Pathway to Japanese Literature

Preface to This Book

There was a monk named Ryōkan who lived about 150 years ago. This book tells the story of that monk.

Among you, there must be some who have read books about Saigō Takamori, General Nogi, Napoleon, Genghis Khan, and the like. And such children undoubtedly know that books are written about people who were great among humans—those who left behind some grand achievement. That's right. Exactly.

Now, was Ryōkan-san, who is written about in this book, truly great?

Indeed, adults say that Ryōkan-san was great. And various stories about Ryōkan-san still remain in the area of Izumozaki, Niigata Prefecture, where he once lived. Apparently, if you ask people there today who was great in Echigo Province—they will answer without fail that it was Uesugi Kenshin and Ryōkan-san. But as you read through this book—you will likely find yourself perplexed. You will surely wonder—what exactly made this monk so remarkable? If such a beggarly priest could truly be called great—then why shouldn’t every vagrant and ragpicker along these shores share that distinction?

But even so, you mustn't toss this book aside halfway through. Please bear with it a little longer and keep reading. At any rate, adults say Ryōkan-san was great. What's more, even they don't fully understand how truly great he was. That's right—you children might quickly see through to Ryōkan-san's real greatness. You might understand things before the adults ever notice. After all, your eyes aren't clouded at all—they're perfectly clear.

At the end of this book, I intend to ask you whether you have understood what makes Ryōkan-san great. At that moment—just as when asked arithmetic or reading questions in class—every single one of you will be hoping to raise your hands in unison.

Before I tell you more about Ryōkan-san, there is one more thing I would like to mention. As I mentioned earlier, there are many legends about Ryōkan-san, but for some reason, they all concern events from his later years. Only stories of Ryōkan-san as an old man remain, while tales of what he was like as a child have not survived at all. Perhaps in some family’s storehouse there lies a book detailing Ryōkan-san’s boyhood years, but as of now, no one knows of such a volume. Therefore, the details of Ryōkan-san’s boyhood remain largely unknown.

However, you all must want to hear about Ryōkan-san’s boyhood as well. So I decided to let you hear that. Imagining that Ryōkan-san’s childhood was probably like this—that such things might have happened—I will tell you those stories.

Now, I will begin the story from Ryōkan-san's boyhood.

April 29, Imperial Year 2601

Niimi Nankichi

Temari Ball With children on a long spring day when mists rise, Playing temari as I spent the day today.

Begging Bowl In spring fields picking violets while / the Begging Bowl— Alas, I had forgotten the Begging Bowl.

Ryōkan

I. In the Storehouse

Izumozaki was a long, narrow port town like a belt, situated on the Japan Sea coast in Echigo Province. From there, Sado Island could be seen floating distinctly on the sea’s horizon every day.

In that town of Izumozaki, there was a house of distinguished lineage that had continued for dozens of generations. The local people called it Tachibanaya. For many generations, Tachibanaya had served as both the village headman and Shinto priest in the area. The local people respected Tachibanaya. The house was large and old, built near the coast where the waves of the Japan Sea crashed against the shore.

About 170 or 180 years ago, a boy was born at Tachibanaya. The household members rejoiced and gave him the name Eizo. This name likely carried the hope that through this child, Tachibanaya would prosper once more in the future. For though Tachibanaya had long flourished, by that time it had begun to decline.

Eizo grew up being doted on by his grandfather, grandmother, young father, and mother. He turned four, then five.

Then, one day when he returned from playing, Eizo was surprised to hear that a brother had been born. The younger brother was given the name Saemon.

And after that, so many brothers and sisters were born one after another that Eizo could no longer keep track of who was born on which day. In any case, the siblings had become six in total.

Eizo, still about seven years old, went to play at the nearby temple on a warm day as spring drew near.

About ten children were sitting on the sunlit steps in front of the main hall, making a commotion. As was his habit, Eizo sat a little apart from the others, watching them with gentle eyes. His small hands, still not fully healed from chilblains, had nothing to do, so he tucked them beneath his apron. Among the ten or so children was a dark-skinned boy with an honest face who had only recently moved from Sado Island. The children surrounded the boy and listened to his stories about Sado Island.

“So, Kaku-chan, what did your father do?” “He worked at the gold mine.”

he answered.

“So if you dig in a gold mine, do gold coins come clattering out endlessly?” “That’s right, they come clattering out. But it's not gold coins. It’s lumps of gold. They pound and flatten those lumps to make them into gold coins, don’t they?” “Hmm.” The children swallowed hard in awe. They fell silent for a while. In the children’s eyes, it felt as though they could see gold emerging from the tips of pickaxes, glittering in the sunlight. Eizo was also listening intently. Eizo actually wanted to ask Kaku-chan, who had come from Sado Island, about the town called Aikawa on Sado Island. Eizo’s mother had been born in that town.

“There’s a town called Aikawa in Sado, isn’t there?” He had wanted to ask that. The words had risen to his throat, but when the moment came, they stopped there. This was because Eizo never spoke with the others. Whenever he tried to speak, the others would burst into laughter at his words. They would say things like his speech sounded girlish or that he was slow-witted. And sometimes, as they ran off in that direction, they would even sing this song: The village headman’s house Has a daytime lantern. The village headman’s house Has an idiot son. “Daytime lantern” was not a compliment. An andon lamp lights up rooms at night but serves no purpose during daylight. Thus “daytime lantern” meant something useless—in other words, a simpleton. Being called this would displease anyone. And so Eizo too gradually became distant from the other children.

"The village headman's house Daytime andon lamp. The village headman's house The fool son! The term 'daytime andon lamp' was no compliment. An andon lamp lights up rooms at night when lit, but serves no purpose by daylight. Therefore, a daytime andon lamp meant something utterly useless—in other words, a dimwit. Being told such things would please no one. Therefore, Eizo too ended up gradually distancing himself from the other children."

“So that means Kaku-chan’s family are wealthy folks, huh?” “So you’ve got loads of gold coins then, huh?”

A child asked the one from Sado. “Nuh-uh,” Kaku-chan faltered for a moment, but quickly recovered with this explanation. “My dad had loads of gold coins, see, but when we came by boat from Sado, it rocked so violently.” “Then the boatman threatened us, saying, ‘This here’s because someone aboard’s got too many gold coins! The Lord Dragon God in the sea demands you hand ’em over! If you don’t fork ’em up, he’ll capsize this boat!’” “So then Dad would pray over each gold coin one by one and throw them into the sea." “Glinting and glittering, they sank into the blue water.”

“Hmm.” The children swallowed hard again. In their eyes appeared the image of leaves slowly falling from treetops when there was no wind.

Then suddenly, “What’s a gold coin like?”

A younger child asked innocently. As if to say what a stupid question to ask, the children all looked at the child’s face.

“You’re such an idiot—it’s obvious, isn’t it? A gold coin’s just… uh…”

The child’s older brother started to explain, but in truth, he didn’t know either and flushed red. Then the rest of them all recalled that they themselves had never once seen a real gold coin. Now that things had come to this, such stories were no longer interesting. Kaku-chan, who had come from Sado, tried to keep everyone’s attention from wandering, “In Sado, we sing songs like this, you know.” he said. “What kind?”

The children, their eyes shining once more, peered into Kaku-chan’s dark face. Then Kaku-chan, with a serious face, began singing in a slightly shrill voice. Sado— Forty-five *ri* A path of waves. *Even when rain and wind blow,* *There is no lodging.* *Even when rain and wind blow,*

*There is no lodging…*

The children thought they had heard it somewhere before. Oh come on, they had those in Echigo too—wasn't it just like what grandfathers and grandmothers sang while rocking cradles or pushing baby carriages? However, there was something slightly different. No, it really was different. The songs Kaku-chan sang had a sorrowful resonance somewhere within them that made them beautiful. Somehow, within that melody, they felt as if the faint sound of waves that had been washing against Sado Island since ancient times was mingled there. The children listened, thinking how beautiful it was.

Among them all, the one who thought the song most wonderful was Eizo, crouching a little apart from the others. Eizo had become so completely captivated by that song that from then on, he no longer listened to the others' conversation. In his mouth, he kept repeating over and over the song of Sado Island he had just heard. Mother too might have sung this song when she was little. Perhaps she might still remember it even now. Thinking he would ask her when he got home, Eizo practiced singing the song in a low voice.

When he tried to sing aloud, he couldn't manage it well. This way, it didn't sound sad or beautiful at all. So Eizo tried singing once more.

Sado— Forty-five *ri* A path of waves. *Even when rain and wind blow,* *There is no lodging.* *Even when rain and wind blow,* *There is no lodging…* “Boo!”

At this, the whole group jeered in response. Eizo thought he was finished. Once again, he would undoubtedly be teased in the usual way.

As expected, "He was singing in avoice like agirl's," declaredone ofthemtotheothers. "Thatguy'ssuchagirlyboy!"saidanother. "Lookhowpaleandskinnyheis!" "He'salwayshangingaroundwithgirls!" "Justlastweekhewasplayingmarbleswiththem!"

“Said another one.” Eizo felt so frustrated he was on the verge of tears.

“Look, look—he’s gonna cry.” “Look—here come the tears!” “He’s looking down because he’s embarrassed about being seen!”

“What a coward.” “He really is like a girl.” “I’m not some girl!” “I’m a boy!”

Eizo looked up and glared at them all. “Glaring with those eyes won’t scare anyone. You’re like a girl.”

“I’m not some girl!” “I’m a boy!” “Then will you do anything a man does?” “I’ll do it!”

“You’re on!”

With that, the boy looked around at his surroundings. And then, fixing his eyes on the bell tower,

“Then try hitting the bell.” said the boy. Eizo knew full well that if someone struck the bell, the boatmen out on the water and the farmers working in the fields would mistake the time for their lunch break and be severely scolded. But if he said he didn’t want to do it now, right here, he would be branded a coward. That’s the last thing I want. I don't care what happens after this—I’ll just do it. Eizo resolved, “So I just have to ring it, huh?”

Eizo said. “Alright, ring it! Ring it!”

Eizo climbed the bell tower. About four mischievous boys climbed up after him in tow.

The striker felt extremely heavy. Eizo’s arms were thin. As the striker gradually gained momentum, he swung the final strike wide and, as if hurling his whole body along with it, ran with the striker to deliver a single blow. The bell let out a hoarse, booming roar. Eizo, deciding that was enough, released the rope. Then one of the mischievous boys, “What’s this—just one strike? A single hit’s not even worth talking about!”

said one of them. Eizo, in reckless desperation, “I’ll strike it again!” He gripped the rope again and struck a second time. Then the mischievous boys jeered, “What? Only that many strikes?” so Eizo struck it again. After repeating the same action over and over—striking it seven or eight times—a monk emerged from the direction of the priests’ quarters, “You little brats!”

shouting as he came rushing out. The children, being accustomed to such situations, leapt down from the bell tower like rabbits and, joining those waiting below, bolted out through the temple gate in a headlong rush.

Only Eizo—out of breath and now even paler—remained floundering about, unsure where to hide himself.

At Eizo’s home, Tachibanaya, they were shocked. The temple acolyte had arrived bringing along a dejected Eizo when—without even attempting to enter— “Your Eizo-chan has been striking the temple bell like a plaything and causing trouble. Please reprimand him properly.” —he said at the entranceway before briskly taking his leave.

Left behind, Eizo fidgeted like a beggar child outside the threshold, pulling at the hem of his apron. The household members were left dumbfounded. The household members, who had even thought that Eizo—being far too gentle—ought to cause a bit more mischief, couldn’t comprehend how he had managed to commit such an outrageous act. “Don’t just stand there like that. Come inside the house for now.”

Putting everything else aside, Grandmother said. Eizo, doing as he was told, entered with his dark, clear eyes slightly downcast. And this time, after standing abruptly in the middle of the earthen floor, he fluttered his long-lashed eyelids repeatedly.

“So then, was it you who struck the bell just now?”

Grandfather asked with a stern face today. Eizo knew that Grandfather—who had long served as village headman—would glare at people with this very look when drunkard peasants failed to bring their tax payments to the authorities. When Eizo nodded in response to Grandfather’s question, Grandmother— “It rang quite well, didn’t it? If you have such strength, Eibō, you’re no coward at all. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Grandmother said cheerfully. “You keep quiet.”

Grandfather reproached Grandmother. This was no time for levity. Then in his customary manner, Grandfather began interrogating Eizo about various matters. He continued his questioning relentlessly, disregarding how Grandmother and Mother—who held deep affection for Eizo—grew increasingly anxious. Occasionally Grandmother would interject to defend Eizo, only to earn another rebuke from Grandfather. Eizo’s responses remained utterly disjointed. For he would only offer occasional deep nods before lapsing back into mute silence.

And so, in the end, Grandfather and the others came to understand the following: that it was not some mischievous boys from other households, but their own Eizo who had struck the temple bell. Now then, this could not be left unaddressed. Since the messenger from the temple had stated so clearly, "Please discipline him," they had to find some way to chastise Eizo.

—Grandfather thought.

In the Tachibanaya household, there had been no instance of disciplining children for decades. Grandfather had no children of his own, for both Eizo’s father and mother had been adopted from outside. Moreover, Eizo had always been as gentle as a girl, and Saemon and his younger siblings were still so small that they had never committed any serious mischief warranting punishment. As Grandfather frowned and searched for precedents of children being disciplined in this household, he finally recalled that there had been exactly one such instance about sixty years prior. None other than Grandfather himself—it was an instance from when he had been disciplined as a child. At that time, Grandfather had been put into the storehouse. Because it was pitch dark and terrifying inside, he had cried and thrashed about for about an hour before finally being forgiven. That method had been remarkably effective. From then on, Grandfather remembered that whenever he was told, "I’ll put you in the storehouse," no matter how much he sulked, he would immediately behave properly.

Grandfather, who cherished Eizo in his heart, thought it pitiful to confine such a small Eizo in the darkness of the storehouse—but since he had done wrong, punishment had to be administered. “Bring me the key to the storehouse.”

Grandfather instructed Grandmother.

When the heavy door closed with a rumble and a sharp click of the lock echoed outside, Eizo found himself alone in the dark storehouse. Apart from the faint sound of waves, no other noises came from outside. Even his father, mother, grandfather, and grandmother—who should have been in the nearby house—seemed to him as if they had drifted away to some distant, separate world. It was indeed lonely. What would it be like if I had to stay here forever like this? Grandfather would surely come to open it soon, but if by chance everyone forgot about me and didn't let me out—what would happen then?

Eizo wondered if he might burst into tears and suddenly drew in a breath, but at that moment he abruptly remembered something and stopped crying. That was when he had entered the storehouse with Father and seen a bookshelf by the second-floor window packed full with books inside. Fortunately, his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Eizo groped his way toward the stairs. Then he climbed them.

When he came to the second floor, it was suddenly bright there. Because there was a small window fitted with iron bars facing the sea. Near the window, the sound of the waves could be heard even more clearly.

Eizo removed the lid of the book box. As he had seen before, books were packed full inside. Eizo felt a lump form in his throat from happiness. Eizo had not yet begun attending cram school, but through being taught one character by his father and two by his grandfather in this way little by little, he had already become able to read kana and simple kanji. There, Eizo took each book one by one into his hands, flipping through the pages from the beginning. Some books had dense rows of difficult kanji Eizo didn't recognize at all, while others contained kana characters he knew. When he found familiar characters, Eizo would read just those parts and feel delighted. There were also books with illustrations. The pictures showed various things—samurai on horseback, an old man holding a brush deep in thought, children chasing dogs. Eizo thought that reading these books must surely explain everything about these illustrations. He wanted to quickly become able to read them properly. And he wanted to know all the countless things he didn't yet understand.

Eizo had already forgotten that he was being punished and locked in the storehouse, becoming completely engrossed in the books. Outside the storehouse, Grandfather listened intently for a while, but not a single sound resembling crying could be heard from within.

This couldn't be right. No matter how thick the storehouse door was, if he'd been shouting at the top of his lungs while pounding on it from inside—just as Grandfather himself had done when punished as a child—some noise should have reached him by now. Thinking Could it be that even I'm going deaf at last? Grandfather pressed an ear against the door and listened.

Inside was utterly silent. Grandfather began to worry. Could it be that gentle Eizo had fainted from sheer terror? If left like this, it would be disastrous. Grandfather hurriedly removed the lock and opened the heavy door. Facing the darkness, he called out to Eizo. Sure enough, there was no reply.

Grandfather grew increasingly flustered. He was certain that Eizo had fainted. He must have collapsed in some corner over there, foaming at the mouth. Perhaps he might already have died… “Eibō!” He went inside and called out.

Then a rumbling sound from the second floor reached Grandfather's ears. Eizo flinched when he heard Grandfather’s voice. He hurriedly shoved the books inside and tried to replace the lid, but the lid that had been difficult to remove now proved just as difficult to fit back. Panicking only made it harder to fit.

At that moment, Grandfather came up.

“Eibō! So this is where you were?” “…….”

“What are you doing?” “……”

Eizo, thinking he had been caught in the act of doing something wrong, hung his head.

Grandfather looked back and forth between the book peeking out from behind the still-unclosed lid of the book box and Eizo’s face. And he said. “Did you find the books?” Eizo, resignedly thinking there was no other way, nodded deeply.

Then Grandfather softened his voice, “I see. “So you liked books, Eibō?” “In that case, from now on I’ll have you study and let you read books.” “All these books here will become yours.” he said.

Grandfather had seen within young Eizo the budding of a soul that loved learning. Grandfather was happy about that—for generations, the Tachibanaya had cherished learning. This child too would inherit that and come to love it. Thus, the future of Tachibanaya would continue to prosper gloriously forever... Eizo, who had been certain Grandfather would scold him for secretly reading the books, suddenly heard his grandfather’s gentle words and felt tears begin to fall. Eizo, who hadn’t cried when the temple priest yelled at him or when he was locked in the storehouse, now couldn’t understand why he was crying, but found himself unable to stop the tears streaming down his cheeks.

“What’s there to cry about?” As Grandfather said this while closing the lid of the book box for him, he found himself crying even more.

Both Mother and Grandmother could not focus on their work and were fretfully waiting for Eizo to come out. Grandfather said to Mother, “O-Hide, blow Eibō’s nose.”

With that, he handed over Eizo, his face streaked with tears. Eizo was taken to another room and had his face wiped by Mother. “Was it frightening?”

Mother asked, taking the opportunity to wipe his long ears as she did so. “Nuh-uh.”

Eizo shook his head. And then, as if he had suddenly remembered something joyful, he broke into a smile and said— “Mother, do you know this song?” Then he sang the Sado song he’d heard from Kaku-chan without a single mistake, letting Mother listen. Sado— Forty-five *ri* The sea’s path. Even when rain and wind blow, No lodging. Even when rain and wind blow, No lodging….

II. The Fawn

The late spring of Echigo arrived, the sea took on a moist green hue, and the snow on Mount Yahiko across the cape melted away.

One late afternoon, the sliding doors inside Eizo’s house were removed by the servants. Eizo, wondering if they were doing the soot cleaning at this time of year, asked Matsu-san, the servant. The sake-loving, jovial Matsu-san joked, “We’re movin’ to Sado Island, ain’t we?” but finally told him the truth: “Tonight’s the O-himachi ceremony.”

Eizo became happy. After the sliding doors were removed, in the vast open space that now resembled a temple’s main hall, he somersaulted with joy.

Before long, one by one, the neighbors began to gather. The fishermen, in stark contrast to their usual shouting matches on the beach, greeted each other with absurdly polite manners and stiff formality. Eizo found it amusing to watch. He supposed they must feel constrained wearing their formal clothes since they were usually half-naked. Even if they were called formal clothes, the fishermen’s attire wasn’t much different from their everyday wear—thick, heavy handwoven cotton.

Those people, finding it uncomfortable to stay indoors, found work to do and went outside. In a corner of the garden, they set up a hearth and hung a large pot. At the wellside, they chopped daikon radishes and carrots into fine pieces with clumsy hands. Eizo was dressed in a fine kimono. When he stepped into the sunlight, the pungent scent of dye struck his nostrils—a kimono that felt nostalgic. Then, following Matsu-san as he headed out on an errand, he was allowed to carry the O-himachi passbook and went to the sake shop.

At the sake shop, they were led into a dimly lit storehouse where rows of sake barrels stood in neat lines. As soon as they stepped inside, the thick smell of sake pressed in on them. Matsu-san narrowed his eyes happily, deliberately flaring his nostrils as he inhaled deeply the smell of sake, so Eizo found it amusing and laughed. They had decided to buy and bring back a four-to barrel bound with rope, so Matsu-san grabbed the rope to carry it—but like someone performing in a play, he only pretended to strain without actually exerting any force, making no move to lift it. Then he said, “Eibō-san, there’s no way I can carry this thing like this. If I don’t take a swig, I won’t get my strength up.” When the sake shop clerk brought over a bowlful of sake with a laugh, Matsu-san scratched his head and said, “Ah, thank ya, thank ya!” He pressed his mouth to the bowl as if to suck it up and drank it all in one gulp with evident relish. Then, he could effortlessly carry the four-to barrel.

In time with Matsu-san’s footsteps, the four-to barrel on his shoulders emitted deep, resonant thumps and clunks. “Thumps and clunks,” Matsu-san playfully mimicked. And he said, “What a lovely sound.” Eizo, walking behind him, spread open the passbook and struggled to read the characters that the sake shop clerk had swiftly written with the brush tucked behind his ear. He could just barely make out the characters for “sake,” but before he could read any further, they arrived home.

Then something strange had been tied to the persimmon tree in the garden. At first Eizo thought it was a dog and tried to pass by nonchalantly. But it was not a dog. For a dog, its legs were too slender and long. And despite its large ears, its face was narrow and pointed. Eizo drew near to look. Its eyes held none of a dog's menace—their entire roundness, tinged bluish-black, contained an indescribable gentleness. Even when Eizo approached, it did not turn toward him. It gazed at nothing, remaining motionless as if absorbed in thoughts of some distant matter. The tips of its stick-thin legs ended in hooves split into two parts that trod upon the dewy green chickweed.

Eizo felt a strange trembling course smoothly through his entire body. When he had been a baby, held in Mother’s warm embrace while drowsily listening to that sweetly melancholic lullaby—it felt as though he had suddenly encountered it again.

Snapping back to his senses, Eizo went to ask the uncle who was tending the fire under the hearth nearby, and the uncle told him this.

“That’s a fawn.” The fawn.

The fawn.

What a lovely, endearing, sorrowful creature exists in this world. Eizo approached the fawn once again. “Kin-chan, come here! There’s a fawn at my house—a real fawn!” With that, Eizo went to call the nearby children. And at the next house too, he said the same thing. “Kachi-chan, come see! There’s a fawn at my house—a real fawn!”

Kin-chan, Kachi-chan, and even dimwitted Yutaka-chan were invited by Eizo and came. They found it strange that Eibō-chan—the “Daytime Lantern of the Headman’s House,” who was always so mild-mannered—was acting so uncharacteristically enthusiastic. They must have thought there was surely something wonderful there. "See? Right here." Eizo was already saying as he turned the corner of the house. Kin-chan and Kachi-chan thought disappointedly that it was just a fawn after all. And they couldn’t understand why Eizo was being so earnest. After all, Eibō-chan was just as dimwitted as Yutaka-chan, they concluded inwardly.

However, now that they had come this far, they no longer felt like leaving. The large pot on the hearth was bubbling away, and a delicious aroma drifted throughout the garden. Sometimes the adults would say, "Here you go," and give the children a piece of boiled taro or konjac. Moreover, they weren't completely uninterested in the fawn either. If they poked it with a stick, what kind of scream would it let out?

For a while, the four of them stood around the fawn and watched. Eizo found it unbearably cute. The tip of its little nose, dark and moist, was adorable too. The short tail dangling limply over its slender rump was adorable too. The way it slowly stretched out its slender neck to sniff the scent of the earth was also adorable. No matter how long he gazed upon it, Eizo found it utterly adorable. However, the other three grew bored just watching.

“What does this thing even eat, I wonder?” Kin-chan was the first to say. Then he picked some pine needles from the kindling and held them out in front of the fawn’s nose, saying, “Here!”

The fawn sniffed at the pine needles but made no move to eat them. Then Kin-chan, angry, flicked the pine needles sharply at the fawn’s face. The fawn, startled, tried to flee in the opposite direction, but since the rope around its neck was tied to a persimmon tree, it couldn’t escape.

Eizo thought, What a terrible thing to do, and glared at Kin-chan. Dimwitted Yutaka-chan was even worse than Kin-chan. When he saw the fawn trying to escape but unable to, Yutaka-chan gleefully shouted, “Whee!” Then, shouting “Whee! Whee!” one after another, he chased it all around.

Yutaka-chan was three or four years older than Eizo, and being both larger and stronger, Eizo could do nothing about it. He had been watching with bated breath, but when he could bear it no longer, he went to seek help from Matsu-san, who was washing dishes by the well.

“Hmm, is that right?” Matsu-san said with exaggerated nonchalance, then turned his flushed face toward them. “Yutaka-suke! Don’t go tormentin’ Eibō-chan’s precious deer now,” he bellowed. Yutaka-chan stopped with an ashamed look on his face, so Eizo felt relieved. And he found the grown-up Matsu-san dependable. Soon after, that same Matsu-san made Eizo even happier. Matsu-san said this.

“If you like the fawn that much, Eibō-chan, I’ll let you keep it.”

And he untied the rope from the persimmon tree and let Eizo hold its end. Eizo was nervously holding the end of the rope. That the fawn seemed completely at ease and didn’t even try to escape filled him with a paradoxical joy. “The fawn seems to like you, Eibō-chan.” “Now that you mention it, Eibō-chan, you do kinda resemble a fawn yourself.” Matsu-san said flatteringly. Even though it was flattery, Eizo was happy about it.

“Well then, let’s head to the seaside.” “Eibō-chan, go on and give it a tug.” Eizo didn’t know why they were heading toward the sea. Simply delighted by how obediently the fawn followed along, he kept glancing back again and again as he descended toward the nearby shoreline, stumbling over stones along the way. Kin-chan, Katsu-chan, and Yutaka-chan followed along. These children already knew what was going to happen.

When Matsu-san raised the axe he had concealed—as if to split firewood—Eizo still didn’t understand what he meant to do.

But in the next instant, something like a scarf was dumped onto the white, dry sand at their feet. It was the fawn. Blood was seeping from its forehead. Kin-chan and the others, “Whoa.”

They uttered exclamations of admiration. “Heave-ho.” With his usual playfulness, Matsu-san crouched down by the fawn’s head.

The fawn’s dark, moist eyes were innocently wide-open. It looked as though listening intently to the gentle waves that rushed in with a swish and receded with another. Eizo felt a twitching sensation beneath his eyes. His limbs trembled uncontrollably. He couldn’t grasp what was happening. Though bathed in light, everything felt darkening. His teeth clattered.

Suddenly, it was as if a bird took flight from beside everyone. When they looked, Eizo was running off in that direction with a bizarre, frantic gait.

