That day's conversation likewise ended without ever developing any further. Rather, I had been so overawed by the teacher's attitude that I had no inclination to press on.
The two of us boarded a tram from the outskirts of the city, but spoke hardly a word inside the car. Soon after alighting, we had to part. At parting, the teacher was changed again. In a brighter tone than usual, he said, "From now until June is the most carefree time. Perhaps the most carefree of one's whole life. Do go out and enjoy yourself." I laughed and doffed my hat. At that moment, looking at the teacher's face, I doubted where in his heart it was that he truly loathed ordinary people. In those eyes, in that mouth, no shadow of pessimism was cast.
I confess that on matters of thought I received great benefit from the teacher. Yet I must also say that often, even when I sought such benefit, I could not obtain it. The teacher's talk at times ended in inconclusiveness. The suburban conversation that arose between us that day, too, remained behind in the recesses of my heart as one such example of inconclusiveness.
The unreserved me, at one point, finally laid this bare before the teacher. The teacher smiled. I said:
"It's fine if my dull head can't grasp the point, but it's troubling when you understand perfectly well and yet won't say it clearly."
"I'm hiding nothing from you."
"You are hiding it."
"Aren't you muddling together what you call my thoughts or opinions, and my past? I am a poor thinker, but I do not lightly hide from others the conclusions I have worked out in my own head. There is no need to hide them. But if it becomes necessary to lay my entire past before you, that is another matter."
"I do not think it another matter. It is because your past gave birth to your thoughts that I place weight upon them. If the two are severed, they become almost without value to me. I cannot be satisfied with being given a doll into which no soul has been breathed."
The teacher looked at my face as if dumbfounded. The hand holding his rolled cigarette trembled slightly.
"You are bold."
"I am merely serious. I wish seriously to receive life's lessons."
"Even if it means exposing my past?"
The word 'expose' struck my ear with a sudden, terrible resonance. I felt as though the one seated before me were a criminal, and not the teacher I had always respected. The teacher's face was pale.
"Are you truly serious?" the teacher pressed. "Because of the cause and effect of my past, I have grown to doubt people. So in truth I doubt you as well. Yet somehow I do not wish to doubt you. You seem too simple to doubt. Before I die, I wish to trust another and die, if only one person, just one. Can you be that one person? Will you be? Are you serious from the bottom of your heart?"
"If my life is serious, then what I have said is serious too."
My voice trembled.
"Very well," said the teacher. "I shall talk. I shall tell you all of my past, every bit of it. In exchange—no, never mind that. But my past may not be so beneficial to you. It might be better not to hear it. And then—I cannot speak now, so bear that in mind. I shall not speak until the proper time comes."
Even after I returned to my lodgings, I felt a kind of oppression.