Pagoda, Skull & Samurai Read online

  "Don't give me such nonsense," I snapped at him. "Just do as I say. Go hire a guide and buy a pair of snow boots for me."

  Tucking up the hems of my kimono and tying on my boots securely, I started out valiantly to climb the mountain with my guide, a six-foot-tall woodcutter. After trudging on several hundred yards, I was forced to concede that the innkeeper had been right. The snow was frozen hard on the surface but quite soft and loose beneath. The ascent became steeper and steeper, while my feet kept slipping. A bit discouraged, I spied my guide. To my annoyance, he was steadily gaining ground in his boots of wild boar fur and iron snowshoes.

  Spurred on by my own ruffled pride and competitiveness, I had just caught up with him when the huge man turned on his heel and said, "It's impossible to find the footpath in this snow, so we almost have to follow the valley downward. But if you're willing to chance a little difficulty, we can take a shortcut to the peak, even though the climb is rather steep."

  "Might as well," I replied, resolved to proceed.

  We climbed on for about another three miles. It was dark under the thickly grown firs, pines, boxtrees, and willows. The mountain lived up to its name, Wildwood, so dense and ghastly was the forest. As the winds rustled in the treetops, the water droplets fell from the branches onto my neck, and the moist mountain air assailed my face and filled my lungs, sickening me. The rabbit and deer tracks in the snow gradually disappeared, and little by little, the bird calls ceased to sound. Although my body was damp from the ordeal of climbing, I felt as if the defiling robes of the Five Desires shrouding my mind had begun to peel off, one after another. The Devil of Consciousness, who had raged unchecked in all his supernatural glory until the day before, now seemed lonely, deprived of his allies and kin. I was humbled; I felt as if I were a fugitive from the world.

  "If a man should find himself in such a state of mind when he's nearing his end in decrepit old age, his senses almost gone, how wretched, how helpless and forlorn he must feel," I thought with unaccountable sorrow. At that very instant the cry of a bird sharp enough to pierce a rock burst forth from the treetops. Ducking in fright, I saw an arabesque pattern of fear swirl before my eyes. "I'll take my leave now," I then heard the guide say. "This is the peak separating the two provinces. Bear left as you descend through the valleys down to a marsh and then walk along its left perimeter until you find the headwaters of the Kata-shina River, which they call the Tone River downstream. Its flow will lead you to the hot spring village of Ogawa, which is over ten desolate miles from where we are now. Be careful not to lose your way. Now, farewell."

  I was left alone, feeling doubly forlorn. The false courage I had displayed in the morning had already shriveled. I looked vacantly down the mountain. The sunlight was weak under the leaden sky, and the Aizu Mountains, said to be visible on most days, were hidden behind clouds. The tips of my toes were turning cold even as I stood there. I descended the mountain, alone and apprehensive. My snow boots kept slipping, my shins were buffeted by sharp jags of ice, my cheeks brushed against rocks, and my clothes tore on tree branches buried under snowdrifts. I walked and walked, but the marsh was nowhere to be seen. I began to wonder if I had lost my way. Breaking off some birch twigs, I made a fire to warm myself and ate the riceballs. They were as tasteless as wood shavings, but they served at least to stave off hunger. Somewhat fortified, I proceeded, carefully studying the terrain and correcting my direction. Since I disdained to own a watch, I could not even tell what time it was. To my horror, darkness was swiftly descending. I groaned. The same thing had happened to me once before, on my last trip to Mt. Ara. Not another ordeal like that, I prayed, hurrying on.

  At last I found myself at the edge of a marsh. Leaving me no time to savor my relief, the sun set quickly in the valley. The ground was no longer snow-covered, but my feet hurt in the already worn-out boots. To add to my chagrin, one of the boot-strings snapped in half. As I sat down along the path pathetically trying to repair the string, I caught sight of a light flickering faintly in the distance. Elated, I trudged toward the glimmer and came upon a small bamboo-thatched log hut standing beside a large cherry tree. To my surprise, the buds on the tree were still shut tight, indicating how late the spring was in coming here. The hut was extremely simple, without so much as a crude fence, which obviously dispensed with the nuisance of a garden gate. With a stream about six feet wide running alongside, there was no need for the customary bamboo pipe to bring water into the hut.

