Mitsuru’s attentiveness, and she did not have my kind of heartlessness.
In the final analysis, there was something about her that was fundamentally weak. Kazue did not harbor any demons; in that sense she was similar to Yuriko. They were both at the mercy of whatever came 6 o
G R O T E S Q U E
their way, which I found terribly predictable. I wanted more than anything to plant a demon in their hearts.
“Why don’t you lodge a complaint?” I said to Kazue. “Why don’t you talk about it during homeroom?” The instructor in charge of homeroom didn’t do anything but take attendance and go over the day’s schedule.
There was hardly any point to having a homeroom. And it would be very uncool for a student to instigate a debate on some topic and try to get some kind of consensus. But Kazue leaped on my suggestion with alacrity.
“That’s it! What a good idea. I owe you one.” Just then we could hear the chimes signaling the end of the class period. Kazue walked off. She didn’t even say good-bye to me.
I was relieved when Kazue left, and I felt lucky to have gotten through the tennis lesson without having to do anything but chat. The gym and home economics classes at Q High School for Young Women were pretty lax. The instructors only paid attention to those who were eager to be involved.
That was the pedagogical doctrine of the teachers at Q High School for Young Women: independence, self-reliance, and self-respect. Students were encouraged to do whatever they wanted because only they had responsibility for their own growth. Rules were lax and much was entrusted to a student’s own sense of self-determination. For the most part, almost all the instructors were themselves Q graduates. Having been nurtured in the pristine purity here, the pedagogical doctrine they preached was anything but abstract. They carefully instilled in us the belief that all things were possible. A wonderful lesson, don’t you think?
Both Mitsuru and I secredy clung to this teaching. I had my maliciousness and Mitsuru her intelligence. Together our good points stretched and grew, and we nurtured them and struggled to stand on our own in this corrupt world.
6 1
N A T S U O K I R I NO
3
It was early one rainy morning in July when the phone call came announcing my mothers death. I’d finished making the lunch I was going to take to school and was just starting to prepare breakfast. Toast and jam with tea. I had the same breakfast every morning.
My grandfather was on the veranda talking to his bonsai, as was his habit. In the midst of the rainy season the bonsai tended to attract both bugs and mold, so they required particular attention. Grandfather was so busy dealing with themheedless of the rainthat he didn’t hear the phone.
Once the butter melted on the hot toast I had to begin spreading the strawberry jam. It was important for me to spread the jam so that the black seeds were evenly distributed, but I had to be careful not to let the jam drip over the edges of the toast. Timing was everything because it was also essential that I dunk the Lipton’s tea bag into the cup twice and then remove it. I was very busy with my preparations, so I called out angrily to my grandfather when I heard the phone.
“Aren’t you going to answer?”
My grandfather turned back to look at me from over his shoulder. I pointed to the telephone.
“Get the phone. If it’s Mother, tell her I’ve already left for school.”
The sky outside was gray and the rain poured down so heavily you couldn’t even see the top floor of the apartment building on the other side of the complex; it was hidden in mist. Because it was so dark, we’d had the fights on since morning. Neither night nor day, it seemed spooky.
It never occurred to me to ask why my mother might be calling me at this hour. The time difference with Switzerland was seven hours; it would have been midnight there. Since they never called this early in the morning, it suddenly
In the final analysis, there was something about her that was fundamentally weak. Kazue did not harbor any demons; in that sense she was similar to Yuriko. They were both at the mercy of whatever came 6 o
G R O T E S Q U E
their way, which I found terribly predictable. I wanted more than anything to plant a demon in their hearts.
“Why don’t you lodge a complaint?” I said to Kazue. “Why don’t you talk about it during homeroom?” The instructor in charge of homeroom didn’t do anything but take attendance and go over the day’s schedule.
There was hardly any point to having a homeroom. And it would be very uncool for a student to instigate a debate on some topic and try to get some kind of consensus. But Kazue leaped on my suggestion with alacrity.
“That’s it! What a good idea. I owe you one.” Just then we could hear the chimes signaling the end of the class period. Kazue walked off. She didn’t even say good-bye to me.
I was relieved when Kazue left, and I felt lucky to have gotten through the tennis lesson without having to do anything but chat. The gym and home economics classes at Q High School for Young Women were pretty lax. The instructors only paid attention to those who were eager to be involved.
That was the pedagogical doctrine of the teachers at Q High School for Young Women: independence, self-reliance, and self-respect. Students were encouraged to do whatever they wanted because only they had responsibility for their own growth. Rules were lax and much was entrusted to a student’s own sense of self-determination. For the most part, almost all the instructors were themselves Q graduates. Having been nurtured in the pristine purity here, the pedagogical doctrine they preached was anything but abstract. They carefully instilled in us the belief that all things were possible. A wonderful lesson, don’t you think?
Both Mitsuru and I secredy clung to this teaching. I had my maliciousness and Mitsuru her intelligence. Together our good points stretched and grew, and we nurtured them and struggled to stand on our own in this corrupt world.
6 1
N A T S U O K I R I NO
3
It was early one rainy morning in July when the phone call came announcing my mothers death. I’d finished making the lunch I was going to take to school and was just starting to prepare breakfast. Toast and jam with tea. I had the same breakfast every morning.
My grandfather was on the veranda talking to his bonsai, as was his habit. In the midst of the rainy season the bonsai tended to attract both bugs and mold, so they required particular attention. Grandfather was so busy dealing with themheedless of the rainthat he didn’t hear the phone.
Once the butter melted on the hot toast I had to begin spreading the strawberry jam. It was important for me to spread the jam so that the black seeds were evenly distributed, but I had to be careful not to let the jam drip over the edges of the toast. Timing was everything because it was also essential that I dunk the Lipton’s tea bag into the cup twice and then remove it. I was very busy with my preparations, so I called out angrily to my grandfather when I heard the phone.
“Aren’t you going to answer?”
My grandfather turned back to look at me from over his shoulder. I pointed to the telephone.
“Get the phone. If it’s Mother, tell her I’ve already left for school.”
The sky outside was gray and the rain poured down so heavily you couldn’t even see the top floor of the apartment building on the other side of the complex; it was hidden in mist. Because it was so dark, we’d had the fights on since morning. Neither night nor day, it seemed spooky.
It never occurred to me to ask why my mother might be calling me at this hour. The time difference with Switzerland was seven hours; it would have been midnight there. Since they never called this early in the morning, it suddenly
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