Pagoda, Skull & Samurai Read online

  But how excruciating even now to remember the shock! Horror, grief, resentment, despair, despondency, repulsion, humiliation, helplessness—every abominable feeling there is in the world welled up within me. I felt as if ice-cold water had just been poured over my head and, at the same time, as if my eyebrows were being seared in a fierce flame. Cold perspiration drenched my sides, causing me to shiver uncontrollably. Only darkness lay before my eyes and in my heart until my flickering life seemed about to expire then and there. From that moment on, I shunned the outside world all the more resolutely.

  "I'm sorry to interrupt." I said, "but why did the message in the letter terrify you so much?"

  "It's too painful for me to mention what was written in that letter. Let me get back to my story," Tae continued.

  I turned nineteen, growing older, of use to no one. Close friends of my late parents offered to arrange my marriage to their sons or acquaintances. "How shamefully hypocritical of them, and so soon after my loss!" I thought suspiciously to myself. "They are merely attracted to my looks, which will bloom but for ten years, and my wealth, which can be spent but once." I gave my servant strict orders to decline every proposal. With all my heart I longed for my mother and prayed impatiently, "May my body dissolve soon, so that I may turn into an ethereal spirit and join my mother."

  Life was no longer dear to me, and I found no pleasure in this world. I left untouched the numerous booklets that I had once read with such absorption, and I came to abhor meeting a man face to face. I was offended even when naughty maidservants gossiped about handsome young actors. Naturally, my hair was without the fragrance of hair oil and was arranged with no style. Much less did I concern myself with the quality of a tortoise-shell comb in my forelock, or worry over the suitability of dappled cloth for tying my hair. Rouge and powder were completely forgotten. I no longer took pains to pick out the right sashes, to select the right thongs for my clogs, or to coordinate my wardrobe. I was rid of all feminine discretion. Through the tears filling my woebegone heart, even heaven and earth looked dusky. Flowers bloomed, but I was wilted. Birds sang, but I was silent. The silvery moon cast no reflection on the turbid waters of my heart. I merely slept, woke, and ate in melancholy indifference. In my anguish I resented gods, Buddhas, people, and even heaven and earth. My agonizing rage against the gods and Buddhas intensified to such an extent that I would have stabbed them with a needle had they but manifested tangible forms. I was no longer bound by the rules of propriety, which are as perishable as a lamp wick, nor did I find any comfort in human sentiments, which are as evanescent as colors reflected in icicles. Frost and snow weighed cold in my heart, and tragic thoughts never left my mind.

  Then, one day, a finely lacquered ricksha stopped at my gate, and out stepped a man with an imposing mustache, apparently a government official. According to his calling card, he was director of a certain government bureau, an imperial appointee of the first rank, reputed to be a man of great influence. My old butler, who had been managing the household as my guardian, received the visitor and asked the purpose of his call.

  "I apologize for this sudden visit," said the man, "but, in the absence of a suitable intermediary, I must make this proposal directly. Excuse me for asking such a personal question, but is the young mistress betrothed to anyone? To come to the point, the young son of my former lord has fallen in love with the young lady, though he has never met her. Let me try to explain.

  "While the young lord was taking a stroll in the country last spring, he passed by a certain cemetery and heard some beggars talking. One said, 'That young girl who just left, she's beautiful, isn't she? But what's especially touching is her filial piety. She was crying her eyes out as she knelt before her mother's tomb. Such a young thing, yet only lamenting that life was dear to her no more and that she wished to join her mother. Such a tender heart is rare in today's women, isn't it?' 'Did you just notice her today for the first time?' another beggar went on to ask. 'Since last year, when her mother was buried here, she's come every month to mourn in the same manner. She hasn't missed a single memorial day. She must be a pathetic figure even outside the cemetery. Her face looked emaciated and awfully pale today. She looks like she must weep constantly at home.' Listening to their gossip, the young lord was so moved that he shuddered and shed a tear. That, you see, was the headwater of love and the fountain of longing. He searched for her, not out of frivolous interest but out of sincere affection. In time he learned her name and address. Consumed by the flame of love, he at last asked his father's permission to marry her. That is how I have come to call on you on his behalf. As far as we know, your mistress has not been promised to anyone yet. Would you kindly consider our proposal?

