Pagoda, Skull & Samurai Read online

  Her soft hand clasped mine firmly. She was beautiful and at the same time almost menacing as she pulled at me with unabashed composure. Chilled with terror to the marrow, I closed my eyes, clenched my teeth, and mentally recited the Chinese poem "Elimination of Desires" by Emperor Wen of Wei:

  In the boundless ocean of sin there is no greater evil than carnal desire. In the tumultuous world of dust there is no sin easier to fall into than lascivious pleasure. Captivated by it, dauntless heroes destroy themselves and cause the downfall of their countries. Great men of letters violate their integrity and disgrace their names because of it. In the beginning it is a simple matter of one's willpower; but in the end, one is beyond redemption for the rest of one's life. Why is it? When the wind of lust grows in its force by the day and Heaven's Law perishes, men take pride in committing deplorable misdeeds without shame. They practice vice that ought to outrage everyone and ought to be despised by all. They write lewd stories and comment upon female beauty. They rivet their eyes on the charming women on the streets and break their hearts over the graceful radiance of noble ladies. Whereas they should praise and respect women chaste and virtuous, they seduce them into transgressions. When they should be compassionate and judicious toward maidservants and female attendants, they resort to force to dishonor them forever. They bring shame upon their relatives and disgrace upon their descendants.

  Men behave thus because their minds are ignorant and their spirits impure. The wise shun them, while only ca-jolers fraternize with them. How can they fail to see it? Heaven never sanctions their behavior, and gods tremble in wrath. Some of their wives must atone for their sins, and sometimes their offspring suffer the retributions. There are no extinct family tombs that are not of the lunatic followers of sensuality; the ancestors of prostitutes were debauchees without exception. Those who could have amassed wealth find themselves excluded from the noble palace, and those who could have attained honor find their names eliminated from the golden roster. In life they meet with all five penalties—lashing, clubbing, labor, exile, and capital punishment. After death they suffer the agonies of the Three Spheres—Hell, Beasts, and Hungry Demons—where the beneficial effects of their previous good karma is exhausted. Of what use is the romantic life of the past, then? Which is better—to disregard advice only to later regret having done so, or to have sense enough not to fall into sin in the first place?

  I respectfully counsel good young men and the eminent persons listed in the golden roster to break the spell of the demon of lust by exercising the power of determination. The fair face of a flowery beauty is nothing but a flesh-covered skull, and gorgeous make-up and adornment are lethal weapons. Even if a woman has a face as beautiful as a blossom or jewel, one should be prepared to regard her as one would one's own sister. Those who have not yet transgressed should guard against taking wrong steps, and those who have already fallen onto the deadly course should lose no time in reversing their direction. It is my hope that my advice will be widely observed and that men will lead one another out of the labyrinth onto the path of universal awakening. With the greatest evil eradicated, all other evils will vanish of their own accord. Only then will the spirit be free to enjoy the eternal glory of life.

  ~2~

  Not nearly as saintly as Liu Hsia-hui, I was nervous enough merely being under the same roof with a woman in the bloom of her youth, as beautiful as a profusion of blossoms in spring. At first I had said to myself, "No matter how many million worldly men should reproach and criticize me, I have a clear conscience. Why should I be troubled by the harmless buzzing of mosquitoes?" And I stayed at this house, sharing the supper tray and conversing with this woman. Although I am by nature quite unperturbed by gossip and criticism, how could I allow myself, with only Heaven as a witness in such a remote mountain, to sleep under the same cover with a woman who is a stranger to me? Even if my conscience is clear, how could I possibly fall asleep with her soft body so close, our warmth passing through the scant folds of our clothes? As it was, when she merely made the suggestion, I had to chant the "Elimination of Desires" under my breath, for my mental state was not exactly as dispassionate as it would be if I were pondering the Zen riddle of "an old woman burning down a meditation hut." If I should actually share a bed with this enchanting woman in this mountain hut far from any censuring eyes, could I remain as imperturbable as a withered tree leaning against a cold rock? To be sure, even the eminent Abbot Ikkyū of Daitoku Temple confessed that if an attractive woman promised her favors for a night, a withered willow in its old age would produce an offshoot.

