Jinyu, the ancient Abbess Over All Clans And Concerns,
summoned young master Kaimu to her presence.
“A dozen students from the Western Heap are staying in the
village below,” said Jinyu. “They have yet to choose a
vocation and they are curious about programming. Go, spend
the week with them, teach them something.”
Kaimu did this gladly, for he had long wished to foster in
others his own love of the Art of Unseen Engines.
After the week’s end he was summoned again to Jinyu’s
presence. She held in her wrinkled hands a sheaf of letters
with familiar purple postal-marks. “What word from the
students of the Western Heap?” asked Kaimu.
Jinyu whacked the master on the head with her umbrella. “All
have reported unfavorably. Your speech was too rapid, your
slides were too terse, your gestures distracting, your
examples inane, and you gave no bathroom breaks. In the rare
moments when you were not tedious or garrulous, you were
utterly incomprehensible. None thought the class worth
their while.”
Kaimu was aghast. “Did no one learn anything?”
In answer, Jinyu whacked him on the head again. “What now
may be said of Kaimu?”
“That he cannot teach,” said Kaimu miserably.
Jinyu nodded in satisfaction. “Then one thing has been
learned.”
When Kaimu bowed and turned to go, Jinyu stopped him and
said: “From one apple seed a fool makes only a bitter meal,
but the gardener may grow a sweet harvest. Go, find your
shovel.”
