CHAPTER 27

I immediately retrieved the hat. “It fell off, Sensei,” I said, flicking off the red grains of earth that clung here and there.

“Thank you.”

He half-raised himself to take it. Then, still propped there, he asked me something odd. “Forgive the sudden question, but is your family reasonably well off?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“So how well off are you, if you’ll excuse my asking?”

“Well, we own a bit of forested land and a few rice fields, but there’s very little money, I think.”

It was the first time Sensei had directly asked me about my family’s financial situation. I, in turn, had never inquired about his circumstances. When I first met him, I had wondered how he could spend his days without having to work, and the question had remained with me ever since. I had kept it to myself, however, believing it would be discourteous to ask outright.

As I sat here now, my weary eyes steeping in the balm of the fresh spring leaves, the question naturally occurred to me again. “What about you, Sensei? How well off are you?”

“Do I look rich to you?”

In fact, Sensei generally dressed quite frugally. The house was far from big, and he only had one maid. Nevertheless, even an outsider like myself could see that he led a fairly affluent life. Although his lifestyle could hardly be termed luxurious, there was no sense of pinched frugality or straitened circumstances.

“Yes, you do,” I replied.

“Well, I have a certain amount of money. But I’m far from wealthy. If I were, I’d build a larger house.”

Sensei had by now sat up, and was cross-legged on the bench. He traced a circle on the ground with the tip of his bamboo cane. Once it was complete, he jabbed his cane upright into the earth.

“I used to be wealthy, in fact.”

He seemed to be speaking half to himself. I missed my chance to come back with another question, and was reduced to silence.

“I used to be wealthy, you know,” he said again, now addressing me, then he looked at me and smiled.

I continued to make no reply. In fact, I did not have the wit to know how to respond.

Sensei then changed the subject. “How has your father been recently?”

I had heard nothing of my father’s illness since the New Year. The simple letter that arrived each month with my allowance was written in his hand as usual, but he made almost no mention of how he was feeling. His handwriting, moreover, was firm; the brushstrokes gave no hint of the tremors that affect those with his disease.

“No one’s said anything, so I guess he’s fine again.”

“That would be a good thing—still, you have to remember what that illness is like.”

“Yes, I guess he won’t really recover. But he’ll stay as he is for a while yet, I think. There’s been no word about it.”

“Is that so?”

I took his inquiries about my family’s wealth and my father’s illness at face value, as no more than an impulse of the moment. But behind his words loomed a large issue that connected the two topics. I had no way of realizing it, however, since I lacked the experiences that Sensei had been through.