  Marveling that someone was able to live in such an austere fashion, I stood by the door, through which the light was filtering, and said, "I am utterly exhausted and quite lost after crossing the ridge from the hot spring of Chūzenji. How far is Ogawa? I'm also having trouble walking, since my boot-string broke. Would you be kind enough to spare me a pair of straw sandals?"

  "What a pity." The reply came, strangely enough, in the charming voice of a woman. "Ogawa is about a mile and a half ahead. You can't miss it if you go along the stream. I can well imagine how distressed you are with your footgear worn out, but alas, I have not even a single new pair of straw sandals. If you don't mind my old ones, I would be glad to offer them to you."

  This was strange indeed. A woman in such a mountain hut? I surmised that she might be a hunter's daughter. "My soles are aching," I thought busily, "and the nails on the right small toe and the left big toe are torn. I couldn't possibly walk another mile and a half. I'd better see if I can get a night's lodging here."

  "I hate to impose upon you, but now that I know it's another mile and a half to Ogawa, I realize I couldn't drag my tired body any farther. Please take pity on my aching feet and let me stay for the night."

  "That's out of the question! We have no man here...." So saying, the woman opened the door and leaned halfway out, silhouetted against the glow of the light from behind. She was about twenty-five—a veritable heavenly maiden adorned with a halo—fair of complexion, eyes clear and large, eyebrows long and soft, mouth small and tight; her straight and abundant hair, obviously washed recently, was casually thrown back with only a paper string loosely holding the ends. Startled by her ethereal beauty, I moved a few steps back and stared hard to see if she was not a specter.

  "What a sorry sight you are!" she exclaimed, studying me. "Have you hurt your feet? I see some red stains here and there. And your sleeves must have gotten torn on the twigs and grass blades. You look terribly pale and weary. You certainly will have difficulty covering even the short distance to Ogawa. I really shouldn't let you stay here, you know. Nevertheless, you're not a monk, so I can't very well advise you 'not to leave your heart at a temporary lodging.'* I'll bend my principles this once and let you spend the night here—I don't have the heart to say no."

  She somehow gave me an eerie feeling, but at that point I was in no condition to bring myself to flee. "What else can I do?" I said to myself and sat down. While I was still thanking her, she fetched a small pail of hot water and started washing my feet assiduously.

  "This is embarrassing! I can do it myself."

  "No need to be embarrassed. Now, stretch out your legs."

  As we exchanged such remarks, my feet were cleansed even between the toes. I stepped up into the matted room and exchanged formal greetings with her.

  "Living in the mountain as I do, I haven't much to offer," she explained with a smile. "Fortunately, however, at the back of the house is a hot spring whose source is the same as that of the spring at Ogawa. Why don't you take a bath and recover from the day's fatigue. Here, follow me. If you like, I can scrub your back."

  I was afraid that a fox might be playing a trick on me, but I let the woman lead me by the hand to the bath.

  "I call it a bath," she said, "but it's actually a modest lean-to, barely adequate to keep off the rain. The hot water, though, is from a miraculous natural spa. It will warm you to the bones."

  The tub looked clean and safe enough, so I soaked in the clear hot water, which proved even more satisfying than the famous Chūzenji hot spri
ng. Having shed the miseries of the day, I emerged quite contented.

  The woman was waiting for me. "You may not like wearing such things, but please put these on while I mend your clothes."

  She helped me into a light flannel kimono and a black cotton-padded silk robe. Being women's wear, they were too short in the sleeves, so my arms jutted out comically. But I appreciated her kindness and expressed my gratitude. To be honest, I was more than a little bewildered, wondering what karma had ordained my encounter with such a mysterious hostess.

  "Since the moss on the rocks has soiled your sash, this will have to do for now even if it looks somewhat improper," said the woman, smiling as she handed me a thin scarlet crepe belt. I obediently wrapped it around my waist, resigned to the possibility that it might be made of bewitched wisteria vine. When I sat down by the hearth, she slipped a warm gray-checkered nursery coat over my shoulders.

