illustrates well the principle of harmony between capital and labour. It is chockful of cream; it’s good to taste, and it’s satisfying.”
The students guffaw.
Akai proceeds to take a banana skin from his left pocket.
“The class struggle is just like this, a banana skin, useless. You can’t eat it; it contains no nourishment; it’s good for nothing.”
He throws it on the floor. By this time the students are beginning to leave. Five or six of them, rising, shout at him, “We can’t stick any rot about cream puff or banana skin!”
The hall is filled with roars of laughter. One student shouts out, “Give us something more scientific!”
Akai flares up. “I’ll give you more than you bargain for. You prodigals! Sponging on your parents! You don’t know anything about society, real society, except lodging-houses and cafes, and then as soon as someone starts to address you, you chip in with ‘scientific’ or something. I’m no scholar; I’m a man of action.”
“You’re a labour fakir,” shouts someone.
“Fool! If you’re so keen on something scientific, and won’t bother to listen to me, you can read a little book here that’ll just suit you, crammed full of learning. I’ll leave it here and you can read it afterwards. This one book will tell you everything under the sun.”
He takes a little book from his pocket, slams it down on the table and starts to make an angry exit. But as he steps down from the platform, his heel
