by Unknown
THE GOLDEN TEA ROOM
Jack let himself be led back down the corridor and towards the reception room with the wall hanging of the white crane. Upon entering, Jack immediately knelt down and bowed low until his head touched the tatami in deference to the daimyo.
‘So you were caught out by my Nightingale Floor?’
Daimyo Takatomi sat cross-legged upon the cedar dais, guarded by six samurai who lined the walls like stone statues.
‘Yes,’ Jack admitted.
‘Excellent!’ he cried, a satisfied grin on his face. ‘The Nightingale Floor is the new security feature in my palace that I’m most proud of. The bird sound is produced by metal hinges under the floorboards that are triggered with the pressure of a single foot. This makes it impossible to cross without being detected. I think our little game of “Escape” has proved its effectiveness.’
‘What I would like to know, Father,’ asked Emi, who knelt between Yamato and Akiko, ‘is how Jack got out of this room.’
Jack smiled to himself. While he hadn’t managed to avoid all the traps during the daimyo’s challenge to each of them to escape his castle undetected, he had evaded the guards longer than anyone else.
‘Emi-chan,’ said her father reproachfully, ‘I cannot believe my own daughter didn’t spot the other door.
Jack glanced over to see the daimyo indicating the blank wall to their right. They all studied it, bemused. Takatomi, with a wave of his hand, prompted one of his samurai guards to push at the central wall panel. It gave a soft click, then pivoted on a central axis.
The samurai disappeared in the blink of an eye.
A moment later, the wall revolved again and the guard was back in the room. Jack, Akiko, Yamato and Emi looked at one another, dumbfounded by the hidden door. For even now, though they knew it was there, the wall appeared solid and unbroken.
‘As I said before, children, Nijo Castle is now ninja-proof, but you can never be too careful. I have a guard behind that door every time I receive guests in this room.’
‘So that’s how you escaped,’ said Emi, shaking her head in disbelief. ‘I can’t believe you spotted it and we didn’t.’
Jack was going to correct her, but decided against it. Clearly, the daimyo thought no one had discovered his bolt-hole behind the wall hanging of the crane.
It was daimyo Takatomi’s secret.
Now it was Jack’s too.
‘But enough of the games for this evening,’ announced the daimyo. ‘It is time for cha-no-yu.’
* * *
‘The host will sometimes spend days going over every detail to ensure that the ceremony is perfect,’ explained Emi in hushed tones.
They were entering the roji, a tiny cultivated garden, devoid of flowers but sprinkled with water so that all the mossy rocks, ferns and stepping-stones glistened like morning dew. Emi led the way and seated herself on a bench, indicating for Jack, Akiko and Yamato to join her.
‘Here we wait,’ informed Emi softly, ‘in order that we may rid ourselves of the dust of the world.’
Jack’s anticipation grew. He didn’t particularly like green tea, but he knew the tea ceremony was of the greatest significance. Emi had tried to explain the ritual, but there was so much symbolism attached to every action, movement and moment that Jack understood very little of what she said.
‘There are four guiding principles to the tea ceremony,’ she had explained. ‘Harmony, respect, purity and tranquillity. At its deepest level, you should experience the same qualities in your own heart and mind.’
As they sat there, silently absorbing the peace of the roji, Jack began to understand some of Emi’s meaning. The soft trickle of flowing water sounded like distant bells and the simplicity of the garden somehow eased his mind. The setting was almost magical and he felt his spirits begin to lift.
‘Now remember, Jack,’ whispered Emi after a moment of silence, ‘when we go in, do not step on the joins between mats. Do not walk on or touch the central tatami where the hearth is. You must remain in the kneeling seiza position throughout the ceremony, and don’t forget to admire the hanging scroll, study the kettle and hearth and comment favourably on the scoop and tea container when they’re offered to you for inspection.’
‘Is that all?’ exclaimed Jack, his brain bursting with so much etiquette.
‘Don’t worry. Simply follow what I do,’ said Akiko softly, seeing Jack’s growing alarm.
She gave him a tender look and Jack felt reassured. With Akiko by his side, he should be able to avoid the most embarrassing of mistakes.
