Night Patrol Teacher Cont.

【夜回り先生】・【The Night Patrol Teacher】

【夜回り先生】・【The Night Patrol Teacher】

Sorry that I have not posted more translations from his book recently. I am going to blame my fellow ALT for lending me the Twilight series that I became obsessed with and read in my free time…more than once. Anyway, I have translated three chapters to post today. I know that sounds impressive, but the chapters were significantly shorter than previous chapters.

ღ .:*・゚♡゚・*:.ღ .♡.ღ .:*・゚♡゚・*:.ღ .♡.ღ .:*・゚♡゚・*:.ღღ .:*・゚♡゚・*:.ღ .♡.ღ .:*・゚♡゚・*:.ღ .♡.ღ .:*・゚♡゚・*:.ღ

Chapter 6: My Life’s History

In this world there is no human being who is born because they wanted to be born.

We are all born into this world as if we were violently tossed into it.

Parents,
The environment we are born into,
Appearance,
Ability,
All of these things we cannot decide for ourselves.

The children who are born with good luck are inherently promised happiness as they grow.

They are rich with a loving family and always wrapped in big smiles as they mature.

However, those children who are born with bad luck are born into the burden of bearing unhappiness.

Those who cannot oppose the unhappiness suffer as they grow. It is then up to adults’ convenience if that happiness is strongly felt or not by their child.

Those adults who exile children who then become engulfed by sorrow and turn to the kingdom of the night I cannot forgive.

I was also a child sent into the world feeling happiness.

I have no image of my father. As long as I can remember my father was never there. I have never seen my father’s face or figure and any pictures there were of him my mother had disposed of.

I lived with my mother in Kanmura in Yamagata Prefecture. Our home was so decrepit that when it became winter snow would fall through the cracks in the ceiling and walls. Regarding the cold, my only memories are of my mother holding me tightly as I slept.

My mother became a teacher in Yokohama and was separated from me, her only son. As a mother I know the choice was hard, but even with her salary we couldn’t make a life together.

It really was a pitiable lifestyle and not just because I was poor. What made it worse was that I felt lonely without my parents. With a loneliness that was intolerable, I always sought to feel like I belonged and admitted to my loneliness.

Even at the smallest opportunity I would search for other’s faces. I reached out desperately for affection. However, as mysterious as it seems, the more I tried the more I became lonely. As I tried with all my might to get attention, people would avoid me. As a child who suffered more than one complex, there was not a single person who I could call my friend.

The only thing that supported my heart was a swing located in a plaza in town.

When I think about it now, it was only some rope and a board hanging from a tree. But, for someone like me who had no friends, it was the best playmate in the world.

Being poor, having no parents, none of these were my fault. None of them I wanted. So why, even though I did not have these desires, was I born into a world where I had to live in a very painful environment? As I swung with all my might on that swing, I held grudges against many things. Against a poor family life, against parents who left me, against a city’s people who made my unhappiness, and against a loneliness feed by Yamagata’s unforgiving climate.

Even after all this, I still wanted to see my mother. Always thinking of my far away mother, I imagined myself flying to her side in Yokohama as I swung on my swing.

Even now I can’t forget just how strong my loneliness was.

This is why I, who had wounds in my childhood, want to meet more of the children who share the same pain. They become delinquents, but they don’t become them because they want to.

They have no desire for such a life and maintain a fierce loneliness that they do not know how to endure.

To help erase their pain from loneliness, I entered the night and there I try to save as many children from becoming damned.

Before they suffer too much I want them to meet someone who cares.

Chapter 7: Kenji

Yokohama – In a park on a hill where you can see the port I encountered a second year junior high school student named Kenji. Kenji was different from other boys his age. He wore a woman’s blouse and skirt and even stockings as he skipped around the park in the middle of the night.

It was the type of scene where even someone like me is hesitant to call out to him. Up to this point I had encountered many types of children, but someone like Kenji was entirely new to me.

Just as I expected, when I made an attempt to communicate with him and listen to his situation, I could not effectively do that. Whenever I strengthened my voice, even just a little, Kenji would shout words and phrases I could not understand and make like he was going to run away. Only he was allowed into the safe world he had created and put himself in. All intruders were pushed away and denied entry. Having no idea what to do, I decided to try and invite him to get something to eat.

