Pagoda, Skull & Samurai Read online

  "On the other hand, the Tea Bag does nothing but scold me and tediously grumble into my ear, 'Don't get into fights. Don't go to the pleasure quarters,' and such nonsense. Ha, ha, ha! She's utterly absurd.... What?... Oh, the Tea Bag is my ma.... It's not terrible at all. 'Tea Bag' is good enough for her—a tanned old cheap tea bag at that. Well, thanks for the treat; I must be going now.... What? You say, 'Have one more,' where the Tea Bag would have said, 'You've had enough.' Oh, I feel so good. I feel like singing.... Can I sing? That's a heartless question. My 'All the Pines' impressed even my woman," the guileless Seikichi rambled on.

  "How dreadful! Must we hear about your amorous exploits next?" said Okichi, laughing. While she was teasing Seikichi, Genta returned.

  "Oh, you're here, Seikichi. Very good. Let's drink. Okichi, prepare a feast. Seikichi, you may drink yourself to sleep tonight. I'll even listen to your gruff singing of 'All the Pines.'"

  "What! You must have been eavesdropping, Boss."

  <17>

  The drunker one gets, the more careless one becomes. Seikichi forgot his manners and grew too comfortable with Genta's affable mood and Okichi's hospitality. He emptied the sake cup as often as it was filled until his ruddy face took on the color of ripe cherry. He laughed loudly, put on pompous airs, gossiped about his colleagues, and boasted about how his impersonation act had been applauded here and there. He told how his friend Sen had bungled an attempt to steal a brazier from a brothel over a wager, and how at another time he himself beat up a local hoodlum just outside the pleasure quarters. While he talked on, one story leading into another, he happened to touch on a bit of gossip about Nossori. All at once he popped open his sleepy eyes, pulled his slouching shoulders together, and sipped some cold leftover sake, comically pouting his lips.

  "I can't understand, Boss, why you should be so kind to such a fool. His work is thorough to a fault and slow to an extreme. He's the kind who would sharpen his plane blade three times while he's shaving a single pole or rail. No matter what he's told to make, he never finishes on time. No wonder Sen sneers that a man like him would take three days to make one red-pine hearth-frame! You patronized him so much that for a while there that Kin, Sen, Roku, and I—all of us—felt quite neglected. Among ourselves we complained that you might have been too generous in giving that unworthy fellow so much credit. We even said that if thoroughness was what you liked, we ought to shave even a clapboard slowly and reverently, until it was as smooth as a game table.

  "What's more, that Nossori's an unsociable character who never goes to the brothel with us or shares a pot of chicken stew. Once when we were planning to visit the temple of the Daishi, our guardian deity, I went out of my way to kindly invite him to join us; I thought we shouldn't leave out even one of the men who worked for you. The only response I got for my pains was, 'I'm too poor to go.' What an unsociable ingrate! One is expected to keep one's social obligation with friends even if one has to pawn the wife's only kimono, you know.

  "He's such an imbecile, ignorant of even the simplest rule. But he's enjoyed your favor, Boss, until he's now treated as a full-fledged workman just like Kin and me. And, if you'll pardon my saying so, Sen and I have been with you since we were little kids delivering lunchboxes and staggering under loads of woodchips. But what is Nossori but a drifter? All the more reason why he should doubly appreciate your kindness. Boss, Ma'am, I'm beginning to feel sad. I'm ready to rush into fire and smoke for the two of you if necessary. But that dog! That miserable ingrate! Nossori the Dimwit! Would he brave into fire if he carried his debt of gratitude for cover? No, he couldn't possibly have a shred of decency in him. What an insensitive beast!"

  Affected by his own unleashed grievances, Seikichi, by now very drunk, broke into tearful whimper. Okichi looked to her husband and pretended to be annoyed by Seikichi's familiar habit. With hatred of Nossori pulsating in her own heart, however, she was inclined to agree somewhat with Seikichi's remarks.

  Genta, too discreet to reveal his true feelings, offered a sake cup to Seikichi and laughed loudly. "What are you mumbling about, Seikichi? Don't sleep-talk in front of me. And leave the pathetic last scene to Kabuki actors. If you make a pass with that technique, no woman will be able to resist you. But this isn't the chamber of the Mistress Kochō you've been bragging about. Ha, ha, ha!"

