Pathway to Japanese Literature

Preface to This Book

There was a monk named Ryōkan who lived about one hundred and fifty years ago. This book contains writings about that monk.

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

Now then, would Mr. Ryōkan described in this book be considered great? Indeed, adults declared Mr. Ryōkan was great. Various tales about Mr. Ryōkan still linger around Izumozaki in Niigata Prefecture where he once lived. They say if you ask locals there, "Who were Echigo's great figures?" they'll answer: "Uesugi Kenshin and Mr. Ryōkan." Yet as you read this book, you'll likely grow perplexed. You'll probably wonder: "What makes this monk remarkable?" If this beggar-like monk counts as great, someone might argue every tramp and vagrant nearby must be equally splendid.

Having said that, you must not discard this book midway. Please bear with it a little longer and continue reading. In any case, adults say that Mr. Ryōkan was great. Not only that, but the extent of Mr. Ryōkan's greatness is something even adults do not yet fully understand.

That's right—in fact, you might be the ones to swiftly discern Mr. Ryōkan's true greatness. You might understand things adults haven't even noticed. After all, your eyes as children aren't clouded at all—they're perfectly clear. I intend to ask you all at this book's end whether you've understood what makes Mr. Ryōkan remarkable. When that time comes, I hope every one of you will raise your hands together, just like when asked arithmetic or reading questions in class.

One more thing—before I tell you about Mr. Ryōkan, there was something I wanted to explain. I had mentioned that many varied stories about Mr. Ryōkan remained, but for some reason, all of them concerned events from after he had grown old. Only tales of Mr. Ryōkan as an elderly man survived, while stories of what he had been like as a child had not been preserved at all. Perhaps in some household's storehouse there might still be a book written about Mr. Ryōkan's boyhood tucked away, but as yet no one knew of such a book. Therefore, much about Mr. Ryōkan's boyhood remained unclear.

But you all probably wanted to hear about Mr. Ryōkan's boyhood as well. So I decided to let you hear it. Imagining that Mr. Ryōkan's childhood was likely like this and such things probably happened, I resolved to tell you all that story.

So, I will begin the story from Mr. Ryōkan's boyhood.

April 29, 2601 (Imperial Year)

Niimi Nankichi

Handball

Through mist-veiled endless spring days, with children I passed today too, bouncing a handball Bowl Child In spring fields plucking violets—the Bowl Child Left forgotten there—ah, Bowl Child Ryōkan

I. The Storehouse

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

In that town of Izumozaki, there was a house of proper lineage that had continued for dozens of generations. The local people referred to it as Tachibana-ya. For generations before, Tachibana-ya had served both as the village headman and as a Shinto priest. The local people respected Tachibana-ya. The house was large and old, and it stood near the coast where the waves of the Japan Sea broke.

Over 170 to 180 years ago, a boy was born in Tachibana-ya. The household rejoiced and named him Eizo. This must have been meant to signify that through this child, Tachibana-ya would prosper in the future; for although it had long flourished, by that time it was beginning to decline.

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

Then, one day when he returned from playing, Eizo was surprised to hear that a brother had been born. The name Saemon was given to the brother. 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 brothers and sisters became six altogether.

Eizo, still about seven years old, went to play at the nearby temple on a warm day when spring was approaching.

About ten children were sitting on the sunlit steps in front of the temple hall, making noise. Eizo, following his usual habit, was watching everyone from a slight distance with gentle eyes. The small hands, still not fully healed from chilblains and with nothing to do, were tucked beneath the apron.

Among the about ten children was a dark-skinned, guileless-faced child who had only recently moved from Sado Island. The children gathered around the child and were listening to stories about Sado Island.

“So, Kaku-chan, what did your father do?” “He was working at a gold mine.”

Kaku-chan answered. “So in the gold mines—if you dig, do gold coins just come clattering out endlessly?” “Yeah, they come clattering out.” “But they’re not gold coins.” “They’re gold clumps.” “They pound and flatten those into gold coins, don’t they?” “Hmm.” They swallowed their saliva in awe. They fell silent for a while. In their eyes, they could almost see the gold glittering in the sunlight as it emerged from the tip of the hoe.

Eizo was also listening intently. Eizo truly wanted to ask Kaku-chan, who had come from Sado Island, about the town called Aikawa on Sado Island. Because Eizo’s mother had been born in that town. “There’s a town called Aikawa in Sado, right?” He wanted to say that and ask. 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, everyone would burst into laughter at his words. They would say things like his speech was girlish or slow-witted. And sometimes, as they ran off in that direction, they would even sing such a song.

The village headman’s house—

Daytime lantern. The village headman’s house—

"The foolish son." "Daytime Lantern" was not a term of praise. A lamp is a tool lit to brighten rooms at night but serves no purpose during daylight. Therefore, a daytime lamp meant something utterly useless—in other words, a dimwit. Being told such things would make anyone feel unhappy. Thus Eizo too gradually came to distance himself from the other children. “So then, Kaku-chan’s family is master class, huh? “So you’ve got loads of gold coins, right?”

A child asked the boy from Sado.

“Umm,” Kaku-chan hesitated for a moment but quickly came up with this response. “Dad had lots of gold coins, but when we came by boat from Sado, the boat was rocking so much, you see.” “Then the boatman started threatening us—‘There’s someone here with too many gold coins! The Dragon God in the middle of the sea is demanding them, and if we don’t hand ’em over, he’ll capsize the boat!’” “So Dad prayed over each gold coin one by one and tossed them into the sea.” “Glittering and sparkling, they sank into the blue water.”

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

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

A young child asked innocently. As if thinking what a foolish question this was, everyone looked at the child’s face. “You’re such an idiot—it’s obvious, isn’t it? “A gold coin is….” The child’s older brother started to say, but in truth, he himself didn’t know either, so his face turned red. Then all the others also remembered that they themselves had never once seen a real gold coin until now. Now this kind of story wasn’t interesting anymore.

Kaku-chan from Sado Island tried not to let everyone’s attention wander, “In Sado, y’know, we sing songs like this.”

he said. “What kind?” Then they all peered into Kaku-chan’s dark face again, their eyes shining.

Then Kaku-chan, with a solemn face, began singing in a slightly shrill voice. "Sado— Forty-five ri— Path of Waves. Even when rain and wind blow, No shelter. Even when rain and wind blow, No shelter……." Everyone felt they had heard this somewhere before. Wait—they had similar songs in Echigo too, didn't they? Just like the ones grandfathers and grandmothers sang while rocking cradles or pushing baby carriages. Yet there was something slightly different about this one. No—it was truly different. Kaku-chan's song carried a sorrowful resonance that made it beautiful. Somehow within its melody lingered the faint sound of waves that had washed against Sado Island since ancient times. Everyone listened, thinking how marvelous it was.

Among them all, the one who found the song most beautiful was Eizo, crouching a little distance away. Eizo was so completely captivated by the song that from then on, he paid no attention to the others’ conversation. He kept repeating the song of Sado Island he had just heard over and over in his mouth. Mother might have sung this song when she was little too. Perhaps she might still remember it even now. Thinking he would ask when he got home—Eizo tried practicing the song in a low voice.

When he voiced it aloud, he couldn’t sing it well at all. This way, it didn’t sound the least bit sorrowful or beautiful. So Eizo tried singing again. Sado— Forty-five ri— Path of Waves. Even when rain and wind blow, No shelter. Even when rain and wind blow, No shelter………..

“Waaah!”

The group heard this and jeered. Eizo thought he was done for. This time too, they would undoubtedly tease him as usual. Sure enough, “That guy was singing with a voice like a girl’s.”

And one of them announced to the group. “That guy’s a girlish sort! Look—his complexion’s all pale and he’s so willowy! He’s always playing with girls! Just the other day he was playing marbles with them!” And another chimed in. Eizo was so humiliated he felt like crying.

“Look, look! He’s about to cry.” “Look, the tears are coming out!” “He’s looking down because he’s embarrassed if people see him.” “He’s such a coward!” “He’s really like a girl.” “I’m not a girl!” “I’m a boy!”

Eizo raised his face and glared at everyone. “Those eyes don’t scare anyone!” “You’re so girlish!”

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

“I’ll do it!” “Alright!”

With that, the child looked around his surroundings. And then, fixing his eyes on the bell tower, “Then try ringing the bell.” he said. Eizo knew full well that if someone rang the bell, the fishermen out on their boats and the farmers working in the fields would get scolded terribly for mistaking the time to eat their lunches. However, if he were to refuse there and then, they would surely brand him a coward. That was unacceptable. I don’t care what happens after this—I’ll just do it. Eizo resolved,

“Won’t I ring it?” Eizo said.

“Go on, ring it! Ring it!”

Eizo climbed the bell tower. About four mischievous ones followed after him, climbing up behind. The bell hammer felt extremely heavy. Eizo’s arms were thin. As the bell hammer gradually gained momentum, he swung the final strike wide and hurled his body forward as if to collide with it alongside the hammer, landing a single strike. The bell bellowed with a hoarse voice—Gowaann! Eizo thought that was good enough and released the rope. Then one of the mischievous ones,

“What’s this? Just one strike? One strike doesn’t even count!”

he said. Eizo, in reckless desperation,

“I’ll ring more!”

And then he gripped the rope again and struck the second one. Then another mischievous one taunted, “What’s that? Just one more?” so Eizo struck again. When he had struck seven or eight times, repeating the same action over and over, a monk emerged from the direction of the priests’ quarters, “You damn brats!” [The monk] came rushing out shouting. The children, being accustomed to such situations, leapt down from the bell tower like rabbits and, joining the kids below, bolted out through the temple gate in a headlong rush.

Out of breath and his complexion growing even paler, only Eizo remained, floundering about as he wondered where to hide himself.

At Eizo’s home, Tachibanaya was shocked. No sooner had the temple acolyte arrived with Eizo trailing behind him, looking utterly dejected, than he made no move to enter the house,

“Your Eizo has been causing trouble by treating the temple bell as a plaything. Please see that he’s properly disciplined.”

With that, he said at the entrance and promptly left. Left behind, Eizo fidgeted like a beggar’s child outside the threshold, tugging at the hem of his apron.

The household members were left utterly dumbfounded. The fact that Eizo—who they had even wished would cause a bit more mischief, given how excessively mild-mannered he was—had committed such an outrageous act was beyond their comprehension.

“Don’t just stand there like that. Anyway, get inside the house.”

"And without further ado," Grandmother said. Eizo entered as he was told, his dark clear eyes kept slightly downcast. And this time, having planted himself in the center of the earthen floor, he fluttered his long-lashed eyelids repeatedly.

“So, was it you who rang the bell earlier?” Grandfather asked with a stern face that day. Having served as village headman for many years, Grandfather would fix this sort of glare on sake-drinking fishermen when they failed to bring their taxes to the authorities—this much Eizo knew. When Eizo nodded in response to Grandfather’s question, Grandmother— “It rang out quite well, didn’t it?” “If Eizo-bo has such strength, he’s no coward at all.” “There’s no need to worry about a thing.”

Grandmother said cheerfully. “You stay silent.” Grandfather reprimanded Grandmother. This was no time for rejoicing. Then, in his usual tone, Grandfather proceeded to ask Eizo all sorts of questions. Eizo’s grandmother and mother were anxiously watching, but he paid no heed as he continued his interrogation. Occasionally, Grandmother would speak up to defend Eizo and be scolded by Grandfather.

Eizo’s answers were utterly incoherent. For he would only nod deeply from time to time, otherwise remaining as silent as a mute. So in the end, Grandfather and the others came to understand the following. —that it was not some mischievous child from another family who had rung the temple bell, but their own Eizo. Now then, this could not be overlooked. Since the messenger from the temple had clearly stated, "Please discipline him," they had to find some way to punish Eizo. —Grandfather thought.

In the Tachibana household, there had been no such thing as disciplining children for many decades. Grandfather had no children of his own, because both Eizo’s father and mother had been adopted from outside. Moreover, Eizo had always been as gentle as a girl, and Saemon and the younger siblings below him were still so small that they had never committed any mischief serious enough to warrant discipline.

There, Grandfather, while frowning as he searched for examples of children being disciplined in this household, finally recalled that there had been just one such instance about sixty years ago. It was none other than Grandfather himself who had been disciplined as a child. At that time, Grandfather had been put into the storehouse. Because it was pitch dark and frightening inside, he had cried and struggled for about half an hour before finally being forgiven. That method had been quite effective. After that, Grandfather remembered how whenever he was told, "I'll put you in the storehouse," no matter how much he sulked, he would immediately straighten up.

Grandfather, who cherished Eizo in his heart, thought it heartrending to confine such a small child to the darkness of the storehouse—but since Eizo had done wrong, he had no choice but to administer punishment.

“Bring me the storehouse key.” he ordered Grandmother. The heavy door rumbled shut, and with a sharp click of the lock outside, Eizo found himself alone in the dark storehouse. Apart from the faint sound of waves reaching him, no other noises came from outside. Even Father, Mother, Grandfather, and Grandmother—who should have been in the nearby house—now seemed to have receded into some distant, separate world.

