Buddha's Little Finger

by Victor Pelevin

  ‘Who?’ asked Serdyuk.

  ‘Your horse. You’ve tethered him too high. How will he graze? Remember, it’s not just you that’s resting, it’s your faithful companion as well.’

  An expression of puzzlement appeared on Serdyuk’s face, and Kawabata sighed.

  ‘You must understand,’ he said patiently, ‘that in performing this ritual we are transported back, as it were, to the Heian era. At present we are riding through the summer countryside to the province of Ise. I ask you, please, retie the bridle.’

  Serdyuk decided it would be best not to argue. He waved his hands over the upper branch and then wove them around the lower one.

  ‘That’s much better,’ said Kawabata. ‘And now we should compose verses about what we see around us.’

  He closed his eyes and waited in silence for several seconds, then pronounced a long, guttural phrase in which Serdyuk was unable to detect either rhythm or rhyme.

  ‘That’s more or less about what we’ve been saying,’ he explained. ‘About invisible horses nibbling at invisible grass and about how it’s far more real than this asphalt which, in essence, does not exist. But in general it’s all built on word-play. Now it’s your turn.’

  Serdyuk suddenly felt miserable.

  ‘I really don’t know what to say,’ he said in an apologetic tone. ‘I don’t write poems, I don’t even like them very much. And who needs words with the stars up in the sky?’

  ‘Oh,’ Kawabata exclaimed, ‘magnificent! Magnificent! How right you are! Only thirty-two syllables, but worth an entire book!’

  He took a step backwards and bowed twice.

  ‘And how good that I recited my verse first!’ he said. ‘After you I wouldn’t have dared to do it! But where did you learn to write tanka?’

  ‘Oh, around,’ Serdyuk said evasively.

  Kawabata held out the bottle to him. Serdyuk took several large gulps and handed it back. Kawabata also applied himself eagerly, drinking in small sips, holding his free hand behind him – there was obviously some ritual meaning to the gesture, but to be on the safe side Serdyuk avoided asking any questions. While Kawabata was drinking, he lit a cigarette. Two or three drags restored his self-confidence and he even began to feel slightly ashamed of his recent state of timidity.

  ‘And by the way, about the horse,’ he said. ‘I didn’t actually tether him too high. It’s just that recently I’ve been getting tired very quickly, and I take halts of up to three days at a time. That’s why he has a long bridle. Otherwise he’d eat all the grass the first day…’

  Kawabata’s face changed. He bowed once more, walked off to one side and began unfastening the buttons of his jacket over his stomach.

  ‘What are you doing?’ asked Serdyuk.

  ‘I am so ashamed,’ said Kawabata. ‘I can’t carry on living after suffering such dishonour.’

  He sat down on the asphalt surface, unwrapped the bundle, took out the sword and bared its blade – a glimmering patch of lilac slithered along it, reflected from the neon lamp above their heads. Serdyuk finally realized what Kawabata was about to do and managed to grab hold of his hands.

  ‘Stop that will you, please,’ he said in genuine fright. ‘How can you give such importance to trifles like that?’

  ‘Will you be able to forgive me?’ Kawabata asked emotionally, rising to his feet.

  ‘Please, please, let’s just forget about this stupid misunderstanding. And anyway, a love of animals is a noble feeling. Why should you be ashamed of that?’

  Kawabata thought for a moment and the wrinkles on his brow disappeared.

  ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I really was motivated by sympathy for a tired animal, not the desire to show that I understood something better than you. There really is nothing dishonourable about that. I may have said something stupid, but I have not lost face.’

  He put the sword back into its scabbard, swayed on his feet and applied himself to the bottle once again.

  ‘If some petty misunderstanding should arise between two noble men, surely it will crumble to dust if they both attack it with the keen edge of their minds,’ he said, handing the bottle to Serdyuk.

  Serdyuk finished off what was left.

  ‘Of course it will,’ he said. ‘That’s as clear as day, that is.’

  Kawabata raised his head and looked dreamily up at the sky.

  ‘And who needs words with stars up in the sky?’ he declaimed. ‘How very fine. You know, I would really like to celebrate this remarkable moment with a gesture of some kind. Why don’t we release our horses? Let them graze on this beautiful plain, and retreat into the mountains during the nights. Surely they have deserved their freedom?’