“Eibō-chan, where you goin’?” Matsu-san called out. But Eizo kept running without looking back, as if his mother were calling him from ahead—along the endless shoreline where neither Mother nor anyone else stood, westward he ran. At lamp-lighting time, Reushi from two ri west brought him home. “Found ’im lyin’ on the beach sand, sobbin’ ‘Ooh... ooh...’,” “Asked where his house was, he points ‘Over there—Izumozaki,’ but when I asks why he came way out here, not a word.” “Told ’im get home ’fore dark falls, but he just kept wailin’ ‘Ooh... ooh...,’ so I fetched ’im.” “Seems he kicked off his sandals somewhere—went barefoot.”

Having said that, Reushi received a cup of sake and some fawn meat offered in thanks and left.

Eizo was cradled in his mother’s arms and taken to a room away from the guests.

Like someone who had their soul torn away, Eizo stared vacantly. The fine kimono he had been dressed in two or three days prior was drenched with seawater and sweat, its seams crammed full of sand. His slender white legs were covered in wounds, perhaps cut by seashell edges and pebble corners. His mother floundered between shock and grief. “Eibō-chan, what’s happened to you?” Eizo kept staring into his mother’s eyes with that hollow gaze, face contorting as though some invisible wound tormented him.

Truly, Eizo's heart ached. Eizo felt profound sorrow. What manner of things could exist in this world? What manner of shameless acts could humans commit?... Though the tempestuous suffering had passed through Eizo’s heart, again and again it throbbed with pain.

Eventually, the O-Himachi participants departed for home, and everyone in the house fell asleep. The night deepened.

Mother, who had been drifting off to sleep, was roused once more by the sound of sniffling. “Eibō, you’re crying, aren’t you?” “…………” Even though there was only the sound of waves and the world lay hushed in sleep, Eizo was still sobbing quietly. Mother turned up the flame of the andon lamp by the pillow. The room grew brighter.

Eizo sat up on top of the futon, rubbing his eyes. He neatly arranged his small knees. “Try telling me. You can tell me anything.” Eizo blinked his eyes rapidly, hesitating whether to speak or not.

And then, “Mother, they killed the fawn.”

With that single utterance, he collapsed onto the futon like a log and bit into it to stifle his sobs. Mother had been gazing at Eizo’s shoulders heaving in the light of the andon lamp for a long time before finally pulling his body upright. And when she saw the deep color in the innermost depths of Eizo’s eyes—eyes weary from tears—Mother understood his true sorrow. Mother had no more words to say. She too could only cry while gently stroking Eizo’s back.

III. The Tale of Vengeance

“Alright then, today I’ll tell you a story.”

said the old monk.

When Eizo and Kaku-chan helped sweep the wide temple grounds, this monk would happily give them manju and rakugan sweets he had received from parishioners. But today, even though Eizo and Kaku-chan had worked so hard helping him that they were sweating, instead of giving them sweets as usual, he was going to tell them a story.

"Oh, how boring," Kaku-chan made a disappointed face. Eizo, too, would have preferred the manju. This was because the monk’s stories were often of the sort that made you dread going to the bathroom alone at night once you remembered them—tales like how if you told lies in this world, Enma would yank out your tongue with pliers in the afterlife, or how if you killed cats, dogs, or birds in this world, you’d be cast into a Blood Pond Hell in the afterlife and made to suffer.

However, if they were to say they didn’t want to hear any story—since being thought to have helped with sweeping just out of a craving for manju would irk them—the two stood stiffly before the monk who had settled himself at the base of the great ginkgo tree and planted his legs apart, their faces wearing expressions of clear disinterest.

The autumn sunlight held a mellow warmth, and the bees coming to drink at the newly filled basin gleamed like golden threads drawn out.

There, the monk began to speak. The story went like this.

Long ago, there was a traveler who journeyed. That person journeyed all alone.

He kept traveling even when rain fell and winds blew.

During the day he walked on, and at night he slept in wayside shrines, under house eaves, or in the shadows of straw stacks. He journeyed aimlessly, like a cloud drifting across the sky. When he grew hungry, though he knew it was wrong, he would pluck persimmons from others' trees or dig up potatoes from others' fields to fill his stomach. What was even worse, he would scoop rice from unmanned watermills and cook meals. He wore tattered clothes like a beggar, and his limbs were blackened with grime, dirt, and sunburn.

The children tried to throw stones when they saw him. However, because his eyes were sharp, they lowered their raised arms.

The ferryman tried to refuse him boarding the ferry. However, frightened by the sword at his waist, he silently ferried him to the opposite shore. When tiredness came over him, he would spread grass and rest. When thirst parched his throat, he would scoop clear water from beneath rocks and drink. He journeyed endlessly onward in this way. Why did this man wander so? The reason was thus: He once had an elder brother. This brother had been a master of the flute cherished by their lord. But then another flute master appeared. This new master played with far greater skill. Thus did their lord's favor shift entirely. The elder brother burned with resentment toward this rival. One moonlit night he lay in ambush seeking blood. Blades clashed between them. Yet contrary to intent, it was he who fell slain. The victorious flute master vanished into shadows. By samurai custom when brothers fall, Younger kin must seek vengeance. Thus did he wander seeking retribution.

However, he had no idea where his enemy was or what he was doing. Japan was vast, with many villages and towns teeming with people. To find one enemy among so many was a task that required immense effort. For eight or even nine years he had searched.

One autumn day of a certain year, the samurai, after inquiring far and wide, finally arrived in Kyoto. Kyoto was a great capital where multitudes traversed its roads. Among these teeming crowds, perhaps the enemy he sought might be here, thought the samurai. Thereupon he took lodgings at a house facing the main road. From its second-floor window, he gazed down upon the thoroughfare.

It was exactly like today—a quiet autumn day with calm sunlight—and on the capital’s main street that the samurai was gazing down upon, yellow butterflies fluttered among the people coming and going. Suddenly, the samurai’s neck itched, so he absentmindedly reached around to scratch it, and something fell onto the floorboards. It was something as small as a grain of rice, covered with numerous tiny legs, crawling toward the sunlight. It was a louse.

The samurai immediately tried to crush it with his fingernail but suddenly reconsidered and picked it up in his palm. As he gazed intently at the louse, the ten years of his past journey came to mind. He had once worn clean kimono and lived a proper life. But after his brother—driven by petty spite—had been ambushed and slain, he began an irreversible descent into ruin. Like a leaf tossed by the wind, blown here and tumbled there, his travel funds dwindled until he sank into wretched living. He'd grown accustomed to lice like this. When would this life end? When would he meet his sworn enemy? How many more years must he trudge through rain and wind before that encounter? Must I walk until my back bends and hair whitens? Is this truly life? Is life truly such a thing...?

The samurai, finding no use in continuing to think this way, decided to dispose of the louse in his palm.

He pulled out a small chisel, gouged a corner of the pillar, and made a hole. After putting the louse inside, he blocked the hole with the scraped-off wood shavings.

When he had spoken this far, the monk paused briefly to catch his breath. Kaku-chan had not been listening to the story intently. He had long since decided that stories were boring. He had come to think that the sooner the story ended, the better. When the monk paused briefly, Kaku-chan, jumping to the conclusion that the story had already ended, let out an “Ah, well”—the kind of remark boys often made after hearing a dull story.

However, Eizo was deeply drawn into the story. It was different from the tales of Enma and hell that the monk usually told. There was something compelling about this story. Eizo wanted to hear more of what would come next. And he wished this story would go on much longer, never coming easily to an end. A boy who loved stories disliked having them end quickly. Even after a story had ended, they would still yearn to know what happened afterward. And when adults wouldn't tell them, they would imagine and ponder various possibilities on their own.

Now, the monk continued his story. The samurai stayed in Kyoto for some time searching for his sworn enemy, but the enemy still could not be found. So he went back to the countryside. For a year, he wandered through countryside villages.

And a year later, the samurai returned to Kyoto. The reason he had come to Kyoto this time was that he had roughly surmised his sworn enemy was in the capital. A certain traveling merchant said he had seen a person skilled at playing the flute in Kyoto. Upon closer inquiry, that person appeared to be his older brother's sworn enemy. The samurai, regaining his fading courage, sharpened his sword and made his way up to Kyoto. In Kyoto, the samurai again took lodgings in last year’s house. Just as he had the previous year, he leaned on the second-floor railing and gazed down at the main street filled with autumn sunlight.

Many people were quietly coming and going. This time—the samurai thought—among these people, his sworn enemy must surely be here. If he could defeat his sworn enemy, he thought, he would finally abandon this beggar-like life. What a long span of years it must have been. What harsh days these must have been…….

Suddenly, the samurai recalled last year’s louse. Had that louse already died?

The samurai gazed at the pillar. Then he found the spot where he had confined the louse the previous year. Since that time, it appeared the hole's lid had never been removed.

When the samurai pried off the lid and peered inside, he found the louse from last year lying dead within, its tiny frame now shriveled even smaller. Since it had endured a full year without nourishment, reasoning that after a full year without sustenance, the creature’s death was inevitable, he placed its withered corpse upon his palm. Then he stared fixedly.

When he exposed it to the warm sunlight and looked closely, the louse's minute legs stirred faintly. Within the louse's shriveled little body, a faint spark of life still lingered.

Then, the samurai became intrigued; rolling up his sleeve, he placed the louse on a soft spot to observe. The louse moved slowly and sluggishly, like an utterly exhausted person, and before long, the samurai became aware of an itch on his own arm. He realized the louse had begun sucking his blood. “Since I’ve caused you suffering for a year, I’ll endure letting you suck my blood for a while.” “You may drink your fill until you’re satisfied.”

While saying this to the louse, the samurai resolutely endured the itching. Before long, the louse’s white body began to flush crimson with blood. The louse had sucked its fill.

Then, the samurai blew the louse away with a puff. The louse hid itself away somewhere. That night, the samurai was roused from his deep sleep of travel fatigue by the itching in his arm. The samurai frantically scratched the spot where he had let the louse suck during the day. No matter how much he scratched, the itching would not subside. On the contrary, the more he scratched, the more the itching spread. After scratching, it swelled red like earthworms, spreading over his entire arm, and eventually reaching his body.

When the innkeeper, startled by the strange noise, went upstairs to look, he found the samurai—his entire body swollen—clawing and tearing at himself as he groaned and thrashed about. “What in heaven’s name has happened here?” the innkeeper exclaimed in dismay. “Call a doctor!” The patient groaned.

Immediately, the doctor came. The doctor mixed the medicine and slathered it thickly all over the patient’s body. And to prevent the patient from scratching again, he bound both hands. For seven days, the samurai received the doctor’s treatment and made a full recovery. That was an excellent doctor. Had this physician not been present, the samurai would have torn his own body apart from the itching and ultimately lost his life. The samurai expressed deep gratitude to the doctor. Precisely because the medicine’s efficacy was extraordinary, its cost proved equally steep. The samurai laid out all the money he carried on the tatami matting, yet it failed to reach even half the medicine’s price.

The samurai had no home, and in Kyoto he had no acquaintances. The only thing that could be sold for money was his sword. But how could he part with the sword—the very tool meant to avenge his sworn enemy? The samurai was at a loss, wondering what to do.

Thus he explained his circumstances in detail to the doctor. "I am seeking my brother's sworn enemy who died ten years ago. I've finally determined how to track down and kill that enemy within days. By doing so, I could return home and serve my lord once more......" "Given these circumstances, I ask that you lend me the treatment fees for now."

the samurai requested of the doctor. The doctor had been listening in silence, but “My business is to save people who are suffering. Since ancient times, it has been said that medicine is a benevolent art. If you are truly poor and have no money, I can provide the medicine free of charge. However, you just now stated that you will take revenge on your sworn enemy. To take revenge on a sworn enemy means killing someone. I don’t know what profound reasons you may have, but be that as it may, killing people is wrong. Why don’t you stop? I also saved you. You should save your enemy as well. In that case, I shall waive your treatment fees as well.”

the doctor said.

The samurai nodded silently. In his heart, he hadn't been listening to a word the doctor said. He had endured hardships for ten years and had finally come close to tracking down his sworn enemy—how could he possibly forgive him now? Yet what the doctor was saying didn't matter to him at all. He simply wanted to escape this situation unscathed. Thereupon, he pretended as though he had accepted the doctor's words.

The doctor, believing his words had been heeded, was delighted. In the end, he had saved two lives—or so the kind-hearted doctor thought to himself as he made his way home. Having perfectly deceived the doctor, the samurai stuck out his tongue mockingly and muttered when left alone. “Even a louse lives gaunt to avenge its enemy.” “Even a soulless, dust-sized speck of a bug does so.” “How could humans—the lords of all creation—possibly refrain from avenging their enemies and instead forgive them?”

Even so, deceiving the kind-hearted doctor left the samurai's heart desolate for reasons he couldn't fathom.

The search began again the following day. The samurai examined the faces of every person he encountered on the road. He peered into the shadowed interiors of houses along deep back alleys. Whenever there was a festival market or local celebration, he would inevitably attend. Such places drew crowds—and where crowds gathered, he reasoned his enemy might lurk. A month passed without success. The samurai teetered on the brink of despair. Perhaps the traveling merchant’s tip had been false all along.

And then one evening, the samurai lost his way in a lonely field outside the capital. He wandered aimlessly, thinking that if he encountered someone, he would ask for directions. It was a windless evening, and somewhere, the sound of water could be heard. When the sun had fully set and darkness descended, the moon that had lingered in the sky since daytime began to emit a faint light. The surrounding silvergrass, illuminated by that light, swayed gently in the air.

Then, from somewhere came the sound of a flute flowing through the air. The samurai walked toward where the flute's notes originated. The flute's sound was slender, beautiful, and pure, and as he listened, the samurai felt his heart being cleansed. Though this world contained all manner of filth and ugliness, sickness and suffering, the flute's melody made those who heard it deeply feel that despite everything, the world remained beautiful and humans fundamentally good. The samurai had forgotten—as though he'd cast it away—that the enemy he sought had been a master of the flute.

In the shade of a thicket stood a small house, from which flowed the sound of a flute. Peering over the fence from outside, he saw that inside the house no light had been lit yet, and on the slatted floor of the veranda, a samurai-like man was blowing a flute with single-minded focus.

The samurai immediately remembered that his sworn enemy was a master of the flute. And he realized that the man now playing the flute with single-minded focus was none other than his sworn enemy.

Was this the sworn enemy he had been seeking for ten years? The samurai was perplexed. Until yesterday, he had gnashed his teeth, thinking that if he found him, he would cut him down without a word—yet now, faced with that very sworn enemy, not a trace of that fierce hatred arose. However, he had to take revenge. It was the duty of a samurai. The samurai prepared to draw his sword in an instant. Under the guise of someone who had lost his way, the samurai entered the garden.

“Who might this be?”

The man stopped playing his flute and asked. “I’ve lost my way and am utterly distressed.” “I am someone returning to the capital.” “Since I’m exhausted，I’d like to rest for a bit.”

said the samurai.

“Please, make yourself comfortable.”

said the flute player, stepping back to make space.

The samurai sat down there, "I must say your mastery was truly admirable." and praised the man’s skill in playing the flute. "No, I am still unskilled." The man said shyly.

The two remained silent for a while. The samurai thought of finding an opening to strike. Then, narrowing his eyes and looking outside, the flute player asked, "What do you suppose that faint white thing over there is?"

The samurai looked in that direction. From in front of the house, the road sloping upward opposite was glistening white in the moonlight.

“Are your eyes unwell?”

The samurai asked in surprise. “Yes, I have been afflicted for a long time.” “I have tried various doctors’ treatments, but my condition only worsens.” “I believe I will soon become completely blind.” While looking at the flute player’s slightly bowed face, the samurai thought he looked pitiable.

“Isn’t there anyone to take care of you?”

asked the samurai.

“There is no one.” “I was the one who took my leave.” “This is how it should be.” “I committed an unspeakable wrong ten long years ago, so I must accept all the retribution.” "He’s talking about killing my brother," thought the samurai. “It seems you also take pleasure in the sound of the flute.” “Though I am unskilled, allow me to play a little more for you.” “Until I finish the piece I was just playing.”

And before long, the flute player changed the topic.

Then the flute began to sing once more of the beauty of this world and the people who dwell in it.

Thinking, "If I’m to strike, now—now is the best moment," the samurai tightened his grip on his sword.

The flute player continued playing with single-minded absorption. Moonlight fell in a thin stream onto the well-polished transverse flute and quivered delicately. Though he repeatedly tried in haste to strike, the samurai found himself utterly unable to draw his sword. The samurai became aware of his own baseness. The louse had survived for a full year without eating anything in order to take revenge. I too, in order to take revenge, was now trying to kill this beautiful-hearted, sightless person who played his flute with such single-minded absorption. What a pitiful thing this is. How am I any different from a louse?

Moreover, do I truly have any reason to kill that person? Indeed, my brother was killed. But didn't Brother have his own faults? Wasn't it Brother's mistake to strike his opponent simply because he had lost the lord's favor? The samurai recalled the words the doctor had spoken when waiving the medicine fees: "I saved you." "You too must save your enemy…"

"That’s right—I will stop trying to kill this person," the samurai resolved within himself. Then, taking care not to be noticed, he quietly slipped out of the garden.

While ascending the narrow white path where moonlight fell, the samurai heard the flute's sound. The flute's voice still sang of this world's beauty and proclaimed that all in this world must love one another. The samurai thought he had done something good. Then tears began flowing of their own accord.

From that moment on, the samurai had to change his life’s purpose. He no longer had anyone to seek. Even if he returned to his home province, he—having failed to avenge his enemy—would likely be unable to secure a government post. For a while, the samurai was lost, wondering how he should live from now on, but following the path often taken by those of his station—people without status or home—he became a monk. At that very time, learning that a certain bridge near the capital had been washed away and people were in distress, he went around soliciting alms to collect funds for rebuilding the bridge.

Like one drifting in search of enemies, he wandered here and there to collect funds to save people from their hardships.

The old monk’s story ended here. Eizo had been so deeply drawn into the tale that even after it concluded, he remained standing before the monk with dreamlike eyes for some time. In Eizo’s eyes still lingered the blue moonlit night, and in his ears echoed the sound of a transverse flute singing of this world’s beauty. When he heard how the man meant to take vengeance had instead stayed his hand—leaving his enemy’s house while spilling tears at having done what he thought right—Eizo too found himself weeping in sympathy. The tears had not yet dried from his eyes. What truly good thing had that person done? So moved was Eizo by those actions that he thought if that person stood before him now, he would follow wherever they led.

When they stepped out through the temple gate, the rose hue of dusk perfumed the sky. Truly, this world is beautiful, Eizo thought. Then his companion Kaku-chan— “That was interesting, wasn’t it? “Still, manju are better.” he said. Eizo remained silent. Eizo felt that he preferred that story over receiving ten manju.

Eizo remained silent. To Eizo, that story was better than receiving ten manju, he thought.

IV. Flounder

Eizo had one peculiar habit. When scolded by Father, he wouldn’t reply but would instead fix his gaze on the other person with upturned eyes.

That was a slight, strange habit. However, if you looked closely at any habit, there was usually some reason behind it. Eizo was mild-mannered and his body was also not strong. The children often left Eizo out of their group. As such things happened repeatedly, Eizo must have developed the habit of looking up with upturned eyes. It was just like how a child who got their head struck whenever scolded at home would instinctively raise their hands to shield their head even when lightly reprimanded by a teacher at school.

Eizo himself knew this habit wasn't good, but since his friends constantly mocked and laughed at him, the habit remained stubbornly unbroken. One day when Father reproved Eizo over some minor matter, this unfortunate habit resurfaced. Eizo stood silent and stiff, staring up at Father's face with upturned eyes.

Father was usually a kind man, but whenever he wore a troubled expression for some reason, he became extremely quick-tempered; that day too, he snapped irritably and shouted.

“What’s this? What kind of brat glares at their own parent like that? A brat who glares at their parent like that will turn into a flounder any moment now—just you wait.”

Eizo lowered his eyes. Whenever Eizo was scolded in that mean-spirited way by Father—who was often preoccupied with his own thoughts—he would feel utterly wretched. And he even came to resent Father. Today too, Father, having said that, went into the back as if he didn’t even want to speak to someone like him anymore. Eizo stared for a while at the fusuma door Father had closed behind him, then suddenly turned on his heel and abruptly left the house.

Even after leaving the house, he had nowhere to go. There was nothing but an unpleasant heaviness in his chest.

He stood before the blacksmith’s for a short while. Usually, the blacksmith’s work remained endlessly fascinating no matter how long he watched. Yet today, even that seemed dull.

Suddenly, he recalled Father’s earlier words: “If you glare at your parent, you’ll turn into a flounder.” Of course, he hadn’t believed such a thing at first. He thought adults sometimes said those things to frighten children. For example, they’d say liars would have their tongues ripped out by Enma-sama after death, or that picking up coins at crossroads would bring pestilence to your house.

But gradually，he had come to think that might actually be true． This was because Father had never told Eizo a lie before． ――It must be true． When he considered this，it was a dire situation． At any moment now，Eizo’s body might transform into one of those flat flounders that fishmongers and vendors often came to sell． Wait―could it already have happened？Eizo frantically looked down at his own feet． Thankfully，he still had human feet． However，he could no longer afford to play around carelessly． If he were to turn into a flounder right in the middle of a path like this，he would surely end up flopping helplessly on the sand，just like a flounder that had leaped out of a fish vendor’s basket． If he were to do that，the stray cats around here would find him and eat him up． Even if he were to escape their teeth，he would surely be crushed flat by the hooves of a passing horse or the wheels of a cart． This―he had to get to the sea quickly．

Eizo turned his steps toward the coast.

The sea was calm, and on the tranquil surface floated three or four boats catching octopus. Eizo chose a place with rocks. Rocks clustered together, their bases soaked in clear, beautiful water. Now that he had come this far, Eizo thought, even if he turned into a flounder, he could rest assured. If he turned into a flounder, all he needed to do was immediately leap into this bright, beautiful water. If someone came, he could quickly hide in the shadow of the rocks, and there would be no fear of being caught.

Now then, if he were to become a flounder, what would happen next? Eizo considered this. Even if he became a flounder, it would surely be a small one. It would probably be about the size of Eizo’s palm. After all, Eizo was a child. Such a small flounder would be fine playing among these rocks on a calm day like this, but on days when the wind was strong and the waves rough, where would it be? When bull-like waves went *dodon, dodon* as they crashed against these rocks, turning white and scattering spray, if it were loitering around there, it would be dashed against the rock face and die instantly. If he disliked that, he would have to venture into those dark green depths. There must be creepy jellyfish and octopuses, terrifying anglerfish, crocodile sharks, and the like lurking there. Eizo’s flounder would probably be gulped down in one bite. In that case, no matter how long Father and Mother waited for him, Eizo would not return. How terribly they would worry. They would order Matsu-san and the other servants to search for Eizo. And yet, Eizo was nowhere to be found. After all, Eizo had turned into a flounder—and what’s more, been devoured by a crocodile shark. Father and Mother would surely lament and grieve. Father especially would surely regret having scolded Eizo so harshly.

When Eizo imagined Father regretting it, he even felt like becoming a flounder and letting himself be devoured by a crocodile shark. Inside Eizo’s chest, a peculiar mix of emotions swelled to the brim. And he waited to see whether he would turn into a flounder or not. However, for a human child to become a flounder’s child was not at all an easy thing. Before long, the sun set and evening arrived. The sky turned crimson in the evening glow, and as the sky’s crimson was reflected on the sea, the sea too grew red.

Eizo thought it must already be the time when Mother was saying, “Oh my, Eibō isn’t here—what could have happened?” Then Father said in surprise, “What? “Eibō isn’t here?” “That’s strange.” “Perhaps he became sad after I scolded him earlier and went off somewhere.” “It’s because you scold him too harshly that things like this happen.” “That child is timid; if you don’t tell him gently, it won’t do,” Mother said.

“Matsu, go look for Eibō for me,” Father requested of Matsu-san. Matsu-san, who had been splitting firewood, responded with a “Right away,” and went out to search for Eizo. First he went to Kinn-chan’s house to search, but Kinn-chan said, “I haven’t played with Eibō-chan even once today!” Then Matsu-san went to Katsu-chan’s house. Katsu-chan also said he didn’t know. He searched house after house, but Eizo was nowhere to be found. There, Matsu-san finally gave up the search and came to the coast... or so Eizo imagined, squatting in the shadow of a rock.

However, what had occurred at Eizo’s home had largely unfolded just as he had imagined. And so, Matsu-san came to the coast. The crimson of the sky and sea had faded, and the shadow of the rocks was already dark. Matsu-san saw there that someone had made themselves small and was trembling. “Oh, Eibō-san!” With that, Matsu-san was at a loss for words for some time. Before long, in his usual playful manner, “I don’t like you hiding alone in a place like this playing hide-and-seek.”

he said.

When Eizo saw Matsu-san, he felt relieved. However, still thinking about the flounder, he asked: "I still haven’t turned into a flounder?" Matsu-san burst out laughing. "Eibō-san, you’re so carefree, aren’t you? Matsu-san searched everywhere until his legs turned to logs. Come on, let’s go home now. Father and Mother are worried about you!"

And the two of them headed home.

Father and Mother simply gazed at Eizo’s face with affection-filled eyes for a while and said nothing. The fact that they said nothing at all revealed just how greatly the two of them had worried. Eizo felt sorry for having made his parents anxious, yet he also sensed a certain satisfaction in his heart. And that night, after climbing into bed, during the quiet time before falling asleep, he reflected on the day’s events from beginning to end and found it all rather pleasant.

This small incident lingered long in Eizo’s heart. Eizo remembered well, even long afterward, the feelings he had while waiting in the shadow of a seaside rock for his family to come searching for him. And then one day, when he had suddenly recalled that incident again and come to loathe his own heart with bitter clarity, Eizo was already on the cusp of young adulthood. At that moment, Eizo clearly knew that within his own heart, something foul had taken root.

Indeed, I had taken Father’s words literally and thought I might become a flounder. Having thought it would be terrible to become a flounder, I had gone to the seaside. However, had there not been an ulterior motive in hiding in the shadow of the seaside rock and remaining motionless until sunset—a desire to make Father, who had scolded me, worry? That was it. What a twisted, wicked heart I had. When I was scolded, why couldn’t I honestly say, ‘I’m sorry, Father,’ and apologize?

Within my heart—there is something wrong, something that must be removed, there is something wrong—Eizo thought.

Five: The Money to Buy a Kite

Time flowed over Eizo. Eizo turned ten, then eleven. And before long, the spring when he turned fourteen arrived.

When the small ones grow up, the elderly pass from this world. Eizo’s grandfather and grandmother had died. Now Eizo stood radiant in Tachibanaya like a tree ready to bloom. As eldest son, he had Saemon and six younger siblings under his care. Father intended for Eizo to pursue academic studies and gain knowledge to inherit the village headman’s duties.