Indeed, it was lonely. What would it be like if he had to stay here forever like this? Grandfather would surely come to open it soon, but if by chance everyone forgot about Eizo and didn’t let him out, what would happen? Eizo, thinking he might burst into tears, suddenly drew in a breath—but then he remembered something and stopped himself from crying. It was something he had seen when he had once entered the storehouse with Father—a bookshelf by the second-floor window, packed full of books.

Fortunately, his eyes had adjusted to the darkness. Eizo felt his way toward the stairs. Then he climbed them. When he reached the second floor, it was suddenly bright. This was because a small window fitted with iron bars on the seaward side stood open. Near the window, the sound of waves could be heard even more clearly. Eizo removed the bookcase lid. Just as he had seen before, it was packed full of books. Eizo felt his throat constrict with joy. Though Eizo had not yet begun attending the academy, through being taught little by little—one character from Father here, two from Grandfather there—he had already become able to read kana and simple kanji.

Thereupon, Eizo took each book in hand and began turning pages from the beginning. Some books had rows of difficult kanji completely unknown to him while others contained kana he recognized. Whenever he found familiar characters and read those parts alone, it delighted him. There were also books bearing illustrations. These pictures showed samurai mounted on horses, old men holding brushes deep in thought, children chasing dogs—all manner of things depicted. He thought surely reading these books would make him fully understand what those images meant. How he longed to read them quickly. And how he wanted to know all those countless things still unknown.

Eizo had already forgotten that he had been punished and shut in the storehouse, becoming completely engrossed in the books. Outside the storehouse, Grandfather strained his ears for a while, but not a single sound resembling crying came from within.

This couldn’t be right. No matter how thick the storehouse door was, if he were to pound on it from inside while shouting loudly, as Grandfather had done when he was a child, at least some sound should have been audible. “Then am I finally beginning to go deaf too?” Grandfather wondered, pressing one ear against the door to listen. Inside was utterly silent.

Grandfather began to worry. Could it be that the gentle Eizo had fainted from sheer terror? If that were the case, leaving him be would be disastrous.

Grandfather hurriedly removed the lock and opened the heavy door. He faced the darkness and called out to Eizo. Sure enough, there was no response.

Grandfather grew increasingly flustered. He was certain Eizo had fainted. He must have collapsed in some corner around here, foaming at the mouth. Perhaps he had already died... “Eizo-bō!” He went inside and called out. Then, a thudding sound from the second floor reached Grandfather’s ears. When Eizo heard Grandfather’s voice, he startled. When he hurriedly shoved the books in and tried to replace the lid, the cover that had been difficult to remove now proved equally troublesome to put back on. Panicking only made it harder to fit.

Then Grandfather came up. “Eizo-bō, what are you doing here?” “…………”

“What are you doing?” “…………” Eizo, thinking he had been caught in the act of doing something wrong, hung his head.

Grandfather compared the book peeking out from behind the still-unclosed lid of the bookcase with Eizo’s face. And he said. “Did you find the books?”

Eizo, resigning himself to the inevitable, gave a small nod. Then Grandfather’s voice softened, “I see. “Eizo-bō, did you like books?” “Then from now on, I’ll have you pursue scholarship and let you read books.” “All the books here will become yours.” he said. In young Eizo, Grandfather had seen the budding of a soul that loved scholarship. Grandfather was delighted by this. For generations, the Tachibana family had cherished scholarship. This child too would inherit it and continue to cherish it. And thus, the future of the Tachibana household would continue to shine and prosper 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 drop by drop. Eizo, who hadn’t cried even when scolded by the temple priest or when locked in the storehouse, couldn’t understand why he was crying now, but he couldn’t stop the tears streaming down his cheeks. “What’s there to cry about?”

As Grandfather said this while closing the bookcase lid for him, he found himself crying even harder.

Mother and Grandmother couldn’t focus on work and were anxiously waiting for Eizo to come out.

Grandfather said to Mother,

“O-Hide, wipe Eizo-bō’s nose.” Having said that, he handed over Eizo, his face dirtied with tears. Eizo was taken to another room and had his face wiped by Mother. “Was it hard for you?” Mother asked while taking the opportunity to wipe even the long ears. “No.”

And Eizo shook his head. Then, as if suddenly recalling something joyful, he beamed 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—his voice flowing smooth and clear: “Sado lies Forty-five leagues Along the Path of Waves. Though rain and wind may blow No shelter to be found. Though rain and wind may blow No shelter to be found……”

Two: The Fawn

The belated spring of Echigo arrived, the sea grew richly green, and the snow on Mount Yahiko across the cape melted away.

One afternoon, the sliding doors inside Eizo’s house were removed by the servants. When Eizo wondered if it was time for the annual soot-cleaning and asked the servant Matsu-san about it, the sake-loving jokester Matsu-san first quipped things like “We’re movin’ to Sado Island, y’see,” but finally told him the truth: “Tonight’s the Sun Festival, y’know.” Eizo became happy. With the sliding doors removed, in the vast open space that now resembled a temple’s main hall, he turned a somersault in delight.

Before long, the neighbors began gathering one after another. The children, who normally shouted at each other on the beach, now greeted one another with exaggerated politeness and stiff formality. Eizo found it amusing to watch. Surely they must feel constricted wearing their good clothes when they're always running around naked, he thought. Even their good clothes were nothing more than thick hand-woven cotton, hardly different from their everyday wear.

Such people, finding it stifling to stay indoors, found tasks to do and went outside. They set up a stove in the corner of the garden and hung a large pot. At the wellside, they clumsily chopped daikon and carrots into fine pieces. Eizo was dressed in a nice kimono. When he stepped into the sunlight, a sudden whiff of dye struck his nose—it was a familiar kimono. Then, following Matsu-san who was going on an errand, he had him carry the Sun Festival ledger and went to the sake shop.

At the sake shop, they were led into a dimly lit storehouse where sake barrels stood lined up in rows. As soon as they stepped inside, the thick scent of sake pressed in on them. Matsu-san narrowed his eyes in apparent delight, deliberately flaring his nostrils as he inhaled deeply, which made Eizo laugh in amusement. They were supposed to buy and bring back a four-to barrel tied with rope. Matsu-san grabbed the rope to carry it but, like an actor performing, only pretended to exert strength without applying any real effort, making no attempt to lift it. And he said, “Hey Eizo-bō, I can’t carry this thing no matter what. If I don’t have a drink, I won’t get any strength.” When the shop clerk brought over a full bowl of sake while laughing, Matsu-san scratched his head and said, “Ah, thanks a bunch, thanks a bunch,” then pressed his mouth to the bowl as if sucking it in and drank it all in one go with evident relish. Then, the four-to barrel was easily lifted.

Following Matsu-san's pace, the four-to barrel on his shoulder made deep, resonant thud-thud, clop-clop sounds. “Thud-thud, clop-clop,” Matsu-san jestingly mimicked. “What a charming sound that is,” he said. Eizo, walking behind him, spread open the ledger and was trying to read the characters that the sake shop clerk had smoothly 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 had already arrived home.

Then something strange was tied to the persimmon tree in the garden. At first Eizo thought it was a dog and tried to pass by nonchalantly. However, it was not a dog. For a dog, its legs were too slender and long. And though its ears were large, its face was proportionally slender and pointed. Eizo approached for a closer look. Its eyes were not the hostile ones of a dog but large round orbs of bluish-black that held an inexpressible gentleness. Even when Eizo approached, it did not look his way. It gazed at nothing, remaining still as if lost in thought of some faraway place. The tips of its cane-like slender limbs ended in hooves split into two, treading upon the dewy green chickweed.

Eizo felt a strange shiver sweep through his entire body. He felt as though he had suddenly come upon that sweet, melancholy lullaby he used to hear while drowsing in Mother’s warm embrace during his infancy. Coming to his senses, Eizo asked the old man who had been tending the fire under the stove nearby, and the old man told him the following.

“That’s a fawn.”

The fawn.

The fawn.

What a delicate, endearing, melancholy thing existed in this world!

Eizo approached the fawn again.

“Kaku-chan, come here.” “At my house—there’s a fawn! A real fawn!”

Having said that, Eizo went to call the nearby children. And at the next house too, he said the same thing. “Kachi-chan, come on and see. At my house there’s a fawn—a real fawn!” Kaku-chan, Kachi-chan, and even dimwitted Toyo-chan had been invited by Eizo and came. It was unusual to see Eizo-bō-chan—usually so mild-mannered, the “dimwitted son of the village headman”—so fired up about something, and everyone found it peculiar. They thought there must surely be something wonderful.

“See? There it is.”

Eizo had already said this as he turned the corner of the house.

"What? It's just a fawn," thought Kaku-chan and Kachi-chan, finding it uninteresting. And they couldn't understand why Eizo was so worked up about it. After all, Eizo-bō-chan is just a dimwit like Toyo-chan, they thought to themselves.

However, having come this far, they no longer felt like leaving. The large pot on the stove was bubbling away, and a delicious aroma filled the garden. For sometimes the adults would say, “Here you go,” and give the children a piece of boiled taro or konjac. Moreover, they weren’t entirely uninterested in the fawn either. If they poked it with a stick, what kind of scream would it emit?

For a while, the four of them stood around the fawn gazing at it. Eizo found it unbearably cute. The small nose tip being black and moist was also endearing. The short tail drooping limply over thin haunches was also endearing. The slender neck gently stretching out to sniff the earth's scent was also endearing. No matter how long he looked, Eizo kept finding it endearing. However, the other three grew bored with just watching.

“What does it eat?” Kaku-chan was the first to speak. He picked pine needles from the kindling and held them out to the fawn’s nose, saying, “Here you go.” The fawn sniffed at the pine needles but did not try to eat them. Then Kaku-chan, angered, snapped the pine needles against the fawn’s face. The startled fawn tried to flee backward, but the rope around its neck—tied fast to a persimmon tree—prevented escape.

Eizo glared at Kaku-chan, thinking what a terrible thing to do. The dimwitted Toyo-chan was even worse than Kaku-chan. When he saw the fawn trying to flee but unable to escape, Toyo-chan gleefully shouted, “Waaah!” Then, shouting “Waaah! Waaah!” without pause, he chased it around everywhere.

Toyo-chan was three or four years older than Eizo, and being larger in build and stronger in strength, Eizo could do nothing about it. He watched anxiously but, unable to bear it any longer, went to seek help from Matsu-san, who was washing dishes at the well. “Oh, is that so?” Matsu-san said exaggeratedly, turning his flushed, drunken face to look that way. Then he bellowed, “Toyosuke! Don’t you dare mess with Eizo-bō-chan’s precious fawn!”

Toyo-chan stopped with a look of shame, so Eizo felt relieved. And he felt reassured by Matsu-san, the adult. That Matsu-san soon made Eizo even happier. Matsu-san spoke up. “If Eizo-bō-chan likes the fawn that much, I could let you have it.” And he untied the rope from the persimmon tree and had Eizo grasp its end. Eizo timidly held the end of the rope. The fawn seemed completely at ease, and he was rather happy that it didn’t even try to escape.

“Looks like the fawn’s taken a liking to you, Eizo-bō-chan.” “Now that you mention it, Eizo-bō-chan does kinda look like a deer himself.” Matsu-san said this as flattery. Even as flattery, Eizo found it pleasing.

“Well then, let’s head to the seaside.” “Eizo-bō-chan, go on and pull it along.” Why they were headed to the seaside, Eizo did not know. The fawn followed along so obediently that he found it utterly endearing. Glancing back again and again while stumbling over stones, he soon descended to the nearby seashore. Kaku-chan, Kachi-chan, and Toyo-chan also followed. These children already knew what was about to happen.

When Matsu-san raised the axe he had hidden and brought along—swinging it upward as if to split firewood—Eizo still did not understand what Matsu-san intended to do. But the next moment, something like a scarf had been flung out onto the white, dry sand at his feet. That was the fawn. Blood was oozing on its forehead. Kaku-chan and the others “Whoa!” they let out admiring voices. “Heave-ho!” With his usual joviality, Matsu-san squatted down by the fawn’s head.

The fawn's darkly glistening eyes were innocently wide open. It appeared to be listening intently to the gentle waves that swished ashore before retreating again with another swish. Eizo felt as if the flesh beneath his eyes were spasming. His limbs quivered uncontrollably. He couldn't comprehend what was happening at all. Though sunlight flooded the beach, everything seemed to darken around him. His teeth clattered against each other.

Suddenly, it was as if a bird had taken flight from beside everyone.

When they looked, Eizo was running off in that direction with a bizarre gait, wildly frantic.

“Eizo-bō-chan, where are you going?”

Matsu-san called. However, Eizo ran on without turning around, as though his mother were calling out to him from somewhere ahead. Moreover, heading west along the shore that stretched endlessly where neither his mother nor anyone else was present.

When it was time to light the lamps, an old man living about half a ri to the west brought Eizo back.

