Pathway to Japanese Literature

Preface

Those who graduate from Imperial Universities must undoubtedly believe they’ve graduated from a fine school. In bureaucratic Japan, there was no more advantageous qualification than graduating from an Imperial University. Those who graduated from Waseda, those from Keio—each was satisfied with their alma mater. There were those who occasionally lamented that graduating from a mediocre school had doomed them to lifelong disadvantage—but what did their heart of hearts truly believe? After all, one entered a school only after giving it due consideration. This was not like buying a watermelon that turned out not to be red when you cut it open.

I am not a graduate of an Imperial University, nor of Waseda or Keio—I'm a mission school alumnus. Moreover, I have graduated from two such institutions: Aoyama Gakuin and Meiji Gakuin. What I learned at these two mission schools I consider a lifelong blessing. Mission school alumni are not necessarily devout believers—among them were some genuine hell-raisers. One such individual, now past sixty, was holding forth in high spirits at an alumni gathering,

“Hey. I truly think it was good I entered the mission school. If I’d gone to another school, I’d have become an even worse person without doubt.” There was a time he said this with deep conviction.

Here, I thought, was where the mission school’s education had truly taken root. We never strove to become sages or virtuous men, but at least we received an education that constantly compelled us to examine our own lives.

"For the background of A Tale of Mediocrity, I drew from Aoyama Gakuin and took from Meiji Gakuin." Dr.Johnson’s “a school that teaches God’s way, a school that assembles Christian gentlemen” grows ever more necessary. In these times of great upheaval, when so many wander lost, we mission school alumni feel we’ve returned to our natural environment. Having received a thoroughly democratic education, I believe this must naturally follow as society changes for the better. As I prepare to reissue A Tale of Mediocrity—written over a decade ago—I find myself peculiarly moved.

Sasaki Kuni

Introduction Our alma mater Meiji Gakuen was phonetically— “You can’t earn your bread.” It was connected. “Meiji Gakuen—Means No Grain.”

Everyone used to say this. This meant that even after graduating, one could not secure a job. Meiji Gakuen differed from the schools of that time in that its purpose was not to cultivate salarymen. Principal Dr.Johnson, “Meiji Gakuen—that does not cultivate people who make money. That cultivates Christian gentlemen. Man shall not live by bread alone. That is what schools teach—that, our school Meiji Gakuen, everyone, what do you say?”

He kept emphasizing this point repeatedly. It was remarkably blunt Japanese. Dr.Johnson’s sermons and lectures—their content aside—were listenable precisely because of their peculiar syntax. “There were many ‘that’s.” I never got bored just counting those “that”s. “I came to your country in Meiji 10—earlier than all of you.” he’d begin with such cryptic pronouncements. He meant he’d arrived in Japan before any of us were born. “My Japanese was praised by the Minister of Home Affairs. Country people are impressed.” he boasted with great pride.

According to Dr. Johnson’s philosophy, anything worldly was impermissible.

“Japan won.” “Not admirable.” “Believe in God.” “That’s admirable.” Thus soldiers were impermissible. “Made money.” “Those who hoard wealth merely to hoard—they cannot enter heaven.” “The poor believe in God.” “That’s admirable.” Thus businessmen too were impermissible. “Scholarship distant from the Bible is the devil’s scholarship.” “Those who study that are not admirable.” “Believe in God.” “That’s admirable.” Thus scholars too were impermissible. “Scholarship close to the Bible is God’s scholarship.” “Those who study it, those who teach it—all that is admirable.”

Given this, theologians seemed to rank highest in admirability. Admittedly, the Master himself held a Doctorate in Theology. Under this Principal’s tutelage, we seven classmates—recipients of an education singularly ill-suited for putting bread on tables—somehow spawned one nouveau riche among us. With meteoric vigor, he once donated an auditorium worth ¥170,000 to our alma mater. Though his star has since dimmed, he remains our alumni association’s crown jewel of success. The remaining six fared predictably worse. Our most devout believer met an untimely end. The classmate who dashed to America post-graduation vanished into permanent obscurity. Our ranks now comprise one provincial schoolteacher, one insurance company drone, one pastor—and then myself. At least we all eat. Yet my plate overflows with hardship: juggling three teaching posts while moonlighting as a pamphlet hack just to keep rice in the bowl. You’ve surely noticed those ubiquitous primers—*Secrets of E-J Translation*, *Secrets of J-E Translation*—flooding bookstalls lately? Those are my survival shrieks made print. “Meiji Gakuen—where degrees don’t fill bellies.” Somehow I’ve become sole inheritor of this storied tradition.

Since everyone except Mr. Tachibana, the teacher, was in Tokyo, we occasionally met up. To Mr. Akabane the nouveau riche’s place, I went twice a week as a tutor for his sons. It was infuriating, but since that bastard gave me excessive payment under the guise of assistance, I couldn’t let principle override survival. “Sir, I hear you’re an alumnus of the master’s?”

One day, the student addressed me. “That I am.” “Since he’s become such a distinguished gentleman, he must have been quite intelligent even in his student days, I suppose?” “Well…” I avoided giving a clear answer.

“Successful people have a different bearing right from the start, don’t they?” “He’s been big-framed since way back.” “Was he quick-witted?” “Well… Underclassmen often came to Akabane’s place to ask about the biography of Laozi in the *Records of the Grand Historian*.” “Ah, so he was skilled in Chinese classics as well?”

The student sighed in admiration. "No. Ha ha ha…"

“What’s the matter?” “Mr. Akabane used to say everyone kept asking about the same passage—he found it strange.” “Where was it?” “When they pressed him, he’d say: ‘It’s from *A gentleman possesses great virtue yet appears as though foolish in demeanor*.’” “I see.” “So he already had that noble virtue back then?” “No—the latter part.” “They came to mock him.” “When I’d say ‘Right here,’ five or six of them would point at ‘foolishness,’ but Mr. Akabane never caught on.” “He just kept earnestly explaining each character.”

“He truly has an air of greatness about him.”

“He was different indeed—certainly Akabane was.”

There was nothing for it but to let Akabane take the credit. “That’s impressive.” “Well, well—he is the most successful among our alumni, I suppose.” “Sir, one does want to rise in the world, doesn’t one?” “You’ll go far too. But success isn’t just about money, you know.”

“Anyway, employing his old classmates as tutors—that’s impressive.” And the student reached an unpleasant conclusion. It’s humiliating being treated like a servant. I probably shouldn’t be calling him Akabane or anything like that. But since Akabane himself never puts on airs, it’s a relief. “My children take after me—they all seem to rub everyone the wrong way. “At our mission school, there were no failures, but schools these days are strict, you see.” “I’m counting on you.” He emerged from below. “What do you say? “Why don’t we all get together sometime and share old stories?” “I’ll host it.”

He still wanted to meet our other classmates too, but the opportunity hadn’t arisen yet. Pastor Abe, schooled by Dr.Johnson，held a grudge against the nouveau riche.

“Since it’s that guy we’re talking about, the venue’s no doubt some den of iniquity?” he said and refused. “It’s a teahouse.” “I must beg to decline.” “Would you come if it were a more virtuous place?” “Even if the venue itself were virtuous, that alone wouldn’t suffice. Well, well—just convey my refusal.” “What’s wrong with it? You may dislike him at first glance because your standards are lofty, but in society’s eyes, even Akabane counts as a proper gentleman.” “Is it because he keeps a mistress?”

“Of course he does bad things.” “But on the other hand, he’s also making amends.” “Didn’t he donate a 170,000-yen auditorium to the mission school?”

And I took the trouble to defend Akabane.

“I don’t like that.” "But didn’t you give the congratulatory speech at the completion ceremony?" “I was moved at the time, but since then I’ve come to know that guy’s true character.” “Why?” "That auditorium turned out to be a house built on sand." “Behold, it crumbled in the earthquake!”

“There was nothing to be done about that. The earthquake was a commonplace disaster.” “The cleanup costs five thousand yen. At the time, I went to Akabane’s place in my personal capacity to negotiate.”

“Hmm.”

“Since he donated it, he has an obligation to rebuild it immediately.” “I argued that point vehemently, but that guy kept dodging the issue with evasive answers.” “Isn’t that a bit unreasonable on your part?” “Why?”

“The Akabane back then wasn’t the same as boom-era Akabane.” “After getting caught in the postwar slump and losing two-thirds of his fortune, the earthquake finished him off.” “What’s this ‘slump’?” “You don’t know?” “I’m a pastor who proclaims God’s way.”

“Well, there’s no helping it. The slump slumped. It’s when market prices suddenly drop. With his fortune already reduced to a third and then suffering a heavy blow from the earthquake, he simply can’t afford to rebuild anything.” “If he’s unwilling to rebuild it, I advised him to clean up the mess immediately. Since he donated it, he’s got to take full responsibility if it breaks!” “Well...” “Akabane said he’d at least think about it.” “That’s only to be expected.” “However, he basely refuses to take responsibility. He just donated five hundred yen as reconstruction funds. The academy had to spend five thousand yen because of that guy, and since he only contributed five hundred of it, they’re left shouldering four thousand five hundred yen for the cleanup costs.”

“Pastors sure do have a strange way with numbers, don’t they?” “Am I wrong? It costs 5,000 yen, but he’s only putting up 500!” “Ah, I see.” “I refuse to associate deeply with people whose character I question.” “But then you won’t be able to do missionary work. All people are children of sin.” “If you want to hear about the path, I’ll preach to you as much as you like. Drag them to my church.”

The pastor’s discernment was impressive. Nozaki from the insurance company didn’t have a favorable impression either. “He’s not the same Akabane he used to be,” he said. “Back in our student days, weren’t you closer to me than I was to you?”

And once again, I found myself playing mediator. “After graduation our paths diverged, so we haven’t kept in touch—but ever since that guy came into money, his attitude’s done a complete one-eighty.” “But didn’t you drop by every time you went to Kobe before?” “Back then he wasn’t like that, but lately he’s gotten completely full of himself.” “Did you get into a fight?” “Nah, even if I go, he just won’t see me.”

“That shouldn’t be possible.” “I’ve gone there three times since entering the insurance company.” “He must have thought I came soliciting business or something.” “The bastard actually turned me away at his doorstep!”

“That’s odd.” “I won’t go again.”

“It must be some kind of mistake.” “No, on the third try I called thinking we’d arrange a meeting beforehand, but all I got was some servant’s rehearsed line about ‘the master absolutely will not come to the phone’ that made no sense.” “He’s damn well putting on airs.” “He should’ve just left well enough alone, but I thought I’d check anyway and went over—only to get hit with ‘We have very important guests right now’ again!” “So does that mean you won’t be seeing him anymore?” “I ran into him the other day at an alumni committee meeting.” “He’s a committee member too, same as me.”

“Did he have anything to say?”

“I was so pissed off that the moment we met, I gave him a solid thwack right then and there.” “That’s rather rough.” “He still had that dumb look plastered on his face when he snapped ‘What?’ at me.” “He must’ve been shocked.” “I fired back a ‘What?’ of my own.” “I figure that got the point across plenty clear.”

“And then what do you plan to do?”

“That’s it! What a damn rude bastard!”

Nozaki was fuming. Admittedly, this man had been rough since his student days. Impatient and prone to stuttering, when words failed him, his fists would fly first. Now, bringing forth four classmates from over twenty years ago and introducing their current circumstances here was nothing more than a true preface.

I would now write a novel ill-suited to my nature. There was a profound reason behind this. By nature, I was an English teacher. Whenever I took up my pen, I could produce nothing beyond “Secret Techniques of English-Japanese Translation” and “Secret Techniques of Japanese-English Translation.” However, I had recently come to feel something profound. At present—while once again compiling something called “New English-Japanese Translation”—the following passage emerged from the materials I had gathered: “…Society has grown sick and tired of biographies of great men—it’s demanding biographies of mediocrity. Hundreds of biographies of Napoleon have been published, and tens of millions have read them—but has a second Napoleon actually appeared? Has even one appeared? No. From this we may observe: biographies of great men that purport to teach their successes are mere hocus-pocus. (Note: Hocus-pocus—originally a magician’s incantation in pseudo-Latin—denotes things that dazzle the eye.) Far better to guide the masses with biographies of mediocrity that reflect upon ordinary failures. The world does not require many Napoleons. Behold. Is there not only one Europe? …”

I felt as though I had awakened. This passage struck me like a divine mandate delivered straight from heaven. If failures could serve as lessons for posterity, I had far more material at hand than mere English-Japanese translations. First and foremost, choosing to attend a school that didn't put food on the table had been a mistake from the very beginning. Writing down everything from my academy days to the present exactly as it occurred would suffice. To make matters even more convenient, my classmates were uniformly mediocre. Even Akabane—our nouveau riche classmate—owed his success to what amounted to an accident of history: the European War. There was no helping me now. Having graduated from that impractical school, at least I wasn't starving—that much was something. I had resigned myself to everything. Yet as some small consolation, I wanted to leave something of value for future generations.

“Let there be a Biography of Mediocrity!”

And I resolved.

When I told Akabane about this plan, “Are you going to write about me too?”

he asked with a slightly uneasy look.

“Hmm. You might end up being a main character.” “But I’m currently having a writer from my hometown work on my biography.” “Well, that’s a surprise!” “That would create contradictions and cause problems.” “Are you paying compilation fees?” “Hmm. They take quite a bit.” “I’ll write yours for free, but I’ll tell it exactly as it is. If theirs is a portrait from the hometown, mine would be a photograph.” I retorted sarcastically. How wretched that even slight success makes them fancy themselves possessing greatness. Even Akabane—whom all recognize as foolish—proved no exception.

“Let there be a Biography of Mediocrity! Let there be a Biography of Mediocrity!” Having solidified my conviction, when I next cornered Nozaki from the insurance company, I explained to him the necessity of this kind of biographical writing.

“That’s out of character.” Nozaki tentatively agreed while belittling the idea, “Since it’s probably just some desperate ploy, do whatever you want—but don’t you dare write about me.”

he added that condition. “A nuisance, you say?” “Of course.”

“Why?”

“I’m an exception. I’m not material for it.” “With white hairs sprouting one after another while remaining a lowly employee at an insurance company, you’re unquestionably part of the mediocre lot.” I made a point of looking at his temples. The fool still clung to his delusion of youth—precisely why he detested this most.

“Even if we’re both just rank-and-file clerks, mine’s a foreign company. “The system’s different. “Besides, I got off to a bad start.” “Everyone who graduates from the mission school ends up that way.”

“Changing jobs so often has been my curse.” “Anyway, I’m an exception.” “Write about me and I’ll thrash you!”

Nozaki was as blunt as ever. He had talent but remained convinced he’d been uniquely unlucky. To recognize oneself as mediocre seemed an almost Herculean task. “Let there be a Biography of Mediocrity!” “Let there be a Biography of Mediocrity!”

Next, I took advantage of Sunday to visit Pastor Abe. Sunday was the best day to settle matters with this man. Since he gives sermons morning and evening, he gets worn out—meaning even if there were complaints, he wouldn’t put up much resistance. Sure enough, he was in the middle of preaching at the church. This was the same Stick Gang member who’d once sneaked into Dr. Johnson’s backyard under cover of night to steal strawberries. What nonsense would that guy spout now? I wondered with curiosity. He was holding forth grandly. He was exhorting earnestly. His tongue had been silver since our student days—

“His, um, Martin Luther, uh, in Wittenberg...” he had practiced to an annoying degree. While recalling such things, when I shifted my gaze from Pastor Abe’s face to the wall panel, the sermon title— “The Mediocre Life of Mediocre People” —was displayed. “You bastard—you’ve been at it! Did you know I was coming, huh?”

I marveled. After the service ended，I stopped by the parsonage and talked at length. “That’s good．Did listening to my sermon give you the idea？” “No，it’s just a coincidence．A fortuitous alignment．” “That’s interesting．By all means，write it thoroughly．People like Hidaka in Kyoto and Fujioka in Sendai—they’re perfect material！”

“I’ll mainly use our mission school folks.” “Akabane would work well too.”

“Hmm.”

“Tachibana would also be a suitable candidate.” “He has been in the countryside, living an utterly ordinary life as if over twenty years were but a single day.” “There are plenty among the mission school teachers as well.”

Pastor Abe pointed out each and every potential subject, yet he completely excluded himself from consideration. Such was the extent to which even a pastor who preached “The Mediocre Life of Mediocre People” remained unaware. “Let there be mediocrity!” “Let there be mediocrity!”

“What’s that? That’s...” “Ah, I misspoke. Let there be a Biography of Mediocrity! Let there be a Biography of Mediocrity!” “Is that your slogan for promoting mediocrity?” “That’s right.” “Let there be mediocrity upon mediocrity, for all is mediocre. I too shall preach it vigorously. You handle the writing. I’ll handle the speaking.” “Everyone in the world has this mindset of ‘the mediocre masses and me.’ They keep this ‘me’ fellow out of the mediocre masses.”

With that, I shot back.

“That’s certainly true,” Pastor Abe agreed. “Especially among our group—so many of them go around delivering tedious sermons while fancying themselves great orators.” “Let there be a Biography of Mediocrity!” I declared. “Let there be a Biography of Mediocrity!” “Let there be mediocrity upon mediocrity, for all is mediocre,” he echoed. “It’s the truth. With material this abundant, you can certainly write it!”

Pastor Abe echoed this enthusiastically, yet persistently kept his own “I” separate.

Napoleon aspirants are indeed numerous. Every last one of them is just that. This can benefit friends not in some distant future, but right here in the present. All humanity has been misled by conventional biographies of great men. “The world does not need many Napoleons. “Behold. “Is there not but one Europe?” “All right. “I’ll concoct the antidote for you.”

And so I steadied my resolve more and more, and as soon as I returned home,

“Misao, I’m going to write a novel!” I declared.

“Huh?”

“I’ll write a novel.” “You?” “Oh my!” “That’s utterly absurd!” “Ohohohohoho!”

With that, my wife burst into laughter. What a cruel woman. She thinks I'm nothing but a mediocre fool. Damn, I let it slip.

“Let there be a Biography of Mediocrity! Let there be a Biography of Mediocrity!” “Let there be a Biography of Mediocrity!” “You’ve been saying that quite often lately, haven’t you?”

“This is God’s direct teaching.” “I simply can’t stand this!” “What’s that?” “On top of that, when you talk about writing a novel, I can’t help worrying.” “Why?” “I thought you might be acting a bit strange.” “Don’t take me for a fool. If I say I’ll write a novel, does that mean I’ve lost my mind?” “But that depends on the person. Aren’t you just an ABC teacher?” “Aren’t you just an ABC teacher?” “Just you wait and see.”

“Are you insane?” “Of course I am.” “Then I’ll be watching.” “But there’s one more thing I’d like to ask.”

“What is it?” “What about your exam prep books?” “You’ll have to wait.” “I won’t stand for it!” “Why?” “And you’re sure there won’t be any trouble later if the royalties don’t come in?” “I won’t let any of you feel discouraged.”

“Then go ahead and write to your heart’s content.” “If you can!” “I’ll write it, all right!” And so, out of sheer obstinacy, I found myself compelled to set pen to paper.

Let there be a Biography of Mediocrity! Let there be a Biography of Mediocrity! This settles it.

Ten-year-old prodigy “Exemplary Conduct and Academic Excellence”

This tells the full story of my elementary school days. At that time, the regular course lasted four years and the advanced course four years. For eight years, I maintained my status as an honor student and model pupil, so upon graduation, I received a certificate of commendation from Mr. County Magistrate. Until last year, twenty-two volumes of *Nihon Gaishi* had accompanied it, but from that year onward, I heard from my father that only the certificate remained because the town’s bookstore had stopped making donations. My father was the principal of that elementary school. The fact that I received certificates of merit every year was no accident. Because I was the principal’s child, the teachers gave me special attention. For my part too, believing myself to be the principal’s child, I strove twice as hard.

My father was not like that, but my mother was exceedingly strict. “Yuichi, since your father is the principal, you’re different from other children. “You must come in first. “If you were to fail, your father couldn’t remain principal.”

she impressed upon me. "What do you mean, 'can't remain'?" "He would have to resign as principal."

“What happens if he resigns?”

“We won’t be able to stay in the village.”

“What happens if we can’t stay?” “We’ll have to go somewhere and become beggars.” “That’s terrible!”

“It’s a serious matter, so please don’t fail—become an honor student.” “What’s an honor student?” “First place.”

“First place.”

“I will.” “I definitely will!”

And I made a firm promise. Even as a child, I felt a heavy responsibility and strove earnestly, never neglecting my daily review. “Me, Men, Wan, Wara, Tora, Hito, Hire, Kame, Gan, Tobi” And even today, forty years later, one can see that I still have the elementary first-year reader memorized by heart.

“Lesson One. The small person depicted in this picture wielded a large bow and hit the distant target. ‘This person, after growing up…’ I find myself puzzling over it even now. This was indeed third-year regular course material.”

“Lesson One. The Kusanagi Sword. During the reign of Emperor Keikō, when the eastern barbarians frequently rebelled and provinces fell into turmoil, the emperor dispatched Yamato Takeru to subjugate them. When Yamato Takeru arrived in Suruga Province…”

This was advanced course first year—what would now be fifth year of regular elementary. Strangely, only the first lesson remains etched in my mind. We were this Suruga Province.

When we studied this part, a question arose in me, so “Teacher,” I called out and raised my hand. “Mr. Kawahara, what is it?” Our teacher had an air about him that suggested nobody welcomed my questions.

“Was it the people of Suruga Province who opposed Yamato Takeru and set the fire?” “Yes. Savages.” “Teacher, that puts us in a difficult position.” “Why is that?” “If the savages of Suruga Province are our ancestors…” And I found this terribly presumptuous. “Bwahahaha…”

And my classmates burst into laughter. “No, those savages were all wicked people, so they have no relation to us. As this book also states, every last one of them was either burned to death or annihilated.” “Ah, I see.” And I felt relieved. “Everyone,”

And the teacher, having drawn everyone’s attention, “If you merely read the characters in your textbooks without considering what is written, you will accomplish nothing.” “Everyone laughed at Mr. Kawahara’s question just now, but that is a grave misunderstanding.” “If you read the characters while also reading their meaning, it’s only natural that various doubts will arise.” “To consider such matters and inquire into them—that is the purpose of the higher-level reading curriculum.” “Everyone must take Mr. Kawahara as your model.”

And he praised me.

From first-year elementary, I was the class model. Whenever there was someone with poor manners, the teacher would invariably, “Take Mr. Kawahara as your model.” the teacher would say. At such times, everyone’s gazes would gather upon my face. I sat properly, exactly like a model. At first, I felt proud, but gradually it became stifling. Yet returning home to my mother’s delight remained a pleasure. “Mom, I was praised by the teacher again today.”

“That’s good.” “Why?” “A boy named Yoshimura Koichi and a boy named Samejima Saburo started wrestling in the classroom.” “Oh my! A fight?” “Yes—it was so rough! I didn’t know what to do.” “They did it right in the classroom.” “During lesson time?” “Yes.” “The teacher was right in the middle of telling everyone to get along.” “Goodness me.” “I stopped them.” “What happened then?” “The teacher scolded them both.” “He said there’d be punishments next time.” “Then he said, ‘Look at Mr. Kawahara.’” “‘You must behave properly like him.’”

“That’s good.” “I’ll give you a reward.”

And then my mother would offer me sweets. When told I was everyone’s model, I would start to feel that way. If, for some reason, I wasn’t praised by the teacher even briefly, I would feel unsatisfied. Admittedly, most of my classmates were farm children. Neither their studies nor their manners were any match for mine. “Mom, the teacher hasn’t been praising me lately.” Even if I sniffled in complaint, I’d soon— “Mom, today the teacher said Mr. Kawahara is splendid.” The day would come when he reported this. He never missed an opportunity to be praised.

“What is the meaning of this?” “Those who understand, raise your hands.”

When the teacher would look around,

“Teacher!”

I would be the first to raise my hand and wave it around.

“Someone come up here and try singing this school song by yourself.”

“Teacher!”

“Mr. Kawahara.” And the teacher would point to me. “The windmill ah, the wind blows now, round and round it spins—no, first it spins, then it spins again—oh how it spins!” And I would sing with my whole face. There’s no doubt everyone thought I was quite a piece of work. “Someone come up here and try writing Memenwanwara on the blackboard.” “Teacher!”

“The chalk has run out, so someone please go to the faculty room and fetch some.”

“Teacher!” I was bursting with desire to be praised. A shameful affair, but such is childhood.

Outside the classroom too I made great efforts. Since there had been this notion of "one good deed a day" in my childhood, I want some credit for it. On the way to school stood the village Hachiman Shrine. After entering second grade, whenever I passed before it, I made sure to take off my cap and salute. Merely praying to become number one wasn't enough. Partly motivated by the desire to have my wish granted, I conscientiously kept this up. However, while walking and talking with friends, I would sometimes forget. There were times when I didn't notice and kept going, but when remembered, I would run back to bow. One day, that very act caught the teacher's eye.

“Mr. Kawahara, you’re quite commendable.”

Not only did the teacher praise me, but he also introduced me in the classroom,

“Everyone must take Mr. Kawahara as your model here as well,” and used it as material for ethics class. I wasn’t content with merely being a model for my classmates; I also took it upon myself to look after the underclassmen. The first-year students dawdled on their way home. In small groups, veering off that way and this way, they never walked straight. If they happened upon a snake swallowing a frog, they would watch until it had completely digested its prey. “You all must hurry home—your parents are waiting.”

And I was already a third-year student.

“What’s it to ya?”

“What do you mean by ‘What’s it to ya?’?” “You the teacher?” “I’m not your teacher, but you shouldn’t dawdle like this.” “What’s it to ya?” The first-year students had no manners. Ever since then, every time they saw my face, “What’s it to ya?” they would retort. The second-year students were much the same. One day, I caught up to two or three of them tormenting a puppy by the roadside and— “Cease this cruelty to animals at once!”

I admonished. “What’s it to ya?” “What do you mean by ‘What’s it to ya?’? Even this dog feels pain if hit with a stick, just like you all.” “None of your concern!” And one of the children tried to tie its tail with a rope. “Desist this instant!” So I pushed him aside and snatched the stick from another kid’s hands. “You the teacher?”

“I’m not your teacher, but isn’t this pitiful? If you keep spouting nonsense, I won’t stand for it!”

“What’s it to ya?” “I’ll hit you!”

“Go ahead and hit us.” “Come on, hit us.” The three of them closed in. I raised the stick. However, being a model student was restrictive. If I struck them, my conduct grade would drop to a B. “Let’s go to school.” With that, dragging them along was all I could do. Good deeds might earn praise from teachers, but they won no favor with peers or juniors. If anything, they only hindered socializing. I gradually began understanding this truth.

“Mother, I’m troubled because I have no friends.” “They won’t play with me.” I complained to her repeatedly. “It’s better not to play with rowdy children.” “You should ask Shō-chan and Toku-san to come over.”

And so my mother recommended relatives’ children. However, Shōsaku and Tokusaburō, “It’s no fun because all you ever do is play school, Yuu!” With that, they would promptly head home. Even my cousins were like this, so strangers were all the more so. My classmates excluded me. Looking back now, it’s no wonder. They were all full of mischief. When the ethics teacher’s monitor was among them like that, everything became inconvenient. “Hey, Konishi and Sato—where are you off to?”

Even when I asked, “Nothin’ much. Just out for a bit,” that was all they ever answered. Since both had hand towels tucked at their waists, they were clearly bound for the river to swim. But my presence was an irritation. They couldn’t slip away between dips to raid melon patches. They suspected I’d report them to the school. There was also that lingering resentment—the belief I received special treatment as the principal’s son. When the teacher in class would call out, “Mr. Kawahara,” and point at me, someone always made a pointed cough. Yet with my academic honors, spotless conduct record, and official certifications, I couldn’t afford to mind such trifles. I kept striving as always, until I noticed danger creeping close. I started—but too late. My classmates had tired of mere passive exclusion.

It was during my second year of higher school, on the evening we set out for an overnight excursion. We visited Kunōzan and stayed in Shizuoka. The teacher, “Now then, everyone must sleep quietly.” “Since this is an inn, making noise will trouble the other guests.” “Is that clear?” When he reiterated this and stepped into the adjoining room, I, as class leader, “Everyone, go to sleep at once!” I overstepped. However, they refused to settle down. Thrilled to be staying at an inn for the first time, they kept making noise late into the night.

“Come on, go to sleep now!” I urged them again and, to set an example, was the first to get into bed. Because I was tired, I immediately dozed off. The others too seemed to have talked themselves out and fallen asleep. Before long,

“Honestly, this bastard’s got some nerve.”

The voice shattered my dream.

“He’s getting cocky just because he’s the principal’s son.” “The teacher’s playing favorites with his suck-up tactics, so he’s getting full of himself.”

“At school’s one thing, but coming all this way to put on airs as class monitor?” the whole group chimed in. I kept my eyes shut but recognized each voice distinctly. “Because of this bastard here, I’ve been scolded by teachers God knows how many times.”

“Same here.” “Same here.” “We all do.” “What on earth is he thinking?” “He’s an idiot.” “He’s a complete idiot!” “If the teacher flatters him, he’s the sort who’d climb a prickly tree upside down.” “Hey, let’s just beat him up already!”

"If we cover him with a futon and poke at him, nobody’ll know who did it." “Hey.”

“Hey.” I could no longer keep lying there. I jolted upright. “What do you think you’re doing?”

he pressed. At the same moment, Kunibu lunged at me. That was the signal. Four against one—there was no winning. I was pinned down and beaten mercilessly. “Let this be a lesson and watch yourself from now on.” Kunibu said. “…………” “Don’t flaunt your book smarts.” “…………” “Don’t flaunt your moral superiority.” “…………” “Think carefully. I’ve been building up resentment against you since first grade.” “…………”

“We came here prepared to be expelled, you know.” “…………” “Go tell the teacher.” “But don’t think we’ll only come on moonlit nights.” This was, in effect, a proposal for a private settlement. I remained silent. The four of them, having said their piece, each crawled back into their beds. They had crawled to my bedside from all directions as part of their planned operation.

A trivial incident dictates the course of a lifetime.

I, who was supposed to attend Normal School, ended up entering Meiji Gakuin instead—and today, over thirty years later, find myself putting pen to paper with this notion of A Biography of Mediocrity—all stems from a single night long ago at a Shizuoka inn.

As soon as I returned from the excursion, “Father, once I finish my second year of higher elementary, I want to go straight to middle school.” I proposed. “Middle school?”

“Yes, sir.” “Weren’t you planning to enter Normal School?” “Normal School isn’t an option because you have to finish higher elementary first.” “Besides, I want to become someone remarkable.” “That’s a fine ambition, but stopping at just middle school would leave things half-done.” “I’ll go from high school to university.” “But think of our family’s situation.” “We might scrape by if it’s only middle school, but anything beyond that I can’t manage.” “Middle school alone will do.” “I’ll take care of the rest myself.”

"That would be difficult."

But Father would not hear of it. Yet as long as I remained in the higher elementary course, I could not escape being a model student. The teacher remained unchanged,

“Can none of you do it? Alright then, Kawahara-kun—you give it a try.” The teacher let me take center stage. Kunibu’s gang had moved far beyond mere throat-clearing now. Having once gained dominance through violence, they grew arrogant and began provoking fights at every turn. The class leader’s authority went unheeded with alarming frequency. While being praised by the teacher and tormented by my classmates, I once again advanced to third grade with honors. “Father, there’s nothing to be done about this year anymore, but starting next year, please send me to middle school without fail. I can’t endure this any longer.”