  As Genta made a joke of it all, Seikichi, sobbing, tried to brush off teardrops as large as beads and ended up plunging his hand into a dish of raw fish. "How unfeeling of you, Boss! You treat me like a drunkard. I'm not tipsy at all; I didn't drink any sake called Kochō. As I think of it, even her face somehow reminds me of Nossori, and I can't bear her anymore. That dimwit Nossori, I hate him! He's obnoxious, competing against you and presuming to build, of all things, a pagoda! Of all the nerve! He's a traitor who's gotten spoiled because you were too kind to him. Even among traitors, Hakuryū the storyteller excuses those like Akechi Mitsuhide, who suffered enough provocation. But Nossori has got to be the most heinous of them all. When did you club him with an iron fan, as Oda Nobunaga did Mitsuhide? When did you threaten to take away his fief and give it to Mori Rammaru? If by chance Nossori should take advantage of your generosity and build the pagoda with his name next to yours, I won't let him get away with it. I'll beat him to death and feed his carcass to the dogs. Like this!"

  Seikichi proceeded to knock off an empty sake bottle sideways, sending broken pieces clattering noisily against dishes and bowls.

  "You fool!" Genta shouted. Seikichi slumped down, suddenly limp and quiet. Soon his face fell into the scattered sheets of seaweed, and he began snoring. "Get a cover for this amusing fool," said Genta, laughing. For some time he continued to drink by himself, all the while reflecting soberly upon his own conduct at jūbei's house. Let anger get the best of me, and I'll be no better than Seikichi. I must be more prudent, Genta warned himself.

  <18>

  After Genta stormed out of the house, Onami turned to her husband, who seemed lost in thought, his arms folded across his chest. She heaved a deep sign and lamented, "You've made the Master angry, and you won't get the job after all. All those sleepless nights you spent building the model have come to naught. Not only that, you hurt the Master's feelings, and you'll end up being denounced as a heartless ingrate by others. What a shame! You may dismiss what I say as female meddling, but you can carry honesty and integrity too far, you know. Would it be so shameful to accept the Master's suggestion to work with him? Why are you so senseless and stubborn? Who will commend you for that? If you accept the Master's offer, you'll please your benefactor and have a chance to make a name for yourself besides. Your labor and anguish will be well rewarded, and everything will be fine. Why don't you like the idea? I can't understand your reasoning at all. Won't you change your mind? As soon as you decide to accept his offer, I'll run over to his house and convey your apologies in any way I can. If I refuse to budge no matter if I get beaten or kicked and just keep apologizing, the Master won't remain angry forever. He might overlook your temporary transgression. Please think it over carefully and try to go along with him. Don't be so stubborn. Please!" Onami, out of love for her husband, thus appealed to him with reason and logic.

  But Jūbei did not even bat an eye. "Don't say another word. Don't mention the pagoda, either. I conceived such a useless ambition only to be called an ingrate and a beast. I have my own stupidity to blame for all this. What can I do about it? I'll never change my mind. I may employ helpers, but I refuse to get any advice about my work, just as I would not presume to offer advice while employed to help someone else. If I alone am responsible for a job, I can arrange the bracing of square supports or the balancing of the beams just the way I want. I'll be damned if I'll accept anyone's instruction on the smallest feature of my work. I want to be wholly responsible for both the merits and the flaws. When employed by someone else, I am just an honest helper performing the task assigned, never even dreaming of giving unsought, knowing advice. I can't tolerate a parasite who proudly shows off hi
s particular style when he is not the principal builder. I don't want to be a parasite in another's work, any more than I want to have one involved in my own work. I just can't help it. I appreciate the Master's kindness in trying to persuade me in proper accordance with the dictates of social obligations and human sentiments. But I'm sorry he tried to meet me halfway, offering me a parasitic position. I don't mind being a fool and a dimwit, but the thought of prospering as a parasite is insufferable. I would much rather be a small bush, willing to become fertilizer for the large tree that protects me. In my heart, I've always despised those who are proud of being parasites. I'd be too ashamed to degenerate into one myself now by taking advantage of the Master's generosity. Go ahead and reproach me for being so obstinate, but please forgive me, for I just can't help myself. My very obstinacy makes me what I am: Nossori the Dimwit, a fool, an idiot. I deserve to be called names. Oh, the fire is dying out, and it's getting cold. Let's go to bed."