‘You have to be quiet now,’ ordered Emi under her breath, straightening out her kimono as her father appeared.
Daimyo Takatomi, dressed in a stark-white kimono, approached along a black-pebbled path. He paused by a large stone basin set among rocks and filled it with fresh water from the stream. Jack watched as the daimyo took a small wooden ladle from beside the basin, scooped up some of the water and washed both his hands and mouth. Once he had completed the purification ritual, he made his way through the chumon gate, and silently welcomed his guests with a courteous bow. They responded likewise before following the daimyo back through the chumon, which Emi had informed Jack was a symbolic doorway between the physical world and the spiritual world of the cha-no-yu.
They each took up the wooden ladle in turn and purified their hands and mouth, before continuing along the path to the tea house. Here, the entrance was only a few feet high, so they had to crouch to enter. Emi had explained that the doorway was constructed like this so that everyone had to bow their heads, stressing that all were equal in chano-yu, irrespective of status or social position. It also meant a samurai could not carry a sword inside.
Jack was the last to enter. He slipped off his sandals and ducked through the entrance. As he stood up, he gasped in astonishment. The small square room was decorated entirely in gold leaf. To Jack, it was like standing inside a bar of solid gold. Even the ceiling was gilded. The only adornment in the room was a single scroll hanging in the alcove. The tatami, while not gold, were lined with rich red gossamer, so that the tea room’s magnificence totally overwhelmed the senses.
Jack had been under the impression from Akiko that tea rooms were modest, simple buildings made of wood and decorated in subdued colours, but this tea house was grand beyond imagination.
Akiko and Yamato looked equally dumbstruck and the daimyo Takatomi was clearly pleased with their reactions. He gestured for them to kneel and join him.
Emi stepped towards the alcove, taking her time to admire the scroll painting before seating herself in front of the hearth and examining the kettle appreciatively. Akiko and Yamato performed the same ritual, then Jack tried to copy their actions.
He approached the alcove and studied the scroll, a simple yet exquisite painting of a kingfisher upon a bare branch, with kanji scripture traced in ink down its right-hand side.
‘The kanji says Ichi-go, Ichi-e: one time, one meeting,’ explained Takatomi. ‘The scroll reminds me that each tea ceremony is unique and must be savoured for what it gives.’
The others nodded appreciatively at Takatomi’s wisdom.
‘The script may also be interpreted as “One chance in a lifetime”. This reminds me that in any conflict of life and death, there is no chance to try again. You must seize life with both hands.’
Ichi-go, Ichi-e, repeated Jack quietly. The daimyo’s words rang true. Having lost so much, Jack understood the fragility of life.
Takatomi indicated for Jack to join the others, then the daimyo lit a small charcoal fire in the hearth and fed the flames with incense. The heady aroma of sandalwood soon filled the air.
Retiring to a preparation room through a discreet door to his right, Takatomi collected a black tea bowl containing a bamboo whisk, a white linen cloth and a slender ivory scoop. On his return, he meticulously arranged these by a large oval water jar placed on the central tatami.
Next Takatomi brought in a second water bowl, a bamboo w
ater ladle and a green bamboo rest for the kettle lid. Closing the shoji door behind him, he then arranged himself in seiza.
With due ceremony, he removed a fine silk cloth of bright purple from his obi and began a ritual cleansing of the scoop and tea container. The level of concentration the daimyo applied to the process was quite remarkable. Every movement was painstakingly precise and heavy with a symbolism that remained a mystery to Jack.
As the daimyo ladled hot water from the kettle into the tea bowl, he spoke once again. ‘When tea is made with water drawn from the depths of the mind, whose bottom is beyond measure, we really have what is called cha-no-yu.’
And so the Way of Tea began.
12
TAMASHIWARI
‘Four hours for a cup of tea!’ exclaimed Jack as they made their way back to the Shishi-no-ma under a star-filled night.
‘Yes, how wonderful!’ enthused Akiko, misinterpreting Jack’s incredulity for awe. ‘The ceremony was perfect. The daimyo certainly has a flair for cha-no-yu, a rare master of sado. You should feel greatly honoured.’
‘I feel greatly sore!’ mumbled Jack in English, still suffering from his knees having locked up after the first hour. ‘God forbid tea ever arrives on our shores!’