“Why?”

“They say I only become an honor student because my father’s the principal.” “Such a thing couldn’t happen!” “But they all say that and torment me!” “Who are they?” And my father knew every one of my classmates’ names. “Every last one of them.” “I’ll become a great man someday and have every last bastard in this village bound and tied!” “There’s no need to get so worked up.” “They’re just envious and saying such things.” “There’s no need to let it bother you.” “I’m frustrated. "They do all sorts of things to torment me." “Ever since first grade, when the teacher held me up as an example to scold everyone, they’ve built up a mountain of resentment against me.”

“Hmm.” “Last year around this time…”

As I remembered, tears streamed down. “What’s wrong?”

“……” “Tell me.” “I was beaten.” “Who by? Where?” “It was when we went on a school trip and stayed in Shizuoka.” “Who beat you? Tell me.”

Father grew serious. Given his position, he couldn’t simply let it go. I recounted the entire incident from start to finish, “I’ll become a great man no matter what and have everyone bound!” “Please send me to middle school.”

And he began to cry again. “I understand completely.” “Will you do it?” “Let me think about it. If you want to go that badly, I suppose I can find a way to make it happen.” “I will definitely become a great man and have everyone bound!” “There’s no need to bind them. If you just become great enough, binding them amounts to the same thing.” “And I don’t want to be a model student anymore.” “Just bear with it a little longer.” “It’s no fun because I don’t have any friends.”

“If you act out, you’ll make friends.” “Is it okay if I act out?” “Absolutely! Go ahead and pick fights or whatever!” “If it’s one-on-one, I won’t lose to Kunibu or anyone.”

“Yuichi,”

“What is it?”

“You’ve endured well until now. I was wrong.” Father murmured contritely.

I will never forget.

That was the day.

The town pastor came to visit. This person had been striving to bring my father into the church. “Young master, wouldn’t you care to attend Sunday school?” He would urge me to attend as well, and each time he came, he gave me beautiful cards. However, my mother would say,

“Because Jesus was crucified, it’s scary.” Because she said that, I never went even once. “Shimobe-san, is there no way to bring salvation to my son’s anguish rather than my own?”

Father brought up my problem during that day’s conversation.

“What kind of incident is this?” “Your son is a model student, wouldn’t you agree?”

Even the pastor knew my grades. “Actually, because of that model student business, I’ve been regretting it since this morning.” “That’s good,” he said. “Repent and believe in God.” “Now don’t go jumping to conclusions like that.” “Ha ha ha ha!” “Though I was with him every day, I didn’t notice my son’s suffering for six whole years. What a blind fool I’ve been.” Father explained my circumstances. Then he added: “Given this situation, he says he no longer wants to stay at his grandparents’ school and insists on entering middle school immediately. Truthfully, I want him to finish higher elementary and enter normal school—but as even our current model student understands, forcing parental plans would crush him. Yet middle school poses problems too. On a primary school teacher’s salary, I can’t afford schools beyond that—it’d leave his education half-finished.”

He confided his lingering indecision. “What if you sent him to Meiji Gakuin?” “Hmm?” “Meiji Gakuin.” “Does such a school exist?”

“You’re rather out of touch with the ways of the world, aren’t you?”

Pastor Shimobe laughed. Yet when I reflect on it now, this was nothing more than Pastor Shimobe’s subjective view.

“Meiji Gakuin? Where is it located?” Father asked. Even now, when I mention that my alma mater is Meiji Gakuin, I am usually met with this question. “Of course it’s in Tokyo.” “Ah. What kind of school is it?” “It’s the mission school I graduated from.” “When you say ‘mission school’...?” “It’s a school run by American missionaries. It has a middle school department and a higher school department. The middle school department is a middle school. Since Westerners teach from the first year, you’ll become proficient in English.”

“That’s a rather unusual school, isn’t it?” “If you graduate from the middle school department, you can enter an American university.” “Studying abroad is completely out of the question.” “No, he’ll go there and work while doing it.”

“That must be difficult.”

“Oh, it’s nothing. If he works during summer vacation, he can earn a year’s tuition.” “In fact, I’ve managed just fine that way.” “Ah…” “I’ll go to that Meiji Gakuin.” I leaned forward. I didn’t fully understand what it entailed, but I found myself drawn to the term ‘mission school’.

Breaking Free from Model Studenthood

The village was half a ri from the town. Given that it only became a city thirty years later in recent times, it must have been a small town back then, but to me, it looked like a big city. The teacher also cited the broad avenue of ○○ Town during reading class as an example of “merchants’ shops standing row upon row like the teeth of a comb.” My mother’s younger sister lived on that broad avenue. Their business was a geta shop. This shop had taken in a son-in-law from my cousin’s side, who was currently serving as the chairman of the footwear association. I would bring eggs as gifts and return home with geta. Even now, whenever I see straw-wrapped eggs in a play or such, I picture that elementary school student carrying them along the paddy roads to ○○ Town.

One day, after stopping by my aunt’s house, I found myself inclined to visit Pastor Shimobe. I had been told to come visit, but being scared of Christians, I had never once gone. However, after hearing about Meiji Gakuin, I had become quite active. Father, too, “Go once and listen carefully.” Father urged. “But he’s a Christian, that man.” When Mother voiced her apprehension, “Nonsense, Christianity isn’t something bad at all.” Father declared emphatically. And so I too had made up my mind.

Pastor Shimobe’s house was behind the church. When I entered, he himself came out and, “Ah. How kind of you to visit.”

and cheerfully welcomed me. “Pastor, I have come to inquire about Meiji Gakuin.” “Well then, please come this way.” “Pastor, I’m not here to talk about Christianity.”

With that declaration, I stepped inside. I was startled by the rows of Western books gleaming with gold,

“What kind of books are these?” With that, I ventured to ask. “They’re mainly theology books.” “Did you bring them from America?” “Yes.”

“They’re beautiful.” “This is my first time seeing Western books.” “When you enter Meiji Gakuin soon, you’ll be reading things like these.”

Pastor Shimobe smiled gently.

“Pastor, what kind of school is it? I’ve been thinking about nothing but Meiji Gakuin ever since then.” “It’s big, you know. The grounds span over 30,000 tsubo, and all the buildings are Western-style brick structures.” “Ah.” “There is a clock tower. It’s a large clock about six feet tall, but for some reason, it’s always five minutes slow.” “Ah.” “The dormitory is a three-story structure, and the tower has five stories. You can see Mount Fuji clearly.” “Ah.”

I expressed admiration for each and every detail. Pastor Shimobe continued, “Ah, yes. “There were photographs of Meiji Gakuin.” With that, he showed me two or three large ones.

It was still an era without picture postcards.

“It’s just like the West.” “Since it’s a mission school, they brought over Western schools exactly as they were.”

“I see. “It’s splendid. “Is this the five-story building where you can see Mount Fuji?” “Ah. “Since there’s a basement, it actually has six stories.” “What’s a basement?” “A room beneath the ground.” “Ah.” With that, I stared at the dormitory building. In those days, ○○ Town’s only Western-style structures were the police station. Whitewashed and bearing a golden chrysanthemum crest, they looked imposing—yet remained mere two-story wooden buildings. The third floor had only recently acquired its first restaurant, which people simply called “the third floor.” Whenever I passed “the third floor,” I would always look up in admiration of its grandeur. Perhaps because we were born beneath Mount Fuji’s shadow, we instinctively revered height. Since our fire watchtower stood six feet taller, we ridiculed the neighboring village’s children. But they remained unfazed. “Our land’s higher ’cause we’re uphill,” they’d say.

“Dr. Johnson is our president.”

Pastor Shimobe shifted from buildings to people. “The Prime Minister?” “No—the school’s president. “He is the principal. “He’s a remarkable man, you know.” “As for Dr. Johnson, he must be quite remarkable.” “Not only is his scholarship remarkable, but his character is equally so. “That’s what you’d call a great man, I suppose.”

“Saigō Takamori?” “If Saigō Takamori had believed in God, he might have turned out like that.” “I have been profoundly impressed.”

“Ah.” “When I was in fifth grade,” “one day, Dr. Johnson’s cook came crying to me.”

“What is a cook?”

And there were many things I didn’t understand. After all، I was just an elementary school student in the immediate aftermath of the First Sino-Japanese War. And at that، I had been raised in the countryside. With that in mind، I ask for your understanding in all matters.

“A cook is someone who prepares meals. “This cook wasn’t a very good man. “He managed provisions at Dr.Johnson’s household and wanted to make profits, but since the doctor was frugal, he didn’t permit waste. “He once came to me complaining that both Dr.Johnson and his wife were too stingy. “Eventually growing fed up, it seems, he asked to be released from service. “Then Dr.Johnson inquired, ‘What—not to your liking?’” “Does he speak Japanese?”

“His Japanese was peculiar.” “The cook answered that he would return to his hometown because his parent was ill.” “That’s unfortunate.” “I’ll give you this money as a get-well gift.” “And then,” he said, standing up and fetching the bankbook. “This money—all of it—is yours.” “Take that home.” The cook was astonished. “You have been here five years.” “I—I saved money equal to your salary through frugality, so that you wouldn’t be left in hardship when you grow old.” “All of this is yours.” “The cook sat down on the spot and, bursting into tears, said, ‘I’m so sorry, sir.’”

“So he regretted it, then?” “Ah, then he came running to me and begged me to apologize to Dr. Johnson.” “I accompanied him.” “The cook had been embezzling small sums from Dr. Johnson all along, but overwhelmed by his kindness, he repented entirely.” “It’s exactly like a moral instruction tale.” “Indeed.” “The power of love is truly remarkable.” “The cook became a model believer and still works for Dr. Johnson even now.” “What do you think?” “Wouldn’t you agree Dr. Johnson is a great man?”

“Hmm.”

“Since they’ve been influenced by such a principal, among the graduates there are quite remarkable individuals.” “Take Mr. Tomioka from the first graduating class—he’s the best in Japan.”

Pastor Shimobe continued speaking earnestly. “A minister?” “No, he’s a pastor.” “Oh.” “Mr. Nishimura from Osaka is third generation alumni, but as an orator, he’s likely the best in Japan.” “What does he do?” “He’s a pastor.” “Oh.”

“Take Mr. Yasukawa, for instance—the one who came to this church the other day and gave a talk. He’s first-rate too.” “Your father was deeply impressed.”

“What does he do?” “He’s a pastor.”

“Oh.” I was disappointed. Nothing but pastors. “Doshisha in Kyoto has produced remarkable individuals, but Meiji Gakuin is no less impressive in that regard.” “Sir,” “What is it?”

“Hasn’t Meiji Gakuin produced any ministers?” “We don’t produce such things.” “Even aside from ministers—hasn’t there been any truly remarkable individuals produced?” “The ones I’ve just mentioned are all truly remarkable individuals.” "They cast aside their own selves and devote themselves to society."

“But haven’t there been any remarkable individuals who bind people?” “Huh?” “Even those just below ministers would be fine.” “We don’t produce government officials.”

There was a considerable gap between Mr. Shimobe’s mind and my own. "I wanted to become a remarkable individual who could bind people, which is why I thought of going to Meiji Gakuin—but that won’t do." "What on earth do you mean by that? When you say ‘bind people’—"

“During last year’s school trip, Kunibu and three others beat me up. “I was so frustrated I couldn’t stand it.”

“I see.”

“No matter what it takes, I’ll become remarkable and bind all four of them.” “You mustn’t do that.”

“Why?” “That’s a fundamental mistake.” “How is that a fundamental mistake?” “You must love your enemies. ‘Do not take up arms against evil. If someone strikes thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also,’ Christ teaches us.”

Pastor Shimobe took a compact New Testament from the bookshelf and said, “I’ll give you this.” “Here it is.” “Go ahead and read it,” as he opened and handed it over.

As he said this, he opened it and handed it over. I read through the indicated passage. If this were someone like Augustine or Luther, they’d have achieved instant enlightenment and prostrated themselves in awe, but a mediocrity like me had a soul with hide too thick for any inspiration to penetrate. Not only was I numb— “Sir, if you’re going to talk about Jesus, I’ll leave now.” I protested indignantly. I was utterly ashamed of myself.

“Now, now, do listen.” “……”

“All humanity is brothers and sisters.” “Are you familiar with the story of Adam and Eve?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“This is not a story about Jesus.” “This was before Jesus was born.”

Having prefaced this, Pastor Shimobe gave a rough account of Genesis and then,

“Since all humanity are brothers and sisters across the four seas, you must not hate one another.” “Wasn’t Dr. Johnson’s story from earlier precisely that?” “He saved up money and prayed constantly for the cook who had done wrong.” he preached the religion of love to me. “Sir,”

“What is it?” “If we’d loved our enemies, Japan would’ve been taken by China by now.” “Well... Is that really the case?” “Our schoolteacher has stated as much.” “The very act of war is inherently wrong. That was a baseless mistake, done while shedding tears.” “But we had to do it again. Japan suffered great losses this time precisely because we stayed quiet.”

I brought up current affairs. The notion of universal brotherhood made sense, but the anti-war argument didn’t sit right with me. According to our schoolteachers’ arguments, since Japan had to return the Liaodong Peninsula to China due to interference from Britain, France, and Germany, we would have to repay these three enemy nations with substantial interest in the future. We had been taught that this responsibility rested upon your shoulders. "But Yuichi, if you hate Kunibu that much, it must make every day unpleasant, don’t you think?"

With that, Pastor Shimobe returned to the original problem. “Uh...” “Why don’t you try enduring it resolutely? You’ll feel refreshed indeed.”

“He acts cocky every day, so I’ve got no time to put up with it.” “Is he quite a bad boy?”

“He’s always getting scolded by the teacher.” “That makes him resentful, so he comes picking fights with me.”

“I see.” “Instead of waiting until he grows up and gets tied down, I’m thinking of just picking a fight with him now.” “That won’t do either.” “Sir, what should I do?” “Read the Bible and think it over carefully.” “In time, you’ll come to understand.”

“I thought if I asked the Pastor， I’d understand everything right away.” “What do you think you’ll understand?” “It is God who teaches us all.” “Tomosan， come now， let us pray together.”

“Am I supposed to become Jesus?” I panicked, but Pastor Shimobe had already begun praying—a plea that through God’s guidance, we might walk the right path. If that were all, there could be no harm in it.

I received the Bible and became convinced that I should think it over carefully.

At that time, Kunibu was my only problem. My desire to enter middle school as soon as possible existed chiefly for this bastard’s sake. Looking back now, these were truly trivial matters, but a child’s mind works differently from an adult’s. I grew sick of school and sometimes whined. It seemed my father had made some request, for the teacher stopped praising me, but Kunibu still had it in for me. And yet he wouldn’t confront me head-on. He’d always prepare an escape route before teasing me.

“When a desperate bird takes refuge in one’s bosom, even the hunter does not kill it.”

Around the time I memorized that "When a desperate bird takes refuge in one’s bosom, even the hunter does not kill it" proverb from our textbook, Kunibu would— “Class Leader.” He called me, “What is it?” making me answer, “It’s not about you. “It’s about the desperate bird that’s flown into your bosom.” he said. “Class Leader.” “…………” “Why aren’t you answering when I call you?” This time he demanded accountability. It grated on my nerves, but there was no helping it.

When I visited next time, Pastor Shimobe—

“Tomosan, have you read the Bible?”

he asked. “Hmm.” “How was it?” “I don’t quite understand it, but since the Pastor said so, I’ve been enduring it.”

Since he had gone to the trouble of praying for me too, I felt bad and resolved to follow his teachings as best I could. “That’s good to hear. Your spirits must have cleared right up, haven’t they?”

“No—only Kunibu is different.” “But he’s the ringleader—I just can’t bring myself to forgive him.” “So you’ve already made peace with the other three?” “Ah…” “Then you’re almost there.”

Pastor Shimobe was pleased and, after talking for a while, “Tomosan, I’ll teach you how to pray today.” “Just try repeating exactly what I say after me.” “You’ll surely feel refreshed in spirit.”

Pastor Shimobe urged me and, without waiting for my consent, knelt down. I had no choice but to parrot Pastor Shimobe’s words after him. Now that I think about it, it was the Lord’s Prayer. For the most part, it went smoothly, but— “As we forgive those who sin against us…” It was only that part—"As we forgive those who sin against us…"—that I couldn’t stand. I was praying while thinking, Who do I think I’m forgiving? so God must have been taken aback.

The next time I went as well, Pastor Shimobe—

“How did it go?” “Did you manage to forgive Kunibu?” he asked point-blank as his very first words. The pastor knew my anguish well. That was why my feet kept leading me there. “I don’t have time to forgive him. He keeps getting fresh—one thing after another.” I explained that bully’s conduct. “I see.” “No matter what I’ll tie him up. Father says if I show some backbone for Kunibu’s sake, it might actually do good.” “Tomosan.” “What is it?”

“Shall we pray once more?” “No.” “Ha ha ha ha…” “Tomosan.” “I won’t.” “Then let’s skip the prayer and try another approach?” “Tomosan—do you have the strength to fight Kunibu and pin him down?”

Pastor Shimobe asked an odd question.

“Well... “If it comes to a one-on-one fight, I don’t intend to lose.” “Since last year, when I realized being quiet wasn’t enough, I’ve put academics second and focused entirely on physical training.” “Even if it’s sumo or a footrace, I can beat most opponents.” “Physical training isn’t necessary.” “Today, wondering how far I could keep running, I dashed here all the way from the village.” “You’ve got tremendous energy. “Let’s see how much strength you have—why don’t you try arm wrestling me?”

“Let’s do it.” I immediately took up the challenge on the desk but lost both times. However, Pastor Shimobe—

“You’re fairly strong,” he praised me. “I can’t beat adults,” I said, making a sore loser’s excuse. “I’m actually quite strong even among adults.” “In that case, I stand even less of a chance.” “I gave it a try. With that much strength, you can beat most children. Tomosan, how about just beating Kunibu once and for all?” “Is it truly permissible not to love one’s enemy?” “Of course it’s better to love them, but wouldn’t it be bitter if you went on resenting them every day like this?”

“Hah.” “Moreover, if you were to make future plans just to restrain Kunibu, wouldn’t that defy God’s will?” “Hah.” “Tomosan, can you truly not bring yourself to forgive him?” “I can’t.”

“The best course is forgiveness.” “The next best course is to strike back and forget everything completely.” “I’ll strike back.” “Then go ahead and do it.” “But Pastor—is fighting truly permissible?” “The fact that you’ve come to weigh such matters shows growth—but necessity compels us.” “This calls for Sino-Japanese tactics.” “Smite Kunibu.” “I am praying to God for your victory.”

And the Pastor said something utterly unexpected.

The reason I later became a Christian believer was that the profound emotion of this moment lent its force. Admittedly, a faith entered through such circumstances was bound to be rather dubious. Though nowadays my connection to the church is merely having my name on the rolls, even so I bear no ill will toward Christianity. Pastor Shimobe’s words resolved over a year of my anguish. I immediately put it into action. The next day, before gymnastics period began, I was playing in the playground with a few classmates. Just then, Kunibu came riding in, having made three of his underlings into horses. Since we’d done the horse-and-rider race at the sports festival, this had become all the rage. The weaker ones became the horses. Kunibu passed by my side and knocked off my hat.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I shouted at the top of my lungs, chased after him, and struck Kunibu’s temple with the dumbbell I was holding. Kunibu jumped down from the horse. I had braced myself, expecting him to come at me immediately, but that wasn’t the case. He bent down and pressed his head. Blood had come out. “You’ll pay for this!” “I sure will remember.”

“Wait at Hachiman Shrine on your way home!” “I’ll be waiting.” And so we exchanged words as enemies. Kunibu went straight to the wellside and cooled his head. The fact that he immediately attended gymnastics showed it wasn’t a serious injury.

Because the model student resorted to violence, everyone seemed taken aback. “It’s Kunibu’s fault.”

There were also those who expressed sympathy toward me. I had been disliked as a model student, but Kunibu was hated even more intensely as a troublemaker. However, Kunibu had underlings. Since they were bound to back him up, I enlisted my cousin Toku-san.

“Alright, alright. If they’re coming out, I’ll come out too.”

He agreed. Toku-saburō-kun was a fourth-year higher elementary student. At that age when boys shoot up, there’s quite a difference in build between third and fourth years. After school, I rushed to Hachiman Shrine with Toku-san, just the two of us. As I prayed to win, I remembered Pastor Shimobe was praying too. In this way, we had both Japanese and Western gods on our side. Before long, Kunibu arrived with his usual three in tow.

“If you three lay a hand on him, I won’t stand for it!” Toku-san declared firmly.

“Right.”

The three nodded and looked toward Kunibu.

Toku-san’s involvement came as a surprise. Kunibu and I saw no need for preamble now, since we both understood perfectly well in our hearts what had brought us to blows. We suddenly began pummeling each other. “Give it your all!” Toku-san shouted encouragement. Kunibu’s allies seemed to remain silent out of fear of Toku-san. We soon became locked in a grappling match. Having tripped over a tree root and fallen first, I took two or three blows, but immediately rebounded and stood back up. We were grappling again. For a short while, we shoved and were shoved around where the large enoki tree spread its roots, but I finally managed to twist my opponent down and straddle him.

“Tom, bash his head against the tree root!”

Toku-san approached.

“Alright.” I grabbed Kunibu’s head with both hands and thudded it against the tree roots—thud after thud. This hurt more than punching him. “How about that?”

“…………” “Had enough?” “Enough already.”

“Apologize.”

“…………”

“You want more of this?” “I was wrong.”

Kunibu too finally resigned himself. When I let him go, he sat up and started bawling. “Tom, that’s enough.” “Finish off these bastards too!” Toku-san glared at the three.

“We had nothing to do with any of this!” The three stepped back.

“No, there is! Tom, wasn’t it these bastards who did that during the school trip?” “That may be true, but since they were just egged on by Kunibu, that’s enough.” I was already worn out from dealing with Kunibu alone. “Anyway, you apologize!”

Toku-san looked ready to start swinging in his fury.

“Our apologies.” The three apologized to me. Some classmates came up to the torii gate to watch. As of that day, I shed my status as a model student. Kunibu could no longer look down on me. The others too began to fear me. From then on, I carried on as the leader of the brats until graduation. People may call children little barbarians, but in reality, they are just that. Nothing proves more futile than playing the saint in a society of barbarians. I struck down Kunibu, and for the first time, they acknowledged my existence. Even a class leader holds no sway without physical strength. In truth, I had been a cornered beast. Yet now my commands reached every corner of the class.

“It’ll be a problem if you don’t listen to me.” Even when I pleaded, they wouldn’t listen, yet— “Oi!”

All I needed was to bark out a single command. Little barbarians hold brute strength in higher regard than good conduct and academic excellence. “I’m going straight to Tokyo’s Meiji Gakuin once I finish third grade next spring. “It’s a six-story mission school!” “You lot can graduate from higher elementary and become country bumpkins!” That said, not a single soul dared to defy me. However, I was destined to graduate from higher elementary school. When the end of the third grade I had been waiting for drew near, it was decided that a middle school would be established in ○○ Town starting the following year.

“Yuichi, since this works out perfectly, you’ll be commuting to the town’s middle school from home.”

And so my father had settled the matter.

“So does that mean I have to stay in higher elementary for another year?” Of course I was dissatisfied. “That’s right.” “But if I’m going to enter anyway, it’s better to do so as early as possible.” “No, if you graduate from higher elementary, you can enter the second year.” “Even if you went to Tokyo now, with a three-year course being incomplete, you’d still only get into the first year.”

“But since I’ll be entering second year next year, it’s the same thing, isn’t it?”

“Don’t go saying things you don’t understand. “The cost differs between going out to Tokyo and commuting from home.” “If we handle middle school affordably, then it’ll be easier to manage going on to higher schools afterward.” “Oh…”

“If you attend the town’s middle school, I’ll let you enter Meiji Gakuin’s higher division after you graduate.”

“Understood.” “If you go to a normal school, you’ll at least make something of yourself, but with just middle school alone, it’s utterly hopeless. “Since you’re my only child, I discussed it with your mother to figure something out.” And so my father had planned everything down to the last detail.

Students of Yore

Looking at today, with its clamor over competitive school admissions, my middle school days feel like they belong to another era. Over thirty years ago, when my hometown of ○○ Town first established its middle school, the very idea of entrance examinations was unthinkable. The school authorities panicked over the lack of applicants. An exceedingly courteous letter of request circulated from the middle school principal to elementary school principals. Since my father was an elementary school principal and it had been decided I would enter the prefectural middle school, I was shown that letter at the time and still remember it to this day. Having expounded on the necessity of secondary education, they then appealed their circumstances,

“We most humbly beseech you to kindly discuss the aforementioned matter with those who have completed at least the second year of higher elementary school and their guardians, and should you deign to send even one or two students, for the sake of our nation’s secondary education, there could be no greater honor. Respectfully submitted with deepest reverence.” was concluded thus.

However, when I recently visited a certain middle school principal before my third son’s entrance examination, “If this concerns admission inquiries, I must regretfully decline any meetings as we’ve been troubled by an excessive number of visitors with similar intentions of late.” I was splendidly shown the door. When business thrives, standards rise. It’s all topsy-turvy now! Middle schools in those days were unassuming. Not only did principals circulate promotional handbills, but clerks went soliciting through nearby villages, visiting each prominent household one by one,

“I understand your honorable son has completed the second year of higher elementary school—allow me to offer my congratulations. By the way, how does that sound?” he pressed. “What’s this? What on earth—” “What on earth—” “Might I ask you to consider enrolling him in the middle school? Tuition is one yen, textbooks two yen and twenty sen. Please take a look at this chart.”

“One yen for tuition! “That’s downright outrageous!” And the farmer was quick to calculate. Tuition for ordinary elementary school was five sen, and for higher elementary school, eight sen. “On the other hand, once he graduates, he’ll qualify as a volunteer soldier—so his three-year conscription period will be completed in just one year.”

“I see.” “He can even enter university and easily earn a monthly salary of ten yen or so. To succeed in tomorrow’s society, education is absolutely essential. Why, when you consider how our prefecture’s middle schools compare to others’...” The clerk launched into his rehearsed spiel about the urgent need for secondary education. But the farmer—who believed ordinary elementary schooling was plenty good enough, having been buttered up by the village head and principal—saw higher elementary education as pure extravagance. “No use talkin’.” He shut it down flat.

“Now, now, do consider the benefits of education…” “That was one thing!”

“When you had to send them away to boarding schools in years past, that was one thing—but now that we’ve built one right under your nose where they can commute from home…” “I keep saying it’s no use—can’t you get that through your head?” “I must apologize for this unfortunate intrusion.” And the clerk realized there was nothing more to be done. If he kept pushing any further, he’d get beaten with a hoe. It wasn’t like today’s situation where those eager to enter are kept out. They wanted to enroll them, yet they wouldn’t enter. From this perspective, one could see that Japan’s secondary education had indeed made great strides. In any case, since there was such a dire shortage of applicants under these circumstances, those who had graduated from higher elementary school were immediately admitted into the second year. Yasui-kun, the deputy’s son, and I utilized this privilege. Additionally, the eldest son of the landowner Gondo entered first grade.

“Mr. Gondo and Mr. Yasui may do as they please since they have money—but what on earth could Kawahara’s household be thinking?” And the villagers began to wonder.

“Isn’t Takaga just an elementary school principal? How much do you think his monthly salary even is?” “He did something above his station.” “Couldn’t he be skimming off the school tuition?” “Principal Kawahara has been associating with those Jesus people in town lately.” “Maybe money’s coming from those Jesus people.”

And so it seems my father’s reputation suffered for a time. It was an era when those without money remained needlessly humble. For an elementary school principal’s son to receive secondary education costing one yen in tuition was considered an unscrupulous act defying tradition. How different from today, when the poor swagger about styling themselves proletarians.

I was completely liberated for the first time when I entered middle school. During elementary school, because my father was the principal, I had always been conscious that I was attending his school. My mother would say: “Yuichi, if you don’t come in first, your father won’t be able to hold his head high.” Through such teachings, she solidified this conviction within me. The teachers too would praise me with remarks like “As expected of Mr. Kawahara” whenever I performed well. This of course meant they were acknowledging me solely as the principal’s child. The responsibility weighed heavily on me. Even as a child, I felt compelled to uphold my parents’ honor. Consequently, I couldn’t allow myself any misbehavior. Year after year as a model student, I devoted myself to good conduct until I became the target of covert bullying from my peers.

But middle school was entirely my own school. I could do everything exactly as I pleased. Though I regretted not being able to attend distant Tokyo’s Meiji Gakuin, I rejoiced at being liberated from my father’s school.

“You know, middle school’s really something, isn’t it?”

One morning on our way to school, I voiced my thoughts to Yasui-kun.

“It’s different from elementary school. First off, the main building is new.” “I’m truly happy.” “Me too.” “I’m happier than you. And there’s a reason!” “What?” “I don’t have to be a model student anymore.” “So that’s why you didn’t bow to Lord Hachiman earlier?” “You caught me!” “Ha ha ha ha!” “People will laugh if you do that in middle school.” “I thought you’d turned Christian.” “As if I’d become a Christian!”

“It’s better not to become something like that.” “The reason I’m more delighted than you is that I don’t have to be number one anymore.” “You’re going to be number one anyway.”

Yasui-kun, who had made that remark, had been second in elementary school.

“No way, I can’t do it anymore.”

“Why?” “In elementary school, I forced myself to study because I thought I shouldn’t cause trouble for my father. But man, it was tough.” “I’d figured that out already!”

“There was another thing—the teacher went easy on me.” “Because I’m the principal’s kid, you see.” “In real ability, you’re better than me.” “As if that’s true!” “Anyway, this time I don’t have to anymore.” “Even if I’m not the top student, it won’t trouble the principal.” “You will.” “Why?” “Didn’t the principal tell everyone at the entrance ceremony to study aiming to be top student?” “That’s contradictory.” “There can only be one top student in a class.” “It means we should all strive to be that one person.”

“Then the principal will have to disappoint thirty-nine people for sure.” “Because there are forty students in our class.” “There you go with your logic again!”

“Since there are two first-year classes, he’d have to disappoint seventy-eight people." "Combined with my class, that makes 117." "If you consider up through fifth grade, he’d end up disappointing hundreds!" “Ha ha ha!” “I’ve quit performing.” “Planning to slack off?” “Yeah.” “What an admirable attitude so soon after enrollment.” “Ha ha ha ha!”

And I felt inexplicably lighter.

"But we’ve got a heavy responsibility." “Why?” “Didn’t the principal say that we second-year students, being the inaugural class, need to set an example?” “Model students might be fed up, but having no upperclassmen is a relief.” “There’s no one to hold us down.” “That’s right. We can hold our heads high.”

“What a relief we became upperclassmen right after entering.” “Those first-years sure do salute often.”

Yasui-kun was also proud. “If we glare at those who don’t [salute], they end up doing it anyway.” “They’re scared of us.” “It’s because we’re in a different league.”

“They’re all big on our side. There’s that tall beanpole Kumamoto, right?”

“Yeah.” “That guy failed so many times at his Tokyo middle school that they say he’s already seventeen.”