  As he confided his feelings to Onami, she fell silent, unable to find a word to contradict him. The lamplight illuminating the bleak room had dimmed down to the end of the wick.

  <19>

  The same night Genta lay in bed unable to fall asleep. Hearing the first and the second roosters announce the dawn, he arose earlier than usual. After washing off the fatigue of undreamt dreams, he drank a cup of hot tea to dispel the sake odor of the night before. Seikichi awoke with a start, rubbing his sleepy eyes with a confused look on his face. Genta and Okichi broke into laughter together.

  "What happened to you last night, Seikichi?" Genta teased.

  Seikichi hurriedly straightened himself up and began to pump his head madly in apology. "I enjoyed your hospitality too much and fell asleep in spite of myself. Ma'am, did I do something naughty last night?" he asked apprehensively.

  "Well, it's all right," said Okichi, amused. "Just have some breakfast and go to work."

  All the more embarrassed with her amiable reply, he appeared desperate trying to remember what happened, his arms folded across his chest in concentration. His simple-minded sincerity was rather engaging.

  After Seikichi left, Genta again sank into thought. Unlike his usual cheerful self, he hardly spoke, even to Okichi. He pondered, reflected, and brooded. "Oh, I see now!" he would say to himself. "That poor fellow," he would sigh. Or he would ask, "Shall I wash my hands of it?" But the next moment he would angrily growl, "How can I pay him back for this?"

  It pained Okichi to watch him. When she inquired to try to console him, she was told to mind her own business. She grieved helplessly, not knowing what to do.

  Mindless of her concern, Genta deliberated into the evening alone. He apparently arrived at some decision, for he changed into formal attire and went to the temple to request an audience with the Abbot. He then reported everything that had transpired the night before, holding back no detail. He concluded, "Although I was infuriated at first with Jūbei's stubborn attitude, I gave it careful thought when I got home. I am perfectly capable of building the pagoda by myself, but I am not about to turn a deaf ear to your kind admonition. I refuse, moreover, to behave like a man too self-centered and honorless. On the other hand, jūbei is not the least likely to change his mind. Our code of conduct dictates that if he suppresses his desire and yields to me, I must suppress my own and yield the job to him. Even though I had racked my meager brain to come up with an idea, it was useless—Jūbei would not go along with it. It would be senseless for me to blame or hate him, and I am not able to suggest any other solution. At this point, I only request that you, Reverend, kindly assign the project either to jūbei or to me alone, or jointly to both of us. Even if you choose jūbei alone, I will abide by your decision. Both jūbei and I are ready to accept your final word. So there will be no more problem." Genta's sincerity was reflected in his earnest expression.

  Softly smiling, the Abbot replied, "I know, I know. You are a praiseworthy man, just as they say. Fine, fine! That attitude in itself is already more meritorious than the building of a splendid pagoda. Jūbei came a little while ago with the same request. A dear fellow, isn't he? Genta, take him under your wing. Be kind to him."

  "Of course, I certainly will," replied Genta without hesitation, immediately comprehending the Abbot's command.

  "Fine. You are indeed a remarkable man," said the Abbot, his face crinkling into a delighted smile.

  Deeply awed and reverent as Genta was, he raised his face involuntarily to pour out an unfathomable feeling in a few words, weeping. "With your help, I have made a man of myself at last, haven't I?" A noble resolution to back up jūbei's work must have formed in his heart at that instant.

  <20>

  After jūbei returned from Kannō Temple, where he had also seen the Abbot Rōen and tearfully withdrawn his request, he was disconsolate for the rest of the day. He could not even bestir himself to smoke. The more his mind rambled over his misfortune and hardships of life, the more depressed he became. Not that the foods changed their natural flavor, but at dinnertime even his hand seemed reluctant to hold the chopsticks, and somehow his palate refused to taste anything. Instead of the six or seven hearty helpings he was accustomed to enjoying, he stopped after two or three bowlfuls of rice. But he drank an inordinate amount of tea—a sure sign of a person with a troubled mind.