“He was lyin’ on the sand at the seashore, sobbin’ ‘Oo... oo...’.” “When I asked where his home was, he pointed yonder and said ‘Izumozaki,’ but when I asked why he’d come to such a place, he didn’t answer at all.” “Even when I told him to get home ’fore dark, he just kept sobbin’ ‘Oo... oo...,’ so I brought ’im here.” “As for his footwear, he’d kicked ’em off somewhere—was barefoot.”

Having said that, the old man received a cup of sake and some fawn meat offered in gratitude, then left.

Eizo was taken to the room where guests were not present, as if being cradled by Mother.

Eizo stared with vacant eyes, like a person whose soul had been taken. The fine clothes that had been changed for him two or three times prior were soaked through with seawater and sweat, their seams packed full of sand. The slender white feet were covered in wounds, perhaps cut by the edges of shells and pebbles. Mother was distraught with shock and sorrow.

“Eizo-bō-chan, what happened to you?”

Eizo stared fixedly into Mother's eyes with vacant eyes, only twisting his face as if some part of him were in terrible pain.

Truly, Eizo's heart ached. Eizo felt profound sorrow. What things exist in this world? What shameless acts do humans commit?... Though the storm-like anguish had passed through Eizo's heart, yet again and again it throbbed with pain.

Eventually, the Hi-machi attendees left, and everyone in the household fell asleep. The night deepened.

Mother, who had been drifting into sleep, was roused again by muffled sniffling sounds. "Eizo, you're crying." "…………" Though only wave sounds remained and the world slept in perfect stillness, Eizo kept weeping softly. Mother turned up the wick of the bedside lamp. The room brightened.

Eizo sat up on the futon while rubbing his eyes. He aligned his small knees neatly. “Go ahead and tell me.” “If it’s your mother，I’ll listen to anything you have to say.”

Eizo blinked his eyes, hesitating whether to speak up or not.

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

With that single utterance, he collapsed like a tree onto the futon and bit into it to stifle his sobs. For a long time Mother gazed at Eizo's shoulders heaving under the lamplight, then finally pulled his body upright. And when she saw the deep color in the innermost depths of Eizo's eyes—eyes weary from tears—Mother came to understand his true sorrow. Mother had no more words to say. While crying herself, she could only gently stroke Eizo's back.

III. The Story of the Vendetta

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

said the old monk. Whenever Eizo and Kintarō-chan helped sweep the broad temple grounds, this monk would gladly give them manju and rakugan sweets he had received from parishioners. However, today, even though Eizo and Kintarō-chan had helped so earnestly that they were sweating profusely, instead of giving them sweets as usual, he told them he would tell a story.

Kintarō-chan made a face that said, "Oh, how boring." Eizo, too, if anything, would have preferred the manju. For the monk's stories tended to be of the sort that made one reluctant to visit the outhouse at night when remembered alone—tales like how those who tell lies in this world would have their tongues ripped out with pliers by Lord Enma in the next, or how those who kill cats, dogs, or birds in this world would be cast into the Blood Pond Hell and tormented in the afterlife.

However, if they were to say they didn't want to hear any story, it would surely make it seem like they'd only helped with the cleaning out of their desire for manju—which grated on them—so the two stood rigidly before the monk who had settled himself at the base of the great ginkgo tree with legs spread wide, wearing expressions of plain disinterest.

The autumn sunlight was warmly mellow, and the bees that came to drink at the freshly drawn basin over there shone like trailing golden threads.

Thereupon, the monk began to speak.

The story went like this.

Long ago, a traveler journeyed along the roads.

That man journeyed alone through wind and rain. By day he walked endless roads; by night he slept beneath shrine eaves or straw stacks like some vagrant cloud adrift across the sky. When hunger gnawed, he stole persimmons from orchards and potatoes from fields—petty crimes that shamed him even as his hands moved. Worse still were the unmanned mills where he’d scoop forgotten rice into his cooking pot, grain by grain.

He wore tattered clothes like a beggar, and his hands and feet were blackened from grime, dirt, and sunburn. The children tried to throw stones at him when they saw him. However, because his eyes were sharp, they lowered their raised arms. The ferryman tried to refuse him passage on the ferry. However, because he was afraid of the sword at his waist, he silently ferried him to the opposite shore. When he grew tired, he would spread grass and rest. When his throat dried, he would scoop clear water from under a rock and drink it.

He continued his journey endlessly in this manner.

Why had that person been traveling in such a manner? It was like this. That person once had an older brother. The older brother was a master of the flute and thus was cherished by the lord. But then another flute master appeared there. And this other flute master played far more skillfully. Thus the lord's favor shifted entirely to the new flute master. The older brother came to deeply resent this rival. On a night of beautiful moonlight, the older brother lay in wait to kill him. The two drew swords and fought. Yet contrary to all expectation, it was the older brother who fell slain. Then the other flute master vanished without trace. By samurai household custom, when an elder brother is killed, the younger must avenge him. Thus had this younger brother been journeying to fulfill his vendetta.

However, he had no idea where his enemy was or what he was doing. Japan was vast, with numerous villages and towns where multitudes lived. To find one enemy among such multitudes was a back-breaking task. For eight or even nine years he had been searching everywhere.

One autumn day of a certain year, that samurai—after searching and searching—finally arrived in Kyoto. Kyoto was a large capital where people ceaselessly came and went along the roads. "Among this multitude," thought that samurai, "perhaps the enemy I seek might be here." So he took lodging in a house facing the main thoroughfare. From the second-floor window, he gazed down at the passing street.

It was a quiet autumn day with sunlight exactly like today’s, and on the capital avenue that the samurai was looking down upon, yellow butterflies fluttered among the people coming and going.

Suddenly, because his neck had grown itchy, the samurai casually reached around to scratch it—and something plopped down onto the floorboards. It was something small like a grain of rice, with countless tiny legs growing all over, wriggling its way toward where the sunlight fell. It was a louse.

The samurai immediately tried to crush it with his fingernail but, suddenly reconsidering, picked it up in his palm. As he gazed intently at the louse, the ten years of his past journey came back to him. He used to wear clean clothes and lead a good life. Once his older brother had acted on a trivial impulse only to be struck down in turn, he began his inexorable descent into ruin. Like a fallen leaf in the wind—dancing here, tumbling there—his travel funds gradually ran out, and he sank into a wretched way of life. He ended up growing accustomed even to lice like these. Now, when would this life ever end? When would he ever encounter his enemy? How many more years would he have to wander through rain and wind before encountering his enemy? Would he have to wander until he grew old, his back bent and his head turned white? Is this really what life is? Is life really such a thing…?

Since there was no use in thinking this way, the samurai decided to dispose of the louse in his palm.

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

When he had spoken up to this point, the monk paused for a moment to catch his breath. Kin-chan had not been listening earnestly to the story. He had decided stories were boring things. He had been thinking that the sooner the story ended, the better. When the monk paused for a moment, the boy—jumping to the conclusion that the story had already ended—let out an "Ah...", the kind of remark a youth often makes after hearing a dull tale. However, Eizo was deeply drawn into that story. It was different from the tales about Enma and hell that the monk usually told him. There was something compelling about this story. Eizo wanted to hear more of it. And he thought it would be good if this story remained very long and never ended. A boy who likes stories does not like them to end quickly. Even after a story has ended, he wants to know what happened next. And when adults won’t tell him, he will imagine and ponder various possibilities on his own.

Now, the monk continued his story. The samurai remained in Kyoto for a time searching for his enemy, but still could not find him. So he went back to the countryside again.

For a year, he wandered through countryside villages.

And a year later, the samurai came to Kyoto again. The reason he had come to Kyoto this time was that he had roughly determined his enemy was in the capital. A certain traveling merchant reported having seen a skilled flutist in Kyoto. When he inquired further, it seemed this was indeed his brother’s enemy. The samurai reclaimed his fading courage, sharpened his sword, and thus made his way up to Kyoto.

In Kyoto, the samurai once again took lodging in the same house as the previous year. Just as he had the previous year, he leaned on the second-floor railing and gazed down at the main road bathed in autumn sunlight. Many people were quietly coming and going. This time for sure, among these people, the enemy he sought was here—so the samurai thought. If he could defeat his enemy, he thought, he would finally be able to abandon this beggar-like life. What an interminable span of time it must have been. What painful days he must have endured....

Suddenly, the samurai recalled last year's louse. I wonder if that louse has already died.

The samurai gazed at the pillar. Then he found the spot where he had confined the louse last year. From that time on, it appeared the lid of the hole had never been removed.

The samurai pried open the lid and looked inside, only to find that last year’s louse—its small body now grown even smaller—was dead. Since it had not eaten anything for a full year, thinking it was only natural for the insect to die, the samurai placed the louse’s corpse on his palm. He gazed intently. When he exposed it to the lukewarm sunlight and looked closely, the louse’s tiny legs faintly moved. Inside the louse’s withered little body, a faint trace of life still remained. Then, finding this intriguing, the samurai rolled up his sleeve and placed the louse on a soft part of his arm to observe it.

The louse moved sluggishly, like a person utterly exhausted, but soon the samurai became aware of an itch on his arm. He realized the louse had begun sucking his blood. “Since I made you suffer for a year, I’ll endure letting you suck my blood awhile. Drink your fill to satisfaction.” While saying this to the louse, the samurai bore the itching without moving. Before long, the louse’s pallid body began flushing crimson with blood. The creature had sucked its fill.

Thereupon, the samurai blew the louse away with a puff. The louse hid itself away somewhere. That night, the samurai was awakened from his deep sleep of travel fatigue by the itch on his arm. He vigorously scratched the spot where he had let the louse feed during the day. No matter how much he scratched, the itch refused to subside. On the contrary, the more he scratched, the more fiercely it spread. Where he scratched became red and swollen like earthworm tracks, first engulfing his entire arm before creeping across his whole body.

When the innkeeper, startled by the strange noise, went up to the second floor to investigate, he found the samurai—his entire body swollen—clawing at himself, groaning, and thrashing about wildly. “What in heaven’s name has happened here?” The innkeeper gaped in dismay. “Fetch a physician!” The patient groaned hoarsely.

The doctor arrived immediately. The doctor mixed the medicine and slathered it all over the patient’s body. And to prevent the patient from scratching again, he restrained his hands. For seven days, the samurai received the doctor’s treatment and made a full recovery. He was an excellent doctor.

If this doctor had not been there, the samurai would have scratched his body to pieces from the itching and ultimately lost his life. The samurai deeply thanked the doctor. Precisely because the medicine was remarkably effective, its price was high. The samurai laid out all the money he had on the tatami mat, but it did not even amount to half the price of the medicine. 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 very tool meant to slay his foe? The samurai was at a loss as to what to do.

Thereupon, he explained the situation in detail to the doctor. "I am searching for the foe of my brother who died ten years ago. He had now mapped out how to track down and slay that foe within the coming days. Doing so would allow him to return to his domain and serve his lord once more……" "For this reason, I would ask you to lend me the treatment cost for a time." The samurai made this request of the doctor. The doctor listened in silence, "My vocation is to save those who suffer. Since ancient times, medicine has been called an act of benevolence. If you are truly destitute and without funds, I would gladly provide the medicine at no charge. However, you have declared your intent to slay your foe. To slay a foe is to kill a man. I know not what deep reasons drive you, but regardless, killing is wrong. Why not abandon this course? I have saved you. You should save your foe as well. In that event, I shall waive your treatment fees entirely."

"...?" the doctor said. The samurai nodded silently. In truth, he hadn't heard a word of what the doctor said. For ten years he had endured hardships to finally corner his foe - how could he possibly forgive them now? he thought. But none of that mattered. He only sought to escape this predicament. So he feigned acceptance of the doctor's words. The doctor rejoiced, believing his counsel had been heeded. In saving two lives today, thought the kind-hearted physician as he departed - thus did he console himself on his way home.

The samurai, having successfully deceived the doctor, stuck out his tongue and muttered when he found himself alone. “Even lice waste away their lives to avenge their enemies. A soulless, tiny insect—no more than a speck of dust—even such a creature does this. How much less could humans, the supreme beings of all creation, possibly forgive their enemies without avenging them?” Even so, deceiving the kind-hearted doctor left the samurai with a lingering desolation in his heart.

The search began again the next day. The samurai looked at the faces of people he encountered on the road, scrutinizing each one. He peered into each and every house in the depths of increasingly secluded back alleys. On days when there was a temple fair here or a festival there, he would invariably go out to that place. Because many people went to such places, he thought his foe might be among them.

About a month had passed, but the foe was not found. The samurai was beginning to despair. It might have been that what the traveling merchant said was a lie.

Then one evening, the samurai lost his way in a lonely field outside the capital. If he met someone, he thought he would ask for directions, and so he wandered aimlessly.

It was a windless evening, and somewhere, the sound of water could be heard.

When the sun had completely set and darkness descended, the moon that had been in the sky since daytime began to glow faintly. The susuki grass plumes around them, bathed in that light, floated up softly.

Then, from somewhere, the sound of a flute drifted over.

