六 2

I had no memory of doing anything wrong, so as I stood up, I swept my gaze all around the room. Amid everyone’s astonishment, only Noda was grinning as if amused. When my big eyes, with the air of saying “Do you mean to pick a fight too?”, pierced straight through Noda’s dried-gourd face, Noda suddenly put on a serious expression and became very subdued. He seemed a little frightened. Presently the bugle sounded. Both Yamaarashi and I called off the fight and went out to the schoolroom.

In the afternoon there was a meeting regarding the punishment of the boarders who had behaved rudely toward me the other night. Since this was the first meeting I’d ever attended in my life, I hadn’t the faintest idea how it would go, but the staff would gather and each push forward their own selfish theories, and the principal would wrap it up in some careless fashion. “Wrap it up” is a phrase for matters where black and white can’t be readily decided. To hold a meeting over an incident like this, which anyone would see as nothing but improper, is just killing time. No matter who interpreted it how, there was no room for dissent. For something this clear-cut, the principal should just decide on the spot. It’s awfully lacking in decisiveness. If this is what a principal is, then it’s simply another name for a wishy-washy, dithering fool.

The meeting room was a long narrow room next to the principal’s office, normally serving as a substitute dining hall. About twenty chairs upholstered in black leather were lined around a long table, giving it roughly the standing of a Western restaurant in Kanda. The principal sat at the end of the table, and beside him Redshirt took his seat. The rest were free to sit where they liked, but it was said the gymnastics teacher always humbly took the lowest seat. Since I didn’t know the customs, I slipped in between the natural history teacher and the Chinese classics teacher. Looking across, I saw Yamaarashi and Noda sitting side by side. Noda’s face, however you looked at it, was inferior. Even in a fight, Yamaarashi had far more character. It strongly resembles the hanging scroll that was displayed in the room at Yōgenji in Kohinata at my old man’s funeral. When I asked the priest, he said it was a monster called Idaten. He’s angry today, so he’s rolling his eyes around and every now and then glancing over at me. As if I’d be intimidated by that—I glared back at Yamaarashi with equal spirit. My eyes may be ill-shaped, but in sheer size I yield to few. Kiyo often said, “You have such big eyes, you’d make a fine actor someday.”

“Is everyone more or less here?” said the principal, and a clerk named Kawamura counted heads one by one. One short. “We seem to be one short,” he mused—but of course one would be short. Mr. Uranari, the eggplant’s brother-in-law, hadn’t come. I don’t know what karmic bond ties me to this man, but ever since I first laid eyes on his face I simply cannot forget him. Whenever I go to the waiting room, Uranari catches my eye at once; even walking down the street, his manner rises in my mind. At the hot springs, Uranari sometimes floats in the bath, his face pale blue. When I greet him he bows apologetically with a “Heh,” and I feel sorry for him. At school there is no one as gentle as Uranari. He rarely smiles, but he’s never said an unnecessary word either. I knew the word “gentleman” from books, and thought it existed only in the dictionary, not among living things—but after meeting Uranari I was impressed that it was after all a word with a real referent.

Since this was a man I was so deeply connected to, the moment I entered the meeting room I noticed his absence. To tell the truth, I had secretly aimed to sit next to him. The principal said he’d be along shortly, and untied a purple brocade wrapper before him, reading something like a konnyaku-block print. Redshirt began polishing an amber pipe with a silk handkerchief. That’s his hobby—fitting for Redshirt. The others were whispering among neighbors. The one with nothing to do was busy writing something on the table with the eraser end of a pencil. Noda spoke to Yamaarashi now and then, but Yamaarashi wouldn’t respond, only saying “Mm” or “Ah,” and every so often shooting a fierce glance my way. I glared back without yielding.

Then, as we’d been waiting, Uranari came in looking apologetic and bowed politely to the badger: “I had a small matter to attend to and am late.” “Then we shall begin,” said the badger, first having clerk Kawamura distribute the konnyaku prints. Looking, the first item was the punishment matter, next the student discipline matter, and two or three others. As usual the badger struck a pompous pose, wearing the look of an educational revenant, and spoke to this effect: “That the staff and students of the school should err is all due to my own want of virtue. Each time some incident occurs, I privately cannot bear a sense of shame that I should serve as principal—yet unfortunately this time too I have caused such a disturbance, and must deeply apologize to you all. But once it has occurred there is no help for it; we must somehow punish. The facts are as you know, so please speak freely on aftercare measures for reference.”

