Koryama（English version）

 In the Russian Empire at the end of the 18th century, just as the new century was beginning, Elena Mikhailovna Koryama was born to a German-speaking mother and a father who searched for stars in an observatory. The wisdom she demonstrated in mathematical physics had a profound influence on various fields in later generations. That is a joke, and this is the story of one elementary school student in a southern port town in Japan in the late 20th century.

Koryama was the class chairperson when I was in the fourth grade at St. Elizabeth's Elementary School (Fictitious Name).
I remember her reading a book during recess. It was a thick book, so I asked her what she was reading and she showed me. It was a Sherlock Holmes mystery novel, not Turgenev's First Love.

I did not study, I spent my time making fun of the world and doing nothing but pranks.

When the teacher was at the blackboard, I kept my mouth closed and made animal noises that could have been pigeons or something. As is still the case today, it is forbidden to have pets in the classroom.
The teacher turned around and said, what is it?  What's that sound? 
He  looked around as if searching for the source of the sound. I looked at him with a curious expression, then turned to Tachiyama, who was sitting in the seat next to me. Tachiyama looked at the teacher with a Serious expression, as if to say, "I don't know anything," but her cheeks were red. She had been sitting beside me since the spring, thinking of the summer vacation that would soon arrive, and praying that the second semester, when we would change seats, would come sooner rather than later.
The teacher turned one eyebrow into the shape of the Nike logo and went back to the chalkboard.

‥‥Sound.

What's that?

Silence

Blackboard

Sound

Who is it?

Silence.

Blackboard

sound

I stopped squealing before he threw chalk at me saying it was you.

Koryama and I were in the same class for the first time in the third grade. To her and the other students, I was nothing but a disaster.
In the fourth grade, the school changed from a wooden to a concrete building.
I took my classes casually, thinking that if I didn't understand a problem in class, I could ask Koryama about it later. Whenever I felt bored, I looked at Tachiyama's face.
She pretended not to notice, but then she couldn't stand the stares, and what?   she said irritably.
Nothing, I said．
don't look, Tachiyama said and copied the words on the blackboard in her notebook.
When I found it difficult to understand the lesson, other students went to Koryama's seat at recess to listen to her. There were no iPhone in the hands of children back then, and ChatGPT was not the answer to the problem. Sam Altman was not yet born.　

One day, in my usual fashion, I asked Koryama how to solve a math problem.
She did not answer. She seemed to be concentrating on reading.
I called out again, "Kouriyama," in a low, reserved voice. She continued reading. I called to her three times, but she did not respond.
I became impatient and anxious.

Kouriyama was equal to everyone.
No matter how much my teachers scolded me, I never learned my lesson. but her silence was bitter and painful. 
Having never seen contempt or resentment in her before, the bad boy reflected on his actions and words, wondering what could have caused such an attitude. Several possible causes of this floated around my head as balloons.
Before Koryama could take such an attitude, I said something joking to Tachiyama about her appearance. She blushed and retorted.
If Koryama had heard the words I had thrown at Tachiyama and was not responding for that reason, I could not think of what to do to her. Although I was a child, I felt like a man who couldn't help himself.
With her silence, Koryama showed me that I was hurting someone and that it was not acceptable.
Koryama did not open her mouth to me that day. Although I was making noise with my friends during my afternoon break, I was concerned about Tachiyama and Kouriyama. In the end, I did not apologize to Tachiyama.
The next day, or maybe days later, I don't remember, Koryama talked to me again. She smiled at my jokes as before.

When I was being awkward with Tachiyama the next morning (please forget about that), she immediately sensed that my mood was different from usual, glanced at me a few times with eyes that said "weird" and moved her chair about 2 cm away from me. Were you really that sensitive?  I wanted to tell her, but I kept quiet.
But I did not stop my habit of staring into Tachiyama's face once a day during class.

I tried to never again spout any jokes about the girls' looks. There was one boy who looked like a girl, but he looked vulnerable. No one wanted to see a face that was hurting. Neither I, my friends, nor any of the other students made fun of him. If anyone did, he or she was sure to be the object of everyone's disgust and disdain.

In the second semester, I sat in the first row across from the podium. Tachiyama was behind me, and I looked forward to handing my question papers to her once per period.

Koryama and I had the same junior high school, but our classes were separated for three years. Tachiyama and I were in the same class for one year 👍😮‍💨 lively students and bright students may have been sorted out.
So I don't remember having any contact with Koryama during middle school.
After graduation, of course, the girls and I went to different high schools and I have not seen either of them since then. I heard from others that Koryama went to law school at a national university.

I left the town where I was born and entered the sociology department of a private university but dropped out because the campus didn't suit me and worked part-time to make ends meet. I did not return home for New Year's and missed greeting my relatives.

I  returned to my house for the first time in several years after starting to work in society. I opened the desk drawer in my room and found my elementary school graduation book. Perhaps my mother had put them there to organize them.
I took it out of the box and unfolded the book.
In a frame in the shape of a rugby ball was a picture of  Kouriyama, the student body president. That's right. I thought as I looked at her calm face.
She was writing words for our future. Her handwriting was printed on it.
Don't lose it," Koryama wrote. I don't have the book here now and can't remember what she was talking about.
However, I would like to imagine how she saw things when she was 12 years old. I still have the memories that allow me to do so.

If I could meet  Koryama, I would like to tell her that seven years after that event, before the summer vacation of my first year of high school, I could not imagine myself working as a company employee, so I threw away my studies for the college entrance examination and started reading books of stories and thoughts. Those books taught me to put my thoughts and feelings into words and to arrange them.

P.S.
If there are any mistakes in the text or parts that are difficult to understand, please let me  know in the comments. I will translate your comments into Japanese using the application, no problem.
I would appreciate any guidance you could give me.