八 2

After it was all settled, the principal seemed about to say that since a replacement for Koga had been arranged, there was nothing to be done. "What nonsense, treating people like fools. It's not the least bit amusing. So Koga-san has no intention of going, then. I thought it was strange. Even if his pay were raised by five yen, there's hardly a blockhead who'd go off to the middle of those mountains to keep company with monkeys." "A blockhead, you say—he is a teacher, after all." "It doesn't matter what he is—truly, this is the red-shirted one's scheme. A shabby way to act. Nothing short of outright deception. And then to raise my monthly salary—what an improper thing to do. Even if he offered to raise it, who'd accept such a raise?" "Will the teacher's salary be raised, then?" "Since he says he'll raise it, I mean to refuse." "Why ever would you refuse, sir?" "I refuse regardless. That red-shirted fellow is a fool, old woman. And a coward." "Coward or not, if he offers to raise your salary, it's to your benefit to accept it quietly. When you're young it's easy to fly into a temper, but looking back in later years you think a little more patience would have served—and regret having suffered such a loss out of spite. So heed your old woman: if Red-Shirt offers the raise, just say thank you and take it." "You needn't meddle so, old as you are. My salary is my salary, whether it rises or falls."

The old woman fell silent and withdrew. The old man, in his carefree voice, was singing a nō chant. A nō chant, I suppose, is the art of taking words one can read plainly and tying them to some impossibly fussy tune so as to make them deliberately unintelligible. I cannot fathom the old man who drones such things every evening without tiring. As for me, I've no leisure for chanting. He said he'd raise my salary, and though I'd no particular want of it, I thought it a pity to leave unclaimed money on the table, so I agreed readily enough. But to force a transfer on a man who wishes none, then skim off the top of his salary—how inhuman a deed is that? The man himself says he'd rather stay as he is, yet they cast him down to Nobeoka—what manner of thinking is this? Even the Dazai no Gon-no-Shōshi settled in the vicinity of Hakata. Even Kawai Matagorō stopped at Sagara. At any rate, until I go to Red-Shirt's and refuse him, I'll have no peace.

I put on my Kokura trousers and set out again. Standing at the great front entry, I called that I'd come to ask a favor, and the same younger brother appeared to show me in. He looked at my face as if to say, back again? If there's business, I'll come twice, thrice—and not even spare you a midnight knocking. Does he mistake me for one who calls on the head teacher to curry favor? Even I, with no salary coming in, have come to return it. Then the brother said a guest was presently there, so I told him I'd be fine at the entry, I only wished a brief word—and he withdrew within. Glancing down, I saw by the step a pair of flimsy, down-turned lacquered geta. From within came the cry, "Banzai!" The guest, I realized, was Noda. None but Noda would pipe in that shrill voice and wear such actor-ish clogs.

After a while Red-Shirt came out to the entry with a lamp, saying, "Come in, it's not a stranger—it's Yoshikawa," to which I answered, "No, here is quite enough. I only need a word," and looked at his face—ruddy as a Kintoki. He'd evidently been drinking a cup with Noda the publican.

"Earlier you spoke of raising my salary, but as my thinking has somewhat changed, I've come to decline."

Red-Shirt held the lamp forward and gazed at my face from the inner dark; caught off guard, he could not answer at once, and stood blank. Perhaps he wondered at the single man in all the world who'd appear to refuse a raise; or perhaps he was astounded that, having just returned home, I'd come straight back when I might have waited; or perhaps both—his mouth made a strange shape, and he stood rooted.

"I agreed then because the story was that Koga would transfer of his own wish…" "Koga is transferring half of his own accord, entirely of his own wish." "That is not so. He wishes to stay here. Even at his old salary, he wants to remain in his home." "Did Koga tell you this himself?" "No, not from the man himself." "Then from whom did you hear it?" "The old woman at my lodgings told me today, having heard it from Koga's mother." "So the lodging-house old woman said as much." "Well, yes." "Then pardon me, but that is somewhat mistaken. As you put it, it sounds as though you trust the lodging-house old woman's word but not the head teacher's—may I take it in that sense?"

I was a bit cornered. A Bachelor of Literature, it seems, is truly formidable. He fastens on the oddest points and presses in, stickily. My father often scolded me—"you're hopelessly careless, hopelessly careless"—and indeed, I am a trifle careless. Hearing the old woman's tale I'd sprung out in a flash, yet in truth I'd met neither Uranari nor his mother to learn the details. So when sliced at in this literary-graduate style, I found it hard to parry.

Hard to parry head-on, but in my heart I had already served Red-Shirt notice of no confidence. The lodging old woman is no doubt a stingy miser, yet she is no liar—unlike Red-Shirt, she wears no two faces. Having no better way, I answered thus:

"What you say may be true, but—at any rate, I decline the raise."

"That is all the stranger. Just now you came expressly, and it sounded as if you could not in conscience accept the increase, having found a reason—yet now that my explanation removes that reason, your refusal is somewhat hard to grasp." "Hard to grasp it may be. But I refuse, all the same." "If you so refuse, I shall not force it—but to reverse yourself within two or three hours, with no special cause, may harm your credit in future."

"I care not if it does."

"That cannot be so. Nothing is so precious to a man as his credit. Even granting, for a step further, that the lodging-house—"

"Not the master, the old woman."

"Either way. Even if we take the old woman's words to you as fact, your raise is not carved from Koga's earnings. Koga goes to Nobeoka. A replacement comes. That replacement comes at a somewhat lower pay than Koga. The surplus is routed to you—so you need pity no one. Koga is promoted at Nobeoka beyond his present post. The new man comes cheap by prior agreement. If you then rise, it seems to me nothing could be more convenient. If you dislike it, refuse—but might you not reconsider at home once more?"

My head being none too great, had it been usual, such cunning eloquence would have had me think, "Oh? Then I was mistaken," and retreat in awe. But tonight it would not do. From the first step in here, Red-Shirt somehow rubbed me wrong. Midway I'd thought him a man kind as a gentle woman—but as that kindness proved false, the rebound has left me quite sick of him. So whatever clever logic he unfurls, whatever head-teacherly force he brings to bear, I care nothing. A good debater is not thereby a good man. The one borne down upon is not thereby a villain. Outwardly Red-Shirt's part is weighty and just—but no matter how fine the outward show, he cannot make me love what lies within. If gold, or power, or reason could buy a man's heart, then the usurer, the policeman, the university professor must be the most beloved of all. With the reasoning of a middle-school head teacher, how should my heart be moved? A man works by like and dislike. Not by reasoning.

"What you say is just, but I've taken a dislike to the raise, so I refuse. Thinking changes nothing. Good night," I said, and left the gate. Above my head stretched a single band of the Milky Way.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”