  Be on guard, I warned myself. Only on the mountainside uninhabited by women can one remain as enlightened as an arhat. The saintly Wizard of Kume is said to have fallen from a cloud when he caught sight of the fair legs of a young maiden. Had he slept with her in the same bed, he would have plummeted right through the depths of the bottomless hell!

  Even if I tried to behave myself impeccably while lying pillow to pillow under one coverlet with this lovely tenderhearted woman, spending the night without mishap might be far from easy. "We are getting chilled as the night wind from the ridge goes through the space between our backs," she might say. Pulling the cover gracefully over my shoulders, she might entreat, "Please turn toward me to keep out the draft." It would be difficult indeed for me to keep calm under such circumstances. It would be nearly impossible with her downy locks brushing against my cheeks and her radiant face right in front of my nose. Where would she put her exquisite arms? Where could her breasts hide? This is indeed a serious situation. How could I manage to sleep as placidly as if I were merely holding a female cat in my arms? Oh, no! Suppose our clothes accidently became undone through the casual movements of our bodies, unseen under the covers? And what if her well-contoured legs or shapely feet happened to touch my own hairy shins? Good heavens! That would be a moment of life or death! Being a mediocre man, one basically shaky in willpower and always remiss in observing the moral commandments, I would certainly lose a peaceful night's sleep—that is, if I were able to control my baser instincts.

  Besides, is she really a human, or a fox or a badger in human disguise? Her behavior has been altogether suspicious. She shows no sign of embarrassment in saying things that ordinary women would be unable to mention. What else could she be but a goblin? I have heard that a petty man often makes his approach in a humble attitude, and the devil always seduces with kindness. Well, come now, you devil! An iron fist knows no ambiguous human emotions. I will bring it straight down over your head to show my fearsome strength! Then again, it may not work. While I am a mere mortal, not nearly as powerful as the deity Fudō, the devil may have the might and main of Mahes-vara, who challenged Brahmadeva himself. It would be the poorest of poor tactics to slap the water only to get soaked, or to beat the grass only to rouse a snake. How should I answer her? What should I do?

  Oh, I remember now. Sometime ago I heard an anecdote about Basho. When the renowned haiku poet had his sleeve caught by a woman, he remained immobile and silent. As the dejected woman turned at last to leave, Basho caught her sleeve from behind and surprised her with a haiku, "Turn toward me. / I too am lonely / This autumn evening."

  Following Bashō's example, I decided after all to remain silent. Practicing in my mind the "Contemplation of the Nine Stages of Human Corpses," I sat down with a thud loud enough to snap apart heaven and earth.

  Quite impatient by now, Tae increased the pressure of her grasp on my hand. "Why are you hesitating? Please come this way!" She began to pull at me, tugging all the harder as I strained with all my strength and determination to resist her. "I'm asking you to come this way. What an obstinate man you are! You certainly don't act like one who is used to making merry over mountains and rivers."

  "How ghastly if I would be forced to take even a single step by this goblin," I thought, greatly alarmed. I turned myself as rigid as a stone statue of Jizō, but still she tried to drag me. My guard weakened for a second. In spite of myself I let out a scre
am, shook my hand loose, and ran away. She came after me and caught my sleeve.

  "Now I see! You must take me for a goblin or a specter to loathe me this much!" she laughed. "I made the offer believing you were a man of stout heart and venturous spirit. It is my fault that my kindness worked against itself to cause you such a scare. Honestly, I am neither an evil specter nor a nun shamefully driven by amorous desires. And anyway, I would not force you to do what you detest so much. But if I let you make your journey at night now, I would fail as a hostess, which would be to my immeasurable regret. So please sit down."

  Afraid to refuse outright, I took a seat on the other side of the hearth. She picked up a hatchet and stood up. Again I was startled and mystified. Noticing my expression, she laughed, put on sandals, and went out through the front door. Soon I heard the sharp sound of cracking wood. I hurried outside to help her, relieved to realize that she only had gone out to gather firewood.