“He looks tough.” “That guy keeps talking about how he raised hell in Tokyo.” “What a pain.” “And that Komatsu standing next to him’s no spring chicken either.” “Seems he’s quite the grind.” “They say he quit his clerk job at the town office to chase his dreams here.”

Having heard this from a student from ○○ Town, I had come to hold this man in respect.

“That’s admirable.” “Because he’s so earnest, he keeps asking questions.” “There’s another one named Hasegawa, right?” “Isn’t he practically an adult? He’s got a bit of a beard.” “He must be eighteen or nineteen by now.” “He was working as a substitute teacher at a local elementary school.” “Yamaguchi-kun here next to me apparently studied under that person.” “This is surprising.” “So a teacher and student have become classmates?”

“That’s right.” “It’d be difficult if the teacher were beneath us.” “Hard to say. We knew the second-year class was gathered from high school graduates—plenty of seasoned folks—but I never expected a teacher to be among them.” “I can’t possibly compete with that.” “Look here.” “What is it?”

“You’re still determined to come out on top, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m not.” “Still, better to strive for the village’s honor, you know.”

And Yasui-kun returned to the initial topic.

The results of my relieved responsibilities promptly appeared on the first term's report card. My overall evaluation was Fair, and my class rank was thirteenth. "You couldn’t take first place, huh?"

Father seemed slightly disappointed. “Haa.” “Middle school isn’t like elementary school.” “Right.” “Still, you should’ve managed to stay within the top ten.” “Well…”

And I, feeling sorry, “It’s because arithmetic, geography, and history were my weak subjects,” I explained. “I see,” Father said, still poring over the report card. “Thirteenth place? This might be about right.” “Haa.”

“What rank was Yasui?” “He’s tenth.” “Hmm.” “Even back in elementary school, Yasui-kun was truly better than I was.” I stated exactly what I thought.

“That’s not true.”

“…………” “Who’s in first place?”

“He’s not a kid.”

“Hmm?” “He’s an adult.” “It’s Hasegawa-san.” “I see.” “He used to be a teacher?”

“Haa.” “And second place?” “It’s someone from the town office. He’s an adult too.” “I see. And third place?” “Third place is a child, and fourth place is also an adult.” “There are quite a few older students, then.” “With seven or eight people who graduated from higher school three or four years back, I can’t possibly keep up.” “Well now, if you’re in the teens, I suppose that’s acceptable.” “Haa.” “Middle school isn’t like elementary school. This might actually be about right.” Father seemed to recall something—perhaps his own schooldays—and surrendered with unexpected ease. Mother stayed silent through this exchange, though I steeled myself knowing her delayed scolding would come. Sure enough, later came—

“Yuichi,”

she began.

“What is it?”

“Can’t you be first in middle school?” “Haa.” “If you don’t at least make third place, your father won’t be able to save face.” “It’s fine.”

“Can you manage it?” “No, there isn’t a single person who even knows Father’s face.” “Even so, isn’t it a bit strange that you were a model student for eight years in elementary school but are thirteenth in middle school?” “There’s no favoritism in middle school. “It’s different from the school where Father is principal.” “So your first place in elementary school was due to favoritism?” “That’s correct.” “There can’t be such a thing. “In both elementary school and middle school, it’s all about one’s own studies.”

“There are adults, you know. Because I entered second year directly, I’m stuck studying nothing but difficult subjects. How could you possibly understand middle school?” And I had already learned how to pressure Mother.

The four years of middle school life were far more enjoyable than my elementary school days. My grades remained consistently in the teens, just as my father had instructed. I once reached eighth place, but the next time I dropped to twenty-fifth. From then on, the pull of the twenties grew stronger, and my position generally settled around eighteenth or nineteenth place. With results like these, there was no need to worry about being resented by others. Admittedly, our class remained consistently harmonious and peaceful. The class president was always Hasegawa-san, and the vice president was consistently Komatsu-san from the town office. They held sway because they were older. Kumamoto-kun, who had returned from Tokyo, wasn’t the ruffian he made himself out to be.

At first, we half-jokingly called Hasegawa-san "Professor Hasegawa." “Please stop that, Professor,” “Aren’t we classmates?”

Hasegawa-san was in a bad mood.

“Well then, Hasegawa-san.” “What is it?” “How old are you?” I asked. It was Yasui-kun and several others who had asked me to do it. “Eighteen.” “Is that true?” “Would I lie? How old are you?” “I’m fifteen.”

“Then there’s only a three-year difference.” “How many years were you a teacher?” “What does that matter anyway?”

Hasegawa-san disliked inquiries about his age. “Komatsu-san, how old are you?” And I had also been asked to do this while at it. “Me?”

Mr. Komatsu scratched his head. “Well...”

“The same as Hasegawa.” “Is that true?”

“You’re oddly suspicious.” “It’s not exactly like that,” I explained, “but since everyone said I should ask.” That happened soon after we started school. Soon after that，these two seniors were absent for a day. With the older students gone，their absence stood out，

“What happened to them?”

“Didn’t all the studious ones take the day off together?” And we wondered.

“I know.” And Kitamura, who was also older, shrank his neck. “What is it?” “It’s the conscription examination.”

“Oh, right.”

And they all burst into uproarious laughter. This revealed their ages.

The next day, “Hasegawa-san, you lied.” With that, I lunged at Hasegawa-san. Of course, it was a joke. “I give! I give!” “Komatsu-san is a liar too!” “No—I’m saying I’m **the same** as Hasegawa-kun.” “Sneaky-sneaky!”

“Nyah-nyah!” With everyone jeering and cheering, it turned into a huge commotion. “Who on earth spilled the beans?”

Hasegawa-san asked. “It was Mr. Kitamura.” “Even though he looks like this, Kitamura-kun is older than us.” “He got it over with last year.” “There’s always someone above you, I guess.”

“Nyah-nyah!” And with that, we finally identified the eldest among us. “Exposed! Exposed!”

Mr. Kitamura scratched his head and stuck out his tongue. It was truly a class with many older students. Yet this very Mr. Kitamura is now making waves as a city council member in ○○ City. What a distinguished group our first cohort was. After graduating, Mr. Komatsu took the certification exam for Japanese and Chinese Classics and has been teaching at his alma mater ever since, for over twenty years as if it were but a single day. As for Mr. Hasegawa, he was a man straight out of an inspirational biography. Because there were many such steady individuals among our seniors, our class remained consistently disciplined and enjoyed the deep trust of our teachers.

Given that I was bold enough to directly ask about the age they were concealing, I had no reservations. As a result, I became familiar with these seniors and grew particularly close to Mr. Hasegawa. Even if I acted quite willfully, the difference in our ages kept things from turning into arguments. “What a hopeless fellow!” he’d concede with a sigh. I recall it was during my third year when, one day, Hasegawa-san— “Kawahara-kun, you’re a Christian, aren’t you?”

he asked. “I’m not a Christian.” “Is that right?” “Well, that’s all right then.”

“Is there something wrong with being a Christian?” This needled me a bit, “It’s wrong.” “Why is that wrong?” “Christianity is a Western religion, you know. If all of Japan were to become Christian, Japan would be taken over by the West.”

Mr. Hasegawa was ensnared by utterly commonplace prejudices. Given my respectful relationship with Pastor Shimobe, even though I wasn’t a Christian myself, it felt disagreeable to hear Christianity disparaged.

“Hasegawa-san, there’s no such foolishness.” That immediate rebuttal of mine marked the beginning of it all. With a sixteen-year-old boy and a twenty-two-year-old young man, they were on entirely different planes. Each time I found myself bested in these exchanges, driven by that bitter frustration, I began visiting Pastor Shimobe to seek his teachings. “Kawahara’s gone Christian.” “He’s a Christian, that guy.” Such rumors began circulating.

“Alright.” “Then I’ll become a Christian!”

And before long, I was baptized. Since I'd embraced faith out of defiance, it was hardly praiseworthy. I was also working on strategies to defeat Mr. Hasegawa in argument. It felt exactly like when I'd resolved to bind Kunibu years earlier. Mediocre folk are pitiful creatures. They let trivial matters dictate life's grand decisions.

As our class advanced, we discussed our futures.

“Kawahara-kun, you have it good.” Mr. Hasegawa said enviously one day.

“Why is that?”

“You always look so cheerful.” “It’s because you don’t know life’s hardships.” “And you’re free from hardships yourself?” “Well, I suppose that’s true.”

“That’s rude!”

“I am constantly tormented.”

“If you don’t believe in Christ, that’s only natural.” And I was convinced I’d attained perfect enlightenment.

“Starting your evangelizing again, huh?” “Is your torment about life’s problems?” “That’s part of it, but there’s something more pressing.” “What is it? What in the world?” “Shall I tell you?” “Yeah.” “Well, perhaps we should leave it at that.” “You mustn’t do that. It’s a love problem, isn’t it?” “Don’t talk nonsense.” “Then what is it?”

“Well…”

Mr. Hasegawa looked around his surroundings. We were leaning against the wooden horse in the playground.

“I won’t tell anyone.” “Kawahara-kun, though I’ve long been in your care, I must soon take my leave.” “What’s happened?” “The truth is, I came to this school under the condition that I would be adopted.” “That’s why I’m tormented.”

“Is being adopted a sin?” “No—it’s my adoptive family’s trade that’s the trouble.” “What trade?” “The pleasure quarters.” “What?” “A brothel house.” “I only agreed to get into middle school—now I’m trapped by my own choice.” “Then what will you do?” “Run.” “If I stay here, these bonds can never be severed.” “From today—my own two hands will build my life.” “Where will you run?” “Tokyo—where else?” “When?”

When I asked, “Move! Move!”

“Move! Move!” came the shout. It turned out that two or three classmates had come to jump on the wooden horse. Mr. Hasegawa, “Soon.”

He answered and started walking. “Mr. Hasegawa.” “What is it?” “Isn’t there any way to cut ties while staying here?”

“There’s absolutely no way.” “But there’s less than a year left.” “I can’t afford to weigh the pros and cons. “I don’t believe in Christianity, but I’ve come to truly understand what sin means. “I can no longer keep deceiving myself.”

“Hey, hey! Another debate?”

As Mr. Komatsu approached, the conversation was left unfinished.

The next day, Mr. Hasegawa did not come to school.

Mr. Komatsu, “Kawahara-kun.” called out and dragged me off to Mr. Kitamura’s place. “What is it?” “Can you come into town tonight?” “Well…”

“We’re holding a gathering with Kitamura and Hasegawa.” “You heard from Hasegawa, didn’t you?” “Is this about the Tokyo trip?” “Right—that farewell gathering.” “Hasegawa says he wants you to come too.” “Please make every effort to attend.” “I’ll come.”

I agreed. The venue was a restaurant. Geisha were also present. By school regulations, this was precisely grounds for expulsion. Yet the three of them drank sake unperturbed. Though they wrestled with the National Reader in class, in places like this they became upstanding adults. I made myself small and listened to their debate, feeling I had encountered my first real life problem.

“The fact that things have come to this is Kawahara’s fault.” I was all the more astonished when Mr. Kitamura began his drunken rambling. “Why is that?” “Come on, have a drink.” “I refuse.” “What good are you if you can’t even drink?”

“Cut it out, Kitamura.” Mr. Hasegawa intervened. “I can’t stand Christians.” “Cut it out, you fool.” “The fact that things have come to this is Kawahara’s fault.” “Why is that?”

That irritated me too.

“Because you preached about Jesus.” “Even a brothel is a business.” “I didn’t know about that.” “Even if it’s a business, it’s not legitimate work! If Hasegawa becomes the proprietor of a brothel, I’ll cut off all ties with him.” Mr. Komatsu asserted a firm stance. “I leave the rest to you.” Mr. Hasegawa said repeatedly. “Sure thing.” The two of them readily agreed. “A man of ambition leaves his native shore…”

When Mr. Hasegawa began his recitation, my tears spilled out. “We’ll see him off to the station. Since it’s getting late, you must go home now. And then—you mustn’t tell anyone you attended this gathering,” Mr. Kitamura said. What left the deepest impression during my four years of middle school life was these three and that evening’s farewell gathering. Especially because Mr. Hasegawa’s hard-won academic success made the impression all the deeper. Even now, whenever we meet, we inevitably end up talking about that evening.

“Kawahara, I’ll see you in Tokyo next year!”

With that, Mr. Hasegawa left the restaurant carrying a heavy-looking bag. "You need to go home early." "Keep your mouth shut about everything."

Mr. Komatsu reiterated. Mr. Hasegawa departed for Tokyo on the eleven o'clock last train. The next day, Mr. Kitamura and Mr. Komatsu were summoned repeatedly to the faculty room at school. When I noticed their absence the day after next, they had received a two-week suspension. While submitting Mr. Hasegawa's withdrawal notice to our homeroom teacher and explaining the circumstances, they had forthrightly confessed to holding a farewell gathering at a traditional restaurant. I understood why those two had made me swear not to tell anyone.

Middle school students back then were something else.

With my traveling pack on my back,

It took five hours from my hometown to Tokyo; I disembarked at Shimbashi. It was a time when Tokyo Station did not yet exist. It’s been nearly thirty years now. I carried a canvas bag that was popular at the time, with my heart pounding, and made my way along the platform. I remember it being about two or three chō to the ticket gate. When I took my luggage, I immediately called a rickshaw man.

“Meiji Gakuen.”

And so, this was the destination I had eagerly awaited for four years. “Huh?” “Meiji Gakuen.” “Where to?” “It’s a Christian school.”

And there at Shimbashi Station, first thing, I displayed my country bumpkin ways.

Tokyo was vast. Unlike my hometown where simply saying "middle school" would have sufficed.

“Which ward?” “It’s Akasaka Ward, Aoyama.” “Is Aoyama near the drill ground?” “I don’t know—it’s my first time here. 7-chome.” “That’s quite a distance.” The rickshaw man balked. I don’t remember how much we settled on, but I recall it wasn’t much different from five hours’ worth of train fare from my hometown. No matter how far we went, it was all town. “Tokyo’s big, isn’t it?” I inadvertently blurted out. “It certainly is!”

The rickshaw man answered as if it were his own Tokyo.

“Where exactly is Kanda Ward?” “Why, you’re way off the mark!” “Do you know about the night school in Kanda?” “Kanda’s teeming with schools.” “Hmm.” And once again, I regretted it. I should just keep quiet. The reason I had asked about Kanda was that I had remembered Mr. Hasegawa. Last year, our senior classmate Mr. Hasegawa, who had dropped out midway due to circumstances, was attending night school while delivering milk in Kanda.

Human memory is a mysterious thing. I am now holding my pen while visualizing a dog killer slaughtering a dog. That was the scene I witnessed during my first carriage ride from Shimbashi to Aoyama. It happened beside a merchant house’s rainwater barrel. A man approached a tail-wagging dog and gave it something, then immediately struck it with a stick he’d been hiding behind his back—*thwack*. The dog crumpled. The killer bludgeoned it repeatedly. Naturally, both I and the rickshaw man turned our attention there. Just then,

“Make way!”

A voice called out. A carriage. And what’s more, it was drawn by two horses. I had never seen something so magnificent before. Inside rode a general of imposing stature. His was a pockmarked face that had become familiar through photogravure images since the chronicles of the Sino-Japanese War.

“That’s General Ōyama, isn’t it?” I realized immediately.

“Indeed it is, sir,” said the rickshaw man.

The dog killer and the general—things I had forgotten for years suddenly rose before my eyes now. That aside, after riding for nearly an hour—around the time I realized the fare wasn't exorbitant after all—I arrived at Meiji Gakuen, the school I had aimed to attend for years. I had heard from Pastor Uribe that it was all Western-style brick buildings, but their actual magnificence left me astonished. I had them let me down right at the gate. At that moment, a rickshaw arriving just behind deposited a youth about my age. His attire mirrored mine—kimono with hakama trousers—with a hand towel dangling at his waist. When I moved my briefcase and trunk to a corner of the entranceway, he brought in similar luggage. Realizing we shared the same purpose filled me with an oddly nostalgic warmth. Yet the youth squared his shoulders and glared at me. Not only that. When I approached reception to submit my letter of introduction from Mr. Uribe,

“Please give this to Mr. Inokuma.” He tried to get himself attended to first. I grew irritated and glared fixedly at his face. The youth squared his shoulders defiantly and kept glaring back at me endlessly. I thought him an impudent brat. Students in those days were rough. I’d been warned Tokyo scholars would pick fights at the drop of a hat—that I must stay on guard.

The elderly receptionist who had taken our letters of introduction and retreated soon reappeared in the corridor. “This way, please.” he said, gesturing for us to follow. The two were led to the administrative office. “Please wait here.”

The elderly man left us in a cramped corner and walked away. At a nearby desk dictating something to an office worker was Mr. Inokuma, the school administrator. My attention was caught by the teacher's glasses. No matter how many times I looked, there were no earpieces. They were pince-nez. As this too was my first encounter with a box carriage, my curiosity was piqued. We were made to wait for quite some time. When standing straight became unbearable and I shifted my posture slightly, my shoulder brushed against that youth's shoulder. Then the youth jabbed his elbow sharply into my side. This time, I couldn't let it pass. I jabbed back with interest. The bastard seized his chance and jabbed me again. I jabbed back. Several exchanges of elbow jabs occurred between us two.

“You there! You there!” Mr. Inokuma called out. “Yes, sir?”

The youth pushed past me and stepped forward. What an utterly insufferable bastard. Since I’d given him an extra jab on my way out, that put me in his debt. “And you are?” “Nozaki.” “You’re Mr. Maruo’s referral, correct?” “Yes, sir.” “Is Mr. Maruo in good health?” “Yes, sir. He asked me to convey his regards to you.” “Thank you.” “I wish to enter the Higher Department, so I submitted my application and academic transcript from my hometown—have they arrived yet?”

“Wait, if you please.” Mr. Inokuma took out a bound set of documents from the shelf by his desk and, flipping through them, “Nozaki Kisaburō. This one, correct?” “Yes, sir.” “Hamamatsu Middle School, and... Didn’t you graduate last year?” “Yes, sir.” “What have you been doing until now?” “I was just loafing around at home.” “Didn’t you take entrance exams for other schools last year?” “I tried for the Higher Commercial School and flunked.” Then the youth scratched his head. I thought it served him right.

“For what reason are you applying to the Higher Department of Meiji Gakuen this time?” “Well, you see… um… I aspire to make my mark in the business world someday.” “I see.”

“It’s an excellent school, and Mr. Maruo said this is absolutely the best place for language studies.” “How were your middle school grades?” “Neither good nor bad.” “What was your graduating rank?” “Mid-level.” “Because I ranked twenty-ninth.” “Out of how many students?” “Well...” “There were thirty-four or thirty-five.” “Hmm.” Mr. Inokuma appeared satisfied. I marveled that such a peculiar mid-level position could even exist. He’s spewing contradictions right to our faces without batting an eye.

“It’s because I took about three weeks off during my fifth year.” “Since the Higher Department here is primarily taught by Westerners, you’ll struggle if your English isn’t up to par.” “Yes, sir. I was informed of that by Mr.Maruo as well.” “How were your English grades?” “Middle of the pack.” “In the disciplinary section of this academic transcript, there’s an entry for a three-week suspension. What exactly did you do?” “Let’s see...”

The youth, having reached an impasse, scratched his head again. “Don’t hold back—out with it.” “There was evidence that I had tried to organize a strike.” “I see.” “I’ll never do it again.” “How was your conduct?” “It was middle of the pack.” “What do you mean by ‘middle of the pack’ for conduct?” “In short, it’s a B. Though to be precise, it’s a C because I received that punishment.”

“Which is it? The real truth now.” “It’s a C. Middle of the pack.” “That will do.” “Will you admit me?” “Aren’t you planning to apply to other schools again?” “No, sir.” “Aren’t you planning to use this place as a stepping stone to take the Higher Commercial School entrance exam?” “There’s absolutely no such thing.” “If you’re truly committed to studying here through to the end, I’ll gladly grant your admission.” “Please, I ask of you.” “From this letter, it seems you wish to enter the dormitory, correct?”

“Yes, sir.” “Then please wait there.” With that, Mr. Inokuma dismissed the youth, “You, come here.”

he called me. “Yes, sir.” “You are Mr. Kawahara, introduced by Mr. Urube, correct?” “Yes, sir.” “Is Mr. Urube in good health?” “Yes, sir. He asked me to convey his earnest regards.”

“Thank you.” “Indeed, I intend to enroll in the Higher Department and have already completed the procedures from my hometown.”

And I looked at the desk. My admission application and academic transcript were spread out. “What was your middle school graduation rank?” “Seventeenth.” “Out of how many?” “It was a class of thirty-four.” “Then you’re truly middle of the pack. Was Meiji Gakuen your long-cherished aspiration?” “Yes, sir. I actually wanted to enter the middle school department from the start, but due to family circumstances, this is my first time coming to Tokyo.” “When were you baptized?” “In my third year.”

“Are your father and mother also believers?”

“No, I’m the only one.” “What are your future aspirations?” “I haven’t decided yet.” “That’s fine. Well now, you can think it over slowly while studying.” “Yes, sir.” “Hmm.” Mr. Inokuma reread Mr. Urube’s letter, “Do you need to work to cover your tuition?” he asked.

“No.” “What on earth is Mr. Urube talking about?” “It must have been out of Mr. Urube’s kindness that he mentioned it. The tuition has been fully arranged.” “Working while studying is quite difficult.” “Yes, sir.”

“However, there are scholarship provisions for students with good grades.” “I’m utterly hopeless.”

“You’re entering the dormitory, correct?” “Yes, sir.” “Well then, please wait there with Mr. Nozaki.” “Yes, sir.” I stepped back and, as before, stood side by side with that young man in the corner. Since I had been elbowed past once, I thought to return the favor at the first opportunity, but— “You.” “You,” whispered that guy.

"What is it?" “Since we’ll be classmates, let’s get along.” “I don’t care.” "You." “Well then.” I jabbed him back with my elbow. The enemy took it without protest. We were allies now.

Mr. Inokuma called the clerk, dictated the continuation of what he had been working on earlier, and then took up his hat, "Well then, Mr. Kawahara and Mr. Nozaki, I'll show you to the dormitory."

he said and started walking. “You.”

Mr. Nozaki urged me. We no longer vied to go first. "I'm terribly obliged."

I felt sorry for troubling the teacher himself. “Oh, it’s nothing—I was just heading home anyway. My place happens to be right behind the dormitory.” And so, the teacher was living within the school grounds. We entrusted our trunks to the reception and, carrying only our suitcases, followed along. “It’s so vast!” Mr. Nozaki uttered an admiring voice. “They say it’s over thirty thousand tsubo.” “There’s a clock tower just like the one in Ginza.” “That clock is always five minutes slow, they say.”

“Hmm.” “The three-story building beyond the clock tower with the five-story tower rising behind it must be the dormitory.” When I said this, Mr. Inokuma looked puzzled. “You’re quite well-informed, Mr. Kawahara.”

he looked puzzled. “I’d heard all about it from Professor Urube.” “I see.” “I was shown photographs.” “That explains why you know so much. Speaking of the dormitory, I just remembered—Prof. Urube was such a troublemaker back then.” “Ah.”

“He made a bet with someone over tempura soba and jumped down from that third-floor window.” “That was dangerous. Was he injured?” “He was fine, but he had a nosebleed.” “He was severely scolded by Dr. Johnson for testing God too much.” “Was he really such a rough man back then?” “How is he these days?” “He seems like a perfect saint now.”

“He must’ve mellowed with age.” “Did you study under the teacher too?” “Been here since first year of middle school. His marks weren’t half bad, but he was a proper little scamp.” “What was Mr.Maruo like?”

Mr. Nozaki asked. This introducer also appeared to be an alumnus. "He was a lifeless man." "He’s still like that now." "He went to Hamamatsu Middle School and hasn’t moved on since—is his reputation any good?" "Probably about average, I’d say." "Same as you, eh? Ha ha ha!" Mr. Inokuma laughed cheerfully. "Are you from Hamamatsu, Nozaki?" To tell the truth, I had actually thought Hamamatsu sounded promising earlier as well. "Indeed. And where are you from?"

“I’m from ○○.” “In that case, we’re from the same prefecture. “Let’s get along, I suppose.” “Please.”

“I thought you were from Tokyo and was on my guard.”

Nozaki explained. It came off more as a challenge than caution, but there was no helping it with a man who believed being 29th out of 34 or 35 students was middling.

Just then, a dignified, middle-aged Westerner with salt-and-pepper hair happened to pass by,

“Good afternoon.” he greeted. Mr. Inokuma stopped and engaged in conversation. I had been studying English for four full years, but this was my first time hearing it from a native speaker. I only understood “Good afternoon”; the rest remained completely beyond my grasp. Nozaki seemed to share the sentiment; he stood staring blankly while tilting his head. Mr. Inokuma had likely informed him of our enrollment in the end. “Dr. Johnson, and so forth—”

he said, pointing at us. Thinking this must be Dr. Johnson, I bowed. “Very glad to see you. Congratulations.” Dr. Johnson extended his hairy hand and shook ours. It was a handshake. This was also a first. “This is Dr. Johnson, our President.” “This is Dr. Johnson.” Mr. Inokuma introduced. Dr. Johnson,

“This Meiji Gakuen is different from other schools—a school that teaches God’s way.” “Yes.”

And I tried using English for the first time in my life. "This school doesn't teach money-grubbing." "Yes." "The entrance ceremony will be held the day after tomorrow. We'll speak again at chapel." He gave a curt nod. "Goodbye." "Goodbye."

This time, it was Nozaki who used it.

Before long, we arrived at the dormitory. Mr. Inokuma did not enter, but “Mr. Oto!”

he called. “Coming!” The caretaker answered and came out. “I’ll leave these two to you.” With that instruction, Mr.Inokuma,

“This dormitory operates on a self-governing system. “There’s no such thing as a dormitory supervisor here. “Upperclassmen serve as monitors. “Since none of the monitors have returned yet, have Mr. Oto assign the rooms for the time being.” With that, he left.

In this way, we ended up in the same room. Having no other acquaintances, we quickly became close. We were delighted to find we hailed from the same prefecture. When we talked about it, we realized we had taken the same train. We had even bought the same kind of boxed meals at Kōzu. “Then we’re exactly the same right down to our guts!” Nozaki chuckled in amusement. “This must be fate.” As I affirmed, we remain close friends to this day. We are constantly in contact. Perhaps because neither of us has found success, our conversations flow with particular ease.

When we ate our first dormitory meal and went out for a walk in the vicinity, "So this Meiji Gakuen turns out to be a Christian school after all?" Nozaki broke the silence as if making a belated discovery. "Naturally." "That Maruo bastard's downright despicable."

“He’s your teacher, right?” “He’s a teacher and yet he lies. He didn’t say a word about it being a Christian school.”

“Ah.”

“I thought it was an English school when I came here.” “Did he tell you it wasn’t a mission school?” “What’s a mission school anyway?” “It means a Christian school.” “He never mentioned any of that—just kept saying Meiji Gakuen was the best place to learn English.” “Then it’s not exactly a lie.” “No, it’s a lie by omission. I never dreamed it was a mission school. This complicates things.”

“Why?” "I can’t become a Christian!" “You don’t have to become one.” “Are you a Christian?” "Yes." “Are all the students Christians?” “That’s probably not the case.” “Well, if that’s how it is...”

“Faith is a matter of personal choice.” And so, on this matter, I had more experience than Nozaki. “Hey, what’s a ‘monitor’ anyway?” “I don’t know.” “That Westerner said he’d speak at the chapel, but what on earth is a chapel anyway?” “That’s exactly what I’m trying to figure out myself.” “I just met another Westerner at the gate earlier, didn’t I?”

“I hear there are many Western teachers here. The small Western-style houses are all their homes, you know.” “Then my English skills would improve. Maybe I should stay after all?” “But you did enroll, didn’t you?” “Even if I did enroll, I could still drop out, couldn’t I?” “Then what did you mean earlier when you said we should form a sworn friendship and act together because we’re from the same prefecture?” “That’s because I didn’t know it was a mission school.” “I was utterly shocked.”

Nozaki had been an eccentric fellow from the very start. “Do you hate Christianity that much?” “Well, personally I don’t mind either way, but my family’s business considers Christianity its enemy.” “A brothel?” And so I inadvertently asked what had just come to mind.

“How rude!” “What is it? Then...” “It’s a liquor store.” “Ah, I see.” “Christianity’s all about temperance societies, you see.” “That isn’t necessarily true.” “No, they’re mortal enemies.” “They’re utterly incompatible.” “Do you like alcohol?” “I hate it. "But I do like tobacco." "Like this."

And Nozaki took it out from his pocket. Around this time, it was called Tengu Tobacco.

“Tobacco isn’t allowed at the academy either.” “I know.” “Then you should quit.” “I’ll do it secretly. Actually I already smoked one earlier in the toilet.” “Nozaki.”

“What is it?” “Someone like you is a disgrace to Shizuoka natives.”

“Why?” “How could there be such an underhanded thing?” “Of course I’ll quit if I decide to stay.” “You’re still wavering, aren’t you? That’s why I hate people from Shizuoka Prefecture—they’re weak-willed.” “Kawahara, did you get all worked up?”

“No, I’m a Christian. I don’t get angry.” “Since we’ve gone to the trouble of becoming friends, maybe I should study with you after all?” “Whatever.” “Hey, you—won’t you team up with me and give it your all?” “What are you going to do?” “When it comes to fighting—if you and I team up, we won’t lose to people from other prefectures.”

“I don’t fight.” “Is it because you’re a Christian after all?”

“Yeah.” “But you’re one strange Christian.” “What was that?” “Look at you.” “You’re already angry.” “I don’t get angry.” “When I jabbed you earlier, didn’t you jab me back exactly as many times?” “Ha ha...” “There’s no such Christian.” “You’re a phony Christian!” “Ha ha...”

Having been struck in a vulnerable spot, I had no choice but to laugh it off.

That evening, we talked at length. Since we were from the same prefecture, we had all sorts of topics in common. Nozaki smoked tobacco with relief despite there being no dorm supervisor. As for the academy itself,

“I suppose I’ll study here after all.”

No sooner had he resolved to do so than he wavered again, "That Maruo guy is just awful! Not only did he get me into this mission school, but he apparently even wrote bad things about me in the letter of introduction! When I met Mr. Inomata, the treatment was different from yours... After all, maybe it's better to cut my losses here early."

But then he changed his mind again, and in the end, "In times like these, when I sleep on it for a night, my mind settles on a decision." "It'll be settled by tomorrow morning for sure."

And so it ended inconclusively.

The next morning, the moment I awoke, I immediately thought of the five-story pagoda. Having heard that Mount Fuji could be seen from there, I promptly climbed up. Indeed, it was clearly visible. Perched compactly atop what seemed to be the Hakone mountains, it stood there. It was my hometown's mountain. Of course I felt nostalgic. Yet I remained thoroughly rational. That had only been yesterday. I still didn't feel homesick. "It's smaller than I expected." I even caught myself thinking that.

“Kawahara.” And just then, Nozaki came up. “Oh, you’re up already?”

“I’ve made up my mind.” “What did you decide?” “I’ll do it here.”

“That’s good to hear,” said Nozaki. I felt gladdened. “I’ve made another resolution.” “What’s that?” “I’ll never turn Christian.”

“Hmm.”

“Are you impressed?” “Of course. Even though many people come here because they’re Christian, you’re different.” “Oh, and there’s one more thing.” “What’s that?” “Because losing a fight with Jesus would be too humiliating, I’ll quit tobacco. Look! See here?”

