二十六

It was in the early summer, when the blue leaves had somehow begun to spread out hazily upon the branches from which the double-flowered cherries had fallen, that I found my freedom. With the heart of a little bird escaped from its cage, I beat my wings freely, taking in the wide world at a single glance. I went straight to the teacher's house. Along the way, my eyes were drawn to the trifoliate orange hedge putting forth sprouting buds atop its darkened branches, and to the glossy chestnut-brown leaves of the pomegranate, rising from its withered trunk and softly reflecting the sunlight. I felt as if I were seeing such things for the first time in my life.

The teacher looked at my joyful face and said, "So your thesis is all settled, then? That's good." I replied, "Thanks to you, it's finally done. There's nothing left for me to do now."

In fact, at that time I felt a bright and cheerful ease, as if all the work I ought to do was already finished, and from now on I could swagger about and play without a care. I had full confidence in and satisfaction with the thesis I had written. Before the teacher, I chattered on and on about its contents. The teacher, in his usual manner, said things like "I see" and "Is that so," but added not the least bit of further comment. Rather than feeling unsatisfied, I was somewhat let down. Even so, my spirits that day were so lively they seemed to challenge the teacher's seemingly indolent attitude. I tried to lure the teacher out into the great nature that was reviving in green.

"Teacher, let's go for a walk somewhere. It feels wonderful to be outside."

"Where to?"

I didn't care where. I only wanted to take the teacher out to the suburbs.

An hour later, the teacher and I had left the city as intended, and were wandering without aim through a quiet place that was neither clearly village nor town. I plucked young, tender leaves from a hedge of honey locusts and made a grass whistle. Having a friend from Kagoshima, I had learned this naturally by imitating him, and I was quite skilled at blowing such a grass whistle. As I proudly continued to play, the teacher looked away, pretending not to notice, and walked on.

Presently a narrow path opened below a small, gently rising hill, shut in and shaded as if locked behind young leaves. A signboard nailed to the gatepost read "Such-and-Such Garden," so it was immediately clear this was no private residence. The teacher gazed at the sloping entrance and said, "Shall we go in?" I answered at once, "It's a nursery, isn't it?"

We wound through the plantings and went up toward the back, where there was a house on the left. The shoji stood open, but inside was empty and not a soul was to be seen. Only the goldfish kept in a large pot set by the eaves were moving.

"It's quiet. Do you suppose it's all right to go in without asking?"

"It should be fine."

The two of us advanced further toward the back. But there, too, no one was in sight. Azaleas were in riotous bloom as if aflame. Among them, the teacher pointed to a tall, birch-colored one and said, "That's a Kirishima, isn't it."

Peonies, too, were planted over a stretch of more than ten tsubo, but since the season had not yet come, not a single one bore flowers. On something like an old veranda platform beside this peony field, the teacher lay down flat on his back. I sat on the unused edge of it and smoked. The teacher looked up at the blue, crystal-clear sky. I was captivated by the color of the young leaves that enveloped me. Looking closely at that color of young leaves, each was different. Even on the same maple tree, no two branches bore the same color. The teacher's hat, thrown over the top of a slender cedar sapling, was blown off by the wind.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”