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Confessions of a Japanese Temple Gardener: (P.S – Who's from London, England)

Page 12

by Ben Stevens


  Finally, aged just thirty-one, Sakamoto’s luck run out. He was attacked and killed by an anonymous group of assailants – although it’s commonly now believed that this group actually consisted of his own men, who were sick of what they considered to be Sakamoto’s vainglorious nature and habit of going back on his word.

  When one considers the old Japanese saying ‘A samurai’s word is harder than steel’, we can see just how grave a sin this was…

  In any case, Ryoma Sakamoto was successfully slain on this occasion. With his last words, he apparently expressed mild surprise that his brains should be leaking out from his head…

  …The mountains around Nagasaki harbor and the central city are numerous. (Actually, Japan as a whole is about 70% mountainous.) It would be possible – if you wished, and were suitably equipped – to spend weeks walking high among the trees and long grass and never see another soul.

  Long paths to the side of thousands of towering lengths of bamboo, many of them partially collapsed by high winds. Wild lemon, orange and pear trees on the other side. In places – seemingly almost at random – sagging rock walls, constructed in samurai times and now checked only occasionally.

  Moving towards the mountain that is behind Oteramachi (‘Temple Street’), you start to encounter paths and tombs. Lots and lots of tombs. The odd house, sometimes several together – a tiny community incongruously placed among these monuments to mortality.

  Who would choose to live within a cemetery, often quite high up on the mountainside and so a good walk from any bus or tram stop – and with no road access?

  As you near the mountainside that is behind Daionji temple, the tombs become more widely spaced, and there are a lot more trees and bushes. Also more derelict buildings, the doors and windows boarded over, the roofs collapsed in places.

  The trees can be dangerous. Branches overhang tombs visited by relatives – where services for the internment of the ashes of the recently deceased might be conducted by a priest or monk. Such branches can suddenly snap and fall.

  Sometimes whole trees just die, and rot. Obviously these, too, present a danger. In a high wind, they might topple and smash to pieces the several tombs they land upon.

  Often it falls on Unki-­san and I to scale a tree and remove any dangerously overhanging branches. Maybe one of us happened to notice such a branch or branches, on a previous trip up the mountainside; or possibly a worried visitor reported it to the temple office.

  If the tree is tall, an extendable ladder is used. I am not good on heights – if it’s too high for me (say thirty feet or more) then it is Unki-san who is obliged to go up.

  Not that he minds in the slightest. He is without fear. In fact, I think he is never happier than when – having first correctly roped himself up, in case he slips – he proceeds to crawl along some thick branch high above, to where the other branch that needs to be cut is located.

  ‘Bugger that,’ think I – for it takes a major act of willpower for me to climb the ladder, just to change the light-bulbs in the main hall and dojo.

  Previously, we’ve cut down entire dead trees. The wood is then sawn into pieces and stored in covered racking next to the janitor’s shed. This is located around one side of the temple, just before one of the main paths which lead up the mountainside.

  The wood is allowed to ‘dry out’ for about a year; then, shortly before Omisoka or New Year’s Eve, some of it is split into foot-long lengths with an axe, to serve as fuel for the brick-built ovens in the temple kitchen.

  On occasion, however, a tree that clearly needs cutting down – or at the very least some rather severe ‘pruning’ – is just too big for Unki-san and I to tackle ourselves.

  So we call in Mori-san’s company.

  They arrive bearing long ladders, coils of thick rope and chainsaws. Three grizzled mountain men, dressed in blue overalls and all wearing hardhats. Mori-san (the name is a tad fitting – for mori actually means ‘forest’) often arrives bearing boxes of mikan (tangerines), harvested from his own orchards, for everyone employed at the temple.

  On this occasion, a huge tree growing a little way up the mountain requires drastic pruning. It does not need to be completely cut down; but still this job will take three or four days. The thick branches are meters long, spreading out over any number of tombs, and so need to be correctly roped-up, cut and then lowered down in manageable sections.

