Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

Torauemon Toriyama stood in the center of the wide garden, holding his bow and arrows while mounted on a white horse. He waited for his servant Heiji to appear leading a dog. This servant Heiji was someone his master Torauemon Toriyama did not particularly care for. Heiji was a short, bony man of few words who had been hired and come to Torauemon Toriyama's mansion about two months prior. When asked about his origins, he himself claimed not to know. Since not knowing one's birthplace was deemed proof of idiocy, those at Torauemon Toriyama's mansion had settled on calling Heiji a half-wit. Yet Heiji remained unperturbed by this. What did startle Torauemon Toriyama at times was the piercing clarity of Heiji's eyes. When others' eyes grew drunken with joy or ecstatic to the point of losing composure, Heiji's eyes would instead turn cold and clear like an autumn twilight marsh. On such occasions, looking closely might reveal faint smile lines around Heiji's tightly pursed lips. Whenever Torauemon found himself scrutinized by those eyes, he felt as though something vital drained from his body all at once. For instance, when opening his mouth to berate someone only to meet Heiji's cold gaze mid-breath, he'd suddenly lose all urge to shout and instead dismiss the target irritably with a curt, "Enough—be gone."

The most unpleasant thing for Torauemon Toriyama was that precisely when he engaged in his beloved dog-hunting archery, Heiji’s eyes would pierce his heart with sharp reproach. The game of dog-hunting archery—releasing live dogs and shooting them dead from horseback—was Torauemon Toriyama’s favorite pastime above all else. Every three days without fail, he would practice alone in his mansion’s garden. Though it was called practice, since it involved shooting live dogs to death, every three days they had to seek out a dog somewhere and bring it back. This duty had been entrusted to Heiji. Heiji would silently lead in the dog and release the rope from its neck using his master’s arrow tip, but even when his master’s arrow pierced the dog’s vital spot perfectly, he never offered praise like the other servants who would say, “What splendid skill you display, my lord.” After pulling the arrow from the dog’s corpse, he would cradle the animal as if it were his own infant, hold it, cast a cold glance toward his master, and depart. To Torauemon, those eyes seemed to say this: “Of all things, what a cruel game you choose to indulge in.” For these reasons, Torauemon Toriyama had come to regard Heiji—who would soon appear—with growing displeasure.

Soon, Heiji entered from the middle gate. Today, he brought a large dog. The dog did not try to escape like most dogs brought here usually did, nor did it resist being led by planting itself on the ground; instead, it lowered its head toward the earth and followed meekly behind Heiji.

In the center of the garden, two large concentric circles had been drawn with a rope. Heiji entered the inner circle. And then, pressing down on the dog’s neck, he crouched. And now, the dog-hunting archery practice was about to begin. Torauemon Toriyama nocked an arrow and assumed his stance on horseback.

“Release the dog.”

“Release the dog,” said Heiji. But he still did not release the dog’s neck. Torauemon Toriyama also remained silent.

“Release the dog.” “Release the dog,” said Heiji again. When he said “Release the dog” for the third time, that was when he was to release his arrow. Torauemon Toriyama drew his bow fully. “Release the dog.” For the third time, Heiji said. “Release it already!” Torauemon Toriyama called out. Heiji released the dog’s neck. Contrary to expectations that the dog would dart off in panic, it instead lowered its head and remained motionless in the same spot. Torauemon was let down.

“What is this? It’s a sick dog!” “I deeply apologize,” Heiji apologized. “How could I possibly shoot such a thing?” “Your anger is entirely justified. However, today, no matter how much I walked around searching, aside from this dog...” “Enough of your excuses! Torauemon Toriyama here may waste away to nothing, but I’m still a samurai of some standing—I won’t have people say I shot a sick dog!”

Then Heiji fell silent. And with that same usual cold, clear gaze, Heiji was steadily gazing up at Torauemon Toriyama.

Confronted with that gaze, Torauemon found himself flustered against his will. The thought of Heiji witnessing this discomposure became unbearable, so to mask it he drew himself up imperiously and roared: “Hey! You there! “In your station as a lowly servant, glaring at your master—the height of insolence! “As an example for posterity...” With that, he aimed toward Heiji the arrow he had drawn back to shoot the dog. “I’ll blast those cursed eyes of yours!”

