Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven. Matthew 5:3. One of the most famous of Jesus’s teachings. Aoyama wasn’t officially a minister yet and wasn’t used to being in the position of teaching anything to anyone. Somehow, though, he’d ended up running a Bible study-cum-English language class, and it was actually quite popular.
It had started as a course where children could learn basic grammar and vocabulary using the Bible as an aide. But soon, housewives with time on their hands during the day who wanted to better themselves and older people who’d retired and needed something to do also showed interest in it. The demand was great enough that Aoyama had established a class for adults on weekday afternoons.
His sister Shouko was a qualified minister and good at teaching to boot, but the congregants all insisted they wanted Aoyama to take charge. Apparently, the reason for this was just that he looked somewhat Caucasian. Mr. Toshioka, an old man who’d been coming to the church since his grandfather’s day, had said, “It’s better to learn from a native, if that’s the word I want.”
Obviously, Aoyama wasn’t a native speaker. Far from it. But he must have given off the impression he was one. Most microwave dinners were basically the same on the inside, but the ones with popular characters on them were bound to sell better. It was the same thing here. To have people select him but not necessarily because of his abilities gave him mixed feelings.
There probably weren’t any people coming to the class who really wanted to improve their English skills. What they actually wanted was a meaningful way to use their spare time. And that quest for meaning made them serious about it in their own way.
“Teacher, I have a question.”
“Oh, yes?”
He turned in the direction of the voice to see Emi Shimamoto raising her hand. The way several stray strands of her hair fell across her face made her look very delicate and pretty.
“It’s about this ‘the poor in spirit’ part. We’d say kokoro no mazushii hito in Japanese, I think. Doesn’t that mean someone who’s mean or stingy? Why should heaven belong to people like that?”
Her question wasn’t related to English per se, but it was a reasonable one. Aoyama had wondered the same thing when he was a boy. He’d only understood once he read a book called THE MESSAGE: THE BIBLE IN CONTEMPORARY LANGUAGE by Eugene H. Peterson, an American minster. This was a new translation from the original Greek and Hebrew designed to be easier to understand for modern readers. In that translation, “the poor in spirit” had been rephrased to put more emphasis on people who lacked support for their spiritual convictions.
He knew he’d just be parroting Peterson’s words, but it seemed like the best answer.
“It might be better to think of this passage as ‘blessed are those who are persecuted because of their righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.’ That should make it easier to understand. In other words, heaven waits for those who suffer in this life.”
“We’re getting off track. This has nothing to do with English. Ms. Shimamoto, if you’re going to ask questions, try to keep them relevant.”
Mrs. Shimoda, a local housewife, had cut in with an objection. She was a devoted churchgoer who attended services practically every day. For one reason or another, she seemed to get awfully prickly around Emi.
“And you, Mr. Aoyama. You shouldn’t give special treatment to her just because she’s pretty.”
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
Mrs. Shimoda furrowed her brow exaggeratedly. Emi Shimamoto was beautiful; that much was true. With her dewy, downcast eyes, lustrous black hair that reached down to her waist, and curvy figure, a lot of men would probably consider her the perfect woman.
Aoyama had never put too much stock in physical appearance, however, even during his youth. At most, he had a vague awareness that it was good to keep oneself clean and tidy. The women he’d gone out with didn’t have a lot in common visually but had all been highly knowledgeable and fun to talk to. In Emi’s case, he recognized the aesthetic value of her appearance but didn’t feel anything romantic toward her. All the same, being accused of doing so did make him feel a little awkward.
When Aoyama tried to think about someone who was beautiful, the image that drifted into his mind wasn’t Emi but Toshihiko. He firmly believed that it was wrong to judge others purely by appearance. He conceded that humans were inevitably drawn toward the physically attractive. But he felt contempt for anyone who was only nice to good-looking people or discriminated against people who didn’t measure up to a certain standard of beauty.
And yet when he looked at Toshihiko, he knew he had no right to look down on those who acted that way. Was there a single human being in the world who wouldn’t treat Toshihiko as something special? Even Rumi, who didn’t appear to harbor any particular attraction toward him, would say things like “Don’t stare at me like that—you’re making me blush” when he was around.
Put simply, Aoyama found Toshihiko terrifying. Whatever the beautiful man thought of him, Aoyama felt self-conscious just from standing near him. Toshihiko probably picked up on that awkwardness. Aoyama hoped he wasn’t offended. Remorse would well up within him whenever he thought about it.
“Oh, so heaven is set aside for us…”
Emi’s comment, barely more than a murmur, pulled him back to the moment. Emi smiled wanly, unperturbed by Mrs. Shimoda’s animosity.
“This ‘blessed are’ uses an inverted word order for dramatic effect. In normal conversation, it would be more natural to say, ‘The poor in spirit are blessed…’”
Curious as to why Emi seemed so pleased, Aoyama went on with the class. But his mind was elsewhere. Specifically, he was wondering if there was anything he could do about this “Haruko” apparition that’d been causing Nanaka and Toshihiko so much trouble. Rumi had said she needed to look into something and left the office. He didn’t have any leads he could pursue on his own. The best he could do was tidy up a little and check if they’d received any new requests. More than ever, he felt frustrated at his own uselessness.
“You’re a good person, Mr. Aoyama. You’ll be fine.”
He turned around in surprise. It was Emi. She and Aoyama were the only ones left in the reception room now. Before he could ask her what she meant, Emi waved good-bye and left. She really was a different person now compared with before.
He’d first met Emi at the headquarters of the religious organization she’d been indoctrinated into. She’d hidden behind the young man who had led the cult, claiming in a quivering voice that she was “disgusting” and “a liar” and that only he would ever love her. It hadn’t been a surprising attitude, considering what they found out about the psychological abuse her brother had inflicted on her over the years. Any sense of confidence or self-respect she possessed had been smashed to pieces a long time ago.
Since the conclusion of the case, however, that timid version of her had vanished without a trace. Emi no longer hid her body underneath oversize clothing and seemed constantly gloomy. She wore stylish, expensive-looking clothes and walked with her head held high. Just the other week, when Mrs. Shimoda had accused her of working in a brothel, Emi simply replied with a beatific smile, “My job is to give others love. I’m sure you’d understand if you tried it.” At that point, Aoyama’s father had interceded and urged them not to judge people by their professions. It was hard to believe Emi could have changed so much in the handful of months she’d been coming to the church.
“What exactly did you say to her?”
Rumi had been the one to rescue her from the cult, so Aoyama assumed she must have had something to do with this transformation. But Rumi had just shook her head.
“I haven’t been in contact with her at all. To be frank, I don’t care what happens to her from here on. If her life has changed for the better, it’s due to your influence, not mine.”
Aoyama hadn’t really done anything, either. He’d asked after her health once or twice and had told her she was welcome to spend time at the church if she ever wanted to talk. She’d been incredibly suspicious at first, but she seemed a lot more comfortable around him now, like he’d won her trust. The teachings of the cult that had taken her in had been loosely based on Christianity, so she might just have been interested in talking to people with similar spiritual views.
Looking back on Emi Shimamoto’s case, Aoyama suddenly remembered something. He wondered why he hadn’t thought of it before now. He packed up his class resources and headed for the office.