And Nozaki twisted and tore his tobacco pouch.

“That’s a fine resolve.” “If I tear it to pieces like this, there’ll be no lingering regrets.” “Damn, that’s hardcore!” “But look—there are cigarette butts here.”

“Right...” “There are some here too.”

“The dormitory students might be coming here to smoke.” “Then that’s something to worry about.” “No! Absolutely not!” “Ha! Ha ha...” “You can see Mount Fuji.”

And I pointed. That day, as we were at the office paying the admission fee and tuition, another classmate arrived. This fellow was none other than Akabane—the future nouveau riche. Mr. Inomata introduced us,

“It seems the new students are just you three. Though there are six coming from the Middle School.” Mr. Inomata said. “I hail from Gunma Prefecture; my name is Akabane Akira. I humbly ask for your guidance.” And Mr. Akabane bowed formally.

“Likewise.”

And Mr. Nozaki squared his shoulders and glared. It was a bad habit. He immediately tried to pick a fight.

First Impression

Mr. Akabane, a native of Gunma Prefecture, also moved into the dormitory and settled in the room next to ours. As soon as he finished unpacking his belongings, he came out

“It’s a fine school isn’t it? “This is my first time in a Western-style building.” Mr.Akabane smiled amiably. “Are schools in Gunma Prefecture thatched-roof huts?” And Mr.Nozaki taunted.

“All the schools are Western-style buildings, but I meant specifically the dormitory.” “Where I’m from, even the dormitories are all Western-style buildings.” “Where’s that?” “Shizuoka Prefecture.” “That’s quite progressive of them.” And Mr. Akabane did not argue.

“The new students being just the three of us is rather disheartening, isn’t it?” I changed the subject. Nozaki was looking to pick a fight. If it came to blows, he believed that I, being from the same prefecture, would back him up.

“That seems to be a characteristic of this school.” “The small number of students is a feature?” “Yeah. “It can’t have too many.” “Why?” “There are degenerate students who start fights.” Mr. Akabane said offhandedly. Nozaki squared his shoulders. Just as I was thinking this wouldn’t end well, sure enough, “Akabane, is Gunma Prefecture some kind of horse country?”

he started in. "Well," “It’s a prefecture swarming with nothing but horses, isn’t it?”

"The character [for horse] is correct, but the actual horses are in Fukushima Prefecture." "We don’t raise them at all."

“Then human faces must be long there, aren’t they? Horse-like humans must be swarming there, aren’t they?”

“That’s not true. Great people have emerged from there.” “Who?” “It’s Mr. Niijima Jō. Moreover, he’s from the same town as me.” Mr. Akabane’s eyes sparkled. “A minister?” “No.” “A businessman?” “Don’t you know Mr. Niijima Jō?” “Never heard of him.” “Ha ha ha ha!”

And I burst out laughing.

“What’s so funny... you?”

And Nozaki snapped at me.

“How could anyone entering Meiji Gakuen not know Mr. Niijima?”

“Is he a graduate?” “He was president of Doshisha. A pioneer in the Christian world.” “I know Doshisha, but…” “He was a hell of an educator. Already passed away.”

“Well, I’m not a believer, you know. I know Mr. Fukuzawa, though.”

Nozaki seemed resentful.

Before long,

“Akabane, are you a believer?”

I asked.

“No.” “Is your family Christian?” “No.” “I dislike Christianity.” “Then why did you enter this school?” “The truth is, I took the entrance exam for the Higher Commercial School last year and failed.” “I might try again.” “So this school is just a temporary stopgap?” “Yes.” “But I’m not certain.” Akabane grinned. “This is something we can talk about.” Nozaki chimed in. “Ha ha ha!” “I failed the Higher Commercial School exam last year too.”

“I had a feeling that was the case.”

“Why?”

“Your exam number was two hundred and fifty-nine, wasn’t it?” “That’s correct.” “I was number two hundred and sixty.” “You were at the desk right in front of me.” “Oh…” “You cheated, didn’t you?” “Don’t joke about this!” “I was watching from behind.” “I looked up words in the dictionary during the English exam.” “Well, well!” “That’s why it left such a strong impression on me.” “When we met earlier, I thought your face looked familiar.”

And Akabane would not back down. "I can't do anything wrong." “Ha ha ha!”

"But cheating on entrance exams doesn't work." "Actually, I did it too." "See?!" "I saw yours." "When was that?" "It was during math." "If you saw mine, you'd fail!" "That might be why." "That's punishment. Ha ha ha!" The simple-minded Nozaki completely changed his attitude and began talking as if we were old acquaintances. "Are you taking it again too?" "Well..." "I've decided to take it anyway."

“Well then, maybe I’ll try it too?” And thus, barely after enrolling, they were already conspiring to escape to another school. “If both of you treat this place as temporary lodging, there’s no real stakes.”

And I was disappointed. “It’s not necessarily a stopgap measure.” “I mightn’t stick around either.” “If you fail, you’ll just stay on here as you are.” “Same here.” “The Higher Commercial School exams are tough. I’m no good at mathematics. I’m no good at English. On top of that, I’m hopeless at memorization-based subjects, so there’s absolutely no chance.”

“I’m in the same boat. Once I’ve made up my mind, maybe it’s better to stay here after all.” “This place is a vocational school too. Once you graduate, things will work out somehow.” “At least your English improves.” “That’s it exactly. Maybe I should stick around too? But redoing math would be too much of a pain.” “When I think about studying so much that I’d grow thin, it makes me sick of the whole thing.” “If you can just get good at English, even the Higher Commercial School would be no different. Since we’ve gone to the trouble of getting in, maybe it’s better to just give up now.”

The two of them wavered unsteadily, leaning in any direction. It all depended on their mood at the time.

At that moment, someone briefly peeked into the room from the hallway. “Who’s there?”

demanded Nozaki. He was truly a man who liked to throw his weight around.

“It’s me.” “I don’t know who ‘me’ is!” “It’s Abe.” “What do you want?” I interrupted Nozaki and stood up to go. I couldn’t have them starting a fight. “Have you all entered the Higher Department?” “Huh?” “I’m also in the Higher Department.” “I’ve only just returned.” “Is that so?” “My apologies.” “Since we’re new students, we humbly ask for your guidance.”

"I'm a new student too." "But you came up from the Middle School Division, didn't you?" "Ah."

“Then you’re our senior. Please treat us well.” “The pleasure is mine.”

“Please come in.” Akabane welcomed them.

This was Abe, who now served as pastor of ○○ Church and commanded due respect among Christian ministers in the capital area. "I'm Abe. I'm a bit of a troublemaker, so please go easy on me." "My name is Kawahara." "I'm Nozaki Kisaburō, a rough customer." Nozaki squared his shoulders and glared. "I am Akabane Akira, from Gunma Prefecture. I've only just arrived and don't yet know how things work here. I kindly ask for your understanding."

Akabane bowed politely. "I should say the same." "Getting straight to it, Abe." "What is it?"

“Where is the restroom?” “It’s downstairs.” “Where exactly downstairs?” “Let me show you the way.”

And Abe led him there. “What an awful guy.”

And I was appalled. “He’s an idiot. That Gunma Prefecture pumpkin bastard.” “That Gunma Prefecture pumpkin bastard.”

And Nozaki spoke ill of him. Abe had been gifted with eloquence since those days. Compared to us, he was also sociable. After guiding Gunma Prefecture to the restroom on his way back, he fetched his own chair from the room and launched into an effusive discourse on Meiji Gakuen’s past and present. “This school isn’t thriving at all, you see.” “The large buildings are all show and no substance.” “There are more teachers than students here, you see.” “The Higher Department has never had more than ten students.”

“Is it really that few?” And even now, I was surprised.

“Are you three the only new students?” “So I’ve heard.” “Then the first-year class consists of us four plus five more.” “The second year has two students.” “The third year’s sole student passed away, making eleven in total.” “I see.” “The Higher Department fares worst.” “Next comes the Theology Department.” “There must be twelve or thirteen there, I’d say.” “What’s this Theology Department?”

Nozaki asked. “It’s a place that trains Christian pastors.” “So it’s a real Christian school then?” “That’s correct. It’s been thriving a bit more lately. They say Dr. Johnson is delighted now that the number of students matches the number of teachers.” “The Pastor Urabe I know graduated from here. They say there was only one student in his entire grade back then.” And I recalled.

“That’s right. It wasn’t thriving back then. If you look at the alumni register, there are only two or three each year. However, last year eight students enrolled at once. Dr. Johnson was so startled, they say he slid right off his chair!”

“He’s panicking like a fool,” said Nozaki. “But Dr. Johnson is an impressive man.” “He’s a splendid man. I had the honor of meeting him yesterday.”

And I wanted to know more about Dr. Johnson. Having heard about him from Pastor Urabe, I found myself interested.

“Well, he must be a saint and gentleman.” “Even his bearing alone shows he’s no ordinary man.”

“There’s something undeniably distinguished about him. With other teachers it’s different, but when it comes to Dr.Johnson alone, I naturally bow my head.” “Who’s more eminent—Mr.Niijima Jō or him?”

Akabane seemed dissatisfied. "Though Mr.Niijima Jō belongs to a different denomination than ours here," I said, "he reportedly called Dr.Johnson an extraordinary man. Dr.Johnson himself often mentioned Mr.Niijima in his sermons and praised him lavishly." "That stands to reason," Akabane retorted. "Are you a believer?" I asked. "No, I'm no believer," he answered, "but I hail from the same town as Mr.Niijima Jō." "I see. Gunma Prefecture, was it not?"

“Yes. And the very same town.” “So it’s Annaka?” “Yes.”

“Since I’m currently researching Mr.Niijima’s biography, please tell me what kind of town it is.” “Yes.” “The horse keeps blurting ‘yes-yes’!”

Nozaki mocked. “What’s that?”

“What?” “Calling someone a horse is rude, you know.” “Being just a horse is the kinder option. At least I haven’t tacked on the ‘deer’ part yet!” “Are you calling me a fool?” “Took you this long to figure it out?”

“You, cut out the fighting.”

I interjected. “You don’t know a gentleman’s manners.” “You’re the one who doesn’t know! It’s cowardly to boast about Mr. Niijima when you’re not even a believer!”

“What? You didn’t know Mr. Niijima at all, did you?” “Not knowing’s more honest anyway.” “……”

“What do you say to that?”

“I see.” “Cut it out already!” “I’ll stop.”

Akabane was a man who never came to the point. I had expected him to put up a fierce argument, but he immediately conceded. Abe abandoned discussion of Mr. Niijima Jō and, "Only the Middle School Department measures up to societal standards at least. "It must have nearly two hundred students. "It began to thrive starting with our class. "We were twenty people." he steered the conversation back on course. "So six are coming from that group?"

I responded again. “That’s correct. They’re all interesting men, you know.” “What became of the rest?” “A good number went to Waseda and Keio. There are also some going to America.” “Ah.” “Since three or four are taking public university entrance exams, come September we might see some defeated stragglers return.” “What’s a ‘defeated straggler’?” “They’re the casualties bounced out of First Higher School and Higher Commercial School.” “I see.” “That hits close to home.” Akabane glared back at Nozaki.

“Actually, we’re last year’s defeated stragglers ourselves.”

Nozaki scratched his head. Both of them had an unexpectedly innocent side. “You’re a believer, aren’t you, Kawahara?” Abe asked. From the context, the term “defeated stragglers” could also be taken to imply they weren’t believers in any case. “Yes.” “Where is your church?” “In my hometown.” “Where is your hometown?”

“Shizuoka Prefecture’s XX Town.”

“When did you receive your baptism?” “In my third year of middle school.”

“Then that’s the same as me. Are you entering the theological seminary?” “No. What about you?” “I haven’t decided yet, but I want to enter.”

“I want to become a middle school teacher.” “That’s perfectly fine.” “Most who leave here end up as English teachers.” “But they lack proper qualifications, don’t they?” “Well...” “They can’t get teaching licenses.” “Yet many have become teachers regardless.” “They passed the certification exam for that.”

Since my father was an elementary school principal, I was well-versed in such matters. "What has become of them? "The two of them—"

Before long, Abe muttered suspiciously. Nozaki and Akabane were nowhere to be seen. "Well..."

“Since I got carried away talking only with you, they might’ve taken offense, don’t you think?” “I doubt that’s why.” “Are they longtime friends of yours?” “No—I met Nozaki just yesterday and Akabane today.” “Both strike me as rather formidable characters.” “They’ll certainly come to blows before long.” “I’d been concerned about that earlier.” “Nozaki enrolled without knowing this was a mission school.”

“Ah-hah.” “He’s an erratic fellow. He was in anguish all day yesterday.” “Mr. Niijima Jō has changed quite a bit too, you know.” “Given his appearance, it’s only natural.”

“Just when you think he has an old man’s traits, he shows a childlike side. A face that’s both manly and womanly—utterly defying comprehension.”

“He must be embodying all ages and genders in one person, I suppose.”

“Ha ha!” “Shall we give him the nickname ‘All Ages and Genders’?” “That won’t do. We are believers.” “Even believers should have freedom of speech, don’t you think?” “No, that’s not free speech. That’s brethren passing judgment.”

“Is this ‘Judge not’?” “You too shall be judged.”

“Ha ha!” “Ha ha!” Nozaki and Akabane did not return for quite some time. After continuing his conversation, Abe then introduced Yoshida, who had just returned at that moment. Then I sat alone at my desk and wrote letters to my parents back home and to Pastor Uribe.

“Hey”

Then Nozaki returned with Akabane. “Where’d you go?”

“Akabane and I went to a soba shop and swore a life-and-death bond.” “We really bared our hearts!” With that, Akabane broke into a grin that appealed to all ages and genders. I later heard they’d both tried acting tough by drinking sake. But upon realizing it wasn’t the least bit sweet, they swore off alcohol. It seemed they’d also made a solemn vow to study hard.

The next morning, there was an entrance ceremony. Of the nine new students, four had failed to appear, and with two second-year students also absent altogether, we five were left huddled together in the very center of the spacious chapel. There, over a dozen teachers—a mix of Japanese and Western—entered with solemn decorum and lined up in a row on the platform. “How about this? Won’t you please come a bit further forward?” Mr. Inomata, the organizer, ushered us in. We moved to the frontmost benches. Next,

“Please have one person sit on each bench.” That was the instruction. The teachers seated in a row laughed. The painstaking effort to make the numbers appear larger was evident.

The ceremony began with a hymn. As a believer, I knew what to do. However, Nozaki and Akabane seemed to be experiencing this for the first time. Abe and Yoshida sang loudly. Incidentally, a Western woman played the organ. Because she was seated directly in front of me, I observed her with curiosity. Western women were something I had only seen two or three times in my hometown. One of them wore a veil over her face. I had heard that the veil was a mark of a mistress. After all, I was a country bumpkin from before the Russo-Japanese War. Please bear this in mind as you read.

When the hymn ended, Mr. Inomata read from the Bible and began the prayer. “Our Heavenly Father… We deeply thank Thee for bestowing upon us this new academic year an unprecedented number of promising young men. In the previous academic year, there had been three enrollees. And one of them was called by Thee and returned to Thy side. In the year before last, there had been one enrollee. This one too was called by Thee and has returned to Thy side. In the year before that, there were four enrollees. One of them was called by Thee and has returned to Thy side, while the remaining three graduated safely and are now out in society seeking employment each in their own way.”

As for Mr. Inomata’s prayer—though I only learned this afterward from Abe—it doubled as a report to the congregation. Current students seemed to die every year. Being "called by Thee" meant precisely that. Moreover, all three of last year’s graduates had yet to find employment. In an instant, I came to understand all these disheartening things.

“Our Heavenly Father, there are nine this year. Ah, my cup overflows—since our academy’s founding, welcoming such numerous young men into the Higher Department is unprecedented. However, four among them are not seated at this gathering; approximately half are being negligent. They are all graduates of our academy’s middle school—in this matter, I cannot contain my regret. O Father, they are weak; I humbly pray You will guide them to return swiftly to their alma mater and fulfill their duties as students. Furthermore today, our current students have not come forth—they were meant to joyfully welcome these new brethren alongside us. O Father, they too are weak.”

and grievances regarding the students had been interwoven. This too I found myself agreeing with. “O Father, we who bear the responsibility of education are truly weak.” “Without Your guidance, we can achieve nothing.” “Bestow upon us special discernment and endurance.” “We must not content ourselves with merely dispensing knowledge.” “Our academy’s educational principle resides in each instructor personally embodying the teachings, thereby nurturing Christian gentlemen.” “Thus must we draw as near as possible to our students.” “It would be commendable to invite them to our homes for earnest discussions whenever occasion permits.” “To walk together with them through the school grounds or nearby environs would likewise be commendable.”

In this manner, there were also instructions for the teachers.

Mr. Inomata concluded his long prayer, "I would now like to invite Dr. Johnson, Principal of our Academy and Doctor of Theology, to address us," he introduced. “Everyone!” Dr. Johnson appeared at the pulpit with a gentle smile. “Today is a day of great joy given by God. This might not be the first time I have met with you all. I see familiar faces here. Yet this marks the first occasion for our Higher Department students. The reason for this joy? I came to Japan and have waited here since before your births. This is divine guidance. Everyone—do you know why you’ve come to Meiji Gakuen? For what purpose have you come? What is this Meiji Gakuen? This is a vital question. What say you all?”

Though remarkably fluent, it was an unusual sort of Japanese. “This Meiji Gakuen—I will explain. “It is not a school for scholarship. “It is not a school for moneymaking. “It is a school that teaches God’s way! “It is a school that assembles Christian gentlemen! “Those who fail to grasp this now will know disappointment later—a pitiable fate indeed. “Let those who study for learning’s sake depart at once. “Let those who study for wealth’s sake depart at once. “Meiji Gakuen is no place for such people. “It is a school that assembles Christian gentlemen! “Everyone—what say you to this?”

As Dr. Johnson spread his hands wide, intending to stir profound emotion, Nozaki rose from the seat beside me. "What do you say to that?"

Dr. Johnson tilted his head.

“I’m leaving.”

With that, Nozaki began walking toward the entrance. “Wait!” Dr. Johnson beckoned from the podium, but to no avail, “Someone, stop him.”

he pleaded. Akabane chased after him and whispered something. Nozaki returned to his former seat. “There’s nothing wrong with studies for making money or manual labor. However, all of that only becomes good when there is the way of God. The most important thing—the purpose of Meiji Gakuen. And what is that? It is a matter of the soul. Man does not live by bread alone. It is about one’s relationship with God. The proper relationship between God and humanity—that is the most important thing. That is the purpose of Meiji Gakuen.”

After Dr. Johnson preached fervently for a short while,

“Just now, there was a student who became indignant. “That is not because my Japanese is poor. “I learned it before any of you did. “I understand perfectly. “Any Westerner who speaks Japanese as fluently as the Japanese themselves becomes disliked by them. “They find it detestable. “Mr.Howarth here still cannot speak a single word of Japanese. “The other day, Mr.Howarth’s bicycle collided with a rickshaw. “The rickshaw driver was furious, but Mr.Howarth didn’t understand Japanese. “A policeman came and apologized to Mr.Howarth. “Then again recently, my own bicycle was struck by a rickshaw. “Since I can speak Japanese, “the driver cursed me as ‘some impudent bastard!’ “A policeman arrived and lectured me at length. “I realized that knowing Japanese brings only disadvantages. “I earnestly request that you all avoid any misunderstanding.”

Dr. Johnson concluded. I didn't understand what misunderstanding he meant. Probably thinking his Japanese was too good, he assumed Nozaki’s anger stemmed from that.

That day, the exchange between Nozaki and Akabane was amusing. “What are you going to do?” Akabane asked. “I’m dropping out after all.”

“But that’s not our agreement.”

“Why?” “Once we’ve sworn a bond of sworn friendship, if you drop out, I must withdraw too.”

“You do as you damn well please.” “What on earth don’t you like?” “My studies are for making money. I’m aiming for the business world, you see.” “I’m aiming for the same thing.” “Then take joint action with me!” “No, I think studying here would amount to the same thing.” “Shouldn’t matters of the soul come first here?” “That’s about character. Any principal would say something like that.” “Telling us to leave is downright rude!” “All principals say stuff like that. It’s a scare tactic. It’s the same as parental disownment. Who’d actually take that seriously?”

“……” “See here. When you stood up, didn’t I stop you right away?” “Let me think about it.”

Nozaki crossed his arms. "Do you dislike the small number of students?" “...” “Fewer students are preferable, I assure you.” “Why?” “With fifty students, each retains only one-fiftieth of what’s taught. With nine, they retain one-ninth.” “That’s faulty arithmetic!” “Naturally it’s metaphorical. Smaller classes mean teachers monitor closely—no slacking allowed. Studying becomes inevitable.” “This is agony!” “Your fundamental error lies in seeking comfort while studying.” “Stop your sophistry.”

“If you just build up your English skills, even Higher Commercial would be no different. Make up your mind already.” “Well...”

“I’ve taken a liking to this school. There’s potential here.” “But a student dies here every year, I tell you.”

“We’ll be fine. Believers are the ones who die.” “At any rate, just wait through tonight.” “Don’t talk like you’ve just run into a debt collector.”

“I’ll make up my mind after I sleep on it.” “Let’s go for a walk. I’ll tell you more on the way.”

Akabane was earnest.

Esteemed classmates, “O God. I have arrived in the land of Canaan.” That was my gratitude. I was completely satisfied with life at Meiji Gakuen. Since it was a school I had long yearned for, there could be no room for complaints. Even if I had entered Imperial University, the highest institution of learning, I doubt I would have felt greater satisfaction than this. Overwhelmed with gratitude, I temporarily transcended my ordinary self. My dulled faith was rekindled. “Here,” I resolved. “With this new enrollment, I will be reborn!” I made a solemn vow. I wrote to that effect and sent it to my parents back home and Pastor Urabe. I created a detailed schedule for prayer, study, self-reflection, socializing, exercise, and other activities—and carried it out faithfully.

One morning, when I climbed the five-story tower and opened my eyes after a brief prayer, Abe-kun had come right beside me and was praying too. Impressed by his devout attitude, I began praying again. When I opened my eyes once more, Abe was still bowing his head. I prayed yet again and opened my eyes a third time, but he remained fervent in devotion. I realized I couldn't match him. Yet finding defeat galling, I started praying anew from the beginning, and when I proclaimed "Amen" aloud, Abe-kun harmonized with his own "Amen," bringing our devotions to a close at last.

“Good morning.” “Good morning.” And we both offered our greetings simultaneously. “You’re impressive.”

Abe let out a sigh. “How come?” “You pray remarkably well.”

“You’re the one who prays remarkably well.” “No, I can’t possibly compete.” “That’s not true at all.” “When I finished early and looked your way, you were still at it—so I started again.”

And I confessed exactly how it was. “I was the same way. Determined not to lose, I forced myself to start over after finishing.” “Even so, I’m on my third round now.” “I also counted one-two-three—exactly three times as well.” And Abe did not conceal it either. As if we were holding our breath underwater, we thought it impressive how long we could keep it up. How childish we were. Faith evolves. Abe has now become a fine pastor, but my own development has stalled at this level.

Setting aside Nozaki and Akabane as exceptions—perhaps because we had met first—I grew close with Abe earlier than with my other classmates. He appeared to share this goodwill too; he would sit beside me in the dining hall.

“What is this?”

I asked. “It’s a leek cutlet.” Abe explained. Even in the chapel, without anyone particularly making an effort, the two of us would sit side by side.

“What’s the name of that bald Westerner?” “Mr. Nicol.” “How old would you say he looks?” “About sixty.” “Poor soul.” “He’s barely forty.” “That young?” “Unless hair sprouts on that head of his, his wife won’t return from America.” “Hah...”

“Mr. Nicol has been earnestly drinking fresh goose blood every morning, they say.” “Does something like that actually work?”

“It probably won’t work. Mr.Nicol can’t stop thinking about his wife and his bald head. See? He’s stroking his head while taking out his watch to look at it, isn’t he?” “Ah.” “The back of that watch’s cover has his wife’s photograph burned into it.” “I see.” And each time, I gained something new.

It was two or three days after classes had begun.

After school, "Kawahara-kun, would you like to go for a walk around here? “There’s a nice spot.”

he invited me. "I'll accompany you." And I—it was exactly time for a walk. In those days, Tokyo's outskirts gave way at once to rice paddies, with many farmhouses clustered near the school. “It’s just like the countryside, isn’t it?” “Ah—there’s a waterwheel, isn’t there?” “This is my walking path.” “I come here alone at dusk and walk while meditating.” “You’re quite the poet, aren’t you?”

“When you come out into such beautiful natural surroundings as these, anyone becomes a poet.” “I hadn’t imagined there was such a quiet place in Tokyo.” “In the evening, the sun sets into that forest, you see. It’s a view beyond words.” “It’s actually good.” “Let’s walk while singing hymns.” Abe promptly raised his booming voice. I joined in and began walking along the rice field path.

Before long, from behind, “Hey!” “You damn idiot!” There came shouts. It was Nozaki and Akabane.

And I turned around. "Wait up!"

Nozaki raised his hand and came running together with Akabane.

“Out for a stroll?” Abe asked. “Nah, this is why.” Nozaki showed the tobacco he had been holding. “We can’t smoke in the dormitory, so we come out to this area.”

And Akabane too puffed away vigorously. “That’s no good, Nozaki. Didn’t you say you’d quit?” I made a show of scolding him with deliberate exaggeration. “Sorry about that. I’m a three-day quitter.” “That’s no good... Typical of Shizuoka Prefecture—” “It’s Gunma Prefecture tempting me, you see.” “Ha ha ha ha!”

And Akabane slapped his knee and burst out laughing.

"I finally understood why those two sometimes went out for walks together."

And it dawned on me. “Come on now, cut me some slack here.”

Nozaki seemed to feel responsible. “I don’t mind.” “It’s your choice after all.” “Don’t you trust me anymore?”

“That’s not true.” “I’m studying hard.” “After all, I’ve finally resolved to settle down.” “That’s enough.” “I was just joking.”

And I felt sorry for him.

The four of us started walking together. "Abe." Akabane addressed him.

"What is it?" "Why isn't smoking allowed?" "Well." "I don't know."

And Abe avoided giving a clear answer. He must have thought they were trying to pick a fight. “Does the Bible have a commandment saying ‘Thou shalt not smoke tobacco’?” “That is not the case. Christ was a man from before the time of tobacco.” “Christ was a man from before the time of tobacco.” “Look here, Nozaki. “I won.” And Mr. Akabane declared triumphantly. "I already know that!" "Didn't you know?" “I said that comes from the Bible’s commandments!” “People from before the time of tobacco wouldn’t make rules about tobacco.”

“That’s true enough.” “See?” “But even if there’s no direct commandment about tobacco, isn’t it the same thing if we reinterpret it for our times and take the meaning that way?” “It’s too late to try weaseling out now.” “Weaseling out? Don’t be absurd! I only said tobacco’s generally forbidden because it goes against the Bible’s teachings.”

Nozaki insisted. "You're sly," said Akabane. "You don't know anything." "What don't I know?" "Didn't you know about Reverend Niijima Jō?" "You know nothing about Christianity." "You're the one who doesn't know." "Didn't you know about mission schools?" Akabane pressed further. "Stop this at once," interjected Abe worriedly. "This will lead to a fight." Both parties fell silent for a short while, then—

“Akabane, then do you know about Christ?” Nozaki stepped forward again. “Of course I do!” “What year B.C. was Christ born?”

“Well...” “Go on, say it! Hurry up and say it!” “Wait.” “A rough estimate will do. This is a Western history exam. If you know, then say it quickly!”

“Wait a moment.”

Akabane fell silent, lost in thought and thoroughly stumped. "Look at you, you idiot!" Nozaki delivered the coup de grâce.

“...” “Who doesn’t know the Christian era?”

“I know! Christ is from the year 1 AD!” “It doesn’t count if you only say it after being told!” “I just got tricked into it.” “You didn’t know!” “It’s because you’re twisting logic. This is unbelievable! My mind has gone haywire!”

In Akabane, there was a certain simple-minded aspect about him.

Pastor Abe began singing a hymn again. I too shouted, determined not to be outdone. But I was no match. Pastor Abe produced a fearsome booming voice. "Your voice is rather deep, isn't it?"

And I asked during a lull in the singing. “It’s bass, you know.” “Huh?” “Bass.” “What are you talking about?” “Are you not acquainted with it? I’ve been formally trained in it.”

And there it was. Growing up in a country church leaves one pathetic. I felt somewhat embarrassed and glanced back to find Nozaki and Akabane already gone. "What happened?" "They kept their distance—found it too constricting." "They turned off at that farmhouse." When I stopped to look back, "You damn bastards!" a voice called out. "What awful fellows." "Kawahara and Abe, you damn bastards!" "What's that? You sons of bitches!" I took two or three steps toward the voice.

“You mustn’t do that. Do not resist evil.” And Pastor Abe restrained me. “That’s too rude.” “Those two have guilty consciences—they couldn’t walk with us anymore and ran off. It’s better we don’t concern ourselves with them anymore.” “Ah, they’re going there. They’ve come out onto the main road.” And I spotted the two figures among the trees. “The road leading to destruction is wide, and its gate is large; many enter through it.” And Pastor Abe quoted scripture. I promptly—

“The road leading to life is narrow, and its gate is small. Those who find it are few.” I retorted. “Ha ha ha ha!”

“Ha ha ha ha!” “Those two are philistines, you know.” “They are anxious about what they shall eat and what they shall drink for their life.” “They know not that life is more than meat.” “Behold the fowls of the air: they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns.” “Therefore take no thought for the morrow.” “Take therefore no thought for the morrow.” “Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.” And so the two of them bandied Christ’s words. There was a mutual display of “I know this too,” each trying to outdo the other.

“By the way, Kawahara-kun, have you taken to Meiji Gakuen?” Pastor Abe shifted the subject. “Yes.” “It’s a fine school, wouldn’t you say?”

"There’s nothing to complain about, but there is one thing that took me by surprise." "What is it?" "Since it’s a mission school, I thought all the students would be believers, but that’s not the case at all, you see."

And I flaunted my inherently dubious faith as if it were utterly certain. When I think back on it now, it was such a foolish thing to do. “That can’t be helped. Since it’s open to anyone.” “If it’s a mission school, wouldn’t it be better to encourage faith more? Be more evangelical—” “The chapel services are intended for that purpose.” “With that approach, you won’t get any seekers of faith, will you?”

“Well...” “Are there any who seek baptism?” “There are.” “I was one of them myself.” “And on Sundays there are morning and evening sermons.” “Who gives them?” “Dr. Johnson does.” “In the evening it’s someone else though.” “I do look forward to hearing them soon.” “There’s one the day after tomorrow.” “Let’s go together.” “It’s held jointly with the girls’ school.”

“Are the female students coming?” “Yeah... We sit on the right side. The girls’ school group is on the left side. That’s what makes it fun, you know.”

“What is it?” “They all look at the female students.” “During the sermon?” “Yeah...” “That’s utterly improper!” “Ha ha ha ha...”

“Won’t they get scolded?” “Well, since the clock’s hung on the left wall, they make a show of looking at that to cover it up.” “That’s devious.” “This is what we call ‘left-looking’.”

"I see." "Because everyone kept 'left-looking,' Dr.Johnson once teased them about it during chapel." "'Your necks have developed a slight bend to the left." "'What is the reason for that?' he said."