The samurai walked toward where the flute’s melody flowed. The flute’s sound was slender, beautiful, and clear; as he listened, the samurai felt his heart being cleansed. Though this world held all manner of filth and ugliness, sickness and suffering, the flute’s melody made those who heard it feel deeply that despite everything, this world was beautiful and humans were good. He had forgotten—as though he had dropped it somewhere—that the foe he sought was a master of the flute.

In the shade of a thicket stood a small house from which flute music flowed. Peering over the fence from outside, he saw no lights lit within. On the wooden slats of the veranda sat a samurai-like man wholly absorbed in playing his flute. The samurai suddenly recalled that his foe was a master flutist. He now understood with certainty that this man playing so selflessly was none other than that very enemy. Was this truly the foe he had sought for ten years? The samurai felt perplexed. The fierce hatred that until yesterday had made him gnash his teeth while vowing to cut down his enemy without hesitation now failed to surface at all when faced with this man.

However, he had to strike. It was the duty of a samurai. The samurai prepared to draw his sword immediately.

Assuming the air of someone who had lost his way, the samurai entered the garden. “Who is there?” The man stopped playing his flute and asked. “I’ve gotten completely lost.” “I’m on my way back to the capital.” “I am tired, so please let me rest a while.”

“Please, go ahead,” said the flute player, stepping back to make space.

The samurai sat down there, “I must say, your skill is truly remarkable.” He praised the flute player’s skill.

“No, I’m still unskilled.” The flute player said shyly.

The two of them remained silent for a time. The samurai was thinking of waiting for an opening to strike. Then, the flute player squinted his eyes and looked outside while saying,

“What could that dim white thing over there be?” he asked.

The samurai looked in that direction. The road leading upward from the front of the house was whitened by the moonlight. “Are your eyes… not well?” The samurai asked in surprise. “Yes, I have been afflicted for a long time. I’ve tried all sorts of doctors’ treatments, but my condition has only gotten worse. I think it won’t be long before I become truly blind.”

While looking at the flute player’s slightly bowed face, the samurai thought he looked pitiable. “Is there no one 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 did an unspeakable wrong against others long ago, so I must accept all the consequences.” He’s talking about killing my brother, thought the samurai.

“You appeared to enjoy the flute’s sound as well.” “Though my skill is poor, let me play a while longer.” “Until I finish this piece I was playing.” Then the flute player shifted the conversation.

Then the flute began to sing once more of the beauty of this world and the people dwelling within it.

Thinking that if he was going to strike, now was the best time, the samurai tightened his grip on his sword. The flute player continued playing, utterly absorbed. The moonlight fell in a slender beam upon the well-polished transverse flute and quivered delicately. Though he tried repeatedly to strike in his impatience, the samurai found himself utterly unable to draw his sword. The samurai realized his own wretchedness. The louse had survived for a year without eating anything in order to take revenge. He too was trying to kill this beautiful-hearted, sightless man who played the flute with selfless absorption—all for the sake of revenge. How pitiful this was! What difference was there between me and the louse?

Moreover，did he truly have any reason to cut down this person? Indeed，his brother had been killed．However，did his brother not have his faults? Just because he had lost the lord’s favor，was it not his brother’s mistake to have struck down his opponent? The samurai recalled the words the doctor had spoken when waiving the medicine fee：＂I have saved you．You must save your enemy as well…＂

"That’s right—I will stop myself from killing this person," the samurai resolved within his heart. Then, careful not to be noticed, he quietly slipped out of the garden. While ascending the narrow white path bathed in moonlight, the samurai heard the flute’s song. Its melody still sang of this world’s beauty, proclaiming that all who dwelled here must love one another. The samurai believed he had done right. Then tears began flowing of their own accord. From that moment, the samurai had to transform his life’s purpose. He no longer had anyone left to pursue. Even were he to return home, having failed to slay his enemy, he would likely find no position as a retainer.

For a while, the samurai was lost, wondering how he should live from now on, but following the path often taken by those like him—people without status or home—he became a monk. Around that time, learning that a bridge near the capital had been washed away and people were suffering hardships, he walked about soliciting alms to gather funds for rebuilding the bridge. As though still searching for his enemy, he wandered here and there collecting donations to relieve people’s difficulties.

The old monk’s story ended here. Eizo had been so deeply engrossed in the story that even after it ended, he remained standing before the monk with dreamlike eyes for some time. In Eizo’s eyes still lingered the vision of a blue moonlit night, and in his ears echoed the sound of a transverse flute singing of the beauty of the human world. When Eizo heard how the man who was supposed to take revenge on his enemy had stopped short of doing so, and how he had shed tears thinking he had done a good thing as he left the enemy’s house, Eizo too found himself weeping in sympathy. The tears had not yet dried from his eyes. What a truly good thing that person must have done. Eizo was so moved by that person’s actions that he thought if that person were now before his eyes, he would want to follow them.

When he stepped out through the temple gate,the rose hue of dusk perfumed the sky. Truly,the world was beautiful,Eizo thought. Then his companion Kane chan said, "That was fascinating." "Still,the manju were better." he added.

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

Four: Flounder

Eizo had one peculiar habit. When scolded by Father, he would not respond but instead stare fixedly at the other person through lowered eyelids. That was a slight, strange habit. However, upon closer examination of any habit, there is usually some reason for its existence.

Eizo was gentle and not physically strong.

The children often excluded Eizo from their group. As such things happened repeatedly, Eizo must have ended up developing the habit of looking up through lowered eyelids. It was just like a child who, every time they were scolded at home and struck on the head, would reflexively raise their hands to shield it even when being lightly reprimanded by a teacher at school. Eizo himself knew that this habit was not good, but since he was constantly being ridiculed and laughed at by his friends, the habit proved quite difficult to correct.

One day, when Father reprimanded Eizo over some trivial matter, this bad habit surfaced again. Eizo stood silent and rigid, staring up at his father’s face through lowered eyelids. Father was usually a good person, but whenever he happened to be wearing a sullen expression, he would become extremely prone to anger; that day too, he impatiently shouted these words. “What’s this?! How dare you glare at your own parent like that?! If you glare at your parent like that, you’ll turn into a flounder before you know it—just you wait!”

Eizo lowered his eyes. Whenever Eizo was scolded by Father in that harsh manner—Father who was always preoccupied with his own thoughts—he couldn’t help but feel utterly despondent. And he even came to resent Father. Today as well, Father left it at that and, as if disgusted even to speak with someone like him, went into the back room. Eizo stared for a while at the fusuma door that Father had closed behind him, but then suddenly turned on his heel and abruptly left the house.

Even after leaving the house, he had no destination in mind. There was just an unpleasant feeling in his chest.

For a little while, he stood in front of the blacksmith's shop. Normally, the blacksmith’s work was fascinating no matter how long he watched. But today, even that looked uninteresting.

Suddenly, he recalled the words Father had said earlier: "If you glare at your parent, you'll turn into a flounder." Of course, at first he hadn’t believed such a thing. He thought adults sometimes said such things to scare children. For example, they would say things like if you told lies, Lord Enma would rip out your tongue after you died, or if you picked up coins at a crossroads, plague would come to your house. However, he had gradually come to think that might actually be true. This was because Eizo’s father had never told him a lie before.

——It must be true. When he thought about it, this was a terrible thing. At any moment now, Eizo’s body might transform into one of those flat flounders the fishmongers and vendors often came selling. No—had he already transformed? Eizo frantically looked down at his own legs. Fortunately, they remained human legs. However, he could no longer afford to idle around carelessly. If he were to turn into a flounder right in the middle of such a path, he’d have to flop helplessly on the sand like those flounders that leapt from fishmongers’ baskets. Then the stray cats prowling nearby would surely find and devour him. Even if he somehow escaped their teeth, he’d likely end up crushed beneath the hooves of passing horses or cart wheels on the road. This meant he had to reach the sea quickly.

There, Eizo turned his steps toward the coast.

The sea lay calm, three or four octopus-fishing boats floating on its tranquil surface. Eizo chose a spot where rocks gathered. The clustered rocks dipped their skirts into clear, beautiful water. Having come this far, Eizo thought it would be safe even if he turned into a flounder. If I became a flounder, I could just leap into this bright lovely water. Should anyone come, he could dart into the rocks' shadows—no fear of being caught. Now then—what would happen if he really became a flounder? Eizo wondered. Even as a flounder, surely he'd be small. About the size of Eizo's own palm. He was just a child, after all. Such a tiny flounder might play among these rocks on calm days like today—but where would it hide when fierce winds whipped up wild waves? When bull-like waves went boom-boom against these rocks, turning white as they shattered spray—loitering nearby then would mean being smashed against stone faces to instant death. If that displeased him, he'd have to venture into those dark green depths. Down there lurked creepy jellyfish and octopuses, terrifying anglerfish and shark-monsters no doubt. Eizo's flounder-self would get gulped down in one bite. Then no matter how long Father and Mother waited, Eizo would never return home. How worried they'd be! They'd order Matsu-san and other servants to search for him. Still Eizo wouldn't be found. After all—he'd have turned into a flounder only to be eaten by a shark.

Father and Mother would undoubtedly grieve. Father especially would undoubtedly regret having scolded Eizo so harshly. When Eizo thought about Father regretting it, he even felt like becoming a flounder and letting himself be devoured by a shark. Eizo’s chest was filled with a peculiar emotion. And then he waited to see whether he would become a flounder or not. However, for a human child to become a flounder was no easy matter. Before long, the day darkened and evening arrived. The sky turned crimson with the evening glow, and as the sky’s crimson reflected on the sea, the sea too became red.

By now, Mother must surely have been saying, “Oh, Eizo-bō isn’t here—what could have happened?” Eizo thought. Then Father said in surprise, “What?! “Eizo-bō isn’t here? “That’s strange.” “I wonder if he got sad because I scolded him earlier and went off somewhere.” “It’s because you scolded him so harshly that this happened.” “He’s so sensitive—you have to explain things gently, or it won’t work,” Mother said. “Matsu, go look for Eizo-bō for me,” Father requested of Matsu-san. Matsu-san, who had been splitting firewood, said “Right away!” and set out to search for Eizo. He first went to Kinn-chan’s house to search, but Kinn-chan said, “I haven’t played with Eizo-chan even once today.” Then Matsu-san went to Katsu-chan’s house. Katsu-chan also said he didn’t know. They searched house after house, but Eizo was nowhere to be found. There, Matsu-san finally gave up the search and came to the coast... Eizo, squatting in the shadow of the rocks, imagined.

However, what had occurred at Eizo’s house had largely matched his imaginings. And so Matsu-san came to the coast.

The crimson of the sky and sea faded, and the shadows of the rocks were already dark. Matsu-san saw someone there who had shrunk down and was trembling.

“Ah! Master Eizo.” With that, Matsu-san was at a loss for words for a while. Soon, in his usual lighthearted manner, “You shouldn’t be hiding here all alone playing hide-and-seek like this.” he said.

When Eizo saw Matsu-san, he was happy. However, because he was still thinking about the flounder, he asked this: “I still haven’t turned into a flounder, huh?” Matsu-san burst out laughing. “Eizo-bō, you’re so carefree, aren’t you. I searched until my legs were dead tired. Come on, let’s go home now. Your father and mother are worried, you know.”

And then the two headed home.

Father and Mother simply gazed at Eizo’s face with a gaze filled with love for a while and said nothing. The fact that they had said nothing instead revealed just how great their worry had been. While feeling sorry for making his parents worry, Eizo also felt some satisfaction in his heart. And that night, after getting into bed, during the quiet time before falling asleep, he reflected on the day’s events from beginning to end and found it pleasant.

This small incident remained in Eizo’s heart for a long time. Eizo remembered well for years to come the emotions he had felt while waiting in the shadow of coastal rocks for his family members to come searching.

And it was when Eizo was on the cusp of youth that one day he suddenly recalled that incident again and found his own heart utterly contemptible. At that moment, Eizo clearly realized something bad had entered his heart. Indeed, he had taken Father’s words at face value and thought he might become a flounder. He had thought becoming a flounder would be terrible, so he went to the seaside. But hadn’t there been an ulterior motive in hiding beneath the seaside rocks and staying still until sunset—to make Father, who had scolded him, worry? That was it. What a twisted, wicked heart this was. When scolded, why couldn’t he simply apologize and say, “I’m sorry, Father”?

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

V. The Money to Buy a Kite

Years flowed over Eizo. Eizo turned ten, then eleven. And then, at last, the spring of his fourteenth year arrived.

When the young grow up, the aged ones pass away from this world.

Eizo's grandfather and grandmother had died.

Now, Eizo was a brilliant presence in the Tachibana household, like a tree about to burst into bloom. Eizo, as the eldest son, had six younger siblings under him, beginning with Saemon. Father thought that he must have Eizo pursue scholarship, acquire knowledge, and succeed to the position of village headman. Thereupon, Eizo began commuting to the academy run by Mr. Koyō in Sasagawa, Jizōdō-machi, a short distance away.

The people of Izumozaki saw daily the figure of the thin boy Eizo—wearing hakama trousers, clutching a bundle of supplies, and walking slightly hunched—coming and going along the coastal highway.

