vanished. The note was proof of something, that he had interrupted his thinking for my sake. Over the next few days, I introduced myself by pointing to the note on his cuff.