Heiji fell over backwards. The arrow destroyed his right eye.

It was a quiet afternoon when bees came buzzing noisily to the citrus blossoms in the corner of the garden.

II

Seven years passed. Torauemon Toriyama had long since forgotten Heiji in his heart. Heiji had received treatment for his destroyed eye at Torauemon’s residence for about two months, but before it had completely healed, he took his leave and went off somewhere.

Now then, one day, a great river held its waters brimming as it flowed gently. The ferry was packed with passengers. Because it was a small boat, even when full, it only held eight or nine people.

Thinking it was about time to depart, the boatman pressed his pole against the shore. At that moment, “Hey! Wait, wait!”

With that, a samurai came down the embankment with his servant in tow. The boatman waited. The people in the boat gradually scooted closer and made space for the two.

The samurai and his servant finally managed to board the boat. However, because it was tightly packed with people, the samurai had no place to put his bow.

“Hey! You there!”

The samurai called out to the traveling performer carrying a monkey on his back. “You’re in the way. Get off.” The monkey performer and the monkey both looked up at the samurai with identical expressions of surprise. Those nearby muttered something under their breath.

“Hey! I said get off!” Everyone decided to oppose the samurai on behalf of the monkey performer. However, when they saw the samurai’s handlebar mustache—so thick it spilled out from beneath his nose across his face—they thought better of opposing him. The monkey performer and his monkey too, upon seeing that mustache, appeared to conclude it would be wiser to disembark in silence. The monkey performer nimbly leaped from the stern onto the small gangplank, which the people in the boat watched in silence. At that moment, someone

“The one who came later should be the one to get off.” he said in a low voice. It was the boatman. The boatman wore a woven sedge hat and stood facing away, his face hidden from view. “What?!” The samurai glared at the boatman’s retreating back. But with passengers packed between them, he could only grind his teeth in frustration and restrain himself. When the ferry reached midstream, the people saw a flock of egrets flying low over the river’s upper reaches. At this sight, those who had kept silent until now whispered, “Egrets!” and “My!”

The samurai watched for a while, then took up his bow, nocked an arrow, and let fly toward the flock of egrets with a sharp twang.

Then, from the flock of egrets flowing sideways, just two birds fell straight down and floated on the river. Even after falling into the river, they continued to beat their white wings frantically. "Oh! Oh!"

The people in the boat let out voices of admiration and praised him, saying that taking down two birds with a single arrow was a rare and impressive feat of skill. Then the servant accompanying the samurai, while swelling his nostrils proudly, launched into boasts: how for his master, taking down two birds at once was nothing remarkable; how he could shoot a waterfowl carrying a fish mid-flight, then strike the falling fish itself before it touched ground; how even cattle-sized beasts could be felled with but a single arrow.

“Today as well, there was a dog-hunting archery meet at Lord Gongen’s across the river, and though we’ve just now returned from it, still not a single soul could match my master.”

“Ohh! Ohh!”

And the people were impressed. And, "If I may ask, what might we call this distinguished master here?" When asked, the servant "He is addressed as Lord Toriyama Torauemon." answered. "Oh! Lord Torauemon." "That explains it! That explains it!" "If it's Lord Torauemon, he's the renowned master whose fame reaches every corner of these provinces. A truly great man." "A great man."

Here and there, voices whispered, "A great man."

Torauemon sat silent with an expression suggesting he hadn't heard a thing. Yet inwardly, he felt a touch of pride. He snapped his folding fan against his knee.

Just then,

“What’s so great about that?” “Only by doing things that benefit others can one truly be called great.” “What good comes from taking the lives of birds and beasts?” A low voice grumbled discontentedly.

It was the same boatman from earlier.

The people fell completely silent. They were quietly watching his handlebar mustache, wondering if Torauemon would erupt in anger. Torauemon indeed began to rage. The tips of his handlebar mustache began to tremble.

“Y-you... How dare you spout such nonsense!” He placed his hand on his sword hilt, but they were still mid-river. If he were to cut down the boatman here, there would be no one left to steer the boat. If the boat were to drift far away, that would be disastrous.

"Alright, something good will happen," he told himself in his gut as he lowered his raised knee.

