I hate Yoda. A fellow like that ought to be weighed down with a stone and sunk to the bottom of the sea for Japan's own good. I can't stand Redshirt's voice. He's probably putting on airs with that born voice of his to make himself sound gentle. But no matter how he puts on airs, with that face of his it's no use. Even if someone did fall for him, it'd only be someone like Madonna. Still, being the head teacher, he talks in a more roundabout way than Yoda. When I go home and think over what he said, it does seem reasonable enough on the surface. But since he won't say anything clearly, I can't quite make it out—it seems he's warning me to watch out because Yamakaze is no good. If that's the case, he should just come out and say so. It's not very manly. And if Yamakaze is such a wicked teacher, they ought to dismiss him quickly. The head teacher may be a Bachelor of Literature, but he's a spineless fellow. He won't even name names openly when he's gossiping behind someone's back, so he's got to be a coward through and through. Cowards are kind-hearted, so that Redshirt must be a womanish, kind-hearted sort too. Kindness is kindness, and voice is voice, so to dislike his voice and nullify his kindness is wrong on principle. Even so, the world's a strange place—a fellow you take a dislike to turns out kind, and a friend you got along with turns out a scoundrel. It's making fools of people. Probably because it's the countryside, everything runs opposite to Tokyo. A dangerous place. Before long fires might freeze and stones turn to tofu. But still, the idea of Yamakaze inciting the students—he doesn't seem the type to pull such pranks. They say he's the most popular teacher, so if he wanted to he might manage most anything, but—first off, he wouldn't need to go around in such a roundabout way; he could just grab me straight off and pick a fight, which would save the trouble. If I were in the way, he could just say, 'Here's the thing, you're in the way, so quit,' and that'd be that. Anything can be settled by discussion. If his side's in the right, I'd quit tomorrow. It's not as if only this place grows rice. I don't intend to drop dead wherever I end up. Yamakaze's a pretty impossible fellow to talk to, too.
When I first came here, it was Yamakaze who treated me to shaved ice. To take shaved ice from a two-faced sneak like that reflects on my honor. I only drank one cup, so I made him pay just a sen and a half. But whether it's a sen or half a sen, to be indebted to a swindler leaves a bad taste till the day I die. I'll go to school tomorrow and return that sen and a half. I borrowed three yen from Kiyo. I still haven't returned those three yen, even after five years to this day. Not that I can't return them. I won't. Kiyo doesn't for a moment count on my purse, thinking I'll return it sometime. And I've no intention of putting on such stranger-like formalities as 'I'll return it sometime.' The more I worry about it on my end, the more I doubt Kiyo's heart, which is the same as putting a stain on Kiyo's beautiful spirit. Not returning it isn't trampling Kiyo—it's because I think of Kiyo as my other half. Kiyo and Yamakaze aren't even comparable, but even if it's shaved ice or sweet tea, to receive charity from a stranger and keep silent is an act of goodwill toward that stranger, taking him for a decent sort of person. To pay one's share would settle the matter, but to feel grateful in one's heart is a repayment money can't buy. Even without rank or title, I'm an independent man full and whole. For an independent man to bow his head must be taken as a thanks more precious than a million ryō.
For my part, I made Yamakaze shell out that sen and a half, and consider it a repayment more precious than a million ryō. Yamakaze ought to be grateful. And yet for him to go behind my back and act so base—the scoundrel's got some nerve. I'll go tomorrow, return the sen and a half, and then we'll have our fight.
I thought it all through, got sleepy, and fell into a sound sleep. The next day, having my reasons, I went to school earlier than usual and waited for Yamakaze. But he didn't show. Uranari came out. The Chinese classics teacher came out. Yoda came out. Finally even Redshirt came out, but Yamakaze's desk just sat quiet with a single piece of white chalk lying lengthwise. I'd decided to return it the moment I entered the staff room, and from the time I left home I'd held the sen and a half in my palm like bath money, clutched all the way to school. My hands are greasy, so when I opened it the sen and a half were sweating. Thinking Yamakaze might say something if I returned sweaty coins, I set them on the desk, blew on them, and clutched again. Then Redshirt came and said, 'Sorry about yesterday, it must have been a bother,' so I answered, 'No bother, thanks to you I went hungry.' Then Redshirt rested his elbow on Yamakaze's desk and brought that flat-faced mug right up to the side of my nose. Wondering what he was up to, he said, 'Keep what you talked about on the boat yesterday on the way back a secret. You haven't told anyone yet, I suppose?' He seems a worrier, fitting for a man with a womanish voice. I certainly haven't told anyone. But since I'm here meaning to talk, with the sen and a half already palmed, being told to hush up by Redshirt puts me in a spot. Redshirt's some Redshirt. Even if he won't name Yamakaze, after dangling such a transparent riddle, to come now and say solving the riddle is a bother—unbecoming of a head teacher, irresponsible. He ought to step right into the middle of my war with Yamakaze and nobly take my side. That's what a head teacher is, that's what wearing a redshirt means.