Therefore, Eizo began attending a cram school opened by a teacher named Koyō in Jizōdō-machi Sasakawa, located a short distance away.

The people of Izumozaki saw the figure of a slender boy named Eizo—wearing hakama, clutching a bundle of school supplies, and walking slightly hunched forward—traveling daily along the coastal road. At the cram school, about twenty students gathered to receive the teacher’s instruction. There were children like Eizo who loved academic studies, and others who hated them. Those who disliked their studies could be easily identified by their tendency to claim seats at the back. They preferred these rear positions both to evade the teacher’s questions and for the convenience of dozing off.

The teacher sat facing his students with his knees spread apart in his hakama, lecturing while holding a slender whip in one hand. Before him stood a stand bearing an open book. The students sat in rows facing the teacher, each with a lectern placed before them. Upon every lectern lay open the same book as the teacher’s. Thus did the lesson advance through the characters and content written in those books.

Eizo read books left behind by sages and wise men of China. They were written entirely with Chinese characters the size of go stones. Precepts were written there in language that seemed incomprehensible at first hearing but became clear upon reflection—such as how human beings must not do certain things; how those who commit certain acts are unworthy of conversation; what constitutes true courage; and how if you fail to act on what you believe right, you will prove yourself spineless. Eizo absorbed those precepts into himself like a starving man devouring food without restraint.

Eizo also read Japan’s ancient tales and ballads. They were written in characters whose brushstrokes felt soft and warm, and when voiced aloud, the words—much like their script—flowed with an artless warmth tinged with profound pathos. Within them were told various stories. Tales of men who lost wives and children; of wives and children who lost husbands; of children journeying afar to seek fathers exiled to distant islands; of multitudes perishing at once to famine, fire, or plague; of those who grew inexplicably weary of living and wandered aimlessly to foreign lands… It was precisely these pitiful narratives that gripped Eizo’s heart. Though they were stories from six or seven hundred years past, Eizo understood those people’s sorrows and sufferings with visceral clarity. So acutely that it pained his chest. And Eizo thought: In this human world, such varied sorrows and sufferings existed even in antiquity. They exist still now. And will surely persist hereafter. When might they ever vanish? And how could they ever be made to vanish?

As any child with good grades would do, Eizo often read books at home as well. By now, Eizo was no longer a small child; he looked after his younger brothers and sisters, was made to run errands, and had various other tasks, but whenever he found a spare moment, he studied. Back when he had been confined in the storehouse as punishment, he had found those books in a box on the second floor—Grandfather’s and Father’s many books—and began reading them starting with the easiest ones. For characters he didn’t recognize, he looked them up in the dictionary and memorized them. Even in those days, dictionaries existed. It was made of paper that felt coarse yet warm to the touch, shaped like an Edo-period ledger. When held, it was as light as silk floss.

Even on snowy days, Eizo studied. In April, when cherry blossoms brightened the garden, he read. On nights when fireflies strayed through the window, he opened his book beneath the andon lamp's yellow glow. Eizo excelled in his studies. Thus did he earn his teacher's affection. Yet even here, they excluded him from their circle. And here too existed another outcast child. This was Sōbei from Amagase town—a wealthy family's son. Sōbei-chan became ostracized for having been raised a spoiled young master—selfish and unyielding. His academic performance ranked lowest. So it goes in this world: both paragons and laggards alike find themselves flicked aside like grime beneath a fingernail.

Now, before anyone knew it, Eizo became friends with that Sōbei-chan. “Father bought this huge kite from Nagaoka, so come see it!” One day, on their way home from the cram-school, Sōbei-chan said to Eizo. Eizo had no desire to see kites or anything of the sort, so

“Hmm.”

he gave an unenthusiastic reply. “Come on, come on!” And so Sōbei-chan, who had no friends, pleaded desperately.

And so, though Eizo had no desire to see the kite, he found himself unable to refuse outright, and thus resolved to visit during the next holiday.

When the day came, the weather was fine. The distant mountain ranges were still blanketed in snow, but the path was dry enough to walk on even in straw sandals. The plum blossoms scented the air faintly there. "I'm going to Sō-chan's house in Amagase."

With that, Eizo left the house.

After walking a short distance, Eizo remembered the child who loved kites. It was Shintarō-chan, the child of a crepe fabric broker who lived nearby. Shintarō-chan’s family was poor, so he did not own a proper kite. However, by carving the bamboo frame himself and pasting on used fair-copy paper that Eizo had given him, he became quite skilled at making kites. Whenever kite contests were held in nearby villages, he would invariably go to watch them. He was about four years younger than Eizo and always wore shabby clothes, but he had an energetic spirit and spoke as if he knew everything there was to know about kites. Since Shintarō-chan’s mother had worked as a maid and nursemaid at Eizo’s house when she was young, she still often came to visit Eizo’s household even now, bringing Shintarō-chan along. Eizo liked this child.

That’s right—I should take Shintarō-chan along. He’ll surely be happy.

When this thought struck him, Eizo’s heart suddenly soared, his footsteps lightened, and he went to Shintarō-chan’s house.

Shintarō-chan was spinning a top beside the house, his baby sister strapped to his back.

“Shintarō-chan, won’t you come to Amagase? They said they’ll show us a huge kite bought from Nagaoka.” The words “a kite bought from Nagaoka” lit up Shintarō-chan’s eyes. Nagaoka was a large town in Echigo where splendid kites were made. “How many panels is that kite made with?” The phrase “how many panels” seemed to be a term indicating a kite’s size. Eizo didn’t know such things.

“I don’t know… but hey, let’s go.” “Yeah.” Hearing about kites, Shintarō-chan couldn’t keep still. Immediately, the two set off. Eizo wore hakama trousers, but Shintarō-chan was in his usual grime-streaked kimono, wearing straw sandals frayed at the heels and tattered at the edges, with a baby whose head was covered in boils strapped to his back. Even on the way there, Shintarō-chan talked about nothing but kites. And when he became engrossed in conversation, even if the baby on his back cried, he would leave it unattended and chatter away with pursed lips.

Shortly after entering Amagase, there stood on one side of the road a large two-story merchant house. On the entrance’s shoji screen, thick characters spelled out "Silks and Hemp Cloth." That was the house of Sōbei-chan whom they had come to visit.

“Here it is.” Eizo said. Then, the vigor that had been present until now drained from Shintarō-chan’s face, and he forced a feeble smile. Shintarō-chan knew this house well. Shintarō-chan’s father had been in service here since he was a child. Even now that he had become a crepe broker, whenever he brought crepe purchased from mountain towns and villages in Echigo like Shiozawa, Tōkamachi, and Ojiya, this silk and hemp cloth wholesaler would buy it from him. Therefore, for Shintarō-chan’s family, Sōbei-chan’s house was their master.

And so, even as Eizo slid open the entrance shoji screen and stepped inside, Shintarō-chan lingered like a stray dog that loathed being seen by people, pacing restlessly under the eaves of the house across the way. “Um, is Sōbei-san not here?”

Eizo said to the shop staff.

Before long, Sōbei-chan came out and, “Go through that shop curtain there and come to the back.” Sōbei-chan said. Eizo returned to the entrance again, “Shin-chan, Shin-chan.” He called. Shin-chan responded from under the eaves of the house across the way with the same feeble smile as before. And even when called, he did not readily come.

Finally, the shop staff came to the entrance and looked at Shintarō-chan. “Well, if it isn’t Shinbō!” “So you came too?” “Then get in here.”

Until then, Shintarō-chan had looked like a scolded stray dog. So there, Shintarō-chan entered hesitantly. He wore an embarrassed look, his body appearing to have shrunk—to the extent that Eizo felt pity for him.

The two passed through the earthen-floored entrance, went through the curtain, and came to the back. Eizo was there warmly welcomed by Sōbei-chan’s mother and grandmother and was told to please come upstairs immediately. However, everyone seemed to completely overlook Shintarō-chan. Eizo, who had gone upstairs, whispered quietly to Sōbei-chan, “Why don’t you give Shin-chan one too?” he said. When Sōbei-chan said this to his mother, she and his grandmother stared intently at Shintarō-chan, who was cowering in the far corner of the earthen-floored entrance, and for a while said nothing.

“Oh, that’s Kosuke’s brat who used to be around the house, isn’t it?”

said the mother.

“Huh? Kosuke’s?” “Oh, that brat from Kosuke’s place?”

The bespectacled grandmother said, still not taking her eyes off Shintarō-chan. She was looking at Shintarō-chan’s grime-stained feet turned ashen. Eizo thought they were people who said awful things. In that manner, Shintarō-chan was ultimately not invited upstairs. But that was not particularly inconvenient. Because Sōbei-chan took Eizo toward the veranda. And because Shintarō-chan had exited from the earthen-floored entrance into the garden and could come to the veranda.

The kite was indeed splendid. The masu kite—one-third the size of a shoji screen—had its fine paper stretched so taut that it snapped sharply when flicked with a finger. Upon this surface, an actor’s caricature had been painted with pigments so vivid they seemed to emit fragrance: eyes bulging like eggs, jaw jutting out like a ship’s prow. “Whoa.” Even Shintarō-chan, to the extent that he momentarily forgot his stray-dog status, let out an admiring sigh. “This here’s whale baleen.” Sōbei-chan said proudly and showed the crossbar on the back.

The string too was a thick cord worthy of the kite, and the frame around which it was wound was such a large, splendid thing that a child would have to hold it with both hands. Eizo had no knowledge of kites, but he thought it was a splendid kite in every way. Sōbei-chan puffed up with pride and even stated the price. That was about ten times the value of the coins Eizo received as allowance during New Year's and festivals. Eizo and Shintarō-chan were simply utterly impressed.

Shintarō-chan, who loved kites, wanted more than anything to touch it. For unless he felt the frame’s joints and tested the paper’s tension himself, he couldn’t truly grasp their craftsmanship. Yet before he could ask, memories of his threadbare clothes and the infant’s festering boil strapped to his back rose unbidden. Left with no recourse, Shintarō-chan kept silent. Then fortune shifted—the wind turned favorable for him. A plan was settled: they would take the kite out to the fields to fly it.

“I’m going out to fly the kite and come back!” Sōbei-chan said to his mother. Mother was startled and, “What are you talking about? What child could fly such a kite? That kite is meant to be kept inside the house just for looking at,” she said. However, Sōbei-chan did not listen.

“I’ll fly it!” Grandmother peered over her glasses at Eizo and Shintarō-chan, who had circled around to the earthen-floored entrance, and glared at them. “Sōbō, you were egged on by those brats, weren’t you?” said Grandmother. Eizo thought she was an old woman who said terrible things. When Sōbei-chan absolutely would not listen, Mother finally relented and permitted it. “Since it’s cold outside, go and put on more layers.” With that, she took Sōbei-chan into the back. Before long, Sōbei-chan was dressed in a cotton-padded haori and chanchanko jacket, had a hottoko hood pulled over his head, and—so bundled up that his arms couldn’t press tightly against his sides—he emerged outside like a stiff kite. "He’s being treated with such great care," Eizo found it amusing.

Until they reached the fields, since it was Sōbei-chan’s kite, Sōbei-chan carried it. However, Sōbei-chan was already weighed down enough by his clothes alone. Moreover, the kite was large and unwieldy. Furthermore, once they reached the fields, the wind was strong, and unless they held it very firmly, the precious kite would be snatched away. Therefore, by the time they reached their destination, Sōbei-chan was completely worn out. From beneath the bulky hood, his labored panting could be heard.

When it finally came time to fly the kite, its owner Sōbei-chan proved utterly useless. Exhausted as he was, he moreover knew nothing of kite-flying techniques. Eizo couldn’t manage it either.

“Shintarō-chan should do it.”

Eizo said. Shintarō-chan had achieved his wish. Yet with the baby on his back, he couldn't manage properly. They decided to set the baby down and have Eizo hold it. Eizo felt little inclination to take charge of the infant gazing up at him with sweet eyes from a face mottled with boils. But refusal was something Eizo's nature would not permit. He turned his back and received the child. The baby lay light and warm. It settled against Eizo's back with utter trust, quiet and calm. Then in Eizo's heart welled a tender affection.

The moment Shintarō-chan took hold of the kite, vitality flashed across his face. It was as if a fish had been returned to water. Shintarō-chan first checked the balance of the kite’s tail. Then he gently tested each knot in the frame and string. Even under expert Shintarō-chan’s hands, this kite proved stubbornly difficult to launch. After all, this was no child’s plaything. It was a proper adult’s kite.

Shintarō-chan had Sōbei-chan hold the kite while he himself took the string; after repeated adjustments, he finally sent the kite floating into the sky. Once it had risen slightly, it performed magnificently. Catching the spring wind, it climbed steadily upward. Now airborne, even the actor with egg-like bulging eyes looked rather splendid. The actor gradually shook its head while glaring at the clouds drifting ahead. Thinking it truly marvelous, Eizo and Sōbei-chan could only stand gazing upward.

Shintarō-chan kept letting out more and more string. The actor’s grand face swiftly shrank and vanished into the sky. Seeing this, Eizo thought how immense the sky truly was. Sōbei-chan—ever himself—realized that was his kite. Wanting it back, he turned toward Shintarō-chan. At that instant, disaster struck. Shintarō-chan had gotten too carried away. He knew well enough that winds grow stronger aloft. Then why had he paid out so much string? Suddenly, the actor yanked hard— with ox-like strength. Shintarō-chan pitched forward, caught his foot on a ridge, and fell. And let go of the string.

Since it had happened in an instant, neither Eizo nor Sōbei-chan could do anything about it. The two stared blankly as the reel clattered across the field with terrible force, bouncing wildly while unraveling its string. Shintarō-chan sprang up and chased after the reel. Though the reel moved ten times faster, Shintarō-chan pursued it relentlessly. Soon both kite and boy dwindled in the distance until at last only the kite disappeared from view.

“Not my problem, not my problem.” And even though Shintarō-chan had yet to return, Sōbei-chan kept insisting.

For a long time until Shintarō-chan returned, the two of them stood without moving a step. When Shintarō-chan returned breathlessly, sniffling, Sōbei-chan spoke again. “Not my problem, not my problem.”

Shintarō-chan just stood there sniffling and did not even apologize. This was no minor incident that could be settled with an apology. “Give it back, give it back.” said Sōbei-chan. Eizo thought this was an unreasonable demand, but he couldn’t say anything. Shintarō-chan remained standing silently as ever.

“Give it back. “If you don’t give it back, I’ll tell your old man! “Your old man’s Kasuke, ain’t he? The one who was at the house. “I’ll tell Kasuke!” Shintarō-chan’s face twisted, and tears streamed down in great drops. How pitiful he looks, Eizo thought. The three who had been abandoned by the actor-faced kite ended up crestfallenly making their way home along the path through the fields. When they had come partway, Shintarō-chan—in a resolute voice that followed his earlier torrent of tears— “I’ll pay you back, so don’t go telling my dad, okay?”

he said.

He couldn’t fathom what scheme he had to obtain such an expensive kite, but within that voice was a flash of resolute determination to repay it.

Money was something adults earned and adults used. Therefore, money passed from adult hands to adult hands and had nothing to do with children. Occasionally, when children were made to run errands, they could obtain one or two small coins. That was the sole opportunity in which children had any connection with money.

Beggars do not work and go around receiving small coins from each house. If that’s all it takes, even a child could do it. However, upon closer consideration, even that was something only adults could do; children were incapable of it. Suppose a child were to stand at the gate of a house and skillfully say, “Please give me something,” like a beggar. However, the people of that house would surely give nothing. Far from giving anything, they would likely misjudge this child as causing mischief and chase him away with a stick.

Even begging could not be done by children. Yet Shintarō-chan had declared he would properly buy back that expensive kite. And all of this without his father and mother at home knowing. How on earth did he intend to do it? Eizo found it puzzling.

However, one day, the mystery was solved.

Some time had passed since then. On a warm day, Eizo went down to the water's edge to rest his study-weary head in the fresh sea breeze. There in the receding tide, Shintarō-chan—wading up to his knees—appeared small as he thrust something like a stick into the water. With a posture resembling someone drawing hopscotch lines, he gradually retreated backward. Today too he carried his baby sister on his back as usual.

What was he doing? “Shintarō!”

Eizo called out, cupping his hands around his mouth.

Shintarō-chan looked up and turned his gaze this way. When he noticed Eizo, he grinned briefly, but as anyone would when busy, he quickly withdrew that smile and returned his full attention to the water’s surface before him. He must be catching something. Intending not to disturb him, Eizo leaned silently against the boat to rest. Before long, Shintarō-chan came ashore. What he had thought was a stick was an iron rake. “What did you catch?”

Eizo asked. Shintarō-chan grinned, came closer, and showed him the small basket fastened at his waist. Inside, several wet shrimp flopped about vigorously.

“What will you do with these?” Shintarō-chan kept smiling and gave no reply. Then, with an expression that seemed to say “Follow me,” he began walking. Eizo trailed behind. When they reached a boat inn, Shintarō-chan grinned at Eizo as if announcing “This is the place,” and ducked inside through the rear entrance. Soon after emerging, he thrust open his grimy, simian palms to reveal a single small coin pierced by a square hole at its center.

Eizo knew. To buy that kite would require ten times as many coins as this. Yet despite that, a spring of hope welled up in Eizo's heart. Shintarō-chan would surely save up that much money with his own hands. From that day on, Eizo's mind was filled with nothing but images of Shintarō-chan's coin holder. Every time he saw Shintarō-chan's face, he asked to see the coin holder. With each viewing, the coins increased by one or two.

Eizo knew that buying that masu kite would require ten times this many coins. Yet despite this, a spring of hope welled up in his heart. Shintarō-chan would surely save up that many coins with his own hands. From that day on, Eizo's mind held nothing but the image of Shintarō-chan's coin holder. Every time he saw Shintarō-chan's face, he made him show the coin holder. Each time, one or two coins had been added.

On one such day, Eizo pounded rice for the household. Usually, Matsu-san did the pounding, but at that time he had developed a boil on his foot and could not do it. As the work was unfamiliar to him, Eizo found it difficult. By the time he had pounded one mortarful, he was as exhausted as if he had spent the whole day wandering through fields and mountains. When he finished, his mother said, “Then, I’ll give you a reward,” and brought out two of Eizo’s favorite pomegranates. Eizo took them into his hands but, after a moment’s thought, returned them to his mother.

Mother found it strange that Eizo’s demeanor differed from usual. “Mother, um…” Having started to speak, Eizo hesitated. “What is it?” “Please give these to my younger brothers.” “I’ve already given those children theirs—it’s fine.” “This is your portion.” “Mother, I want money.” Having said that, Eizo hung his head bashfully. Mother was surprised. It was the first time Eizo had ever asked for money. Mother fixedly looked at Eizo’s face.

“Are you going to buy books?” “No.” “Then, what will you use it for?” Eizo remained silent for a moment, chewing restlessly on his lower lip.

In Mother’s eyes, Eizo had suddenly come to appear like an adult. Even this child who had always been so gentle—she thought he had begun to say such things.

Before long, Eizo— “If you won’t give it to me, then fine,” he replied with a hint of defiance. “I’m not refusing to give it,” “But what will you use it for?” “I don’t want to say.” Mother once again gazed fixedly at her son’s face for a while. She told herself inwardly that she could not doubt this child. “How much do you need?” “Enough to give to a beggar is fine.”

Mother went over there and soon returned. And then she placed about ten small coins into Eizo’s hands. “Is this enough?” “Are you giving this much to a beggar?” Mother laughed, “But this little beggar here pounded rice for me.” Eizo held the coins in both hands as if cradling a cricket, gave a slight bow, and left the house. Because he had rarely handled coins before, he didn’t know how to hold them properly.

Eizo still had one more worry. The worry was that the headstrong Shintarō-chan might refuse the offering of coins and get all huffy. “Shintarō-chan, how did that turn out?” Eizo asked while looking at Shintarō-chan’s face. The “that” he referred to was the coin holder.

Shintarō-chan went into his house and brought out something important. Eizo received it and, starting from one end, began to count. Shintarō-chan was also watching his hands.

Eizo raised his head, “Turn that way for a moment.” “Why?”

“Just do as I say and turn that way for a moment.” “Look at that chicken over there.” Shintarō-chan turned away, but the baby on his back—its face now with fewer sores—was looking at Eizo. If it was just a baby watching, it didn’t matter. Eizo inserted the small coins he had brought into the coin holder, one by one. “It’s increased quite a bit, hasn’t it?” Eizo said with feigned innocence.

Shintarō-chan turned back toward him. And then, upon receiving the coin holder, “I know what you just did, Eibō-chan,” he said. He blinked rapidly and looked down. “I was just trying to hide it.” Eizo apologized. Shintarō-chan could not say anything. The spirited poor country boy did not know the words to express gratitude, even in his happiness.

Shintarō-chan silently slipped into his house through the back door and disappeared from view.

Eizo was relieved by that. After all, the coins in that coin holder had managed to increase at last. The time had finally come for Shintarō-chan’s efforts to bear fruit. The small coins Shintarō-chan had painstakingly saved in secret with Eizo’s support had filled the coin holder to the brim. “I’m going to Nagaoka now to buy the kite,” Shintarō-chan said, bouncing the baby on his back. His face shone radiantly.

“Alone?” Eizo asked in surprise. “I went with Dad before, so I know the way.” Shintarō-chan answered nonchalantly.

However, Eizo was certain that Shintarō-chan must be feeling anxious. Midday, a long, long road stretched white and gleaming. A road unknown to him, crossing rivers and winding around hills. Moreover, children from unfamiliar villages would likely say such things and throw stones at him. “Heya! Village brat! Shithead!”

If it were possible, Eizo wanted to go with him. However, due to household duties, he couldn’t do that. “Don’t take the wrong path.” Eizo said. “Yeah.” With that, Shintarō-chan walked off briskly. And he was gone. When evening came and Eizo went to buy lamp oil, Shintarō-chan came dragging his feet down the road growing dark from the opposite direction. Shintarō-chan had managed to do it after all. He was carrying a large kite on his shoulder like a shield.

“That’s good.”

When Eizo said this, Shintarō-chan attempted a smile, but he was too exhausted to succeed. When he thought of how Shintarō-chan had toiled both mind and body through the half-day that he himself had passed so easily, an ache tightened in Eizo’s chest.

The next day, Eizo informed Sōbei-chan at the tutoring school. “Tomorrow, can I come over to play?” “Yeah, Mom said Eibō-chan can come anytime.” “What if someone else goes?” “No. Mom hates kids—when they come over to play, she says it’ll make her head go bad.”

“Shin-chan’s coming too.” “Shin-chan?” “You know, that Shintarō-chan.” “Shintarō-chan?” At this rate, Sōbei-chan might have already forgotten about the kite. If he forgot, it would be disastrous. All Shintarō-chan’s efforts would go to waste. “Look, remember when we flew that kite together…?” “The kite?” Just as feared, he’d forgotten. “At the field behind your house—we flew your brand-new big kite together.” “And then we let it get away, didn’t we?”

Sōbei-chan rolled his eyes restlessly for a moment. “Yeah, that did happen.” “Yeah, right—that brat Kasuke had at your place.” At Sōbei-chan’s house, even his grandmother or anyone else referred to other children as brats, Eizo thought. “Someone like that shouldn’t come, I tell ya.” Sōbei-chan said. “He says he wants to come along, so what’s wrong with that?” “Why?” “It’s not like there’s a reason why…”

He couldn’t explain the reason—because he wanted to surprise Sōbei-chan. That way, Shintarō-chan’s efforts would feel all the more worthwhile. And the next day, Eizo set out for Sōbei-chan’s house in Amagase with Shintarō-chan, who carried the kite they’d just bought.

“When Sōbei-chan sees it，he’ll be surprised，” Eizo said． Shintarō-chan， “Yeah．”

He laughed happily. "It’s really great there was another one just like this." "It wasn’t at one house, but when I asked at another place, they had it." "You were able to buy it with that?" "Since it’s summer and nobody buys kites anymore, they gave me a discount." "Shintarō-chan, don’t you want to keep such a nice kite for yourself?" "Nuh-uh."

He shook his head. He just wants to settle this debt in his heart—that's all there is to it, Eizo imagined. Today, Shintarō-chan remained tense and didn't act like a stray dog in front of Sōbei-chan's house. He followed right behind Eizo and stepped over the threshold. Sōbei-chan sat carving arrows on a bench placed in the storehouse's shadow. Beside him lay a crude bow made from a bent greenwood branch. Sōbei-chan's younger brother—about six years old—watched his brother's hands intently.

"Is that Mitsu-chan's bow?" Eizo asked. Mitsu-chan was the name of Sōbei-chan’s younger brother. “Nuh-uh.” Sōbei-chan shook his head. Mitsu-chan looked happy because his brother’s friend had said something nice. It was because he’d wanted that bow so badly since earlier. However, whenever Mitsu-chan so much as touched the bow, his older brother Sōbei-chan would get angry and shout.

For a while, Eizo and the others watched Sōbei-chan at work, but since he showed no sign of stopping no matter how long they waited, Eizo finally lost patience and said, “Hey, Sō-chan.”

Sōbei-chan continued without looking up,

“Yeah.”

Sōbei-chan answered.

“Shintarō-chan bought and brought that kite we let get away before, you know.” Eizo and Shintarō-chan thought that upon hearing this, even Sōbei-chan would surely look up in surprise. But contrary to expectations, Sōbei-chan kept clumsily whittling bamboo. Then, “Well, just leave it there.” he said as if it were nothing important. Eizo felt he had been let down. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be, he thought.

Shintarō-chan too seemed to share Eizo's sentiment; wearing a faint, despondent smile, he leaned the kite he had brought against the storehouse entrance. Sōbei-chan finished carving the arrows; brushing the green shavings from his apron, he suddenly noticed the kite.

Alright! Eizo’s heart pounded with anticipation. Sōbei-chan must have been surprised. He would ask Shintarō-chan for an explanation, feel deep gratitude for his efforts, and surely apologize for his own thoughtless words. However, Eizo’s expectations were dashed. For Sōbei-chan had turned his face away abruptly, as though he had no interest whatsoever in the kite. At that moment, Grandmother called out to Sōbei-chan from inside the house. Sōbei-chan went in.

“Eibō-chan, come here.”

Sōbei-chan called from inside the house. There must have been some treat. They didn’t want to give that to Shintarō-chan, the poor child, so they called only Eizo. Eizo and Shintarō-chan both understood this perfectly well, so when they exchanged glances, Shintarō-chan’s face took on that despondent expression again. “Shintarō-chan, come along too.” Eizo said. Shintarō-chan dragged his feet, but— “Come on, just come.”

and forcibly pulled him along. Grandmother made a disgusted face at the poor brat who had tagged along, but since there was nothing to be done, she gave Shintarō-chan a slice of watermelon. She snipped off a tiny piece from the cut end. The watermelon was delicious.

But after that, when the three of them came out into the garden, a terrible thing awaited them. While Mitsu-chan's brother was away, he had finally been unable to restrain his desire and had taken the bow. And to make matters worse, he had used the precious kite as a target instead.