  "I do not mean to be presumptuous, like some glib-tongued intermediary, but you must have heard of the eldest son of my former lord, his title and estates, if only through rumor. Having recently earned a degree in Germany, moreover, he is assured of a bright future among the ranks of young noblemen. He is neither asking for a frivolous temporary arrangement, nor is he making his marriage proposal in a condescending manner. In fact, in this age of equality among the four classes, all of us intend to pledge our respect to the lady as our future countess. I hope you will consider the circumstances and grant us a favorable reply."

  After the man left, my butler was almost dancing with joy. With his wrinkled face aglow, he tried to persuade me to accept this proposal. Although at first it made me dizzy to hear that a person of high rank was in love with me, I soon dismissed it as merely a fleeting male fancy and an ignoble pursuit of beauty. The next moment, however, I recalled my mother's last letter and was instantly sobered. "No, no, no! I have no ear to lend to any marriage offer," I said emphatically. The astounded butler remonstrated with me, sparing no word or point of logic in arguing that it was absurd to decline such a splendid offer. I remained adamant nonetheless, and he had no choice but to decline the proposal. I was unperturbed by the public gossip that I was cold-hearted. After that incident, though, I somehow underwent a change of heart. I no longer abhorred men as intensely as I had before. In time I even became more careful about my appearance.

  Three months later, the same bureau director called on us again.

  "Since our marriage proposal miscarried last time, our young lord has changed completely from his cheerful and intellectual former self. Now he seldom ventures from the house, and he leaves his favorite books untouched. He is grief-stricken at the sight of flowers or the moon, lamenting, 'It is my greatest sorrow that my life lingers in this world, where my hope is no more. For whose sake should I prolong my useless existence?' He eats less and less, spends the day dozing, and tosses and turns at night. His attendants try to comfort him, but he is wretchedness personified. His father counsels him that his behavior is sheer folly, but he only talks to himself day and night, saying things such as, 'If I were to evaporate like a dewdrop, would she take pity on me? I feel no bitterness toward the heartless lady, but I loathe myself for having been detested by her. I wish to give up my life swiftly.' Unable to bear his lamentations, his mother dispatched me again on this mission. Please try to understand the situation and tell us what it was that you found unsatisfactory in our proposal. We will follow your every instruction in the hope that his love may be requited."

  The director made his impassioned plea, appealing both to reason and emotion. Listening behind sliding doors, I was moved to tears in spite of myself. When my butler-guardian came to consult with me, however, I again recalled the letter and flatly declared that I did not wish to consummate this match. I cared not if I made enemies of the many persons involved.

  I thought that was the end of the matter, but the man called again one month later.

  "My young lord has reached the point where he has finally taken to bed, and he has been unable to recover. There is no treatment for such an illness; both his parents are so careworn and aggrieved over the state of their beloved eldest son that it breaks our hearts to watch them. I beg you to use y
our good offices to intercede with the young lady. This is merely a note that my young lord scribbled in his sick-bed, but his heart-rending love cannot escape anyone's notice. I have brought this in the hope that it would appeal to your lady's compassion. I will also leave this photograph of the young lord before he was taken ill. I shall return tomorrow. No matter what your reply, we would very much like to have a picture of the lady whom my young lord loves at the cost of his health."

  After he was gone, my old butler counseled me with tears in his eyes. "This match seems to have been ordained by fate. You must accept it." But I obstinately refused, and he went away somewhat vexed, leaving behind the photograph. At the sight of his noble and handsome face, I began to feel tenderly toward this young man; furthermore, my heart was stirred by his forlorn poem written in unsteady hand on a strip of paper:

  In the dead of night

  When even the lights grow dim,

  Lying with a faint and fading heart,

  Oh, how I languish for my love!