The boat reached the shore, and everyone went ashore. In the riverbed, reeds grew thickly, and within them, a reed warbler sang. When they had gone all the way through the path within, it became an embankment. When they had finished climbing that embankment, Torauemon looked back toward the boat.

The ferry was still moored to this shore. The boatman sat slumped at the bow, waiting for passengers to arrive. The water behind him glittered as it reflected back the sunlight.

“Hey, boatman!”

Torauemon Toriyama called out from atop the embankment. “Face me.”

The boatman turned toward him. “Ah, you’re one-eyed. Wh-what… You’re Heiji, aren’t you?”

The boatman had no right eye.

“Even if you’re Heiji, even if you’re one-eyed—do you think I can let this pass?” “I cannot overlook such slanderous words—not as a samurai!” “You dare do this?!” The arrow flew straight as a taut string. With a heavy splash, water spray erupted where the boat’s sunlit bow had been. On the swaying skiff, no human form remained.

III

The servant who had been following Torauemon noticed a single deer climbing up a cliff path near the summit of a small hill beside them. The deer that had come down to the village to forage for food appeared to be making its way back into the deep mountains. “Ah, there’s a deer over there. “It’s right within arrow range.” The servant reported to Torauemon Toriyama.

“What? A deer?”

Torauemon, who had been walking with his head slightly bowed, raised his face and looked in the direction the servant was pointing. And as soon as he saw the deer, he adjusted his bow, nocked an arrow, and drew it taut. "Now? Now?" The servant waited with clenched fists. However, Torauemon did not release the arrow for quite some time.

At last, the deer circled around the base of the cliff that rose sheer like a folding screen and disappeared from view.

Torauemon Toriyama let out a sigh, loosened the drawn bowstring, and lowered the bow.

The servant felt puzzled. This was the first time he had seen Torauemon Toriyama in such a subdued state. That made sense. For it was because Torauemon Toriyama was, for the first time in his life, deeply contemplating matters.

Torauemon Toriyama aimed at the remaining eye of Heiji, who had become a boatman, and shot. There was indeed physical feedback. A wretch who dares speak ill to a samurai deserves precisely this manner of retribution.

Yet in Torauemon's mind's eye, Heiji's two eyes—which should have been crushed—remained clearly visible. Those eyes of Heiji were cold and lucid, fixed unblinking upon Torauemon. And still within Torauemon's ears lingered Heiji's words: "It is through deeds that aid others that one earns true greatness." Deeds that aid others...

Torauemon Toriyama had until now heard a great many splendid words from people and read them in books. So even these words spoken by Heiji might have been something he had heard somewhere before. No—now that he thought about it, he felt as though he had indeed heard those words many times before.

However, today, this seemingly insignificant phrase muttered from Heiji’s lips pierced Torauemon’s soul like a thorn. Torauemon's soul ached.

It is by doing things that benefit others that one is truly considered great.

"That was indeed true," Torauemon Toriyama thought. And looking back on his life, he felt ashamed. I have truly, truly not done a single thing that benefited others. I have always acted selfishly. I have done nothing but cause trouble for people...

Torauemon Toriyama and the servant eventually reached the summit of a pine-covered hill. Standing there and looking southward, they saw terraced wheat fields with large ears stretching continuously, and where the foothills of the hill met the plain, there stood a large mansion surrounded by white-walled enclosures. That was Torauemon’s dwelling. Under that roof of that house were also Torauemon’s wife and children. It was a peaceful view. Shadows fell upon the white walls, and sparrows could be seen flying from the eaves of the storehouse.

Stopping atop the hill and resting one hand on a pine tree, Torauemon Toriyama gazed for a long time toward his mansion.

“You should go on ahead,” he said at length, turning to look back at the servant. “I’ll return after inspecting the hunting grounds.”

The servant gradually descended the terraced fields. After walking about a hundred meters, he looked back. Torauemon still stood with one hand resting on the pine tree, watching this way. The servant, feeling somewhat awkward, plucked some wheat and made a flute. He came another hundred meters or so while playing it. And then, he quietly looked back. Torauemon was still standing in the same posture as before. When the servant passed through the mansion gate, there was a loud whizzing noise, and an arrow lodged itself into the trunk of the pine tree in the garden. It was the arrow that Torauemon had been using. And attached to it was something resembling a letter.

