I had a mind to make an apology to all of the staff in the morning assembly. And trivial as it seemed for having being rude to Matsu, and indeed, that is no common sense in Japan, and if I did not do so, everyone would pity my ignorance. In the staff room, my posture was perfect upright. “I do apologize for not being proper attitude as a student and for the inconvenience this has caused all of you. Thank you very much for your understanding,”I bowed formally.
“By the way, you got a tan, didn’t you?” Matsu asked, never having had such a daily conversation with me. Does it feel safe for her to talk with me? I hold out my arms, looking at them. I hesitated but said it anyway: “To refresh myself, I went away on my motorcycle … ” She stared coldly at them, then turned away, sighing quietly and walking away.
In fact, I could not let myself go much―I read two self-help books before the chaos descends. Then I went to mountains and rivers―grasses and trees―and the tumulus and the dam. That were so nice I could somehow forget my troubles.
I reminded me of her words: “Do you take the easy way out, eh?” If you enjoy what you do, she means you have not so much work, but if I had said “I studied very hard,” would she have been okay? Definitely not. At least I should have said so. I had made her cringe, like she had just caught sight of something loathsome. Honestly, I hated it when her mouth was slack with emptiness.
A few days after I restarted my practice, My school teacher, Miya, was going to visit me. Not because I was a bad student, it was the rule for the teacher to do each student one time during their practice period. I had had nothing but a premonition that …
Early in the evening, I waited anxiously for Miya in the staff room. When I noticed her entering my department, I got to my feet from my seat. She was grinning and bobbing her head, and said things to a staff. A middle-aged woman in the light-colored pantsuit, taking care of herself, was standing in the doorway. I approached her, and instead of paying any attention to me, she looked around gingerly. Then, out of nowhere, Umeno stepped up to us; Miya bowed deeply and gave her some gift of a classy paper bag. I knew that her visit was primarily to build a good relationship with Umeno, who was the department manager.
We were sitting silently in the small room and waiting for Matsu. When she entered from the door, I straightened my shoulders with my head bowed. And Umeno started to speak about my progress and Miya nodded several times. I apologized again for having been very rude to Matsu, but there was still a kind of tension between us.
“Matsusan told me that you were out of control. You have been in trouble and were a kind of tyrant. I must support her,”Umeno said; Miya glanced at Matsu, nodding sympathetically. I thought it sucked that Miya ditched me there before I at least had a chance to assert myself. That was why I had an uneasy premonition. Inside the small room were Umeno, the manager who considered me troublesome, and Matsu, the case advisor who cooked up things about me, and Miya, my school teacher who tried to get along with them, all women without me.
What could I do in a woman’s world where that is the norm? Probably there is a proper way you are supposed to deal with them. We Japanese people have a conscience in the same way Westerner do. However, we have lived so long under the great pressure to conform, like we do not have an individual self.
“You need to think about whether you really want to study here, and I want to know what you think.” Umeno looked at me soberly and Miya did not say anything, grim and tense and righteous. I used to know how to feel―anger, chagrin and hatred. These were lessons best forgotten. The more I would say my candid opinion―which would sound like a freaky person is complaining or protesting.
“Please give me another chance to learn here, I’m going to make exertion,” I looked Umeno in the eyes. “I take a vow not to make Matsusan discomfort on me.” To show a sign of my remorse, I looked down and kept my eyes fixed at a point on the floor until she would forgive me. What else could I do?
I was a young man with a Japanese man’s understanding of things at that time I must get this qualification that brought me a stable life. Moreover, I thought that I could start my life over until I was in my twenties, and fearing that if I failed in my practice, I would be a part time worker forever, and my parents paid for school fee for an unworthy son.
Umeno asked Matsu: “You will forgive him, won’t you? He’s reflecting upon his things.” Matsu was fazed a little. “If Ksan is okay with me,” she pinched her lips together, while Miya looked at her with concern.“Of course. You have been keen on teaching me. I really appreciate you.”I said. And then she turned away, made some excuse and left the room.
Finally Umeno gave me an ultimatum. “Let’s reduce your assignments. You aren’t at that level yet.” I used to be filled with chagrin at having been so misled and I felt great pride in discharging my duty over my practice. But I had ceased to feel. “I’m so sorry to come here as an immature student,” I bowed. Miya looked anxious, studying us. Perhaps she conjectured that I did not really think so and her perspective was entirely different from that of Umeno―I am not stupid. In my school, she was a blight, cheerful person, but this time she was careful not to be intrusive.
“Don’t worry. I’ll support you as far as possible so that you’ll have to succeed in your practice,” Umeno said, calmly, Miya nodding and nodding with her hand on her knees, as if she had been carrying out her mission. I knew that Japanese kept nodding even when they did not agree.
To see her off, I walked with Miya toward the entrance of the building, following a few steps behind. She had been just sitting there, in a strange kind of limbo, which seemed to make her feel vaguely guilty. As far as I was concerned, she was usually chatty. I waited and waited for her words to come. Nothing. With passing by several people―the hum of conversation―the silence between us was profound.
I was not used to see this jittery teacher in the light-colored pantsuit that was not suited her, and I looked out the glass windows at my DragStar, the only one I could trust. Its metallic silver tank shined in the sun’s shaft. I admired what an imposing figure he was. At one point she looked back and smiled at me, trying to convince herself that her visit was effective. And then, nothing, Blank. I prompted her. “How about Tokumitsu? My good fellow. We hadn’t been in touch for long.” He was so eccentric person I thought this kind of soul-sucking practice was not for him. “He dropped out,” she glanced behind her at me. I grew depressed or nervous, knowing I would never see him in my school.
When she pushed the entrance door, she recovered her sense of being a teacher.“Your practice will be going well, won’t you?” That was just empty words.“Yes. I’m sure I will,” I said, reassuringly. We feigned that the exchange was mutually satisfying. I thanked her and watched her walk off under sunset-pink skies.
