by Naoya Shiga
“What good would she be to anybody if she did recover?” said Kensaku disgustedly.
“But that’s not the way Také feels.”
What a strange way to be, Kensaku thought; but perhaps it was because Také was so strange that he wasn’t himself dragged into the whirlpool. “I saw him this afternoon, you know. He promised to take me up the mountain tomorrow night.”
“So mother told me. But they’ve already found someone else to be your guide.”
What an irony, what a disillusionment, Kensaku thought, to come all the way to this supposedly sacred place and be told such a story. But how fortunate that Také should have been in the mountain when the ugly incident took place, and that he himself should have escaped injury. That morning, when Oyoshi told him Také’s story, he had wondered whether Také was not a little perverted; but now, he wondered whether Také’s forbearance did not simply come from his total understanding of what his wife was. Perhaps through knowing completely his wife’s nature and all of the bad traits she had always exhibited, he had been able to ignore his own feelings and forgive her. In all likelihood the bloody incident was taking place below just as Také and he were having that pleasant conversation. Despite all his detachment, Také must now be a defeated man. If it was true that he felt no hatred toward his wife, then he probably was grieving terribly.
What his mother and Naoko had done was more a mistake made in helplessness than an act of infidelity. Yet how much of a curse on others it had been allowed to become, how much of his own life had been haunted by it. Of course Také must have suffered, he must be suffering now. Yet he had somehow managed to rise above his misfortune. Perhaps if one couldn’t be like Také, then one was destined to take part in some such desperate play as was enacted that day in the village below. What might have happened to himself, Kensaku wondered, what kind of a person might he have been, if he had not had his work to turn to, if he had not had the sense of his own identity? “What a frightening business,” he said aloud.
“Isn’t it?” said Oyoshi, unaware of Kensaku’s meaning. “But I simply can’t understand his wife. Why does she behave like that?”
“Také himself is a mystery too, don’t you think? Don’t you find it odd that he can’t hate her?”
The next day was a clear, sunny day, just right for hiking. But the depression of the day before had not yet left Kensaku entirely, and the prospect of going out on a hike with a group of strangers held little attraction for him. He decided he would not go that night.
That afternoon he went to Amida’s Chapel, and sat on the steps for about an hour. When as a child he missed his mother, he would often go alone to her grave. These visits to Amida’s Chapel somehow offered him the same kind of solace. Hardly anyone ever came there, and in the place of people there were always numerous little birds, dragonflies, bees, ants, and lizards to occupy his attention. Sometimes he could hear turtledoves cooing on trees nearby.
On his way back he stopped at a deserted temple named Fujimon’in. The great thatched roof high above was almost buried by the even taller cedars surrounding it. It must have been deserted for some time, for here and there boards had been pulled off the closed storm doors. Keeping his clogs on, he went inside. Facing him was a large altar, without the customary statue or accouterments. On either side of the altar was something that looked like a doorless cupboard, about six feet wide; and on the shelves were dozens of dust-covered memorial tablets, some still standing and some fallen on their sides. They were large, impressive tablets of black lacquer with gold lettering, capped with what looked very much like the curved gables of Momoyama-period buildings. They were presumably memorials to all the past rectors and great patrons, and it was not pleasant to see them in such disarray. Either squirrels or field mice were responsible, Kensaku decided.
In the long, unfloored section of the dark rectory was the scullery, and here Kensaku found a huge tub, about the size of one floor mat, for storing water. It was partly inside the house and partly outside. Water from a spring flowed steadily into it through a pipe, and was spilling over the sides. The bottom of the tub was covered with mountain sand carried there by the water. The summer sun, which not even the cedars could hide, shot shimmering, green shafts of light through the water onto the sandy bottom. In this temple, where everything else seemed dead and forgotten, here was one place graced with beauty and life. He went to the other side of the rectory to look at the study bay. It was in a state of utter neglect, its surroundings far wilder than he had expected. Although he had known that it was a lonely place in the middle of the woods, that there was not a soul living within a half mile of it, he had come there thinking that if it looked habitable enough, he might move in. But clearly it was not fit for habitation.
