In the afternoon, Ms. Yaegashi joined our group in the car, and we visited our second interview location: the Mikimoto Toba Factory.

Despite the name “factory,” this is not a place where artificial pearls are mechanically produced. Here, pearls harvested from the farm are sorted and processed into jewellery like necklaces.

Perched at the top of a steep slope, this building also exuded a nostalgic charm, reminiscent of a schoolhouse. Awaiting us there was Nagisa Takemoto.

Ms. Yaegashi told us how Nagisa is a seasoned professional at this factory, skilled in every process from pearl sorting to creating special pieces presented in haute couture collections. I felt a deep sense of gratitude towards Aomi for introducing us to such an outstanding expert.

“So how was the farm? Was my Misaki working properly?” Nagisa asked.
“Yes, of course,” I answered immediately. “It was incredible to see her artisan skill. And I now understand what you meant yesterday when you said that pearls are gifts from the sea.”
Nagisa broke into a smile. “Take a look at how we put a pearl necklace together here, and I bet you’ll feel that even more.”

We were led to the pearl necklace workshop.

The worktables were placed by the windows, with the room’s lights left off. Pearls, we were told, must be sorted under natural light to reveal their individual character. One by one, the pearls are examined — each differing in size, color, luster, and texture — and grouped with similar matches. The balance between neighboring pearls is then carefully evaluated, with repeated swapping and rearranging to ensure they radiate a uniform glow. Through this painstaking process called “stringing,” a one-of-a-kind necklace takes shape, bearing its own unique character.

“Right. So the finished necklace isn’t just made up of identical, white, round pearls,” Aomi said with newfound understanding.
“You got it, Ao! That’s what really matters,” Nagisa responded, looking delighted.

Rita approached one of the tables where the stringing work was underway and stared intently at the six rows of pearls lined up on the tray. “Each one truly has a different expression,” she said with deep admiration.

“I knew there was a clear difference between the pearls in Botticelli’s ‘La Bella Simonetta’ and the pearl in Vermeer’s ‘Girl with a Pearl Earring.’ Factors like the country of origin, era, the painter’s skill, and style all contribute to the difference… But that’s not all. Each pearl is born with its own individuality. Just like we are.”

Ms. Yaegashi nodded in agreement. “Exactly. That’s why pearls mesmerize us so much.”

Aomi nudged my arm with her elbow and whispered in my ear. “That’s our girl Rita! She’s already figured out the most important thing.”
I couldn’t help but smile.

If Rita had been the kind of curator who hid away in an ivory tower, relying solely on academic texts to explore a subject, she would never have made this discovery, nor had the chance to rekindle treasured friendships or witness the mastery of pearl artisans. Above all, she would never have learned to appreciate pearls so fully, each one a unique marvel shaped by the symbiosis of nature and human artistry.

In my heart, I quietly thanked Rita for pursuing this research visit and Aomi for arranging these wonderful encounters.

Bathed in the glow of the sunset, we headed back to the parking lot. Aomi tossed the car key up into the crimson-tinged sky, then snatched it back.
“Guaranteed!” she declared. “Rita’s exhibition will be a triumph!”
Rita giggled, looking a bit embarrassed, but seemed pleased.

As soon as we got into the car, I said to Aomi in the driver’s seat. “Hey, Aomi, please come to Rita’s exhibition. Really, you must.”

“Yeah, of course,” Aomi answered in a singing voice. “Rita, when is it? The exhibition.”
“Three years from now,” Rita replied. “At the earliest. Could be later — four, maybe five years.”
“What? I can’t wait that long. Let’s just do it next year!”

Rita and I laughed together at Aomi’s proposal.

From the factory entrance, Ms. Yaegashi and Nagisa waved goodbye to us. Behind them, I think I caught a glimpse of that elderly gentleman I spotted earlier in the day.

I knew from the beginning who the apparition was. But I decided to keep quiet about it. At least until Rita’s exhibition succeeded, as a little wish for good luck.

The moon hovered high in the western sky, casting a pale blue light across the world.
Though it had waned since yesterday, it remained softly round.