I returned to Tokyo at the end of the month. It was long before I left his summer retreat. When we parted, I asked him if I could visit his home from time to time. He simply said, "Yes, come in". At the time, I thought I was getting to know him well, so I was expecting a few more words from him. So this lacklustre reply hurt my confidence a little.
I was often let down by my teachers on these matters. My teachers seemed to be both aware of this and completely unaware of it. I was not inclined to walk away from my teachers because of this, despite another series of minor disappointments. Rather, the opposite was true: every time I was shaken by uncertainty, I wanted to move forward more. I thought that if I kept moving forward, something I had anticipated would one day appear satisfyingly before my eyes. I was young. But I did not think that my young blood would work so honestly towards all human beings. I did not understand why I felt this way only towards my teacher. It was only today, when he passed away, that I began to understand. He did not hate me from the start. His occasional curt greetings and seemingly indifferent behaviour were not an expression of his displeasure to keep me away from him. The hurtful teacher was warning those who tried to approach him to stop, because they were not worth approaching. The teacher who did not respond to the nostalgia of others seems to have despised himself first before despising others.
I had come back to Tokyo with the unspoken intention of visiting my teacher. There were still two weeks to go before classes started, so I thought I would visit him. However, as two or three days passed after my return, the feeling of being at KAMAKURAgradually faded away. Then the air of the big city that coloured over it, along with the strong sting that accompanied the revival of my memories, thickly stained my mind. Every time I saw a student's face in the street, I felt hope and nervousness for the new school year. I forgot about my teacher for a while.
After about a month of classes, a kind of slackness began to form in my heart again. I began to walk down the street with a kind of lacklustre look on my face. I looked around my room hungrily. The teacher's face appeared in my mind again. I wanted to see him again.
The first time I visited the teacher's house, he was not there. I remember that the second time I went was the following Sunday. It was a beautiful day with a clear sky that made me feel as if I were sinking into my body. Sensei was away that day as well. When I was in Kamakura, I heard from Sensei himself that he was usually at home. I also heard that he disliked going out. When I came twice and didn't see him both times, I remembered those words and felt a sense of frustration that I had no reason to feel. I did not leave the doorstep immediately. I stood there a little hesitant when I saw the servant's face. The servant, who I remember taking my card last time, left me waiting and went inside again. Then someone who looked like a wife came out in her place. She was a beautiful woman.
I was told by him where he went. He told me that every month on that day, he would go to a certain Buddha in the cemetery at ZOUSHIGAYAto lay flowers. I just left, and I may or may not have enough," his wife said apologetically. I bade her goodbye and went outside. After walking about a block or so towards the busy town, I decided to take a walk to Zoshigaya. My curiosity was also aroused as to whether or not I would be able to meet the doctor. So I immediately dug my heels in.
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