“Ha ha ha!” “Everyone does it.” “But aren’t they all believers?” “It’s not limited to believers.” “Because they’re students.” “Do they come from both the Middle School and Theology Departments too?” “Yeah...” “The theology students do the most ‘left-looking’.” “This is surprising!”

“In America, everyone does that too, I hear.”

“Speaking of which, your neck is also bending a bit to the left.” “Ha ha ha ha... I’m quite all right.” Abe denied. “In our class, the believers are just you, me, and Yoshida, right?” “There’s also Tachibana—he may act like that, but he’s still a believer.” “Is he devout?” “He’s a bat.” “Huh?” “He’s a bat believer. You know the one in Aesop, don’t you? When the bat joins the birds, it says, ‘I’m a bird,’ and when it joins the beasts, it says, ‘I’m a beast.’ Tachibana is just like that too. When he’s among believers, he acts devoutly; when among non-believers, he blends right in.”

“What an unpleasant guy.” “He doesn’t miss a trick.” “I dislike such two-faced people.” Because I had just resolved to reform myself, my ideals were unreasonably high and I was strict in judging others. “However, his grades are good. He’s a scholarship student.” “Is he first?” “Yes.” “You’re second, then?”

“I’m third. Yoshida is second.” “Yoshida seems quite earnest, doesn’t he?” “He’s exemplary. He has good faith. Since his father’s a pastor.” “That explains it.”

“The rest are all non-believers, with some atheists among them.” “Who?” “Takagi. “He’s quite a refreshing character.” “Isn’t there another one called something-or-other?” “Do you mean Saeki? “Do you mean Tani?”

“Well...” “Who could it be?” “He called me a country bumpkin.” “Nozaki got angry and shoved him.” “The tall one?” “Yes.” “Then that must be Saeki.” “He’s quite arrogant, isn’t he?” “He’s unexpectedly a decent person, you know.” “He’s a rich young master, so everyone flatters him and he acts high and mighty.” “Tani is Saeki’s lackey.” “They’re both day students, aren’t they?” “Yes. Both of them had equally poor grades and kept getting stuck in provisional classes.”

With that, Abe had more or less finished recounting the individual stories of our classmates.

On Saturday evening, there was a class gathering. I seem to recall it was the day after that walk, though it might have been later. At the gathering, Nozaki and Akabane got into a scuffle and knocked over a table, so even today, over twenty years later, it remains a topic of discussion. With Class President Tachibana and Vice President Yoshida as the organizers, English-language invitations were circulated. “Is a ‘fellowship meeting’ what they call a social gathering? Got one right. Only a mission school would do something like this.”

Nozaki felt this.

“This is wrong,” he said. “The gathering is a society.” Akabane put forth a separate argument. “That kai isn’t the same kind of kai,” he insisted. “A kai’s just a kai,” Nozaki shot back. “A group’s kai is a society,” Akabane pressed on. “An assembly’s either a gathering or meeting.”

“Oh, I see.” “Got it now? Christ is AD 1!” Nozaki’s remark was entirely unnecessary. Akabane silently bit his lip. This seemed to become a lingering point of contention.

The gathering was held in the classroom. There were still no electric lights—only oil lamps. These too had been brought by the organizers themselves. Though the dormitory had a proper meeting room, Saturday meant it was already occupied by another group. We carried the teacher’s podium to the center and formed a circle around it. With day students absent, our assembly numbered exactly seven. Tachibana began with an opening address, “I will now call upon each of you—when named, please give a thorough self-introduction. Kawahara.”

and he suddenly pointed at me. I stood up, but I was unprepared. I hurriedly stated my junior high school and date of birth before sitting down, whereupon Tachibana— “Where is your hometown? Please, a bit more.” he requested. I again stood up, “My hometown is ○○ Town in Shizuoka Prefecture, located at the foothills of Mount Fuji, crowned with eternal snow.” I added. “Shizuoka Prefecture—keep it up!”

Nozaki gave me encouragement.

“Akabane.” Tachibana called on him. The three of us were standing in a row. “I am a native of Gunma Prefecture.”

When Mr. Akabane stood up, everyone snickered. They had heard it many times before. “Now, when I say Gunma Prefecture, it’s not some backwater that only produces horses. It produces great figures.” “Here we go again—Mr. Niijima Jō!”

Nozaki preempted him. “What sort of man is Niijima Jō? Someone like him doesn’t represent Gunma’s true character. From Gunma Prefecture, even greater men have emerged in droves!” “Who?” “Look at the long wakizashi that swept across Japan—starting with Kunisada Chūji! They’re all natives of Jōshū! Why, the term ‘Jōshū long wakizashi’ exists for good reason. Shizuoka can’t compare!” “…………” “What rot! And what of Mount Fuji in Shizuoka?” “…………”

“Hazama Mozaemon was a righteous martyr of Jōshū.” “Since time immemorial, we men of Jōshū have been steadfast in our principles.” “We’d sooner die than break a single promise.” “I myself am such a son of Jōshū.” “Born in Annaka Town—a tightfisted wretch, I admit—but I humbly beg your kind consideration.” Here Akabane struck a gambler’s pose. The room erupted in cheers.

“Nozaki,”

Tachibana nominated him. “What do you mean Shizuoka’s no match? Don’t you know Shimizu no Jirocho?” Nozaki glared at Akabane. They were two of a kind. In the mission school classroom, they were boasting about gamblers from their respective hometowns.

“If you have complaints, I’ll hear them later.”

“Nozaki—your turn.” Tachibana urged. "I’m from Shizuoka Prefecture, same as Kawahara here—but a bit further west, in Enshū." “People of Enshū are stronger than those of Jōshū.” “They’re not!” Akabane snapped.

“No, they’re stronger. As proof, my village has twenty or thirty graves of Jōshū outlaws. This happened long ago when Jōshū gamblers came looking for a fight—they beat them all to death. Which side do you think is stronger—the killers or the killed?”

Nozaki tapped Akabane on the head with a light *cocon* sound as he sat beside him. "You damn bastard!" Akabane sprang up and slapped Nozaki sideways across the face. "What're you doing?!" Nozaki seized his arm and they went down grappling.

“Stop it!”

We tried to stop them, but the two kept struggling and began toppling over onto the desk. With a clatter, the room plunged into darkness. “The lamp broke!” “Careful! Careful!” they all began groping around while exclaiming one after another. In that instant, the floor burst into flames. The spilled kerosene had caught fire. “Fire!”

“Fire!” someone shouted. Everyone took off their jackets and beat out the flames. Nozaki and Akabane had forgotten their fight and were helping out. “This is beyond all reason!” the elderly caretaker rushed to the scene with a lantern. “We’re all right now.” “I cannot allow it. I cannot lend the classroom to those who start fires. I will inform Mr. Inomata.” “We’ll be more careful from now on.” Tachibana pleaded, but the caretaker would not agree. Not only was the social gathering canceled, but on the morning after next, the school bulletin board had...

“All gatherings in classrooms are strictly prohibited.” It had been posted.

Believers and Non-Believers Nozaki and Akabane would fight but quickly make up. The morning after their brawl at the social gathering, even they were glaring at each other, but by afternoon, “Hey. Quit spacing out and come take a walk or something?”

Nozaki was the one who initiated the conversation. “Fine.” Akabane readily agreed. It was because they had happened to meet in my room, “Last night sure was something!” I remarked with sardonic emphasis. “So Shizuoka Prefecture came out stronger after all, right?” “What’s this? Gunma Prefecture had the upper hand.” “So you’re really serious about this, huh?” “You can’t expect me to stay quiet if I’m being poked like that.” “There were people watching, you know.” “I was riding the tiger myself.”

“Ha! Ha! Ha!”

“Ha! Ha! Ha!” And the two harbored no lingering resentment whatsoever.

The social gathering was canceled due to the fight, but we classmates soon opened our hearts and began to bond. Since we were in the same dormitory and did everything together, things progressed swiftly. The day students were Saeki-kun and Tani-kun alone.

These two, “We’re just temporary placeholders here.” “Damn right! Meiji Gakuen won’t fill your belly. Staying in this dump till graduation would be torture.” Having declared this, they cherry-picked only English classes to prepare for government school entrance exams.

“What kind of mindset do those bastards have?” “They’re belittling our alma mater.”

Takagi-kun exclaimed indignantly. However, it wasn’t just our alma mater. The two flaunted their Edoite pride and mocked us rural newcomers. During our translation seminars, when I stumbled, “Mr. Nitta, get a grip!” they jeered with remarks like that. Thinking they were an unpleasant bunch, I too kept my mouth shut. Among them was Nozaki-kun, “That guy Saeki’s got some nerve.” Nozaki said. Tani-kun did it too, but Saeki-kun’s larger build made him stand out all the more. “Why?”

Akabane-kun remained unconcerned. “It’s better if you don’t understand.” “Please tell me. If it’s a fight, I’ll back you up.” “That guy’s looking down on us.” “That can’t be true. He shows me respect and asks me English questions.” “Isn’t that exactly what makes him insolent? He did it to me too.” “He did it to me too.” I’d been targeted two or three times myself. “Is he testing our academic knowledge?” “You’ll live forever at this rate.”

“Why?” “A Jōshū longsword has a gentle soul.”

And Nozaki grew increasingly impatient. “Even a Jōshū longsword can’t pick a fight that isn’t for sale.” “It’s being sold.” “That depends entirely on the question.” “He wrote ‘rustic’ to me and asked, ‘Do you know this word?’” “You didn’t know either?” “I know ‘rustic’ at least. “It means ‘hick.’” “Oh yeah? “When I said I didn’t know, he had the gall to say there’s no way you wouldn’t know it.” “Damn it!” “Did you just figure it out now?”

“Anyway, I’ll look it up in the dictionary.” Akabane-kun was just slow on the uptake.

I recall that it was not long after this. During conversation class, the eccentric Mr.Nicol called out Akabane-kun’s name— “Mr.Akabean” he called. Akabane’s particular Romanized spelling tended to be read in English as “Akabean.” Every time, everyone laughed. “Mr.Nicol, my name is Akabane.” Akabane-kun politely corrected him. “Well then, Mr.Akabane”

“Yes.” “You have provided an excellent topic.”

“…………”

“Why does everyone laugh when I call you Akabean? Please tell me the reason.”

“…………” “Is Akabean the name of a tree? “Is it the name of a stone? “Or perhaps the name of a bird?”

And Mr.Nicol promptly put this to use as conversation material. But Akabane had already left, and he couldn’t hear him. “What is it? “What’s that?”

he asked me in Japanese. I was half-bewildered myself, but “That explains ‘Akabean,’” I offered by way of explanation. “Akabean!”

Akabane-kun promptly stuck his finger under his eye and stuck out his tongue.

“Mr. Akabean!” “Japan—Akabean!” “Mr. Akabean!”

“Japan—Akabean!” “Mr.Akabean，stop that!” And Mr.Nicol pounded his desk. He was indignant. “Sir,”

Tachibana-kun stood up. “What is it?” “Regarding Akabean, I would like to present what I know.” “Go ahead and tell us.”

And Mr. Nicol was still glaring at Akabane. “Mr. Akabane did not show disrespect to you, sir.” “He was presenting you with an example of ‘Akabean.’” “By nature, ‘Akabean’ is a facial expression used when rejecting someone, and it is employed among those in the closest of relationships.” Tachibana explained relatively fluently. Mr. Nicol seemed satisfied,

“I understand. Mr. Tachibana, thank you.”

After expressing his thanks, he turned to Akabane-kun and, “Mr.Akabane—through your demonstration of ‘Akabean,’ I’ve come to understand something.” He gave a stiff bow. “Thank you.”

“This—Japan—Akabean!” “That’s enough.” “This—I—Akabane!” “Understood.” “Yes.”

When Akabane-kun sat down, everyone doubled over laughing.

After class ended, “Japan Akabean was pretty over the top, huh?” Nozaki jested. “Japan Akabean would’ve been better, don’t you think?” Akabane remained unfazed. When I think that this guy became a millionaire nouveau riche, the world really is a strange place.

There were two anecdotes related to this Akabean incident. The first was how Mr. Nicol immediately put it into practical use. One day during Mr. Inomata's English literature class, “Gentlemen, you mustn’t teach falsehoods to Westerners and hoodwink them.”

He made a terrifying face. “…………” “These people have come here intending to devote their entire lives to Japan, so when they’re met with dishonesty, they become pitifully disappointed.” “Who taught Mr.Nicol the Akabean gesture?” “It was me.”

Akabane-kun stood up.

“What do you think you’re doing with such mischief?” “That was during conversation class…” “No, we’ll address that later. Come to the faculty room and at least apologize to Mr.Nicol.” “Yes, sir.” “Mr.Nicol apparently went to a church last Sunday and used that gesture during his sermon—people laughed at him. He says he can’t trust anything students tell him now. He’s utterly dejected.” “…………” “You must exercise more caution.”

Because Mr. Inomata was unaware of the circumstances, he seemed to think that they had all deceived him.

The other was the splatter that Saeki-kun received.

One day, when Tani-kun ran into Akabane-kun in the classroom, “Japan Akabean!” As soon as he said this and mimicked the gesture exactly, Akabane-kun suddenly lashed out. Tani-kun dodged and fled. When Akabane-kun gave chase, Saeki-kun intervened. “Don’t get in the way!” “Alright, alright.” “This is what happens when you meddle!”

Akabane-kun kicked Saeki-kun’s mandolin that was lying there. Saeki-kun always brought it because he would stop by his practice on the way home from school. Students back then were recklessly rough. After all, it was the year before the Russo-Japanese War began. They thought anyone who played Western music was beneath contempt. For Saeki-kun, there had even been discussions about meting out fist-based punishment on the grounds that he played the violin.

“What are you doing?” Saeki-kun was, of course, indignant. “So you’re learning something like the damn violin!” “It’s not a violin. It’s a mandolin.” “It’s all the same either way!” “You blockhead! What’s so bad about learning the mandolin?” “Shut up! You traitor!”

And Akabane-kun immediately stomped on the mandolin. The act was sheer violence. There was no rhyme or reason to it. Saeki-kun stood dumbfounded, unable to react. "Edoites really are all talk after all."

Nozaki-kun felt let down. "If it had started, I was planning to help too."

Takagi-kun had also been lying in wait. As a matter of faith, I do not condone violence, yet I found myself wishing for Saeki-kun to be beaten. As classmates, Saeki-kun and Tani-kun would now fade from memory. The two used the approaching national entrance examinations as an excuse and stopped coming to school. However, as it seemed they had failed both that year and the next, in the autumn when we became second-year students, they re-enrolled as first-years like defeated soldiers. “Hey. Back again, huh?” Akabane-kun declared pompously.

Akabane-kun declared pompously. “Do me a favor! Meiji Gakuen is great after all.” With that, the newcomers emerged from below. The seven of us classmates got along surprisingly well. For Nozaki-kun and Akabane-kun too, the brawl at the social gathering became their last. Perhaps having realized they were evenly matched, they never resorted to physical force again. Even when tensions occasionally flared up, they would quickly open their hearts to each other once more. Takagi-kun threw in his lot with these two, and the three became inseparable. This camaraderie owed itself to their shared fondness for tobacco. I remained fond of these three while also staying close with the devout Abe-kun and Yoshida-kun. Class Representative Tachibana-kun never aligned himself with any group. He persistently maintained solitary actions, single-mindedly striving to curry favor with the authorities.

The schoolwork was surprisingly manageable. Since the teachers were mostly American and taught everything in English，at first we were flustered but soon grew accustomed. With only seven of us rotating lectures every hour， Akabane-kun also， “Just as I told you.” “No ifs or buts.” “This is how you build real ability.”

Since he prided himself on his foresight, he had no choice but to study accordingly.

“I have no complaints with this. Since they say there’s no flunking, I can rest easy.”

And Nozaki-kun also settled in. "In the Higher Department alone, there is absolutely no failing." Tachibana-kun guaranteed. "Why is that?" "In the Higher Department, students are treated as gentlemen." "I see. So urinating from the third floor makes one quite the gentleman." Nozaki-kun ducked his head. During the first term exams, the reality of this gentlemanly treatment became clear. Akabane-kun was frequently held up as exemplary—this paragon couldn’t even pen his logic examination answers. Time pressed in relentlessly.

“Hey. Help me out here.” he let out a faint cry to me in the neighboring seat.

“It’s no good. Mr. Partridge is watching!”

I whispered and refused to comply. The problems were difficult. I too had ones I couldn't do, and clung to my desk until the bell rang. Mr. Partridge approached Akabane-kun's desk and asked, "Can't you write anything?" "Yes, sir." And Akabane-kun had come to understand that much. "Even a little is acceptable. A true little bit." "…………" "This answer sheet is too large for you." "This much will do." "Proceed and write."

With that, the teacher tore off a corner of the paper about the size of a medicinal plaster, handed it over, and smirked. Akabane-kun had no recourse either. He wrote his name, bowed, and turned it in. Even so, when the second-term grade report came out, his logic score was sixty, so “As expected, it’s gentlemanly treatment.” “With this, even out of obligation, I’ve got to study.” he said joyfully. The gentlemen were quite cheeky. Having gotten a taste of the system in the first term, they began showing their true colors from the second term onward. On clear autumn afternoons, temptations abounded.

“How about it? Why don’t we skip Mr. Mason’s class and go for a walk?”

During lunch, someone proposed. I was also one of them. My initial resolve upon enrollment had long since vanished.

“Very well.” The tobacco crew—already fidgeting impatiently while awaiting dismissal—had been inclined to do so from the start.

“But if we let the class progress, we’ll struggle later.” “Let’s get Abe-kun and Yoshida-kun on our side.” they promptly proposed the plan. Abe-kun was also a gentleman. “I agree.” “On such a fine day as this, there’s nothing better than going out into nature to meditate.” Abe-kun responded. Yoshida-kun, too, “I’m feeling a bit tired, so I was just thinking of taking a rest.” Since he was inherently sickly, he would never oppose. Due to his position as a scholarship student, our class representative Tachibana-kun had a tendency to try being the only good boy and turn such situations to his advantage.

“If everyone skips, it’ll count as a strike. I alone will go tell the teacher we’re taking a break. They won’t hold class with just one person!” He would make appropriate arrangements both for his own sake and for the group’s. However, if they did this too often, Mr. Inomata would scold them. The gentlemen would get carried away and play pranks during these walks. One day, Nozaki-kun climbed a chestnut tree along the edge of a field. Akabane-kun took on the role of gathering them from below. Takagi-kun and I were on lookout duty. “Hey!”

And the farmer suddenly appeared from hiding. The three of us immediately ran away, but Nozaki-kun up in the tree couldn’t do anything. He fumbled his way down and was caught by the farmer. “Come on. Come to the police box.” he bellowed, refusing to let go. Nozaki-kun paid some money and finally got him to relent. And before long, someone came to the dormitory to sell persimmons. When Nozaki-kun looked down from the third floor, it was that very farmer. He promptly went down and “You brazen bastard!”

and seized him. “Oh! It’s you, sir?” The farmer also remembered him. “What the hell was that last time?” “My deepest apologies.” “Since when does some peddler who comes and goes from the academy have the right to lay hands on its students?” “I must apologize for failing to recognize you properly, sir.” “You bastard!” “Now, now, please restrain yourself!” “Isn’t there a proper way to apologize?” Nozaki argued while jabbing him repeatedly, ending up with a heap of persimmons. It was by no means a virtuous approach.

Given how things went, the school’s students earned themselves a rather poor reputation among the neighboring farmers. Before I knew it, I grew close to this band of nonbelievers. They were more interesting than those believers who did nothing but spout sanctimonious platitudes. Neither Nozaki-kun nor Akabane-kun were villains to the extent they pretended to be. They were simply young and brash, recklessly putting on a tough front—at heart, they were good people. Takagi-kun had a different approach altogether. He did not boast of physical strength but was skilled at defeating others in debate. He had a definitive opinion on every matter. Once he started arguing, there was no end. When walking together, he would argue vehemently, flecks of spittle flying from his lips,

“You agree, right? What do you say?” he would jab his shoulder into me each time.

“Hey, careful there! I’ll fall into the river!” and I sometimes had to caution him. “Kawahara-kun, the notion that there’s no salvation for humanity outside Christianity is just Dr. Johnson’s self-serving argument. What do you think?” I recalled how Takagi-kun had provoked me in those early days after entering the school. It was when we were talking on the athletic field’s lawn. “That’s a matter of faith.” “Of course that’s true, but I’m asking whether that faith is correct or not.”

“Because I’m a believer, I think there’s no savior but Christ.”

“So other religions won’t do?” “Of course.” “According to your faith, God ends up being terribly unfair.” “That’s not true. God’s love is impartial and universal.” “Wrong. He was generous to Westerners but stingy with Easterners.” “Why?” “According to your faith, it would mean that since the time of Christ, God has only saved Europeans and not Easterners.” “It’s just a matter of communication.” “Hmph. Are you saying even an almighty God can’t transcend communication barriers?”

“........”

“You.” “What is it?” “In short, religion is just like food.” “Why?”

"In Eastern lands where rice grows, one need only eat rice. In Western lands where only wheat grows, one need only eat wheat." "That may be so. But if wheat comes to Japan, would it not be acceptable to eat it?"

So I turned my opponent’s metaphor to my advantage. “That’s acceptable.” “See here.” “However, claiming you must eat wheat or die is mistaken.” “What say you?” “Well...” “If God shows equal compassion, He wouldn’t rebuke us for eating rice or wheat.” “I suppose that’s true.”

“See here. Dr. Johnson’s faith is wrong. He’s straining at all the wrong things. If there’s a God, He’s probably laughing right now.” “There is a God.” “That’s a separate issue altogether. You.”

And Takagi-kun had pushed me all the way to the athletic field’s hedge.

During the third term of our first year, the Russo-Japanese situation grew critical.

Classmates were divided into pro-war and anti-war factions. This division aligned unexpectedly with the non-believers and believers groups. As a believer, I—in solitary proof of having reverted to non-belief—advocated for war. “You, let’s climb the tower and pray.” Then one morning Abe invited me.

“No way. It’s cold.” I refused.

“You’ve stumbled because of the current situation, haven’t you?”

“Now’s not the time to turn the other cheek. If we keep spouting anti-war rhetoric, our country will be taken from us.” “You don’t understand. Yoshida and I climb the tower every morning to pray. Since Russia too believes in God, they’ll surely repent.”

Abe was deadly serious. Since they sought to halt the war through faith, their fervor was palpable. Back then, there were even adult believers like this. On the side of the non-believers, Takagi represented the extreme pro-war advocates. “Ever since the Triple Intervention forced the return of Liaodong, our grudge has penetrated to the marrow of our bones. What use is reason or empty talk now?”

Every day, he would rage indignantly and skip afternoon classes. “If we act, Japan’s will be a righteous war!”

Tachibana, the bat-like believer, remained noncommittal as usual, but one day, to curry favor with the pro-war faction, “Since standing to meet their attack is self-defense, it’s a righteous war! Even if we lose, our cause will stand justified.” he added by way of explanation. “What’s this ‘even if we lose’?” Nozaki raised his head like a viper. “But there’s no certainty we can win.” “Russki spy!” “What?!”

Even the good-natured Tachibana finally stood up in indignation. "Anyone who sides with Russia is a Russki spy!" "I'm not taking sides!" "Don't start spouting such gloomy talk about having no confidence in victory from the get-go!" "War isn't something you wage for economic prosperity. The opposing side is a world power." "We have the Yamato spirit. How could we lose?!" "The Yamato spirit doesn't exist in psychological terms." "Jesus! You unpatriotic wretch!" "How can you make such a reckless claim?" "It's because of spineless cowards like you that Russia's throwing its weight around!"

Nozaki looked ready to lunge with a fierce countenance, but—

“Hey, you blockhead!” Akabane grappled with them and stopped the fight. “What do you mean by ‘blockhead’?” “Now now—calm down.” “How dare you!” “No one actually wants a war.” “Have you suddenly turned into an anti-war advocate now? You’re practically a Russki spy!” Nozaki glared fiercely. Given their friendship, he’d softened “spy” to “practically.”

Nozaki glared. Because they were close, he had softened it to "quasi-". “This isn’t about emotions.” “I know—this is a fair and square debate.” “This isn’t even a debate. Japan has now gotten involved with a bad opponent—there’s no choice but to go to war. It’s not about winning or losing. If we don’t do it, we’ll perish—so whether we like it or not, we have to see it through to the end.”

Though Akabane looked every bit the fool in appearance, he understood the broader situation. The whole group found themselves strangely moved. Everyone truly felt this had ceased being a mere debate.

I heard Akabane had recently commissioned an autobiography from a writer hailing from his hometown, now that he'd become a nouveau riche—I'd like to let him have this part written up in grand style.

The war began almost immediately. However, with a string of victories, there was little cause for concern. If things were going to be like this, they should have done it sooner—and just like that, Russophobia was swept away in an instant. We took days off from school repeatedly under the pretext of victory celebration after celebration. There was a tendency to use patriotism as a pretext for skipping out. It was exactly around that time. A turning point arrived in my faith. One day, when we had gone out for an afternoon stroll to the suburbs again under the pretext of celebrating the victory, we spotted people from the area rushing toward the railroad tracks in the distance. The train had stopped and was blowing its whistle.

“They ran someone over!”

And we too hurried along the rice field path in that direction. Having reached the spot first, I suddenly— “Gah!” And I stepped back. A young woman had been run over. Her torso had been severed in two—a sight too ghastly to behold. “How pitiful...”

Even the normally thick-skinned Akabane turned ashen pale and kept spitting. "Ugh—disgusting." Nozaki too gave an involuntary shudder.

“Let’s go already.”

And I urged everyone onward and started walking. The ghastly sight of the run-over victim remained seared in our eyes as all four of us traced the rice field path in silence for a while.

“Kawahara.” Takagi broke the silence. “What is it?” “There is no God.”

“...” “Nor is there a soul.” “...” “Well?”

“Who knows...”

And I fell into deep thought.

“Humans have a mind because they’re alive. Once they die, that’s all there is.” “...” “They’re no different from birds and beasts.” “Is there really no soul?” “There isn’t. Believers are mistaking their minds for souls.” “That’s not true. There is something beyond the mind.” “What do you think became of that woman— you?” “...” “Do you really think a soul exists after seeing that? If the body dies, then that’s the end of everything. That would be too convenient—if souls existed and were immortal. But they don’t exist. Souls don’t exist.”

Takagi pressed on as usual. The enlightenment of mediocrities differs from that of great men. Luther had witnessed his friend’s death by lightning before his very eyes and been driven to profound faith. I became utterly repulsed by the wretched sight of the run-over victim, and what little faith I had began to waver. “There’s no soul,” said Akabane. “Looking like that, there’s no way it could exist.” And he too despaired. “Ugh—I hate it! I hate it so much! I don’t want to die!”

And Nozaki was pressing his head with both hands.

Before and After Graduation

The other day, when my nephew—now an Army second lieutenant—came to visit, I “What a young officer.” I watched intently. Though he wore a military uniform, he looked just like a middle school student. “He’s still freshly minted, you see.”

my wife explained. He was the eldest son of my wife’s cousin. “Even so, he’s young.” “He must have been promoted unusually early.” “Though I am the youngest among my classmates,” The second lieutenant seemed to regret his youth. “It’s because Nobu’s grades are excellent, you know.”

And my wife was immensely proud of this nephew. “You’ve got a bright future ahead of you.” I had no objection to that, “Military men have become so young.” I repeated. “...” “Will the soldiers obey orders?” “They will obey.” “Can you wage war?” “That’s…” And the second lieutenant looked troubled.

“In our student days, military men were impressive figures. Whether Army or Navy, whenever we met them on the street, I felt like bowing deeply to each and every one.” “Ah, yes.”

“Military men must have war.” “Yes.” “When national calamity strikes, it’s military men you turn to—no matter what anyone says.” “Back then, we were all earnest.” “People nowadays have forgotten what they owe soldiers.”

“Were your student days during the time of the First Sino-Japanese War, Uncle?” “Don’t joke like that. I’m not such an old man yet!”

“I beg your pardon.” “Then that would be the Russo-Japanese War era, wouldn’t it?”

“That’s right. You must have some memory of it yourself, no?” “I’m afraid I have no recollection whatsoever.”

“Hmm.” “I was not yet born.” “Hmm.” I was surprised. “Look here. When people look young to you, that’s proof you’ve aged.”

my wife laughed.

“I see.”

“Uncle, how old were you back then?”

“Well... “I must have been twenty or twenty-one.” “Then you were younger than I am now. “Then it’s only natural that military men would look elderly to you.”

And Nobu-san also launched a flanking attack. The more soldiers start to look young to a person，the more that person’s years creep up on them. This was something I had always felt，but since officers look like children to me，I had indeed grown old.

My days at Meiji Gakuen cannot be considered apart from the Russo-Japanese War. That campaign is recorded as occurring in Meiji 37-38 (1904–1905), but in terms of school life, it spanned three academic years from first to third grade. For this reason, most of my memories are set against the backdrop of war.

By the time we graduated, peace had already been restored, but the postwar recession—that wretched thing—clung to us tenaciously. To begin with, we were graduates of Meiji Gakuen—a name that phonetically echoed the phrase "can’t put food on the table"—so job opportunities were absolutely nonexistent. Job opportunities were absolutely nonexistent. Everyone struggled. This has exerted a profound influence on my present. Takagi was quick to give up and went to America. Nozaki too had a poor start. As for someone like Akabane, he had been assisting his uncle’s transport business in Kobe for ten years after that until the Great War in Europe began. To be sure, precisely because that situation provided an opportunity to become a nouveau riche, this man alone reaped the rewards. He believes himself to be grand and successful, but in truth, it’s merely the old adage of "three years of misfortune" stretched to ten. When I think about it this way, even though we never took up arms and fought directly, we still share a profound connection to the Russo-Japanese War.

A nation united—Japan has never since seen an era of such intensity. Even in the chapel services of a school preaching a religion of peace,

“O God, bestow Your abundant blessings upon those soldiers who fight for our nation.” Such a prayer was offered. That was Dr. Johnson. According to his reasoning, no nation that wages war could be justified. It seemed he meant only the innocent soldiers deserved pity. “This war will not cease until it reaches its worst extremity. For Japan’s sake, for Russia’s sake, and for the sake of world peace—this is truly a grievous matter.” "For Japan’s sake, for Russia’s sake, and for the sake of world peace—this is truly a grievous matter."

he was stating something utterly self-evident. However, Inomata-sensei and his fellow Japanese teachers vigorously displayed their patriotic fervor. “O God,” he entreated, “grant us further guidance that our forces might soonest drive the Russian army from Manchuria’s plains. In recent days, the enemy had concentrated their strength at Fengtian. Now our army has mounted a full assault and achieved a victory without precedent.” Inomata-sensei declared this. Then facing the students: “As made clear through our recent prayer, our forces have occupied Fengtian. All is secure. The enemy nation’s surrender lies plainly within sight. You may now apply yourselves to study without apprehension.”

Judging by how he said it, this was less a prayer than a report. Given how things stood in the academic sphere, society at large was naturally in a frenzy. Extra editions came out nearly every day. Since these were always reports of great victories, spirits were high. One day, Akabane and I went to Kanda to buy books. Just then, “Extra! Extra! Great victory in the extra edition!” “Great victory extra edition!” Several vendors came running while ringing their bells. By some chance, one of them collided with Akabane,

“Watch out!”

he shouted. He was worked up, his headband tied tightly around his forehead.