Hearing the principal’s words, I thought, indeed, a principal or badger says impressive things. If the principal takes all responsibility like this and calls it his own fault or want of virtue, then rather than punishing the students, he might as well resign first—that would seem best. Then there’d be no need for such a troublesome meeting. It’s clear from common sense. I quietly do night duty. Students act violent. The blame is fixed on the students alone, not the principal nor me. If Yamaarashi incited them, then disposing of the students and Yamaarashi suffices. What country has a man who shoulders others’ backsides himself, blustering “My backside, my backside”? Only a badger could perform such a feat. He spouted this unreasonable argument and looked around smugly. But no one opened their mouth. The natural history teacher was gazing at a crow perched on the first schoolroom roof. The Chinese classics teacher was folding and unfolding his konnyaku print. Yamaarashi was still glaring at my face. If a meeting is such foolishness, better to skip it and take a noon nap.

I grew impatient and thought to argue loudly myself, half-raising my seat, but stopped when Redshirt began to speak. He put away his pipe and wiped his face with a striped silk handkerchief, saying something. That handkerchief must surely have been wrung from Madonna. A man should use white linen. “Hearing of the boarders’ violence, I as head teacher am deeply remiss, and keenly ashamed that my usual moral influence failed to reach the boys. Such things occur when some defect exists; viewing the incident alone, it seems only the students are at fault, but probing the truth, the responsibility may lie with the school. Thus strict sanction based only on surface appearance may ill serve the future. Moreover, boys are hot-blooded and overflowing with vigor, without thought of good or evil, and may half-unconsciously commit such mischief. Yet the punishment is of course the principal’s purview, not mine to intrude—but I ask you consider this and wish for the most lenient handling.”

Indeed, if the badger is a badger, Redshirt is Redshirt. He openly states that when students rampage, it’s not the students’ fault but the teachers’. A madman clubs someone’s head—the fault is the clubbed one’s, so the madman clubs him. What fortunate happiness. If overflowing vigor is the trouble, go to the playground and wrestle; who’d stand half-unconsciously having a grasshopper put in their bed? At this rate, even if your throat’s cut in sleep, they’d call it half-unconscious and let them off.

Thinking this, I wondered if I should say something, but if I speak it must be a torrent to astonish—my habit is that when angry I speak two or three words and inevitably stall. Badger and Redshirt are lower than me in character, but adept in tongue, so blurting clumsily and getting tripped up would be no fun. I began drafting in my chest—then was startled when Noda in front suddenly stood. For Noda to voice an opinion is impertinent. Noda in his usual flippant tone said, “Truly, this grasshopper incident and shout incident are sufficient to make us conscientious staff privately fear our school’s future, and we staff must rouse ourselves to reflect and rectify the school’s discipline. The principal’s and head teacher’s stated views are precisely apt and incisive, and I thoroughly endorse them. I pray for the most lenient punishment.” Noda’s words have language but no meaning—merely a display of Chinese phrases, incomprehensible. All I got was “I thoroughly endorse.”

I didn’t grasp Noda’s meaning, but grew quite angry, and stood before my draft was ready. “I thoroughly oppose…” I said, but the rest wouldn’t come. “…Such nonsense, I hate that kind of punishment,” I added, and the staff all laughed. “The students are wholly at fault. They must apologize or it becomes a habit. Expel them, fine. …What, you think I’m a new teacher…” and I sat. Then the natural history teacher on my right weakly said, “Students being at fault is fault, but too severe a penalty may cause reaction and do ill. I favor leniency as the head teacher said.” The Chinese classics on the left endorsed moderation. History too sided with the head teacher. Damn—most are Redshirt’s faction. With such men running a school, who needs the trouble. I’ve resolved on one of two: make the students apologize or resign, so—

“Stories of the world, in your language.”