Pathway to Japanese Literature

It was an alumni gathering of a private middle school.
Graduates, unlike current students, felt no obligation to keep time.
The school authorities had anticipated this deception - printing four o'clock on the mimeographed invitations though proceedings were set for five.
Still, shortly past the appointed hour, a dingy classroom in the weathered schoolhouse began stirring with life,

“Oh, Sparrow is here.”

“Yeah, so you’re Torakou, huh?”
“You’ve changed, damn you!”

“I’m surprised!”

“Have I changed too?”

Such rudimentary greetings were exchanged here and there.
The true value of old companions lay in how easily they could slip back ten or even twenty years into the past.

“You’ve gone quite bald, haven’t you?”

“This is hereditary – came absurdly early for me – but your forehead’s broadened out too.”

“Is that so?”

“Most everyone’s here already. Look at Utsumi-kun there. He’s worse off than me.”

“I see... We’ve both aged, haven’t we?”

Some sighed in agreement. When they’d parted as rosy-cheeked boys only to meet again now, some already showed thinning hair.

“We’ve all turned into fathers now. How many you got?”

“Four here. Another coming soon makes four and a half.”
“How about you?”

“I had four too, but I lost one last year.”

“Oh... that’s...”

“What about Kusama-kun?”

“Me? I’m a late bloomer in that department—still only halfway there.”

“Half? When’d you tie the knot?”

“Last year. Got stuck overseas too long.”

“Oikawa-kun, you’ve got a whole brood, eh?”

Now the talk pivoted to tallying offspring—a far cry from their school days of comparing test scores.

Classmates from middle school days were especially dear. Even when they recalled them occasionally，those who had continued on the same course as before were few；others invariably lost contact．In vocational schools and universities，where professions tended to be roughly similar，there remained chances to meet；but those who had parted ways after middle school scattered to every conceivable direction．

That group now gathered nearly twenty members in one place.
For over twenty years since they had racked their brains over geometry, algebra, and English grammar, they had all now entered their forties.
They were in their prime—both professionally and personally.
In terms of titles, the most successful among them included a naval lieutenant commander, sales manager at a kimono store, branch manager of a bank, district court judge, and private medical university professor; while those running their own businesses comprised a restaurant owner, haberdashery wholesaler, landlord, transporter—but above all, company employees were the most numerous.
Failures and those currently unemployed did not show their faces.

The elderly principal and the vice-principal were mediating this situation.
Since both had been there since the school’s founding, all had been under their care for five years and held deep affection for them.

“How are things?
“The department store must keep you quite busy, I imagine?”

The vice-principal then addressed a man currently serving as sales manager at a certain kimono store.

“Well, since it’s a year-round business without seasonal lulls, there’s never any time to take it easy. Please do stop by when you happen to be out shopping.”

The sales manager puffed on Egyptian cigarettes.

“Thank you.”
“As I shall make a point to visit from time to time, I’ll come by once to observe your managerial style.”

“I know you’re there too, but I always end up slipping away thinking you must be busy.”

the judge interjected.

“Do come by.”
“It’s not like I’m that busy.”

“You must be quite busy too, Judge Terajima.”

The vice-principal turned to the judge.

“My work isn’t too bad.
“It’s every other day.”

The judge also lit a cigarette.
They were all a group who had been scolded for smoking during their school days.
That they could now openly smoke in the classroom while conversing with their former teacher created a poignant contrast between past and present.

“Teacher, when I was in my fourth year, I got caught smoking and you gave me a suspension.”

The sales manager recalled.

“It seems that did happen,” said Mr. Hayakawa.

“I got caught too,” said the sales manager. “You were strict back then, weren’t you, Teacher?”

The transporter tapped his forehead with his fingertips and stuck out his tongue.

“School’s no different from society,” said Judge Terajima. “The idiots are the ones who get caught.”

“This guy was cunning, you know,” said the transporter.
“The judge is appalled.”

“Teacher, it’s a miracle Terajima made it through unscathed,” said the sales manager.
“This guy was always smoking in the classroom, you know.”

The transporter and the sales manager exposed him from both sides.

“No matter what, it’s always the cunning ones who succeed,” said the vice-principal as if he’d spent years compiling statistics.

“This takes some nerve.”

“Ha ha ha ha”

“By the way, Mr. Hayakawa, don’t you smoke?”

“Ah, I’ll have one.”

“Would you care for one?”

The sales manager snapped open his silver cigarette case and contributed one gold-tipped cigarette he had procured from his store at a twenty percent discount.

“Matsumoto-kun, your younger brother’s grades are rather commendable.”

Meanwhile, the principal had apprehended Matsukane – proprietor of an elite traditional restaurant – on the other side of the room.

“Not at all—he’s such a slacker, it’s quite a problem.”

Matsumoto-kun set aside his own school days.