“What?”

Akabane immediately took a defensive stance. However, proving that the newspaper vendor had no intention of picking a fight,

“Great victory!” he said, thrusting a copy forward. “Thank you.” Akabane, true to form, was good-natured.

“Mr. Hasegawa.” I chased after the newspaper vendor.

“Oh, Kawahara!” The newspaper vendor stopped and grabbed his bell. “This is quite unexpected.” “I didn’t think I’d find you.”

“I was looking for you.” “Hey, the Baltic Fleet’s been wiped out!”

Then Akabane brought the extra edition right before my eyes. I had reunited with an old friend from my hometown middle school whom I had parted ways with. Even such matters had the great backdrop of the Battle of Tsushima. "Akabane, this is Mr. Hasegawa. See? I told you about him before." "Excuse me for now."

Hasegawa-kun seemed slightly uncomfortable. "No, I'm the one." "This is my classmate Akabane." "I am Akabane Akira - a native of Gunma Prefecture." "I look forward to your kind regard."

“I am Akabane Akira—a product of Gunma Prefecture. I look forward to your kind regard,” Akabane introduced himself. “It’s a shame we’ve finally met, but you must be in a hurry.”

I could only assume from Hasegawa-kun’s appearance that such was the case. “No, today’s already settled.” “Then let’s talk somewhere briefly.”

“Let’s go in there.”

Then Hasegawa invited us to the milk hall. Students back then led simple lives. They would eat jam bread and drink milk while mustering up a fitting show of spirit.

“Kawahara-kun is impressed, saying you’re a man of justice.”

Then Akabane promptly launched into engaging with Hasegawa. Having received a copy of the extra edition, he seemed deeply moved. “Oh, it’s nothing at all.” “Liquor stores may be excusable, but I cannot condone brothels either.” “Well...” “It’s admirable that you’re studying hard for justice’s sake.” “It’s not quite like that.”

Mr. Hasegawa seemed troubled. The other customers were listening. "Akabane, try eating this buttered bread. It's delicious!" I urged him. If I didn't keep his mouth occupied, he'd keep blabbering and cause trouble. "It's truly been ages. You've grown so much."

“You’ve gotten old,” I said. “That’s not really true.” “No.” “You’re pushing yourself too hard.” “Every time I came to Kanda, I kept hoping I might run into you. I’ve been watching out.” “I passed by Meiji Gakuen this spring. I thought about stopping by many times, but—” “You should’ve come.” “It’s how I’m dressed.” “I wouldn’t have minded.” “Do you hear from the others?”

“I sometimes receive letters from Mr. Komatsu.” “Mr. Kitamura is at Waseda.” “I met Kitamura-kun.”

“When?”

“Just the other day. “When I went out to sell extra editions after all.” “The last time I met him was this New Year back home. “I didn’t know your address.”

“I don’t tell anyone.” “Why is that?” “That’s how it was agreed upon. I must ask you not to inquire either.”

“I suppose that can’t be helped. But surely you can at least tell me what you’re doing now.” “This is it. I deliver newspapers.”

“Aren’t you attending school?” “I go to night school.”

“What kind?” “It’s a law school.”

“Which one?” “If I tell you that, you’ll know.” “What’s wrong with you knowing?”

"That won't do." "You're as stubborn as ever." With that, I gave up. "But Kawahara-kun, even in this state I've attained peace of mind. On this point, I must thank you."

“What do you mean?” “The seed you sowed has sprouted.” “Ahh.” “I’ve begun to see God.”

“Are you going to church now?” “Well. I’ve been reading the Bible too.”

“…………” “I retract all my assertions from back then. You’re five or six years younger than me, but you were the forerunner.”

“Hah ha ha ha!” And Akabane burst out laughing.

“What is it?”

And Hasegawa-kun turned back with a puzzled look. “What a great forerunner he is! “This guy can’t even see God anymore.”

“Cut it out.” And I was troubled. “It was this time last year—when we went for a walk together—I saw a woman who’d been hit by a train. That’s why I became an atheist.” “You’re not an atheist,” Hasegawa-kun corrected me quietly. “An agnostic.” “It’s all the same either way.” “It’s different.” “Same difference—if you don’t go to church—”

“It’s all the same either way.”

“No, it’s different.”

“It’s all the same.” “Someone who doesn’t attend church.”

And Akabane boomed. “Won’t you drink another glass of milk?” “I’ve had enough. Afraid your misdeeds will come to light, and now you’re trying to shut me up?”

“You’ve got me there! Ha ha ha!” I scratched my head. Akabane was truly a man who seemed both dull-witted and sharp-witted. “Your faith must have wavered temporarily,” “That’s a common occurrence.” And Hasegawa-kun made excuses on my behalf.

“It’s a reaction.” “To what?” “When you were in your hometown, everyone around you was a non-believer who spoke ill of Christianity. You became a believer with the resolve of, ‘Alright, if that’s how it is, I’ll show them!’ But when you came to Meiji Gakuen, most of those around you were believers, right? Because there are guys here who flaunt faith they don’t actually have just to curry favor with the teachers, you ended up getting fed up with it all.” “Because you were a rebel.” “Well...”

“That’s certainly true. I’m not at all the docile man I appear to be.” And Akabane made another dubious assurance. “Did you graduate from faith before even graduating from Mission School?”

“…………” “What will you do after graduation?” “Since I don’t understand life itself, I can’t know what I ought to do.” “Everything’s changed completely now, hasn’t it?”

Hasegawa-kun looked disappointed. With nothing but bread and milk to sustain us, we soon went our separate ways.

Many people were greatly anguished over questions of life and faith, but I remained unperturbed. My classmate and fellow believer Pastor Abe, worried, “You—you are stumbling.” “Pray.”

Pastor Abe often urged me to do so, but I— “It’s no use anymore.” was all I replied. Principal Dr.Johnson, having been specifically requested by Pastor Uribe, would call out whenever he encountered me in the schoolyard: “Mr.Kawahara, wait a moment.”

called out. “Yes.” “How have you been lately?” “Same as always.” “The soul over the body.” “……”

"I don't see your face at church." "I'll start coming from now on." "Do so." "Right..." And I made that promise and fulfilled the obligation once or twice. I could not bear to distress the saint's heart. "Mr. Kawahara, wait a moment." And Nozaki and Akabane used to tease me about it. Dr.Johnson, whose virtue we once admired, now became our bane.

Even among those who received the same mission school education, there were those like Pastor Abe who dedicated their lives to the faith they were given, and those like me who lost what little faith they had. Nozaki and Akabane remained utterly oblivious from start to finish. We classmates represented extreme types. Tachibana-kun, the bat believer, remains a bat believer to this day.

Though this was likely due in part to wartime unrest keeping society unsettled, we truly slacked off from our second to third year. Even Pastor Abe and Yoshida, men of faith, were no scholars. Those skipping classes always kept pace with the non-believers' group. Ultimately, it often fell to Tachibana-kun, our class representative, to manage the classroom alone. Even after the war concluded in September and society calmed down, the bad habits persisted unchanged. Needless to say, grades were poor in both first and second semesters for everyone. Seeing how first and second years fared similarly too, at the start of third term the following January—after Inomata-sensei, our school administrator, delivered a general admonition in chapel—

“If you think the advanced division offers gentlemanly treatment, you’re gravely mistaken. Those who fail to meet the required score will be resoundingly failed. I am stating this now as a precaution. Is that clear? Gentlemen. Regretting it when the time comes will do you no good!” Inomata-sensei warned. “That’s just a bluff.” Takagi-kun interpreted this charitably. “Of course. There hasn’t been a single failure in the advanced division since its founding.” Tachibana-kun also assured us. We hadn’t taken those words at face value either, but we had underestimated the authorities too much. Despite Inomata-sensei’s repeated warnings,

“Don’t worry. If we get serious when exams come, we’ll be fine.” While we remained just as complacent as ever, the exams arrived—and Yoshida and Akabane failed. The former was sickly and lacked stamina. The latter was slovenly and hadn’t studied a whit.

We promptly held a consultation meeting. “Let’s campaign to save the two of them,” Takagi-kun proposed.

“But will it succeed?” Tachibana-kun voiced apprehension. “You’re causing trouble by saying things like that. And you call yourself the class rep!” Nozaki-kun was trying his hardest.

“Of course I’ll do it.” “You, go to Mr. Inomata’s office on behalf of everyone, if you please.”

“I’ll go. “I’ll go—I’ll go.” "But…" “Don’t ask someone who just says ‘but’.” "I'll go." And I became indignant. “I’ll go too.” And Pastor Abe also rose up. “Let’s all go.” And so it was decided. That evening, Inomata-sensei was watching us file through the gate from his second-floor study. He came down immediately, but "You've come about Yoshida-kun and Akabane-kun's grades, I take it?"

He preempted us and made clear his intent to send us packing right at the entrance. "That's correct." Tachibana-kun acted as the representative for everyone.

“We’ve already announced it, so there’s nothing to be done.” “Even though I warned them repeatedly, they didn’t study—it’s their own fault.”

"That's reasonable, sir, but couldn't they at least be granted provisional passing?" "There's no such thing as provisional passing for graduation." "Is there truly no other way?" "Well."

The teacher tilted his head. "Sir, please do something about this."

And they all pleaded in unison. “The fact is, we’ve arranged to call them in for a proper discussion, so for now, you should all refrain from intervening.” “Sir—” “I alone cannot alter what has been decided by the faculty meeting. If this matter alone concerns you, I shall now take my leave.”

With that, the teacher closed the entrance’s shoji door.

We called Akabane-kun and Yoshida-kun, who had been hiding in the shadow of the hedge.

“Did you hear?” “We did.”

Both of them nodded. “Since there still seems to be hope, go and see immediately. And don’t let your emotions get the better of you.” I instructed them firmly. “Excuse me,” Akabane said once again, requesting entry.

Akabane once again requested to be admitted. We retreated to the athletic field and waited. The two came back after about thirty minutes had passed. "What happened?" And everyone crowded around. “It’s a retake.” Akabane was grinning. “What?” “We’re getting a retake exam.”

“When?” “Next term.” “Then does that mean you can’t graduate with us?” “Yeah. It can’t be helped.”

“Even so, this seems to be a special arrangement.” And Yoshida had no complaints either.

However, we, the concerned group, began our campaign once more. The believers’ group withdrew, leaving me, Takagi, and Nozaki.

"If they’re going to let them graduate in a month anyway, wouldn’t it be no different to do so now? We who entered together and studied together all this time can’t in good fellowship bear to leave those two behind." That was our self-justifying argument. Inomata-sensei wouldn’t hear of it. Takagi-kun, seeing how matters stood, "If Akabane-kun and Yoshida-kun aren’t graduating with us, we won’t attend the ceremony," he declared. "That is entirely your affair," "There’s nothing more to discuss."

With that, the teacher resolutely rejected them to the bitter end. That was the night before the graduation ceremony. We carried it out exactly as planned. But after the ceremony ended, we realized. The three couldn't receive their diplomas. "What should we do?"

“We do have the right.”

“Let’s go to Inomata-sensei’s place now.”

And so we decided.

That very evening, we promptly presented ourselves at the entrance, with Takagi being the first to speak. "Sir, I sincerely apologize for our recent conduct," he said. Takagi bowed deeply. "As long as you understand, that will suffice." "Sir..." "What is it?" "We were hoping to receive our diplomas..." "That remains with the Principal," Inomata-sensei replied stiffly. "It has nothing to do with me."

“If we go to see the Principal, will we be able to receive them?” “Well,” he said. “The Principal told us today that you wouldn’t attend, with tears pooling in those large eyes of his.” “We are truly sorry.” “Would you like to come upstairs and talk?” Though the teacher extended this invitation, we felt too ill at ease and excused ourselves right there. The next morning, we three watched from the dormitory window until we confirmed Principal Dr. Johnson’s arrival at school, then knocked on his office door.

“Come in.” came the reply. “Good morning.”

And the three of us snapped to attention. "So my wayward sons have come?"

“…………” “Why have you come?”

Dr. Johnson seemed indignant. “We’re terribly sorry—we came to apologize.” I spoke as our representative. “Very well. No need for concern.” “…………”

“I’m busy with work in the mornings. I’ll be writing to America about the graduation ceremony now.” “Sir, could we receive our diplomas?” “Those cannot be given to you.”

“Sir,” “Those diplomas are meant for people who attend graduation ceremonies—you didn’t want them then, did you?” “No, we came specifically because we want them now.” “They’re right here in this desk drawer, but it’s God’s will—there’s nothing to be done.” “There will always be those who skip ceremonies and inconvenience others.” “If I give them to you as Principal, I can’t enforce discipline.” “…………” “I won’t give them to you.” “Instead, I’ll throw them out this window right now.”

“…………” “Picking up scrap paper doesn’t make you thieves.” “Huh?” “I will not give them to you. I will discard them. Do I make myself clear? Picking up scrap paper doesn’t make you thieves. Go home at once.” Having issued the command, the Principal stood up. We bowed and immediately went down to the schoolyard to wait. The second-floor window opened, and three diplomas fluttered down.

Pride and Despair

We had been carefully growing out our hair since around New Year’s and began parting it just before the graduation exams. Everyone’s heads were gleaming. Akabane, “My hair’s so greasy I can’t study,” he said. “Look at this. Your hat’s getting ruined.” Though he found it a hassle, he bought pomade every time he went out for a walk.

“Just how much do you put on, anyway?” When someone asked,

“Isn’t that supposed to be one a day?” he answered nonchalantly. He was a man of extremes. As soon as he realized he couldn’t graduate with everyone, he immediately reverted to his old crew cut, “I’m the excitable type. Because I’d kept my hair long, I couldn’t study properly and ended up failing.” he added by way of explanation. From then on, he never let his hair grow long. He really was the excitable type. Nowadays, he has mostly gone bald, and if he were to use a flatiron, he would burn himself.

Among the five graduates, Tachibana-kun—the top student with excellent grades—was consequently appointed to remain at the school as a teacher in the middle school division, where a vacancy had just occurred. We, the idlers, naturally had no objections to this. Tachibana-kun also seemed satisfied, but that’s just how geniuses are. "Since they pleaded with me to take the position, I had no choice. It’s all for my alma mater." he said, as if making an excuse. "How much is your salary?" And we were making that our focus. "Well..."

“Do they really give you thirty yen?”

“No. Not at all!”

“Twenty-five yen?” “Even less.”

“Twenty yen?” “Seventeen yen.”

Tachibana-kun, being a man who maintained appearances, was deeply reluctant to disclose it. "If I went to teach at a rural middle school, I could make forty yen—but this is for my alma mater." "It can't be helped." "And staying here means interacting with Westerners—that'll be educational." He appended this justification.

Once Tachibana was settled, what remained was figuring out how to manage ourselves—just me and Nozaki. Abe would be entering seminary immediately. Takagi was set to leave for America as soon as he secured travel funds. "Hey, what're we gonna do?"

Nozaki consulted me. “Well...”

“We’ve already graduated—we can’t keep squatting in this dorm forever.” “Let’s at least go see Mr. Inomata and Dr. Johnson.” “Johnson’s useless.” “Why?” “He’ll just spout that line—‘Meiji Gakuen is not a money-making institution!’” “But helping graduates find work is the school’s duty.”

And I felt dissatisfied that the authorities weren’t making any effort regarding this issue. The two had intended to visit Mr. Inomata first but encountered Dr. Johnson in the schoolyard. “Mr. Kawahara, wait a moment.”

Dr.Johnson called out. “Thank you very much for the other day.” I expressed my gratitude. Not long ago, all the graduates had been invited and treated to a dinner banquet. “Not at all.” “Dr.Johnson.”

“How have you been lately?” “Actually, I was hoping to ask you about that myself.” “Please come along. Mr. Nozaki too.”

Seizing the opportunity of Dr.Johnson’s invitation, we accompanied him. “Dr.Johnson, we want to find some kind of work from now on.” I broached. “Work? Splendid. What will you do?” “That’s what we don’t understand.” “Work that aligns with God’s divine will—that is what’s most important to find.” “Since we’ve already graduated, we have to manage on our own. We want to do something.”

“What will you do?” “That’s what we don’t understand.” “Work that aligns with God’s divine will—that—have you not yet found it?”

“We haven’t found it.” “This is most troubling.”

Dr.Johnson misunderstood. We were not seeking a divine calling. "Anything would be fine, but..." "Mr.Kawahara, you—the work to which God has called you, the most suitable work—is there something?" "Now, do consider that carefully." "Well..." "How about becoming a school teacher?" "I originally studied intending to become a teacher, but..." "That should be acceptable. Mr.Nozaki." "Ah…" "You—the work to which God has called you, the most suitable work—is there something?"

“I want to go into the business world.” “That should be acceptable.” “But there’s no opening.” “Search for it. Seek, and you shall receive. Knock, and it shall be opened unto you.” “Ah…”

Then Mr.Nozaki signaled to me with his eyes. This meant there was no longer any hope—we ought to wrap things up quickly. “This Meiji Gakuen—school teaching God’s way. School assembling Christian gentlemen.” “…………”

“Graduates of this school may forget their learning. However, there is one thing that must not be forgotten. What is that?” We remained silent. “Being poor in money—that is no shame. Poverty of character—that is the worst. Mr. Nozaki, how about this?” “Ah…” “Christ was poor in money. He was exceedingly poor in money. ‘Foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have their nests; yet the Son of Man hath not where to lay His head.’ But He was not poor in character. We are all little Christs. Being poor in money—that is no shame. Poverty of character—that is the worst. Mr. Kawahara, have you understood?”

“Ah…” “I understand.” “Then I’ll take my leave now.”

And I too had already given up.

When I took my leave and stepped out into the schoolyard,

“It’s completely hopeless. It’s not worth talking about.”

And Nozaki was disheartened.

We next visited Mr. Inomata. Unlike during the recent protest, he welcomed us warmly, but when it came to our request, “I’m concerned—perhaps due to the recession—but there have been no applicants at all this year. It’s troubling.” he could only tilt his head in puzzlement. “Sir, do you happen to know anyone at foreign trading houses around Yokohama?” Nozaki inquired.

“Well… It’s not that there are no older graduates employed out there, but…” “We’ll follow those connections and search from our side. Since we’re idle anyway.”

“That’s one approach, I suppose. Shall I write you a letter of introduction? There was a certain man who had joined a certain trading company. You’ll know if you check the register.”

And Mr. Inomata was being quite vague.

“Mr. Inomata, what about provincial middle schools?”

And now it was my turn. “Last year I managed to place Maki with a principal I knew, but this year they haven’t reached out.” “Do you know many principals?”

“There are three. Since they all trust Meiji Gakuen, they’ll certainly apply whenever vacancies arise.”

“Please recommend us whenever positions become available.” “Certainly,” Mr. Inomata replied. “But teaching positions require licenses—you must obtain one promptly.” “I’ll take the certification exam.” “Now that you’ve graduated, I assume your tuition stipend has stopped?” “Ah…” They answered in unison. “Stay in the dormitory for now.” His tone turned practical. “Attend a few lectures as research students—it’ll maintain appearances.” “Ah…” “I’ll handle matters here while you’re settled.” He leaned forward, fingers steepled. “Don’t fret—just focus on your studies. Whether you pursue trading firms or provincial schools, you’ll find the road arduous with your current skills.”

“Ah…” “Actually, I’ve been consulting with Dr. Johnson about this matter for some time now.” “It’s pointless.”

And Nozaki let slip.

“Why?”

“Dr.Johnson shows no compassion,” we said. “He claims there’s no shame in being poor.” “But you can’t live without eating,” Mr.Inomata countered. “Exactly our point,” we agreed. “Can’t Meiji Gakuen graduates even feed themselves? Ha ha ha!” His laughter boomed. “That reputation is precisely what worries us.” “Yet it’s curious,” he mused. “Everyone scrapes by somehow. Becoming wealthy won’t magically double your stomach’s capacity.” “True enough, but...” “What Dr.Johnson means is: ‘Don’t fret over food and drink to sustain your life.’ Unless people rise above daily survival, they can’t accomplish true work.”

With that preface, Mr.Inomata launched into his sermon. Both Dr.Johnson and our teachers—this was simply our school's tradition, so we had to accept it. Their teachings made perfect sense in theory, but felt too rarefied. To us students scrambling desperately for employment, none of it resonated.

When spring break ended and the new school year began, Akabane and Yoshida soon took re-exams and graduated. Yoshida entered theological school, but Akabane, like the rest of us, couldn’t find his footing.

“What should we do?” “There’s nothing to be done.” “We’ll still have to rely on our parents for now.”

And so, everyone steeled their resolve and lazed about in the dormitory.

One day, a message came to me from Mr. Inomata. When I presented myself at the faculty room,

"How would you like to try teaching Japanese to a Westerner?" was the proposal.

“I’ll do it.” “A new missionary will arrive within two or three days. A young man named Robinson. Teach him Japanese. I don’t know how much they’ll pay you, but you should be able to earn enough for your tuition.”

“Thank you very much.”

And I promptly accepted. I recall this happening almost simultaneously—Nozaki was appointed as library attendant. "I'll just keep at this until I land a trading company post."

And he was overjoyed by this as well. Next, Akabane was summoned. "What kind of position could this be?" So off he went with great expectations, "The school currently has no available positions—waiting would be futile." "I hear you've been smoking in the dormitory—this is inexcusable." "As your presence hinders student supervision, you must vacate immediately."

This was the official pronouncement. “They’re making a fool out of me!”

Furious, Akabane boarded the night train to Kobe that very day. His uncle ran a transport business. He went relying on that.

When this man later became a nouveau riche and donated a lecture hall worth 170,000 yen, at Meiji Gakuen at the time, it seemed as though Akabane-san ranked second only to God himself. Of course, since both Dr. Johnson and Mr. Inomata had passed away, the school's academic ethos must have changed somewhat.

I began teaching Japanese to Mr.Robinson. I had assumed that since it was Japanese, there would be no need for translation when I began, but trying it proved more challenging than expected. Because I had to explain each and every point in English, it was exhausting. At times, even I didn’t understand what I was saying. Mr.Robinson stared at my face in dismay. Yet at the same time, this proved to be excellent practice. In my life there exists but one instance where failure became success. It occurred exactly around that time. One evening, Tachibana came into my room,

“Kawahara-kun, there’s something I must ask of you.” “I need you to hear me out.”

he bowed. "What’s this? So formal..."

“The truth is, I just heard from Mr. Inomata that an offer has come in from a provincial middle school.” “Hmm.” “They’re asking us to send over some of the excellent recent graduates.”

“I see.” “Mr. Inomata is weighing whether to send you or me.” “By class ranking it would be me, but given prior commitments it’s apparently you—so he says we must confer and settle it ourselves.” “You ought to go.” “If excellence is the criterion, then it’s you.”

Even though I wanted it so badly I could taste it, when they brought up academic performance, there was nothing to be done. "No, 'excellent' doesn't strictly mean top of the class," he said. "After all, no school would ask us to send them inferior candidates. It simply means those who perform well." "Anyway, I can't possibly go," I replied. "I have an obligation to Mr. Robinson—I can't leave here anytime soon." "I too had resolved to devote myself to our alma mater for a year or two," Tachibana countered, "but your situation differs slightly. Since there exists a successor who cometh after me with greater strength—as scripture says—it wouldn't be entirely impossible for me to depart."

True to his nature as a believer, Tachibana invoked a scriptural passage. "Who is it? That would be..."

“You’re the one.” “Don’t be ridiculous.” “No, while my class rank may be higher, the true capability lies with you.” “Besides, I’m considering your circumstances here.” “What do you mean?”

“How much are you receiving from Mr. Robinson now?” “Fifteen yen.” “If you take over my position there, that’s seventeen yen—so thirty-two total. The provincial position pays thirty-five yen.”

“Where exactly? What’s this about?” “Ichinoseki. It’s cold country up there.”

“Then I’ll yield it to you.”

I too was driven by greed; I thought it was more beneficial to stay in Tokyo earning thirty-two yen than to go to cold Tohoku and receive thirty-five yen. “Is this truly acceptable?” “Absolutely.”

“Then I’ll go see Mr. Inomata now and recommend you.”

“I’ll leave it to you.” “Since Mr. Inomata had let slip such implications, there’s no mistake—it suits your circumstances and helps me tremendously.” “Thank you.”

Having achieved his objective, Tachibana left.

I could not suppress a smile; immediately, I visited Nozaki in the neighboring room, "You know how opportunities are—once they start appearing, they keep coming." I confided my prospects.

“That’s slick.” “But I can’t let this go unrewarded!” “How about I treat you to soba?” “Let’s go.”

Nozaki was quick to act.

Mr. Tachibana was transferred to Ichinoseki several days later. I had waited expecting my turn as successor would come round, but with the newly arrived Mr. Robinson taking over that position instead, all my plans came to nothing. Tachibana hadn't deceived me. I'd simply assumed that if he was first predecessor, I would naturally become second successor. At the time I thought I'd pointlessly thrown away my thirty-five yen priority claim, but what appeared a failure actually proved successful. Before long I moved into Mr. Robinson's house. While teaching him Japanese, I studied living English under his guidance. Having spent nearly two years immersed almost entirely in English, my abilities naturally improved.

“You speak better English than Japanese who have lived in America for years.” Mr. Robinson praised me. Westerners are skilled at flattery; they usually say such things. But there must have been some actual ability—the proof being that I passed the secondary school teacher certification exam with flying colors and suddenly found myself in high demand from all quarters. Mr. Inomata humbly entreated, “Kawahara-kun, how about it? Won’t you stay in Tokyo and devote yourself to our alma mater?”

he entreated earnestly. However, the mediocre man still nursed a grudge over what had transpired two years earlier.

“No. I don’t have any experience.” “Oh, that’s perfectly fine.”

“Moreover, since my faith is wavering, I am not suited to be a teacher at the academy.”

I declined and decided to take up a position at a certain middle school in Kyushu—the one offering the highest salary among the three job opportunities that had come my way.

On the way, I stopped by my hometown. Though I had returned every summer, this time I was able to set my parents' minds at ease. “Father, you can retire from the school now.” I said proudly. “What nonsense—I’m still perfectly healthy!”

Father was still enjoying a distinguished reputation as an elementary school principal.

"I'll send money every year from now on." "There's no need for that, but don't you go wasting money."

“It’s forty-five yen—you’ve even surpassed your father now.” Mother measured worth by salary alone. Father would normally have scolded me, but “That’s acceptable,” he offered no protest. “Yuichi,” “What is it?” “You really must take a wife soon.”

And Mother had her own motherly concerns. "I'll stay single for now." "They say one mouth can't be fed alone, but two mouths can manage—staying single is wasteful through and through. After all, sooner is better." "That may be true, but my real studies are just beginning. I haven't even considered marriage for these next two or three years."

Though I had made this bold declaration, for the past two or three years I had developed the habit of mentally assigning pass/fail ratings to every young woman I saw.

That Pastor Urabe had recently been transferred to Hokuetsu was deeply regrettable. However, I visited the middle school the following morning and met with several former teachers and my old friend Komatsu-kun. Although only five years had passed, the majority—starting with the principal—had changed.

“Kyushu is so far away. There was a recent personnel reshuffle—you could’ve come here if you’d wanted.”

Komatsu-kun lamented. "But I can't hold my head up among the old teachers." "That's certainly true, but there are advantages too." "Once I've properly honed my skills, I'll have you bring me back."

And whenever I returned to my hometown, I found it just as dear as ever. I also couldn’t help thinking about how my parents were getting older each year.

“I’ll keep that in mind. By the way, when are you leaving?” “Tomorrow morning.” “Then shall we talk tonight with Kitamura-kun?” “Very well.” “I’ll inform Kitamura-kun myself. Please come to Shinchaya by six.” “Where’s that?” “You know—where we held the farewell party when Hasegawa-kun ran off that time.”

“I see.”

“Speaking of Hasegawa-kun, he finally made it, didn’t he?” “I met him the other day. When I last saw him, he was delivering extra editions, but now he’s a lawyer.” “He must have become quite the gentleman?” “No, not yet. He said he’s still practically a doorman.” “Bright prospects ahead though. Here on our side, Kitamura-kun’s doing splendidly—he was just elected town council member.” “We’ll be drinking as usual, I suppose?”

“Hmm.” “That one also seems to be thriving quite well.”

Komatsu-kun seemed to want to talk further, but there was class. The bell rings. It was a nostalgically familiar sound.

On my way from my hometown to my new post, I met Akabane at Kobe Station. We had arranged for just a five-minute stop. Despite the rainy evening, Akabane had come out to the platform.

“How’s it going?” I leaned out from the window and looked down at Akabane’s work-aproned figure. “No good.” Akabane looked up at me in my suit. Their positions—one high, the other low—mirrored their states: one triumphant, the other disheartened. I briefly explained my new appointment. Akabane muttered a few complaints about his current situation. “Now now, you must endure it.” “You studied properly, after all. You’re different from me.” “What do you mean?” “How’s Nozaki doing?” “Last year he joined a trading firm in Yokohama.”

“I know that, but can he handle it?”

“He seems to be doing fairly well.” “How much does he make monthly?” “Thirty yen, but with half that as a bonus, it still amounts to about my level.” “Though I’m promised a raise after a year.” “Naturally for you, but Nozaki’s managing well.” “He’s finally found his proper place.” “That fellow was much like me though…” “You’ll steadily build your foundation too, won’t you?” “As you see, I’m still in this apron.”

“Rather than relying on monthly salaries like we do, self-employment holds more promise. Depending on your skills, couldn’t you make it work?” Though I offered encouragement with my words, my true feelings were the opposite. People were keenly aware that unless one earned a monthly salary of over forty-five yen, one was utterly insignificant. “It can’t be helped.” “Don’t go getting discouraged now.” “Hmm.” “Give it your all. Ah, it’s about to depart!”

“Goodbye. You take care too.”

And Akabane hurriedly took a step or two back. I thought he still wore that same foolish-looking face. For over twenty years since then, I have now been serving as a tutor at this man's residence, drawing a supplementary monthly salary. When I consider it, the shame burns my cheeks. Human fate defies all reckoning.

Wakakawahara Old Kawahara

My new posting was in ○○ City, Kyushu, and the middle school was one of the most distinguished in the prefecture. Since leaving it unnamed would be awkward, we temporarily named it Prefectural Middle School Shōshōkan. There were over thirty colleagues, and I was the youngest. “Sensei.” I felt humbled to be addressed as “Sensei” by my seniors. Though, “How old are you, Sensei?”

Every time I was asked, "I'm twenty-four," I would answer, feeling a touch of pride. "You're quite young," they all praised.

and they all complimented me.

The newspaper, perhaps due to space constraints or some other reason, printed a few lines about my career after my appointment notice. It stated that after graduating from Tōto Meiji Gakuen, he had taught English to British and American nationals for several years, and so forth. This "English" was, of course, a mistake by the busy reporter. I had, in fact, been teaching Japanese. Moreover, my student was just a single American. However, this error seemed to have made a deep impression on the students in general. They believed everything that appeared in print was either truth or fact.

“If he can teach English to British and Americans, he must be an exceptionally capable English teacher.”

they had hastily jumped to conclusions. Thanks to this, I was well-received in the classroom. They say teachers assigned upper grades from the start get bullied, but nothing of the sort ever happened. One day, a fifth-year student, “Teacher, I have a question.” he said and raised his hand. “What is it?”