  With the master of the house in such a gloomy mood, the wife and even the impish young Ino were also rueful, deepening the desolation in the impoverished home. They passed the day without hope or merriment and spent the night in chilly dreams.

  Onami awoke with the dawn bell and slipped out of the bed that she shared with Ino. She wanted to let him sleep a little longer until a fire was made, for the morning wind was cold.

  In spite of his mother's loving consideration, Ino suddenly started up. Clad only in his underwear, he jumped about on the bed shouting, "Don't, don't! Please don't beat my father!" He began to weep, covering his eyes with tiny hands shaped like bracken sprouts.

  Startled, Onami took him into her arms. "What is it, Ino?" Even in her embrace, the child continued to cry. "No one is beating Papa. Did you have a nightmare? Look, Papa is still in bed right here."

  She turned the boy's face toward the sleeping figure to reassure him. Ino stared with an air of disbelief, but seemed a little relieved.

  "Nothing's happened. You just had a bad dream. Now, you'd better get back under the covers or you'll catch a chill in this cold air." She forced him down and tucked a quilt securely about him.

  Wide eyed, Ino said, "I was so scared! Mama, some horrible stranger..."

  "Oh? What did he do?"

  "With a huge, huge shovel, he beat Papa on the head again and again, when he was just sitting quietly. And his head cracked in half, and I was awfully frightened."

  "Heaven forbid! How horrid! What an omnious dream!" Onami knitted her eyebrows.

  Just at that instant, the bean vendor passing in front of the house cursed in his familiar tremulous voice, "Damn it! The thong broke on me!" Irked all the more by this additional evil omen, Onami went to the kitchen to start a fire under the water pot, but she was infuriated by the firewood, which was reluctant to burn, and irritated at the window, which refused to slide smoothly.

  "What a way to start a day! It's all in my mind, I know, but there are enough reasons already for me to fret. I'd best keep them to myself, though." She chided herself and made an effort to act cheerful. Her vivacity being mostly pretense, however, her laughter only left mournful echoes, filling the air with even more gloom.

  "Is Jūbei-dono home?" A young acolyte entered the house with an air of precocious importance, seated his supercilious self, and abruptly stated a message, omitting the customary greetings: "You are wanted at the temple. Present yourself promptly."

  Jūbei and Onami were equally puzzled, but a formal summons was not to be declined. Jūbei felt it useless to enter the gate of Kannō Temple again, but he went, if only to inquire why he was wanted. What awaited him was to leave him in total bewilderment. Was i
t a dream or was it real? Was it to be believed at all?

  Abbot Rōen was seated between Endō and Tame'emon. In a most serious tone, Endō announced, "The construction of the pagoda was to be entrusted entirely to Genta of Kawagoe. Nevertheless, by special consideration and exceptional mercy, the Abbot has decided to award the contract to you. There is no need for you to decline. Accept it at once."

  The Abbot himself added in his hoarse voice, "Well, jūbei, build it as best you can. I will be pleased to see it done well."

  Blessed more than he could bear, jūbei prostrated himself on the floor, his entire body heaving. "I offer you my humble life," he blurted out before choking, speechless. In the still of the spacious room only the faint sound of breathing pierced the air, transmitting some wordless message.

  <21>

  During the summer, the sweet fragrance of the white and red lotus flowers had perfumed kimono sleeves and skirts. Dewdrops rolled about on the floating lotus leaves, while the breeze softly caressed the vertical ones. Such intriguing summer scenes vanished completely as the red dragon-flies came to play with the drifting duckweed and the first frost tinted the treetops in the hills. Now among the lotus stalks left standing pitifully bare in red ocher, snowy herons walked slowly and comically, seemingly wishing to remain incognito. The flying geese almost brushed their backs against the twinkling stars in the deep blue twilight sky, their cries enhancing the graceful scene around Shinobazu Pond.