“Well, he seems a bit different from you.”

“You flatter me.”

“Ha ha! All joking aside, he’s a good, honest kid. By the way, your business must still be keeping you busy, eh?”

“Oh, with the recession, it’s dead quiet. When you esteemed teachers hold your gatherings, please do not hesitate to call upon me. I’ll make special arrangements.”

“Oh ho, you’ve started advertising now, eh?”

The Naval Lieutenant Commander jeered from beside them.

“The Navy Ministry must be keeping you quite busy?”

the elderly principal asked.
Both the principal and vice-principal knew little of the world, so their conversation topics were extremely limited.
They only ever asked if people were busy.

“Being busy would be one thing, but with this military reduction matter, it’s extremely precarious.”

The Naval Lieutenant Commander fretted about his position.

“I see, that could certainly be a factor.”

“The reputation of military personnel has become exceedingly poor since the Great War.”
“When I walk around wearing a dagger, people stare so much it makes me feel self-conscious.”

“That can’t be true!”

“You can’t fight against how things are going.”
“So we all wear suits on our commute and change into uniforms after reaching government offices—that’s how it ends up.”

"That won’t do. That kind of spinelessness won’t do! If you’re going to call yourself a soldier—*snort-snort*—what’s this about being ashamed of your uniform? *snort-snort*"

The principal snorted. It was an old habit of his. Not only did a sound emerge, but his nostrils also flared. Everyone recalled how he’d been nicknamed "Horse,"

"Ha ha ha!"

burst out laughing despite themselves, yet felt an odd sense of nostalgia.

They burst out laughing despite themselves, yet felt an odd sense of nostalgia.

“Well, we’ve already received your admonishment, haven’t we?”

The Naval Lieutenant Commander was scratching his head.

“Torakou-kun, is the bank keeping you busy?”

“It’s busy from nine in the morning until three in the afternoon.”

And this was only natural.

“I see.”

And the Principal being impressed by that was very much the Principal.

“The school has prospered quite well, hasn’t it?”

The conversation had gone completely at cross purposes.

“During your time there were at most three hundred students, but now we have eight hundred.”

“The schoolyard seems to have become narrower, hasn’t it?”

“It’s because they built those shoddy additions.”

“The teachers must have changed quite significantly, I imagine?”

“They changed or died—after all, it’s been over twenty years.”
“The only one you’d still recognize would be Mr. Hayakawa.”

“I had quite the ordeal with Mr. Hayakawa myself.”

And at that moment, a company employee stepped forward.

“The students are still all wound up.”

“When that teacher gets involved, those with poor grades can’t last long.
‘Now, those who can do it—come over here and sit by the stove.
Those who can’t go stand by the window.
The air’s stale—open it! Open it!’ he’d say like that.
As for me, I was always left out in the cold during math class.”

“Was that how it was?
I’ve mellowed with age these days.
Since I’m here today, feel free to air all your old grudges.
*snort-snort*”

The old principal snorted again and stood up.

"I was shoved by Mr. Hayakawa once."
"But that was Mr. Hayakawa being unreasonable."

Judge Terajima also harbored a longstanding grudge against Mr. Hayakawa.

"What happened?"

"When I got called on,"I said,'Hey hand over your notebook,'took the one Yoshida had lent me,and then suddenly-'Who looks at someone else's?！'-he shoved me from behind."
"When I explained,'It's my notebook,'he said,'I see.That was my fault.'"
"Then he said,'In that case go ahead and shove me right back,'I tell you."
"Well,there was no way I could bring myself to actually shove Mr.Hayakawa."

“He’s a brute, that one—no doubt about it.”

And there were others who resonated with this sentiment.

Just then,

“Well, look who’s all here.”

And the very subject of their gossip—Mr. Hayakawa—appeared.
He too was a graduate of this middle school, moreover from its inaugural class.
Since graduating from Higher Normal School, he had taught mathematics at his alma mater for nearly thirty years.
When it came to failing students, it was usually this man who made them repeat the year.
Had he been a teacher from elsewhere, there would have been complaints long ago, but being a senior alumnus, everyone studied out of fear.
No one disregarded personal attire more thoroughly than mathematics teachers.
If you went to a private middle school to meet one, you needn’t bother the receptionists or janitors—just walk straight into the staff room and address whoever had the filthiest collar.
Nine times out of ten, you’d be right.
Even among mathematics teachers, few matched Mr. Hayakawa’s dedication to dishevelment.
Declaring white shirts too troublesome, he wore a chest-length vest they called a “squid shell.”
The sight of him sitting beside a department store sales manager who looked freshly plucked from a show window stood out so starkly it bordered on farce.

“Mr. Hayakawa, it’s been a while.”

“Hey.”

“We were just speaking of you, Mr. Hayakawa.”

“Is that so?
Probably bad-mouthing, I’d wager.”

