Pagoda, Skull & Samurai Read online

  As a rule, Rohan gives his major characters meaningful names that indicate their personality traits or symbolic functions. In "The Five-Storied Pagoda," the characters are commoners without family names: Jūbei (lit., "tenth man" or "heavy man"); Genta ("lumber" in carpenters' jargon); Seikichi (pure and lucky); Eiji (sharp second man); Rōen (radiant sphere); Okichi (good luck); and Onami (wave).

  The protagonist, Jūbei, is often lauded as a champion of modern individualism for refusing all compromises, or is mistaken for a ruthless social climber. But the crucial keys to his character are the nature of a pagoda and the religious implications of pagoda construction. In Buddhist scriptures, especially the Lotus Sutra (virtually the sole devotional object in the Nichiren sect), the pagoda, or stupa, is identified with a variety of religious concepts: Buddha's body; testimony to the truth of the Lotus teachings; the universe itself, in which the ancient Buddha (the symbolic moon) and the present Buddha (the sun) dwell side by side; and the Western Pure Land (whence the ancient Buddha returns to save mankind and whither the present Buddha will lead it). The construction of a pagoda is deemed equal to the preaching of the Lotus gospel in its ultimate religious merit.

  "Encounter with a Skull" appeared in the monthly journal Nihon no Bunka (Literary flower of Japan) in January 1890. Initially entitled Engaien (Karma outside of karma), it deals with a fortuitous encounter of two souls not necessarily ordained by karma, the cumulative effect of one's own actions through numerous reincarnations, according to the Buddhist theory of transmigration of souls. This allegorical story illustrates multiple processes of enlightenment. The humble traveler who offers prayers on behalf of the spirit of the skull at the end is no longer the brash young man who set out on an impulsive journey at the beginning. The beautiful lady of the mountain tells him of her own tortuous steps in attaining perfect enlightenment. In turn, the young man is presumably going to enlighten people by retelling the agonizing story of her life. Similarly, the readers of Rohan's "Encounter with a Skull" are supposed to be enlightened vicariously through the experience of this young man. The means to enlightenment in this particular tale are suffering, compassion, and transcendence of all distinctions to practice love of all things.

  "The Bearded Samurai" is a historical tale set in the mid-sixteenth century, the last phase of a strife-torn period that has provided fertile ground for popular samurai yarns. Its initial conception dates back to 1890, when Rohan wrote five installments for the Yomiuri newspaper. Six years later, he rewrote them to completion with a totally revised plot. (The "glorious victories" mentioned at the beginning of the story refer to the Sino-Japanese War, 1895-96). The setting is the battle of Nagashino, fought in 1575 between the Takeda army and the combined Oda-Tokugawa forces. The central characters are creations of Rohan's imagination: the bearded hero Kasai Dairoku(rō) (great sixth son) Takahide (lofty and eminent); his aged uncle Takatoshi (lofty and sharp); the boy Kotarō (young first son) Muneharu (heir-spring); and his beautiful sister Yanagi (willow) Tamae (jeweled spray). Most of the other people who populate this story are historical figures, some of them with legendary fame for having shaped Japan's history. Rohan intends no suspense, since foreknowledge of the ultimate fate of each character enhances a sense of tragedy and of the inevitability of fate.

  Unlikely as it may seem for a war tale, "The Bearded Samurai" delineates a human side of the warrior and a constructive view of the samurai ethos, both of which had been deliberately and officially stifled ever since the early seventeenth century. A distant and unwitting precursor of the historical novel that has proliferated in Japan for the past few decades, Rohan demonstrates one ideal approach to this genre. He unfolds a stirring fictional narrative, faithfully keeping to the historical facts and ingeniously using known idiosyncrasies of famous personalities; at the same time he manages to deal squarely with universal fundamental issues, such as life, death, love, honor, loyalty, ambition, aspiration, and compassion. Despite the recent staggering output of this genre in Japan, very few samurai stories have been rendered into English. This translation of "The Bearded Samurai," furthermore, makes available to readers the popular portraits of at least two of Japan's most important heroes—Oda Nobunaga (1534-82) and Tokugawa Ieyasu (1542-1616).