At the academy, about twenty students gathered and received the teacher’s instruction. There were children like Eizo who liked scholarship, and there were children who disliked scholarship. Children who disliked scholarship tended to take seats toward the back, so it was immediately apparent. They preferred the back seats both to avoid the teacher’s questions and for the convenience of napping. The teacher would face the students, sit with his knees spread in his hakama trousers, and deliver lectures while holding a thin whip in one hand. Before the teacher was a stand, upon which lay open books. The students sat facing the teacher in rows, with a lectern placed before each one. And on top of them were opened the same books as the teacher’s. In this manner, the teacher’s lectures progressed through the characters and content written in the books.

Eizo read books left behind by sages and wise men of China. They were written entirely in kanji characters as large as go stones. They contained precepts such as: humans must not do certain things; those who commit certain acts are unworthy of conversation; what constitutes true courage; and that if you fail to act on what you believe right, you will lack backbone—phrased in terms that were difficult to grasp at first hearing but became comprehensible upon careful consideration. Eizo absorbed those precepts into himself like a hungry person devouring food without restraint.

Eizo also read old Japanese tales and folk ballads. They were written in characters soft and warm as brushstrokes, and when read aloud, their words proved as sincere, warm, and poignant as their script. Within them were told various stories. Stories of men who lost wives and children; of wives and their children who lost husbands; of children journeying afar to seek fathers exiled to distant islands; of multitudes perishing at once in famines, fires, and epidemics; of those who grew inexplicably lonely with living and wandered aimlessly to foreign lands... To such pitiful tales, Eizo found himself particularly drawn. They were all stories from six or seven hundred years ago, but Eizo truly understood—to the point where his chest ached—the sorrow and suffering of those people. And Eizo thought: In the human world, there had existed such varied sorrows and sufferings since ancient times. They still existed now. And they would surely continue to exist in the future. When would they ever disappear? And how could they ever be made to disappear?

As any child with good grades would do, Eizo frequently read books at home. By now Eizo was no longer a small child, so while he had tasks like watching over his younger brothers and sisters, being sent on errands, and various other jobs, he would find moments of spare time to study. When he had once been confined in the storehouse as punishment, he began reading that book he found in a box on the second floor—the many books his grandfather and father had read—starting with the easiest to understand. For characters he didn’t understand, he would consult dictionaries and learn them. Even in those days, there were dictionaries. They were ledger-like in shape, made of paper that felt coarse yet warm to the touch. When held, they were as light as silk floss.

Even on days when snow fell, Eizo studied. In April, when cherry blossoms bloomed and the garden grew bright, he read then too. On nights when fireflies strayed in through the window, he had a book open beneath the yellow light of the oil lamp.

Eizo excelled in his studies. Therefore, he was loved by his teacher. However, even there, Eizo was excluded from the group. And there was another child who was excluded from the group. That child was from a wealthy family in Amagase Town and was named Sobei. The reason Sobei-chan was excluded was that he had been raised as a pampered young master, was willful, and would not listen to reason. He was also the worst in his studies. Thus, in the human world, it often happens that both the exceptional and the deficient are brushed aside together.

Now, before he knew it, Eizo had become friends with that Sobei-chan.

“Father bought this huge kite from Nagaoka, so come take a look.” One day, on their way home from the academy, Sobei-chan said to Eizo. Eizo had no desire to see the kite, so “Hmm.” he replied without enthusiasm. “Come on, you’ve got to come!”

And Sobei-chan, who had no friends, pleaded desperately. So Eizo, though he didn’t want to see the kite, couldn’t bring himself to refuse outright, and thus decided to go during the next holiday. When that day arrived, the weather was fine. Though snow still lay heavy on the distant mountain range, the road had dried enough to walk on even in straw sandals. There was a faint scent of plum blossoms in the air. “I’m going to Sobei-chan’s house in Amagase.”

And 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 in the immediate vicinity. Shintarō-chan’s family was poor, so he did not own a splendid kite. However, by carving the frames himself and pasting on used fair copy paper that Eizo had given him, he became quite skilled at making kites. Whenever kite competitions were held in nearby villages, he would surely go to watch. He was about four years younger than Eizo and always dressed in dirty clothes, but he was quite spirited and spoke as if he knew everything there was to know about kites. Because Shintarō-chan’s mother had worked as a maid and babysitter at Eizo’s house when she was a girl, that mother would still often come to Eizo’s house bringing Shintarō-chan with her. Eizo liked this child.

“Ah, right—I should take Shintarō-chan along. He’ll definitely be happy.” Once this thought came to him, Eizo suddenly felt his heart leap up. His footsteps lightened as he went to Shintarō-chan’s house. Shintarō-chan was spinning a top beside his house with his baby sister strapped to his back. “Shintarō-chan, won’t you come to Amagase? They say there’s a huge kite from Nagaoka to see.” The phrase “kite from Nagaoka” brought instant life to Shintarō-chan’s eyes. Nagaoka was Echigo’s great town where they made magnificent kites.

“How many sheets is that kite made of?” The term “nanmai-bari”—referring to how many sheets were used—seemed to indicate a kite’s size. Such things Eizo did not know.

“I don’t know… but hey, let’s go.”

“Yeah.” At the mention of the kite, Shintarō-chan grew restless. They set off at once. Eizo wore formal hakama trousers, while Shintarō-chan stood in his usual grime-streaked kimono—its seat torn open—clad in frayed straw sandals, a boil-covered infant strapped to his back. All along the path, Shintarō-chan chattered about nothing but kites. So absorbed did he become that when the baby wept against his shoulders, he left her squalling unchecked—lips pursed tight as he rattled on about bamboo frames and paper spans.

Shortly after entering Amagase, there stood a large two-story merchant house on one side of the road. On the shōji screen at the entrance, thick characters spelled out "Kimono and Textiles." That was the house of Sobei-chan they had come to visit.

“Here it is.”

“Here it is,” said Eizo. Then the vitality drained from Shintarō-chan’s face—until now so animated—and he mustered a pitiful-looking smile. Shintarō-chan knew this house well. His father had been in service here since childhood. Even now that he had become a crepe fabric broker, whenever he purchased crepe from mountainous towns and villages in Echigo like Shiozawa, Tōkamachi, or Ojiya, he would have this kimono wholesaler buy it from him. Thus, for Shintarō-chan’s family, Sobei-chan’s household was their master.

And so, even when Eizo opened the entrance shoji screen and went inside, Shintarō-chan was pacing restlessly under the eaves of the house across the way, like a stray dog that hates being seen by people. “Excuse me, isn’t Sōbei-san here?” Eizo said to the shopkeeper.

Before long, Sobei-chan came out, “Come on through that curtain there to the back.”

he said.

Eizo returned to the entrance and called out, “Shin-chan, Shin-chan!”

Eizo called out. Shin-chan answered 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 shopkeeper came to the entrance and looked at Shintarō-chan.

“What’s this—if it isn’t Shinbō. “You came too?” “Then get inside.” Until those words were spoken, Shintarō-chan had looked like a stray dog that had been scolded. So Shintarō-chan timidly entered. He wore an awkward expression, his body seeming to have shrunk. So much so that Eizo felt sorry for him.

The two passed through the earthen-floored area，ducked under the shop curtain，and reached the inner quarters．There，Eizo was welcomed with lively warmth by Sō－chan’s mother and grandmother，who told him to go upstairs right away．Yet everyone acted as though Shintarō－chan simply didn’t exist．

Having gone upstairs, Eizo whispered into Sobei-chan’s ear, “You should give one to Shin-chan too.” said Eizo. When Sobei-chan said this to his mother, she and the grandmother stared intently at Shintarō-chan, who was cowering in the far corner of the earthen floor, and for a while said nothing. “Ah, that’s Kasuke’s brat who was at our house.” said Sobei-chan’s mother. “Huh? Kasuke’s?” “Yeah, that brat from Kasuke’s place?”

said the bespectacled grandmother, still not taking her eyes off Shintarō-chan. Grandmother was looking at Shintarō-chan’s feet, which had turned white from being dirtied with grime. Eizo thought they were horrible people.

In that way, Shintarō-chan was ultimately not allowed to come upstairs. But that wasn’t too much of a problem. Because Sobei-chan had taken Eizo to the veranda. And this was because Shintarō-chan had been able to go from the earthen floor out to the garden and come to the veranda. The kite was indeed a magnificent thing. The kite was about one-third the size of a shoji screen—a masu kite—its paper stretched so taut it snapped sharply when flicked with a finger. On this fine paper was painted an actor’s caricature: eyes bulging like eggs, jaw receding sharply like the prow of a boat, rendered in pigments so vivid they seemed to emit fragrance.

“Whoa!” Even Shintarō-chan had let out an admiring gasp—so much so that he momentarily forgot his own stray-dog standing.

“This here’s whale baleen.” Sobei-chan said proudly, showing them the hummer attached to its back. The cord too was a thick string worthy of the kite, and the frame around which it was wound stood as such a grand thing that a child would need to hug it with both arms. Eizo knew nothing about kites, but he thought this one magnificent through and through. Sobei-chan puffed up with pride and even stated its price. That amounted to about ten times the coins Eizo received as spending money during New Year’s or festivals. Both Eizo and Shintarō-chan stood utterly transfixed with awe.

Shintarō-chan, who loved kites, wanted more than anything to be allowed to touch it. For things like the frame’s construction and the paper’s tautness could not be properly understood without actually touching them. However, before he could voice that wish, he found himself recalling his own shabby clothing and the baby’s abscess he carried on his back. So Shintarō-chan had no choice but to remain silent. Now, before long, the wind direction turned favorable for Shintarō-chan. Thus it was decided that they would go out to the fields to fly the kite.

“I’m going out to fly the kite and come back!” Sobei-chan said to his mother. His mother was startled and said, “What are you talking about? How could a child fly a kite like that? That’s a kite meant to be kept in the house and looked at.”

said his mother.

However, Sobei-chan would not listen. “I’ll fly it!”

Grandmother peered over her glasses at Eizo and Shintarō-chan, who had circled around from the earthen floor area, giving them a sharp look. “Sobō, you were egged on by those brats, weren’t you.” said Grandmother. What a horrible old woman, Eizo thought. When Sobei-chan absolutely refused to listen, Mother finally relented. “If you go outside, it’s cold, so you should put on more clothes.” Having said that, she took Sobei-chan into the back. Before long, Sobei-chan emerged outside thrusting forward like a servant-shaped kite—dressed in a cotton-padded haori and quilted vest, made to wear a happi coat hood, his arms unable to press against his sides from being so heavily bundled. Eizo found it amusing how extremely well cared for he was.

Until they reached the field, since it was Sobei-chan’s kite, Sobei-chan carried it. However, Sobei-chan was already weighed down by the clothes alone. Moreover, the kite was large and difficult to handle. Furthermore, when they reached the field, there was wind, and unless someone held it very firmly, the precious kite seemed about to be snatched away. So by the time they arrived at the intended spot, Sobei-chan had grown exhausted. From under the happi coat hood, the sound of labored panting could be heard.

When it finally came time to fly the kite, Sobei-chan, its owner, proved utterly useless. Not only was he exhausted, but he also knew nothing about flying kites. Even Eizo couldn’t manage it. “Shintarō-chan should do it.” Eizo said. Shintarō-chan had his wish granted. However, with the infant on his back, he couldn’t handle it properly. He decided to set the infant down and have Eizo hold it. Eizo felt reluctant to take charge of the infant, who gazed at him with lovely eyes from a face covered in abscesses. But refusal went against his nature. Eizo turned his back and accepted the infant. The infant felt light and warm. It calmed his back as though placing complete trust in him. Then a tender affection welled up in Eizo’s heart.

The moment Shintarō-chan took hold of the kite, vitality surged into his face. It was as though a fish had been returned to water. Shintarō-chan first checked the condition of the kite’s tail. Then he gingerly tested the knots in the bridle and string. Even in Shintarō-chan’s expert hands, this kite proved difficult to get aloft. After all, this was no child’s toy. It was an adult’s kite.

Shintarō-chan had Sobei-chan hold the kite while he took the string, making multiple adjustments before finally sending it aloft. Once airborne, it flew steadily. Buoyed by spring winds, it soared vigorously upward. Against the sky, even the actor with protruding egg-shaped eyes cut an impressive figure. The illustrated figure swayed its head bit by bit while glowering at clouds ahead. As they marveled at how magnificent it was, Eizo and Sobei-chan could only stand gazing upward.

Shintarō-chan kept letting out more string. The actor's splendid face rapidly grew smaller and was sucked into the sky. Looking up like this made Eizo think how truly vast the sky was. Sobei-chan, being himself, realized that was his own kite. Wanting it returned to him, he turned toward Shintarō-chan. At that very instant, disaster struck. Shintarō-chan had overextended himself. He knew well enough that winds grow stronger aloft than on the ground. He never should've paid out so much line. Without warning, the actor-kite jerked violently. With bull-like strength. Shintarō-chan pitched forward, caught his foot in a furrow, and went down. The string slipped from his grasp.