And Mr. Hayakawa was quick to catch on.
Of course, one would be hard-pressed to find a man so thick-blooded he’d expect praise for teaching mathematics.

“You haven’t changed a bit, Mr. Hayakawa.”

The sales department manager narrowed his eyes and scrutinized his former teacher.
If everyone in society were like this, he might have thought, department stores would struggle to survive.

“You’re suddenly laying it on thick with the compliments.”

“Oh, not at all—you’re truly as youthful as ever.”

The others chimed in to match his tone.

“Now then—do you all know why you were summoned here today?”

“Oh, not at all.”

“People in the real world are surprisingly roundabout, aren’t they?”

“Is there something happening?”

“No—there’s a feast prepared.”
“Principal, shall we get started?”
“The preparations are already complete.”

And Mr. Hayakawa was impatient.

Next, the entire group was ushered into the adjacent classroom.
Once over twenty teachers and alumni had taken their seats at desks arranged in squares, the nearby Western restaurant Kirakutei had set up service, and Western-style dishes began circulating.
The feast clashed with the grimy walls and battered desks.

“Gentlemen, let’s dispense with all formalities and relax.
Since we’ve placed the principal and vice-principal in the middle, go ahead and chat while you eat.”

And Mr. Hayakawa represented the host side as the alumni meeting organizer.
The graduates needed no prompting,
“Alumni meetings rarely bring together just classmates like this.”

“Good idea.”
“This makes about half then.”

“Actually, there were forty-seven of us total.”
“Same number as those famous loyal retainers—that’s why it stuck in my memory.”

“Are the rest all out in the provinces?”
“Ah right—when I went to Osaka recently, I met Kumagai.”

They began exchanging remarks with their neighbors.

“This is delightful,” someone said. “We ought to have gatherings like this more often—though without the school organizing it, we’d never manage to come together like this.”

“Precisely.”
“A personal invitation carries no weight.”
“Which is why we enlist Mr. Hayakawa once a year, eh?”

There were also those enthusiastically extolling the school as a virtue.

“This stool is unbelievably hard on the backside!”

“That’s right. It’s amazing we used to sit on these things without a care back then.”

“This desk’s in terrible shape.”
“Scratches all over.”

“The wood grain’s swollen up here.”
“There’s a naked woman carved right here.”
“Can’t let your guard down with middle schoolers nowadays.”

“We pulled that stuff too, y’know.”

“Must’ve been hell writing exams on these warped desks.”
“Use a desk pad and they’d slap you with cheating charges.”

“Well, well.”
“What is it?”
“I carved these Roman letters.”
It said K. KATAOKA.
“This brings back memories.”

“Hey, hey—don’t cry now.”

“I won’t cry, but it does get me misty-eyed.”
“I feel like I’ve been thrown back twenty years.”

“This must be what they call ‘bottomless emotion,’ eh?”
“This was our third-year classroom, you know.”
“I failed third year, so I spent two years here, see?”

There were more than a few alumni who were vividly confronted with their boyhood.
When they reached the dessert course,

“Gentlemen!”

And Mr. Hayakawa stood up,

“Since it’s been so long, how about each of you stands up to speak?”
“Current jobs, future aspirations—go ahead and give us those topics.”
“Then we’ll start from that corner there—Matsumoto-kun.”

he commanded as he used to when assigning math problems in class.

Matsumoto-kun was scratching his head, but urged by those nearby, he straightened up from his hunched posture.

“I would like to express my deepest gratitude for the unexpected feast we’ve been treated to this evening. Moreover, to have had the pleasure of meeting so many fellow classmates after such a long time is yet another unexpected happiness. When I look back on the twenty-one years since graduation, having accomplished nothing of note during that time fills me with profound shame.”

Up to that point, it was quite polished for a restaurant owner, but having not prepared anything beyond that, he momentarily faltered,

“As you all know, I immediately took over my parents’ business, so with my fate already set, I envy those of you who can act freely.”
“As for me, mine is an exceedingly simple and clear business of feeding people to make a living, and even looking ahead, it will remain just that—I have no particular ambitions.”
“I shall leave matters of state and nation entirely to you all, and devoutly aspire to tend the kitchen.”

he skillfully concluded in a manner befitting his trade.
Everyone applauded.

“Next.”

And Mr. Hayakawa commanded.

“Ah, I would like to express my sincere gratitude for tonight’s gathering.”
“Taking this opportunity, I would like to express my deepest respect to the esteemed teachers and fellow classmates.”
“Now, Mr. Matsumoto humbly described his business as ‘feeding people to make a living,’ but I fail to grasp his meaning.”
“Because mine, you see, is the rather unsettling profession of cutting people up to make a living every day.”

When the bearded colossus began his address, everyone erupted in laughter.