Oyoshi, with the baby in her arms, was standing on top of the stone steps when he returned. “Did that person come again while I was out?” asked Kensaku. He was referring to the priest.
“No, he didn’t.” Her tone suggested she didn’t care much for the priest. “He knows very well you won’t find a place as convenient as this.”
“Well, it’s just as well he didn’t come again. I went to have a look at Fujimon’in, but it’s a real wilderness out there.”
Oyoshi shook her head and said, “You couldn’t possibly think of living there—absolutely not.”
The baby was avidly sucking his fist. It was a peculiarly shaped fist, Kensaku thought, remarkably straight along the top. As Kensaku approached them the baby pulled it away from his mouth and stuck it out toward him. It was very wet. Making loud gurgling sounds and squirming excitedly in his mother’s arms, he leaned precariously forward, as though he wanted Kensaku to hold him. Kensaku laughed and said as he walked away, “He had a taste of my condensed milk the other day, and he wants more. No, you can’t have any.”
18
Two or three days passed, and still there was no news of Také. The priest did not appear again either. Once Kensaku heard the Zen cry of admonition, “Katsu!”, coming from the temple below. The teacher was presumably discussing its significance. Kensaku had thought that he might go and listen to him discourse on Lin-chi, but since the priest made no attempt to contact him again, he decided not to bother.
The weather stayed good, and he continued to take his solitary walks in the woods. He missed Také rather. They were not particularly close, but it used to be pleasant to stop and have a chat with him. His going seemed to have left a gap in Kensaku’s daily life. The pile of shingles lay in the clearing; those unpleasant caterpillarlike creatures had disappeared from the stone basin, and in their place a wagtail was hopping about on it.
Kensaku was not exactly postponing his hike to the top of the mountain until Také got back, but it was true that Také’s going had dampened his enthusiasm for it; and if he had not been afraid that the fine weather might suddenly break and be followed by days of rain, he might have put it off indefinitely.
Deciding, then, that he should not tarry any longer, he went to the priest’s wife one afternoon and asked her to find a guide for him. “I don’t care if no one comes with me,” he said. “If possible, I should like to go tomorrow night.”
“All right. It does seem a little extravagant to hire a guide just for one person, but I agree, it would be a pity if the weather were suddenly to get bad. Let me find out if there’s anyone available for tomorrow night, then. You never know, you may find that there will be others to keep you company.”
“Thank you very much.”
Just then the young mailman, wearing gaiters and straw sandals, came into the unfloored entryway of the rectory where the two were standing. Wiping the sweat off his brow he walked over to the edge of the front hall and sat down heavily. He brought out a bundle of mail tied together with string, leafed through it and pulled out a couple of letters. “There,” he said, and put them down beside him.
“Thank you,” said the priest’s wife. “It must be hard to have to walk so much on a hot day like this. Would you like so
me tea, or would you prefer water?”
“Water, please.”
“Shall I put some sugar in it?”
“That would be very good.”
Kensaku had watched the bundle as the mailman leafed through it in the hope that he would catch a glimpse of Naoko’s handwriting. But of course there was no reason why she should have been able to write so soon. “Then please find me a guide for tomorrow night,” he called out to the priest’s wife as she left to go to the kitchen. “Don’t worry if I’m the only one.”
He was about to withdraw to the annex when the mailman said, “Wait a minute, I just remembered,” and began searching through his pockets. “Ah, here it is.” He produced a badly crinkled telegram. “You are Mr. Tokitō, aren’t you?”
Kensaku stood still, rigid with fright. He felt the blood drain from his face; he could hear his heart thumping. Naoko is dead, he thought, she’s committed suicide; they couldn’t let me know before because they didn’t know where I was.
“From your family, is it?” asked the priest’s wife as she returned with a glass of water on a tray. The very casualness of her tone made Kensaku even more frightened.
“Letter received,” said the telegram. “Not worried any more. Letter follows. Naoko.” He thanked the mailman and walked back to the annex, unaware that as he did so he was folding the telegram over and over into a tiny square.