  In "The Bearded Samurai," Rohan meticulously supplies full names of all historical personages, even the messengers and executed agents. In the translation, nonessential details in regard to personal and place names have been trimmed down to ensure a smooth flow of the narrative; some minor place names are rendered as literal translations, where possible, in an attempt to reflect the local color. Those in need of complete information should refer to the original text and historical sources. Wherever applicable, names of characters are given family name first; but well-known figures are referred to by their personal names, according to common usage.

  Historical, literary, and religious allusions are found following each of the stories. An Afterword containing further explanatory material on religious and other aspects of the stories is included at the end of the book, as are additional Historical Notes on "The Bearded Samurai."

  The translations of "The Five-Storied Pagoda" and "Encounter with a Skull" were originally part of my doctoral dissertation, "Koda Rohan: A Study of Idealism" (Columbia University, 1973), completed under the guidance of Professor Donald Keene, to whom I am profoundly and forever grateful. More extensive information on Kōda Rohan, such as a biography, discussions of his central themes, and a literary analysis of his major works including the three stories contained herein, can be found in my book Koda Rohan (Boston: G. K. Hall & Co., 1977).

  —CHIEKO IRIE MULHERN

  Champaign- Urbana, Illinois

  THE FIVE-STORIED PAGODA

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  FACING A STURDY rectangular brazier of elegantly grained zelkova wood edged with red oak sat a woman about thirty years of age who looked rather lonesome in the absence of anyone to keep her company. Her handsome, almost staunch eyebrows were shaved off, an indication that she was married, leaving an appealing suggestion of bluish green, like the brilliant color of mountains after rain. Her nose was straight, and her sharply etched eyes tilted upwards. She was plainly made up, her freshly washed hair rolled up into a severe chignon held tightly in place by a large hairpin, a strip of paper its only trimming. But a lock or two of lustrous black hair falling loose around her temples in an almost provoking way gave such charm to her rather dark yet pleasing face that even a man who usually preferred younger women could scarcely have refrained from expressing his admiration.

  No doubt each infatuated man had his own opinion on how he would dress her if she were his woman, and no doubt each gossiped behind her back, but she by no means invited such speculations. She was dressed as though she gave no thought to her appearance, but rather as if she took pride in her respectability. Her choice of pattern was not without taste, but her finery consisted of nothing better than a quilted kimono of double-strand fabric with a satin collar, quite devoid of any touch of brightness. The quilted coat of wide-striped silk draped over her shoulders might have been something of value years ago, but even that appeared to have gone through the wash many times.

  Except for the distant sounds of the maid doing the dishes in the kitchen, the house was still. The woman bit off and spat out the tip of a toothpick with which her tongue had been idly toying. She raked the ashes in the brazier and neatly rearranged the hot charcoal in it. Taking out a small cloth from a basket, she polished the trivet, already as shiny as silver, wiped off the ash-pan, and even cleaned the lid of the copper water-pot. After carefully placing a large Nambu iron kettle over the fire, she pulled toward herself, using the tortoise-shell pipe in her right hand, a pretty inlaid-wood tobacco box, apparently a souvenir from someone who had stopped off at Hakone on a pilgrimage to Afuri Shrine. She puffed leisurely on the pipe and let the smoke out slowly, so that it seemed to be rising from an incense stick. Abruptly, she heaved an involuntary sigh.

  "In the end, my husb
and will probably get the job," she was thinking, "but how annoying of that Nossori to set himself up against him! Forgetting his own lowly station as well as the gratitude he owes us for having employed him last year, he fawns on the Abbot unabashedly in his attempt to get his hands on this job. From what Seikichi tells me, even if the Abbot should be inclined to play favorites, the parishioners and donors are not likely to let such an important job go to an unknown. There is little doubt of our ultimate success, though—Nossori is so obviously doomed to fail. The likes of him could never handle a project of this magnitude, let alone find a crew willing to take orders from him. Nevertheless, I do wish my husband would come home soon, smiling and telling me that he has received the contract after all. He seems to have found an unusual challenge in this work. He was saying with so much enthusiasm, 'I'm dying to take on this precious project. Never mind material gains. I want to hear people say, "Genta of Kawagoe built the five-storied pagoda of Kannō Temple. Splendid! How well done!"' If someone else should snatch this job from him now, he'd surely lose his temper and fly into a fine rage. He'd have more than enough reason for such an outburst; I couldn't possibly find any way to mollify him. Well, I hope he returns soon —in good spirits."