  ‘You’re a very kind-hearted man,’ said Serdyuk.

  Kawabata walked unsteadily over to the tree, drew the sword from its scabbard and sliced off the lower branch with a movement that was almost invisible. It fell on to the asphalt of the pavement. Kawabata waved his arms in the air and shouted something loud and incomprehensible – Serdyuk realized that he was driving away the horses. Then he came back, picked up the bottle and with disappointment tipped out the last few drops on to the ground.

  ‘It’s getting cold,’ Serdyuk observed, looking around and instinctively sensing that any moment now the damp Moscow air would weave itself into the solid shape of a police patrol. ‘Shouldn’t we be getting back to the office?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Kawabata, ‘of course. And we can have a bite to eat there too.’

  Serdyuk didn’t remember the way back at all. He only became aware of himself again when they were back in the same room from which their journey had started. Kawabata and he were sitting on the floor and eating noodles out of soup plates. The second bottle was already half-empty, but Serdyuk realized that he was completely sober and in a distinctly exalted mood. Kawabata must have been feeling good as well, because he was humming quietly and beating time with his chopsticks, sending slim vermicelli snakes flying off in all directions around the room. Some of them landed on Serdyuk, but he didn’t find it annoying.

  When he’d finished eating, Kawabata set his plate aside and turned towards Serdyuk.

  ‘Now tell me,’ he said, ‘what does a man want after returning home from a dangerous journey, once he has satisfied his hunger and thirst?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Serdyuk. ‘Round here they usually turn on the television.’

  ‘Nah-ah,’ said Kawabata. ‘In Japan we make the finest televisions in the world, but that doesn’t prevent us from realizing that a television is just a small transparent window in the pipe of a spiritual garbage chute. I wasn’t thinking of those unfortunates who spend their whole lives in a trance watching an endless stream of swill and only feeling alive when they recognize a familiar tin can. I’m talking about people who are worthy of mention in our conversation.’

  Serdyuk shrugged.

  ‘Can’t think of anything in particular,’ he said.

  Kawabata screwed up his eyes, moved closer to Serdyuk and smiled, so that just for a moment he really did look like a cunning Japanese.

  ‘You remember, just a little while ago, when we set the horses loose, then forded the Tenzin river and walked on foot to the gates of Rasemon, you were talking of the warmth of another body lying beside you? Surely this is what your spirit was seeking at that moment?’

  Serdyuk shuddered.

  He’s gay, he thought, I should have guessed it right from the start.

  Kawabata moved even closer.

  ‘After all, it is one of the few remaining natural feelings which a man may still experience. And we did agree that what Russia needs is alchemical wedlock with the East, didn’t we?’

  ‘We did,’ said Serdyuk, squirming inwardly. ‘Of course it does. I was just thinking about it only yesterday.’

  ‘Good,’ said Kawabata, ‘but there is nothing that happens to nations and countries that is not repeated in symbolic form in the life of the individuals who live in those countries and mak
e up those nations. Russia, in the final analysis, is you. So if you spoke sincerely, and of course I cannot at all believe otherwise, then let us perform this ritual immediately. Let us, as it were, reinforce our words and thoughts with a symbolic fusion of basic principles…’

  Kawabata bowed and winked.

  ‘In any case, we shall be working together, and there is nothing which brings men so close together as…’

  He winked again and smiled. Serdyuk bared his teeth mechanically in response and noticed that one of Kawabata’s own teeth was missing. But there were other things that struck him as far more significant: first of all, Serdyuk remembered the danger of AIDS, and then he recalled that his underwear wasn’t particularly clean. Kawabata got up and went across to the cupboard, rummaged in it and tossed Serdyuk a piece of cloth. It was a blue cap, exactly like those shown on the heads of the men on the sake glasses. Kawabata put one on his head, gestured for Serdyuk to do the same and clapped his hands.