The incident happened so suddenly that whether it was Eizo or Sobei-chan, they could do nothing about it. The two of them stared blankly as the reel that wound up the string clattered across the field with tremendous force, bouncing and racing away.

Shintarō-chan jumped up and chased after the reel. The reel was ten times faster, but Shintarō-chan chased after it wherever it went. And soon, both the kite and Shintarō-chan grew small, until at last only the kite vanished from sight. “Not my problem. Not my problem.” Sobei-chan kept insisting even though Shintarō-chan still hadn’t returned. Until Shintarō-chan returned, the two of them stood motionless for a long time without taking a single step. When Shintarō-chan returned out of breath while wiping his tears, Sobei-chan spoke again.

“Not my problem. Not my problem.”

Shintarō-chan simply stood there wiping his tears and did not even apologize. This was no trivial incident that could be settled with an apology.

“Give it back. Give it back.” Sobei-chan said. That was an unreasonable demand, Eizo thought, but he couldn’t say anything. Shintarō-chan remained silent and stood there as ever. “Give it back. If you don’t give it back, I’ll tell your damned father. Your damned father’s that Kosuke who was at the house, right? I’ll tell Kosuke!” Shintarō-chan’s face twisted, and tears streamed down. How pitiful, Eizo thought.

Having been abandoned by the actor, the three of them ended up returning dejectedly along the path through the field.

When they had come partway, Shintarō-chan, in a resolute voice after crying profusely, "I'll return it, so don't tell my dad, okay?" he said. Eizo couldn't understand what plan he had to obtain such an expensive kite, but in his voice there was a flash of resolute determination to return it.

Money was something adults earned and used. Therefore, money passed from the hands of adults to the hands of adults and had nothing to do with children. Occasionally, when children were sent out on errands, they could receive one or two coins. That was the only chance when children had any connection with money. Beggars did not work and went around receiving coins at each house. If that was all it took, even a child could probably do it. However, upon closer consideration, even that was something only adults could do, and children could not. Suppose a child were to stand at the entrance of a house and skillfully say, like a beggar, “Please give me something.” However, the people of that house would surely give nothing. Not only would they not give anything, but they would mistakenly think this child was up to mischief and drive him off with a stick.

Even begging was something children couldn't do. Yet Shintarō-chan had declared he would properly buy back that expensive kite. Moreover, he would do it without his parents at home knowing. How on earth did he intend to do it?—It was a mystery to Eizo.

However, one day, the mystery was solved.

Some time after that incident, on a warm day, Eizo went down to the water’s edge to rest his head—tired from studying—in the fresh wind coming from the sea.

Then in the receding tide appeared the small figure of Shintarō-chan—who had waded in up to his knees—slowly retreating while thrusting something like a stick into the water, his posture exactly like someone drawing hopscotch lines. Today too he carried the infant sister on his back. What was he doing? “Shintarō-chan.” Eizo called out, cupping his hand to his mouth. Shintarō-chan raised his face and looked over. When he recognized Eizo, he flashed a grin but—as anyone would when busy—quickly stifled the smile and fixed his gaze intently upon the water’s surface before him.

He must be catching something.

Intending not to disturb him, Eizo leaned silently against the boat to rest when, 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 as he drew near and tilted the small basket at his waist for Eizo to peer inside. Several shrimp lay within, glistening wet and thrashing vigorously. “What will you do with these?” Shintarō-chan kept grinning without answering. With an expression that seemed to urge “Follow me,” he began walking. Eizo trailed behind. When they reached a boat inn, Shintarō-chan flashed Eizo a smile that said “Here we are” before slipping through the back entrance. Moments later he reappeared, thrusting open his grime-streaked palms—monkey-like in their leathery texture—to reveal a single mon coin with a square hole punched through its center.

Now he understood. So that’s how it was, Eizo thought. So, how much had he managed to save by now? Shintarō-chan once again led Eizo to his house with a look. Eizo was made to wait at the well by the back door. Shintarō-chan went inside, and after a while came back out. Making sure no one was around, he carefully pulled something from his pocket to show. Strung on a straw money skewer, five or six mon coins were stacked together.

Eizo knew. That to buy that masu kite would require ten times this amount of mon coins. Yet despite that, a spring of hope welled up in Eizo’s heart. Shintarō-chan would surely save that amount of coins with his own hands. From that day on, the image of Shintarō-chan’s straw money skewer filled Eizo’s mind. Whenever he saw Shintarō-chan’s face, he was shown the straw money skewer. Each time, one or two coins at a time, their number had increased.

One such day, Eizo pounded rice for the household. Usually Matsu-san did the pounding, but at that very time he had developed a boil on his foot and couldn’t do it. Because it was unfamiliar work, Eizo found it tough. By the time he had pounded one mortarful of rice, he was as exhausted as if he had spent the day wandering through fields and mountains.

When he finished, Mother,

“Then I’ll give you a reward.” She brought out two of Eizo’s favorite pomegranates.

Eizo received them in his hands but, after a moment’s thought, returned them to Mother. Mother found it strange because Eizo’s demeanor was different from usual. “Mother, um….”

Eizo began to speak but hesitated. “What is it?” “Please give this to my younger brothers.” “I had already given some to those children, so this is yours.” “This is your portion.” “Mother, I want money.”

Having said that, Eizo looked down as if embarrassed. Mother was surprised. It was the first time Eizo had ever asked for money. Mother stared fixedly at Eizo’s face. “Are you going to buy books or something?” “No.” “Then what are you going to use it for?” Eizo remained silent for a while. He chewed on his lower lip. In Mother’s eyes, Eizo suddenly appeared as if he had become an adult. She thought that even this gentle child had now come to say such things.

Before long, Eizo said with a hint of defiance, "If you won't give it to me, then fine."

he said in a slightly defiant manner.

“I’m not saying I won’t give it to you.” “But what will you use it for?” “I don’t want to say.” Mother stared fixedly at her son’s face for a while longer. She told herself she couldn’t doubt this child. “How much do you need?” “Enough to give to beggars.” Mother went over there and soon returned. She placed about ten coins into Eizo’s hands. “Will this suffice?”

“Are you giving this much to beggars?” Mother laughed, “But this beggar here pounded the rice for us.”

Eizo held the coins in both hands as if cradling a cricket, nodded slightly, and left the house. Having rarely handled coins before, he didn’t know how to hold them properly. Eizo still had one lingering worry— that spirited Shintaro-chan might not only refuse the money but also seethe with anger. “Shintaro-chan, how did that turn out?” Eizo asked when he saw Shintaro-chan’s face. The “that” referred to the coin string.

Shintaro-chan went into his house and brought out something important. Eizo received it and began counting from one end. Shintaro-chan was also watching his hands. Eizo raised his head and, “Hey, turn that way for a sec.” “Why?” “Just turn that way for a sec. Just look at that chicken over there.” Shintaro-chan turned to face the other way, but the infant on his back, its face now with fewer boils, was looking toward Eizo. If it was just the infant watching, that was fine. Eizo threaded the copper coins he had brought onto the coin string one by one.

“It’s grown quite a bit, hasn’t it.” Eizo said with feigned innocence.

Shintaro-chan turned back to face this way. And taking the coin string, “I know what Eizo-chan just did.”

he said. And he blinked rapidly and looked down. “Let’s just keep it like that.” And Eizo apologized.

Shintaro-chan could not say anything. The spirited poor country boy did not know the words to express gratitude, even when happy. Shintaro-chan silently disappeared into the house through the back door. Eizo was glad it had turned out that way. In any case, the coins in that coin string had managed to increase. The time when Shintaro-chan’s efforts would bear fruit had finally arrived. The copper coins that Shintaro-chan had painstakingly saved up in secret through repeated hardships, with Eizo’s support, finally filled the coin string.

“Starting now, I’m going to Nagaoka to buy the kite.” Shintaro-chan shook the baby on his back as he said this. His face was shining. “Alone?” Eizo asked in surprise. “I went with my dad before, so I know the way.” Shintaro-chan answered calmly. Yet Eizo felt certain Shintaro-chan must be anxious. A midday road stretched long and white. An unfamiliar path crossing rivers, winding around hills. And children from unknown villages would surely shout such things while throwing stones. “Hey! Outlander brat! Dung-face!”

If it had been possible, Eizo would have wanted to go along with him. However, due to household duties, he couldn’t go. “Don’t take the wrong path.” Eizo said. “Yeah.”

With that, Shintaro-chan walked off briskly. And then he was gone. When evening came and Eizo went to buy lamp oil, Shintaro-chan came dragging his feet down the darkening road from the opposite direction. Shintaro-chan had, after all, done it. He was holding the large kite, slung over his shoulder like a shield. “Thank goodness.” When Eizo said this, Shintaro-chan tried to smile, but he was too exhausted to manage it.

When Eizo thought of how Shintaro-chan had toiled both in mind and body through the half-day that he himself had passed so easily, his chest ached.

The next day, Eizo notified Sobei-chan at the cram school. "Can I come play tomorrow?" "Yeah, Mom said you can come anytime, Eizo-chan." "Could someone else go instead?" "Nuh-uh. Mom hates kids—says her brain stops working when they come over." "Shin-chan's coming too." "Shin-chan?" "You know—Shintaro-chan."

“Shintaro-chan?” At this rate, Sobei-chan might have already forgotten about the kite. If he were to forget, it would be disastrous. In that case, Shintaro-chan’s efforts would come to naught.

“Look, remember when we flew that kite together...?” “The kite?” As expected, he had forgotten. “At the field behind your house – we flew the kite together, didn’t we? Your brand-new big kite. And then we let it get away.” Sobei-chan rolled his eyes about restlessly for a moment, “Oh yeah, that did happen. Right – that brat from Kosuke’s place who was at my house.” At Sobei-chan’s house, Eizo realized, even his grandmother called other people’s children ‘brats.’

“Someone like that shouldn’t come.” Sobei-chan said. “Since he apparently wants to come along, isn’t it fine?”

“Why?” “It’s not like there’s a reason or anything…” He couldn’t state the reason. It was because he wanted to surprise Sobei-chan. That way, Shintaro-chan’s efforts would be all the more worthwhile. And the next day, Eizo set out for Sobei-chan’s house in Amigase with Shintaro-chan, who was carrying the newly bought kite. “When Sobei-chan sees it, he’ll be surprised.”

When Eizo said this, Shintaro-chan, “Yeah,” he laughed happily. “It’s really good there was another one just like this.” “It wasn’t at one house, but when I asked at another house, they had it.” “Were you able to buy it with that?” “Since it’s summer and no one’s buying kites, they gave me a discount.” “Shintaro-chan, wouldn’t you want to keep such a nice kite for yourself?” “Nuh-uh,” he shook his head.

He just wanted to quickly settle this debt in his heart—that was all there was to it, Eizo imagined. Today, Shintaro-chan was so keyed up that he didn’t act like a stray dog in front of Sobei-chan’s house. Following immediately after Eizo, he stepped over the threshold. Sobei-chan was carving arrows on a bench placed in the shadow of the earthen storehouse. Beside him lay a crudely made bow fashioned from a bent greenwood branch. Sobei-chan’s younger brother, about six years old, was intently watching his brother’s hands.

“Is that Mitsu-chan’s bow?” Eizo asked. Mitsu-chan was the name of Sobei-chan’s younger brother. "Nuh-uh." Sobei-chan shook his head sideways. Mitsu-chan made a happy face because his brother’s friend had said something kind. It was because he had been wanting that bow for some time but couldn’t have it. However, whenever Mitsu-chan even slightly touched the bow, his older brother Sobei-chan would fly into a rage and yell.

For a while, Eizo and the others watched Sobei-chan at his work, but since he showed no sign of stopping no matter how long they waited, finally Eizo lost patience,

“Hey, So-chan.” Eizo said.

Sobei-chan continued without raising his face, “Yeah.” Sobei-chan answered.

“Shintaro-chan bought and brought that kite he lost the other day, you know.” Eizo and Shintaro-chan thought that even Sobei-chan would surely look up in surprise upon hearing this. But contrary to their expectations, Sobei-chan was only clumsily carving bamboo. And then, “Well, just leave it there.” he said dismissively. Eizo felt as if he had been let down. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be, he thought.

Shintaro-chan, seemingly made to feel the same as Eizo, propped the kite he had brought against the storehouse entrance while wearing a somewhat forlorn smile. Sobei-chan finished carving the arrows, then brushed green shavings from his apron and suddenly noticed the kite.

—Alright! Eizo's heart pounded with anticipation. Sobei-chan must have been surprised. He would ask Shintaro-chan for an explanation, feel grateful and moved by his effort, and surely apologize for his own careless words. But Eizo's expectations missed their mark. For Sobei-chan had turned his face away sharply, as if he had no interest whatsoever in the kite. Just then, Grandmother called to Sobei-chan from inside the house. Sobei-chan went in.

“Eizo-boy, come here.”

