“Well, but there are degrees. You know about what you will be doing next year.”
“Do I? What guarantees have I? The future is happily veiled. When I was your age I despaired because no one would accept the indentures of a Japanese. (We are still called Japanese even though our ancestors migrated at the time of the abortive attempt to overthrow the Shogunate and restore the Mikado in 1868.) Suspense instead of certainty would have been a pleasure.”
“Anyway,” said Kimi practically, “it may be months before the next meeting.”
“What do you mean? Isnt there a set time for such business?” Sure there must be, I had never dared ask the exact date.
Hiro shook his head. “Why should there be? The next time the fellows pass on an appropriation or a project, we’ll decide whether there’s room for an historian.”
“But ... as Kimi says, it might not be for months.”
“Or it might be tomorrow,” replied Hiro.
“Don’t worry, Hodge,” said Fumio, “Papa will vote for you, and Mother too.”
Hiro grunted.
When it did come it was anticlimactic. Hiro, Midbin, and several others with whom I’d scarcely exchanged a word recommended me, and Barbara simply ignored my existence. I was a full fellow of Haggershaven, with all the duties and privileges appertaining. I was also securely at home for the first time since I left Wappinger Falls more than six years before. I knew that in all its history few had ever cut themselves off from the haven, still fewer had ever been asked to resign.