  "Heaven forbid I should let you catch cold after a bath! I would surely be held accountable by a certain lady somewhere, wouldn't I?" she said with a knowing smile, adding large quantities of wood to the fire. Presently an iron pot hung there came to a brisk boil, and she took it down from its hook.

  "You must be famished by now. Supper is ready. I'm sorry that it's only rice mixed with barley, but at least it's hot. Please excuse the inconveniences of mountain living."

  She set up a square butterfly-legged tray and served a bowl of bean-paste soup overflowing with the delicious aroma of mountain asparagus. Gratefully I proceeded to eat every bit of it.

  "Perhaps I'll join you and finish my supper." Without ceremony she began to eat. Lacking her own tray, she was about to place her bowl on the wooden frame edging the hearth cut in the floor, but she hesitated for a moment, obviously unaccustomed to such an arrangement.

  "Please use this for yourself," I offered, pushing my tray toward her.

  "In that case, let us try what they call the 'tête-à-tête.' Allow me," she said without even blushing.

  I found her behavior since my arrival quite beyond my comprehension. After supper, she quickly cleared the tray and dinnerware, sat close to the lamp, and set about mending my torn clothes by the flickering light. It was most baffling to see a woman behave without pretense or coquet-tishness—as though she were my wife of ten years.

  "What or who could she be?" I wondered inwardly. Her black hair was too long and supple for a religious recluse, and she was obviously not a nun. Then why should she be living deep in the mountains all alone without a man to appreciate her beauty? To my own vexation, I was such a poor conversationalist that I was still struggling to get out a question when she finished mending my clothes. Leaving them neatly folded in a stack, she came over and sat facing me across the hearth, smiling.

  "I have no idea why a young man like you would take a trip like this, but you must have had some interesting experiences in your life."

  "Not at all. Much as I enjoy traversing the mountains, I can't even compose a poem worth reciting, for I simply have no literary talent. From what I've seen so far, you yourself seem to be leading an idyllic life, so I presume you are well born. Yet, you, a young woman, are secluded in a desolate mountain hut. If you could tell me about the circumstances which must lie behind this..."

  "Far from it!" she laughed. "What momentous circumstances could possibly affect the life of such a humble person as myself? I am just a carefree woman called Tae, who moved here only last year. And you?"

  "A carefree man who calls himself Rohan."

  "Oh, you declare yourself to be carefree?"

  "That's right."

  "On what basis are you carefree?"

  "It is simply that I feel merry over mountains and rivers without knowing why. What about you?"

  "Carefree merely from renouncing the world."

  "I don't believe it! If you had really renounced the world, you'd be dressed in a black robe. Your head would be shaven. You'd be gathering flowers by the mountain path in the morning and dipping the pure water from the valley stream in the evening to offer before the Buddha's image. And you would most certainly perform religious services every day, reading sutras and chanting the Buddha's name. But I see no rosary in your hand. And for whose sake do you keep your black hair so long and abundant? Some women of the distant past are said to have gone so far as to burn their own faces with a hot iron upon forsaking the world. And, though it lacks red, your silk undergown does show sensuous gay shades. I can hardly believe what you say. Aren't you merely pretending to hate the world? Perhaps you had some reason to spite your lover and, in the course of a quarrel, you hid here to sulk. It is a well-known scheme to recaptivate the heart of a man who is showing the signs of growing weary of his love. Right?... Oh, I beg your pardon. I seem to have gotten quite carried away by my own imagination."

  "My, my! How dreadful! It is not for any such frivolous reasons at all, but honestly to escape from the world that I-"

  "You are being facetious. Otherwise, you could tell me the exact reason why you left the world."

  "While you are asking needless questions, the night grows late. It's time you went to bed," she said, reaching for the closet to take out the bedding. I expected thin cotton mats, but to my surprise she spread a mattress of scarlet damask silk and a sleeved coverlet of blue figured-satin, replete with a red silk lining and a sea-otter fur collar, all prodigiously opulent.

  "Now, please lie down." She pushed me toward the bed and set up a small folding screen around it.