The servant pulled it out and took the arrow with the attached letter to the mistress. When the mistress opened and looked, the letter was simply written as follows. “I have come to realize that until now, I had been living in error. However, I still do not know what constitutes the right way to live. Therefore, I will now depart on a journey to discover the right way to live. I do not know when I will return. You and the child must live in good health. Torauemon.”

IV

Torauemon Toriyama intended to try anything to find the right way to live. The first thing he tried was becoming a blacksmith’s apprentice. Torauemon became pitch black from soot, stood facing the master, and rhythmically struck the anvil with clanging blows. Upon that anvil were forged strong and splendid swords and halberds. The master sold them and profited. Thus Torauemon could indeed benefit his master. Yet Torauemon yearned to help far greater numbers of people. Moreover, one night he heard tell of rōnin bands assaulting noble mansions in the capital - how they cut down innocent servants, women and children with those very swords. Hearing this, he grew disenchanted even with sword-forging blacksmith work.

The next thing he tried was brewing sake. Torauemon Toriyama, who enjoyed sake, thought producing it in abundance to delight people would surely count as benefiting others. But one day, seeing a drunken man stubbornly trying to wrestle a bull while his weeping wife and children struggled to restrain him, he grew doubtful whether alcohol truly served people's good. The next thing he tried was comb-making. This required drawing a thin saw to carve each tooth individually. Ah, this was work that served many men and women. Yet for a hot-blooded man like Torauemon Toriyama, what an excruciatingly tedious task this must have been. With shoulders stiffening, Torauemon would pound them with clenched fists dozens of times daily, blink repeatedly, and heave thick sighs.

In addition to horse trading, charcoal burning, crafting court hats, and mirror polishing, he wandered about from place to place while engaging in all sorts of work.

However, there was not a single occupation that perfectly suited Torauemon Toriyama. There were jobs that benefited people. But such work was something Torauemon Toriyama could not come to like. There were also interesting jobs that he could come to like. But such work did not particularly benefit people.

V

Torauemon Toriyama had no intention of trying to become either a monk or a beggar. He thought it would be better to become a highwayman than turn into one of those.

However, Torauemon Toriyama ended up becoming that very monk he despised. It was something that arose from a minor mistake.

At that very moment, Torauemon Toriyama had quit his occupation and was penniless, having not properly eaten for three or four days, wandering aimlessly along the highway. His hair and beard, long neglected in their care, had grown tangled and unkempt, with only his eyes darting restlessly within them, giving him a sinister countenance. Now Torauemon Toriyama came to understand that maintaining such an appearance brought twofold disadvantage. The first was that people feared and shunned him; the second was that lice were multiplying in his hair.

Therefore, Torauemon Toriyama borrowed a razor from a farmhouse and shaved his beard. In the process, he shaved off his hair as well. It was not that he intended to become a monk. By doing this, he wouldn’t have to tend to his hair for some time.

Then a man who had been in the shade of a pine tree along the highway called out to Torauemon in this manner.

“Excuse me, excuse me, Reverend.” Torauemon Toriyama stopped in his tracks and looked around, but seeing no monk-like figures nearby, realized he was the one being addressed.

“I am not a monk.” “And yet it looks like you’ve shaved your head.”

The man in the shade of the pine tree said, bowing low. "This shaved head—there's a particular reason it's shaven." "I am not a monk." "If you must name me, I am a samurai." "In other words—a Benkei of these times." This rustic-looking man had come from a small mountain village some ten ri off the highway. There, where no temple had ever stood before, the villagers had recently banded together to erect a modest worship hall amidst thickets on the mountainside. But being such a remote backwater of poverty, no monk would consent to tend this lonely sanctuary. Thus ordered by their village head, this peasant had come to the highway at dawn to seek any willing cleric. Though craftsmen, samurai and farmers streamed past in numbers, monks proved scarce. When one finally appeared and they clutched at his sleeve pleadingly, he'd coldly declare his own temple too grand for such rustic duties before striding off—a pattern repeated through the day. Now with the sun dipping westward, the villager stood despondent.

“Given these circumstances, please, Reverend—if you would be so kind as to save me, please become the hall caretaker for my village.”