  "If you're chopping firewood, let me lend you a masculine hand," I offered and borrowed her hatchet. Cutting down some nearby trees, I brought an armload of logs into the hut and closed the door tight. As I sat down facing her, she raked up the embers and added the new wood. Before long a fire was burning briskly, and the warmth filled the room.

  "As you can see, it will be quite comfortable for me to stay up alone by the fire. So please rest your mind and go back to bed. I apologize for having frightened my timid guest. You can go to sleep without fear now." Tae said with much laughter.

  "No, no. As I said before, I want you to take the bed."

  "Are you being stubborn again? Well, then, shall we sleep together?"

  "I would rather not."

  "If you don't like me, there's nothing I can do about it," she laughed again. "To be honest, since there wasn't much else I could offer you by way of hospitality on a cold night in the middle of the mountains, I thought I would hold you tightly and warm you in my bosom, just as your wet nurse used to lull you to sleep in her arms. I meant well. In the sight of the Buddhas and bodhisattvas, I swear that I haven't the slightest design of a questionable nature. But a fine specimen of a man you are. I didn't think you were the kind of weak-willed man who would worry about becoming emotionally involved with a woman who happens to spend a night in his arms. You are indeed cowardly and unsure of yourself.... Oh, pardon my tongue.... Well, you do what you like. As for myself, I as a hostess can't very well allow myself to monopolize the bed, can I?"

  Struck dumb with amazement, I listened and reflected deeply. Not only did she seem indifferent to worldly conventions, but she even behaved as if I were a three year old. She appeared, moreover, as self-assured as a great wise man who is so enlightened that it is always springtime in his heart. I grew all the more suspicious of her. Whose daughter is she? What specter's disguise? She could not be an ordinary woman. What personal circumstances forced her to retreat to such a mountain hut with all her fine looks and tender heart? Is she a present day Kogō, Hotoke Gozen, Giō, or Gijo? Or is she altogether a goblin?

  Increasingly frightened, I said, "All right, then. You are free to do what you like, but I for my part will take the liberty of spending the night by this hearth."

  "I don't mind keeping you company, either. In fact, I would feel much better that way," said the woman.

  Now that our bickering was over, I felt relieved enough to be able to scrutinize her more carefully from head to toe. She was like a flawless jewel, a goddess shimmering in and out of the fire's flames, whose beauty and graceful dignity surpassed anything that could be depicted by a human artist.

  One would hate to place a deer in thorn bushes, and one would expect a crane to perch on an old pine tree. It must be human nature to wish an extraordinary person, a noble person, a lovely person, and a beautiful person to find the places they deserve in the world. An excellent horse ought to carry a hero, and a butterfly ought to sleep in the garden of celebrated flowers. Once at an inn, I saw a janitor drop a copy of A Political History of Japan out of his pocket as he was cleaning the floor on his knees. It brought tears to my eyes to imagine how mortifying it must have been for him to be wasting his lofty ambition in such menial service. Even more so in this woman's case. How pitiful that she should bury her natural beauty in obscurity, like a tree in the remote mountain valley whose blossoms are never to please any human eyes! Heaven works in heartless ways, denying a beautiful woman her deserved lot and placing her in a sooty grass hut. Just as a man of conviction would rather cast himself into the vast ocean if his beliefs are rejected by the world, this woman of refined taste and dignity, transcending mundane emotions almost to the point of perfect enlightenment, perhaps intends to end her life on this distant mountain away from the multitude. If so, how inexcusable that she, as a woman, should behave like a man. A woman being unfeminine and a man being unmanly are both against nature and utterly repulsive.

  On the other hand, when a woman acts unfeminine and a man unmanly in an almost divine way, they have both attained the sphere of the holy. What this woman says is no longer feminine. It must be most difficult for her to propose sleeping with me in her arms, a man whom she has just met for the first time. Moreover, if she actually meant to hold me as a wet nurse would a small boy, she can't be a masculine woman but an extraordinary, superior being. Yet common mortal that I am, I would rather see her suitably married, making a happy home in the mundane world, than to find her here, so noble and saintly.