“Just how old are you, Teacher?” “That’s not a classroom matter.” “But Teacher—we’re asking with proper respect and sincerity. Please tell us.” “I’m twenty-four.” When I answered, “I surrender!”

And that student pressed both hands to his head and plopped down into his seat.

“Ha ha ha!”

And the entire class laughed. "What's going on?" When I asked,

“Sano-kun is twenty-five.” Another student stood up and answered. Nowadays twenty-five-year-old middle schoolers would be unheard of these days, but twenty years ago they weren’t entirely unheard of. The boarding house landlady too, “How old may you be, Teacher?” soon raised the question. “I’m twenty-four.”

“You’re such a young Teacher, aren’t you? That must be precisely why you’re so accomplished.” “Not exactly, but by Western count, I’m twenty-three and a bit.” I grew all the more pleased with myself. I remember being twenty-four for several years, though such logic makes no sense. I remained the foremost among the young teachers for those years. When I think back, that was my prime. Even now I still consider myself reasonably young, but my surroundings refuse to humor this notion. Just yesterday, as I was tidying my hair before the mirror, my wife entered and—

“Oh! I thought you were studying, but here you’re plucking out gray hairs?” she pouted. “They’ve grown quite a bit.” “That’s only natural.” “You’ve got no sympathy at all.” I tried to pluck another one, but my wife snatched the tweezers away. “You can’t keep pretending to be young forever.” As she said this, she took hold of the mirror and peered into it closely. “Did yours come in too?” “Yeah.” “Where?” “Here. Just two or three strands.” “I see. You’re steadily turning into an old woman now.”

“That’s exactly why I’m the only one plucking them. You’d better not.” “Why?” “The older you look, the younger I’ll seem by comparison.” “You and your clever schemes.”

I had to admire her ingenuity. These days, there's nothing to be done about it. I've resigned myself to everything. Yet looking right and left back when I was the youngest among them, life had seemed like something one could manage with a bit more ease. To young singles' eyes, the middle-aged and elderly around them appeared thoroughly ordinary. "What state to be in at their age! You'd think they could handle things a bit better,"

I believed I had a future ahead of me.

"What’s this? Having such a disgraceful wife and siring so many children you can’t even feed yourselves—" Having such a disgraceful wife and fathering so many children that we can’t even feed ourselves— And I truly felt that visiting them now would be an act of poor judgment. Holding a baby,

“Hey, Kawahara. What a surprise! Come on up. Oh no—pee-pee! Pee-pee!” When someone pulled this routine on me, “No, let’s make it next time. Goodbye.”

With that, I made my escape. My wife would go on about this happening and the children about that—nothing but incidents all day long, and listening to them from the sidelines grew wearisome. I didn’t have a shred of ambition. When I had free time, I played Go. played shogi. chanted Noh songs. Having completely forgotten the realm and the nation, I waited for my monthly salary to arrive. If I had any guiding principle, it was a tenacious clinging.

“While muddling through like this, gray hairs sprout, and I’ll end up squandering my whole life.” “Poor souls.”

I felt sorry for myself. Twenty years had passed since then, with no small number of things already concluded. Yet upon reflection, I too soon began treading their path. I who took pride in my youth found myself sharing an unusual bond with the eldest colleague. Considering everything from the beginning, I could no longer deny fate's existence. It had been structured so that one could not help but comply. Perhaps all human deeds were fixed from inception, unfurling daily like a scroll.

I was the first to meet Mr. Kawahara. In the evening, I arrived at the station and approached a rickshaw driver,

“Take me to Seiseikan.”

As I gave the order, there was an old man who glanced at my face. That person too was about to board a rickshaw. I had two large trunks in addition to my canvas bag, so I couldn't fit into a single rickshaw. "Another one." I ordered another one, but "I'm afraid they're all out at the moment." was the reply.

At this moment, I happened to meet eyes with the old man again. “Rickshaw man, I’ll relinquish mine.” With that, the old man alighted from the rickshaw he had already boarded, “Please take this one.” and gave me a courteous nod.

"No, I'll wait a little while." "No need for such consideration—I'd originally meant to walk home when they offered the rickshaw."

“I see. But…” “Please.”

“I’m much obliged. In that case, I’ll take you up on your kind offer.” With that, I expressed my thanks and boarded the rickshaw. At the school, the clerk had arranged lodgings for me. Having settled there, I went to school again the next morning. First meeting the principal, I was introduced to all the teachers—among whom stood yesterday’s old man. “I am Kawahara, your aged namesake.” “Please look kindly upon me. As for you, Sensei, yesterday—” “Ha ha ha! As expected of youth—your memory serves you well.”

The old man appeared satisfied. I marveled at our shared surname. There was yet another Kawahara in accounting. Though written with different characters, their identical pronunciation made our trio’s gatherings perplexing. Thus we were distinguished as Young Kawahara, Old Kawahara, and Accounting Kawahara.

My boarding house was run by amateurs. It was a household of just a mother and her son, with the son working at the municipal office. They would let me stay until he got married. “Will it be alright for the time being?”

I pressed for confirmation, but "As this concerns matters of fate, I cannot make any firm promises."

Given this, I was an uneasy boarder. There was no telling when I might be kicked out. I wasn’t particularly impressed, but I did appreciate their honesty. She was said to be a samurai descendant, an elderly woman of refined bearing. As it was an old family home, it was aged and dimly lit. But having come to the countryside, I couldn’t afford to be picky. No, I told myself that if I stayed in Tokyo, I’d be in a position where I couldn’t even afford to eat, and resigned myself completely. Old Kawahara lived across the street. When I promptly went to pay my respects, the old man also appeared the next day to return the courtesy,

"We seem to share an odd connection, Sensei," he said. "It truly is peculiar. I look forward to your continued guidance." "Let us both endeavor together." "I’m still unaccustomed to all this—completely overwhelmed." "But I hear you have experience teaching Westerners? Sensei—" "Please, you mustn’t call me that. It feels improper. There’s nearly a parent-child gap between our ages." With that, I lodged my protest. Others might tolerate it, but I felt acutely self-conscious around this elder.

“In that case, Mr. Kawahara.” “Yes?”

“If I may ask, how old are you?” “I’m twenty-four.” “I see. You’re quite young, aren’t you?” “If I may ask, how old are you, sir?” “Well... I suppose some things are better left unsaid. Ha ha ha ha.”

Mr. Kawahara masked it with laughter.

“Shall I take a guess?” “People always think I look older than I am.” “So does that mean it’s spot on?” “Well, yes…” “I see.”

With that, I decided not to ask any further. He could be exactly seventy or exactly sixty. Mr. Kawahara might have meant himself to be exactly fifty.

“Mr.Kawhara.” After calling out “Mr.Kawhara,” he

“It’s truly odd how this feels so personal - almost as if it were my own affair.”

he laughed.

“The school is a gathering of Kawaharas.” “They’ve all aligned so oddly.” “Are there many people with the surname Kawahara in this area?” “Well...” “There are some among the students too.”

“There are,” “but what’s common here is the Yoshida surname.” “First off, this household itself is Yoshida.” “I see.” “They were known as the Yoshida-gumi and apparently cut quite a figure in their day.” “Even now, from Mayor Yoshida on down, there are plenty of influential people among them.” “So this Yoshida clan must have held considerable sway back then, eh?” “No, this whole area was retainers’ quarters.” “Nothing particularly grand about it.”

“Were they foot soldiers?” “Yes, indeed. At best, a five-koku stipend, I suppose.” “Are you also from the old domain here, sir?”

"I am not from this land." “Ah.”

“I am from Hizen Ōmura Domain. If we speak of the past—though I may not look it now—I am a samurai of distinguished lineage.”

“That explains it.”

“Do I look that way? Ha ha ha ha.” “You do have a samurai-like air about you.” “Ha ha ha ha.” “Is the Kawahara surname common in your hometown?”

“Not particularly many.” “I may be a commoner, but in my village there are many Kawaharas. Our family crests are all identical to yours—the maru ni ken katakurai design.” “Then we must have belonged to the same clan long ago. There should be a bond between us.” “That does seem to be the case.”

And I found Old Kawahara entirely to my liking.

Because they lived within a stone’s throw of each other, Young Kawahara and Old Kawahara walked to school together every day. They usually returned together as well. “Mr. Kawahara, what do you like?”

One day, the old man asked.

“What do you mean by ‘what’?” I casually asked in return.

"Food." "Well... nothing in particular like that." "But surely you must have something?" "Western food?"

Mr. Kawahara pressed on with a grin. “Something like tempura soba, I suppose.” Since leaving Tokyo, I had long been running on empty. When it came to my school days, it was all about tempura soba. As a poor student, I had never eaten anything more extravagant than that. “Soba noodles?” “No, the tempura.” “Even with tempura, is it still soba noodles?” “They put tempura in the soba.”

“It’s still soba noodles after all.” "They’re different." “No, here we call them soba noodles.” “Ah.” “I’ll treat you to tempura soba.”

“No, thank you.”

“There’s no need for such hesitation. I’ll have my wife prepare it, so please come tonight.”

And Mr. Kawahara invited me. I went with some trepidation, but sure enough, it was tempura soba. His daughter served us. As I mentioned before, I had developed a habit of assigning ratings whenever I saw a young woman. As I ate the soba noodles, I gave the young lady sixty-five points, but as she was about to leave, thinking it a bit too harsh, I revised it to seventy.

In this way, Old Kawahara and I maintained a special relationship, but I gradually grew closer to my other colleagues too. With my English colleagues especially—since our interactions were frequent—I had little choice in the matter. I had come there with some anxiety about what sort of people I might encounter, but one finds no ogres in this world we traverse. When I actually spent time with them, they all turned out to be good-hearted people. Being my first teaching post, it left a deep impression on me. Now I have friends from my middle school days, friends from my Meiji Gakuen period, and friends from this Seiseikan era. They’re all like designated cultural properties. They couldn’t be recreated from that point onward. Though being someone who cannot hold his liquor means I don’t appreciate the taste of aged wine, I feel the value of old friends more keenly than most.

English teacher Shibata-kun still stops by whenever he comes to Tokyo. This man was two years my senior and the youngest among us, but I had taken his shares.

“But when I first came here, I was in the same situation as you.”

he said, consoling himself. At first, our interactions were superficial, but given Shibata-kun’s nature, he couldn’t be satisfied with that.

“It’s either we get along or we don’t—no in-between.” He was an extremist.

"Hey, Kawahara-kun, let's settle this," he proposed one day.

“What is it?” “You sometimes go visit Old Kawahara’s house, right?” “I do.” “Do you actually have anything in common with that old codger?” “It’s not like there’s any particular reason, but he’s kind to me, you know.”

“Am I being unkind?” “Not at all.” “Then why don’t you come to my place?” “There’s no particular reason not to.” “Then come.”

“Let’s go.”

“Come over right now today.” “That’s a harsh way to invite someone.” I laughed, though not without some trepidation. Shibata-kun was a hulking man with features carved from granite. He had recently achieved his long-cherished ambition of becoming a middle school principal. While he carried himself with newfound dignity, during our Seiseikan days he’d been rather rough around the edges.

I accompanied him on my way home from school that day. I thought he might still resent me for never visiting before, but that wasn’t it at all. He must have planned this invitation in advance—his wife stood ready with everything prepared. “This is Kanoko, my wife.” Shibata-kun made the introduction with ceremonial care. As I enjoyed the meal they provided, I rated Kanoko-san eighty-five points. Though with married women generally, one really can’t help these things. “How’s this?”

“What about?” “That thing there.”

“Which one?” I looked up. On the nageshi beam hung a horizontal plaque inscribed “Biyoku Renri.” The ink strokes were still fresh. “Who did it?” “Old Kawahara.” “That’s quite skilled.”

“It’s nothing special, but since he went to the trouble of writing it as a celebratory gift, I paid two yen and fifty sen.”

Shibata-kun seemed every bit the newlywed. He was often teased at school. “Things seem perfectly harmonious, don’t they?” And I, too, belatedly expressed my congratulations. “I’m flattered.” “When?” “This spring break.” “Here?”

“No, it was in my hometown.” “Was it Etchu Toyama?” “Don’t be ridiculous. “It’s Kanazawa. “The Million-Koku City.”

“Either way, it’s in the snow of Hokuriku, isn’t it?” “You’re making such a fuss over it as if it were someone else’s business.” “Is your wife from Kanazawa too?” “That’s right. She’s my cousin.” “She’s my cousin, you see.” “Ah.” “She’s been my betrothed since we were children.” “Hmm.” "The will of the deceased and the hopes of the individuals themselves were finally realized." “The honor is mine.”

“Ha ha ha!”

With that, Shibata-kun looked pleased with himself. All the while, his wife Kanoko-san maintained a composed expression and remained reserved. By then, ordinary women were gradually awakening to self-awareness, and society had begun entering an era where everything was done with style. “Changing the subject, Kawahara-kun, are you going to Horseface’s place?” “The principal?” “Yeah.” “Horseface is shrewd.” “He really does have a long face. I’ve sometimes found myself staring intently during faculty meetings.” “On the flip side, the vice-principal’s Man’en, huh?”

“He’s a rubber doll.” “You’ve got a sharp tongue.”

And I unconsciously leaned forward. Just when I had been feeling constrained by the thought that educators must be cautious in their words and deeds, I suddenly felt as though liberated.

“I’ve given everyone nicknames.” “Care to hear them one by one?” “I’ll disclose them gradually. By the way, you need to visit Horseface.” “I did go once after arriving.” “Let’s go again. I haven’t been there in ages either—we’ll go together.”

“There’s nothing to talk about – I’m at loose ends here.” “That’s exactly why,” he said. “You’d just end up in a staring contest if you went alone.” “Then I’ll come along.” “Let’s visit Rubber Doll too while we’re at it.”

“Let’s go.” “That’ll be my first time there.”

“You don’t get out much, do you?” “Yeah.” “You only go to Old Kawahara’s place, right?” “I go there often.”

“He’s an interesting one. Did you talk about the war?” “No, I haven’t heard about that yet—did he go off to the Sino-Japanese War or something?” “Don’t go joking like that. Consider Old Kawahara’s age—his age!”

“The Satsuma Rebellion?” “Older than that. It’s the Meiji Restoration.” “I see.” “He went off to the Aizu Expedition.” “Even so, he apparently cut off the enemy general’s leg.” “His leg?” “Right. "The whole thing was so Old Kawahara-esque—hopelessly out of step with the times." “What do you mean?”

“When he advanced and found the enemy general fallen, thinking ‘Now’s the time to finish this,’ he swung his greatsword and lopped off one leg, so they say.” “But since it was just a leg, it didn’t count toward any honors.” “He should’ve taken the head instead.” “No use—someone had already claimed the head by then.”

“What? Ha ha ha!”

“Ha ha ha!”

Shibata-kun rolled with laughter. "Is that all there is to Old Kawahara's heroic tale? His great exploit—" "Only one person actually got cut down." "That's something." "He came upon enemies and allies grappling together. They were tumbling over each other in the pitch-black night—no telling who was who. To be safe, he shouted 'It's Kawahara!' When the guy underneath cried 'Help!', he sliced through the one on top." "That one turned out to be an ally."

“Which side?” “The one on top.” “Did he attack his own comrades?”

“That’s right—he panicked,” said Shibata-kun. “But his clumsy swordsmanship turned out to be a blessing—they say he didn’t suffer any serious injuries.” “What did the enemy do?” “Leapt up and bolted like a hare! Quick on his feet! Must’ve thought two against one wasn’t worth it.” “Practically saved him, didn’t he?”

“That’s right. He gets credit for not killing an ally.” “He seems calm, but that old man’s surprisingly rough around the edges, isn’t he?”

“But he was young back then.”

"Just how old was he?"

So I casually asked. "He doesn't talk about his age, but considering the Aizu Expedition was in Meiji Year 1, if he was in his prime back then, he must be over sixty now." "If he's too old, that must cause problems, don't you think?"

“It’s Chinese classics that keep him employed. If it were English, he’d have been fired ages ago.” “I wonder if he really needs to keep working forever like that?” “He’s an unfortunate man when it comes to children. Both his eldest and second sons have died, and since he only has girls left, I suppose he’ll keep clinging on for a while longer. He may be behind the times, but he’s good-natured and doesn’t cause trouble, so his position is secure.” “He seems quite the scholar.” “He’s a poet. In Chinese poetry, he’s unmatched in the entire prefecture.” While Shibata-kun spoke ill of him, he still regarded Old Kawahara as the pride of Seisoukan.

I wasn’t writing biographies of each colleague, but I felt compelled to mention one more—Gomi-kun. Like Shibata-kun, he taught English and had graduated from Tokyo Higher Normal School. Though only three years my senior, he carried himself like someone a full decade older. His dignified mannerisms, elder-statesman air, and disquieting calm made me dislike him intensely at first.

“Have you been here long already, Sensei?”

When I showed my respect, "Let me see..." he said, closed his eyes briefly, then— "I only came here last year." he answered. If he'd only arrived last year, there shouldn't have been any need to deliberate so deeply. I concluded he must be rather dim-witted.

After that, when I went out for a walk on Sunday, I noticed Gomi-kun fishing by the riverside. Through the city flows a river called Ōkawa. Upstream, the houses were sparse, with some scenic charm. I was just killing time too. I sat down beside him, “How about it? Do you find fishing enjoyable?” I asked. “Let me see...”

Gomi-kun stared at the float for a while and caught one fish. After placing it into the creel,

“It’s enjoyable.” he answered.

“What kind is it—the fish you just caught—”

“Let me see...” “It was rather small, wasn’t it?” “It’s a minnow.” “Do you catch many?” “Let me see...” “Let me take a look at the creel.” I pulled it up to look. “Well, well,” I remarked. Though they were all minnows, there were quite a few. “I’ve been at it since morning.” “Could you make a living off this?” “Let me see...” “You’re rather skilled after all.” “It’s a pastime for changing my mood.” “Do you catch anything besides minnows?”

“Let me see...” Gomi-kun once again stared at the float without getting to the point. I had grown thoroughly fed up, so “Goodbye.” With that, I made my escape. After walking about two hundred meters upstream and looking back from the bridge, I saw that Gomi-kun had noticed me and waved his hat vigorously. There was goodwill there. But his tempo was slow.

When I told Shibata-kun about this,

“That guy’s ‘Let me see...’ is quite famous, you know.” Shibata-kun laughed. “He seems like a good person, but it’s frustrating how nothing ever gets resolved.”

“In the classroom too, it’s exactly like that,” “When a student asks a question, he says ‘Let me see...’ and thinks for about ten minutes, so five questions end up taking an hour.”

“No way!” “It’s true. He’s indecisive. When deciding this semester’s teaching assignments, I thought eighteen hours would be too much for me, so I tried to make it sixteen and have Gomi-kun take twenty. But all he said was ‘Let me see...’ and didn’t give a reply for two whole days.” “That’s only natural. He keeps letting opportunities slip by without acting.” “No, whether it’s advantageous or not, he’ll first say ‘Let me see...’ to play it safe.”

“A habit, perhaps?”

“In short—he’s an idiot. He’s putting effort into all the wrong places.”

“I’m no match for your sharp tongue.” With that, I cut the conversation short. As Gomi-kun and I grew closer, he changed his habitual “Let me see...” to “Let’s see.” Moreover, the frequency decreased considerably. One day, he came to visit my lodgings, “When I talk with you, I end up getting lured in and later regret it—no, often feel like I’ve been had afterward.” he said.

“Why?” “Let’s see...”

“Here we go again.” “What do you mean?” “I end up regretting it too when I talk with you.” “Why?” “Honestly, nothing’s as meaningless as your ‘Let’s see...’.” “It’s been grating on me from the start.” With that, I stopped holding back. “There’s no helping it.”

“Why?” “It’s spiritual discipline, you see.” “Oh rea-lly?”

“If I answer immediately, there’s a danger of risking regret.” “I’m naturally reckless, you see.” “So I’ve devised a thorough method.” “Before answering, I hedge with ‘Let me see...’ and think intently.”

"You do it even when there's no need to think." "I'm counting one, two, three, four up to twenty."

“No wonder it takes so much time,” I thought. “It’s someone else’s time anyway—I’m not the one waiting here.”

Gomi-kun put on an air of earnest deliberation, yet had quite a lazy streak about him. Being someone who put this much thought into things, he was surprisingly adept at enjoying himself. He had also been transferred to Seiseikan, but three years later took off again. At that time,

“Hey, get me out of here!”

When I asked, “Let’s see...”

He merely said that and pondered it, but evidently hadn’t forgotten, for two or three years later he pulled me out to his next post. We spent several more years together there, forging an especially close bond. He now serves as a girls’ school principal—far more senior than Shibata-kun ever was. When he came to Tokyo recently for a principals’ conference, he visited me and we talked through the night. “I was twenty-four when I transferred to Seiseikan, yet my eldest son’s already twenty-one,” I said. “He entered university this year.” With that, I demonstrated my advancing age through my child.

"Has it really come to that?" "It does go by quickly."

“We should be turning white and going bald by now.”

“You don’t have any children, so it must be lonely for you.”

“I don’t mind it myself, but my wife complains, so we’ve arranged to adopt one of her younger brother’s children.”

“I haven’t seen your wife in ages—is she still as plump as ever?”

“Let’s see...”

“There it goes,” “She’s turned into a plump middle-aged woman now.” “By the way, your wife—”

With that, Gomi-kun recalled, "How many years has it been since Old Kawahara passed away?"

he asked.

"Since it was the year Hiroko was born, it has been exactly nineteen years."

my wife answered. My wife is the young lady who first treated me to soba tempura. The circumstances that led us to become husband and wife were not at all romantic, which serves to highlight the very essence of mediocrity.

Understanding Without Romance

When the first summer vacation arrived, I returned to my hometown. Because I was single and had no expenses, half of my salary remained. From that, I handed fifty yen to my mother, “Mother, I didn’t bring anything back, so consider this my gift.”

When I said this, I thought of myself as a dutiful son. "Oh my, is it all right for me to receive this much?"

Mother was surprised. “There’s still this much left.” “And next month’s portion will come in untouched.” “After all, being a middle school teacher really is different.”

“From now on, I’ll send a fixed amount every month.”

That was my intention. I recall continuing this for over half a year. Yet when I consider that this constitutes the full extent of my filial devotion, it feels utterly pathetic. I had the intention, but after getting married, I couldn't manage it. My parents perceived this and told me there was no need; fortunately I had resolved to wait until my salary increased—then my first son was born. Ever since then, our family multiplied every other year. Salaries do not increase in such an orderly fashion. Mediocre men make miscalculations. I took several lucrative transfers, but all I discovered was the truth that no salary could keep up with my children.

“It’ll go to the children, so you don’t need to worry.” My father hadn’t counted on my support from the start—but even if he had come to depend on me instead, there would have been truly nothing he could have done. As it stands, I am a parent of ten children. Four have been born since I first heard of birth control.

But I’m getting ahead of myself—this was when I first returned home from my post. I soon left for Tokyo. Because staying in the countryside would make me fall behind the times, I had resolved to breathe Tokyo’s air at least once a year. However, I only carried this out the following year and could no longer rely on my resolve—though I’ll refrain from complaining about it. I promptly visited the school. However, due to summer vacation, none of the teachers were there. Oto-san, the caretaker, “Mr. Kawahara, I hear you’ve achieved remarkable success in your career.”

Oto-san congratulated me. "Oh, not at all—I'm completely hopeless." "I'm no teacher, but strange as it may seem—after handling students all these years—I can usually tell." "What do you mean?" "I can tell from their student days whether someone will amount to anything." "You've got clairvoyance, eh?" "It's truly frightening. Take Mr. Akabane from your class. That sort will never amount to anything." "Why?" "They lack discipline. They'd forget not just hand towels but even their loincloths when going out."

“Where to?” “To the bathhouse, you see.” “Ah.” “Not one person who forgot their loincloth on the way out ever amounted to anything.” “That’s a strange statistic.” I remembered Akabane at Kobe Station. “Mr. Akabane began forgetting them at thirty. “I take them all and put them to use.”

“Ha ha ha...” “There was another partner of Mr. Akabane’s, wasn’t there?”

“Nozaki?” “Ah.” “Did that guy forget his too?” “No, that fellow may seem reliable enough at first glance, but he’s got no future.” “Why?” “He came by the other day dressed in fine clothes, but seeing that, I thought he’d never amount to anything.” “What’s wrong?”

“He saw me but acted like he didn’t recognize me. Even if I’m just a caretaker, I’ve looked after him all these years. I’d have liked him to at least greet me with ‘How are you, Oto-san?’” Oto-san was indignant. “He doesn’t mean any harm—he’s just oblivious.” “No, he’s that sort of heartless person. Now Mr. Tachibana—there’s someone considerate. Everyone ought to have someone like that around.” “Did Tachibana come too?”

“Oh. “He visited two or three days ago.” “That’s unfortunate.” “‘This is my wife,’ he said and kindly introduced her. “Those who make something of themselves are truly thorough in their attentiveness.”

“So he’s already gotten married?”

“Didn’t you know?”

“I don’t know.” “Though it must have been recent. He must have come to visit Mr. Inomata after all.” “Is he still in Tokyo?”

“Well... He mentioned he was going to his hometown.”

“A honeymoon?” “That must have been so. When they looked at each other, they seemed positively radiant.” “Ah. How splendid for them.”

I let out a smile. I thought he was someone content with mediocrity. “What a shame you came all this way only to find him gone.” “Dr. Johnson was here till day before yesterday, ’twas.” “It can’t be helped.” “I’ll be going now.” “Since you’ve come out this late, how’s about stayin’ over?” “I’ve only kept the Monitor room open.”

“There are fleas, aren’t there?”

“You’ll get bitten. Their prey’s all gone home, so they’re starving.” “No thanks. I’ve got errands to run and then I’m stopping by Yokohama.” “Is that so?”

And Oto-san saw me off to the gate.

From there, I went to Maruzen and stopped by Mitsukoshi while I was at it. I recall that Mitsukoshi had only just been established at the time. As I walked around looking here and there, I remembered how Old Kawahara had often treated me to soba noodles during the previous term and thought to get Misao-san a souvenir in return, so I bought a pair of cork sandals. These too had just been made at the time and were quite novel. It was a time when Tokyo Station did not yet exist. I boarded from Shinbashi and visited Nozaki-kun, who was working at a foreign trading company in Yokohama.

“What’s that?” “That?”

Nozaki-kun noticed my furoshiki bundle. “It’s books.” “Did you go to Maruzen?” “Yeah. And I went to Mitsukoshi for the first time too.” “You’re such a hick.” “It can’t be helped. But I did bring back a proper souvenir, I tell you!”

So I untied the bundle and took out the cork sandals to show him. "Aren't these women's?" "That's right. Since I'm always being looked after at my colleague's house, I thought of giving these to his daughter as thanks." "Heh." "What is it?" "Good thing I didn't have to thank you. When you said 'souvenir,' I thought you'd brought it for me."

And Nozaki laughed. “I brought some for you too.” And I took out a fountain pen. It was something I’d thought of while buying my own. “This is interesting.” “Why?” “It’s a matching fountain pen.” “Did someone give you that?” “No, we at the trading company can order imported ones duty-free.” “Smuggling, eh?” “What do you mean? I have people who go over there and back handle it. “I’d ordered them thinking I’d give them to you and Akabane—they arrived the other day.”

“Hmm.” “Top-of-the-line latest model, I tell ya.”

And Nozaki-kun took it out from his desk drawer. "This is nice." "If you buy them here, they cost at least ten yen." "Well, thanks." "Didn't know you had it in you, I tell ya."

I accepted this but found myself at a loss over what to do with the two I had bought. "That’s just how Japanese-made ones are." Nozaki-kun disparaged them without restraint.

“But isn’t it just fine that I thought to buy fountain pens for both of us?” “A heartwarming tale, I suppose.” “Since I maintained my good intentions without actually giving the items, I came out ahead.” “There’s the ‘spirit’ of domestic goods. “And the ‘spirit’ of imported goods.” “Is yours better?” “Of course it is.” “Then how about you take this one off my hands?” “It’s the same as if I’d received it. “You shouldn’t buy Japanese-made fountain pens at all.” With a grating sound, he tapped his head in response. “That’s why neurasthenia is all the rage these days.”

“No way.” “It’s true—buying cheap ends up costing more in the end.” “Use ’em just a little and they break right away.” “Then you gotta send ’em off for repairs.”

“This is troublesome,” “What should I do?” “I’ve got a brilliant idea.”

“What’s that?” “Take ’em to your colleagues as souvenirs.”

“I see.”

“Country bumpkins wouldn’t know domestic from imported anyway.” “There’s no shortage of those around here.”

And I resolved to do so.

Nozaki-kun seemed quite pleased, as he was well-received at his workplace. After talking about receiving a bonus in addition to taking a commission,

“How much do you actually make?” Nozaki-kun asked. “Teachers never earn well.” I could only modestly respond.

“Is Tachibana doing even better?” “Probably much the same.” “Even so, he’s got guts taking a wife.”

“He’s just a petty schemer.” “So what if he’s a petty schemer?” “He rests content with minor accomplishments.” “How about you?” “My path still stretches long before me.” “You’re just mouthing platitudes.” “Why?” “You went and bought cork sandals of all things!”

“That’s merely a keepsake.” “Marry on forty or fifty yen a month, and you’ll be shackled tighter than a rickshaw puller’s sandals, I tell ya.”

Nozaki-kun snorted roughly.

These cork sandals ended up causing a bit of trouble even after I returned home.

“Yuichi, where do you think you’re taking these things?” My mother had found them and grown suspicious.

“There’s also an elderly colleague named Kawahara.” “Since I’m always being looked after at his house, I thought to give them as a token of gratitude.” “But these aren’t sandals old folks wear.” “He has a daughter.”

And so, while still being questioned, I went on to explain Mr. Kawahara’s household circumstances. “How old is his daughter?”

“Nineteen.” “You mentioned there’s a younger sister, didn’t you?” “Yes.” “How old is she?” “Sixteen or seventeen, probably.” “In that case, if you only give to one side, it’ll lead to resentment between them.”

“I see, you’re right.” “Why don’t you buy another pair from Hirokoji?”

And my mother warned me. In XX Town, about two kilometers from our village, my mother’s younger sister ran a geta shop. “Do you have anything like this?” “Of course we do.” “Since I’ll be going back to Tokyo soon anyway, I can buy them then.”

I endeavored to maintain fairness. Yet in my determination to bring them solely for the elder sister while having utterly forgotten the younger one's existence, the leaning of my heart stood exposed.

Apparently having heard from my mother, one day, my father—

“You’ll have to set up a proper household yourself someday, won’t you, Yuichi?”

he asked.

“Well...”

“Aren’t you being approached with marriage proposals from your colleagues?”

“No, not at all.” “When marriage talks begin, let me know immediately.” “Of course I will.” “If it suits your fancy, that’s all well and good—but we too have our own proper considerations to make.” “Please rest assured. I will certainly consult you. But my path still stretches endlessly before me... If I grow complacent with minor successes now, my life’s plans will go astray.” I answered.

Shortly after returning to my post, one day there was some kind of gathering at the school, and all the staff and a portion of the students assembled in the kendo club. Ah, right—it was a celebration for the new dojo. At that time, there was a biwa performance as entertainment. I will never forget it. It was where Atsumori was about to be struck down by Kumagai. “Kawahara.”