The villager spoke earnestly in plain words. “I see. Your situation does sound pitiable.” “However, I am not a monk.” “If you must call me something, I am a samurai.” “A shaven-headed samurai—in other words, someone like Benkei.” “Even were I to become hall caretaker, I’d prove useless.” “Moreover, I’ve always detested being a monk.” Having said that, Torauemon Toriyama made to leave. “Ah, please don’t speak so.” “Do something that benefits the villagers, if you would.”

Torauemon Toriyama stopped in his tracks when he heard the words "acts that benefit others." For was it not precisely because Torauemon Toriyama had fallen so low and wandered through the provinces that he had been searching for those very "acts that benefit others"?

“Hmm.” “So you’re saying that if I were to become the hall caretaker, that alone would benefit the villagers?” “That must indeed be so.” “Very well. In that case, I shall become the hall caretaker and serve.”

The villager suddenly perked up and beamed. And guiding Torauemon Toriyama, he set off on the return journey. “However, since I am not truly a monk, I do not know the duties of one. Is that still all right?” Even so, Torauemon Toriyama’s anxiety continued to mount, and midway, he asked the villager.

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all. Even if they’re called a monk’s duties, there’s nothing difficult about them. Recite sutras morning and evening…” “I do not know that sutra.” “Oh, it’s just fine even if you don’t know them. Just mumble something like ‘Travelers pass along the narrow path ahead…’ under your breath and ring the bell—that’ll fool anyone.” “Is that so.” “And then, two or three times a year, you’ll give Buddhist sermons.”

“That, I cannot do.” “Oh no, even if we call them Buddhist sermons, your audience would just be uneducated illiterates like us. If you tell ’em some plain tale—like how hell’s a fearsome place with bloody ponds and mountains o’ swords, where blue, red, and black demons bark just like Tarō-don’s dog howls on moonlit nights—they’ll all listen grateful-like.” “Is that so.”

Thus, Torauemon Toriyama became a monk.

VI

It was a small village nestled in a valley, surrounded by mountains on three sides and open only to the south. Bamboo thickets dotted the landscape here and there, and wherever one went, the sound of clear flowing water could be heard. In the morning, the first light streamed down from the peaks of the eastern mountains, gently touching the trees, houses, and gravestones. By day, the hours passed in such profound stillness that nothing could be heard but the sound of the village's lone cow lowing hungrily, the buzz of bees visiting loquat flowers in sunny spots, and the caws of crows quarreling between the shrine's cedar branches and the treasure storehouse's roof ridge. At dusk, the last light from the western mountain rim gently bathed trees, houses, and gravestones, then faded one by one as blue shadows and evening mists settled in.

There were about twenty houses in total. They stood in whimsical places in whimsical shapes. In those houses lived poor, kind-hearted, and naive people who grew flowers in their front gardens and suchlike.

Torauemon came to like this village.

Now, Torauemon Toriyama’s monkhood worked out well. However, this was not because they had managed to deceive the villagers as the farmer who brought Torauemon had thought. It was precisely because they had failed to deceive them that things worked out. For Torauemon Toriyama immediately confessed before the villagers who had gathered at the temple hall that he was not a true monk. When the villagers heard this, they were initially disappointed. Because what they had wanted was a monk, not someone like Benkei. However, the villagers decided to put up with Torauemon Toriyama. Because they had come to understand that no proper monk would come to such a remote, lonely, and poor mountain village. Moreover, Torauemon Toriyama possessed a noble dignity befitting one who had indeed been a samurai.

The life of Torauemon Toriyama, who had become a monk, began. It did not go smoothly from the start. First, even devising his own name proved laborious. Having become a monk, he needed to adopt a suitable monastic name. After much deliberation yielded no satisfactory options, he settled on taking two characters from his original name—Torauemon Toriyama—and calling himself Torau. Even this choice hardly impressed. Then whenever required to gather elders for sermons, he would tremble like a battle-ready warrior from the moment before mounting the dais, unable to still himself. Upon climbing the platform, his vision would blur as if his heart had lodged in his throat. Though he boomed his words, the elderly villagers comprehended nothing of what he said. And because he finished so abruptly, they found no time to eat the rice crackers they had brought.