His own shock when he saw the telegram in the mailman’s hand now amused him. There were several reasons why he had reacted that way: one, of course, was that he had not expected it at all; another was that in these last few days, he had had several thoughts which he wished very much he had expressed in his letter to Naoko, thoughts which she would have liked to know; and another was that the recent unpleasant incident involving Také’s wife had so impressed itself on his mind that on seeing the telegram, he had immediately associated one with the other. But whatever the reason, he had to smile at the idiocy of his reaction. Suddenly cheerful now, he read the telegram again and again, thinking, “Everything is all right.” That night he pushed the bedding under the mosquito net to one side, and lying on the floor beside it, began writing a long overdue letter to Nobuyuki. He tried to describe in detail his present state of mind. But because those thoughts that had for so long dominated his life before were so fanciful, the change that had occurred in his way of thinking since his coming to the mountain, when described exactly as he had experienced it, seemed equally fanciful and vain. He simply didn’t know how to write about such matters, he decided; much better, then, to write a simple, reassuring letter to his brother, who presumably would have heard from Oei and Naoko about his departure from Kyoto and who might be worried about him. He folded the five or six pages that he had already written, put these away in his briefcase, and began anew.
The door opened, and the priest’s wife looked in. “Are you already asleep?” She then went on to tell him that a guide would be taking a party up to the top the following night, and he could join them. Would he be ready by midnight?
“Thank you very much,” Kensaku said. “In that case, I’ll stay in bed as late as I can tomorrow morning, so please see to it that no one opens my doors. I’m incapable of taking naps during the day, so the only thing I can do is to try to get extra sleep in the morning.”
“I understand.” She remained seated by the door. “By the way,” she said, lowering her voice, “I’m told Také’s wife died.”
“Is that so? And what about the man that was with her?”
“He may live, they say.”
“What about Také?”
“Well, everybody is very worried that his wife’s killer may now be waiting to kill him.”
“Kill Také? Why in the world would the man want to kill him? Haven’t they caught him yet?”
“No, they haven’t. He’s hiding somewhere in the mountains.” Kensaku was a little disgusted. “Why do the people in the village imagine that the man would want to hurt Také? He hasn’t done anything. It’s an idiotic notion.”
“But the man is more or less crazy, don’t you see? I agree with them —I think Také should be very careful.”
“Yes, yes, but I’m sure he’ll be all right.”
“I suppose so. He’s such a harmless soul—but you never know.” Kensaku was close to losing his temper. Také has suffered enough, he wanted to say; what sense was there in anything if someone were allowed to hurt him again?
The next morning he woke up as usual at seven o’clock. It was, after all, unrealistic of him to have thought that he might break his habit and sleep late. And the night before he had not been able to fall asleep easily. It was already late when he had finished his letter to Nobuyuki; then he had had to listen to the distressing story about Také; and in bed he had stayed awake thinking not only about Také but about Naoko too, wondering, among other things, what effect his letter might have had on her. A cock had begun to crow somewhere far away; taken aback, he had consulted his watch and discovered it was already two o’clock.
He had had hardly more than four hours of sleep, therefore. He closed his eyes again, hoping that he might force himself to sleep a little more. But he managed only to doze fitfully, and at ten he resignedly dragged himself out of bed. He felt dull and heavy all over. At this rate, he thought, the hike would prove quite an ordeal. The only consolation was the thought that being so tired, he might not find it so difficult to take an afternoon nap.
19
The hiking party that Kensaku was to join consisted of employees of an Osaka company, who had stopped to see the mountain on their way back from the Grand Shrine of Izumo. Kensaku was not suffering from lack of sleep any more, having succeeded in getting a two- to three-hour nap that afternoon; but the sea bream he had had for lunch must have been bad, for in the early evening he began to suffer from a severe attack of diarrhea. It was debilitating to say the least, and he wondered whether or not he should still go up the mountain that night. A double dose of some herb medicine he had brought with him seemed to have its effect, however, and he resolved to go after all.
