expect to lead your former life of luxury on the help that poor old Flatfish can give—don't give yourself any illusions on that score. No— but if you are resolute in your determination to begin again afresh, anti you make definite plans for building your future, I think I might actually be willing to help you to rehabilitate yourself if you came to me for help, though Heaven knows I haven't much to spare. Do you understand my feelings? What are your plans?" "If you won't let me stay here in your house I'll work . ." "Are you serious? Do you realize that nowadays even graduates of Tokyo Imperial University . . ." "No, I wasn't thinking of getting a job with a company." "What then?" "I want to be a painter." I said this with conviction. "Wha-a-t?" I can never forget the indescribably crafty shadow that passed over Flatfish's face as he laughed at me, his neck drawn in. It resembled contempt, yet it was different: if the world, like the sea, had depths of a thousand fathoms, this was the kind of weird shadow which might be found hovering here and there at the bottom. It was a laugh which enabled me to catch a glimpse of the very nadir of adult life. He said, "There's no point in discussing such a thing. Your feelings are still all up in the air. Think it over. Please devote this evening to thinking it over seriously." I ran up to the second floor as though driven, but even when I lay in bed nothing of a particularly constructive nature occurred to me. The next morning at dawn I ran away from Flatfish's house. I left behind a note, scrawled in pencil in big letters on my writing
