五 2
This is far more elegant than going. Then the two began to talk in low voices about something. I can’t hear it well, nor do I care to. I gaze at the sky, thinking of Kiyo. If only I had money and could bring Kiyo to a beautiful place like this to enjoy ourselves—how delightful that would be. No matter how fine the scenery, it’s dull with someone like Noda. Kiyo may be a wrinkled old hag, but I’d never feel ashamed taking her anywhere. Someone like Noda, whether in a carriage, a boat, or climbing Ryounkaku, could never belong in such company. If I were the head teacher and Red Shirt were me, he’d surely still butter up to me and mock Red Shirt. They say Edo folk are frivolous—and true enough, if such a one went touring the countryside repeating “I’m an Edo man,” the country folk would surely decide frivolity is the Edo man and the Edo man is frivolity. As I’m thinking this, the two suddenly start giggling. Between the laughs they say something, but it’s so broken I can’t make heads or tails of it.
“Eh? How…”“…Exactly…we don’t know…it’s a crime”“No way…”“A grasshopper…truly.”
I paid no mind to the rest, but when I heard Noda say “grasshopper,” I bristled despite myself. For some reason Noda put special stress on that one word, making it ring clear in my ear, then deliberately muddied what followed. I stayed still and kept listening.
“Again that Hotta…”“Might be…”“Tempura…hahahaha”“…inciting…”“Dumplings too?”
Though the words came in fragments, from “grasshopper,” “tempura,” “dumplings” I could guess they were whispering about me. If they’re going to talk, talk louder; if they mean to whisper, they shouldn’t have invited me. Detestable pair. Grasshopper or snow-treader, the fault isn’t mine. The principal said to hold off for now, so out of respect for the old badger’s face I’m keeping quiet. Noda, of all people, dares pass judgment. He should suck a brush and crawl back where he came from. As for me, sooner or later I’ll settle it myself, so no concern of his—but “again that Hotta” and “inciting” stick in my craw. Does it mean Hotta incited me to stir up trouble, or that Hotta incited the students to torment me? I can’t tell the direction. Looking at the blue sky, the sunlight gradually weakens and a slightly chill wind begins to blow. Clouds like incense smoke stretched quietly across the clear depths, then before I knew it flowed into the deep and hung like a thin mist.
“Shall we head back,” Red Shirt said as if just remembering. “Yes, just about time. Will you see the Madonna tonight,” Noda asked. Red Shirt said don’t be foolish, you’ll cause a misunderstanding, and the fellow leaning on the gunwale straightened a little. “Ehehehe, no worry. Even if heard…” As Noda turned back, I flung saucer-wide eyes square upon his head. Noda flinched as if blinded, “Oh, I surrender,” shrank his neck, and scratched his head. What an impudent wretch.
The boat rows back to shore over calm sea. “You don’t seem to care much for fishing,” Red Shirt remarked, so I answered, “No, watching the sky while lying down is better,” and flicked my half-smoked cigarette into the sea; with a sizzle it bobbed on the waves parted by the oar. “The students were overjoyed you came, so do your best,” he said, though he’d shown no interest in fishing. “They’re not that joyful.” “No flattery—truly glad, aren’t they, Yoshikawa?” “Not just glad—uproar,” Noda smirked. Everything he says irritates me, strange. “But watch yourself, it’s precarious,” Red Shirt said, so I told him, “Precarious either way. At this point I’m prepared for it.” In fact I’d resolved: either I’m dismissed, or every boarder apologizes—one or the other. “If you say that, there’s no handle to grasp—but as head teacher I say it for your sake, don’t take it ill.” “The head teacher truly bears you goodwill. As a fellow Edo man, I too, within my means, wish you to stay long and be mutual help; I strive in the shadows,” Noda said something human. I’d rather hang myself than owe Noda.
“So the students warmly welcome you, but there are various circumstances. You may be angry, but bear it, persevere. We’d never do aught not for your good.”
“Various circumstances—what circumstances?”
“Rather tangled, but you’ll learn in time. Even if I don’t tell, naturally you will, right Yoshikawa?”
“Yes, quite tangled; hardly clear in a day. But gradually, even if I don’t say, naturally,” Noda echoed Red Shirt.
“If so troublesome, no need to hear, but you raised it.”
“Fair. We opened mouth yet leave off—irresponsible. So I’ll say this: you, pardon, just graduated, first teaching, inexperienced. Yet a school is full of favoritism; can’t be bookishly plain.”
“If not plain, how does it go?”
“You’re so frank, thus inexperienced…”
“I must be inexperienced. As written in my record, twenty-three years four months.”
“There, from unexpected quarters one may be taken advantage of.”
“Honest, I fear no one’s advantage.”
“Of course not fear, but taken. Your predecessor was, so beware.”
Noticing Noda quiet, I turned: he’d moved astern, chatting fishing with the boatman. Without Noda, talk improved.
“Who took advantage of my predecessor?”
“Naming hurts his honor; also no clear proof, would be our fault. Anyway, you came, so if you fail, vain our call. Please beware.”
“Beware as I may, no more than this. Just don’t do wrong?”
Red Shirt laughed “hohoho.” I recall no laughable words. To this moment I firmly believe this right. Thinking, most world seems to encourage corruption, believing success needs it. Seeing honest pure souls, they sneer “young master,” “boy,” despise. Then grammar schools shouldn’t teach “no lies, be honest.” Better teach lying, distrust, manipulation—good for world and self. Red Shirt’s laugh mocked my simplicity. A world where simplicity and sincerity are laughed at is hopeless. Kiyo never laughed at such times; she listened admiring. Kiyo’s far above Red Shirt.
“Of course don’t do wrong, but even if you don’t, not seeing others’ wrong brings ruin. Some seem open, plain, kind with lodgings, yet never careless… Getting cold. Autumn. Shore in haze, sepia—fine view. Oi, Yoshikawa, that shore!” he called loud. “Indeed, exquisite. Had time I’d sketch; pity leave so,” Noda praised.
A light on Minatoya’s second floor, train whistle screams—my boat grinds bow into shore sand, stops. “Welcome back,” the mistress greets Red Shirt. From the gunwale I shout, leap to the rocks.
“Stories of the world, in your language.”