‘Sorry, what was that?’ asked Akiko.
‘I said, we have yet to have tea in England,’ Jack mistranslated in Japanese.
‘Your countrymen can sail so far, but you don’t have tea! How sad to miss out on such perfection.’
‘We have other drinks,’ countered Jack, though he had to admit the drink on-board ship was an acquired taste too.
‘Oh, I’m sure they’re nice… but what about the Golden Tea Room?’ she continued. ‘To think that the daimyo once moved the entire tea room to the Imperial Palace to entertain the Emperor himself ! We are truly honoured guests.’
Jack let Akiko talk uninterrupted. The Japanese were usually very reserved in expressing their emotions and he was happy to see her so buoyant. While Akiko continued discussing the ceremony with Yamato, Jack thought about Nijo Castle and its inner palace. He was astounded at the lengths the daimyo had gone to protect himself. Takatomi was clearly proud of the new security features he had installed since Dragon Eye’s assassination attempt. Hence the escape challenge the daimyo had arranged to demonstrate its effectiveness.
‘Ninja-proof,’ the daimyo had said.
If that were so, reasoned Jack, then the bolt-hole behind the hanging of the crane was the most secure location to hide the rutter from Dragon Eye. Certainly far better than under a flimsy futon or in the grounds of the Niten Ichi Ryū. Besides, the school was the first place the ninja would look. Jack realized he had no choice but to somehow arrange a return visit to the castle and hide the logbook.
‘KIAI!’ screamed Akiko.
Her fist slammed into the solid block of wood.
And rebounded…
The strike looked exceedingly painful and Jack winced for her. Akiko cradled her hand, tears welling up in her eyes, her joy of the previous night completely extinguished by their first class of the day, taijutsu.
‘Next!’ shouted Sensei Kyuzo, without a hint of sympathy.
Akiko knelt back in line to allow Jack to take up position in front of the short rectangular plank. The cedar was as thick as his thumb and appeared indestructible with bare hands. Still Sensei Kyuzo had placed it upon two stable blocks in the middle of the Butokuden and instructed every student to break the board with their fists.
So far no one had even dented it.
Jack clenched his right hand in preparation to strike. With all his might, he drove his arm down on to the cedar plank. His fist collided with the block, sending a shuddering jolt up his arm. The wood didn’t even splinter, but Jack felt as if every bone in his hand had shattered.
‘Pathetic,’ snarled Sensei Kyuzo, waving him dismissively back into line.
Jack rejoined the rest of class, who were all nursing bruised hands and aching arms.
‘Iron is full of impurities that weaken it,’ lectured Sensei Kyuzo, ignoring the suffering of his students. ‘Through forging, it becomes steel and is transformed into a razor-sharp sword. Samurai develop in the same fashion. Those wishing to prove they’re strong enough to be chosen for the Circle of Three will be required to break through three such blocks, at the same time.’
Sensei Kyuzo suddenly attacked the cedar block, dropping his tiny body downwards and driving his fist through the wood with a shout of ‘KIAI!’
CRACK! The cedar split in two as if it were no more than a chopstick.
‘You’re all merely iron waiting to be forged into mighty warriors,’ continued Sensei Kyuzo without skipping a beat, ‘and your forge is tamashiwari, Trial by Wood.’
He looked pointedly in Jack’s direction.
‘It’s just that some of you have more impurities than others,’ he added as he strode over to one of the Butokuden’s mighty wooden pillars.
Jack bit down on his lip, determined not to rise to the sensei’s bait.
‘Like iron, you must beat out these weaknesses,’ Sensei Kyuzo explained, indicating a pad of rice straw bound by cord at chest height to the pillar.
He punched it with his fist. The wooden column boomed deeply under the force of the blow.
‘This is a makiwara. I’ve set up these striking posts on each pillar of the training hall. You’re to hit these repeatedly to strengthen the bones in your hands. It’s good conditioning for all samurai. Twenty punches each. Begin!’
Jack lined himself up behind Saburo, who was already preparing to make his first strike.
‘One!’ shouted Saburo, working himself up for the punch.