  But my mother's letter helped me resolve firmly not to go near such a noble person. The next day I had my butler deliver a hard-hearted reply, without my photograph.

  About ten days later a carriage came to our gate in a flurry, and the same visitor practically tumbled out. With a tearful look on his tense face, he said, "Dear, beloved, cold-hearted lady of the house, today you need not reply. You simply must come to my lord's residence. The doctor has pronounced that our young lord will not last the night. Please imagine the grief of his parents, as well as ours. This morning, he composed a poem:

  Full well I know

  My detested self is beyond hope.

  Still so hard to forsake is...

  Without finishing the last line, he coughed up blood. What a woeful sight it was! After all, the sickness in his lungs was caused by his consuming love. Even if the lady were a demon, should she behave this cruelly toward the man who loves her so?"

  In his resentment and anger, he tried to carry me off by force. I felt more agony than I would have if I were being torn to pieces, but still I resisted. At that moment another carriage clattered to a stop. Followed by an attendant, a graceful lady came rushing in without any pretense of ceremony.

  "Are you Miss Tae?" she asked frantically. "My son has made his deathbed request, out of his almost paralyzed lips, to have one glimpse of you in person. I entreat you, with my hands folded in prayer. You may be loath to, but please, please come with me!"

  Implored by an august countess, I felt as if my mind were being tossed about in flood waters. I was taken semiconscious into the carriage and soon arrived at a grand mansion, which echoed with desperate cries and the sorrowful weeping of women. The lady swept through a number of rooms. Unable to shake myself free of her hand, I followed her into the sickroom, where the young lord, worn to a shadow, had just been called back to consciousness. Upon seeing his mother, he wept piteously. Knowing that I was the sole cause of this tragedy, I wished I could dissolve on the spot. The countess pushed me toward her son. No longer able to hold back my surging tears, I held his hand and wept without knowing why. The young lord looked at me, also in tears, but responded only with a feeble movement of his hand held in mine. At that point I collapsed in a swoon. When I came to, the young lord was gone, never to revive again. I returned to my house feeling that I could hardly linger in this world.

  Thereafter, I was haunted by his memory. I regretted having survived him at all and almost lost my reason, raging against heaven and earth. On the seventh day after his death, his shadowy phantom appeared while I was chanting sutras before our family altar. Mindlessly following the ghost, I left my house to wander about blindly in strange places, until I chanced upon this mountain in a state of delirium. Through a providential encounter with an enlightened priest, I was steered toward religious pursuits and settled in this little meditation hut here.

  In my new abode, the rising water in the valley stream announces the coming of spring, and the falling leaves in the hills foretell the approach of winter. I am able to contemplate an infinite number of wondrous things in my quietude. As I turn my thoughts to the mundane world, I find all people fascinating in their own ways. The ice from the horrible past has melted in my heart. Now I am even amused by my own existence, which is as ephemeral as a gossamer in an easterly breeze. I love Buddhas, I love ordinary men, and I truly love you too. There is not a single thing in the word that I hate. I love the birds nesting in the trees, and I love the foxes in their holes in the ground. The flower of my heart has blossomed to fill the Ten Thousand Spheres with its fragrance. More keenly than ever do I appreciate the mysterious truth of the Consciousness Only Doctrine. Dissociated from mud, the water is now so clear that the heavenly moon rests on it, and the glistening jewels of the Keyura Sutra are all the more appealing. It is delightful to be pitied and amusing to be detested.

  It is rather amusing also that you should have abhorred me when I love you enough to hold in my arms. In the past I behaved cruelly even toward a man who loved me at the cost of his life, and now I love a man who loathes me unto death. How wondrous that through the changes of heart, one can resent or enjoy the same heaven and earth!

  Thus she concluded her long story. Yet I still failed to comprehend its true meaning.

