Vignette #5: 数学の先生 (The Math Teacher)

On an early spring day in a rural town in northern Japan, before the cherry blossom excitement had started, a young man stared out the window at the passing cars. Or at least, pretended to stare at them. His blue eyes, the only pair in the room, could not help but fall repeatedly on the young math teacher sitting directly opposite his desk. The young woman went about her work, stamping and writing and erasing and shuffling, oblivious to the young man’s gazes. He let his stares fall longer, until he was no longer even glimpsing out the window. Her pale face was delicate without being doll-like, and glowed with warmth. She had a rather weak chin, which he did not care for, but it wasn't noticeable when she was talking or smiling. She seemed self-conscious of the feature, and oft held her mouth pursed just slightly, as if about to speak. Shoulder length strands of hair fell over her face, in the way that Japanese hair does, and she continued to work without brushing it aside. Yet it was the math teacher’s eyes that drew the man’s attention. He quietly hoped she would look up suddenly to catch him, and at the same time, he did not want to interrupt her work. A sudden bustle in the office caused him to look away. A group of students entered the faculty room and went about their daily, obligatory janitor duty. Briefly the young man felt guilty, first for his lazy lapse, and then for staring, before remembering he had little to do. Peering out the window again, he noticed the snow was blowing by faster than the cars, and the cold rays of sunlight piercing the blustery storm.