One arrow had pierced and destroyed the figure’s right eye, standing embedded there. “Mitsu, you idiot!” And Sōbei-chan shouted.

In that instant, Eizo thought that Sōbei-chan had truly understood how much Shintarō-chan had struggled to buy that kite. But even this was Eizo's hasty assumption.

Sōbei-chan rushed over to Mitsu-chan, snatched the bow from his hands, then struck Mitsu-chan's head three times. Even as Mitsu-chan began to wail, he ignored him entirely, meticulously inspecting whether the bow had been damaged.

Mitsu-chan had achieved his wish, but because the consequences proved too severe, he went back into the house crying at the top of his voice. Eizo and Shintarō-chan stood dumbfounded. Then Sōbei-chan took one of the arrows and nocked it to the bow to inspect its condition more thoroughly. Eizo felt a dizzying sensation. Shintarō-chan cried out, “Ah!” Sōbei-chan had aimed at the kite.

“Thwack.”

The arrow struck the target. And tore a large hole through the chest of the actor. What in the world was this?

Since Shintarō-chan had returned it, there was no doubt it was now Sōbei-chan’s kite.

――But what in the world was this? Eizo and Shintarō-chan could no longer say anything and remained silent. There was no longer any reason to stay in this house. The two left without even a proper farewell. Eizo felt as if a gaping hole had opened in his heart, unable to think of anything. They walked most of the way in silence, avoiding each other's gazes. He didn't even want to remember the kite anymore.

A stone stood by the roadside. From there, Eizo and Shintarō-chan would part ways. When they reached that point, Shintarō-chan spoke for the first time.

“Eibō-chan, starting tomorrow, I’m gonna go with my dad to the mountains to buy linen.” When Eizo looked, Shintarō-chan was smiling sadly. A surge of sadness welled up in Eizo’s chest. “Why?” he asked urgently. “I’m not a kid anymore, so I’m going for the trade.” “……” Eizo blinked a couple of times and parted with Shintarō-chan.

Staring at his own elongated shadow reflected on the dusky ground, Eizo walked on.

Then, suddenly, something welled up from the depths of his chest with a powerful force. It was anger. ――How could such a thing happen? That Shintarō-chan had worked so hard to buy back that kite―only for Sōbei-chan to tear it apart right before our eyes― There was something wrong with this. Since he had returned it, there should be no grounds for complaint against Shintarō-chan―and yet there was something unreasonable about it. What was that?

When he thought about it this way, it seemed to Eizo that there truly were so many instances of this kind of unreasonableness and injustice in the world. Not only among children, but in the adult world as well.

What in the world was that? Why do such things exist? ――Why doesn’t Sōbei-chan try harder to understand Shintarō-chan’s feelings? If he had, none of this would have happened. ――Why don’t those with power ever consider those without? Why don’t people with money ever try to understand the feelings of the poor?……

Six: Entering the Temple

One afternoon, a properly attired young man came to visit Kōshō Temple in Amagase Town.

When Genjō Haryū Osho went out to the entrance to respond, he found the young man standing dejectedly under a plum tree in the garden, his pale face cast downward. “Who might this be, I wonder?”

And the monk asked. “I’m from Izumozaki.” “Hmm, from Izumozaki? And what might your business be today?” “There’s no particular business.” “No business? Then have you come to play?” “No.”

“No.” “You speak most curiously, sir. Neither business nor pleasure… Now when you say Izumozaki—what manner of household might that be?”

“It’s Tachibanaya.” “Ah, Tachibanaya! Then you must be the young master—” “Yes. I am Eizo, who has now inherited the position of village headman.” “Ah yes! I know of you, I know of you! It’s been some time since I last saw you—you’ve grown so splendidly. I didn’t recognize you at all. Well then, please come inside.”

Eizo followed the monk and went to the hearth in the kitchen. "Guiding you to the guest room would be proper, you see—but since it's cold there, I've brought you to this rough-hewn place instead." "Now do sit comfortably." "That's Zen temples for you—brusque and plain-spoken as we are."

The monk had the acolyte bring dry branches and firewood, then vigorously stoked them into the hearth. “You look terribly downcast—what has happened?” “I’ve come completely undone.” “What do you mean?”

“I can’t comprehend anything at all.” “What in heaven’s name are you talking about?” “My chest feels so full. So full that everything’s in chaos.” “Did you get into a scuffle? Your voice sounds dreadfully ragged.” “I came here shouting alone where no one could hear. I should’ve torn my throat out, coughed blood, and died—that would’ve been better.” “Now then, have some tea. If you fixate so single-mindedly, you’ll only botch things. The world unfolds as it must—no other way.”

The monk noisily sipped the tea he had poured himself. Had the wind picked up? There was a sound in the woods behind them.

“Master.”

“What is it?” “So formal.”

“………….”

“What’s troubling you, I wonder?”

“I have seen something terrible.” “Humans executing humans.” “Hm?” “I came from the execution ground. Today, a criminal was executed.” “Ah, I see. “I had heard about such matters. “Earlier, a crowd passed before our gate—spectators, I presume. “Yes... A pitiful affair indeed. “But why would you go witness such a thing?”

“The criminal was from my town.” “I had to attend as the village headman.” “I see—he was from Izumozaki, then.” “I have known that person since they were small.” “They were truly a bad person.” “They were a bad person, but is it truly acceptable for humans to execute someone like that by their own power?” “It’s so pitiful.” “It’s too much.” “That’s how it is.” “But there are all sorts of things in this world.” “There are good things and bad things.”

“No matter how many good things may exist, if such terrible things persist on one side, I cannot endure it.”

“To someone like you, only the world’s evils must loom large and overpowering.” “I was the same way too, back in my younger days.” “What should I do?” “Come now, drink your tea.” “I shall perform a memorial recitation of the Heart Sutra for that soul.”

The two stood up and went to the main hall. The monk offered the lamp to the Buddha statue and then took his seat before it. Eizo sat on the cold tatami mat in front of the offerings box. The monk began to recite the sutra in a deep, halting voice. Eizo closed his eyes and spoke inwardly. Everyone did such terrible things to you. Please forgive me. I couldn’t do anything. Even if I had tried to stop everyone, someone as powerless as I could have done nothing. Please forgive me. No one is to blame. It is not that everyone is to blame. We know nothing at all. We do not truly understand what we ourselves are doing….

Outside, the wind let out a mournful cry. To Eizo, it seemed as though the souls of those who had met violent deaths were lamenting, having lost their place to return. The monk continued to recite the sutra in a deep, resonant voice. With the unintelligible words of the sutra, it seemed he was single-mindedly appeasing the wandering souls that wailed in sorrow.

The monk’s voice was not drowned out by the sound of the wind. No matter how fiercely the wind howled around the temple hall, his voice did not falter and continued.

Gradually, the sound of the wind receded into the distance. Gently rocked by a lullaby, like a child being lured into sleep.

Return to a peaceful place. “Return in peace,” Eizo prayed. And then Eizo’s heart calmed somewhat.

The sutra ended, and the two returned once more to the hearthside in the priests' quarters.

“I have a request—might I ask you to listen?”

Eizo straightened his posture and said. “What might it be?”

“Please make me a monk too. Please let me stay here.” “Hohoh.”

With that, the monk widened his eyes. “You’ve had your heart shaken too violently today—your mind has become unsteady because of it.” “People often make such requests when driven by passing emotions, but with that mindset, you couldn’t endure a Zen monk’s training.” “It isn’t a passing emotion.” “I’ve wanted to become a monk for a long time.” “And why might that be?” “For a fool like me, the village headman position can’t be performed adequately.” “I find remaining in this role unbearably painful.”

“What reason could there be for finding the village headman position—revered by all—so detestable?”

“There was such an incident,” Eizo said. “Magistrate-sama and the Izumozaki boatmen started a dispute over a certain matter.” “Hmm, I did catch wind of that,” replied Genjō Haryū Osho. “It was around springtime this year, wasn’t it?” “Yes. It was not long after I had inherited the village headman position from my father,” Eizo continued. “The village headman stood between Magistrate-sama and the boatmen—his role was to mediate disputes. I first summoned the boatmen to my house and heard their grievances in full. They reported in meticulous detail how Magistrate-sama was tormenting them.”

“Hmm, and then?” “Thereupon, I went to Magistrate-sama’s place this time,” “and relayed everything the boatmen had said to him from start to finish without dressing up a single word.” “Oh dear,” “Hmm—and then?”

“Magistrate-sama flew into a furious rage,” “and berated the boatmen mercilessly for their failings.” “When I returned to them, I relayed Magistrate-sama’s words exactly as he had spoken.” “Then the boatmen must have been enraged as well.” “Yes.” “They began shouting things like ‘That Magistrate’s gotten too arrogant—let’s burn his mansion down,’ so I clasped my hands together pleadingly and barely managed to calm everyone.” “But Magistrate-sama and the boatmen’s relations never improved—only worsened further.”

“That’s only natural.” “I was summoned by Magistrate-sama and severely scolded. He said, ‘I’ve never encountered a fool like you before.’ He demanded, ‘Is this how one mediates?’ When I returned home and told Father about this, he too was appalled and rebuked me. Father said, ‘Things go awry because you insist on speaking too much truth.’” “Hmm.”

“At that time, I should have told a lie. I should have placated the boatmen with sweet words and spoken ill of them before Magistrate-sama to curry favor. I had no choice but to do so. However, I cannot do that. I love the truth. I detest lies.” “Ah, lies... Yes.” “Hmm... I was once like that too.” “I couldn’t tell lies either.”

“When I think about it now, there are truly so many lies and flatteries in the world.” “It seems the world can’t go on without lies and flattery.” “If the world were a single great wheel, then lies and flattery would be like oil needed to keep it turning smoothly.” “Though it may not be entirely so.” The monk gazed tenderly at this earnest young man speaking with such intensity, letting him say everything he wished to express.

“Then, there was also such an incident.” “Just about two months ago, Magistrate-sama of Sado came from Edo and stayed in Izumozaki.” “Since I was the village headman, I had to take care of various matters like lodging arrangements and boats.” “Hmm, hmm.” “Magistrate-sama of Sado arrived in a large palanquin with a long handle.” “Magistrate-sama stated that the palanquin was to be taken by boat to Sado Island.” “However, the boatmen explained that such a long handle would be too cumbersome—it couldn’t possibly be loaded onto a boat. They said there wasn’t a vessel capable of carrying it not just in Izumozaki but anywhere in the surrounding areas.”

“Hmm, that was quite troublesome, wasn’t it.” “No, I was not troubled. If it was too long, I ordered them to cut the handle as needed. Since it was just a handle, I thought cutting it wouldn’t cause any problems.” “I see. That’s certainly one approach. But I suppose the Magistrate of Sado wasn’t pleased.” “Exactly as you say. I was severely reprimanded. He even declared he would strip your family of the village headman position in his fury. Yet I couldn’t comprehend why Magistrate-sama grew angry. Isn’t it precisely a magistrate’s duty to care for those beneath him? They must relieve the people’s hardships. If the palanquin’s handle being too long troubled the boatmen, how could I stay silent? So I took it upon myself to have the handle cut. The handle could always be reattached later, couldn’t it? The boatmen rejoiced greatly, saying they could now easily load it onto the vessel. In that case, I did right. I should have been praised by Magistrate-sama.”

“Such reasoning, isn’t it?” “However, at that time I realized my own thinking was mistaken.” “Which idea?” “The belief that Magistrate-sama are supposed to care for those beneath them.” “That wasn’t how it was.” “They cared more about their own palanquin.” “That might be the case.” “No, it’s definitely like that.” “And when I think carefully about it, all Magistrate-samas across Japan—every single one—are more or less like that without exception.” “Those in high positions do not care for those beneath them.”

“It may not be entirely so.” “No, that’s exactly how it is.” Eizo raised his voice sharply. The monk fell silent. An awkward silence lingered. The monk picked out a pine cone from the firewood pile and tossed it into the hearth. The two of them watched the pine cone burn.

“So you’ve grown weary of the world, have you?” “Yes.” “The world is full of lies and corruption—so you want to become a monk and renounce it all, is that it?” “That is correct.” “I have one thing to ask—is there truly nothing amiss within your own heart?” “Listening to your story, it sounds as though all the people of the world are wicked, and you alone are virtuous—but is there truly nothing amiss within your own heart?”

Eizo started and stared at the monk's eyes. The monk averted his gaze, fished out another pine cone from the firewood pile, and tossed it into the hearth. Somewhere in the distance came the cold cry of plovers.

Suddenly, a single tear fell from Eizo’s widened eyes.

“I was wrong.” Eizo said in a trembling voice. His previously strained, high-pitched voice had completely changed into a quiet, low one. That showed that the speaker’s heart had transformed as well. “I was being conceited.” “There are many bad things within my heart too.” “If people of this world are considered wicked, then I am far worse.” “Hmm, do you understand now?”

“I understand clearly now.” “If you’ve understood, then there’s no need to become a monk.”

The monk smiled. "No, my resolve to become a monk remains unchanged." "Why might that be?" "I must make clear the bad things within my heart and strive earnestly to remove them." "Just like pulling weeds from a field." "Hmm, go on."

“And then, when my heart has been thoroughly polished, I will remove the bad things from people’s hearts.” “I don’t know whether I possess such great power, but I will do everything within my ability.” “Just as a doctor purges illness from people’s bodies, I will remove what’s wrong from their hearts and save them.” “When I was a child, I heard that this world is a beautiful and good place.” “I believe that too.” “But I want to make it something far more beautiful and good.”

The monk was silently nodding. Then, taking a burning branch, he went and transferred the fire to the andon lamp. Before they knew it, dusk had already fallen.

“I’ve come to understand what you’re saying well enough.” “However, that’s rather difficult.” “I too became a monk with that intention.” “I meant to enlighten people and make the world a better place.” “But now, as I listen to what you’re saying and realize how little I’ve accomplished myself, it fills me with loneliness.” “…No, I’ve understood what you’re saying well enough.” “Then, may I ask you to accept me here?”

Eizo’s eyes sparkled. “Very well, I can let you stay here. However, you are the eldest son of the venerable Tachibanaya family. But if you were to become a monk, it would cause complications for those left behind.” “But in the end, that would be better for the family as well. As a village headman, I am not at all adequate. If my younger brother succeeds me, he will surely manage it well.” “How old is your younger brother?” “He’s thirteen.” “And how old are you?”

“Eighteen.” The monk pondered for a while but suddenly burst into hearty laughter. “Inan-san—no, your father will be astonished.” “A monk coming from a Shinto priest’s family—they’ll talk about that.” “Still, it might prove rather amusing.” Eizo found himself smiling too. “I believe Father will forgive me.” “He understands my feelings perfectly.” “He himself has often said he’d like to become a monk and seclude himself in the mountains.”

“I see.” “In that case, there should be no problem.” “Then may I ask you to grant me permission?” “Thank you very much.” “Then please shave my head right away.” “You needn’t be so single-minded about this.” “This is exactly why you youngsters are so troublesome.” “Well, for now go home today, talk it over thoroughly with your parents, and then come back if you would.” “No, please do it right now.” “They say the day you resolve to act is the most auspicious.” “If we don’t do it here and now today, there’s a risk we’ll miss our chance.”

“You’re too hasty! I won’t run or hide. I’ll be here tomorrow and the day after too—come back once you’ve gotten your parents’ permission.” “Then I refuse.” “Wh-what are you doing? Don’t draw that sword!”

“Since you’re dithering like this, Master, I’ll cut my hair myself.” “No, please don’t stop me.” “I might accidentally cut my head.” “It doesn’t matter if I cut it.” “Because it’s my head.” The monk burst out laughing. “Well now, this is quite something.”

And so, on that day, Eizō became a monk. With his freshly shaved bluish head and wearing robes he was not yet accustomed to, Eizō headed home the next morning carrying a single cloth bundle.

Just in front of the house, he encountered his younger brother Saemon, who seemed to be on his way to his studies. However, Saemon, thinking he was a stranger, paid no attention and tried to walk briskly past. Eizo found this amusing and— “Hey, you! Saemon!”

he called out. “What the— Who’re you?!” With that, his younger brother turned around. Saemon stared at Eizo’s face for a while, then—realizing it was his brother—contorted his features tightly. When one tries to laugh while feeling sad, this is the expression they make. Then his younger brother’s face flushed red with shame. “You must have been surprised.”

Eizo said.

Without replying, Saemon passed by Eizo like the wind and darted into the house. “Mother! Brother’s come back—!” The sound of him crying out in a tearful voice could be heard. The younger brothers and sisters, upon seeing Eizo’s drastically altered appearance, either fled and hid deeper inside the house or burst into tears. Father and Mother could not speak for a while. Mother dropped the comb she had been holding.

“Isn’t this Eizo?”

Father said, remaining rooted at the edge of the entrance. “Father, Mother, please forgive me.” “I am no longer Eizo, the eldest son of Tachibanaya.” “I have become a novice monk at Kōshōji Temple in Amagase.” “From today onward, I am Ryōkan.” “Ryōkan?” Father murmured absentmindedly. “I am Ryōkan.” “Please forgive this unfilial son.” “But for me, there was no other choice but to do this.” “These are the kimono and wakizashi that Eizo had been wearing until yesterday.” “Since I no longer need them, I have come today to return these.”

With that, the novice monk Ryōkan-san placed the cloth bundle he had brought onto the tatami mats. After some time had passed, the figure of Ryōkan-san—who had received full forgiveness from his parents—could be seen growing small on the street as he made his way back once more to Kōshōji Temple.

In Echigo, winter arrived early, so the wind from the sea blew, turning the roads and fields white, and Ryōkan-san’s freshly shaved bluish head was cold beneath the snow-laden clouds.

Seven: The Latch

When evening came, Ryōkan-san’s heart could not settle. After ringing the bell, he would often loiter around the bell tower. There were also times when he would go to close the gate and then stand vacantly outside it, gazing toward his home. Was someone coming—perhaps his younger brother Saemon, or maybe his dear mother would come for him? Without realizing it, he found himself hoping so. He often scolded himself—one who had abandoned parents and siblings for monastic training—thinking this wouldn’t do, but no matter how much he rebuked himself, whenever dusk fell, his heart remained unsettled. His heart turned toward the gate. “Brother!”—he found himself straining his ears, half-expecting Saemon to call out from beyond the gate as he had before.

On such evenings, Ryōkan-san's heart—usually warm and composed—would grow so pitifully restless that even trivial matters could make him flare up.

“Hey, Ryōkan.”

One evening, the senior disciple said.

Ryōkan-san, who had once again felt the urge to go to the gate, raised his head.

“Give me a quick shave.” He meant for him to shave his head. Ryōkan-san frowned.

“It hasn’t grown that much yet. I just shaved it the other day.” “Stop your complaining and shave.” “There’s no need to do this now that it’s gotten so dark—it can wait. You could just do it tomorrow.” “I said no complaints. If you step out under the eaves, there’s still light.” Reluctantly, Ryōkan-san stood and brought the razor. The two stepped out onto the veranda edge where hydrangeas floated faintly white in the dimming twilight. “It hurts! Can’t you shave properly?”

The senior disciple muttered under his breath as his head was being shaved. “But it’s your head that’s to blame. It’s dented in the middle, making it impossible to get a clean shave.”

Ryōkan-san wasn’t about to stay silent either. “That’s impossible!” “It’s true. Take a good look using a pair of mirrors. It’s a difficult head to shave. A stubborn skull.” “Don’t talk nonsense.”

“Are you going out somewhere again tonight?” “Yeah, just a bit.” “It’s been every night since the head priest left on his journey, hasn’t it?” “That’s impossible!”

“No, every night.” “I know it well.” “Where exactly are you going?” “That’s no concern of children.”

“I am not a child.” “Huh. How old are you, anyway?” “I’m twenty-two.” “You’re that old already? Hmph, still just a kid through and through. Must be that fancy upbringing of yours. Raised like a proper young master from day one.” “Don’t mock me. I know exactly where you go.”

“Where? Take a guess!” “Last night when you came back and slept next to me, I pretended to be asleep, but in truth, my eyes were open.” “Yeah? And?” “The smell of alcohol hit me. From you. You’ve been going to the teahouse every night, haven’t you?” “Yeah, bullseye. You might look like some pampered young master, but you’re sharp-tongued enough. Want me to take you along tonight?”

“I am not such a worldly priest.” “Is that so? A priest who’s gonna be great sure acts different.”

“………….” “A priest who’s gonna be great, huh.” “You may say that as a joke, but in truth, I truly wish to become great.” “Huh? Really? You?” The senior disciple chuckled, “Well, you’re gonna become great.” “Before long, you’ll become the head priest of a grand temple.” “You may intend that sarcastically, but I truly want to become great.” “It’s not sarcasm.” “I mean it.”

“I truly want to become great.”

“So you’re gonna become great.” “No, I cannot become so.” “Huh? But you said you’d become great, didn’t you?”

“No, I want to become great, but I cannot.” “Why?” “I consider you a worldly priest.” “You don’t have to take it so seriously.” “No, you are a worldly priest.” “Yet I am no different.” “I cannot sever my attachments.” “Though we’ve shaved our heads and donned robes, you and I remain no different from ordinary people.” “When evening falls, you crave sake.” “When evening falls, I yearn for home.” “Even now, as I shave your head, I cannot stop fearing that Saemon might call for me beyond the gate—just as he did before.”

“Well, that makes sense. Since your home is nearby.”

“The problem lies in home being too near.” “I understand this all too clearly.” “I must put greater distance between myself and home.” “Then why not go somewhere far—Tōtenjiku, even?”

“Yes, that’s exactly it.” “Even if not as far as Tōtenjiku, at least Bitchū Tamashima would suffice.”

“Bitchū Tamashima?” “If it’s Bitchū Tamashima—well, there was that monk who stayed at this temple the other day, you know, what’s-his-name….”

“It’s Kokusen Osho.”

“Yeah, that’s right—Kokusen Osho.” “Didn’t he say he came from Tamashima?” “That’s correct—Entsūji Temple in Tamashima.” “I desperately wanted to beg him to take me as his disciple, but it was futile.” “I’m terrified of leaving home far behind.” “This can’t go on.” “Like this, I’ll forever remain a worldly priest—a worthless one.” “Don’t spout such harsh words.” “Even a worldly priest can rise high, y’know.” “The world’s full of worldly priests who’ve become head monks.”

“What I mean by wanting to become great is different from what you’re thinking.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t need fame or status.” “Even a life like a beggar’s would be fine.” “As long as I can attain the path of truth.”

“I see. That’s commendable.” “I can’t quite grasp such difficult matters.” “Well done there.” “Ah, that’s refreshing.”

Ryōkan finished wiping the razor and returned.

“Hey, Ryōkan.”

“Do you still need something?” “Hey, I’ll be running late tonight, so you take care of grinding the mortar.”

Bad rice was ground into powder and made into dumplings to eat.

“No, tonight is your turn.” “Look, that’s no good. Then you’ll never attain the path of truth.” “...”

Kyodaishi said it as a joke, but Ryōkan-san looked down with a solemn expression.

“Oh... I’ll do the grinding.” “Yeah, that’s fine, that’s fine. Can’t you lend me a little money now and then?”

“No, I won’t. I don’t have any money for such drinking expenses.” “No good again. Then the path of truth’ll run off on you.”

At that moment, someone called from afar. The two of them fell silent and strained their ears. Then, this time, they clearly heard a voice call out, “Brother!” It was Saemon. “Hey, your brother’s here, I tell ya.” “...”

“He’s outside the gate, I tell ya.” “Go check it out for a bit.”

“...” Ryōkan-san bit his lower lip and, without a word, stepped down into the garden, walking toward the gate through the gathering dusk.

After Ryōkan-san had left, Kyodaishi hurried toward the hall and laid hands on the offerings box. The offerings box was rolled this way and that with a clatter. Each time, the coins inside clattered noisily. And when at last five or six coins had flown out onto the tatami mats, Ryōkan-san came to the hall.

“What? You’re back already?”

Kyodaishi said sheepishly. “You should stop doing such things.” “I’ll give you what little I have.” “It’s fine.” “It’s not like I’m taking all of ’em.” “It’s just about twenty mon.” “But if you use the offerings for such things, you’ll incur divine punishment.” “I’ll give you as much as you want, so isn’t that fine?” “Oh... Well, sorry about that.”

Kyodaishi put the coins on the tatami mats back into the box. The two returned to the kitchen quarters. Ryōkan-san brought out his own money. “Is it really okay for me to take this much?” Kyodaishi looked at the money he had received and said. “Yes.” “Well, I’ll pay you back next time.”

“You don’t have to pay me back.” “Oh... Well, thanks for that.”

Kyodaishi stood there awkwardly for a while. And then, trying to be sociable, “So what happened to your brother?”

he asked. “I don’t know.” “You don’t know? You didn’t meet him?”

“I did not meet him.” “But you went toward the gate, didn’t you?”

“I closed the gate, fastened the latch, and came back.”

Kyodaishi stared intently at Ryōkan-san’s face, where an unyielding resolve had surfaced, his expression a mixture of bewilderment and scrutiny. “You’re a strange one, aren’t you.” “I want to become great. I will sever all attachments. I will suffer alone—completely and thoroughly.” “...” “I have decided to go to Bitchū. Just now, while fastening the gate latch, I resolved myself. When the priest returns from his journey, I will obtain his permission and depart immediately.” Kyodaishi could only continue staring at Ryōkan-san’s face, wondering where such a fierce heart had been hidden within this man who was always so composed.

About ten days later, twenty-two-year-old Ryōkan-san set out on a long journey alone.

8. The First Journey

Mother and his younger siblings came to see Ryōkan-san off to the edge of town. Mother could not help feeling anxious about sending Ryōkan-san off to a distant province all alone. In Mother’s eyes, twenty-two-year-old Ryōkan-san still appeared like a child.

However, Ryōkan-san—

“Please return from here.”

he said decisively. where a large camellia stood by the roadside.

And thus began Ryōkan-san’s solitary journey. In Ryōkan-san’s hands were the packet of money his mother had quietly pressed into his grasp when they parted and a sprig of raspberry flowers one of his younger sisters had plucked for him. In his heart remained overlapping images—Mother and younger siblings from whom he had just parted, along with the form of the home where he was born and the town itself. As he parted from them this way, the thought of not knowing when he might see everyone again filled him with sorrow. However, Ryōkan-san thought he must not remain sorrowful forever. Before a stone Jizō statue at the roadside, he inserted the flowers his younger sister had given him, and from that moment resolved to forget his hometown and the people of his household.

Along the roadside, the small triangular seed pods of shepherd’s purse could still be seen, and in the hazy sky, a belated skylark was singing. He thought of the long journey ahead—first to Edo, then onward to Kyoto, and finally to his destination in Bitchū Province: Tamashima. That road was far. Ryōkan-san’s future would also stretch just as long. Along the distant path he would walk alone, through the lengthy future he would tread solitary—there would surely be manifold hardships waiting. Yet Ryōkan-san held hope within him. Ryōkan-san’s footsteps carried lightness.