  As there is already something of a surplus of wood in the racking next to the janitor’s shed, it is decided that – in order to dispose of them – all the cut branches will just be burnt.

  For safety’s sake, this burning should only take place during the day, while Mori-san and his men are working… But on the evening of the very first day of that particular job, while I’m having dinner, someone rings the temple to say that part of the mountainside appears to be on fire.

  Panic – my brother-in-law priest and I quickly leave the temple’s ‘living quarters’ and exit outside. We can smell the smoke straight away. Around the side of the temple, a little way up the mountain, we see flames.

  We immediately realize that the bonfire burning up the unneeded wood was not extinguished, as it should have been, prior to Mori-san and his men finishing work and going home.

  Still, the fire seems quite localized. Thankfully, it has not spread to any of the other bushes or trees that are dotted all around.

  ‘Get the hose,’ the priest tells me, as he grabs some buckets, used by temple visitors for cleaning their family tombs, from the shelves that are just outside the temple office.

  Suitably equipped, we then start up the mountain path. It’s freezing cold, smoky and very dark except for the torch the priest is carrying. But the fire, up and ahead of us, makes for a bright beacon.

  Reaching it, we then immediately search for a tap. We find one, but it is located in an area below the flames and the water pressure is too weak to force the water upwards and so make the hose effective.

  So we instead start to fill the two large buckets, impatient as it seems to take an age for the water to reach even halfway. Finally, we take the two buckets and start soaking the area around the large fire.

  It’s not conceivable that the fire could consume the whole mountainside – in places, there are just rows and rows of stone and marble tombs and next to no trees or other vegetation (i.e. burnable stuff) – but still, it could spread some way and so cause significant damage.

  Fire is the great enemy of Buddhist temples; and not just Daionji, which saw a fire obliterate the old wooden genkan – entrance hall – in February. Just this summer, it was reported how a monk in Hokkaido managed to set alight his entire temple while trying to ‘smoke-out’ a hornets’ nest. The temple was consequently burnt to the ground – then, to add insult to injury, the insurance company refused to pay out.

  Two police officers suddenly arrive. They saw the flames from down in the street outside the temple’s san-mon or main gate, and so came up to investigate.

  I am sent back down to the temple to get more buckets, but am not given the torch and so get hopelessly lost on my way back up. I mean, I can see the flames, but in the dark the path just keeps seeming to ‘end’ at an entrance to a tomb.

  This requires me to enter the tomb and climb the wall behind it, so gaining access to the next tomb above and moving up the mountainside that way. I also manage to get entangled in a thorny bush, and emerge with copious amounts of leaves and brambles stuck to my fleece.

  Finally, scaling one last rocky wall, I reach the fire. I have with me four more buckets, carried one inside the other, and the priest, policemen and I start filling them and carrying the water over to the flames – which however shows not the slightest intention of dying down. It dawns on us that we’d better call the fire department.

  Then, however, summoned by an earlier phone-call from the priest, Mori-san and his two workmen show up. They look rather shamefaced, and quickly connect the hose to a tap only they know of which is located on the same ‘le
vel’ as the fire.

  So, despite the universal low water pressure of the taps all over the mountain, we can now use the hose to damp down the flames. After the buckets, this has a near-immediate effect, and saves us from having to call the fire-department. (The temple would have been charged for this – and it’s extremely expensive.)

  The priest, the police and I are able to leave after another quarter of an hour or so. But before we do, Mori-san and his men are given a polite, but still rather ‘sharp’ talking to by the police officers, who state that they have more pressing matters to attend to than bonfires that have carelessly been left burning unattended overnight.

  Mori-san and his men bow their heads, one as he continues to hold the hose which is spraying water on the steadily-dying flames, and mutter apologies. These guys are tough men, accustomed to working outdoors, at height and in all weathers. However, as I look at them now, I can’t help but think that they resemble nothing so much as a trio of chastised schoolboys…

  The priest, two policemen and I then make our way back down the mountain path. The priest leads the way, shining the torch in front of him. The police give my vegetation-covered fleece several curious glances. It really does look as though I’ve been ‘dragged through a hedge backwards’.