  I glanced up at her once again. To see the way she sat there upright, almost majestic, I could not believe that she was one of those avarice-driven mortal women who suffer in love, fret over whether or not her clothes match, or fuss with coral beads and tortoise-shell combs. Her clear eyes betrayed that she was undisturbed by the trivial matters of the world. Her freshly glowing complexion revealed that far from finding her present lot distressing, she was fully satisfied with it. And her firmly set lips attested to the keenness of her wisdom in discerning right from wrong. Absolutely mysterious! No longer able to bear it, I began carefully to express my thoughts.

  "As I mentioned before, I find it strange indeed that you, a young woman who is not a nun, should be living in a mountain retreat. For one thing, it seems lamentable that despite such charming features and tender heart, you should be hiding in a remote place populated by wolves and wild boars. If you don't mind telling me, I would like to know why you live here."

  "Well, now," she laughed. "Do you intend to write me up in a novel, which I hear is a very popular form of entertainment nowadays? Or perhaps you wish to take my story back to the city people as a souvenir. There is really no sense in revealing my shameful background, but I'll be consoled if people hear my tale and if anyone happens to feel even a little sympathy for me. So I'll tell you the story of my unworthy life. I was led to weep and laugh by causes not of my own making. But all that is a mere memory of a long-ago dream. I now know that confession marks the end of love affair, so I shall not hide anything," she said, adding more logs to the fire.

  ~3~

  The expression on Tae's face at that moment was divinely animated yet gentle, like the moon afloat in a dreamy spring sky over the Yangtze River after a gentle breeze wafts the clouds away. Her eyes radiated happiness, like a pair of precious stones glimmering in the sultry mist around Mt. Randen. "Please listen to my story, Mr. Rohan," she began.

  I was raised in Tokyo by my parents, who were not exactly destitute. As much as our ample family resources allowed, I was treasured like a butterfly from the time I was young enough to ask if the dewdrops were hair ornaments for the pampas grass, and cherished like a flower when old enough to shelter my long crepe sleeves from the breeze. The three of us enjoyed a peaceful life as the years came and went. I grew taller with each new battledore given to me at the New Year. After the untimely death of my father in my thirteenth autumn, however, there was to be no end to my sorrows. Having seldom wept before then, except over sad plays, I became constantly given to tears. After we sent my father off with a streak of crema
tory smoke in a desolate field, three times daily his seat at the table was vacant—it was as if a front tooth was missing from an otherwise perfect set. There was only my mother left, crestfallen and cheerless, picking at the food as if she hardly had the strength to lift her chopsticks. I was disconsolate to see her grief, but the sight of her sorrowing daughter must have burdened her careworn heart even more. She seemed to subsist almost solely on warm water. As her eyes moistened with suppressed tears, food would lose flavor in my mouth, and I found it hard to loosen my clenched jaw.

  I kept to the house more and more, abandoned the samisen which I used to enjoy playing, and failed to resume my koto lessons after the mourning period was over. I spent my time reading and derived some pleasure from my mother's storybooks, which described many things real and unreal, until reading became a habit with me. I went on to consume the classical tales such as Usuyuki, Sumiyoshi, Ise, Taketori, and within three years even Genji and Sagoromo, which were quite beyond my comprehension. The tales made me ponder on the kindness and coldness of human nature and taught me to discern truth from falsehood in worldly matters. I also observed that since olden times men have always been superficial beings who love and care but for a time, their desire intense but their patience thin. They delight in meeting women but never grieve over parting, prefer coquettish flatterers, glory recklessly in love conquests, and admire a woman for the beauty of her appearance just as they would cherish a dog or cat for its fur markings. Although I had nothing personally to do with them, I vehemently loathed amorous men like Prince Genji and the poet Narihira, and far from being jealous, I felt impatient contempt for the foolish women who were infatuated with such profligates.

  When I was eighteen, my aged mother was taken seriously ill. Being an only child, I was totally helpless. Tearfully praying to gods and Buddhas day and night, I looked after her, but all to no avail. "When I am gone, open this box and learn your place in this life," she said and then bequeathed to me a small black-lacquered box with a blue shell-inlay design of petals floating in a stream. I was so anguished and overcome by her death that I could find no words to express my grief. After the funeral I opened the box and found a farewell letter that my mother had written without my having known it. I read it with tears of gratitude for her profound love.