CHAPTER 42

In mid-August I received a letter from one of my friends, saying that a certain middle school in the provinces had an opening for a teacher and asking me if I would like to take it. This friend was himself actively searching for such a position, from financial necessity. The offer had originally been directed to him, but he had found a position in a better part of the country, so he’d kindly offered it to me. I quickly sent back a refusal, saying that a number of other people we knew were doing their best to find teaching positions, and he should offer it to one of them.

After I sent the letter, I told my parents about it. Neither seemed to object to the fact that I had declined the offer. “There’ll be other good jobs. You don’t need to go off to a place like that,” they both said.

Behind these words I read their exaggerated expectations for my future. Unthinkingly, they seemed to assume I would be able to find a position and salary far above what I could hope for as someone freshly graduated.

“It’s actually very difficult to find a decent position these days, you know. I’m in a different field from my brother, remember, and we’re different generations. Please don’t go assuming it will be the same for me as for him.”

“But you must at least get yourself some independent means now that you’re graduated, or it makes things awkward for us too,” my father said. “How do you think I’d feel if people asked, ‘What’s your son doing now that he’s through university? ’ and I couldn’t reply?” He frowned unhappily.

His view of life was firmly confined to the little world where he’d spent his life. Inquisitive locals had been asking him how much salary a graduate could expect to earn, guessing at princely sums of around a hundred yen a month. That made him uncomfortable, and he very much wanted to get me settled into a position that would save his face.

My own point of view, based as it was on the great cosmopolitan world of Tokyo, made me seem to my parents as bizarre as someone who walked upside down. Even I found myself on occasion considering myself this way. My parents were so many light-years from my own position that I couldn’t begin to confess what I really thought, so I held my tongue.

“Why don’t you go to this Sensei you keep talking about and ask for his assistance?” my mother suggested. “This is surely the very moment he could help.”

These were the only terms in which she could comprehend Sensei. But this was the man who had urged me, when I got home, to ensure that I got my share of the property before my father’s death. He was hardly likely to try to find me a position.

“What does your Sensei do for a living?” my father inquired.

“He doesn’t do anything.” I thought I had told them this long ago. Surely my father remembered.

“So why doesn’t he do anything, eh? I’d have thought someone you respect so much would be in a profession.” My father was gently taunting me. To his way of thinking, useful people must be out in the world, engaged in something suitably impressive. There you are, he was insinuating, the fellow’s worthless, that’s why he’s lazing about doing nothing. “Look at me, now. I don’t get a salary, but I’m far from idle, you know.”

I remained silent.

“If he’s as fine a person as you say, he’ll surely find you a position,” my mother said. “Have you tried asking?”

“No,” I replied.

“Well, what’s the good of that? Why won’t you ask? Go on, just write a letter at least.”

“Mmm,” I replied vaguely, and stood up.