  Immediately one of the panels in the wall slid to one side and Serdyuk became aware of a rather wild-sounding music. Behind the panel, in a small room that looked more like a broom cupboard, there was a group of four or five girls wearing long colourful kimonos and holding musical instruments. For a moment Serdyuk thought they weren’t actually wearing kimonos, but some kind of long, badly cut dressing-gowns belted at the waist with towels and tucked up so as to look like kimonos, but then he decided that dressing-gowns like that were essentially kimonos after all. The girls waved their heads from side to side and smiled as they played. One had a balalaika, another one was banging together a pair of painted wooden Palekh spoons, and another two were holding small plastic harmonicas which made a fearful, piercing squeaking noise; this was only natural, Serdyuk thought, since harmonicas like that were never actually made to play on, merely to create a happy atmosphere at children’s parties.

  The girls’ smiles were a little forced and the layer of rouge on their cheeks looked a bit too thick. Their features were not even slightly Japanese, either – they were just ordinary Russian girls, and not even particularly beautiful. One of them looked like a student from Serdyuk’s year at college, a girl called Masha.

  ‘Woman, Semyon,’ Kawabata said thoughtfully, ‘is by no means created for our downfall. In that marvellous moment when she envelops us in her body, it is as though we are transported to that happy land from which we came and to which we shall return after death. I love women and I am not ashamed to admit it. And every time I am joined with one of them, it is as though I…’

  Without bothering to finish, he clapped his hands and the girls danced forward in close formation, gazing straight ahead into empty space as they moved directly towards Serdyuk.

  ‘Sixth rank, fifth rank, fourth rank, and now our horses turn to the left, and the longed-for palace of Suzdaku emerges from the mist,’ said Kawabata as he buttoned up his pants, gazing attentively all the while at Serdyuk.

  Serdyuk raised his head from the floor-covering. He must have fallen asleep for a few minutes – Kawabata was obviously continuing with some story, but Serdyuk couldn’t remember the beginning. He took a look at himself. He was wearing nothing but an old washed-out T-shirt with Olympic symbols; the rest of his clothing was scattered about the room. The girls, tousled, half-naked and passionless, were fussing around the electric kettle that was boiling in the corner. Serdyuk started getting dressed quickly.

  ‘Further on, by the left wing of the castle,’ Kawabata continued, ‘we take a turn to the right, and there are the gates of Blissful Light rushing towards us…And now everything depends on which poetic style is in closest harmony with your soul at this moment. If you are inwardly attuned to simplicity and joy, you will gallop straight forward. If your thoughts are far removed from this frail and perishable world, then you will turn to the left and see before you the gates of Eternal Peace. And finally, if you are young and hot-headed and your soul thirsts for delights, you will turn to the right and enter in at the gates of Enduring Joy.’

  Squirming under Kawabata’s unwavering gaze, Serdyuk pulled on his trousers, his shirt and his jacket, and began knotting the tie round his neck, but his fingers got tangled up in the knots and he gave up, dragged the tie off over his head and shoved it back into his pocket.

  ‘But then,’ Kawabata continued, raising one finger in a solemn gesture – he seemed so absorbed in what he was saying that Serdyuk realized there was no need to feel embarrassed or hurry – ‘then, whatever gateway you may have chosen to enter the imperial palace, you find yourself in the same courtyard! Think what a revelation this is for a man accustomed to reading the language of symbols! Whatever road your heart has followed, whatever route your soul may have mapped out, you always return to the same thing! Remember what is said – all things return to the one, but where does the one return to? Ah?’

  Serdyuk raised his eyes from the floor.

  ‘Well, where does the one return to?’ Kawabata repeated, and his eyes narrowed into two slits.

  Serdyuk coughed and opened his mouth to say something, but before he could speak Kawabata had clapped his hands in delight.

  ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘profound and accurate as always. And especially for those rare horsemen who have risen to the height of this truth, growing in the first courtyard of the imperial palace there is an orange-blossom tree and a…What would you plant to pair with an orange blossom?’

  Serdyuk sighed. There was only one Japanese plant he knew.

  ‘What’s it called…Sakura,’ he said. ‘A blossoming sakura.’

  Kawabata took a step backwards and added yet another bow to the long sequence he had already made that evening. There seemed to be tears gleaming in his eyes.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said Kawabata. ‘Precisely so. Orange blossom and cherry blossom in the first courtyard, and further on, by the Chambers of the Drifting Scents there is a wistaria, by the Chambers of the Frozen Flowers there is a plum tree, by the Chambers of the Reflected Light there is a pear tree. Oh how ashamed I am that I have subjected you to the insult of this interrogation! Please believe me, I am not to blame for this. Such are…’

  He glanced across at the girls sitting round the electric kettle and clapped his hands twice. The girls gathered up the kettle and their scattered clothes and quickly disappeared into the broom cupboard from which they had emerged; the screen closed behind them and nothing, apart perhaps from a few spots of something white on the fax machine, was left to remind Serdyuk of the bonfire of passion that had been blazing in the room only a few minutes earlier.

