her crying from cutting onions one day and had handed her his little handkerchief, how he’d taken third in the handwriting contest.
I thought we’d just give her the class notes and leave, but we ended up going in and sitting down in the living room. Naoki’s mom didn’t seem too thrilled about this, but Werther had apparently been planning on it from the beginning.
I knew the living room, too. I used to play Othello there with his sister. Naoki’s room was right over where we played, and his mother would call up toward the ceiling and tell him to bring down a deck of cards. The sister who took care of me then is off at college in Tokyo now, and there was no way to tell whether Naoki was up there. His mother served us tea and then sat down to talk to Werther.
“Your predecessor is responsible for Naoki’s emotional difficulties,” she said. “If every teacher were as dedicated and enthusiastic as you clearly are, this would never have happened.”
As I watched her, I knew Naoki hadn’t told her what you’d said and done to him that last day in class. If he had, she wouldn’t have been so full of herself, and she couldn’t have sat there bad-mouthing you. Since he hadn’t told her, that meant he was suffering up there all by himself. Anyway, she went on complaining about you—Moriguchi this and Moriguchi that—without mentioning what happened to your daughter. I doubt she even knew that Naoki had been involved.
Naoki never came down, and eventually I realized we were only there to listen to her griping. But Werther sat nodding with this stupid, sympathetic look on his face, as if this was the most wonderful thing he’d ever heard. I’m not sure he was even listening to her.
“Ma’am,” he said, when she finally paused. “I want you to leave Naoki’s problems to me!” There was a noise from upstairs just then, and I looked up at the ceiling again. Naoki must have heard everything.
Still, he didn’t show up for school the next day, or the day after that. On the other hand, that seemed natural enough to us—as natural as the fact that we were all pretending Sh ū ya wasn’t there, even though he was. It seemed the best solution at the time.
They started handing out milk again on the first Monday in June. The Health Ministry had published the results of the pilot program “Promoting Dairy Products to the Nation’s Secondary Students”—“Milk Time”—and the prefecture had decided to follow up with a program of its own.
As class officers, Y ū suke and I had the job of handing out the cartons, but as we made our way around the room, we could feel the air getting heavier, feel the bad memories coming back. Fortunately, no one had to drink the milk. The prefecture had made the case for the benefits, but plenty of parents had complained that their children didn’t like milk or were allergic to it. I’m amazed that there are so many moms and dads willing to spoil their kids like that, but that day it meant that there were no names on the cartons and that we were free to drink or not—and when you looked around, the only person in the room sucking on a straw was Werther himself.
“Hey, hey! What’s the matter? Don’t you know milk’s good for you?” He finished the last drops and crushed the carton. Yumi made the mistake of looking up and catching his eye.
“I’m taking mine home,” she murmured.
“Great idea!” Werther laughed. “A pick-me-up for when you need it.” He watched as we all put our milk in our bags.
Sh ū ya had classroom cleanup duty that afternoon. Just as he was turning around to get the broom out of the closet, there was the sound of something splattering. Y ū suke had thrown his milk carton at him, and his aim was perfect. It had exploded all over Sh ū ya ’s back. I was sitting at my desk working on the class log, and I didn’t realize what had happened at first. There were just a few kids still in the room, but every one of them was
I thought we’d just give her the class notes and leave, but we ended up going in and sitting down in the living room. Naoki’s mom didn’t seem too thrilled about this, but Werther had apparently been planning on it from the beginning.
I knew the living room, too. I used to play Othello there with his sister. Naoki’s room was right over where we played, and his mother would call up toward the ceiling and tell him to bring down a deck of cards. The sister who took care of me then is off at college in Tokyo now, and there was no way to tell whether Naoki was up there. His mother served us tea and then sat down to talk to Werther.
“Your predecessor is responsible for Naoki’s emotional difficulties,” she said. “If every teacher were as dedicated and enthusiastic as you clearly are, this would never have happened.”
As I watched her, I knew Naoki hadn’t told her what you’d said and done to him that last day in class. If he had, she wouldn’t have been so full of herself, and she couldn’t have sat there bad-mouthing you. Since he hadn’t told her, that meant he was suffering up there all by himself. Anyway, she went on complaining about you—Moriguchi this and Moriguchi that—without mentioning what happened to your daughter. I doubt she even knew that Naoki had been involved.
Naoki never came down, and eventually I realized we were only there to listen to her griping. But Werther sat nodding with this stupid, sympathetic look on his face, as if this was the most wonderful thing he’d ever heard. I’m not sure he was even listening to her.
“Ma’am,” he said, when she finally paused. “I want you to leave Naoki’s problems to me!” There was a noise from upstairs just then, and I looked up at the ceiling again. Naoki must have heard everything.
Still, he didn’t show up for school the next day, or the day after that. On the other hand, that seemed natural enough to us—as natural as the fact that we were all pretending Sh ū ya wasn’t there, even though he was. It seemed the best solution at the time.
They started handing out milk again on the first Monday in June. The Health Ministry had published the results of the pilot program “Promoting Dairy Products to the Nation’s Secondary Students”—“Milk Time”—and the prefecture had decided to follow up with a program of its own.
As class officers, Y ū suke and I had the job of handing out the cartons, but as we made our way around the room, we could feel the air getting heavier, feel the bad memories coming back. Fortunately, no one had to drink the milk. The prefecture had made the case for the benefits, but plenty of parents had complained that their children didn’t like milk or were allergic to it. I’m amazed that there are so many moms and dads willing to spoil their kids like that, but that day it meant that there were no names on the cartons and that we were free to drink or not—and when you looked around, the only person in the room sucking on a straw was Werther himself.
“Hey, hey! What’s the matter? Don’t you know milk’s good for you?” He finished the last drops and crushed the carton. Yumi made the mistake of looking up and catching his eye.
“I’m taking mine home,” she murmured.
“Great idea!” Werther laughed. “A pick-me-up for when you need it.” He watched as we all put our milk in our bags.
Sh ū ya had classroom cleanup duty that afternoon. Just as he was turning around to get the broom out of the closet, there was the sound of something splattering. Y ū suke had thrown his milk carton at him, and his aim was perfect. It had exploded all over Sh ū ya ’s back. I was sitting at my desk working on the class log, and I didn’t realize what had happened at first. There were just a few kids still in the room, but every one of them was
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