When the meal was served, the mistress sent the maid sitting nearby to the next room and took it upon herself to wait on the table. This seemed to be the custom of the teacher's household for unannounced visitors. At first, for the first or second time, I too felt ill at ease, but as the occasions repeated, setting the rice bowl before the mistress became nothing to me.
"Tea? Rice? You certainly eat well."
The mistress too would sometimes boldly say things without reserve. But that day, since the season was what it was, my appetite was not stirred enough to be teased so.
"Already finished? You've become quite a light eater lately."
"I haven't become a light eater. It's just too hot to eat."
After the mistress called the maid to clear the table, she had ice cream and fruit brought in afresh.
"This was made at home."
The mistress, having nothing else to do, seemed to have the leisure merely to serve her homemade ice cream to guests. I had her refill my bowl twice.
"Now that you've finally graduated, what do you intend to do from here?" the teacher asked. The teacher had shifted his seat halfway toward the veranda, leaning his back against the shoji at the threshold.
I only had the awareness that I had graduated, with no purpose of what to do from here. Seeing me hesitate in my reply, the mistress asked, "A teacher?" When I did not answer that either, she asked again, "Then a government official?" Both the teacher and I laughed.
"To tell the truth, I still have no idea what to do. In fact, I've hardly given any thought at all to the matter of a profession. Since I won't know which is good or bad until I've tried them myself, I suppose that's why choosing is so difficult."
"That may be so. But after all, you have means, so you can afford to talk so carelessly. Just look at someone in need—they couldn't settle down so calmly as you."
Among my friends, there were those who, even before graduating, were already looking for positions as middle school teachers. In my heart, I acknowledged the truth of what the mistress said. But I said this instead:
"I suppose I've been a bit infected by the teacher."
"He doesn't infect you in any useful way."
The teacher gave a wry smile.
"It doesn't matter if you're infected, but in exchange, as I told you the other day, while your father is still alive, have him divide a suitable portion of the estate and set it aside for you. Otherwise, you can never be too careful."
Together with the teacher, I recalled that early May when we talked deep in the spacious garden of the suburban nursery, with the azaleas in bloom. At that time, on the way home, the teacher had told me in an excited tone words of strong counsel, and I repeated them again in the depths of my ear. They were not only strong, but rather grim words. Yet, not knowing the truth, to me they were at the same time words that did not fully penetrate.
"Mistress, does your household have a great deal of wealth?"
"Why ever do you ask such a thing?"
"Because even when I ask the teacher, he won't tell me."
The mistress looked at the teacher's face with a smile.
"Probably because there's not enough to tell."
"But I'd like to know, so that when I go home and negotiate with my father, I can use it as reference for how much it takes to live as the teacher does."
The teacher faced the garden and, feigning innocence, blew out smoke. The one to answer was naturally bound to be the mistress.
"We don't have as much as 'how much' would suggest. We just about manage to get by like this, you know. —But setting that aside, you really must do something from now on. You can't just loaf around like the teacher..."
"I'm not just loafing around."
The teacher turned only his face slightly and denied the mistress's words.