Ryōkan-san walked every day. A single shadow fell lonely upon the road. In the forest, a Lesser Cuckoo called. Ryōkan-san heard the call of a Lesser Cuckoo. When he descended into the valley, the sound of the rapids was clear. Ryōkan-san enjoyed the sound of the rapids. To Ryōkan-san, it occurred that the samurai searching for his sworn enemy—the one from the story he had heard as a child—must have journeyed in this manner too. However, what that samurai had been seeking was his sworn enemy. What Ryōkan-san sought was the path of sincerity.

He sought the path of sincerity by inquiring of renowned monks everywhere, and when resting alone on stones or by stream banks, he turned inward to examine his own heart.

Everything he saw and heard was new to Ryōkan-san's eyes and ears. He would stop in surprise before large ancient trees or stealthily pick up small round aquamarine pebbles that had fallen on the path. The journey taught him many things. Everything he had read in books until now was true. But at the same time, many of those things were also lies. That there were truly many, many instances of illness, poverty, and sorrow in this world was certain. This also meant that the work Ryōkan-san had to perform in this world was truly vast and endless.

When he saw people suffering, Ryōkan-san’s heart filled with sorrow. Yet hope would well up immediately. When he reached Edo, its houses and temples teemed with activity. Ryōkan-san attributed this to the shogunate’s thriving influence. In Kyoto though, the great city lay hushed. He wondered why this imperial seat wore such mournful vestments. Here too—Ryōkan-san reflected—he discerned truth-bearers shrinking into shadows while false claimants brandished their power.

The righteous must show themselves. Those who are in the wrong must fade into shadow. This was nothing other than the truth that Ryōkan-san's work needing to be done was truly immense and boundless. The long journey had left Ryōkan-san gaunt, his large eyes grown even more prominent. His robe's shoulders were bleached by the sun, while calluses marked his feet from wearing straw sandals.

In this manner, Ryōkan-san arrived at Entsūji Temple in Bitchū Tamashima. How many months had passed since leaving his hometown? It was early autumn, when the wind blew white through the leaves of plants and trees.

9. At Entsūji Temple

Tamashima in Bitchū Province, where Ryōkan-san would spend over twenty years to come, was a port town facing the Seto Inland Sea. The Seto Inland Sea had formed a bay by narrowly extending into the land. On a hill facing that bay stood Entsūji Temple.

Even though both were port towns, Izumozaki in Echigo and this Tamashima were quite different. The sea of Echigo was shrouded in dark clouds during winter, and winds from the north whipped up the waves. The waves, like enraged bulls, rampaged wildly, hurling themselves against the coastal rocks, their deep groans never ceasing day or night. Moreover, the wind would blow away sand and pebbles along the coast, pelting the windows and doors of seaside houses. And when snow eventually arrived, conditions grew even worse. The snow whirled madly with the wind over the houses, finding every small gap as it tried to force its way inside. Therefore, in winter, people could not go outside. They had to close every last window and stay quiet inside their dark houses like hibernating frogs. It was only natural that Echigo's children took no joy in the snow. They sang this song as they loathed it.

Plop, plop. Don’t fall, snow— The shore’s mother weeps, they say. In contrast, Tamashima was a place where even winter stayed mild. The sea always lay cradled in blue like a foreigner’s eyes, while sunlight spilled over the inlets and the hills encircling them. What surprised Ryōkan-san was how green vegetables and wheat still grew on those hillsides even in winter. Snow scarcely fell. When it did, only lightly— No more than feathers shed by some great swan beating its wings overhead. And so when snow came, the local children sang this song in delight:

Snow is our noble lord,

Rain is the sandal-bearer.

In the warm embrace of nature, young Ryōkan-san began his life. However, Ryōkan-san’s heart could not immediately grow accustomed to warm, gentle Tamashima. In Ryōkan-san’s heart lay hidden the severity of Echigo’s winter sea, where cold winds raged. Ryōkan-san grew more fervent with each ascetic practice he undertook. Truth must exist somewhere—just as a peach has a pit inside it. If I could grasp that, I could become great—and if I did, I would surely be able to save the people of this world. That was what Ryōkan-san thought.

Ryōkan-san rose earlier than his peers and went to practice zazen. He went to Kokusen Osho’s room to inquire about things even more frequently than his peers. At night, he read sutras and biographies of eminent monks until late into the night. However, such truth was not something that could be easily grasped. Where could this truth be? Even after three or four years had already passed since coming to Tamashima, he still had not found it. At times, Ryōkan-san would think of this and feel disheartened. "What am I doing like this?" he berated himself. "To abandon Father and Mother, come all this way to a distant land, endure harsh practices day and night, yet still fail to attain enlightenment—what a fool I am!"

One day, Ryōkan-san was ordered by Kokusen Osho to pound rice. Ryōkan-san silently closed his book and climbed onto the treadle of the mortar. And he began pounding.

Kokusen Osho had been listening to the sound of the pestle for a while, but before long, “Ryo.” he called out in a deep, quiet voice. “Yes.” Ryōkan-san stopped his feet and answered. “Come down here.” “Yes.” Ryōkan-san descended from the mortar platform and went before Kokusen Osho.

“Ryo, you harbor discontent in your heart.”

Ryōkan-san felt as if his chest had been gripped, but “That’s not true,” he answered nonchalantly. “No use hiding it.” “Why would you say such a thing?” “I can tell by the sound of the pestle. If someone with a calm mind pounds rice, the pestle’s tone stays gentle. If someone restless pounds it, the rhythm goes ragged.” Ryōkan-san averted his eyes from Kokusen Osho and looked down. “Just as I said.”

“Yes.”

“You fool!” “Yes.”

Kokusen Osho said only that much and abruptly stood up to head to the back. Ryōkan-san hurriedly— “Master—!” He called out to stop him.

“What is it?” “You are exactly right. “There is dissatisfaction within my heart. “I do my utmost to keep it from showing on my face, but there is always dissatisfaction.” “……” “I wonder if it’s all right for me to keep doing this forever. “I merely grow older idly, and no matter how much time passes, I remain unchanged from the Eizo I once was.”

“……” “I believe the suffering experienced by people in this world can be divided into two types.” “The first is physical suffering.” “It is the suffering from illness and poverty.” “The other is mental suffering.” “It is the suffering of those lamenting lost parents and those who quarrel with and resent others despite facing no obstacles in life.” “I believe I must save people from such suffering.” “To do that, first and foremost, I myself must grasp a single truth and become great.”

“……”

“However, no matter how much I search for that truth, I cannot attain enlightenment.” “The master taught that accumulating practice is the path to enlightenment.” “I believe I have devoted myself to that practice more than anyone else.” “I went to the mountains to gather firewood.” “I went into town like a beggar to beg for alms.” “I practiced Zen meditation as well.” “I also pounded rice.” “However, even though it has been four years since I came here, far from grasping that truth, I cannot even glimpse its shadow.”

“……” “That’s why doubts arose within me. I began to wonder—what connection could there possibly be between pounding rice and begging for alms like this, and the true path I seek?”

Ryōkan-san, thinking Kokusen Osho might say something more, gazed at the monk’s face here for a while, but the monk remained silent. “Where does the truth lie? I want to know that.” “I don’t know.”

And for the first time, Kokusen Osho opened his mouth. “You must say such things because I’m a fool, Osho.” “Do you deem it hopeless because even were you to teach me, I wouldn’t understand?” “Then please state it plainly.” “If it’s truly hopeless, I shall resign myself.” “Resign yourself.” “I cannot resign myself so easily.” “In what way am I being foolish?” “Please show me.” “I will mend whatever needs mending.” “What a tiresome creature.”

“Forgive me.”

Ryōkan-san silently looked down.

“Ryō.”

“Yes.”

“If you wish to attain enlightenment so fervently, go ask Senkei Osho at his place.” “He knows such matters well.” Then Kokusen Osho told him about the temple where Senkei Osho resided. It was not far from there. Ryōkan-san’s heart stirred. He thought that if he went to Senkei Osho’s place, there might be something he could learn. “In that case, would it be acceptable if I go right now?”

“Yeah, go on then.” “Listen well to that truth.” And as Ryōkan-san was about to leave,

"And one more thing—since the moon should be fine tonight—tell Osho to come for a drink." "Not that I'm saying this just because I got some good sake—" he said.

When Ryōkan-san came out of the temple gate, there were three or four girls there. When one of them noticed Ryōkan-san, "Oh, perfect timing—here comes Ryōkan-san!" she said. In his free time, Ryōkan-san often played with these children—marbles, bouncing temari balls, telling them stories about the snowy country of Echigo—so he was well-liked by the girls. “Ryōkan-san, please.”

“What is it?” “Aktarō got the temari ball stuck up there, so please get it down for us.”

When he looked, there on a branch jutting out from near the top of a large pine tree sat a temari ball, perched neatly. "It's so high up—how could I reach that?" With that, Ryōkan-san declined, since he was in a hurry. "But Ryōkan-san, you're a man—go climb up and get it for us." "I can't right now—I'm busy."

Having said that, Ryōkan-san hurriedly walked past them. The girls, finding Ryōkan-san’s demeanor different from usual, thought it strange and stared vacantly as he walked away. Ryōkan-san, regretting in his heart that it had been wrong to say such cold things to the girls, nevertheless hurried along the path to hear the truth sooner. The tranquil spring hill was awash with radiant joy. The cows looked toward the sea and lowed now and then. On the sea were white sails, and above them hung violet clouds perfectly still. The heat haze shimmered across the entire area, and along the edge of the path lay dandelions scattered like golden coins. However, Ryōkan-san, excited by the thought that he would soon be able to hear the truth, paid no heed to such things and hurried along the path.

In the field before the temple, a monk with a peasant-like face was bent over picking greens. Since this monk occasionally visited Entsūji Temple, Ryōkan-san had at least recognized his face. Thinking his shabby appearance must mean he was just some wandering monk imposing on this temple out of necessity,

“Is Osho in today?”

he asked lightly. “Ah, I’m here.” With that, he resumed picking greens. “I’ve come from Entsūji Temple and would like to meet with Osho for a moment.”

“I see. What brings you here?” “I wish to speak directly to Osho about the matter.” “I see.” “I’m the monk here.” “Huh? You are?” Ryōkan-san was startled. “Yep, that’s me.” “Are you Senkei Osho?” “Yep, I’m Senkei.” “I see.” Ryōkan-san bowed again and apologized for having failed to recognize him. “Ah, don’t mention it. “Whether you’re an osho or an unsui, it’s all the same.” “They’re all just monks.” “Now then, what’s your business?”

Ryōkan-san's tension—the kind he had been holding until now—slackened all at once. He no longer felt any desire to ask anything. So, "The vegetables have grown splendidly, haven't they?"

he said, looking around the field. "Well, they're comin' along bit by bit," "If you'd like some, I'll give 'em to ya." "Take 'em along and put 'em to use or whatnot." "In that case, I'll take a little." "Yep, pull out as much as you want." "There's straw here—tie 'em up proper." Ryōkan-san entered the field, took the hoe lying there, and dug up a small portion from the rich soil. "You've grown so many vegetables—do you eat nothing but these?"

“Ah, it’s not like that—I give ’em to those who want ’em.” Senkei Osho said this and diligently made bundles of greens. About twenty bundles were made. “I’m headin’ to town for a bit now – you wait at the temple.”

“That’s true. “What time do you expect to return?”

“Yeah, prob’ly gonna get back by evenin’.” “Nah, hard to tell.” “If they make me drink sake or somethin’, there’s times I end up crashin’ on the way.” Since the sun was still high, Ryōkan-san thought it would be quite a hardship to be kept waiting until evening. “I can’t wait that long.”

“In that case, why don’t you come along too?” Ryōkan-san had grown completely at ease without noticing. He had even forgotten why he had come here from Entsūji Temple. “Yes, I shall accompany you.” Senkei Osho placed the greens into the basket and shouldered the carrying pole. Ryōkan-san followed behind him as they headed toward town. When they entered the town and went from house to house, “Would you be needing any greens today?” Senkei Osho inquired. To the houses that wanted some, he gave one bundle each. The households that received vegetables offered rice cakes, mandarin oranges, potatoes, and such in return. There were also homes that served them a bowlful of sake in rice bowls.

“Won’t you have a drink too?” When Senkei Osho said this, Ryōkan-san—who would normally have declined—found himself swayed, “In that case, I’ll have a cup.” and accepted it. After all, Senkei Osho’s spring breeze-like, easygoing nature had a way of easing Ryōkan-san’s heart in such situations.

In town, they encountered a solitary monk dressed in ornate ceremonial robes. Perhaps returning from a memorial service or similar occasion, he swaggered while snapping his large fan open and shut with pompous regularity. Ryōkan-san knew well that monks of this sort tended to be shallow and hollow at their core, possessing dispositions indistinguishable from ordinary townsfolk. Yet Senkei Osho bowed deeply before this monk like a humble peasant, exhaling an audible "hah" as he bent forward. The monk cast a contemptuous sidelong glance toward Senkei Osho before striding past.

“Who is that?”

Ryōkan-san asked in disbelief. “Don’t know. Probably just some monk from around here.” Senkei Osho remained unfazed. Ryōkan-san grew increasingly astonished. “Do you bow so politely to some monk from another sect—whose ways you don’t even understand?” “Yeah.” Senkei Osho said with a laugh. “Since he’s so full of himself, best to just bow and be done with it.” What a person free from attachment he was, Ryōkan-san thought.

As he walked through the wheat fields on their way back, Ryōkan-san thought it would be odd to return without asking anything after having gone to the trouble of visiting, and he— "Um, since Kokusen Osho said that you know well and told me to come ask, I’ve come to inquire, but…" When he said this, "Oh, is this about academic studies? "Academic studies? I don’t know a thing about them. "The only thing I know is growing vegetables." said Senkei Osho. "Even so, Kokusen Osho stated that if I asked you, my doubts would be cleared."

“I don’t know a thing. I don’t read sutras, nor do I practice zazen—I’m just a lazy monk through and through.” It truly seemed this monk didn’t know a single sutra phrase. Even when he came to Entsūji Temple, he never once engaged in Zen meditation—this was something Ryōkan-san knew well. That this was how he was did not strike him as strange in the least.

With a warm and fulfilled feeling, completely opposite to when he had come, Ryōkan-san set out on the return journey. In one hand dangled a bundle of souvenir vegetables. “Panicking won’t do any good.”

In a loud voice, Ryōkan-san said to himself.

A skylark flew out from the wheat before his eyes, and just as he thought it had ascended a bit higher, it began to sing. “It must be as it must be.” Ryōkan-san muttered while following the skylark with his gaze. The skylark disappeared from view as it passed before the sun. Only its song remained. “Stay calm and steadily do what you’ve been given to do.”

Having said that, Ryōkan-san jumped over the haystack.

A sense of peace unlike any before was cradled in Ryōkan-san’s chest.

The reason Master Kokusen Osho had said that going to Senkei Osho would bring clarity had somehow become clear to Ryōkan-san.

Before the temple gate, the girls still remained. They had given up on the temari ball and were playing marbles on the stone steps. “Shall I get the temari ball for you?” Ryōkan-san said to the girls. Since he was not very good at climbing trees, it proved quite a struggle. When he shook the branch to drop the ball and climbed back down, his robe was torn. His legs were scraped. “Ryōkan-san, we’re sorry.” The girls said kindly to him.

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Let’s play again later.”

With that, Ryōkan-san entered the temple gate with a smile.

Ten: Buried Alive

The barley on the hill ripened when the hot season arrived. Even then, skylarks still sang somewhere in the sky as if forgotten. Yet their song had grown commonplace to people's ears—they now thought skylarks sang far too long. Compared to skylarks, children showed sense. They plucked blackened ears from green barley fields to play peaceful tunes on their flutes, but by the time the grain turned golden yellow, the children blew no more.

When the wheat ripened, the farmers became extremely busy. They had to quickly harvest the wheat and then plant rice. If rice planting was delayed, a poor harvest would result. From early morning, the farmers took everyone strong enough for harvesting and headed out to the fields. Left behind at home were only blind old women, babies in cradles, or cats narrowing their golden eyes in sunny spots. Even those old women weren’t necessarily present in every household. Thus, in villages consisting entirely of farmers, it often happened that no one remained home during daylight hours.

With the sun blazing down and everything still, the lonely croak of distant frogs drifted in. Such times were greatly favored by burglars. After all, the old women's eyes were caked with rheum, so they couldn't see who was walking beyond the hedges at all, and even if the cats saw and knew, they weren't dogs, so they couldn't bark. As for babies, they were completely useless. Since they couldn't tell the difference between a burglar and their father. As the burglar playfully stuck out their tongue, going "bleh bleh bleh" to charm them on their way out, the baby would flail its arms and legs in delight. The fact that the baby wasn't taken away by the burglar along with the teakettle was, at the very least, some small consolation.

So yesterday, the day before, and even before that, the farmers would return home exhausted in the evening only to discover that burglars had visited during their absence. From things like the teakettle being gone, the lid of the rice chest left open, or the drawer beneath the Buddhist altar pulled out and left as is—through such signs, they could tell that burglars had paid a visit.

Everyone dislikes thieves, but it’s not because they take things away. It’s because they target times when no one’s around and come sneaking in without a word that people hate them. Thus, even Kanmata-san—who had only lost a single pair of straw sandals but ended up profiting because the thieves left behind a fine tobacco pouch—flew into a furious rage, just like Yasuke-san, from whom a gleaming brass teakettle and a hen had been stolen. “If I catch you, I’ll wring your neck!” he ranted repeatedly, then headed out to the fields the next day.

When they finished cutting one row of barley—just as their backs began to ache—the farmers would straighten up at that moment. Since they could shield their eyes and keep watch over the village in the same motion, it worked out splendidly. Then, finally around noon, Kanmata-san spotted something suspicious. A shabbily dressed monk—his dome-shaped hat pulled low over his face—approached alone from the north, an alms bowl in hand. And without looking right or left, he slipped into the village.

The brazen way that fellow had entered the village made Kanmata-san’s blood boil. “Hey, Yasuke! Did you see that guy just now?” Kanmata-san called out to Yasuke-san, who was in the opposite wheat field. “Yeah, I saw ’im!” Yasuke-san replied. “Let’s go catch ’im, I tell ya!” Kanmata-san, still gripping his sickle, began walking toward Yasuke-san. “But wait, ain’t that a monk?”

Yasuke-san removed his cheek cloth and shook it out. “Even monks ain’t necessarily above thievin’, I tell ya! Take Kōchiyama Sōshun—he was one helluva thief!” “Dunno ’bout that...”

So Yasuke-san also decided to go home and check at any rate.

Since the two of them felt uneasy going alone, they invited farmers working along their path to join them. In the end, their numbers grew to about ten in total. They all came holding sickles, ropes, carrying poles, and such in their hands.

Ryōkan-san had been unbearably lonely since morning. Just like a tree on a hill at the end of autumn—stripped completely of its leaves, standing battered by a chilly wind—his heart felt utterly bereft of anything to rely on, left solitary and abandoned in this world. It was a loneliness so profound that tears would not come.

Around this time, such things often happened to Ryōkan-san. It seemed that his mother’s passing last year was still at the root of it all. When he returned to his hometown of Izumozaki to hold her memorial service, his younger siblings had already grown up, so he hadn’t felt his mother’s death so acutely then.

After all, Ryōkan-san was now truly alone. When his mother had been alive, even if no one cherished him, he could always return to her; the feeling that she would welcome him warmly and kindly as she always did had lain hidden somewhere in his heart. That was why he had been able to feel secure. Yet now that mother of his was nowhere to be found. Even if his younger brothers and sisters had grown up, how could Ryōkan-san, being the eldest son, turn to them for support? His father was still healthy. But even his father had become practically missing these days; no one knew where he was or what had become of him.

When one realizes they are truly alone, how profoundly lonely a person must feel. Just because he was lonely didn’t mean he felt like crying. Even if he cried, no one would do anything about it. Even if someone were to comfort him, this was no shallow loneliness that could be healed by such efforts.

However, Ryōkan-san thought. The great monks of old must have endured this very loneliness of solitude until finally they reached a state where they no longer even recognized that loneliness as loneliness. Just as a snail carries its shell upon its back, to bear one's loneliness within one's own heart and endure it must surely be an admirable form of spiritual practice. And only then could one refine one's soul into something truly exquisite.

And so Ryōkan-san resolved to make himself utterly alone that day, took up his alms bowl, and went out. Letting his feet lead him, Ryōkan-san walked on. Become lonelier, become even more alone, he urged himself inwardly. When people focus solely on their own hearts, they often walk with their eyes open yet remain unaware of where they are going. Suddenly realizing his surroundings, Ryōkan-san was walking through a village.

I seemed somewhat tired. My legs felt heavy. So Ryōkan sat down by the wayside shrine and rested.

Something hard pressed against his chest. Wondering what it was, he reached inside and found the temari ball he had slipped into his pocket when leaving the temple. He had brought it thinking that if he happened upon any nursemaids somewhere, he might join them in play. The farmers had all gone out to harvest wheat, leaving no one nearby. Thinking this safe enough, Ryōkan-san began bouncing the temari ball by himself.

Since coming to Tamashima, Ryōkan-san had often played with the nursemaid girls—bouncing temari balls and flicking ohajiki pebbles—so he had become quite skilled at girls' games. The beautifully embroidered temari ball, stitched with colored thread, moved back and forth in steady rhythm between Ryōkan-san's slender hands and the parched ground. Then naturally, the temari song sung by the girls rose to Ryōkan-san's lips. Thresh the wheat now, thresh the wheat Nine beans in your palm now, nine beans

When you look at nine beans, oh Oh, how I long for dear Oya’s village… He was just about to finish the verse. Suddenly, the temari ball flew off with a plop toward the front. Someone’s foot kicked it.

“This one!” “Tie him up!”

Then, immediately, a voice sounded above his head. And Ryōkan-san was effortlessly bound. “You brazen beggar monk! You came to steal, and when you thought no one was around, you had the nerve to play with a ball!” These people have mistaken me for a thief, Ryōkan thought. However, he did not feel compelled to explain, “I am not a thief.” Become even more alone—let me see what happens when I’m utterly alone, Ryōkan-san resolved.

Showered with curses by the peasants and prodded from behind, Ryōkan-san was dragged to the village official’s house. Throughout this, no matter what the peasants asked, Ryōkan-san remained silent as if mute. “I report, sir. We’ve caught that Daytime Loafer who’s been around lately.” Kanyu-san declared loudly from this side of the well before he even entered the house. “What? The Daytime Loafer!” The official, who had been reading a book, was startled.

“Haul him into the garden. “I’ll begin the interrogation at once.”

Having given this order to those outside, he immediately tied his hakama, seized his sword, and stepped out onto the veranda. Having heard “Daytime Loafer,” the official had come out expecting a brawny man with a ruddy face, unkempt stubble sprouting messily around his mouth, and bulging eyes—only to find a gaunt, pitifully gentle monk sitting small in the garden, his momentum draining away. “What? You’re a monk?” The official sat down in his posture for conducting judgment.

“Even a monk ain’t someone you can let your guard down around. That monk Kawachiyama Sōshun—you must’ve seen him in the plays—he was one hell of a swindler, he was.” Kanyu-san said.

Then the interrogation began. However, it had only just begun and made no progress no matter how much time passed. The official kept the investigation ledger open but had nothing to write. This was because the monk had not uttered a single word. Threatening and coaxing, he tried questioning him, but it was futile. In the end, the official’s voice grew hoarse. It was only then that he realized this was no different from speaking to a stone lantern.

The villagers had also lost patience. Kanyu-san held up what the thief had left behind, thrusting the tobacco pouch at him. “You’d recognize this, wouldn’t you?!” “It’s yours, isn’t it?!” “No matter how much you act all high and mighty like Jizo, in the end, you’re just a tobacco-smoking Daytime Loafer, ain’t ya?” said Kanyu-san. And even then, when the monk still didn’t respond, he said, “Hah! You brazen tobacco-smoking Daytime Loafer!” and struck the monk’s nose with the tobacco pouch.

Become even more alone—let whatever happens happen—Ryōkan-san kept repeating in his heart.

At last, Ryōkan-san was brought to a pine grove on the outskirts of the village. Everyone intended to take this "Daytime Loafer monk" and bury him alive there. “Doin’ such a thing… really okay?”

And on the way there, Yasuke-san timidly repeated this many times.

“There ain’t no good or bad.” “He’s caused trouble for people.” “He stole folks’ things without askin’.”

Kanyu-san pursed his lips and bellowed.

“I don’t need no tea kettle or one chicken—keep ’em.” “I don’t want nothin’ like that.”

Yasuke-san said.

“What’re you saying now of all times? Even if you forgive him, I won’t!” “But Kanyu-san, you ain’t got no call to get so riled up. Weren’t you just robbed of a pair of old straw sandals? And didn’t he leave you a fine tobacco pouch in exchange? If anything, you oughta be thankin’ him.” “What nonsense you spoutin’, fool? Them sandals weren’t no cheap trash. They had kinkin cords fastened to ’em!” “Cease this quarreling,” said the Official. “I hereby order that this thief be buried alive.”

The official had repeatedly hoarsened his voice during interrogations, yet with the other party offering no reply—as if mocking him outright—and thus, believing his dignity had been compromised, grew furious.

“Dig here.”

The official commanded. Kanyu-san, who had brought a hoe, began digging. Everyone stood around watching. Ryōkan-san was also watching. He watched calmly, as though it were someone else’s affair. As the hole gradually deepened, the villagers on the contrary began to grow anxious. As they watched, everyone began to think they shouldn’t have come to such a place.

“’Scuse me.” “’M just headin’ home for a bit.”

With that, Yasuke-san began to head off. Because everyone grew uneasy, “H-hey! Where d’you think you’re goin’?” the official challenged.

“Um... ’M just gonna go feed the chickens their noon meal.” “No.” The official stopped him. “You’re all witnesses here. Not a single one of you is to move a step.”

Yasuke-san returned to where everyone was, his face tearful. “That’s enough now.” With that, Kanyu-san, who had dug up to chest depth, emerged from the hole. “Push the criminal in.” The official commanded. At that moment, a slight disturbance arose. Everyone recoiled. I’m all alone… All alone… This is the end of being alone, Ryōkan-san quietly thought.

At that moment, someone came running into the woods. He was a neatly dressed, aged peasant. “Oh, Kichisaburo-san!” murmured the peasants, as if delivered from peril, their tension easing. “I came rushing here when I heard you were going to bury the monk alive,” said Kichisaburo-san. “Now, hold on a moment. You can bury him anytime you want.”

After that, for a while, Kichisaburo-san stared intently at Ryōkan-san's eyes. As Ryōkan-san looked into the eyes of that aged peasant, he saw they held a deeply gentle and warm heart within. "Is this person the Daytime Loafer? "I just can't believe it."

muttered Kichisaburo-san.