  Back in the temple’s living quarters, the priest and I congratulate each other on our efforts. I drink a very welcome can of beer while he has a coffee. (The priest has the famous Japanese ‘intolerance’ for alcohol – almost an allergy. If he drinks even half a glass of beer, his face glows red and he instantly becomes very drunk.)

  I go upstairs a short while later, and look out of a window. The sprawling cemetery is all in darkness; the fire has been put out.

  New Year’s Eve

  I awake on the morning of New Year’s Eve to discover that, overnight, there has been a heavy fall of snow. Usually I would delight in such a picturesque scene, maybe take my eldest daughter, aged three, out to play for a little while…

  But this morning, I just try to restrain a sigh…

  For I now know what my first job is going to be. The steep slope that leads up to the temple – the only access for cars and other vehicles – will need to be cleared of snow.

  Otherwise, it will be all but impassable.

  A cup of coffee, a bit of toast, and then I’m outside in the freezing air. I make my way around the side of the temple to the janitor’s hut, open it up, and get a shovel.

  Nothing fancy like salting or gritting the slope and car-park at the temple – the snow all has to be cleared the old-fashioned way, with simple hand-tools.

  The slope will take a good couple of hours to clear, the snow to be banked up steeply on either side. It’s a job that leaves the shoulders and thighs aching for a couple of days afterwards.

  I put on my hat, and get shoveling. Soon I get a phone call from Unki-san, my boss. His normal drive into work has been severely affected because of this weather.

  He says that he’ll make it in, somehow, but doesn’t quite know when.

  In any case, I’m just to continue with what I’m doing now…

  Finally, I’m done. It’s shaping up to be a bright day with a perfectly blue sky. No sign of any more snow as yet. I take the shovel back to the shed and place it in the rack along with the other large hand-tools.

  Unki-san finally arrives. A drive that usually takes around twenty minutes has today taken him over two hours.

  We start making the standard preparations for the temple’s Omisoka or ‘New Year’s Eve’ activities this evening. This is one of the biggest events held at the temple each year.

  As for Christmas – the religious significance to that event, at least, passes by each year virtually unnoticed. Obviously, Japan is predominantly a Buddhist country. Although it is still estimated that around 1% of the population is Christian, a figure that has remained virtually unchanged for centuries.

  Because of the fact that it was once ‘Japan’s Window to the West’, Nagasaki shows an unusually strong Christian/Catholic influence in the form of its several churches (such as the spectacular Oura Church, situated close to the Glover Gardens and with palm trees outside its front), and the couple of museums which detail a period when Christianity was forbidden – not only in Nagasaki, but Japan as a whole.

  The populace was tested to see if it contained any ‘hidden Christians’ by the Fumi-e or ‘Trampling ceremony’ (literally, ‘Stepping-on picture’). This was when people were ordered to step with their bare feet upon a likeness of Jesus Christ or the Virgin Mary.

  Those who refused, and thus revealed their Christianity, were commonly put to death. In fact on February 5, 1597, Nagasaki was the site of the execution, by crucifixion, of the so-called ’26 Martyrs of Japan’, who had in their number both Japanese and gaijin – and also some children.

  Christianity, however, endured such repression, and continues to be practiced to a certain extent within Japan. But most Japanese undoubtedly know of Christmas only through its commercial side – the trees, lights and decorations that are placed outside major department stores and along shopping arcades.

  In fact, this year – on the 1 December – I was paid to dress up as Santa Claus, turn on the lights of the massive tree just outside Nagasaki train station, and then give out some presents to the children who came. It’s one of those strange jobs that any gaijin can pick up, if they just happen to get talking to the right people – as was the case on this occasion…

  …Several hundred people are expected to come to the temple this evening. They will stand in a line to ring the temple bell, pop into the temple main hall to hear a little of the long service that takes place, and then enter the large, tatami room that is called the shoin to partake of some vegetable soup and piping hot green tea.

