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chair, groveling about for a spell like an animal.
    The meteorology course began today.
    We were given manju with white bean paste as a snack—a very rare occasion. It was delicious.
    April 4
    Lectures on “ship identification” began today. Finally we are getting some practical knowledge of the war. There are battleships of the West Virginia type, aircraft carriers of the Saratoga and Hornet types, Chicago-class cruisers, and so forth.
    Incidentally, I read over my own journal today, and it unsettled me. Recently (or so I convinced myself, anyway) I have adopted a rather intrepid attitude with respect to death. However, I find that on March 19 I wrote: “Someday I will enter the teaching profession....” Evidently I “think that I must die, but all the while “feel” that I will surely return home alive. True enough, it gets my hackles up when, at every opportunity, our instructors tell us we must die. But really, it is high time I looked death squarely in the face and steered my mind toward it.
    A postcard arrived from Kashima, and I read it over and over again. “Let us end our brief lives together,” he writes, “happily, gracefully, and meaningfully.” I was moved to see that Kashima had at last arrived at such a sentiment. I am certain he wouldn’t say these things merely to please the censors. I mustn’t fall behind him.
    The study session was canceled this evening so that a truly singular man could deliver a lecture. The other day we had a physiognomist, and tonight it was this fox-like orator, this Mr. Gakushu Ohara of the Association for Enhancement of Imperial National Prestige. He is a meager-looking man, about forty years old. He made so many references to ancient texts the— Manyoshu, the Kojiki, Shinto prayers—that his lecture amounted to little more than a succession of esoteric phrases like “ sumerami ikusa,” “kan-nagara no michi, ” “kakemakumo ayani totoki,” and so on, and it was all perfect nonsense to me. Whenever he uttered the phrase kamemakumo ayani totoki (or, we must speak it only in utmost reverence), a reference to the imperial family inevitably followed, and this required us all to assume, each time, a ’ten-hut! posture in our seats. It was bothersome in the extreme. The man is indiscriminately fanatical, and often sounds as if he is chanting. And indeed, he did chant occasionally, joining his palms together. “ A-a-amaterasu o-o-mikami-i, Goddess of the Sun....” None of us students took him seriously. Some snickered, some took out paperbacks to read, and still others snored away. I dozed off myself, halfway through. Several men farted. This gibberish dragged on for two and a half hours, and just when I thought it was finally ending, Ohara announced, “Now I’d like you all to purify yourselves in the waters of Lake Kasumiga-ura.” It was already past nine! Give me a break!! In any case, the division officer dashed over to confer with the executive officer, with the result that the proposal was declined, after all, on the pretext that “a bad cold was going around.” Who on earth got the idea of inviting such a man to speak?
    But no sooner had we seen the lecturer off than the order came. “All hands turn out on the drill ground immediately! On the double!” I knew something was coming, and sure enough, the division officer mounted the platform and spoke.
    â€œHowever the lecture was”—obviously he didn’t think he had heard a fine piece of talking either—“you should have known better. What’s with this attitude of yours anyway? All those who drifted off and passed gas, step forward now!”
    Instantly, a hush descended upon us, which two men broke with their footsteps.
    â€œThere have to be many, many more. Come forward!”
    I had itchy feet, but didn’t go after all.
    â€œSo, you men don’t have the backbone to come