At midnight the party left the temple. The guide, an older man of nearly fifty, led the way carrying a lantern. The men from the Osaka company were all young, and, determined to make the most of their one-week holiday, were even more jolly than their age might have warranted. To a man they wore Western-style suits and rubber-soled canvas shoes, souvenir towels around their necks, and carried rough-hewn pilgrim’s staffs. “Hey, uncle, take good care of our half-gallon bottle!” shouted one in the rear to the guide in a broad Osaka accent. “Don’t forget, we intend to let you have some!”
“You’ve said that before!” the guide shouted back. “If you’re that worried, carry the bottle yourself!”
“Why should I, idiot! You’re going to drink it too!”
The cheerfulness of everyone in the party made Kensaku all the more apprehensive about his own physical condition. What added to his burden was his fear of making a fool of himself in front of all these fellows. It was stupid of him, he realized, but he was their age after all, he was the only one from Tokyo, and he could not but feel competitive. “Have you been here long?” asked the man walking beside him. Aware that Kensaku was the only stranger in their midst, he seemed to be trying his best to be friendly.
“I’ve been here a fortnight,” answered Kensaku.
“How can you stand it? We’d go mad after two days here.”
The fat man in front of them turned around and laughed loudly. “What do you mean, two days! Who do you think you’re fooling? You were homesick on our first night away from Osaka.” He then said to Kensaku, “He just got married, you understand, to a most attractive young lady.”
“You clown!” Kensaku’s companion said, thumping his fat friend’s back to cover his confusion.
When they had gone up a thousand yards or so beyond the clearing where Také used to work, there were no trees any more, and the side of the mountain was covered instead with coarse grass. The sk
y was clear and dotted with numerous stars as though it was already autumn. They came upon a rectangular guidepost, weathered by the elements and standing at a slight angle. Here the real climb was to begin. The party rearranged itself in single file, and chanting the prayer, “Begone all the senses, let the spirits guide us to the clear sky above,” began to march manfully up a narrow path that was as bumpy as the bottom of a mountain stream. From either side the tall, coarse grass reached out over the path, almost overwhelming it. There were four men in front of Kensaku, two men behind; he had no choice but to keep pace with them, and soon he began to tire. He had set out intending to reach the top no matter how hard the climb might prove, but he was not sure any more. After an hour they were fairly high up; at least Kensaku thought so, judging from the way the night around him looked and felt. At last the party agreed to stop for a rest.
What reserve of strength Kensaku had had when they began the climb was now completely exhausted. He could not, he was certain, keep up with the rest of the party any farther. “I’m not feeling well,” he said to the guide. “I’ll go back from here. It’ll be light in about two hours, so I’ll just sit and rest until then.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Is it something serious?”
Kensaku told the guide that he was just feeling weak from an attack of diarrhea earlier that day, and that he would be perfectly all right by himself.
“But are you sure? I don’t like leaving you alone here.”
“There’s no need for you to worry, really. Do go on without me.”
“Are you sure you couldn’t manage it?” said the friendly young man. “Look here, uncle, do we still have a long way to go?”
“Farther than we’ve already come.”
“I can go down without much trouble,” said Kensaku, “but I really don’t think I can go up. Don’t worry, I’ll be all right here.” There were murmurs of encouragement and sympathy from all, and Kensaku tried to respond to each one with appropriate cheer, tiresome though it was to do so. At last they decided to go without him. Very quietly, presumably out of consideration for him, they disappeared into the dark. Kensaku put on the sweater he had brought with him, tied the cloth wrapper that he had carried the sweater in around his neck, and left the path; then finding a suitable resting place in the grass, he sat down with the mountain at his back. As he sat there, breathing deeply through his nose, his eyes closed, he realized that there was a certain pleasurable quality in his tiredness. He heard twice, or perhaps three times, his erstwhile companions chanting somewhere far above, “Begone all the senses, let the spirits guide us to the clear sky above!” Then there was silence, and he was quite alone under the wide sky. A chilly wind blew, making no sound and barely disturbing the heads of the wild grass around him.