  The shoin, ‘study’ room is originally where Buddhist texts were translated from such languages as Sanskrit and Chinese into Japanese.

  Nowadays, it’s only really used by the ‘Temple Women’s Club’ – an entirely different ‘organization’ from the ‘Temple Ladies’ Singing Group’, incidentally – who meet there once a month to chat, sing and practice calligraphy.

  The shoin has a number of long, low tables and the long blue cushions that are called zabuton. There is a statue of Buddha in the altar area, surrounded by smaller statues of many-armed bodhisattva – ‘enlightened’ beings who assist normal humans in attaining enlightenment.

  The vegetable soup the guests will enjoy is made from such ingredients as carrot and cabbage. It is served with plain dumplings, and reflects the fact that not eating meat was once, a very long time ago, a strict requirement of the Buddhist faith.

  It is a simpler version of the vegetarian dish called ‘Buddha’s Delight’, comprised of eighteen separate ingredients, that is sometimes served in China on New Years’ Eve.

  Unki-san and I put two large blue plastic bins just outside the shoin, lined with rubbish bags for the hundreds of paper plates, cups and disposable wooden chopsticks that will be thrown away later.

  The stoves in this room and also the temple main hall are checked for fuel – although refilling them is one of my least favorite jobs.

  A large metal tank near the temple kitchen supplies the fuel, which is dispensed into large plastic containers. An ‘electric nozzle’ is placed from this into the stove’s fuel tank – switched on, the fuel automatically flows from the plastic container into the stove.

  But there’s no room for error – although there’s supposed to be a safety cut-off switch, it’s still possible for the fuel to overflow and spill onto the tatami mat below, which would ruin it – the mat would have to be replaced, at some expense.

  Therefore, I’m always extremely careful when doing this job.

  The main hall does not – this time – require a great deal of setting-up. A few more chairs are put out, but visitors to the temple tonight will stay only for a small part of the approximate two-hour long service. People will pop in and out, basically. It’s not like t
he big services which take place three or four times in the year, when everyone remains for the whole thing.

  We also put the temple’s solitary bonsai tree in pride of place in the new genkan (entrance – construction of which was only fully completed in the autumn), next to the main hall.

  Much has been written about how bonsai require frequent, careful pruning and nurturing by experts – and how they can last hundreds of years.

  I have yet to meet a bona fide bonsai expert in Japan, however. (Or come to that, anywhere else in the world – where’s Mr. Miyagi when you need him?)

  Unki-san – who appears to know pretty much everything about everything – has already confessed that when it comes to Japan’s famous ‘miniature trees’, he’s basically clueless.

  In fact, this particular stunted tree showed some signs of dying a few months back. No one knows how long it’s been at the temple; for as long as my mother-in-law can remember, anyway. (That’s about forty years.)

  For most of the year it’s left in a covered area outside, and occasionally watered. That’s about it. When it looked as though it was finally about to expire, all we could do was give it some more water…

  That seemed to do the trick.

  Bonsai tree in position, the main job now is to bring the wood stored in the racking beside the janitor’s shed round to the temple kitchen, where it is placed in readiness to be put under the two large, brick-built ‘ovens’. (These ovens will cook the vegetable soup and boil the green tea.)

  Unki-san and I use a wheelbarrow to transport this wood, which we have already split into foot-long sections with an axe. As we stack the wood in the storage areas by the ovens, the ‘Obasan’ arrive to cut up the vegetables for tonight’s soup.

  Obasan literally means ‘aunt’ – the plural can be difficult to translate in Japanese – but it is a respectful title commonly used to describe middle-aged women.

  The Obasan wear hair nets and aprons, and chatter and laugh shrilly as they go about their work. There is, however, a distinct pecking-order – whenever a certain, stout lady with dyed purple hair and extremely bowed legs gives an instruction, it is quickly obeyed.

 

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