“Are you hungry? Shall we go get something to eat?”

As I said this, Kenji’s face burst into a smile. No matter what world we create for ourselves, food is always an acceptable means of entry for others.

Kenji’s stomach was bottomless.

I took him to a family restaurant where he ate spaghetti, hamburger steak, steak, cake…order after order until he had devoured away for two hours. When I looked at him, I was suddenly reminded of myself when I was very poor. Now, happiness comes in many forms for me and it can be difficult to figure out what brings me the most happiness, but when I was younger food was the only thing that brought me any happiness.

The restaurant’s customers were all starring with curiosity. Besides Kenji’s bottomless stomach, of course their stares were because I had escorted a cross-dressing junior high school boy to a family restaurant in the middle of the night. To avoids everyone’s awkward gazes, we left the restaurant.

I took Kenji back to his home and was shocked at what I saw when I entered his room. Adult videos and empty bottles of shochu covered the floors and the kitchen area showed no signs of usage under a thick layer of dust. A futon given to him by his father lay in the corner of the room.

There was no way for Kenji to live a stable life in this environment.

The me who passed this judgment talked with Kenji’s father and we agreed that he should be left in the care of an institution.

However, this was probably all just in my mind.

Afterwards, I went to visit Kenji at the institution and I found in tears as he hit me over and over again. He was silent, but it was clear what his reason was for being angry with me. I was the evil person who had robbed him of his irreplaceable father.

The next time I went to visit, I tried desperately to have my reasons understood. I did not put him here because I hated him. I really liked him. I just wanted to give him a healthy and stable lifestyle. He might be separated from his father right now, but the day would come when they could live together again. So, until that time I wanted him to show a little patience.

Conversely, two years later Kenji’s father passed away.

I was, and still am, very troubled by this. Was I really right in separating Kenji from his father? Would it have been better if they had lived together for those two years? These questions still remain unanswered.

Now, Kenji works at an annex of the institution where he scales electric wires and works on an assembly line. When I go to visit him he presents me with a mixed face, but he still runs to greet me. It will take time, but I believe that someday he will understand why I did what I did.

I cherish that belief.

Chapter 8: Poverty

When I was in elementary school, I hated field trips. In the home I grew up in in Yamagata, we could not afford to make and put side dishes in a bento. All we could afford was one small salt or miso flavored onigiri.

Bringing such a thing on a school trip was too embarrassing for me, so I always lied to my grandfather by saying, “I don’t need to bring a bento on my school’s field trip.”

At that time, it was my norm and I expected to always have an empty stomach. If I ate until my belly was full, it meant that my grandfather was unable to eat. This is why my family always put on a face that said, “I’m full,” while we ate so as not to make each other worry. But, it is because of all that pretending that my only real happiness was when I had a full stomach.

The annual school sport’s festival always made me happy. The sport’s festival was a festival for the whole town, so adults always prepared large bentos filled with delicious food and socialized while drinking beer and cheering on the children. Of course, my grandfather did the impossible and made tamagoyaki, stewed dishes, and roll sushi for me. My lunch did not have salmon or beef like the other children, but those lunches my grandfather made were the best type of luxury to me.

If you constantly pick apart my childhood and compare it (to others) it becomes a very sad one, but my improvised childhood was by no means something completely unhappy.

This is something that I only slightly realized when I was a child.

Humans are born and all they can do is live.
But, even in that I believe there is happiness.
ღ .:*・゚♡゚・*:.ღ .♡.ღ .:*・゚♡゚・*:.ღ .♡.ღ .:*・゚♡゚・*:.ღღ .:*・゚♡゚・*:.ღ .♡.ღ .:*・゚♡゚・*:.ღ .♡.ღ .:*・゚♡゚・*:.ღ

I am really glad that he wrote about himself in these chapters. I have not mentioned this before, but apparently Mizutani-sensei has a form of cancer and has been very sick for a long time. Despite illness, and I can only assume doctors telling him to take it easy, he still stays out all night to protect the children that society neglects or has given up on. Vatican, you need to saint this guy.

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