  Out of wifely concern, she sat silently worrying about the man whom she had sent out this morning after helping him into a coat she had made with her own hands. Suddenly the latticed front door rattled open, and a young man entered.

  "Ma'am, where's the Boss?... Oh, gone to the temple? Well, it can't be helped, then. I hate to trouble you, but I've got to ask a favor, Ma'am. You see... I didn't mean to get drunk last night but... you know how it is...."

  "What do you mean by 'It can't be helped'? You'd better settle down a bit, you know." Smiling with a mock frown, she got to her feet and handed him some money.

  He returned after lengthy negotiations with someone out in the street. Pressing his fist against his forehead, he made an awkward bow. "I'm sorry for imposing upon you like this. Much obliged."

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  "You can share the brazier with me. Come right up."

  Tactfully amiable even to a subordinate, the woman laboriously picked up the heavy iron kettle and made a cup of cherry tea. Her silent hospitality was more winning than a mouthful of piddling lecture. Even after his shameless request, she seemed to spare none of her usual affability. All the more uneasy and embarrassed, though, as if his soul were itching deep inside, Seikichi could hardly stretch his nervous hand to accept the teacup. After more apologetic bows, he was about to moisten his parched tongue, when the woman began to speak:

  "To come home at this time of morning, you must have made quite a conquest in certain quarters last night. Well, it's all right for you to have a good time, Seikichi, but it would hardly be manly of you to miss work and worry your mother. The other day when the work at the main residence of the Kōshūya of Nakachō was finished, you were assigned to the tearoom job in their Negishi Villa, weren't you? Your boss loves carousing just as much as you and treats you boys to frequent sprees, but he absolutely hates the work to be neglected. If he could see your face right now, the veins on his forehead would bulge out as they always do when he's upset. It's already a little late, but rush over to Negishi and plead some excuse—your mother's suddenly taken ill or some such thing. I know the foreman Goza to be an understanding man. Since you haven't wasted a whole day loafing, he'll surely cover up for you even if he sees through your excuse.

  "By the way, you haven't had breakfast yet, have you?... San, set the table for Seikichi.... We have nothing nearly as fancy as steamed beancurd and clams, but you don't mind fresh pickles and sweet beans, do you? Have some rice and run along to work. If you get sleepy on the job, just remember what kept you awake last night. That ought to help you make it through the day. No need to worry about your lunch; I'll see that Matsu delivers it later."

  Listening to her advice, far from cutting yet quite effective, the naïve Seikichi broke out in a cold sweat, remorseful of his transgression. "Well, then, Ma'am. I'll accept your kind advice and get to work right away."

  Wiping his forehead with a towel, he went to the kitchen, quickly downed four or five bowls of rice with tea, and reappeared promptly. Inclining his head with a brisk "So long," he replaced his pipe in the tobacco case hanging from his sash. A spry Edoite, he was practically sliding into his sandals on his way out the door when the woman called out after him in a voice as fiery as the sparks from flint stones:

  "Have you seen that slowpoke Nossori lately?"

  "Yes, I did, I did," replied Seikichi, whirling around. "And just yesterday at that. I caught him walking as slow as you please along Goten Slope, drooping his limp head like a dead chicken. He's been getting too ambitious for a dimwit lately, setting himself up against the Boss like that. There's nothing for you to worry about, mind you, but knowing he was making some trouble for you and the Boss, I found it hard to bear his miserable face. So I told him off. 'Hey, you! Dimwit!' I said. But being what he is, he didn't even notice me. 'Hey, Nossori! Nossori!' I yelled right into his ear. That finally got to him. He stared at me with those owl-eyes of his and mumbled in a sleepy voice, 'Oh, it's you, Master Seikichi.' I said, 'Hey, you've become a big man lately, haven't you? Did you climb the dyer's drying roof or some such high place in your sleep to pick up your high-and-mighty attitude? You want to build something awfully tall, huh? I hear you've been busy playing up to the Abbot of Kannō Temple. Are you in your right mind, or are you sleepwalking?' I said this right to his face, but you know, Ma'am, a dimwit is honest, if nothing else. What do you suppose he said? 'I am trying terribly hard to play up to the Abbot, but with Master Genta for a rival, I'm having a hard time of it. How I wish the Master would waive his claim this once and let me have a try at the job.' Such wishful thinking! It makes me laugh just to remember that face of his, so anxious and dead serious! It was downright comical. In fact, it almost made me forget how mad I was, so I just said, 'What the heck!' and left him."