"This person has a calm heart that understands things well," thought Ryōkan-san. “By any chance, aren’t you the monk staying at Entsūji Temple in Tamashima? I’ve heard there’s an extraordinary monk with a unique character who came here from Echigo for training.”

Ryōkan-san could not stop the sudden welling up of joy.

“That’s right. “I am. “I’m not great at all, though.” “I knew it was so.” Then Kichisaburo-san explained to everyone and the officials the purity of Ryōkan-san’s heart. Everyone had also heard of and knew about Ryōkan-san. “We did a bad thing without knowin’.”

Everyone apologized. “At the Wayside Shrine, you were bouncing a handball—that seemed downright suspicious to us. “At the time, we thought it couldn’t be that the Daytime Loafer would be bouncing a handball, but what can you expect from pumpkin-headed blockheads like us.” said one of them. “I oughta smack your nose to make things square.” “Go on—bash my nose and get your anger out.” “It’s a flat snout anyhow—whackin’ it won’t do you no good, I reckon.”

And Kanyu-san also apologized. "Oh, it's nothing, nothing," said Ryōkan-san.

On their way back, Kichisaburo-san, “Even so, Ryōkan-san, why didn’t you offer a single word in your defense when you were about to be buried alive?” asked Kichisaburo-san.

Ryōkan-san answered.

“I thought everything was karmic fate and had resigned myself to it. I thought that suffering like this must be because I had done something bad somewhere, sometime before, and that this was my retribution.” “So you didn’t hold any grudge against us, did you?” said Kanyu-san.

Tears welled up in the eyes of many peasants. There are people like this… There are also good-hearted people like this… That’s what everyone had thought.

When passing by the wayside shrine earlier, Ryōkan-san had restlessly gazed around his surroundings. “Did you drop some coins or somethin’?”

the peasants asked. “No, no.” Even as he said this, Ryōkan-san was searching here and there. And when he found the handball lying at the base of the Japanese pepper tree across the way, he hurried over and secretly picked it up, tucking it into the fold of his robe. He didn’t want to be seen by everyone. However, everyone had seen what it was. And they exchanged glances with each other. “What a pure-hearted man he is! “Just like a child.” Their eyes seemed to exchange these words.

Their eyes exchanged such words with one another.

Eleven: Wandering

“Monk, you look tired, ain’t ya?”

Ryōkan-san was called out to from behind. It was on the highway heading east from Hizen Nagasaki. On a clear autumn day near noon, across the fields, the white flowers of buckwheat stood out refreshingly, and now and then siskins would cross the sky, dropping their thin, clear calls as they went. “Ah.” Ryōkan-san, who had turned around while replying, hurriedly moved out of the way. It was because an oxcart had come right up behind him. “Monk, where are you headed?”

said the ox driver, who had come walking beside the ox’s head.

“There’s no particular place. I’ll go as far as I can,” said Ryōkan-san.

The peasant peered under his hat and, upon looking closely at the monk’s face—seeing he was a refined and kind-looking person— “If you’d like, you can ride in the oxcart. “It’s empty, see? Plenty o’ room.”

“Well then,” “That is most gracious of you.” Ryōkan-san walked around to the back of the oxcart and climbed aboard. On the bed of the oxcart, three or four grains of grain danced about as the vehicle jolted up and down over the bumpy road. Watching them, Ryōkan-san felt grateful for the ox driver’s kindness. The oxcart creaked and groaned as it lumbered slowly through the autumn sunlight. Ryōkan-san looked ahead and found something odd. The kind ox driver was merely walking alongside the ox with his arms folded, while holding the reins was a boy who looked no older than twelve or thirteen. The child was driving the ox with earnest determination. When approaching a slope, he would urge it on with “Hup! Hup!”, and when passing other carts, he would push against the ox’s neck while murmuring “Easy now” to clear the way.

"Why would he make a small child hold the reins while he, an adult, leaves his own hands idle?" Ryōkan-san wondered as he looked at the kind ox driver.

The sun reached due south. From the village beyond the pine grove came the sound of the bell announcing noon. Having been jostled around quite a bit, Ryōkan-san's buttocks grew sore.

“How ’bout we eat our lunch here now?” said the ox driver.

Just then, a large pine tree stood by the roadside. The ox's reins were tied to the base of the pine tree. It was customary for ox drivers to feed their oxen before eating their own lunches, but oddly enough, it was also the child who performed this task. The ox driver stood by, taking care of various tasks. And when the child made mistakes or fumbled, he scolded him harshly. The child took empty husks and finely chopped straw from the bag on the cart and put them into the feed bucket. Then, taking a vessel made by splitting a gourd in two, he went to fetch water from a clear stream below the road and mixed it into the feed.

When [the child] brought the bucket under its nose, the ox—as if utterly indifferent to the boy’s efforts—immediately thrust its face into it and began munching away. Once that task was completed, the ox driver finally had the child take out their lunch. Ryōkan-san watched this and thought that in this situation, it seemed as though the ox driver valued the ox more than the child. “Monk, what’ll you be havin’?”

The ox driver sat down at the base of the pine tree and said while opening his lunchbox, “I’m not hungry yet.”

said Ryōkan-san. However, he was truly hungry. He simply did not have a lunchbox with him. “That ain’t possible.” “When noon comes, there ain’t no ox nor human who ain’t hungry—no such thing as that.” “I reckon you ain’t got no lunchbox with ya, have ya?” “You’re quite the perceptive one.”

The man laughed and, “Well then, have half o’ mine.” “It’s awfully black rice, though I doubt it’ll suit your taste.” “Oh, not at all! I’m quite fond of black things, you see.” “Eggplants and rice are all the better when they’re black.”

Ryōkan-san began eating the rice that had been shared onto his lunchbox lid, all while making such jokes. “Monk, how old are you?”

“I am thirty-three, you see.” “Hoh, thirty-three.” “Well then, you’re the same age as me, ain’t ya?”

Ryōkan-san looked at the man anew. The man was sturdy and had a thick neck, so Ryōkan-san had thought he must be around forty. This man was thirty-three, the same as me….

When one hears they're the same age, people suddenly compare their own circumstances with the other's. Ryōkan-san promptly began doing just that. "What's this child to you?" "This brat here's my eldest son." The ox driver used a crude term of address. Yet his eyes gazing at the child brimmed with tender affection. "Got three more below this one." "The youngest still scurries round the yard like a turtle hatchling." "But this one's turned thirteen already." "He's beginning to stand on his own now."

“Even though they’re your own children, why don’t you show them more kindness? Making such a tender child do everything while you stand watching with folded arms—how can such a thing exist?” “Ha ha.” The ox driver laughed as he spoke.

“Well now, Monk, you do say things just like a monk would.” “But Monk, if we don’t put ’em through hardships like that, a child can’t grow into their own.” Then the ox driver said happily that he had been thoroughly teaching the child how to handle the ox for two or three days now, and that since he had been observing and learning through daily life, he was picking it up quite well. The child was also listening with a smile.

So that’s what it was—he had been teaching his son, who was coming of age, the work of an ox driver—Ryōkan-san finally understood the question that had been on his mind until now. “Monk, where’s your hometown?”

The ox driver changed the subject and asked.

“It’s a place called Izumozaki in Echigo, but I’ve been in Bitchū for fifteen or sixteen years now.”

“Hmm, Bitchū. Why’d you come all the way out to this backwater part of Kyushu anyway?”

Ryōkan-san fell silent. That answer was difficult to give. However, after gulping down his rice, he said.

“I came here intending to cross over to Qing, you see.”

“Oh, to Qing.” “Why on earth would you want to go to Qing of all places?” To this question as well, Ryōkan-san found it difficult to respond. However, Ryōkan-san told the truth.

“I had intended to cross over to Qing, study, and become a great monk, you see.”

“Hmm, to become a great monk, huh.” “When you think that a beggar monk like me was entertaining such grandiose plans, you must find it amusing, huh.” “Funny or not, I don’t really know what great people are like.” “Because I’ve never once been a great person myself, you see.”

“I’ve carried this aspiration to rescue those suffering in the world for many years now.” “So I resolved to gather leprosy patients—the most reviled in society—and save them from their wretched plight of being stoned and driven off with sticks.” “To do that, I needed to raise funds, build a proper hospital, and recruit skilled physicians.” “For two or three years, I made alms rounds and scrupulously saved every offering I received.” “But between my frail health and clumsy way with words, even after years of saving, the coins I’d accumulated amounted to a meager handful.” “Given this situation, I realized dedicating my whole life wouldn’t suffice to build even a simple cowshed, let alone a proper house.” “And there was another hindrance I recognized—one we dare not speak of aloud.”

“What’s that?”

“This alone I cannot disclose even to you.”

That referred to the Tokugawa Shogunate, which held sway over the realm at that time. Would they ever permit an obscure monk like Ryōkan-san to undertake such a grand endeavor—building a large house, gathering numerous patients, and providing medical treatment? For they would deem him a meddlesome troublemaker—Ryōkan-san would be arrested, convicted, and have his house demolished—that would undoubtedly be the outcome. What Ryōkan-san wanted to say but couldn’t was this anxiety.

“For that reason, I regrettably had to abandon my plan to save those patients for the time being.” “So this time, I planned to cross over to Qing from Nagasaki, you see.” “Since ancient times, there have been many monks who went to China, became great, returned to build temples, and left behind good deeds in the world.” “I also thought I’d try doing that, so I traveled all the way here to Nagasaki as a wandering monk.”

The ox would occasionally raise its face from the fodder bucket and, with the tip of its tongue, lick off the feed that had gotten into its nostrils before eating it. A kite cried as it soared high and swooped low over the pine grove. “Isn’t crossing over to Qing forbidden by law?” the ox driver said. “It is forbidden by law, you see.” “Because it was forbidden by law, I thought to cross over secretly.” “Since there happened to be a ship raising anchor today, I went to the shore and tried asking the sailors.” “Of course, since they were Chinese and we couldn’t understand each other’s speech, we discussed the matter by writing Chinese characters on paper, you see.” “However, they looked at me suspiciously, staring intently, and shook their heads.” “Because my appearance was shabby, they probably thought I was a beggar or something.” “I tried asking in various ways, but they wouldn’t listen in the end, I tell you.” “This too was something I had no connection to, so I gave up on it, you see.”

“Monk, you’re quite good at giving up, aren’t you. For us, we just can’t be that good at giving up. Though mind you, we ain’t got no grand hopes like crossin’ over to Qing or gatherin’ up sick folks or nothin’. Well, what we call hopes are just trivial things—ownin’ a bit of our own farmland, buyin’ a good ox, raisin’ a son, and wantin’ to retire once we turn fifty or so.”

“I see, I see.” “So have you achieved those hopes of yours?” “Ah, well, though it’s embarrassin’ to say so myself, take a look at this cow.” “This here’s the best cow in my village, y’know.” “You probably don’t know squat ’bout cows, Monk, but one with a small forehead, horns curvin’ back, and yellowish eyes—that’s what makes a prime cow, see.”

“I see, I see.” “I bought this cow myself, y’know.” “Last year I finally got ’bout five tan of rice fields to call my own.” “Bein’ born a second son, I started with nothin’—but by breakin’ my back workin’, I finally scraped it together.” “And now this brat’s grown proper-like, so I’ll be retirin’ soon enough.” The ox driver’s face brimmed with satisfied joy.

When lunch was finished, Ryōkan-san was once again given a ride on the empty cart. The cart began clattering forward.

In the afternoon, several small clouds like wisps of cotton appeared in the sky, and each time they grazed the face of the sun, the white road was cast in shadow. Jostled by the cart's rumbling motion, Ryōkan-san watched the ox driver, the child holding the reins, and the ox that walked slowly while shaking its head in small increments. Ryōkan-san thought: This ox driver—my exact contemporary—bought the fields and ox he desired and raised his child to adulthood. Compared to him, what have I achieved? True, I read many books. I endured grueling ascetic practices. I came to understand something of human nature and the world. Yet if I persist in this idle existence without action, everything I've done until now holds no value whatsoever. Unless I reach out to relieve suffering souls and comfort grieving hearts, has my entire life been devoid of meaning?

“Ryōkan—for what purpose did you abandon your parents? For what purpose did you leave your homeland?” Ryōkan-san berated himself.

Alright—I’ll go back to Nagasaki once more. I’ll try asking the sailors again. By all means—I’ll try clinging to their sleeves and pleading, “Take me along!” Ryōkan-san resolved himself thus.

“I’ll have you let me off here now.”

And with that, Ryōkan-san got off. "What are you going to do?"

The ox driver looked at Ryōkan-san with a puzzled expression. “I’ll be going back to Nagasaki once more.” “There’s something I’ve just thought of.” “Is that so?”

The ox driver had no idea what resolve lay within Ryōkan-san’s heart. He probably thought he had merely forgotten something and didn’t try to stop him.

Ryōkan-san said his thanks for the meal and parted from the ox drivers. And half-running, he retraced the path he had just come.

Autumn days end early.

When Ryōkan-san finally reached the hill overlooking Nagasaki’s town and bay, only a faint evening glow lingered in the sky, while over the sea, dark twilight had begun to seep in. Ryōkan-san tried to head down toward the town. But his feet stopped.

Ryōkan-san's gaze came to rest on a single sailboat that was now leaving Nagasaki Harbor, passing beyond Dejima.

He recognized that ship. It was the Qing trade vessel that Ryōkan-san had entreated them to let him board that morning. After all my efforts—resolving to plead once more and racing here without catching my breath—the ship was already departing!

Ryōkan-san was seized by despair and collapsed onto the grass as if unable to endure its weight.

He wanted to shout, "Hey, wait!" But what good would that do? Even if his voice had reached the sailors' ears, what reason would they have had to turn the ship back? Ryōkan-san plucked at the grass. Then he bit it off in frustration. My last hope... The single rope on which I had staked everything had now snapped. The ship grew smaller and smaller. To his eyes, it appeared as hope itself fleeing away—a form that would never return again.

"This is too cruel... Too cruel." Ryōkan-san muttered under his breath. He was choked with frustration. Tears spilled silently down his cheeks.

When the ship disappeared from view, the evening glow in the sky vanished. The world had become nothing but deep blue twilight. Ryōkan-san remained seated without moving for a long time. He had no idea what to do from here on out. How much time had passed like that? Suddenly, Ryōkan-san pricked up his ears. Something was coming to his ears.

It faintly rose up from within the evening mist below the hill and came to rest in Ryōkan-san’s ears. A pure, beautiful sound. As if it were the buzzing of a bee flying through spring sunlight. That small sound seemed like a small creature. Imparting peace and happiness to people's hearts, it flew here and there. After listening for a while, Ryōkan-san finally realized that it was the sound of the evening bell beginning to toll from the temple in Dejima, where the foreigners resided.

Eventually, it stopped ringing. When the ringing stopped, Ryōkan-san felt a different kind of hope begin to stir within his heart, lifting its head ever so slightly. It was as though one of the bell tones he had just heard had alighted in Ryōkan-san’s heart and put forth a bud there. I was a fool. I had been hoping for something beyond my station. I should think this through. Am I not a good-for-nothing who couldn’t even fulfill the village headman position satisfactorily? For someone like that to think such grand plans—crossing over to Qing to become a great monk, going around persuading people, building a large hospital—that was the root of my mistake.

The ox driver had held a hope appropriate to his station. And he achieved it. I too shall hold a hope within my reach. And I will accomplish it. Once I can do that, I shall take on the next hope.

Ryōkan-san picked up his staff and alms bowl and stood up.

Twelve. To the Homeland Again

Ryōkan-san, who had failed to cross over to Qing from Nagasaki, returned once more to Entsūji Temple in Bitchū Tamashima. And once again, he spent his days sitting in zazen and going on alms rounds as he had before. In the eyes of his teacher, Kokusen Osho, it became clear that Ryōkan-san had changed from how he had been before. In the past, Ryōkan-san would sometimes become so absorbed in some matter that a strange fire would burn in his gentle eyes, but such things had now completely vanished. Every day, like a fool, he worked and studied diligently in silence. Ryōkan was gradually becoming a true human being and coming to know his real self, Kokusen Osho thought.

One day, Kokusen Osho composed a poem about Ryōkan-san and showed it to him. It read: "Ryōkan may appear like a fool, yet his heart remains quite spacious. He does not fret in the slightest, entrusting himself entirely to fate. His heart holds such composure and calmness that he can nap anytime, anywhere." In this way, Ryōkan-san cultivated his character to the extent that even his teacher praised him, and delved ever deeper into the true path.

Several more years passed at Entsūji Temple. Ryōkan-san turned forty-four years old.

One day, something unforeseen came to pass. It was brought by a courier from Kyoto.

The courier handed a letter to Ryōkan-san and left. Ryōkan-san, who had long known his father Inan-san was in Kyoto, thought this might be correspondence from his father and opened it. Upon first seeing the characters, he realized they differed from his father’s handwriting. This was writing from someone he had never encountered before.

Ryōkan-san read it from the beginning. With an attitude as calm as water, he read through to the end. After finishing reading, he spread the opened letter across both hands like a hand towel and stared blankly for a while, but eventually turned it over.

Ryōkan-san did not have many possessions to speak of. When he gathered all his belongings around him, they formed a small cloth-wrapped bundle. Ryōkan-san packed it. Carrying that cloth-wrapped bundle, he went to Kokusen Osho. “Are you setting off as a wandering monk again?” Kokusen Osho said while looking at the cloth-wrapped bundle in Ryōkan-san’s hands. “Yes.” Ryōkan-san replied. “This time, which direction will you go? Again to Kyushu?”

“No. This time, I intend to return to my hometown via Kōyasan and Kyoto.”

“Ah,” “Well then, that’ll take some time again, hmm.” “Take your time going and coming back then.” “Be back by next winter.” “I plan to stay healthy enough till then.” “No—I don’t mean to return at all this time.” “What? Not coming back?” “So you mean to settle in your homeland for good?” “I can’t say where I’ll settle yet, but I won’t be coming back here anymore.” “Is that so? Well enough—but what made you decide this so suddenly now?”

“My father has died. “A letter has now arrived from my father’s acquaintance in Kyoto.” Ryōkan-san showed the letter to Kokusen Osho. Kokusen Osho opened it and read. It stated that your father had passed away here, that there were items he had left for you in my possession, and that you should please come to Kyoto when circumstances permitted.

“Then you should go.” “If karmic fate allows, we will meet again.” Kokusen Osho said as he rolled up the letter. “I have long been in your care.” “I will never forget your kindness for as long as I live.” “Please take good care of your health.”

Ryōkan-san expressed his gratitude with few words imbued with deep sincerity, put on his straw sandals, and departed Entsūji Temple.

The sea lay calm today too, its color beautiful. Over the vegetable garden on the hill, sunlight streamed abundantly. The young grass along the path Ryōkan-san trod gave off a fragrant scent as he walked. Before the earthen wall across the way, children who often played with Ryōkan-san were at play again today. Unaware that Ryōkan-san had gone far away never to return, they called out things like, "Let's play marbles when you come back, Ryōkan-san!" Ryōkan-san smiled sadly and passed them by.

"Farewell to the sea and the hill," Ryōkan-san said in his heart. "Farewell to the bright sunlight, the children, and the grassy path."

Just like a fruit, the bright nature of Bitchū Province—which had softly, richly, and warmly ripened Ryōkan-san’s heart—was what he now bid farewell to.

“Are you the one they call Ryōkan?”

When the person who had sent the letter from Kyoto saw Ryōkan-san, they spoke nostalgically.

That person lived in a quiet, neat little house, exactly as one would expect of someone whose sole pleasure was haiku. Ryōkan-san briefly expressed his gratitude for having had the letter sent to him and for the kindness shown to his father Inan.

“Truly, Inan-san was unfortunate.” “These are Inan-san’s mementos.”

When he looked at what they had brought out, there was a long sheet of paper—called hansetsu—and a tanzaku strip. At a glance, he could tell they bore his father’s brushwork and contained recognizable haiku. Ryōkan-san read them nostalgically like this: In the morning mist, a tier lower—the silk tree’s blossoms. Night’s frost—more than any deed done, this body’s end. However, when Ryōkan-san thought his father’s mementos were merely these two haiku sheets, he felt let down. “Didn’t he leave any clothes or something behind?”

he asked.

“No, that’s all.” That person answered as though the words were difficult to utter. And after some time, with a resolved look,

“I will tell you everything.” “The truth is, Inan-san threw himself into the Katsura River and passed away.” “What?!” At these completely unexpected words, Ryōkan-san was shocked. For a while, no words came out. And in the brief time that passed, everything became clear to Ryōkan-san. However, Ryōkan-san did not give voice to it. Because he hesitated to speak.

The other person comforted Ryōkan-san in various ways. “Inan-san was truly a rather eccentric person.” They said such things. “It seems that even when he went to Kyoto, he didn’t properly inform his family about it beforehand.” “Among our haiku teachers, there is a man named Kyotai. One year, Mr. Kyotai journeyed through the northern provinces.” “And on his way back, he apparently stopped by your hometown of Izumozaki.” “Mr. Kyotai went to the town’s public bathhouse that evening.” “Then, just at that moment, your father, Mr. Inan, also apparently came to the bathhouse.” Since the two were already acquainted, they exchanged greetings of “Oh!” “Oh!” “‘Where are you headed now, Mr. Kyotai?’ Inan-san asked.” “I will return to Kyoto now.” “In Kyoto, when I return, there will be a haiku gathering.” “How about it? Why don’t you come along as well?” said Mr. Kyotai. Then Mr. Inan casually replied, “I see. Then perhaps I shall accompany you.” Mr. Kyotai naturally assumed it was a joke. However, upon leaving the bathhouse, Inan-san did not return home but instead came to Mr. Kyotai’s lodgings, and the next morning, they set off on their journey together—or so the story goes. On the way, their travel funds ran out, so they borrowed money from an acquaintance in Shiitani—or so the story goes. “We later heard that story and thought Inan-san was truly an eccentric man.”

Ryōkan-san thought that this person regarded his father as nothing more than an eccentric. Even if Father appeared that way on the surface, in his heart, he was no mere eccentric. Father had a single lofty aspiration. Wanting to quickly be by himself and settle his feelings, Ryōkan-san soon left that person’s house. In Father Inan’s innermost heart, a fervent imperial loyalism had always burned. Ryōkan-san had known that all along.

Ryōkan-san recalls the stories he was often told by his father when he was small.

Long ago, there was a court noble named Hino Suketomo. It was when wicked rebels held power and His Majesty the Emperor had taken refuge in the mountains. Suketomo lamented this state of affairs and laid plans to serve His Majesty. But before those plans could be realized, they were discovered by the rebels, and Suketomo was exiled far from the capital to Sado Island. Not merely exiled - years later, he fell into rebel hands and met his end. On that very Sado Island you see each day...

Inan-san had told Ryōkan-san this story many times with great emphasis, urging him to remember it well. The wise Ryōkan-san remembered well. He also came to understand why Father had told him this story. And before long, Ryōkan-san came to quietly align his own aspirations with Father’s.

Father had gone to Kyoto under the pretext of haiku—that must have been because he wanted to find an opportunity to fulfill that ambition, Ryōkan-san thought.

But had that opportunity ever been found? No, no—if he had found it, why would he have thrown himself into the river and died? Before the immense power of the shogunate, Father realized how feeble his own solitary strength was and despaired. Overwhelmed by despair, he had died.……

Ryōkan-san wished he could have taken up Father’s aspirations, if possible. However, Ryōkan-san knew that it was still too early for that now. What would come of someone like me—a good-for-nothing—struggling so hard? If I struggle in vain, I will only bring about the same ruin as Father. I must wait until the right time comes. Until the right time comes.

And Ryōkan-san left Kyoto and headed for his hometown.

Ryōkan-san gradually approached his hometown while begging for alms.

Twenty years ago, Ryōkan-san had walked this same path on a day when he was young; now, he was walking it in the opposite direction.

Not only was the direction reversed; everything seemed to Ryōkan-san to be the opposite of how it had been twenty years before. At that time, he had not yet come to know the ways of the world. His heart had swelled with great hope. Now he had come to know the various sufferings of the human world. In his heart, there was no hope.……

Thinking there was so much work I had to do, I walked this path twenty years ago—but how much have I actually accomplished? When I thought this, I felt ashamed.

I have done nothing. Nothing that would benefit the people of the world.

Muttering this, Ryōkan-san sat down on a rock along the mountain path.

Far from having done nothing—I was unfilial to Father and Mother. When I told them, “I will study and surely become someone great,” they likely never imagined I would end my life as such an insignificant wandering monk. Mother must have died believing I would become a great monk. Father must have thought I would carry on his aspirations. No—truly, I am a good-for-nothing. A wretch like me has no choice but to live hidden away in some corner of this world. Let me stay hidden in that corner.

Ryōkan-san, quietly stepping out toward the sunlight with measured steps, was lost in thought. Suddenly, with a flutter, two sparrows came fluttering down right beside him. They flitted lightly over to the edge of Ryōkan-san’s wooden alms bowl placed on the rock. One perched on the edge while the other hopped inside and began pecking at the rice grains.

Ryōkan-san did not attempt to chase them away and simply continued to watch intently.

The next day，Sado Island appeared small and floating on the sea’s horizon. “At last，I have come to my hometown，” Ryōkan-san thought.

13. At Gogoan

The elderly Ryōkan-san came to live in a small hermitage called Gogoan. The hermitage was located halfway up a mountain called Kunagami, a short distance from his hometown of Izumozaki. What was the reason for the name Gogoan? Over a hundred years before that time, a great monk named Mangen had built that hermitage after completing a significant undertaking in order to retire. And Mangen Osho received five gō of rice each day and lived on just that, which is why he named the hermitage Gogoan, meaning "Five Gō." Therefore, the hermitage called Gogoan came to be known as a modest dwelling.

Ryōkan-san’s life in that hermitage was also extremely modest. We can clearly understand Gogoan through the poems that Ryōkan-san himself had composed about it. It was a poem with the following meaning.

Gogoan is lonely. Like a suspended stone instrument, precarious. Outside, there are only cedars, On the walls hang nothing but poems.

In the pot, dust accumulates, There are many days when no smoke rises from the hearth.

But in the eastern village there are friends, When the moon is out, they come to visit.

And just how stealthily did Ryōkan-san live there? One could understand by looking at Ryōkan-san's poems. Through moss-covered stones in the mountain's shadow, Faintly, I flow clear.

It meant that, like clear water flowing silently over moss-covered stones in the quiet mountain shade, I lived with clarity, making no sound.

However, Ryōkan-san did not merely live quietly. In his tranquil life, he never neglected his studies. He never neglected his spiritual cultivation.

In the morning, when he awoke, Ryōkan-san went to the small spring behind the hermitage, rinsed his mouth, and washed his face. It was a refreshing morning. The voices of small birds resonated through the forest like wooden clappers.

Then Ryōkan-san walked to a place where he could see the sea and Sado Island. Through the trees, the sea appeared to glisten silver. And above it was the nostalgic green Sado.