Saburo’s fist collided with the straw pad. There was a crunch followed by a feeble groan as his hand crumpled against the rigid pillar. Saburo, his eyes screwed up in pain, stepped aside for Jack.
‘Your turn,’ he moaned through gritted teeth.
‘Three blocks!’ exclaimed Saburo, who was having trouble holding his hashi during dinner that evening. He wiggled his fingers trying to get movement back into his bruised hand. ‘I’m glad it’s you and not me going for the Circle of Three. One’s hard enough. How on earth are you supposed to break three blocks?’
‘You think Trial by Wood’s hard? This is only the beginning. We’re being judged on three other trials too,’ said Yamato, putting down his rice bowl.
He nodded towards the head table, where their kyujutsu teacher sat. Sensei Yosa, the only female samurai among the teachers and their instructor in the Art of the Bow, was looking as radiant as ever, the ruby-red scar that cut across her right cheek discreetly hidden behind her beautiful mane of black hair. ‘I’ve heard Sensei Yosa’s Trial by Fire is to snuff out a candle.’
‘That doesn’t sound so bad,’ said Jack, his hand also stiff as he struggled to pick up a piece of sashimi from the centre plate.
‘No, but in order to prove your skill for the Circle you have to do it with an arrow, fired at long distance.’
Jack dropped his sashimi in disbelief.
‘At this rate, none of you will be entering the Circle,’ observed Kiku.
Jack glumly retrieved his piece of fish from the table. Kiku was probably right. His own archery skills were passable, but he knew he had little hope of achieving such a feat as Trial by Fire.
‘Do you know what the other two trials are? Are they any easier?’ asked Jack hopefully.
‘Sensei Yamada is setting a Trial by Koan,’ revealed Akiko. ‘Our answer to the question will be used to assess our intellect.’
‘Yori, you’d better be careful,’ said Saburo, arching his eyebrows into a look of serious concern. ‘As the king of solving koans, you might be entered for the Circle whether you like it or not!’
Yori looked up from his bowl of miso soup, a startled expression on his face.
‘Stop teasing him!’ scolded Kiku.
Saburo shrugged an apology before slurping appreciatively on his noodles.
‘So what’s the final trial?’ asked Jack.
‘That’s Sensei Hosokawa’s Trial by Sword,’ answered Akiko. ‘To test our courage.’
‘I’ve heard the older students call it the Gauntlet,’ added Saburo.
‘Why’s that?’ asked Jack.
‘I don’t know, but I’m sure you’ll find out.’
13
ORIGAMI
‘Can anyone tell me what this is?’ asked Sensei Yamada, indicating a bright white square of paper at his feet.
The ancient monk sat, cross-legged, in his usual position on the raised dais at the rear of the Buddha Hall, his hands gently folded in his lap. Trails of incense weaved a curtain of smoke around him and mingled with his grey spiderweb of a beard, making him appear ghost-like, as if the slightest breeze could blow him away.
The students, also sitting in the half-lotus position, studied the squares of paper laid out before them like large snowflakes.
‘Paper, Sensei,’ scoffed Nobu from the back of the class, grinning at Kazuki for approval. But Kazuki just shook his head in disbelief at his friend’s idiocy.
‘Never assume the obvious is true, Nobu-kun,’ said Sensei Yamada. ‘That’s what it is, but it’s much more than that. What else is it?’
Nobu fell silent under Sensei Yamada’s glare. The sensei may have been an old man, but Jack knew he’d been sohei, one of the notoriously fearsome warrior monks of Enryakuji, once the most powerful Buddhist monastery in Japan. It was rumoured the fighting spirit of these monks had been so strong, they could kill a man without even touching him.
Sensei Yamada clapped his hands and called, ‘Mokuso!’ signalling the start of the class’s meditation. The koan had been set: ‘It is paper, but what else is it?’
Jack settled himself on his zabuton cushion in preparation for his zazen meditation. Half closing his eyes, he slowed his breathing and let his mind empty.
As a Christian, Jack had never encountered meditation, or even Buddhism, prior to his arrival in Japan. At first he had found the process and concepts difficult to grasp. He questioned whether, as a Christian, he should be accepting them so readily, but three things had helped him change his mind.
