Many thanks to Hanzík for the Czech translations!
“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.”
Kaimu was comforted.
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