  "Well, then, with your leave I will." I lay down, forced to break off our conversation.

  The round brocade pillow graced by the cranes-riding-the-clouds pattern would no doubt inspire a dream of the supernatural Mt. Hōrai. It seemed to be stuffed with tea leaves; with such an elegant aroma and the unresolved suspicion lingering in my mind, I found it impossible to fall asleep despite all my effort. I peeked from behind the screen and saw the woman sitting like a beautiful doll, reading something by the sunken hearth.

  Still wakeful after an hour had passed, I peered out again and found her in the same position. Two hours later there was still no change. By midnight I was wide awake, recounting in my mind everything that had transpired since my arrival. When I looked once more, she was stirring the ashes with iron chopsticks. The logs had already been quite consumed, so the hearth no longer provided much warmth. She must have felt the chilly wind from Wildwood Pass, for mumbling that she would take a bath, she disappeared toward the lean-to. In a little while she returned and sat up by the hearth, whose fire was by now almost extinguished. She seemed to have nothing particular to do. By then it was quite clear to me that there was no other bedding in the house. As a man I felt ashamed to be lying under warm covers. Pretending to have just awakened, I quickly slipped out of the bed.

  "Washroom?" she asked, and showed me the way.

  Upon returning I assumed a surprised expression and said, "Miss Tae, haven't you gone to bed yet?"

  "No, I haven't."

  "I don't know whom you are expecting to come courting, but it must be quite late by now."

  "Stop teasing me and go back to sleep."

  "Well, I apologize if I'm wrong, but you seem to live alone. In begging for a night's lodging, I'm afraid I robbed you of your own bed. If that's the case, I'm a man who has slept in the open before, so it would be nothing for me to spend a night just leaning against a post. But it pains me to see you sitting up like this. You might find my remaining warmth disagreeable, but please take this bed."

  "True, I have no other bedding, but since I agreed to put you up, I am determined to stay up through the night. Please don't worry about me," she said, blushing slightly.

  "No, no, that's not right."

  "Please don't say no."

  "You're giving me a hard time."

  "You, sir, are giving me a hard time."

  "No, please take the bed, Miss Tae."

  "You take it yourself. I insist."

  "Well, this could go on forever," I said. "I'm a man and ther
efore will take my leave this minute to face whatever hardship lies outside. It would be an eternal disgrace for me to sleep comfortably while leaving a woman to suffer privation. I'd be ashamed to face my mother and friends. A night journey would be much easier to bear."

  "If you insist that strongly, I can hardly argue with you. Yet if I let you travel in the dark now, my good intentions would come to no avail. I therefore will comply with you. But it's as if I had you warm the bed for me, isn't it? How could I let you sleep on the floor by the fireless hearth and tuck myself cozily under the covers? Even if I see my love in a dream, I couldn't possibly enjoy the meeting. There is also such a thing as female pride. I must have you sleep comfortably or I would be ashamed before the Buddha in my eternal disgrace."

  "When you put it that way, I don't know what to do. I'm just a simple unsophisticated soul."

  "In that case, please take my advice and go back to bed."

  "No, you take my advice."

  "You need not insist so stubbornly."

  "Stubborn or not, you should listen to me, Miss Tae."

  "Very well. I can't fight your stubbornness. I shall obey you. What a frightful face you're making," she laughed.

  "I was born with a frightful face."

  "Are you angry now?"

  "Why should I be angry with your kindness? I've just become a little serious; that's all."

  "How sweet. Serious, you say!" she laughed again.

  "Yes, serious."

  "Well, then, I will speak seriously, too. Mr. Rohan?"

  "What?"

  "Do you think that as long as a man gets his way, a woman's wishes need not be granted?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "You force a soft-hearted woman to accept your way, and do you mean to declare heartlessly that it does no harm to her pride?"

  "I don't know."

  "You don't know? That's a cowardly answer. Now, come this way and get in bed with me. I honor your wishes, and you honor my wishes in return. It wouldn't contaminate or dissolve your body, would it? Why are you resisting me so? It's very unfeeling of you."