CHAPTER 31

Our conversation that day went no further. Indeed, I had no desire to pursue the subject. I quailed to hear Sensei speak like that.

At the edge of town we caught an electric tramcar, but while riding along together we exchanged scarcely a word. Once we got off, our ways parted.

By now Sensei’s mood had changed again. “You’ll be living free and easy until you graduate in June, won’t you?” he remarked in an unusually jolly tone. “It may actually be the freest time in your life, I shouldn’t wonder. Make sure you really enjoy it, won’t you?”

I laughed and raised my hat. Sensei’s face just then made me wonder where in his heart he could be nursing a hatred of the human race. I detected not the least trace of misanthropy in that smile or those warm eyes.

I freely acknowledge that Sensei taught me much about intellectual questions, but I admit there were also times when I failed to gain what I sought from him in matters of the mind. Conversations with him could be frustratingly inconclusive. Our talk that day would haunt me as such an instance.

One day I frankly confessed as much to Sensei’s face. He was smiling as he listened.

“It wouldn’t bother me,” I continued, “if I thought you didn’t really know the answer, but the problem is, you know it—you just won’t say it in so many words.”

“I don’t hide anything.”

“Yes, you do.”

“You’re mixing up my ideas with my past. I’m hardly a good thinker, but I assure you I wouldn’t purposely conceal any ideas I’d arrived at. What would be the point? But if you’re asking me to tell you everything about my past, well, that’s a different matter.”

“It doesn’t seem different to me. Your ideas are important to me precisely because they’re a product of your past. If the two things are separated, they become virtually worthless as far as I can see. I can’t be satisfied with being offered some lifeless doll that has no breath of soul in it.”

Sensei stared at me in astonishment. The hand that held his cigarette trembled a little. “You’re certainly bold, aren’t you?”

“I’m in earnest, that’s all. I’m earnestly searching for lessons from life.”

“Even if it means disclosing my past?”

The word disclose had a frightening ring. Suddenly the man seated before me was not the Sensei I loved and respected but a criminal. His face was pale.

“Are you truly in earnest?” Sensei asked. “My past experiences have made me suspicious of people, so I must admit I mistrust you too. But you are the sole exception; I have no desire to suspect you. You seem too straightforward and open for that. I want to have trusted even just one person before I die, you know. Can you be that person? Would you do that for me? Are you sincerely in earnest, from your heart?”

“If what I’ve just said is not in earnest, then my life is a lie.” My voice shook.

“Good,” said Sensei. “I shall speak, then. I’ll tell you the story of my past and leave nothing out. And in return . . . But no, that doesn’t matter. But my past may not actually be as useful for you as you expect, you know. You may be better off not hearing about it. Besides, I can’t tell you right now—please wait until I can. It requires a suitable moment.”

Even after I returned to my lodgings that evening, my memory of this conversation continued to oppress me.