Sobei-chan called from inside the house. There must be some treat. She didn’t want to give any to Shintaro-chan, the poor boy, so she called only Eizo. Because both Eizo and Shintaro-chan understood this perfectly well, when they exchanged looks, Shintaro-chan once again took on a forlorn expression. “Shintaro-chan, you come too.” Eizo said. Shintaro-chan hesitated, but— “Just come on.”

He forcibly pulled him along. Grandmother made a hateful face at the poor brat who had tagged along, but since there was no helping it, she gave Shintaro-chan a piece of watermelon too—a tiny sliver from the edge. A tiny sliver from the edge. The watermelon was delicious. However, after that, when the three came out into the garden, something terrible awaited them. While his brother was away, Mitsu-chan had finally been unable to suppress his desire and had taken his brother’s bow. And to make matters worse, he had used the precious kite as a target instead.

One arrow had destroyed the right eye of the actor and was embedded there.

“Mitsu’s an idiot!” Sobei-chan shouted.

In that moment, Eizo thought Sobei-chan must have finally understood how much Shintaro-chan had struggled to buy back that kite. But this too proved another of Eizo's misreadings. Sobei-chan dashed to where Mitsu-chan stood, wrenched the bow from his grasp, then rapped his head three times with sharp knuckles. Even as Mitsu-chan wailed aloud, Sobei-chan ignored him entirely, instead inspecting every inch of the bow to ensure its draw remained unimpaired.

Mitsu-chan had achieved his wish, but the retribution proved too harsh; wailing at the top of his lungs, he disappeared into the house. Eizo and Shintaro-chan stood transfixed in stunned silence.

Then, to examine the bow's condition more thoroughly, Sobei-chan took one of the arrows and nocked it to the bow. Eizo felt a darkness cloud his vision. Shintaro-chan let out a cry of "Ah!" Sobei-chan aimed at the kite. "Thwack."

The arrow struck the target. And tore a great hole through the actor's chest. ――What could this mean? Indeed, now that Shintaro-chan had returned it, this was unquestionably Sobei-chan's kite.

But what in the world was this? Eizo and Shintaro-chan could no longer say anything and remained silent.

There was no longer any reason to stay in such a house. The two of them left without even a proper greeting.

Eizo felt as though a hole had opened up in his heart, leaving him unable to think of anything. The two of them avoided each other’s gaze and walked most of the way in silence. He didn’t even want to think about the kite anymore. A stone stood by the roadside. From there, Eizo and Shintaro-chan would part ways. When they reached that point, Shintaro-chan spoke for the first time. “Eizo-chan, starting tomorrow, I’m going up to the mountains with Dad to buy ramie.”

When Eizo looked, Shintaro-chan was smiling with a touch of loneliness. A surge of sadness welled up in Eizo’s chest.

“Why?”

he pressed urgently.

“I’m not a kid anymore. I’m going into business.”

“...” Eizo blinked his eyes a couple of times and parted with Shintaro-chan.

Gazing at his own elongated shadow cast on the twilight earth, Eizo walked on. Then suddenly, something surged up from the depths of his chest with tremendous force. It was anger. ――How could such a thing exist? Shintaro-chan had gone through so much hardship to buy and return that kite—how could someone tear it apart right before our eyes? There was something wrong with this. Since he had returned it, there should be no complaints against Shintaro-chan, and yet there was something unreasonable about it. What could it be, that?

When he thought about it this way, it seemed to Eizo that there truly were so many such kinds of unreasonableness and injustice in the world—not only among children, but in adults' world too. What in the world was that? Why did such things exist? Why didn't Sobei-chan try harder to understand Shintaro-chan's feelings? If he had done so, such a thing wouldn't have happened.

――Why is it that people with power do not consider those without? Why is it that people with money do not try to understand the feelings of the poor?……

VI Entering the Temple

One late afternoon, a neatly dressed young man came to visit Kōshō-ji Temple in Amagase Town. When Genjo Haryo, the priest, came out to the entrance to respond, he found the young man standing dejectedly under the plum tree in the garden, his pale face downcast.

“Now who might this be?”

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

“No.” “You say such curious things, sir.” “Neither business nor pleasure...” “Izumozaki, you say—what family might that be?” “The Tachibana household.” “Ah, the Tachibana household.” “Then you must be the young master’s...” “Yes, I am Eizo, who has recently inherited the position of village headman.” “Ah yes! I know, I know.” “How you’ve grown since last I saw you—tall and proper now.” “I’ve gone and failed to recognize you.” “Well then, do come in.”

Eizo followed the priest to the hearth in the temple kitchen. "I should properly show you to the guest room, but it's cold there, so I've brought you to this humble spot instead." "Now do sit comfortably." "You'll find Zen temples aren't much for hospitality—this is how we do things here." The priest had a young monk bring dead branches and brushwood, then vigorously fed them into the hearth.

“You look terribly downcast. What has happened?” “I’m in complete disarray.” “In what way?” “I can’t make sense of anything at all.” “What in the world are you talking about?” “My chest feels full to bursting. So full that everything’s in chaos.” “Did you get into a fight? Your voice sounds terribly hoarse.” “I was shouting alone where no one could hear. I should’ve torn my throat out, coughed up blood, and died.”

“Well now, why don’t you have some tea? If you fixate so single-mindedly, you’ll only end up botching things. The ways of the world can only take their course, after all.” The priest noisily slurped the tea he had prepared himself. Perhaps the wind had picked up; there was a sound in the forest behind. “Master.” “What is it? Why so formal?” “………….” “What’s the matter now?” “I have seen something terrible—humans executing humans.”

“Oh?” “I have come from the execution ground—today, a criminal was executed.” “Ah, I see. I had heard about that. A large crowd passed by the gate earlier—they must’ve been spectators, I suppose. Hmm, that was a pitiful thing, wasn’t it. And why did you go to see such a thing?” “The criminal was from my town. As the village headman, I had no choice but to attend as an official witness.”

“So he was from Izumozaki, then.” “I had known that man since he was small. He was truly a wicked person. But though he was wicked—is it right for humans to execute him through human power? It’s pitiful. It’s too cruel.”

“That’s how it is,” he said. “But various things exist in the world. There are good things and bad things.” “No matter how much good there may be, I cannot endure such terrible things existing alongside it.”

“To someone like you, only the bad things in the world must loom large and unyielding.” “I was no different—just the same in my younger days.” “What should I do?” “Come now, drink your tea.” “I shall offer a memorial service with the Heart Sutra for that soul.” The two rose and entered the main hall. The priest lit a votive lamp before the Buddha statue and settled before it. Eizo knelt on the chill tatami matting before the offerings box.

The priest began to chant the sutra in a deep, steady voice.

Eizo closed his eyes and muttered under his breath. "Everyone did such a terrible thing to you. Please forgive them. I could do nothing. Even had I tried to stop them all, someone as powerless as I could have done nothing. Please forgive. No one is truly at fault. It isn't that everyone is wicked. We know nothing. We don't truly understand what we do......"

Outside, the wind raised a mournful cry. To Eizo, it seemed as though the souls of those who had met untimely deaths were lamenting, having lost their place to return. The priest continued to chant the sutra in a powerful, deep voice. With the incomprehensible words of the sutra, it seemed to Eizo that the priest was wholeheartedly calming the souls of the wilderness wailing in sorrow. The priest’s voice was not overcome by the sound of the wind. No matter how fiercely the wind howled around the hall, the priest’s voice remained unshaken and continued.

Gradually, the sound of the wind faded into the distance. Like a child being gently rocked by a lullaby and soothed into sleep. Return to a quiet place. "Return peacefully," Eizo prayed. And Eizo’s heart too found some measure of calm.

When the sutra was completed, the two returned once more to the hearth in the temple kitchen. “There is something I wish to ask—would you listen?” Eizo straightened his posture and declared. “What might that be?” “Please make me a monk. Please let me stay here.” “Oh ho.” With that, the priest’s eyes widened.

“You’ve had your heart shaken too violently today—your mind has become unhinged. There are often people who, driven by momentary emotion, make such requests—but with that alone, you could never endure the training of a Zen monk.”

“It’s not a momentary emotion. I have wanted to become a monk for a long time.”

“And why might that be?” “For a fool such as myself, the duties of village headman cannot be adequately fulfilled.” “To remain in this position causes me unbearable anguish.”

“What reason could there be for you to find distasteful the position of village headman, revered by all?” “There was such an incident.” “Magistrate-sama and the peasants of Izumozaki became embroiled in a dispute over a certain matter.” “Hmm, I did catch wind of that.” “It was around springtime, was it not?” “Yes. It was when I had newly inherited the position of village headman from my father.” “The village headman’s duty was to stand between Magistrate-sama and the peasants to mediate their conflicts.” “First, I summoned the peasants to my house and heard their grievances in full.” “The peasants recounted in meticulous detail the methods by which Magistrate-sama tormented them.”

“Hmm, and then?” “So then, this time, I went to Magistrate-sama’s place.” “And I conveyed to Magistrate-sama everything the peasants had said, from start to finish, without embellishing a single word.”

“Goodness me.” “Hmm, and then?” “Magistrate-sama flew into a rage.” “And then he harshly rebuked the peasants for their faults.” “I returned to the peasants and conveyed exactly what Magistrate-sama had said.”

“Then the peasants must have been angry too, I suppose.” “That’s correct. They said things like, ‘How dare the Magistrate act so insolent—we’ll burn that mansion down!’ so I pressed my hands together in supplication and barely managed to calm everyone down. However, Magistrate-sama’s relationship with the peasants not only failed to improve but grew increasingly worse.” “That stands to reason,” mused the priest.

“I was summoned by Magistrate-sama and roundly scolded.” “‘I’ve never seen a fool like you before,’ Magistrate-sama said.” “‘He said there was no such way to mediate.’” “When I returned home and reported this to Father, he too was aghast and scolded me.” “‘Father said, “It’s because you speak too much truth that things go wrong.”’” “Hmm.” “At that time, I should have told a lie.” “I should have placated the peasants with smooth words and flattered Magistrate-sama by speaking ill of them in his presence.” “That was what I should have done.” “However, I cannot do that.” “I like the truth.” “I hate lies.”

“Lies… hmm.” “Hmm… I was once like that too.” “I too could not tell lies.”

“Then when I consider it—there truly are so many lies and flatteries in this world.” “In this world, it seems one cannot pass the days without lies and flatteries.” “If the world were one great wheel, lies and flatteries would be thought of as the oil needed to make it turn smoothly.” “That may not be entirely so.” The priest gazed affectionately and gently at this earnest young man speaking with such intensity, letting him say everything he wished to express.

“And then, there was such an incident.” “Just about two months ago, Sado Magistrate-sama came from Edo and stayed in Izumozaki.” “As the village headman, I had to attend to various matters concerning lodgings and boats.”

“Mm-hmm, mm-hmm.” “Sado Magistrate-sama arrived in a large palanquin with a long handle.” “Magistrate-sama stated they would take that palanquin by boat to Sado Island.” “However, the boatmen reported that such a long handle would get in the way and make it impossible to load onto a ship; they said there were no vessels capable of carrying it—not just in Izumozaki, but anywhere nearby.”

“Hmm, that’s quite a problem indeed.” “No, I did not find it troubling. If it was too long, I ordered them to cut the handle as much as needed. Because it was a handle, I thought cutting it wouldn’t cause any issues.” “I see. That’s one approach. However, the Sado Magistrate probably was not pleased.” “It is exactly as you say. He was furious. He even raged that he would strip your family of the village headmanship. However, I couldn’t understand why Sado Magistrate-sama had been angry. When it comes to Magistrate-sama, their role is undoubtedly to care for those beneath them. They must save those beneath them from hardship. If the palanquin’s handle was too long and the boatmen were troubled, then they should not have remained silent. So I took the initiative to have the handle cut. The handle could always be reattached later. The boatmen were delighted, saying that with this, they could easily load it onto the ship. In that case, I did a good thing. I deserve to be praised by Magistrate-sama.”

“Such reasoning, hmm.” “However, at that time, I realized my own thinking had been mistaken.”

“Which thought?” “The idea that Magistrate-sama cares for those beneath them.” “That was not the case.” “Their own palanquin was more important.” “That may be so.” “No, it must certainly be so.” “And when I think carefully about it, every last Magistrate-sama in all of Japan—each and every one—is undoubtedly like that, more or less.” “Those in high positions do not care for those beneath them.”

“That cannot be said so categorically.”

“No, that is indeed how it is.” Eizo raised his voice. The priest fell silent. An awkward silence persisted. The priest picked out a pine cone from the brushwood and put it into the hearth. The two of them watched the pine cone burn. “So you’re saying you’ve grown disgusted with the world, then?” “That is so.” “The world is full of lies and injustice—that’s why you want to become a monk and abandon it all, then?”

“That is indeed so.” “One thing I want to ask—is there nothing wrong within your own heart? Listening to your story, it sounds as though all people in the world are in the wrong and only you are good—but is there truly nothing amiss within your own heart?” Eizo started and stared into the priest’s eyes. The priest averted his gaze, pulled out another pine cone from the brushwood, and threw it into the hearth fire. Somewhere, the chilly cry of a plover sounded.

