The Devotion of Suspect X - Keigo Higashino [79]
“I don’t like saying this, but really at this point the tests are just a formality. We can’t let the students go on to the next grade with failing marks. And I know you don’t like doing all these extra tests, either, do you? Besides, we’ve had complaints that your tests were too difficult from the beginning. Just—make sure everyone passes, okay?”
Ishigami didn’t think his typical test questions were difficult. They were simple, in fact. There were no departures from the material he had covered in class. Anyone with half a brain, and a rudimentary understanding of mathematical principles, should have been able to solve them. Usually, all he did was change how the problems looked. Surely it would be too easy to use problems straight from the textbooks and practice sheets! Still, the students who simply tried to memorize answers and the ones who hadn’t paid any attention at all were at a loss when faced with basic challenges.
So this time Ishigami had done as the head teacher instructed. He had used representative questions straight from the students’ practice sheets. Anyone who had studied even a little should have had no problem.
Morioka gave a big yawn and looked at his watch. Then his eyes met Ishigami’s. Ishigami expected him to look away, but instead Morioka grimaced and held his hands up over his head in the shape of an X, as if to predict the mark that would be on this paper.
Ishigami tried grinning at him. Morioka looked surprised, then grinned back, and resumed looking out the window.
Ishigami remembered when Morioka had asked him what good differential and integral calculus was. Ishigami had used motorbike racing as an example, but he wasn’t sure if that got through to the boy. Morioka’s attitude didn’t annoy Ishigami. It was only natural to wonder why one had to study something. Once such questions were answered—well, then there was an objective, something to learn toward. And that could lead down the path toward an understanding of the true nature of mathematics.
Yet too many teachers refused to answer simple questions of relevance from their students. No, Ishigami thought, they probably aren’t able to answer them. They taught without really understanding their subjects, simply following a set curriculum, thinking only of coaxing a passing grade from the students so they could send them on their way to make room for next year’s flock. Questions like Morioka’s would have been nothing but an irritation to them.
What am I doing here? Ishigami wondered, not for the first time. Giving students tests just so they could earn points had nothing to do with the true meaning of mathematics. It didn’t mean anything. It wasn’t math, and it wasn’t even education.
Ishigami stood and took a deep breath. “Wherever you are on your test sheets, you can stop.” He looked over the classroom. “I want you to turn your papers over and write down what you’re thinking right now on the backs.”
Confusion washed across the faces of the students in the room. A mutter spread through the class. “What we’re thinking? What does that mean?”
“Specifically, I want you to write down what you think about math. No,” he amended, “just write anything about math at all. You’ll be graded on what you write.”
Every face in the room brightened.
“What grade are you going to give us?” a male student asked.
“Depends on what you write. If you can’t handle actual math, I hope you can at least say something about it,” Ishigami said, sitting back down in his chair.
Every student turned over his or her paper. Some, including Morioka, began to write immediately.
I’ll be able to pass them all now, thought Ishigami with some relief. There was no way to mark a blank answer sheet, but as long as they had each written something, he could assign grades as he saw fit. The head teacher might wonder a bit, but surely he couldn’t complain about Ishigami delivering the passing grades he’d specifically asked for.
The bell rang, indicating the end of the test period. A few of the students