I told the head teacher, 'I haven't told anyone yet, but I mean to have it out with Yamakaze.' Redshirt panicked. 'You can't go doing such lawless things. I don't recall plainly saying anything to you about Mr. Horita—if you cause a ruckus here, I'll be in a great fix. You didn't come to stir up trouble at school, did you?'—a question so off the commonsense track I said, 'Of course not. Taking a salary and stirring up trouble—the school'd be in a fix too.' Then Redshirt, sweating, pleaded, 'Then just take yesterday as reference only, don't breathe a word,' so I agreed: 'Very well, I'm in a fix too, but if it bothers you that much, I'll drop it.' Redshirt pressed, 'You sure?' How womanly can one get, no telling how deep it goes. If all Bachelors of Literature are like that, they're a dull lot. Making inconsistent, illogical demands and staying perfectly cool. And on top of that, he doubts me. Begging your pardon, but I'm a man. I don't carry the petty notion of agreeing to something and then going behind its back to tear it up.
Just then the owners of the neighboring desks showed up, and Redshirt hurried back to his seat. Redshirt puts on airs even in his walk. Even crossing the room he softly sets his soles down to avoid sound. I learned then for the first time that walking silently could be a point of pride. It's not thief training—he ought to walk normal. Presently the starting bell rang. Yamakaze still hadn't come. Nothing for it, I left the sen and a half on the desk and headed to class.
With the schedule, first period ran late, and when I got back to the staff room the other teachers were all at their desks talking. Yamakaze had shown up sometime. I'd thought him absent, but he was just late. The moment he saw me he said, 'Thanks to you I'm late today. Pay the fine.' I put out the sen and a half from my desk and said, 'Here, take this. It's for the shaved ice you treated me to in Tōrimachi the other day,' setting it before Yamakaze. He started to laugh, 'What are you on about?' but seeing I was dead serious, he swept the coins back onto my desk, 'Don't joke around.' Well, for Yamakaze, he's intent on treating me to the end.
'No joke, it's true. I've no reason to be treated to shaved ice by you, so I'm paying. You can't refuse.'
'If a sen and a half bothers you that much, I'll take it. But why think of it now and return it at this hour?'
'Now or any hour, I'm returning it. I don't like being treated, so I'm returning it.'
Yamakaze looked coldly at my face and went 'Hmph.' If not for Redshirt's request, I'd expose Yamakaze's baseness right here and have a grand fight, but I agreed not to breathe a word, so I'm tied. With a man red in the face like this, what's the logic of 'Hmph'?
'The ice money I'll take, but move out of the boarding house.'
'Take the sen and a half and that's fine. Whether I move out or not is my business.'
'But it's not your business. Yesterday the landlord came and said he wants you out. I asked why, and the landlord's reasoning was sound. Even so, meaning to check once more, I stopped by this morning and heard the full story.'
I hadn't a clue what Yamakaze meant.
'How would I know what the landlord told you? You can't just decide on your own. If there's a reason, you state it. To start with saying the landlord's side is sound—utterly rude.'
'Well then, I'll tell you. You're violent and too much for them at that boarding house. No matter that she's the landlord's wife, she's no maid. Making her wipe your feet—that's too high and mighty.'
'When did I make the landlord's wife wipe my feet?'
'Whether you did or not, anyway they're troubled by you. Said a ten or fifteen yen in board, sell one hanging scroll and it's covered quick.'
'Running your mouth like you heard it. Then why'd they take me in?'
'Why they took you in, I don't know. They took you in, but now they're sick of it, so they say get out. You get out.'
'Of course. Even if they folded hands begging me stay, I wouldn't. But the one who introduced me to such a place that says such things is himself impertinent.'
'Me impertinent, or you not behaving—one of the two.'
Yamakaze's as hot-tempered as me, and he throws his voice loud, hating to lose. The others in the staff room, wondering what'd started, all turned to me and Yamakaze, chins lengthening in blank stare. I wasn't the least bit ashamed,