Shibata brought his mouth close to my ear and whispered.

“What is it?” “Take a look at Old Kawahara.” “Huh?” And I turned around.

“Tears are streaming down his face.” “I see.” “He’s recalling how he cut off the enemy general’s leg and feeling the cruelty of the world.” And Shibata joked.

On the way back, as usual, I was with Old Kawahara, so “Mr. Kawahara, do you like the biwa?”

I asked. “I neither like nor dislike it.”

"But you seemed deeply moved—I observed you listening with such rapt attention." "Oh my, this is quite embarrassing." "Oh no, that wasn't what I meant to imply." "I simply cannot endure that sort of desperate storytelling." "Why is that?" "It strikes too close to home." "Is it because you served in the war?" "That's it."

“I’ve never had the honor of hearing your tales of valor, Mr. Kawahara, but I should very much like to hear them this time.” “What I have are no tales of valor—nothing so uplifting as that. They’re confessions of regret, you understand. Hardly fitting for a listener’s request.” “Wouldn’t that make them all the more worthwhile? There’s little merit in boasting about killing men.” “How characteristically perceptive of you, Mr. Kawahara. Shall I have you hear them then—these confessions?” “I should be most obliged.” “In that case—though it’s rather abrupt—might you call upon me this evening?”

"I will come." "If someone as reasonable as you would hear me out, my sentiments might reach through in some measure."

And Old Kawahara appeared satisfied.

That evening, when I visited Old Kawahara, I hadn’t placed much expectation on the story. Having heard he was an unskilled man prone to panic, I first inquired about his well-being: “Were you injured at all in the war, Mr. Kawahara?” “Not a single scratch,” he said. “It was only the Aizu Campaign—like twisting a baby’s arm.”

And Old Kawahara went on spouting grand statements.

“So did you cut down the enemy?”

“No resistance at all. I cut down quite a few.” “Well...” “One of them, judging by his appearance, was a general on the opposing side. He’d collapsed by the roadside—when I rushed over to look, his head was already gone.” “I see.” And I had to listen as though hearing it for the first time, though I already knew.

"He was a worthy enemy, but such a pity. Seeing it was already too late, I went and cut off his legs along with his face."

"Ha ha ha ha!" "Of course it's just a joke - see what ample composure I had?" "Ah."

“Since it was my first real duel, I also felt inclined to test my sword.”

“But since the enemy was already dead, it can hardly be called a proper duel.” “That is certainly true, but...”

“Did it cut?” “No, it wouldn’t cut. He’d been dead too long.”

“I see.”

“The bones had hardened, so it wouldn’t cut cleanly.”

“I see.”

“Next, I cut down a comrade.” “Comrade-killing?” “It was a pitch-dark night, so there was no help for it.” The part Old Kawahara-san had spoken about was exactly what I had heard from Shibata-kun. “Since I was fumbling blindly in the dark and my aim was off, fortunately there were no major injuries.”

And this one didn't cut through either. He inflicted light injuries on his allies who were winning and completely saved the enemy from their dire crisis.

"But that's quite something. Was that all there was?" "No, had that been all, I wouldn't have suffered like this my whole life."

“Then there were still more?” “I truly did cut someone down.”

“I see.”

And I was surprised. "I did something truly heartless." "But it was war—there was no helping it." "I try to console myself that way, yet still the torment persists endlessly. It happened when I guarded the bridge at Wakamatsu's outskirts. In September's autumn—ah, just like now, on such a moonlit night."

From the seat he had taken near the veranda, Old Kawahara-san looked up at the eaves. “…………”

“Our immediate task was to sever the castle town from the countryside. I stood at the bridge’s center, gazing at the moon. Just then, a comrade shouted from the castle town’s edge—‘Kawahara, cut them down!’ At that moment, a woman came running up, breathless. I drew my sword and blocked her path—a young woman in her prime. Bathed in moonlight, she looked frightfully beautiful.” “I see.” “The girl stayed crouched, hands clasped in prayer. ‘She’s a spy!’ The comrade shouted again—‘Cut them down!’ ‘N-never... never...’ was all she could plead. ‘Run!’ I told her.”

“I see.” “I’d truly meant to spare her, but when they jeered ‘Kawahara, you coward!’—the instant she stood and turned toward the countryside—I struck from behind with a diagonal slash.” “So you did end up doing it?” “A demon possessed me.”

“But there must have been unavoidable circumstances.”

“The girl collapsed. And then, while staring at me with that resentful look, she sank down.” “I see.” “I committed a needless killing.” “She wasn’t a spy?”

“Ah, I wish she had been a spy. But she was an innocent girl from a respectable family—no crime, no wrongdoing.” “Why did she come passing through such a dangerous place again?” “We’d allowed passage until that evening. Later I realized she’d misunderstood the challenge from my comrades guarding the bridge approach. With Kyushu and Tohoku dialects being mutually unintelligible… The girl must have thought they meant her harm and bolted recklessly. In all the confusion—everyone panicking—such misunderstandings were quite common.”

“That must have been an unbearable feeling, wasn’t it?” The words slipped from my mouth before I could stop them.

“It’s absolutely unbearable. Ever since then, that girl still appears in my dreams.” Old Kawahara bowed his head and sank into thought.

At that moment, Ms. Misao entered to refresh the tea. "I've been hearing about your wartime experiences," I said with polite courtesy. "Misao too will turn twenty next year, so..."

Old Kawahara stared at Ms. Misao’s face. “I’ll be all right, Father.”

Ms. Misao laughed and left. I didn't understand what this meant, but Old Kawahara soon shifted to recounting his postwar experiences, detailing each failure one by one,

“This too is the curse of the Aizu girl. You cannot do bad things.”

Old Kawahara began to explain. “That’s no kind of logic.”

“No, it’s truly dreadful. The retribution for evil has clearly manifested even upon the family.” “What do you mean?”

"My eldest son died at twenty. My second son also died at twenty." "I see." "Misao will also be twenty next year, so she'll die regardless." "Mr. Kawahara, you mustn't say such outrageous things!" "No, in my initial anguish, I consulted a fortune-teller. The judgments from that time have all come true since." "Were you told your children wouldn't reach adulthood?" "Ah, the Aizu girl herself was likely twenty." "Mr. Kawahara, you mustn't indulge in such superstitious thinking. If people repent their sins, they will be saved. Moreover, you've already spent forty years in remorse."

With that, I comforted him by invoking the Christian doctrine of atonement, which I had long forgotten. In truth, I thought that having someone like him listen to a sermon from Dr. Johnson might actually prove effective. Right before my eyes, he was suffering and writhing in agony, but there was nothing I could do about it.

After that, a long silence persisted between Old Kawahara and me.

“Mr. Kawahara.”

Old Kawahara raised his face. "What is it?" "Since I am such an irredeemable sinner, I shall bear whatever punishments await me hereafter."

“You’re not a villain or anything of the sort. You mustn’t get so worked up.” “…” “I had no idea at all.” “What do you mean?”

"Not realizing it was such a painful story, I went and asked you about it—I'm truly sorry." "That's of no consequence." "I should take my leave now." Having said this, I found myself unable to get up right away. "Mr. Kawahara."

Old Kawahara called out again.

“What is it?”

“I don’t care what becomes of me, but could you please save Misao?” “Pardon?” “If I keep Misao as my daughter, she will die at twenty next year.” “……” “Mr. Kawahara.”

“Understood.” “It’s an impertinent request indeed, but would you consider it?” “Does Miss Misao herself harbor such intentions?” “If not, I could release her as soon as tomorrow. You needn’t trouble yourself over such matters.”

"In that case, I shall follow your words." "Would you consider it?" "I will take Ms. Misao." "I will take Ms. Misao—not for your superstition's sake, but for hers." With that, I resolved immediately. The future was far from boundless. I had gone to discuss the war, yet returned having arranged a marriage.

Economic hardship. My future was anything but a long and promising road.

The discussion began in late September; after a month’s interval, I ended up getting married on November 3rd, the auspicious day of the Emperor’s Birthday.

“Once the year turns, she’ll be twenty, and Misao’s life will be in danger.” With Old Kawahara urging me on, his eyes blazing, I had no choice but to comply. To write it thus might suggest I was coerced into accepting some odious burden, but nothing could be further from the truth. Ms. Misao’s grades—seventy points last term—had been revised to eighty during summer recess, and upon my September return, they’d climbed from ninety to ninety-five. I must record this here specifically before my wife chances upon it. Though mother to ten children and thoroughly steeped in modern thought, she persists in haranguing us about marital love and such nonsense.

Since I had been secretly considering it myself, things proceeded quickly. The day after the discussion began, I visited Shibata-kun, the colleague I was closest with, to ask him to serve as our go-between, and also wrote a letter to my parents back home seeking their permission. Shibata-kun,

"That explains why you kept barging in on Old Kawahara!" He interpreted it as a premeditated course of action.

“It was never with that intention, though.” “You’re saying something like that.” “It was entirely accidental—no, actually, you’re involved too.” “Why?” “During yesterday’s gathering, when you said ‘Look at Old Kawahara—tears streaming down his face,’ remember?” “Yeah.” “After that, on my way back, I asked him ‘Do you enjoy biwa music?’” “And then?” “He said those ballads hit too close to home. I meant it as a joke when I said I wanted to hear his war stories, but when he told me ‘Come tonight,’ he was dead serious through and through.”

“I see.” “The war stories turned into personal confessions, then suddenly took a sharp turn toward marriage arrangements. When he pleaded ‘Take my daughter,’ Old Kawahara started weeping. You realize that old man actually cut someone down with a sword?” “The leg, you mean?”

"No, he really did it."

And I told him about the Aizu girl. Even Shibata-kun, who was normally so well-informed, was hearing this for the first time. It appeared Old Kawahara had been wrestling with his conscience alone, without confiding in anyone. "Hmm."

“Were you surprised?” "What an utterly pathetic excuse for a samurai. On the rare occasion he cuts someone down, it’s a woman, and then he gets haunted by her for life—how pathetic." “Of course he isn’t the strong type. But isn’t it admirable that he’s kept regretting it for forty years since then?” “It’s half-hearted. If he feels that guilty, he should go all the way—either cut his belly or become a monk.” “You think it’s someone else’s problem and dismiss it so easily.” "That’s exactly why he’s been tormented."

“But you should consider Old Kawahara’s anguish and superstitions as entirely separate matters, I tell you.”

“Hmm.” “You must approach this strictly as a marriage proposal and consider it carefully.” “That’s precisely my intention.” “I believe it’s an excellent match.” “So I’ve already settled matters.” “What’s this? Didn’t you come seeking my counsel?” “I came seeking your endorsement. Please be our go-between.” “Very well. I accept. Truth be told, I’d been meaning to propose this myself when the moment seemed right.” And so Shibata-kun readily agreed.

From my father came, "...Since it is one who has found favor in your eyes, we on this side have no objections; however, owing to the precipitous nature of this affair, we humbly report feeling some unease. As for the other party's lineage and background, we humbly presume these matters have been thoroughly investigated—how does this stand? Furthermore, as a condition, there exists the necessity of holding the wedding ceremony within this year—how does this stand, we humbly inquire? Since Mother too is being anxious, we humbly request you inform us of all particulars without concealment, et cetera."

he wrote back asking. I wrote in detail about Old Kawahara’s background and superstitions to ensure there would be no misunderstandings. My father was convinced by this, but my mother kept worrying needlessly. “...I humbly think that taking in a daughter with such a fateful connection is something to be carefully considered.” “Dead spirits are deeply resentful beings.” “If a daughter of the Kawahara surname is married into another household of the Kawahara surname, they would share the exact same surname; thus, I humbly think this too cannot be tolerated.” “In short, I humbly believe it would lead to being taken by death.” “Even if you are not taken by death, I humbly believe that through a curse, you will be unable to have children.” “Even if children are born, through a curse, I humbly believe they will not grow up.” “In our village as well, there exists such an example, I humbly report.” “As you are aware, the Tsuwaya family have been taken one after another from the top, I humbly report.” “Even if they were to grow up, through a curse, I humbly believe they would not blossom into anything fragrant.” “I most humbly beseech you to consider these matters with utmost care.”

and she secretly cautioned my father.

For the ceremony, my parents made the long journey from afar. Since the groom, the bride’s father, and the go-between all worked at the same school, the principal and all our colleagues attended, resulting in a rather lively celebration. Since it was a once-in-a-lifetime event, I remember that occasion’s scene vividly. Mr. and Mrs. Old Kawahara wept with joy. On our side too, my mother was crying. Since then, having been invited to numerous weddings and observed them, I’ve noticed that mothers usually cry. They appear to be so overwhelmed with joy that it brings them to tears. After the principal, representing his colleagues, delivered a congratulatory speech,

“By way of preface, as an individual, I would like to present one harmonious method to your new household.”

the principal launched into his advice. This left a profound impression on us newlyweds. Since then, we have lived in perfect harmony thanks to this, so I too shall by way of preface pass along the principal's words exactly as they were to all new households across the land.

“My wife and I have been married for twenty-four years—next year will be our silver anniversary.” “In all that time, we’ve never once had what you’d call a proper marital quarrel.” “We’ve maintained an exceptionally harmonious life together.” “But this isn’t because my wife or I are particularly virtuous, nor because we’ve cultivated some profound self-discipline.” “It simply comes down to a promise we made when we were newlyweds.” “Back then, I told my wife: ‘I’ve got a short temper—might fly off the handle sometimes.’” “‘But when I do,’ I said, ‘you mustn’t get angry yourself.’” “She agreed readily enough, but added: ‘I’ll do my best, mind you—but over the years, who’s to say I won’t lose my temper too?’” “‘Only then,’ she said, ‘you must promise not to get angry either.’” “So there we were—both making exactly the same demand.” “That’s how we settled on our household rule: no matter what happens, husband and wife shall never get angry at the same time.” “We’ve kept that vow faithfully to this day.” “You can’t have a sumo match by yourself.” “Hence—no quarrels.” “What do you say to that?” “Mr. Kawahara—the groom!”

Then the principal called out to me here. "That is most instructive," I replied. I was quite flustered. There was likely no precedent for putting the groom on the spot like this during a wedding ceremony. "The husband and wife must never become angry simultaneously. Will you commit to this?" "Y-yes..." "Please raise your hand now as proof."

The principal was mistaking this for a classroom. When I raised my hand, everyone applauded and cheered. “Ms. Misao, the bride.”

“…………”

“The husband and wife must never become angry at the same time. Will you kindly put this into practice?” “…………”

“Please raise your hand as a token of proof.”

The principal might have been slightly drunk. My wife turned bright red and raised her hand. Everyone once again burst into applause and loud cheers.

Perhaps this sank in deeply, for we never had what you might call a marital quarrel. After about half a year had passed, naturally both of us gradually began to show our selfish sides. It was inevitable that our veneer would wear off, revealing the true grain beneath. I would occasionally lose my temper, "That's going to cause problems!" and pout. "You're quick to start, aren't you?" "What?" "This time I was determined to get angry myself, but you beat me to it again." With that, my wife could no longer get angry. I always took the initiative first. Because of this, though we were quite selfish, no storms ever arose. My wife too sometimes put on a pouty face. However, on such occasions,

"Oh dear, oh dear—I've taken the initiative again," With that thought, I too restrained myself. Since I always insisted on having my way, I occasionally yielded. My wife could pout openly and triumphantly now that circumstances permitted it—quite pleased with herself—but finding no engagement from my side, she would lose steam and soon return to smiling.

We were a prolific couple. We got married in November, and our eldest son was born the following autumn. Since then, our family grew every other year or annually until we reached ten. We never had twins, but our third and fourth children were also born in consecutive years. When I transferred to Shikoku after working at Seiseikan for five years as a single man, the two of us had become a couple with three children. "You're the youngest, aren't you?" The man who had been praised for this found that at his next post, "That's quite a large family you have there, isn't it?"

“Yes… Three.” “Well, that’s…” “No, you’re quite young for that.” he appended.

Though I had not yet turned thirty, I felt my intellectual development had come to a halt around this time. I once had some academic ambitions, but with four-, two-, and one-year-olds all crying at once, there was no room left for study. I particularly disliked noisy things. With no help available except for my wife, I naturally had to lend a hand. In the past, whenever I saw colleagues holding children, I would think they lacked ambition and secretly looked down on them—yet now that very situation came to pass in my own life.

Coming home meant being busy. “Misao,” “What is it?” Both were replying while holding small children. “Mother had been worried, but it turned out completely opposite, didn’t it?” “Y-yes…” “They really do keep coming.” “Oh…”

"And they're all healthy." "But it must be hard for you not being able to study." "Ah well, it can't be helped. That's how it is everywhere, I hear." "You—" "What is it?" "I've felt too awful to mention it until now, but..."

“What is it?” “Just a little more...” “Huh?” “It really does seem to be the case.” “Hmm.” “Starting now, they’ll be born in consecutive years again.” “I’m shocked. Oh dear, he’s wet himself!” I couldn’t contain myself either. During my three years in Shikoku, two more were born before I was transferred to Chūgoku. Though children kept coming every year or every other year, salaries wouldn’t go up unless three years had passed, making life inevitably harder. I made it my practice to seek transfers again after each raise. At that time, there were good positions available in Kyushu too—a middle school in a famous hot spring town arranged through matchmaker Shibata-kun’s mediation. Given the locale, prices ran high but even rental homes had hot springs piped in. The invitation suggested taking a therapeutic stay there until my salary rose another rank.

“A hot spring town would be too much trouble!”

My wife objected outright. “Wouldn’t it be good for the children’s education?” “That’s part of it, but the hot springs would keep me warm. You’re so ignorant.” “What do you mean?” “Even as things are, my body keeps producing them.” “I see.” “If you were to soak in hot springs every day—just imagine! Twins would be born!”

“Hey. Are you angry?” “Yes.” “Then there’s nothing we can do.” And so I gave up on the hot spring town. After all, these transfers were driven by our growing family; there was no way I could consider places where even more children might be born.

In Chūgoku,

“Kawahara is an ōzeki.”

had become an official certification. They no longer called me young or brilliant. It was simply that the number of children attracted attention. Admittedly during those three years there, two more were born. Two births meant moving up one rank. Even when promoted after those raises and transferring again made for favorable ratios, with more continuing to arrive one after another we remained as strained as ever. Having moved through Wakayama and Nagoya when my children reached ten in number, I thought. Of course I had considered it many times before too within those considerations believing things would somehow work out.

“Misao,” “What is it?” “I simply can’t handle this anymore.”

And with that, one evening I crossed my arms. I was no longer holding a baby. With ten children—a mix of boys and girls—the older ones could help out as needed. "I do believe I'm quite finished now, but..."

“Were you still planning to have more?” “Oh ho,” “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, come now.” “It’s no joking matter.” “Are you upset?” “Yes.” “What exactly displeases you?”

“There are too many children.”

“If it’s about that, I’m far more indignant than you could ever be.” “Why?” “All I do is give birth one after another—doesn’t it seem we’ve lost all semblance of decency? It’s not as if I can go sightseeing like other wives…” “Misao!”

“What is it?”

“What’s with that attitude?” “…………” “I’ve already declared I’m angry and refused. You can’t say a word.”

“Yes.” “Keep grinning.” “Didn’t you just say this wasn’t a laughing matter?” “Don’t talk back. Because I’m the one who’s angry first.”

“Yes.”

My wife had no choice because it was our promise.

“When I really think about it, it’s utterly unbearable.” “Then what do you plan to do?” “I think I’ll quit teaching at the school.” “Goodness!”

“Tsuneo is already seventeen. Next year we have to get him into high school.”

“Wouldn’t it be proper to have him attend the high school here?”

“High school is manageable enough, but with our current circumstances we can’t possibly send them all to university. You’ll understand when the time comes. After middle school and girls’ school come the younger ones in rapid succession. We’ll have to marry off Hiroko too.” “I do lose sleep over it sometimes myself.” “A teacher of appointed rank could never resort to sending his own children into service.” “Ah…” “Educators are peculiar creatures, aren’t they? Capable of teaching others’ children yet failing with their own. Though I suppose we may have overproduced.”

“Half that number would have been manageable, though.” “No, even half would be difficult.” “With my current salary, it’s completely impossible.” “But if we quit, things will get even worse.” “Quit and take the pension.” “The pension would be one-third?”

“No, I’ll go earn money at private schools in Tokyo. Only the pension would stay untouched there. Since they pay hourly wages, the more I work, the more extra I can make.” “Do you have any prospects?” “There are.” “What would the monthly pay be?” “It’s not monthly pay. Hourly wages. At two yen per hour, teaching thirty hours a week makes two times thirty—sixty yen. Over four weeks, four times sixty makes two hundred forty yen. Add sixty yen from the pension, and we’d have three hundred yen total income.”

“Let’s do it that way.” “We can’t just up and go right away.”

“Even starting next month would be perfectly acceptable.” “I’ll go during summer vacation to take care of things and come back.”

And so I resolved to change my course of action.

Right around that time, Akabane came to visit—though not to my house. He called the school from an inn and summoned me to appear before him. Back then was one thing, but now that our stations differed, there was nothing to be done.

“It’s me, Akabane. "Akabane Akira." “Gunma Prefecture native.” His self-introduction remained exactly as it had been in the past. “Ah...” “Is that you, Akabane?”

“Yes.” “Well…” “How unusual.”

"I'm at Shinachū. Can't you come right away?" "I'll come up. The class just ended." No matter how I tried, I couldn't strike an equal tone with Akabane. Poverty makes one acutely sensitive to the oppressive weight of financial power. The suit I wore when presenting myself at Shinachū Inn looked shabby. In rural towns, regular middle school teachers command respect, but in places like Nagoya, they're treated no better than insurance salesmen.

I was shown into the parlor and made to wait nearly an hour. Since there were two guests ahead of me, I was summoned to Akabane’s room in turn. “Hey, kept you waiting!” Akabane said. “I was the one who waited on you.” “Where?” “In the parlor.” “You should’ve said that sooner. Those people just came here on their own. A bunch of nobodies come crowding in, and it’s such a hassle.”

“Hmm,”

“Hmm,” I remarked with admiration, “It’s been a while.” And immediately relaxed. “I just thought to myself whether you were dead or alive.”

“It’s been too long.” “No, I should be saying that.” “You’re busy these days?” “Yeah.” As Akabane seemed to realize,

“Wakatsuki.” he called. From the adjacent room appeared a distinguished gentleman who bowed deeply. “I won’t be seeing anyone else now, so proceed accordingly.” “Yes, sir.” “You may go now.” “Yes, sir.” “Handle matters freely as you deem fit.” “Yes, sir.” “Approved.” “Yes, sir.”

The gentleman bowed in response to each reply and withdrew. He had a sharper face than Akabane's but carried himself like a secretary.

“It’s been eighteen years.” I said. Ever since we met at Kobe Station when I was assigned to Seiseikan, we had maintained no contact. At first, I hadn’t sent any letters out of pity for my shabby appearance back then, but since the other party didn’t send any either, seven or eight years had passed between us through mutual neglect. Then, after hearing of Akabane’s success, I found it galling that people might think I kept my distance because his fortunes had improved, so I continued doing exactly that. After talking for a short while,

“How many children do you have?” Akabane asked. “Ten.” “Ten?” “Yeah.” “You’ve really been busy, haven’t you? Ha ha ha!” “How about you?” “Five.” “All boys.” “How about yours?”

“Exactly half and half.” “Taking after you, they all get good grades, I suppose?” “Well… Because they see their parents’ hardships every day, at least they study hard.” “The kids at my place are hopelessly lazy. And they’ve all got ugly mugs.” “That can’t be true.” “No, it would’ve been better if they took after my wife, but they all ended up looking like me. They can’t possibly turn out well.”

Akabane insisted vehemently. This aspect hadn't changed from the old days.

“I heard you donated an auditorium to the academy?” “Yeah.” “That’s very public-spirited of you.” “What’s there to praise? Ha ha ha!” “What happened?” “It was to spite my wife. There was this rumor that I’d spent thirty thousand yen to make a geisha retire. Just a rumor, mind you.” “Hmm.” “It’s completely groundless.” “You’re certainly protesting vigorously.” I retorted sarcastically. “Because you’re an educator.” “Then what did you do?”

"That wife of mine was furious. So when some teacher from the school came soliciting donations not long after, I went ahead and did it on my own, saying we had money to spare at home." “I see.” “At that point, I couldn’t back down anymore.” "So the donation loses its value, huh?" “Of course. "They made trouble for me at graduation, then cast me out without a second thought. "Do you think I have any goodwill toward that place?”

Akabane rolled up his sleeves. His bitterness had seeped into his very marrow.

“But aren’t you a trustee?” “That was something they decided on their own over there.” “They’ll probably try to revoke it anyway.” “I hear you’re moving to Tokyo?” “I saw it in the school bulletin the other day.”

“I’ve already moved. When you come to Tokyo next time, do visit me.”

“Actually, I’ve been thinking of returning to Tokyo myself.” “If I stay in the countryside forever, I can’t manage the children’s education.”

I confided my recent decision.

“Just how much are you making here?”

“Don’t ask me about such things.”

“Why?”

“It’s really not even worth discussing.”

“But aren’t you a vice-principal by now?”

“Just below vice-principal.” “So you’re making three hundred yen?” “Wh-what makes you say that?” “Hmm.” “There are ten of us, after all. Even if I became principal, it wouldn’t cover everything.” “If it’s that bad, shall I help?” “Fine.” “Knowing you, there must be objections. But won’t you be in trouble if you keep up this stubbornness?” “I’ll go to Tokyo and work at private schools.” “Then let me find you a Tokyo position.” “Wouldn’t that be outside my expertise?”

“I’ll pull some strings. If it’s a company position, that’s my specialty—I’ll make it work.” “Do you know any principals?” “I don’t know. But private schools have what they call financial backers.” “That must be true.” “Since I get two or three guys coming to me daily with all sorts of requests, I’ll work out an exchange deal. But how much do you need to make?”

“Well...” “How about three hundred yen?” “With my pension combined, I’ve estimated around that much.” “How much pension do you get?” “Fifty or sixty yen, I suppose.” “Then taking your pension as fifty yen, I’ll add a hundred.” “I won’t take money from you.” “No—I’m asking you to tutor my children.” “I can’t stand pipe-smoking tutors—truth be told, they’re both a nuisance.” “You and I go way back.” “We can’t just let each other sink.” “What do you say?” “Will you look after my kids?”

“If I end up going to Tokyo, I’ll naturally make arrangements.” “Then we just need to find a way to cover the remaining 150 yen.” “What?” “Isn’t that perfectly straightforward?”

And Akabane was mulling it over by himself.

However, this was soon realized. Through Akabane’s mediation, I secured a position paying 100 yen at an institution called Kanda’s Oriental English School. With the support of my pension and tutoring income, I submitted my resignation that summer and moved to Tokyo. On the way, I stopped by my hometown intending to take my parents along and fulfill my filial duties, but with ten children, things still didn’t go as planned. Within three or four days of staying there, I had managed to wear out my welcome with my mother.

“Mother, don’t you think they’re all adorable?” I demanded praise. “They are cute, I’ll give you that.” “Mother, you said we wouldn’t have children, but here we are. That’s just superstition.” “No. It’s because I asked an ascetic to ward it off.” “Ah, it worked a bit too well, didn’t it?” “It’s rare indeed for all ten children to be born and not lose a single one. It’s because I go to pray at Hachiman-sama every day, rain or shine.”

“Ah, that must be working too,” he said. “Just because you’ve become Christian doesn’t mean you can abandon our clan deity, you hear? All of you should make a thanksgiving visit to the shrine.” And Mother was devout in her beliefs.

I quickly gathered my wife and children and set out. Along the way, I came across several familiar faces. Among them was Kunibu-kun, my old elementary school sparring partner. We exchanged brief greetings, but after they had passed us by, "Is this some Jesus cult?" "Or are they all Tomo's brats?" he said loudly to his companion. It might not have been mockery—perhaps such suspicions had genuinely crossed their minds.

One day, Mother,

“Tomoichi, how do you manage to keep teaching at school?”

Mother asked. “Why do you ask?” “This house feels like an athletic meet! It’s giving me a headache.” “With this crowd, it must be terribly inconvenient for you.”

"They are cute, I'll grant you that, but I simply cannot go somewhere like Tokyo."

“That’s a problem. What does Father think about this?”

“He says he wants to live a little longer, you hear?”

“Well, there’s nothing to be done about it then. Ah... With so many children, I can’t properly fulfill my filial duties.” “There’s no need to do anything special. Raising this many children is itself the greatest filial duty.” “I’m glad you feel that way.” I gratefully expressed my thanks.

Five years had passed since then. How time flies. My eldest son attended Imperial University. My eldest daughter graduated from girls' high school and helped with household chores while below her there were two middle schoolers， two girls' school students， two elementary schoolers， and two not attending school—that's how the numbers added up. I had climbed a steep slope for a long time， but the pass lay ahead rather than behind. As a father， I had no choice but to keep earning.

Recently, when our matchmaker Shibata-kun came up to Tokyo for a principals' conference and stopped by, "You're truly something."

He said this with approval.

“If I don’t work, all these mouths will shrivel up—there’s no choice.” “Still, it’s remarkable.” “Oh, it’s nothing. I’ve grown accustomed to it myself. This feels perfectly normal now.” “How many hours are you putting in exactly?” “Let me see...” I was working so much that I couldn’t answer immediately. “Two daytime schools take thirty-six hours. The night school every other night adds nine—forty-five weekly between them.”

“That’s tough, isn’t it? That’s three times—no, two and a half times—what the teachers at my place do.” “Plus four hours for Sunday lectures in the morning and afternoon.”

“So that makes forty-nine hours, doesn’t it?” “Tutoring every other night—that’s six hours at most, I suppose.” “Oh my! There’s still more?” “That brings it to fifty-five hours total. Ah, but wait—there’s more still. I do some writing in my spare time.” “Right, right! Thank you for that Japanese-to-English translation book you sent recently. You’re putting in fifty-five hours and still finding time to write something so elaborate?” “I come home around ten and write till midnight. Since it’s different from teaching, it makes for a nice change.”

“You’re a man of boundless energy!” “Well, it can’t be helped. But somehow it works out—when I think it’s for the children’s sake, it doesn’t feel hard at all.” “That’s a commendable attitude.”

And Shibata-kun grew even more impressed.

"I’ve been teaching Goldsmith’s *The Vicar of Wakefield* at my daytime school lately—that opening passage contains an eternal truth." “What’s that about? I’ve read it before too, but I’ve forgotten.” “I have it memorized: ‘I was ever of opinion that the honest man who married and brought upa large family……’” “Just translate it for me—that’s too much trouble.” “An honest man who takes a wife and raises many children contributes more to society than some bachelor spouting population theories.”

“I see.” “Napoleon is Napoleon, and ordinary people are ordinary people. It seems all we can do is raise our children properly—we’ve no other talents to speak of.” “That’s perfectly reasonable. But looking back to our Seiseikan days, your thinking has become quite moderate. Is it because of age?”

“No, I’ve realized it. Rather, it was my children who made me realize it.”

And I had my hands full just raising each of my ten children to independence. I didn’t think I’d been granted any greater talent than that. Twenty years of experience had taught me so. The extraordinary deed of an ordinary person is at least realizing that they’re ordinary. Therein lies a measure of peace and acceptance.