However, the villagers gradually grew accustomed to this makeshift monk, Torau-san. Gradually, Torau-san—though poor at reciting sutras and delivering sermons—came to understand that he could perform acts beneficial to the villagers. When it came time for the farmers’ busy seasons, Torau-san would come to help households that seemed short on hands. And though it was called help, Torau-san took on the most labor-intensive tasks—operating the mill, plowing fields, carrying bales—so the farming households were greatly aided.

Yet the villagers only truly felt gratitude toward Torau-san on two occasions: when he shot dead with his arrow the great boar that had been ravaging their mountain fields for nearly ten days straight, and when he chased an itinerant mountain ascetic—who had stolen seventy-eight persimmon fruits from the village's trees—for about one ri (four kilometers), retrieving seventy-one before returning. (The mountain ascetic had eaten seven persimmons as he walked one ri [about four kilometers].) Then the villagers thought as follows.

"How truly fortunate it was for the village that Torau-san had not been a real monk!"

Thus, time passed.

On a warm early spring day three years after coming to the village, the moment Torau-san sneezed in the sunlight, he realized he had not been seeking the proper way of life these days. Why had I so utterly forgotten about that proper way of living I had once sought with such desperate earnestness? But upon careful reflection, I realized that the very days I was now living were indeed that proper way of life. I had gradually become of use to others, even if only little by little. And the work I did for the villagers was enjoyable to me……

Torau-san remembered Heiji. He might no longer be alive. Even if he were alive, he would be blind. Torau-san had shot out both eyes. But if Mr. Heiji was still alive, I wanted to meet him once and apologize for my own cruel deeds. And I wanted to let him know that I had finally found a way of life that would not incur his reproach.

VII

It was a villager who had gone to gather firewood in the remote mountains who first conceived the idea that their village needed a temple bell.

The villager crossed several small hills, entered deep into the mountains, and there cut firewood. Then, from afar, the sound of something reached him. He stopped his hands and listened intently. He realized it was the sound of a bell. Oh, what a bright, gentle sound that must have been! The villager realized there existed what might be called a soul within himself. The sound of the bell, coming from afar, softly and warmly enveloped that soul, as if spring light were streaming in to envelop a peony blossom.

When the villager returned to the village, he told Torau-san about it. And he said that if the village too had a temple bell and they could hear that sound morning and evening, it would be immeasurably beneficial for the villagers’ afterlife.

Thus it was decided that Torau-san would arrange for a temple bell. When he heard it was something that would benefit the villagers, he could not remain silent.

However, this was no easy task. The village was poor. Each household could contribute only a small amount of coins. With just the village’s own strength, they couldn’t have made even the smallest bell—they absolutely had to receive small contributions from people of other villages.

Torau-san had never wanted to act like a beggar in the first place. However, he could no longer afford to say such things now. I had even become the monk I once detested. When it comes to acts that benefit others，it cannot be helped.

Torau-san then hung a pilgrim’s bag around his neck, took up his begging bowl, and said, “Well then, villagers, I shall not return for some time,” before departing the village.

And for eight years, Torau-san did not return to the village.

VIII

Along the roadside embankment stood a single holly tree. Under that tree rested an aged, shabby monk.

Autumn had deepened into that season when even midday shade carried a chill. Holly blossoms scattered like grains of rice across the huddled monk's lap.

A listless, shabby monk—this was Torau-san, who for eight years had traveled through various provinces gathering donations to create a bell and was now attempting to return to the mountain village. The years, and the rain, and the wind, and the sunlight had made Torau-san this haggard. However, Torau-san’s heart swelled with joy. For he had finally gathered people’s pure-hearted donations and had amassed just enough funds to cast a single bell. The villagers must have been waiting so eagerly. How overjoyed they must be!

From here to the village, if he went straight, it was already about two ri. However, Torau-san intended to take a slight roundabout way and stop by a village along a large river. That riverside village was where Torau-san had first gone when he began his alms rounds eight years before. And the people of that village were all kind-hearted souls who, upon hearing Torau-san's story, had gladly placed generous donations into his bowl. Over those eight years, Torau-san had passed through countless villages here and there, but none proved as charitable as this riverside village. Thus for his final stop, he resolved to visit this village once more and receive donations. If things went well, Torau-san privately hoped they might cast a bell just one size larger than originally planned.

Before long, Torau-san stood up. And from the fork in the road, he proceeded to the right. Going that way would lead him to the riverside village.

