schoolroom, stretching and smoothing out the antiseptic gauze, when she enters. They are here every morning, this soon to be the first graduating class of Nagashima High School, and they remain for lunch, then for their three hours of classes. They work with care, the correct amount of tension when stretching the tears in the gauze, the difference between having to cut the gauze in two, losing a foot or two of the material, or squeezing yet another day of existence out of it.
She doesn’t like coming here, feels uncomfortable among the educated, she herself having attended only seven years of school before beginning her diving at the age of sixteen. She arrived a few years too early to attend school, which only started here last year. Now, although she isn’t all that much older than they are—five, maybe six years—she feels much the elder in this room.
Trying not to draw attention to herself, she goes directly to the corner where the rewrapped gauze and bandages are stacked. But he sees her; she knows it before he even speaks, as if he were waiting for her.
“Good morning, Miss Fuji.”
“Good morning, Mr. Yamai,” she says, continuing in the direction of the bandages, hoping that they will only exchange greetings.
“I didn’t see you getting your shot today.”
“I was a little late.”
“Your leg isn’t any better.” He points at the bandage in her hand. She wants to toss it away, but she sets it in the laundry bag that Mr. Yamai has come to collect. She picks up a new bandage and tries not to walk too fast out of the room. Mr.
Yamai, with the laundry bag flung over his shoulder, follows her. When he catches up, he secretly hands her another bandage, which she quickly thanks him for, shoving it in the left pocket of her jacket.
“I hope to see you on Sunday night, Miss Fuji.”
“I don’t think so, but maybe sometime when my leg is feeling better.”
“Miss Min will be telling a story this week, and this month we’ll be reading some of Natsume Soseki. It will be a good time to attend.”
“I can’t promise, but maybe if my leg is better.”
“I hear you
are telling a story this week, Miss Min.”
“Yes, this week is my turn. Did Mr. Yamai tell you?”
“Yes. Why do you know?”
“Because he wants you to come some night.”
“I’ve told you what I feel about going to those kinds of things.”
“It’s only people telling stories and reading from books.
It’s mostly done for those of us who can’t see well enough to read ourselves. Mr. Yamai is a nice young man. He’s about your age, isn’t he?”
“You sound like a mother trying to marry her daughter off, Miss Min.”
“A lifetime is much too long to be spent alone.”
Although her leg hasn’t improved all that much, she goes on Sunday night. She is surprised by the number of patients who have gathered. In the back of the large room, she finds a cushion and sits. It isn’t long before Mr.
Yamai steps to the front and the voices immediately hush. A studious man— maybe it is the round black-framed glasses, or the fact that he is a teacher at the Nagashima School.
“I’m glad that all of you could make it tonight, and I’d like to welcome the first-timers.” He looks her way and stops for a second. “Tonight we will read several of Natsume Soseki’s short stories. If any of you have any suggestions for future books, please tell me. Before we read from our book tonight, we will have a couple of stories told by Miss Min.”
Mr. Yamai stops talking while the room fills with claps. She searches for Miss Min but doesn’t see her at first, not until the patient next to her points to the right of Mr. Yamai. Miss Min is sitting in a chair, her shy smile deflecting the clapping. She thinks of all the massages she has given Miss Min, and her often talking during them.
“For those of you who haven’t joined us before, this is Miss Min’s seventh time to tell us stories. Okay, Miss Min.”
Again there is clapping,
She doesn’t like coming here, feels uncomfortable among the educated, she herself having attended only seven years of school before beginning her diving at the age of sixteen. She arrived a few years too early to attend school, which only started here last year. Now, although she isn’t all that much older than they are—five, maybe six years—she feels much the elder in this room.
Trying not to draw attention to herself, she goes directly to the corner where the rewrapped gauze and bandages are stacked. But he sees her; she knows it before he even speaks, as if he were waiting for her.
“Good morning, Miss Fuji.”
“Good morning, Mr. Yamai,” she says, continuing in the direction of the bandages, hoping that they will only exchange greetings.
“I didn’t see you getting your shot today.”
“I was a little late.”
“Your leg isn’t any better.” He points at the bandage in her hand. She wants to toss it away, but she sets it in the laundry bag that Mr. Yamai has come to collect. She picks up a new bandage and tries not to walk too fast out of the room. Mr.
Yamai, with the laundry bag flung over his shoulder, follows her. When he catches up, he secretly hands her another bandage, which she quickly thanks him for, shoving it in the left pocket of her jacket.
“I hope to see you on Sunday night, Miss Fuji.”
“I don’t think so, but maybe sometime when my leg is feeling better.”
“Miss Min will be telling a story this week, and this month we’ll be reading some of Natsume Soseki. It will be a good time to attend.”
“I can’t promise, but maybe if my leg is better.”
“I hear you
are telling a story this week, Miss Min.”
“Yes, this week is my turn. Did Mr. Yamai tell you?”
“Yes. Why do you know?”
“Because he wants you to come some night.”
“I’ve told you what I feel about going to those kinds of things.”
“It’s only people telling stories and reading from books.
It’s mostly done for those of us who can’t see well enough to read ourselves. Mr. Yamai is a nice young man. He’s about your age, isn’t he?”
“You sound like a mother trying to marry her daughter off, Miss Min.”
“A lifetime is much too long to be spent alone.”
Although her leg hasn’t improved all that much, she goes on Sunday night. She is surprised by the number of patients who have gathered. In the back of the large room, she finds a cushion and sits. It isn’t long before Mr.
Yamai steps to the front and the voices immediately hush. A studious man— maybe it is the round black-framed glasses, or the fact that he is a teacher at the Nagashima School.
“I’m glad that all of you could make it tonight, and I’d like to welcome the first-timers.” He looks her way and stops for a second. “Tonight we will read several of Natsume Soseki’s short stories. If any of you have any suggestions for future books, please tell me. Before we read from our book tonight, we will have a couple of stories told by Miss Min.”
Mr. Yamai stops talking while the room fills with claps. She searches for Miss Min but doesn’t see her at first, not until the patient next to her points to the right of Mr. Yamai. Miss Min is sitting in a chair, her shy smile deflecting the clapping. She thinks of all the massages she has given Miss Min, and her often talking during them.
“For those of you who haven’t joined us before, this is Miss Min’s seventh time to tell us stories. Okay, Miss Min.”
Again there is clapping,
Similar Books