  ‘Such are the rules of our firm,’ Kawabata finished his sentence. ‘I’ve already told you that when I use the word “firm” I am not translating absolutely accurately. In actual fact it would be more correct to say “clan”. But if this term is used too early, it may arouse suspicion and fear. We therefore prefer first to find out what kind of man we are dealing with and then go into the details. Even though in your case the answer was clear to me from the moment when you recited that magical poem…’

  Kawabata stood absolutely still and closed his eyes, and for several seconds his lips moved silently. Serdyuk guessed that he was repeating the phrase about the stars in the sky, which Serdyuk couldn’t remember exactly himself.

  ‘Quite remarkable words. Yes, from that moment on everything was absolutely clear to me. But there are rules, very strict rules, and I was obliged to ask you the required questions. Now I must tell you the following,’ Kawabata continued. ‘Since I have already mentioned that our firm is in reality more like a clan, it follows that our employees are more like members of a clan. And the obligations which they take upon themselves are also different from the usual obligations that hired hands accept. To put it simply, we accept you as a member of our clan, which is one of the most ancient in Japan. The title of the vacant post which you will occupy is “Assistant Manager for the Northern Barbarians”. I understand that the title might possibly seem offensive to you, but this is a tradition older than the city of
Moscow. It is a beautiful city, by the way, especially in summer. This is a post for a samurai, and a layman may not occupy it. Therefore, if you are willing to accept the post, I will make you a samurai.’

  ‘But what kind of work is it?’

  ‘Oh, nothing complicated,’ said Kawabata. ‘Papers, clients. From the outside it all looks just the same as in any other firm, except that your inner attitude to events must match the harmony of the cosmos.’

  ‘And what’s the pay like?’

  ‘You will receive two hundred and fifty koku of rice a year,’ said Kawabata, and frowned as he calculated something in his head. ‘That’s about forty thousand of your dollars.’

  ‘In dollars?’

  ‘However you wish,’ Kawabata said with a shrug.

  ‘I’ll take it,’ said Serdyuk.

  ‘As I expected. Now tell me, are you ready to accept that you are a samurai of the Taira clan?’

  ‘I should say so.’

  ‘Are you willing to link your life and your death with the destiny of our clan?’

  All these crazy rituals they have, thought Serdyuk. Where do they find the time to make all those televisions?

  ‘I am,’ he said.

  ‘Will you be prepared, as a real man, to cast the ephemeral blossom of this life over the edge of the abyss and into the void if this is required of you by your giri?’ Kawabata asked with a nod in the direction of the print on the wall.

  Serdyuk took another look at it.

  ‘I will,’ he said, ‘of course. Chuck the blossom down the abyss – no problem.’

  ‘You swear?’

  ‘I swear.’

  ‘Splendid,’ said Kawabata, ‘splendid. Now there is only one small formality left, and we’ll be finished. We must receive confirmation from Japan. But that will only take a few minutes.’

  He sat down facing the fax machine, rummaged through a pile of papers until he found a clean sheet, and then a brush appeared in his hand.

  Serdyuk changed his position. His legs had gone numb from sitting too long on the floor and he thought it would be a good idea to ask Kawabata whether he would be allowed to bring a stool – just a small one – to work with him. Then he looked around for the remains of the sake, but the bottle had disappeared. Kawabata was busy with his sheet of paper and Serdyuk was afraid to ask – he couldn’t be sure that he wouldn’t disrupt the ritual. He remembered the oath he had just taken. God almighty, he thought, the number of oaths I’ve sworn in my life! Promised to struggle for the cause of the Communist Party, didn’t I? Half a dozen times, probably, going back to when I was just a kid. Promised to marry Masha, didn’t I? Sure I did. And yesterday, after the Clear Ponds, when I was drinking with those idiots, didn’t I promise we’d get another bottle on me? And now look where it’s got me – chucking blossoms down an abyss.