After proceeding a short distance, he found himself walking alongside a farmer shouldering fresh green bamboo. “Monk, you headin’ to Kawana too?” the man asked. Kawana was the name of the riverside village. “Yeah.” “You got kin there?” “No, none at all.” “So what brings ya here?” “I aim to receive alms. “I’m making a bell for my village.”

“Alms?”

The man started and scrutinized Torau-san’s face. Then he said, “So you don’t know nothin’ about it, huh.”

“Did something happen?” “Oh yeah, there sure was.” “Kawana had its embankment collapse in this summer’s flood—all the houses got swept away, and the rice fields and vegetable plots ended up buried in sand.” “Oh!”

Torau-san also stopped in his tracks, startled. "So that's really true?" "You think I'd be jokin' 'bout somethin' like this? Would I be sayin' such things if it weren't true?" "Many folks died or got swept away." "But them what survived came back—buildin' huts, clearin' fields, tryin' to patch the village up again. Me, I'm fixin' to throw up a hut today myself—just got this bamboo from kinfolk, I'm tellin' ya." "Monk—if you're headin' to Kawana plannin' to get somethin', ya oughta quit that idea." "If you're plannin' to give even a single coin, then go ahead an' go." "Kawana folks're all stone broke with nothin' left—livin' hand to mouth these days." "They're relyin' on others' kindness just to scrape through each day."

“I see. No, I didn’t know that.” “No, I didn’t know.” Torau-san said. However, his legs would no longer move. For a while, Torau-san stood there. In his heart, something seemed to be in conflict. The farmer had also stopped and was waiting for Torau-san to say, “Very well, let’s go help.”

However, Torau-san said: “No, I am in a hurry.” “I cannot stop by Kawana.” “Well then, I shall return from here.” And he turned on his heel and headed toward the holly tree. The farmer hurried off toward the riverside village with a disappointed look.

To the holly tree, it was perhaps not even half a chō. That short distance took Torau-san an exceedingly long time to cover. For Torau-san was pondering with each step he took—pondering again with every two steps. Something kept pulling at him from behind. He could not advance forward in one go. "The thought of 'Should I go to Kawana to help the people?' and the thought of 'No, no—I should return straight to my own village' were warring within Torau-san’s heart." Kawana was a village of kind-hearted people. Those kind-hearted people are now suffering. Helping them was indeed a good thing. However, if I were to help them, it would mean giving away all the money I’ve painstakingly saved up until now. In that case, the intended bell would become impossible to complete. It was a bell he had finally managed to nearly complete after eight years of traveling through various provinces—all to bring joy to the people of his own village. If this bell is not completed here, it remains unclear when the villagers will gain the fortune of hearing it morning and evening.

Finally, Torau-san arrived at the fork in the road beneath the holly tree.

His mind was made up. He would return to the village and make the bell.

Torau-san, as if trying not to think of Kawana, briskly proceeded down the left path.

IX

When Torau-san had returned to his long-missed village and three months had passed, a temple bell—not large but finely shaped—was hung beside the plum tree before the temple hall. Each morning and evening, Torau-san would go out into the garden to strike that bell. When heard up close, it gave off a clear, ringing tone. And when listened to near mountain peaks or valley streams, they said it spread softly like mist—a nostalgic, beautiful sound—so the villagers told Torau-san. Torau-san was overjoyed at this.

In the garden’s plum tree, nightingales began to come and sing. A thin mist hung over the mountains, and they appeared freshly rejuvenated.

On one such day, Torau-san uncharacteristically made some rice balls and hung them at his waist. And he went to a nearby farmer’s house and said: “Today I want to test how the bell sounds from afar. Come noon, could you ring it in my stead instead? My apologies for the trouble.”

Of course, the farmer there agreed. There, Torau-san ascended the eastern mountain of the village. Passing through a grove where birds were chattering, as he climbed steadily upward, near the summit there was a sunny spot. Torau-san lay down on the withered grass there, basking in the warm sun as he waited for the bell to ring. At last, the bell rang. Bong, once. “It rang, it rang!”

And Torau-san briskly sat up.

Bong, bong. In the spring fields and mountains, the bell flowed beautifully, gently, and purely. Bong, bong.

“It rang, it rang!” Beaming, Torau-san laughed like a child.