“Good morning, Mother.”

With such feelings, Ryōkan-san bowed his head toward Sado. By this time, Ryōkan-san had come to feel such nostalgia for Sado Island—where his mother had been born and spent her girlhood—that it was as if he were seeing his mother herself there.

Then Ryōkan-san changed direction slightly and faced southwest. And he bowed his head respectfully. Beyond several mountains and rivers and layers of clouds resides the Imperial Palace. Moreover, Kyoto was where his father—who had died in indignation after failing to fulfill his imperial loyalist aspirations—had spent his final days. The sun had already risen considerably. Light was shining into the thicket, brightening it. When Ryōkan-san returned to the hermitage, he opened the lid of the rice chest and looked inside. The rice he had received through alms-begging lay scattered at the bottom. When he tilted the chest toward a corner to look, he found there was still about two days' worth remaining. Ryōkan-san washed rice in a small earthen pot, placed it inside, and set it on the hearth.

The firewood, too, was pine needles and dried grass that Ryōkan-san himself had gathered. Ryōkan-san fed them into the hearth little by little, slowly. Just as one would feed grass to a rabbit. Ryōkan-san liked moments like these. When burning, the pine needles emitted a pleasant fragrance, and their flames somehow seemed more beautiful than those of other things. When he did this, he would inevitably feel compelled to turn his quiet, fulfilled life into a poem or song.

"I don’t want money or feasts— so my heart finds contentment."

Because I do not desire them, my heart is satisfied. Wanting this and wanting that— If I dwell on them, there’s no end, and in the end it becomes painful. Even simple food My stomach grows empty. Even plain clothes—I This is enough.

When loneliness comes, I retreat into the mountains to play with the deer. Then I descend again to the village,

I will sing songs with the children. Sometimes with spring water, I wash my ears. Then, the sound of the wind through the pines becomes even more refreshing.

A poem with such meaning had taken shape in Ryōkan-san’s mind by the time the rice was cooked. The rice was cooked, but to let it steam, it had to be left as it was for a while. Ryōkan-san went out into the garden without saying anything.

Ryōkan-san, who had been looking around here and there, suddenly noticed a bamboo shoot growing under the veranda. The roots of the bamboo grove must have burrowed all the way there, and from the tip of those roots, a bamboo shoot had sprouted. As Ryōkan-san looked at this bamboo shoot, he recalled a locust he had once seen by the riverbank and found himself amused. The locust sprang from Ryōkan-san’s feet with a springy bounce. That locust seemed quite skilled at jumping. And finally, having jumped too far, it fell into the river. Even so, the locust tried to jump. It seemed unable to distinguish between water and grass. However, no matter how much it kicked in the water, its efforts were futile. The locust was finally swept away. Surely this bamboo shoot must have been skilled at burrowing through the ground. Even if Mother’s bamboo had tried to stop it—"You mustn’t go that way"—it probably wouldn’t have listened. And finally, it had ended up sprouting in such a place. The tip had already reached the edge. By now, the bamboo shoot must be as startled as that locust plopping into the water.

Because it was so amusing, Ryōkan-san entered the hermitage laughing to himself. The rice must be perfectly steamed by now.

When he removed the lid, white steam billowed up to caress his face, and the savory aroma struck his nose. It seemed to have turned out well. “The poem turned out poorly, but the rice turned out well.” Muttering such jokes to himself, Ryōkan-san ate his modest breakfast. After finishing breakfast, he came to sit before his desk. It was to write down the poem he had composed earlier before he forgot it. He finished writing it all out on paper. He felt happy, thinking it had turned out quite well. However, there was one part he didn’t like. When he read it through smoothly from the beginning, he stumbled at that part. This part is really poor.

"The rice is good, but the poem's no good."

While muttering to himself, Ryōkan-san became completely absorbed in his poem. He could no longer hear the bush warbler that had come to sing in the garden, nor could he see the butterfly that had wandered in through the window and was slipping out the back door. He was solely focused on striving to improve the poor parts of the poem.

Then Ryōkan-san realized that for some time now, in a corner of his mind, he had been troubled by something else. I don’t know why, but something was weighing on my mind. Not knowing exactly what it was made him uneasy. It was just like when a flea is biting your back and you haven’t yet clearly realized it—a vague sort of unpleasantness.

Something was weighing on my mind. What on earth could that be?

Ryōkan-san threw down his brush and tilted his head. That thing is interfering with my attempt to compose a poem. If I don't quickly deal with that thing, this poem will never become something splendid.

"Ah! That's it."

After thinking about various things and suddenly realizing, Ryōkan-san let out a loud voice.

――It was about the bamboo shoot. A bamboo shoot that had grown from under the veranda and had gotten its head stuck...

No wonder I felt like my head was being pressed down somehow. That's right—this can't be left alone.

Ryōkan-san immediately rushed outside and ran as if hurrying toward Kokuzōji Temple, located a little further up the same mountain.

“Excuse me, but could you lend me a saw?”

When he saw the temple worker, Ryōkan-san said.

“What might you be doing?”

As he brought out a saw and handed it over, the temple worker asked. "Oh, there's a bamboo shoot that's sprouted under the veranda." "Bamboo shoot? If it's a bamboo shoot, you'd do better digging it up with a hoe, Ryōkan-san." "No no, this will do just fine."

Having borrowed the saw, Ryōkan-san returned to Gogō-an as if running.

Before long, the temple worker from Kokuzōji Temple, who was going on an errand to the village at the foot of the mountain, stopped by Gogō-an. “Ryōkan-san, did the bamboo shoot turn out all right?” “Ah, it went smoothly.”

"Ah, it went smoothly," came Ryōkan-san’s voice from within the hermitage.

The temple worker looked at the veranda and was shocked. It was not the bamboo shoot that had been cut, but the veranda. The part where the bamboo shoot's head had been touching had been cut out into a square. “Well, I never...” The temple worker stood dumbfounded. “In that case, the bamboo shoot must be relieved too. “My head feels lighter too. “While its head was stuck against the veranda, I couldn’t help feeling it was someone else’s problem—no, I felt as though my own head was being pressed down by someone.”

“I see.”

“Well, this should do. Thanks to that, the poem came together well too.”

Ryōkan-san was quite a character. No, he was quite a character. He was taking great care of the bamboo shoot from the veranda.

Thinking this, the temple worker went down the slope.

The temple worker’s astonishment did not end there. About half a month later, when the temple worker came to Gogō-an again, he was even more surprised than before. The bamboo shoot had grown to reach the eaves, where another hole had been made for it, allowing it to emerge leisurely atop the roof with its head held high. And there was Ryōkan-san, puffing briskly on his tobacco while looking up and down at the young bamboo as if beholding a dependable young man. No, Ryōkan-san was truly an astonishing person. He truly was an astonishing person.

Thinking this, the temple worker made his way up toward Kokuzōji Temple.

The next day, as Ryōkan-san was looking at the young bamboo and composing a poem about it, the sound of horse hooves could be heard from below the slope.

It must be someone heading to Kokuzōji Temple, but coming by horse is unusual. A samurai, perhaps?

As he thought this, the sound gradually drew nearer, and instead of ascending toward Kokuzōji Temple, it entered the garden of Gogō-an. “Ah, Yoshiyuki?”

He was Ryōkan-san’s immediately next younger brother. When he was young, he was called Saemon, but now he had changed his name to Yoshiyuki. By now, Yoshiyuki-san too, just like Ryōkan-san, had passed the prime of manhood and was beginning to grow old. After all, in their household, there was already a grown son named Manosuke training for the village headman position.

“Brother, what on earth is that bamboo?”

Yoshiyuki-san, too, was surprised by the bamboo on the veranda and asked while tying his horse to a tree in the garden. “Well, this one just happened to sprout under the veranda by mistake.” “I thought about cutting it up to put in miso soup and eat it, but since it went to the trouble of coming to my side, doing such a thing seemed pitiful, so…” “That’s absurd! “But it’s just a bamboo, isn’t it?” “Yeah, it’s bamboo, but isn’t bamboo just fine too?”

“That’s utterly absurd—I’m left speechless! You’ve gone and made holes in the veranda and even the eaves... All for the sake of a mere bamboo.”

Yoshiyuki-san came to the edge of the veranda and sat down. “You may call it just a single bamboo, but to me, bamboo, sparrows, cats, or children—they all seem equally like living beings, so dear.”

“I can’t take such talk seriously.” “What a preposterous whim.”

Yoshiyuki-san looked restlessly around the hermitage as if he had lost all interest in the bamboo conversation. And he said: “Brother, is a hermitage really supposed to be this empty?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s completely bare.” “Yeah, it’s bare.” “Do you need anything?” “There’s nothing I need.” “Can you truly live like this?” “As you see, I’m living exactly like this.”

“Is that so?”

Yoshiyuki-san, impressed, stepped up to get a better look inside and walked around. Even if one were to walk around, it would only take five or six steps to complete a full circuit. It was an exceedingly small hermitage. “Brother, are you truly not lacking anything?” “If there’s anything you want, please don’t hesitate to say so.” “I’ll have it delivered right away.”

“Yeah，thank you.” “But for now，I lack nothing.” “I am satisfied with this.” “The surroundings are quiet，with nothing to disturb my mind.” “I can breathe good air freely.” “Water always flows from the spring．Even when lying down，I can hear bush warblers and little cuckoos singing beautifully.” “When I go on alms rounds，everyone gives me rice.” “The children gladly play with me.” “In spring，flowers bloom，and autumn leaves delight my eyes.” “What a blessing this is.” “For someone like me who couldn’t do a single thing for society，it’s truly almost wasteful.” “So，I don’t wish for anything more.” “I live feeling grateful for everything．”

“Ah, I understand completely.” “If you yourself are satisfied, Brother, then that’s perfectly fine.” After that, Yoshiyuki-san made small talk for about thirty minutes,

“Well then, I’ll come again. Brother, since the weather is nice, please visit Izumozaki from time to time.”

With those words, he left.

After the sound of horse hooves had faded away, Ryōkan-san thought.

What on earth had Yoshiyuki come here for?

Yoshiyuki-san, jostled on the horse’s back as he descended Mount Kugami, thought.

What on earth had I come here for?

Yoshiyuki-san had been having a string of dreary days lately. The townspeople disliked him and his son Manosuke, opposing everything they proposed. Taxes proved stubbornly difficult to collect. To make matters worse, the townsfolk had taken their grievances to the magistrate, accusing Yoshiyuki-san and Manosuke of levying unjust taxes. Thus Yoshiyuki-san, finding no peace even at home with this restlessness gnawing at him, resolved to lay bare all his troubles before his brother Ryōkan-san. He had come seeking counsel on whether there might be some path through this thicket of troubles.

But what good would it do to consult Brother—the one who bores holes in verandas and eaves to let bamboo shoots grow? I might as well consult that cow tied up over there.

Amused by this thought, Yoshiyuki-san laughed to himself. When he emerged onto the plains, Yoshiyuki-san let the horse run for a while. Gradually slowing the horse's pace, "Wait a minute," he thought.

A life like Brother's—that might be humanity's true way of living. He lived without expressing desires, receiving only what heaven bestowed, and found contentment in that. He took joy in trees, small birds, and sunlight... When he thought carefully, Yoshiyuki-san realized his current suffering had begun where his desires grew too deep. He had collected excessive taxes from the townspeople. He had bought this very horse with that money. With those funds, he had gone sightseeing with his son Manosuke. Countless wants and desires still remained. This way, no matter how much tax he exacted from the townspeople, there would be no end.

This was certainly due to my mistaken approach. After all, Brother had taught me. That’s right—Brother truly was admirable.

Yoshiyuki-san brightened his face and looked around. Suddenly, the world appeared as if it had become beautiful.

Fourteen: Handball

When the rice ran out, Ryōkan-san would descend the mountain to beg for alms. He would stand at each household’s doorway, recite a short sutra, and receive pinches of rice or barley into his alms bowl.

In what attire did he go out for alms? By this time, Ryōkan-san had grown old and forgetful, so to avoid forgetting, he wrote down his belongings on a scrap of paper. In it was written roughly like this: Hood, hand towel, folding fan, handball, marbles, Conical hat, gaiters, arm sleeves, staff, Buddhist stole,

Tung oil, alms bowl, sack, When leaving the hermitage, if he did not read this carefully, he would surely face difficulties later.

Even if he had written them down in this manner, he did not carry all these items with him when he went out. On fine days, when making his rounds to nearby places, an alms bowl and a sack were all he needed. However, Ryōkan-san always made sure to take the handball and marbles with him whenever he went out. It was to play with children during his alms rounds or after finishing them. Ryōkan-san walked through nearby villages on alms rounds, going west one day and east the next. And everywhere he went, he made friends with the village children. Then too, he became friends with the sparrows on the eaves and in the tree branches.

The children would welcome Ryōkan-san whenever they saw him, but their manner of doing so differed from village to village. In one village, the foul-mouthed children jeered, “Hey, the monk’s here! The beggar monk’s here!” Yet their hearts remained untainted, placing one kaya nut or two peanuts into Ryōkan-san’s alms bowl. In another village, whenever they saw Ryōkan-san, the children joined hands to block the road in a game of keep-away. In yet another village, they endlessly marveled at his belongings—borrowing his staff to test walking with it, his conical hat to try wearing it, his alms bowl to roll about.

The children of Jizōdō Town, whom Ryōkan-san would occasionally visit, also had their own special way of welcoming him.

The children there, as soon as they saw Ryōkan-san, swiftly, “Ryōkan-san, one kan!” they shout.

Then Ryōkan-san，with a surprised look，toppled backward. It was an old agreement that required him to do so. This time，the children， “Ryōkan-san，two kan！” they shouted.

Then Ryōkan-san would fling himself backward even more dramatically than before. In this way, the children gradually increased their kan counts. As they did so, Ryōkan-san would sink deeper with each backward tumble, as though the weight on his back grew heavier by one kan at a time. And finally, the children said this.

“Ryōkan-san, ten kan.”

Ryōkan-san toppled backward to the point where he could fall no deeper. In other words, he ended up falling flat on his back against the ground. And then, it would seem that Ryōkan-san’s favorite handball and marbles games would begin with the children.

Today, Ryōkan-san came to Jizōdō Town. However, when Ryōkan-san came to the corner where he could see the wayside shrine where the children often played, he realized he had been careless.

"Oh no, I've done it now. I wasn't supposed to come here today."

This was because Ryōkan-san was wearing a newly made robe that day. His previous robe had been worn for about ten years and had become tattered, so Abe Shuzoemon, who was close to Ryōkan-san, had made him a new one this time. It was a fine robe that made a light, crisp sound with each step he took. "To make matters worse, it had just stopped raining."

Ryōkan-san looked at the ground. Everywhere was a little damp. "If I fall over here, my robe will be ruined." Yet Ryōkan-san could not turn back now. This was because another newly made item lay in his pocket. It was a handball.

Yesterday, as Ryōkan-san had some free time, he made a handball at Gojō-an. Even though it was just a handball, one could not make it without materials, so Ryōkan-san, who had nothing, had to ask others for them. So Ryōkan-san wrote a letter and had a farmer—who was just then cutting brushwood and heading down to the foothills—take it for him. The letter arrived at Mr. Abe Shuzoemon's residence. When Mr. Abe Shuzoemon opened it and looked,

“Yesterday, I gratefully received the new robe. This time, I humbly wish to make another request. Please deliver one needle, a large amount of white cotton thread, and small amounts each of yellow, blue, and red thread. Please deliver them as soon as possible.”

Such was the gist of what was written. Thinking that perhaps the hem of the robe had caught on something and torn, Mr. Abe Shuzoemon had his servant carry the requested items while... “The Zen Master is elderly, so such detailed work must be difficult for him. You should do it for him.” he said. The servant went up to Gojō-an. Ryōkan-san received the needle and thread from the servant, “Ah, thank you for your trouble. That’s enough now; you may go home.”

he said. The servant fidgeted restlessly while, “Even so, Ryōkan-san, my master instructed me to come and do the needlework.” “I can mend tabi socks or anything else, so please let me do it.”

replied the servant. “No, no. Since you have no more business here, go on over there.” Ryōkan-san said curtly. The servant, finding that no matter how much he pleaded Ryōkan-san would not let him do the work, said “I see,” rose from his seat, and left the earthen-floored area. However, thinking that he would be scolded by his master if he returned like this, he decided to go back only after seeing what Ryōkan-san was up to. He once made his footsteps resound as he went off in the opposite direction, but immediately softened his footsteps and returned toward the hermitage. And from the dim back entrance, he slipped inside like a thief-like cat and watched Ryōkan-san’s movements from behind the objects’ shadows.

Ryōkan-san was winding thread around a rolled-up piece of paper that served as the core. Round and round he wound it for what seemed an age. Even when it had formed a perfect sphere, the servant peering from behind stored items still couldn't fathom its purpose. What could he possibly be making? The servant watched in puzzlement. When the ball reached sufficient size, Ryōkan-san began embroidering intricate patterns with colored threads. He stitched with single-minded concentration, periodically stretching out his arm to inspect the work at a distance. Each time his elongated head wobbled comically from side to side during these inspections, the hidden servant found himself stifling involuntary snickers - until one particularly exaggerated tilt proved too much, and he burst out with a muffled "pfft!" At this sound, Ryōkan-san's face flushed crimson,

“You’re quite the rascal, aren’t you? “I’m embarrassed to be seen like this.” he said. “Ryōkan-san, what are you making there? You don’t mean to say it’s a handball, do you?” Ryōkan-san’s face flushed even more deeply, “It is indeed a handball.” and pulled out the half-finished ball from under his sleeve to show. This was how the handball came to be completed. And Ryōkan-san—who thought the ball’s shape and the floral patterns stitched with colored threads had turned out so splendidly that he could admire them himself—could scarcely bear his eagerness to join the children and bounce that beautiful new handball.

Yes, today would be a good day to tumble. Since the ground was muddy today, no matter how much the children pushed him, tumbling over should be all right. With that resolve firm in his heart, Ryōkan-san went to the side of the wayside shrine.

However, five or six girls who had been playing on the edge of the wayside shrine, just as usual,

“Ryōkan-san, one kan!”

When they shouted this, his earlier resolve weakened. It wasn’t that his resolve weakened gradually; rather, it crumbled all at once. So Ryōkan-san, as usual, fell over backward.

“Ryōkan-san, two kan!” “Well, there’s no helping it,” Ryōkan-san fell over backward even deeper.

“Ryōkan-san, three kan!” “Here we go!” Ryōkan-san tumbled backward. The count kept climbing higher.

“Ryōkan-san, ten kan!” _Here we go now, hup-la!_ Ryōkan-san sat down on his behind. And the back of his new robe was soiled with mud.

Oh dear, children are such hopeless creatures, Ryōkan-san thought. Muttering this under his breath, Ryōkan-san rose to his feet. And those hopeless children—Ryōkan-san loved them.

Then began the handball game Ryōkan-san had long awaited. At first he didn’t reveal the newly made handball. To astonish them all, he spent some time bouncing the worn old ball belonging to the girls while keeping his fresh creation concealed within his robe.

After playing rock-paper-scissors, Ryōkan-san was first to put out his hand. The handball made a nice thumping sound on the veranda boards.—Well now, just wait till I show them my ball—they'll be amazed—Ryōkan-san thought to himself as he quietly chuckled alone. When Ryōkan-san missed hitting and looked up, a bush warbler's cry sounded from somewhere.

“Why is the bush warbler singing at this time of year?” “Even though it’s already autumn.” said Ryōkan-san. “That’s not it, Ryōkan-san. Kiku-chan’s blowing a bush warbler flute.” “Look, over there behind that wall.”

When Ryōkan-san looked that way, a girl’s face flickered out of sight behind the earthen wall. Then she quietly showed half her face again and stared fixedly in this direction.

“All right, now it’s my turn to play.” “It’s Ryōkan-san’s turn to sing.” Ryōkan-san began singing a handball song there.

Across the way passes, Is it a pilgrim to Ise?

Is it a pilgrim to Kumano? Is it the pilgrim's satchel hanging on their shoulders?

... In front of Ryōkan-san’s nose, a girl was intently, rapidly bouncing a handball.

Then the bush warbler flute sounded again.

“Why is that child over there blowing a bush warbler flute all by herself? Won’t she come here and play with everyone?” Ryōkan-san asked this when the girl who had been hitting the handball missed and stopped. “But Kiku-chan doesn’t have a mother.”

“Even without a mother, isn’t it all right? She could just play with everyone.”

The girls exchanged glances for a moment. "But Kiku-chan doesn't have a handball."

said one of the girls. “Alright, now it’s my turn to hit.” said the third girl. The handball game began again. Ryōkan-san was now staring fixedly at the corner of the wall. There, he watched a friendly face with cute eyes that kept peeking in and out. The child blew the bush warbler flute again.

“Hoo, hoo-ke-kyo.” “Even though it’s not spring, why are you blowing a bush warbler flute?” Ryōkan-san wondered with pity for the child in his heart.

The children playing handball here despised that motherless child.—Just as adults often did, these children mistakenly scorned those who should have been pitied. That was what Ryōkan-san thought.

Ryōkan-san beckoned toward the two eyes behind the wall. The two black eyes just kept watching Ryōkan-san, blinking for a while. Ryōkan-san beckoned again and again. Then, as if uncertain whether to trust or doubt, the girl with the bush warbler flute gradually revealed herself and drew closer toward Ryōkan-san. The girl with the bush warbler flute came near the veranda where Ryōkan-san was sitting. And without even blinking, she stood staring into Ryōkan-san’s eyes.

“Your bush warbler flute makes such a lovely sound.” “But it’s odd to be blowing a warbler flute at this time of year.” “Let’s trade this of mine for yours.” With that, what Ryōkan-san drew from his pocket was the handball he had spent half of yesterday crafting.

The girl with the bush warbler flute gulped when she saw the handball. She wanted it. However, as if suspicious of Ryōkan-san’s true intentions, she shook her head and looked up.

“Go on, take it without hesitation.” The child saw the gentle hue of compassion held within Ryōkan-san’s large eyes. Then, taking the handball gently, she placed her small bush warbler flute—still damp—onto Ryōkan-san’s palm.

The girls who had stopped playing handball earlier immediately understood that what Ryōkan-san had done was right. They had been wrong—people must care for one another in this way—this they clearly understood in the depths of their hearts. “Can I make it sound?”

When Ryōkan-san clumsily blew the bush warbler flute, everyone burst out laughing. The child who had received the handball also laughed for the first time.

Chapter Fifteen: Mr. Kameda Bōsai's Visit

There was a great scholar named Kameda Bōsai in Edo. Because his calligraphy was excellent, he had a renowned reputation throughout the land.

One autumn, Mr. Kameda Bōsai was traveling through the northern provinces and came to Nagaoka in Echigo Province. As he walked along the busiest street in Nagaoka town, Mr. Kameda came across some magnificent characters unlike any he had seen before. At that, his feet came to a halt of their own accord.

It was the characters of an advertisement that a large merchant house by the roadside had posted on their shoji screens. It had been written like this with a thick brush.

“Vinegar, Soy Sauce, Jōshūya” What magnificent characters these were. The longer he looked, the more they captivated him—warm yet refined strokes that radiated gentle dignity. Such writing could only flow from a soul of true nobility and inner beauty. Who on earth had created such masterful calligraphy? Mr. Kameda Bōsai stepped closer to the posted notice and stood transfixed. He studied each vertical stroke and every dot of ink with reverent attention, committing their forms to memory through repeated contemplation. Having drunk his fill of this visual feast, he finally gathered his resolve and stepped through Jōshūya's entrance.

“I am a certain Kameda Bōsai from Edo...”

As Mr. Kameda Bōsai began to speak, a man who appeared to be the owner exclaimed, “Hah! You’re the renowned Mr. Kameda Bōsai! “Is that so.” “Please come inside.” “No need for introductions—I’ve long been acquainted with your esteemed name.”

said the shopkeeper. “Even in a place like this, they know my name,” Mr. Kameda Bōsai thought happily. “Actually, I came to trouble you after seeing the characters pasted on your shoji screen—who was it that wrote them?”

When he was shown to the inner room, Mr. Kameda Bōsai inquired. "That was written by the venerable monk named Ryōkan who dwells on Mount Kugami." "My father had him compose it on a certain occasion."

“Ryōkan...” “If it’s Zen Master Ryōkan, I’ve heard some about him myself.” “I see. So this is Zen Master Ryōkan’s brushwork?” “Is that so.” And Mr. Kameda was deeply impressed.

“We lack the knowledge to properly understand, but could those characters truly be so splendid, sir?”

“It is splendid. I have traveled to many places, but this is the first time I’ve encountered such fine characters by the roadside.” “Is that so, sir.”

“No, it’s wasteful to leave Zen Master Ryōkan’s calligraphy exposed in such a careless manner.” “I believe it would be best to have that properly stored away.” “But that is our shop’s signboard.” “If you like, I will write a replacement for you.” “My calligraphy is just right for a signboard.” “If you keep Zen Master Ryōkan’s calligraphy treated in such a manner, you’ll incur divine punishment.” “Is that so?”

Thereupon, Mr. Kameda had them put away what Ryōkan had written and instead wrote it himself exactly as it was.

Having left Jōshūya, Mr. Kameda Bōsai suddenly felt the desire to visit Ryōkan. Until now, he had heard that this person called Ryōkan wrote exceptionally fine characters and composed quite good poems, but since he was after all just a monk living in some backwater like Echigo, he had assumed there couldn’t be anything truly remarkable about him. But upon seeing the characters pasted on Jōshūya’s shoji screen, a feeling of reverence arose all at once. This man is a great master on a completely different level from someone like me. I should have him teach me various things.

Mr. Kameda Bōsai hired a horse and went to Mount Kugami. He arrived at its foothills as the setting autumn sun cast its crimson light, when the mountain’s maple leaves appeared all the more red and beautiful.

Dismounting from his horse, Mr. Kameda Bōsai began climbing the narrow mountain path with bamboo and trees growing thickly on both sides. The surroundings were quiet, with no one descending the path. Chestnut burrs lay scattered along the way.

"It must be because he resides in such quiet mountains that he can produce such profoundly nuanced and excellent calligraphy," thought Mr. Kameda Bōsai. A small hermitage stood by the path’s edge, so Mr. Kameda Bōsai strode briskly into its garden and—

“Excuse me, but might Zen Master Ryōkan’s dwelling lie further up this path?”

he asked. “Ryōkan is here,” “And this humble one here is none other than Ryōkan.” replied the long-faced, shabby monk, remaining meekly seated in the center of the room. Mr. Kameda was surprised. He had thought Ryōkan would be living in a much grander residence. Even the characters he himself wrote could fetch a fairly good price. Zen Master Ryōkan wrote such splendid characters that he must have had good financial circumstances; he must have built a grand house to live in—so Kameda had thought.

When Mr. Kameda gave his name, "Oh, so you are Mr. Kameda Bōsai." "Well, you've come all this way."