"I can’t help but find my own circumstances rather wretched," he said, "but once you’re aboard this ship, there’s no livelihood to be had except by carving up our brethren."
"I serve as a professor of anatomy at XX University’s Faculty of Medicine."

"Smooth setup there," someone muttered.

The two or three alumni who hadn’t known Miura-kun’s profession clicked their tongues in chagrin.

"Just the other day, I overheard workers on a train—Worker A said, ‘Seems my heart’s been acting up with digestion again lately.’"
To which Worker B asked, ‘Which part of your heart’s giving you trouble anyway?’"
"Now I doubt any of you gentlemen would make such blunders, but as humans we must know precisely where our organs reside."
"I’d be delighted to demonstrate—do visit when you’re near the university."
"And allow me to add—should any of you perish from mysterious ailments, I’ll rush over upon your family’s request and wield my scalpel without hesitation."

With that, Miura-kun took his seat.
He was an unsettling man.
Even so, applause broke out.

“Next.”

“They say even a stray dog finds a stick if it walks enough, but I consider it an utmost honor to have chanced upon tonight’s gathering during my travels.”
“When stationed in the countryside, opportunities to meet fellow alumni become nearly nonexistent.”
“Tonight brings more faces unseen for ten or twenty years than those familiar.”
“Now, my trade falls under manufacturing—though it’s such an unsavory product, it scarcely bears mentioning.”
“At Muroran Steelworks, we forge cannons.”
“Japan too has made remarkable strides in this field of late.”
“Our wares now rival imported goods in quality.”
“Should any require artillery, I’d gladly furnish however many you need through our alumni ties—at most reasonable rates.”

And this man received great applause.
In this manner, as the twenty-odd alumni members took turns speaking, creating a convivial and harmonious atmosphere,

"Sniffle-sniffle"

Sniffling, the principal stood up.

A poor private middle school that rounds up its graduates by graduation year to hold reunions and declares there’s no attendance fee while hosting dinner banquets has an ulterior motive.
A school is a place that teaches academics and instills moral values.
If they try to feed you something, you should be wary.

“Gentlemen, I have been unable to contain my delight in recent days.”
“Last night I had the pleasure of meeting the Meiji 36 graduates.”
“The night before last, I conversed with the Meiji 35 graduates.”
“I first and foremost congratulate you all on your success and health.”
“Purupuru.”

Back in their school days, they would listen to moral lectures while keeping count of these purupuru sniffles, but tonight they weren’t up to such mischief.
They were all gentlemen.

“While I asked you to gather this evening despite your busy schedules primarily for fellowship, I also have an earnest request to make.”
“The school building, as you can see, remains largely unchanged from your student days.”
“It suffered major damage in the earthquake disaster years ago and has been sustained through emergency repairs until today—now it’s breathing its last and may collapse at any moment.”

When he said this, the entire group exchanged glances.

“The desks you’re sitting on now are the very ones you used.”
“For thirty years they’ve served students like it was yesterday, but their time has come—though we can’t replace them yet.”
“Gentlemen, these chairs must be digging into your backsides.”
“Still, they’re just uncomfortable, not dangerous—we’ll let current students tough it out.”
“But the building leaks when it rains.”
“Wind makes it creak so bad classes stop.”
“One decent quake and it’ll collapse outright.”
“Eight hundred students and thirty-two teachers crushed flat.”
“Purupuru.”

The principal looked up at the ceiling and tilted his head slightly.
The graduates too were drawn in and looked up, but since it didn’t seem like the ceiling would come crashing down right at that very moment, they let out a collective sigh of relief.

“At this juncture, constructing a new school building requires approximately ¥20,000.”
“We’ve already prepared estimates and designs—counting our chickens before they’ve hatched, as they say—and will present them to you in due course.”
“If we divide ¥20,000 equally among this school’s over 2,300 graduates…”

The old principal’s discussion continued for about thirty minutes.
Following this, after the vice-principal’s detailed explanation, Mr. Hayakawa—
“This is exactly why I tried to prepare you all a bit before the feast—but nobody caught on, did they?”

He said with a laugh as he distributed donation pledge sheets. The minimum was thirty yen, and the leading member from Matsukane pledged five hundred yen. There were ten pledges of one hundred yen each, bringing the total to one thousand nine hundred yen. Not only that, but they contacted every absentee too, resulting in the Meiji 37 graduates alone committing to three thousand yen.

“The Western food at Kirakuken costs a pretty penny, eh?”

“Who was the genius that wanted to hold these shindigs every year?”

Some cracked jokes like these as they filed out through the school gate. Yet having done a good deed, they couldn’t possibly feel remorseful. Their morale buoyant, their gazes rose instinctively toward the heights.

“What a magnificent Milky Way!”

As if by unspoken agreement, the entire group looked up at the starry sky.

(Taishō 15th Year, October [1926], Present Day)