No Longer Human ( PDFDrive )

58
Seven Ronin.) Instead I would spend whole days in
the house reading and painting. When my father was
in town I set out for school promptly every morning,
although sometimes I actually went to an urt class
given by a painter in Hongo, and practiced sketching
for three or four hours at a time with him. Having
been able to escape from the college dormitory I
felt rather cynically—this may have been my own
bias—that I was now in a rather special position.
Even if I attended lectures it was more like an auditor
than a regular student. Attending classes became all
the more tedious. I had gone through elementary and
high schools and was now in college without ever
having been able to understand what was meant by
school spirit. I never even tried to learn the school
songs.
Before long a student at the art class was to
initiate me into the mysteries of drink, cigarettes,
prostitutes, pawnshops and left-wing thought. A
strange combination, but it actually happened that
way.
This student's name was Masao Horiki. He had
been born in downtown Tokyo, was six years older
than myself, and was a graduate of a private art school.
Having no atelier at home, he used to attend the art
class I frequented, where he was supposedly continuing
his study of oil painting.