With that, Ryōkan-san stood up for the first time. “You must be tired from your journey. Well, please wash your feet.” “Please wash with this water.” While saying this, when Ryōkan-san drew water from the back door and brought it, the vessel was a suribachi. “Wouldn’t this be… a suribachi?”

Mr. Kameda Bōsai, who was in the process of untying the straps of his straw sandals, asked again in surprise. “Ah, it’s a suribachi.”

“By ‘suribachi,’ would this not be that miso-grinding suribachi?” “It’s a miso suribachi.” “No, this is outrageous. “In that case, I cannot wash my feet with this.” “Ah, my apologies. “We’re poor here—no proper washbasins or buckets—so we make do with this suribachi for most needs. “We wash our faces with it, scrub our hands, rinse our mouths, shake dust from our feet, and grind miso too. “But to unfamiliar eyes, it must seem unsightly. “No, the fault was mine. “There’s a spring out back—please wash there.”

Ryōkan-san apologized as though he were genuinely remorseful. As he washed the dust from his feet with the spring water, Mr. Kameda thought: Why does someone who writes such exquisite calligraphy as Zen Master Ryōkan live this destitute life where he must wash his feet in a suribachi? If one took his works to Edo, the Zen Master's calligraphy would surely command excellent prices.

Then began a conversation about calligraphy between the two men. As both loved writing characters, their discussion seemed endless. They even took up brushes and wrote their thoughts on a single sheet of paper. Midway through their talk, Mr. Kameda Bōsai inquired— "Do you not sell your calligraphy on tanzaku or hanshi?" When he posed this question, Ryōkan-san replied— "I've never once considered such matters, you see. Thanks to the alms everyone bestows upon me, I live without privation. Thus I gladly write characters for those who desire them." "Though naturally, when unwell, I cannot write at all."

he answered.

Then Mr. Kameda Bōsai,

“How about coming to Edo?” “With such skill in your hands, a hundred or two hundred disciples would gather at once.” “You’d blaze forth and become famous.”

When he invited him, Ryōkan-san, “No, I do not wish to become suddenly famous, you see.” “I have not been able to do even one thing that benefits the world; being truly useless as I am, I consider it a blessing just to be allowed to live quietly here in these mountains, you see.” he answered. When told that, Mr. Kameda had nothing more to say.

Since both of them not only loved calligraphy but also enjoyed sake, when night fell, it was decided that Ryōkan-san would go to buy some.

“Well then, I’ll make a quick run to the village at the foot of the mountain, so you just hum a tune and wait here for me.”

With that, Ryōkan-san went out, carrying a sake flask.

It was a windless, quiet night. Around the hermitage, insects could be heard. Even within the hermitage, a cricket chirped. A single cricket hopped pit-a-pat across the straw mat and settled beneath the lamp that Mr. Kameda gazed at with a lonely heart. A long time passed.

The sound of wild geese came from overhead. Mr. Kameda Bōsai had grown completely weary of waiting.

What could have happened? Even if it was the village at the foot of the mountain, it was well past the time he should have returned.

Finally unable to wait any longer, Mr. Kameda left the hermitage and set out toward the foot of the mountain to meet him. A short way ahead, there was a small open area, and from there, the view below was excellent.

Someone sat down at the base of the pine tree there and was gazing at the refreshingly risen moon.

“Is that not Zen Master Ryōkan?” Mr. Kameda called out. “Ah. “It’s me.” “Look! It’s a beautiful moon.” “What a fine moon!”

Ryōkan-san did not take his eyes off the moon. “It’s a beautiful moon. The moon is lovely, but did you manage to get the sake?” When Mr. Kameda said this, Ryōkan-san started as if struck in the chest, then grabbed the sake flask that had been placed beside him and dashed off toward the foot of the mountain. Ryōkan-san had been so entranced by the moon that he had forgotten about the sake. “Well, really...” Mr. Kameda, who had stayed behind, thought with a wry smile. For the renowned Kameda Bōsai, this was the first time he had ever been made to wait and forgotten. There was no competing with Zen Master Ryōkan.

However, because of this, Mr. Kameda Bōsai grew to like Ryōkan-san even more and came to respect him all the more.

What became of the advertisement that Mr. Kameda Bōsai had written for Jōshūya? Then one day again, a passerby’s eye was caught by Jōshūya’s “Vinegar, Soy Sauce, Jōshūya.” That person said this and entered Jōshūya.

“The calligraphy pasted on the front of the shoji screen appears to be Mr. Kameda Bōsai’s work, is that not the case?”

That was Maki Ryoko, who was also a person skilled in calligraphy.

Mr. Maki made remarks similar to those Mr. Kameda had made about Ryōkan-san’s calligraphy. “Is there any rule that permits leaving Mr. Kameda’s calligraphy out in public like this? I’ll write a replacement for you, so store that one away.” Consequently, Mr. Kameda’s “Vinegar, Soy Sauce, Jōshūya” was stored away, and Mr. Maki’s “Vinegar, Soy Sauce, Jōshūya” was put up.

However, Mr. Maki’s “Vinegar, Soy Sauce, Jōshūya” could not remain on display for passersby to see for very long either. Before long, a calligraphy teacher named Tomikawa Ōmisoka also came along, had Mr. Maki’s “Vinegar, Soy Sauce, Jōshūya” put away, and had his own written “Vinegar, Soy Sauce, Jōshūya” displayed. From this, one could see how exceptional a calligrapher Ryōkan-san had been—he who had first written the advertisement.

Sixteen: The Boatman's Test

Busuke-san, the ferryman, was an arrogant man. But the worst thing about Busuke-san was his incorrigible habit of contradicting whatever anyone said. For example, if someone were to say,

“At that house over there, I hear a baby was born with a mark on the sole of their foot.” “Isn’t that an auspicious sign?” “They’re certain to come into good fortune before long.”

When he heard people talking like this, Busuke-san would immediately feel compelled to contradict them. He himself understood that it would be better not to say anything, but the words would rise up in his throat so badly that he could practically taste them—there was simply no helping it. And so,

“What’s so auspicious about that? A thing with a mark on its foot’s just a cat’s reincarnation or some such. Nothin’ good’ll come of it. Mark my words—that house’s fortunes’ll come crashin’ down soon enough.” he ended up saying.

In truth, there was no way to tell whether a household’s fortune would improve or worsen just because a baby was born with a mark on the sole of its foot. However, be that as it may, when contradicted in this manner by Busuke-san, the person who had started speaking would surely take offense.

Now, one day, Busuke-san ended up giving in to this bad habit again.

Three villagers boarded Busuke-san’s boat. And while smoking tobacco, the three began talking about the monk named Ryōkan-san.

“Ryōkan-san is an admirable person,” said one villager. “A truly admirable person never speaks grandiosely—he neither preaches nor lectures others. He simply remains silent... yet still manages to influence those around him.” Another villager inquired: “So Ryōkan-san is truly such a man? I heard he was originally born as the eldest son of Izumozaki’s village headman before leaving home at eighteen to train as a monk across Japan for many years—returning to Echigo just three or four years past.”

“That’s right. And Ryōkan-san doesn’t put on airs at all. Suppose Ryōkan-san visits someone’s house. Then he’ll do servant-like work—sweep their garden, mind their baby, even heat their bathwater—all those sorts of tasks. And when he does this, strangely enough, the household’s mood grows peaceful—any quarrels they might’ve had just melt away naturally.”

“Then that’s just like spring sunlight itself, isn’t it.” The person who had asked looked up at the sky as he spoke. The gentle spring sunlight—not harsh—streamed down upon the river and over the withered grass of the embankment on the opposite bank.

“Such stories are lies—how could such a person exist in this world?—” Busuke-san, the boatman, who had been listening silently, muttered under his breath. “He truly is like the sunlight of spring, isn’t he.” “When you’re near him, you feel warm and cheerful inside.” “As proof of that, when Ryōkan-san sits by the roadside, the sparrows—you know, those flying about there—perch on his shoulders or hands and play as if completely at ease.” “For creatures like sparrows to grow attached—that’s something only a Buddha-like person can achieve.”

"That’s all nonsense—if it were true, then that monk Ryokan was an utter fool! Sparrows perched on his shoulders or hands, and he didn’t even try to catch them—" Busuke-san was dying to say. The words were already on the tip of his tongue, but unfortunately, just at that moment, the boat reached the opposite shore.

There crouched a dark-complexioned elderly monk, hunched against the cold with a wooden alms bowl resting on his lap. "Oh, Ryōkan-san!" The person who had been speaking about Ryōkan-san until now said this as they disembarked from the boat. "Ah, good day, Shukamon-san." "We were just talking about you in the boat." "Speak of the devil, as they say." "Absolutely." "Where are you heading now?" "Since the weather is fine, I set out wandering about for alms."

“If you’re crossing by boat, better board quick.”

Boatman Busuke-san said curtly. Busuke-san was angry because he hadn’t been able to voice his thoughts in even a single word. “Well then, excuse me. I’ll see you again before long.”

Having said that, Ryōkan-san boarded the boat.

Busuke-san steered with the pole while watching Ryōkan-san out of the corner of his eye. Ryōkan-san crouched low at the bow, gazing up and down the river's length. "What's this? Having this shitty monk nearby doesn't make me feel any warmer at all," he muttered under his breath as Busuke-san spitefully rocked the boat violently back and forth.

Ryōkan-san, startled as the boat began rocking violently, grabbed onto the gunwale.

“This boat does rock quite a bit, doesn’t it.” “Yeah, it does rock a lot.” “Small boats do rock a lot.”

Busuke-san suddenly thought of something bad. The idea was to shake Ryōkan-san off into the river and make him angry. He'd surely fly into a rage. If he were to get angry, wouldn't he just be an ordinary person?

The boat reached the middle of the river. Busuke-san stopped rocking the boat to put Ryōkan-san at ease. Ryōkan-san let go of the gunwale and gazed at the water's surface again. "Ah, a butterfly." "The little butterfly crosses the river, I tell you." "Off to pay Ohigan respects, perhaps." "It's a fine day, isn't it."

Ryōkan-san narrowed his eyes and watched a small white object pass by. Then he spoke again.

“When spring comes to the river, the snowmelt swells its waters, doesn’t it. When the water overflows like this and flows leisurely, it feels wonderful, I tell you.”

Suddenly, the boat rocked violently. Ryōkan-san fell into the water with a splash and realized that "overflowing water like this feeling wonderful" was not the case. Because the water was deep and his feet couldn't reach the bottom, Ryōkan-san flailed his arms and legs to avoid sinking.

"Monks really are lousy swimmers," Busuke-san thought, watching for a while. But since it would be terrible if Ryōkan-san drowned, he finally extended the pole toward him at the critical moment. Ryōkan-san grabbed onto it and boarded the boat. "Well then, a fight's about to kick off between this monk and me," Busuke-san braced himself as he stood there. However, no fight broke out.

“I’m so sorry, and thank you for saving me. If you hadn’t extended the pole to me, I would’ve drowned right then and there, I tell you.” “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” Ryōkan-san said gratefully. Then he sneezed three times in quick succession. “No, no,” Busuke-san answered brusquely. “Truly, you’re the savior of my life. I’m so grateful, so grateful. Even an old bone like me still doesn’t want to die, I tell you.” “How foolish of me, I tell you.” “You must’ve found it funny watching me.”

“No, no. “No one likes to die.”

Busuke-san, who had expected a fight to break out, found his vigor drained away and was merely paying lip service. When the boat reached the shore, Ryōkan-san thanked Busuke-san once more and, shivering violently from the cold, climbed up the embankment. As he watched the retreating figure grow smaller and smaller, Busuke-san stood motionless in the boat, lost in thought, until eventually— “Hmph, what the hell’s with that monk?”

he muttered. Busuke-san couldn’t understand what had happened.

Around the time a light flickered on in Busuke-san’s small house amidst the rice fields at the edge of the village, Busuke-san returned home.

"Oh! You startled me. Why do you have to come lumbering in like a cow again?" said Okami, who was preparing dinner in the kitchen. Busuke-san silently went inside, turned his head toward the main pillar, and flopped down. In the front rice field, frogs were croaking hesitantly. They would croak repeatedly, then fall silent for a long time. Busuke-san vacantly listened to their croaking. "It’s all ready now."

Okami-san called from the kitchen. Busuke-san stood up and went over, sat down before the meal tray, and silently took his chopsticks. “It’s your favorite—river snails in miso dressing.” Okami found it tedious that Busuke-san was just eating in silence and said, “Uh-huh.”

Busuke-san replied heavily.

And when he had eaten two bowls of rice, he said he wanted no more. “Is something wrong? Ain’t ya feelin’ poorly?” Okami-san asked while intently studying Busuke-san’s face—the face of a man who would normally wolf down seven bowls in one go.

“Uh-huh.”

Busuke-san replied heavily again.

“Does your stomach hurt?(n)” “It’s not my stomach.” “So then, is your head bothering you?(n)” “Nah, not really.” “So then, does it feel like something’s pressing down on your chest?(n)” “Nah, not really.”

“So then, where exactly does it hurt?(n)” “I don’t really know where.”

However, something was indeed wrong with him. Where had it hurt? What inside Busuke-san had been causing him pain? That was Busuke-san’s conscience. It was Busuke-san’s conscience, hidden deep within his chest. "I ended up dropping such a gentle monk into the water. What have I done?" The conscience spoke from deep within his chest.

When dinner ended, Busuke-san said he was going to bed and got under the covers.

Go to sleep. By tomorrow morning I'll probably forget all about it, and my mind will feel clear again. That's what Busuke-san thought.

However, Busuke-san couldn't sleep. Even though he kept his eyes tightly shut, he didn't feel the slightest bit sleepy. He tossed and turned repeatedly, sighing each time. And the night gradually deepened.

Suddenly, Busuke-san got up, went out, and put on his straw sandals.

“Where’re you off to at this hour?”

Okami-san set aside what she had been sewing on her lap and asked.

“Kokujōzan.” “Huh? Kokujōzan? Why on earth are you suddenly going all the way out there?” Busuke-san briefly explained how he had dumped Ryokan-san from the boat earlier that day. And then he explained how Ryokan-san, unexpectedly instead of getting angry, had actually thanked Busuke-san. “I was an idiot. “I’ve done a terrible thing. “So now I’ll go to that monk’s place and apologize.”

Okami-san also acknowledged that Busuke-san’s actions had been wrong. “You always have to contradict whatever others say, don’t you? It’s a terrible habit of yours.”

However, she tried to stop him, saying that if he was going to apologize, he should do so tomorrow instead of going out so late at night. “No, I’m going now.” “I can’t just lie here with this guilt eating at me anymore.”

With that, Busuke-san went out into the bright moonlit night.

The village was quiet, with only the sound of threshing straw coming from somewhere.

Busuke-san boarded the boat alone and pulled out the standing pole. The boat moved into the middle of the river. “This must be cold,” he muttered to himself, gazing at the water’s surface awhile before—splash!—Busuke-san jumped in. The moonlight rippling on the water gradually stilled, leaving only the unmanned boat floating on the mirror-like surface. Then suddenly, Busuke-san’s head popped up like a kappa’s as he darted toward the boat.

When he boarded the boat, Busuke-san shuddered violently, shook his entire body, and wrung out his clothes,

“With this, my mind has become a little lighter,” he muttered. But that monk had been caught off guard and hadn't known how to swim—he must have suffered even more. “I’m sorry... I’m so sorry,” he added.

Ryokan-san awoke to the sound of knocking on the door. It was still midnight.

Outside seemed to be a moonlit night, and the knots in the door glowed with a bluish-white light. “Good evenin’ aa, good evenin’ aa.”

Someone was calling from outside. “Who could that be at this hour? Could you be a thief?” “That ain’t it. It’s me—the boatman from earlier today. Open up here.” “Oh ho! I thought you were a thief, but you’re the boatman.” Ryokan-san opened the door and let the boatman inside. Then the boatman suddenly prostrated himself at Ryokan-san’s feet with a thud, startling him. “I’m truly sorry. Monk. I’m truly sorry. This here’s how it is. Please forgive me.”

The boatman pressed his forehead to the ground.

Ryokan-san flustered, “What on earth have you done?” “You’re prostrating yourself like the Red Oni surrendering to Momotaro… What in the world is this all about?”

Busuke-san explained that he had intentionally rocked the boat and caused Ryokan-san to fall into the river. Because Ryokan-san hadn't gotten angry but had instead thanked him, Busuke then spoke of how guilt had tormented him ever since. He told how he couldn't sleep despite trying, and had come to apologize despite his wife's attempts to stop him. He also described jumping into the river's center as minimal atonement, returning thoroughly soaked. "Ah, I see. So that's what happened. No no—you're quite an admirable fellow. Come now, do come in. I'll build up the hearth fire—dry your clothes and stay at my place tonight."

Ryokan-san helped the boatman up and added firewood to the hearth. "You didn't need to go through all that trouble. You saved me, and I'm overjoyed." "Monk, you're truly good-hearted. Everything those people said about me is true. Though we're both born human, compared to you—what a wicked-hearted sinner I am. When others say one thing, I say another; when they say another, I contradict them—a disposition beyond my control. My heart is rotting away."

“No, no, that is not true. In every person, there are two hearts—a good one and a bad one. Indeed, your compulsion to contradict whatever others say stems from your bad heart, but your inability to sleep tonight due to a troubled conscience—that is your good heart. At your core, you are a good person. It is just that your outward manner is somewhat rough. We humans, you see, should restrain our bad hearts and nurture our good ones. That is what I think.”

Busuke-san listened while nodding.

Truly, this monk was right. From now on, he resolved, he must become a good person.

Seventeen Violets

As Ryokan-san aged, he came to be respected by people. Everyone thought Ryokan-san was a great person. Ryokan-san had not done any particularly extraordinary deeds that would astonish people. Ryokan-san's greatness was unassuming and inconspicuous, like a thread so thin it was nearly invisible, or a spring rain that falls with quiet persistence. The spring rain moistens the soil black and coaxes the grass and trees to bud. Ryokan-san’s character, in much the same way, would moisten the hearts of those around him, gently calm their parched spirits, and before they knew it, nurture buds of hope and joy—such was his manner.

Among those esteemed as great in the world, there are indeed people who accomplish grand deeds through firm willpower—yet it is not that there are none among them who lack humanity. However, Ryokan-san was different from such people. Ryokan-san never lost his humanity to the very end.

One day, Ryokan-san was walking along a solitary path through the fields. He had visited the home of an acquaintance he hadn’t seen in a long time, but unfortunately, they were out, so with no particular destination in mind, he wandered aimlessly. A single white, billowing cloud drifted in the sky. In the field, only Ryokan-san’s figure could be seen. There was nothing else. The spring breeze was blowing lightly. There was something glinting in the distance. It was blades of grass and water. Ryokan-san was walking absentmindedly. Then, suddenly, something occurred to him.

"He had once heard someone say, 'Finding a bird-eye coin on the road brings great joy.'" Recalling this, Ryokan-san wanted to try the experiment right away. Fortunately, there was no one around.

Ryokan-san took out the bird-eye coin he had received earlier at the farmer’s house from his bowl and threw it onto the road. And picked it up. “Oh, this isn’t the least bit enjoyable.” he muttered to himself. In reality, he wasn’t the least bit happy. He thought he would try once more. This time, he threw it a bit farther away. The bird-eye coin hit a stone, clinked, and flipped over. Ryokan-san picked it up again. “Oh, this isn’t the least bit enjoyable.”

Maybe my approach was flawed—let me try once more. This time, he threw it even farther. At the same time, he shut his eyes. There was a clinking sound. Then he gently opened his eyes and looked.

“Oh?” The bird-eye coin had hidden itself somewhere. It was no longer visible on the road. Ryokan-san ran to the area where the bird-eye coin had fallen. And searched all around. The bird-eye coin was not easily found. "This is a problem."

Ryokan-san scratched his head as he searched through the grass. Before long, he finally found the bird-eye coin. It lay hidden under violet leaves bearing small purple flowers. "Oh! So it was you violets hiding it?" As he said this, Ryokan-san returned the bird-eye coin to his bowl.

This concluded the experiment. And as a result,Ryokan-san came to understand that what people say—"Finding coins on the road brings joy"—was indeed true. "No," he murmured,"absolutely." "Yes," he affirmed,"it's entirely true."

Even so, why am I out here in the middle of this field doing such a thing? Ryokan-san looked up at the clouds and pondered for a moment, but found no answer. Then, putting his bowl beside him, he began picking violets. First, he picked the violet that had hidden the bird-eye coin under its leaves. Then, he picked those growing nearby one by one. Gradually, the purple violet flowers accumulated in Ryokan-san’s hands.

“Still more here. Ah, still more over there.” There was no end to them. Ryokan-san became engrossed in picking violets and forgot the passage of time. Before long, when the flowers had accumulated enough to overflow his hands and his back began to ache, Ryokan-san stood up and saw that, without him noticing, the sky had been dyed crimson with dusk.

"Oh, it's already dusk," he thought. "The wind has grown colder too." "Well then—best make haste." Ryokan-san hunched forward and quickened his pace along the country path.

Before long, he entered a village. In the village, within the stillness, there lingered somehow both the sounds of dusk and a hurried bustle. Along the hedge that Ryokan-san followed, sparrows seeking shelter for the night were still restless, flapping their wings noisily.

Ryokan-san was looking for children. He had wanted to share the violets with the children.

While tapping the earthen wall, a boy came from the opposite direction. “Hey, boy, how about some violets?” Ryokan-san said as he held them out. The child knew Ryokan-san well. He was a kind-hearted monk who always played with them. However, it was now dusk. The child longed for home. He was hungry. “I don’t want any violets.” The child said that and walked past.

Ryokan-san searched for another child. Then, before long, a nursemaid carrying a baby on her back came from the opposite direction. Because the baby was crying, she came with a face that looked like she wanted to cry herself, singing a lullaby as she walked.

“How about some violets?” Ryokan-san said and held out the violets again.

If it were daytime, the nursemaid would play handball with Ryokan-san. But now it was dusk. Moreover, the baby on her back was crying. She too wanted to cry. “Ryokan-san, I don’t need them.” Saying this through tears, the nursemaid walked past. Ryokan-san then encountered three or four children. Each time he encountered someone, he offered violets. And from every child, he was told, “I don’t need them.”

Ryokan-san finally gave up and, clutching the bouquet of violets in both hands, decided to return to the Five-Measure Hermitage in the mountains. Even so, why did I do such a thing? I picked so many violets, trying to give them one by one to the children... Ryokan-san looked at the violets, now blackened in the evening gloom, and thought. But he couldn’t quite grasp it. Ryokan-san trudged toward the Five-Measure Hermitage. His legs felt terribly heavy.

When dusk fell, all the children eagerly headed home. However, even though I told myself I was returning to my own home, I didn't feel the slightest bit of joy. Because there was no one waiting for me in my home. With that thought, he climbed the lonely mountain path.

Ryokan-san pushed open the brushwood door with a creak and entered the Five-Measure Hermitage. Inside had grown dark. And not a single sound could be heard. Ah well, even when it grows dark, no one lights a lamp. Is this my dwelling? Was I really living in a place like this? Ryokan-san removed his straw sandals and stepped up into the hermitage, but lacking even the energy to light the lamp, sat blankly with the bouquet of violets resting on his knees. Before long, there was the sound of footsteps outside, and someone came to the hermitage.

“Ryokan-san.” “Oh, who could it be? Hmm?”

When Ryokan-san heard a human voice, he suddenly regained his energy and stood up.

The one who entered was a familiar farmer.

“This must be your bowl, Ryokan-san.” “Oh, that’s mine!” Ryokan-san had been picking violets and had forgotten his bowl out in the fields. “Just as I thought. “This bowl looked familiar—so it really was yours after all.” “Thank you—that’s very kind of you. “I was picking violets and forgot it here. “Well, come on up.”

Ryokan-san made the farmer come up inside by force. Then he lit the lamp and boiled tea. “It’s still before supper, so I can’t linger.” “Now, now, don’t say such things. If cold rice will do, I’ve got some here—have a bite before you go.”

Ryokan-san persistently tried to stop the farmer.

The farmer looked around the Five-Measure Hermitage and, “Ryokan-san, living day after day, night after night in a place like this—well now, it’s a wonder you aren’t lonely.” said the farmer.

“Ah, that’s right. “I just came back from outside and was thinking the very same thing myself. “I must say, it’s a wonder I managed to stay in a place like this all alone.” “Mr. Kimura from Shimazaki Village mentioned that there’s a small detached house within his estate, and if you’d be willing, Ryokan-san, he’d like you to move in.”

“Yeah, I’ve also heard from Mr. Kimura.” “You should by all means go to Mr. Kimura’s place.” “Yeah, thank you.”

After drinking tea, the farmer left. While the farmer was there，Ryokan-san’s heart had been light，but once alone，he sank back into despondency. Why am I like this? Now，I clearly understood. Ryokan-san longed for people. Being alone was lonely. In my younger days，I had trained myself to endure loneliness. I had striven to remain unfazed by any loneliness. And in those days，I could manage that too. However，perhaps because I had grown old，I had once again become unable to bear the loneliness. In the end，I was a weak human who could not exist alone.

Ryokan-san went outside to look at the village at the foot of the mountain.

A faint brightness still lingered in the sky. Beneath that lingering light, a flock of birds flew westward. A single lagging bird was seen desperately struggling to keep up, striving not to be left behind. And soon it vanished from sight. "We humans are just like those birds," Ryokan-san thought. ――We humans cannot live all alone. We all must come together and help each other to live on.

For no particular reason, tears spilled from Ryokan-san’s eyes. And when he directed his tear-blurred eyes downward, the small lights of houses across the plain appeared clustered together here and there.

I will go there. I will go and rely on the house in Shimazaki Village that has offered to welcome me. Like a lone bird lagging behind, I will go and cling to the company of others. Tears streamed ceaselessly from Ryokan-san’s eyes, and the lights of the houses across the plain blurred into a single glow.

At the end of this book,

What I wanted to talk about has roughly come to an end here.

Now, I ask that you recall the homework I presented at the beginning of this book. It was as follows.

“What makes Ryokan-san great?” Have you come to understand Ryokan-san’s greatness? If you have come to understand, it would make me very happy indeed.

Even if you do not comprehend Ryokan-san's greatness, could it be that through reading this tale, you have nevertheless grown fond of Ryokan-san? For my part, I would find this satisfying enough. Should you find neither greatness in Ryokan-san nor affection for him, I would feel profound regret. Yet this would reflect not any failing in Ryokan-san himself, but rather my own inadequacy in conveying his story. Therefore, you must not form your judgment of Ryokan-san based solely upon this volume. Many other works chronicling Ryokan-san's life remain extant.

When you are a little older, it would be good for you to read the books about Ryokan-san written by Mr. Soma Gyofu, Mr. Nishigori Kyugo, Mr. Tsuda Seifu, and other scholars. Those are exceptionally superb books. Had those not existed, I likely would not have been able to write this book at all. Well then, I will conclude my story here.