  "Is that all?"

  "That's it, Ma'am."

  "Well, then. It's getting late; time you got going."

  "So long."

  Seikichi went off to work, leaving the woman deep in thought. Outside the house, children were spinning their tops in a battle game, shouting belligerently.

  "One killed."

  "Two down."

  "Serves you right."

  "Got you back!"

  Come to think of it, that is the way the world is: we are all rivals one to another.

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  "Those who are wealthy and prosperous have no worries even in the eleventh month, the time for changing into winter clothes. Unaware of the apprehension of the poor facing the cold season, they dress in their choice silk and make extravagant demands: 'Let's celebrate the hearth opening with a house-warming tea ceremony. By all means, complete the tearoom and repair the eaves of the waiting booth in time. Without a cup of properly prepared tea, we can hardly appreciate the sudden night shower pattering on the window.' They seem to consider winter a time to be enjoyed—the trying winter, when the frigid winds blow violently, and even the peals of temple bells seem to freeze. But a lowly workman must sharpen the blade of his plane and smooth the floor boards of their tearooms with his numb hands. He must work outside in the wind to nail down the shingles of their eaves, sometimes coming down with the grippe as a result. What evil karma from his former lives condemns him to a life of such torment and anguish, while others are allowed to enjoy the same season?

  "Even among the workmen, my husband is exceptionally untutored in the ways of the world. He's such a skilled craftsman that he received commendation from Master Genta on the job that the master was kind enough to provide for us last year. But, he's much too large-hearted; more often than not, he fails to get a job, losing good orders to others. How wretched is our lot, forever condemned to such a dreary life! As a woman I'm ashamed to have him be seen with a pair of pants barely patched around the knees. But this dearth is caused by povert
y quite beyond our control. Take this striped quilt I'm sewing. It's so worn out and full of repair stitches that no amount of mending would make it look good on our little boy. Even so, it was enough to delight my innocent Ino. Before running outside a while ago, he said, 'Whose kimono is that, Mama? It's small, so it must be mine. Whoopee!' Exhilarated by this uncommonly warm weather, he must be swinging his sticky pole to catch the red dragonflies flitting about in the sky. I wonder how far he has gone chasing after them.

  "I'm beginning to hate sewing! If only my husband's wits were half as sharp as his trade skill, we would be spared such dire poverty. 'Wasting a treasure in hand' goes the saying. He's merely a journeyman for all his talent, a petty carpenter doomed to obscurity. How vexing that he should be given even a mortifying nickname—Nossori, Slowpoke —by his colleagues, to be made the butt of their ridicule. I can't help but fret, yet he's totally unperturbed by it all. It's frustrating to watch him.

  "This time, however, something happened to him. As soon as he heard about the five-storied-pagoda project of Kannō Temple, a fever gripped him. Unmindful of his lowly station and the wishes of the Master, to whom we are so deeply indebted, he's trying to get the contract for himself. When even I, his own wife, can't help but feel that he's overstepping his bounds, what must others think of him? Worse yet, the Master must be outraged, cursing him as 'that damned Nossori,' and Madame Okichi must think he's an ingrate. He left home this morning expecting the Abbot to choose one or the other. Anxious as he is to get this job, I feel it's beyond his reach. It would be better all around if the Abbot gave the job to the Master—we owe so much to him. At the same time, I can't resist dreaming either. May he win, but if only the Master would be gracious enough not to be vexed too much by it! I don't think it could happen, but what if the job does fall into my husband's hands? I'm afraid to think how angry the Master and Madame would be!