Torau-san was profoundly satisfied. He himself had made this bell that produced such a fine sound. For the villagers, he had toiled for eight years and finally made it.

This bell might bring immeasurable comfort to the villagers' hearts. It was not only the villagers currently alive. Since the bell would not vanish even in a hundred or a thousand years, there was no telling how many people might hear its sound in the times to come.

With a bright and buoyant heart, Torau-san descended toward the village.

Then, at the earthen bridge of the village entrance, he came upon the village children misbehaving—throwing sand at a blind beggar and pelting him with pine cones. “Hey now!” Already from afar, Torau-san scolded the children. The children immediately stopped their mischief and, throwing the pine cones they had been holding into the river, ran off in that direction. The blind beggar, having lost his cane, was crawling around the area searching for it.

Torau-san was startled. It was a man he recognized. He went closer and stared intently at the blind man crawling around. It was indeed that Heiji—the very one he had parted from long ago. Once again, Heiji appeared before Torau-san.

Torau-san picked up the cane from the roadside and returned. Then he gently extended it toward Heiji's hand. Heiji grabbed the end of the cane. Someone was holding the other end. With his eyeless face tilted upward, Heiji seemed to be wondering who it might be. "Heiji. Do you know who I am?"

Heiji seemed startled at being called by name, but soon smiled faintly and, “Ah, Master Torauemon, how nostalgic it is to see you.”

he said.

“Yes, it’s me. “It’s been some time, hasn’t it?” “How very nostalgic this is.” “Yes... “But I—” Torau-san said in a heavy voice. “I’m not glad to see you.” Heiji wore a faint smile.

“For what reason might that be?” “It’s because whenever I meet you, nothing good ever happens.”

Heiji gave no answer. He merely grinned slyly. “You’re a hateful wretch.” “It was out of hatred for you that I destroyed both your eyes.” “But even now I detest you, I tell you.” Torau-san said in words that seemed to return him to the Torauemon of old.

“Master. “Master. I have no eyes left.” “Where will you deign to shoot next?” “You’re a hateful wretch. “A wretch like you—no matter how much I shoot, I can never shoot enough.” “But even if I were to shoot you dead, it would be pointless.” “You’ll just come back to life again and torment me.”

Heiji wore a faint smile again.

“That sly grin of yours pierces my heart, I tell you.” “You’re probably spouting that what I did was wrong, I tell you.” “You’re probably saying that giving money to the people of Kawana village would have been the right thing to do, I tell you.” “That’s exactly right.” “I’ve come to clearly understand that now too, I tell you.” “The moment I saw you, I realized it, I tell you.” “Ah, I thought I had done deeds that would benefit others, but my way of going about it was wrong.” Even though Torau-san tried to take Heiji back to his hall, Heiji would not listen, insisting they part ways there.

10

The villagers found it strange. From that evening onward, the bell had stopped ringing.

Wondering what had become of Torau-san, the villagers went to the hall the next day to check. Then, despite it being daytime, the hall's doors were tightly shut. However, when they peeked through the crack in the door, they could see a flickering light inside and hear what sounded like someone vehemently reciting sutra-like phrases, so they knew Torau-san was there. So the villagers decided to let Torau-san have his way and all returned home.

Finally, one day, Torau-san opened the door and came out. His eyes darted restlessly, and his face was pale. “Ah! That bell has vanished!” he said while looking at the bell tower. Yet in truth, the bell was indeed there. In the spring breeze, the bell hung quietly suspended. “Where has that bell vanished to?” Torau-san walked along, his eyes darting restlessly as he scanned the rooftops of the houses.

Then suddenly, “Ah! The bell’s flying and screaming!” “Whirling through the sky!” “Ah! What an awful sound!” “That’s a cracked bell’s toll!” With that, he covered his ears and stared at a patch of sky.

However, in reality, there was no bell flying through the sky. All that floated here and there were spring clouds drifting lazily through the sky.

Then, after some time had passed again, Torau-san suddenly began to run, hands pressed over his ears. He ran straight southward, paying no heed to roads, fields, or thorny thickets. And before long, he vanished from the village.

Thus, Torau-san came to wander through the provinces once more. Chased by the form of a bell he could not see, surrounded by the sound of a bell he could not hear, he ran this way and that like a spring whirlwind.