  "Miss Tae, what was written in the letter in the small black box with the blue shell inlay of petals flowing in water? Unless you make this crucial point clear, I shall not be able to make sense out of your story."

  "How unperceptive of you! You have yet to learn about human sentiments. If I tell you that the letter made me heartless, you should require no further explanation. It contained instructions for me to forsake the world and the reason why I must do so."

  "That's ridiculous! There could be no possible reason why anyone must forsake the world."

  "But there is," insisted Tae. "All my relatives are compelled to forsake the world, for we can find no peace of mind otherwise. That is why at first I resented the gods and Buddhas."

  "Preposterous!"

  "On the contrary, it makes perfect sense. Our fate is to perish in the remote mountains. People of the mundane world are lacking in insight: while they perceive the various kinds of pathos in life, they fail to realize that to those of us in our accursed lot, even the sun and the moon appear utterly dark, and flowers and birds bring no pleasure whatsoever. I didn't submit to the young lord's love because I wanted to spare his offspring the same wretched fate. You cannot imagine my anguish of those days."

  Suddenly breaking her somber tone with a laugh, she said, "Well, I should end such a long and boring tale now. It's tiresome to tell stories, and mine is without an end. Love and resentment are actually neighbors. That's that. And this should be the close of my useless rambling." As she fed some more wood to the fire, her beautiful face looked, not as crystal white as that of the sober Ch'ü Yüan, but as ruby pink as the inebriate T'ao Yüan-ming.

  Presently she glanced at me and said, "It is unfortunate that the night is so short! As the day is breaking, our brief encounter must come to an end too. You are a petal floating on the Katashina River whose scent swiftly travels ten miles along the rapid stream. I am a willow standing on the riverbank whose reflection sinks to the bottom of the water, unable to move a step. The happiness of meeting and the anguish of parting are not reserved exclusively for the morning after love-making, you know."

  No sooner did the sun rise bright and radiant than the house and the woman vanished like a cloud of mist. Alone among the withered pampas grass left standing since last year, I found myself with a boot-string half tied, a bleached white skull at my feet.

  What one cannot understand by sight, one should learn by inquiring. What cannot be learned through inquiry, one should comprehend through intellection. What cannot be comprehended by intellect, one should perceive through feeling. If I feel compassion for another, he will love me in return. If love and compassion are mutual, I am within him, and he is within me. With no distance between us, we
perceive each other's emotions and share our boundaries. A skull in a secluded valley attracted the mind of a solitary wayfarer traveling in the present, and that traveler in the deep mountain perceived the former life of the skull. Our karmic paths happened to cross, and we chose not to forgo a momentary encounter.

  With water from the river I consecrated the ground under the tree by which we had spent the night together, and there I buried the skull left behind by the spirit who had communicated by the vibration of my heartstring in the absence of a divine bow. With my hands folded in prayer, I extended my gratitude: "Hail, Amida Buddha! Thank you for a wonderful night!" Hugging the stream, I made my way to the village of Ogawa and headed for a hot spring inn.

  "Do you know of someone who has disappeared into the mountains lately?" I asked the innkeeper there.

  After pondering a bit with a puzzled look on his face, he said, "It's strange you should ask. Yes, only last year a mad beggar woman strayed into the mountain. We heard later that she never reached Nikkō. Even now people are wondering whatever became of her. Is she the one you're asking after?"

  "That's the one. Tell me all you know about her."

  Eyeing me sourly, the innkeeper began, "She was a stranger some twenty-seven years of age. Barefoot and clad in filthy rags, she was leaning feebly on a bamboo cane, a broken hat slung on her back. It was a sight too loathsome even to describe. Her entire body looked grayish red with an uncanny purple shine here and there. Her fingers were as crooked as ginger root, swollen into sinewless lumps. Her left foot barely retained three toes, one of which was bloated to twice its normal size all the way up to the instep. Her right foot showed a faint scar where the big toe used to be. Her right little finger was like a huge boneless silkworm repulsively flaccid, and her left hand was a round, fingerless fist.