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

“It was my fault.” Eizo said, his voice trembling. The previously strained voice had completely changed into a quiet, low one. That showed the speaker’s heart had also wholly transformed. “I had been arrogant. There are many bad things within my heart as well. If people of the world are considered bad, then I am even more at fault.” “Yeah, do you understand now?”

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

And the priest smiled. "No, my resolve to become a monk remains unchanged." "Why is that, I wonder?" "I must first clearly identify the impurities within my own heart, and then strive with all my might to remove them." "Just like pulling weeds from a field." "Hmm, go on." "And once my own heart has been thoroughly polished, I will remove the impurities from the hearts of people in this world." "I do not know whether I possess such great power, but I will do as much as my strength allows." "Just as a doctor purges illness from people’s bodies, I will remove the impurities from people’s hearts and save them." "When I was a child, I heard that this world is a beautiful and good place." "I think so too." "But I want to make it even more beautiful and good."

The priest silently nodded. Then, taking a burning branch, he went and transferred the flame to the lamp. Before they knew it, dusk had already fallen. “I do understand what you’re saying.” “However, that is quite difficult.” “I too became a monk with that intention.” “I meant to enlighten people and make the world better, you see.” “Yet listening to you now, I thought of how little I’ve achieved and grew lonely.” “No—I’ve understood your meaning well.”

“Then, may I be allowed to stay here?”

Eizo’s eyes sparkled. “Yeah, I can let you stay. “However, you are the eldest son of the venerable Tachibana family.” “If you were to become a monk, the aftermath would be troublesome, I suppose.” “However, in the end, that would be better for my family as well.” “As a village headman, I am not at all adequate.” “If my younger brother succeeds me, he will surely manage things well.” “How old is your younger brother?”

“Thirteen.” “How old are you?”

“I am eighteen.”

The priest pondered for a while but suddenly burst into booming laughter. “Mr. Inan—your father will surely be astonished.” “They’ll say a monk has emerged from a Shinto priest’s household.” “But that might prove rather entertaining.”

Eizo also found himself smiling in response. “I believe Father will permit it. “Father understands my feelings well. “Because he himself often said in the past that he wanted to become a monk and seclude himself in the mountains.” “I see. “Then there should be no problem.” “Then, will you permit me?” “Thank you very much.” “Then please shave my head right away.” “You shouldn’t speak so single-mindedly. “This is exactly why young people trouble me. “For now, go home today, discuss it thoroughly with your parents, and then return.”

“No—please do it right now. They say today’s resolve brings fortune. If we don’t do it here this very moment, we might lose our chance.” “You’re too hasty. I won’t flee or hide. I’ll be here tomorrow and beyond—come back with your parents’ consent.” “Then I refuse!” “Wh-what are you doing? Drawing a blade?” “Since you keep delaying, I’ll shear my own hair. No—don’t try to stop me. I might slip and cut my scalp. It matters not if I do. This head is mine.”

The priest burst out laughing. “Well, well—this is quite something.”

And that day, Eizo became a monk.

With his freshly shaven bluish scalp and wearing robes he had yet to grow accustomed to, Eizo went home the next morning carrying a single furoshiki-wrapped bundle. Just in front of the house, he passed his younger brother Saemon—who seemed bound for calligraphy practice—but Saemon, taking him for a stranger and paying no heed, tried to stride briskly past. Amused by this, “Hey! Saemon!” he called.

“What the—? Who the—?” At this, his younger brother turned around. The younger brother looked at Eizo’s face for a while, but when he finally seemed to realize it was his older brother, he tightly twisted his face. When someone tries to laugh and feels sad at the same time, people make such expressions. Then his younger brother’s face turned red from shame. “You must have been surprised.” Eizo said. Without replying, Saemon passed by Eizo like the wind and dashed into the house.

“Mom! Brother’s come back!” They could hear him calling out in a tearful voice. The younger brothers and sisters, upon seeing Eizo’s drastically altered appearance, either hid themselves in the back rooms or burst into tears.

Father and Mother could not say anything for a while. Mother dropped the comb she had been holding.

“Isn’t this Eizo?”

Father remained standing rigidly at the top of the entrance steps and said. “Father, Mother, please forgive me. “I am no longer Eizo, the eldest son of the Tachibana household. “I have become a novice at Amigase’s Kōshō-ji Temple. “From today, I am Ryōkan.” “Ryōkan?” Father muttered absentmindedly. “I am Ryōkan. “Please forgive this unfilial son. “But for me, there was no other way than this. “This is the kimono and wakizashi that Eizo wore until yesterday. “Since they are no longer needed, I have come to return them today.”

Having said that, the novice Ryōkan placed the cloth bundle he had brought onto the tatami mat.

After some time had passed, Ryōkan—who had received his parents' forgiveness for everything—could be seen as a small figure on the street making his way back to Kōshō-ji Temple. In Echigo, winter arrived early; the wind from the sea blew white across roads and fields, and beneath snow-laden clouds, Ryōkan's freshly shaven blue head felt bitterly cold.

Seven: The Crossbar When evening came, Ryōkan's heart could not settle. After striking the bell, he would often linger around the bell tower. He would sometimes go to close the gate and stand outside it, gazing vacantly toward his own home. It was because he found himself unconsciously hoping someone might come—whether his younger brother Saemon or his dear mother—without even realizing it. He often scolded himself—having abandoned parents and siblings for monastic training, wasn't this attitude unacceptable?—but no matter how much he reproached himself, when evening fell, his heart grew unsettled. His heart turned toward the gate. He found himself instinctively straining his ears, wondering if Saemon might call out "Brother!" from beyond the gate as he once had.

On such evenings, Ryōkan-san’s usually calm and composed heart would grow so pitifully irritable that even trivial matters could anger him. “Hey, Ryōkan.”

One evening, the senior monk said.

Ryōkan, who had once again found himself wanting to go to the gate, raised his face. “Give me a shave.” He was telling him to shave his head. Ryōkan furrowed his brows. “It has not grown out that much yet.” “I just shaved it recently.” “Stop complaining and shave me.” “It has gotten so dark already—we do not need to do this now.” “Do it tomorrow.” “I said stop complaining.” “If you step out under the eaves, it is still light enough there.”

Reluctantly, Ryōkan-san stood up and brought the razor. The two of them stepped out onto the veranda edge where hydrangeas floated faintly white in the dimness. “It hurts! Can’t you shave better?” While having his head shaved, the Senior Monk grumbled. “But it’s your head that’s the problem.” “The center’s dented—makes it impossible to shave properly.” Ryōkan-san did not stay silent either.

“That’s impossible!” “It’s true. Use two mirrors and look properly. It’s a stubborn head to shave. A head that defies razors.” “Don’t spout nonsense.” “Are you going out somewhere again tonight?” “Yeah, just briefly.” “Every night since the head priest left on his journey, isn’t it?” “That’s impossible!” “No, every night. I know this well. Where exactly do you go?” “None of a child’s business.”

“I am not a child.” “Huh? How old are you anyway?” “I am twenty-two.” “You’re that old already? Hmph—still just a child through and through. Comes from being coddled. Raised like a proper young master from birth, weren’t you?” “Do not mock me. I know where you go.” “Where do you think? Take a guess.” “Last night when you returned and slept beside me, I pretended to be asleep—but in truth, my eyes were open.”

“Yeah, and then?” “The smell of alcohol came wafting over from your direction. You go to the teahouse every night, don’t you?” “Yeah, bullseye. You might look like a pampered young master, but you can actually hold a decent conversation. If you want, I’ll even take you along tonight.” “I am not such a worldly monk.” “Is that so? Monks who aim high are different, huh…” “…” “Monks who aim high, huh…”

“You may be saying such things in jest, but in truth, I truly wish to aim high.”

“Huh? Really?” “You?” The senior monk chuckled, “Oh, you’ll aim high alright.” “You’ll become the head priest of a great temple someday.” “You may intend that as sarcasm, but I truly wish to become great.” “It’s not sarcasm.” “I’m being serious.” “I truly wish to become great.” “That’s why I’m telling you—you’ll become great.” “No, I cannot become it.” “Huh? But didn’t you say you would become great?”

“No, I want to become it, but I cannot.”

“Why?” “I consider you a worldly monk.”

“You don’t have to be so serious about it.”

“No, you are a worldly monk.” “However, I am the same as you.” “I cannot sever my attachments.” “We may shave our heads and don robes, but 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 cease worrying that Saemon might call for me beyond the gate again, just as before.”

“That’s probably so. Because home is near.” “It’s the proximity of that house that’s the problem. I am well aware of it. I must move further away from home.” “Then why not just go somewhere far away—to Tang China and India or wherever?” “Yes, that’s exactly it. Even if not as far as Tang China and India, at least Bitchū Tamashima would be acceptable.” “Bitchū Tamashima? If it’s Bitchū Tamashima… Not long ago, there was a monk who stayed at this temple—you know, that what’s-his-name monk….”

“Master Kokusen.” “Yeah, that’s right—Master Kokusen.” “Didn’t he say he came from Tamashima?” “Yes, Entsū-ji Temple in Tamashima.” “So I very much wanted to ask to be taken as a disciple, but it still didn’t work out.” “I am afraid of leaving home far behind.” “This won’t do.” “In this way, I’ll forever remain a worldly, worthless monk.” “Don’t say such harsh things.” “Even a worldly monk isn’t entirely incapable of rising high, you know.” “In the world, there are plenty of worldly monks who’ve become head priests, you know.”

“What I mean by wanting to become great differs from what you imagine.” “How so?” “I require no titles or ranks.” “Even a beggar’s existence would suffice.” “If only I might reach the true path.” “Ah, commendable indeed.” “Such complexities elude my understanding.” “Well, gratitude for your labor.” “Ah, how refreshing.”

Ryōkan finished wiping the razor and came back. “Hey, Ryōkan.” “Is there something else you need?” “Listen—I’ll be running late tonight, so you grind the mortar.” Bad rice was ground into flour and made into dumplings to eat. “No, tonight is your turn.” “Now that’s no good. Then you’ll never reach the true path.” “…………” The senior monk had said it jokingly, but Ryōkan looked down with a solemn expression.

“Oh, I’ll grind it then.” “Yeah, that’s fine, that’s fine.” “Could you lend me some money now and then?” “No.” “There’s no money here for buying liquor.” “That won’t do either.” “Then the true path will escape you!”

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

“He’s outside the gate, I tell you. Go check it out for a bit.” “…………” Ryōkan bit his lower lip and, without a word, stepped down into the garden, walking through the evening gloom toward the gate. When Ryōkan had left, the senior monk hurried to the main hall and reached for the offerings box. The offerings box was rolled with a thud here and a thud there. Each time, the coins inside jingled noisily. And when at last five or six mon coins had flown out onto the tatami mats, Ryōkan came to the main hall.

“What? You’ve already come back from seeing him off?” The senior monk said bashfully. “Stop such behavior, please.” “I’ll give you a little, though it’s not much.” “It’s fine.” “It’s not like I’m taking all of them.” “It’s just about twenty mon.” “But if you use the offerings for such things, divine punishment will strike.” “I’ll give you as much as I want, so isn’t that fine?” “I see. My apologies.”

The senior monk returned the coins on the tatami mats back into the box. The two returned to the temple kitchen. Ryōkan-san brought out his own money. “Is it really okay to get this much?” The senior monk said this while looking at the money he had received. “Yes.” “Well, I’ll pay you back next time.” “You don’t have to return it.” “I see. Well, thanks for that.” The senior monk stood awkwardly for a while. And then, trying to be sociable, “So what happened with your brother?”

he asked. “I don’t know.” “Don’t you 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 returned." The senior monk stared transfixed at Ryōkan's face, where a firm resolve now showed clearly. "You're an odd one." "I want to become worthy. I must cut all attachments. Alone, I must endure true hardship." "......" "I've resolved to go to Bitchū. This very moment, while fastening that latch, I steeled my determination. When the master returns from his travels, I'll seek his blessing and leave at once."

The senior monk could only stare at Ryōkan-san’s face for a time, wondering where such intensity had lain hidden within him—he who had always been so composed.

Ten days later, twenty-two-year-old Ryōkan-san embarked on a long journey alone.

VIII The First Journey

Mother and his younger siblings had come to see Ryōkan-san off to the outskirts of the town. Mother could not help feeling anxious about sending Ryōkan-san off alone to a distant land. In Mother’s eyes, twenty-two-year-old Ryōkan-san still looked like a child. However, Ryōkan-san, “Please return home from here.” he said firmly. At a place where a large camellia tree stood by the roadside.

And thus began Ryōkan-san’s solitary journey. In Ryōkan-san’s hands were a bundle of money that Mother had gently pressed into his palm when they parted, and a sprig of raspberry flowers that one of his little sisters had picked for him. In his heart overlapped the images of his mother and younger siblings from whom he had just parted, along with the house where he was born and the town itself. As he parted ways like this and set off, the thought of when he might see everyone again filled him with sorrow.

However, Ryōkan-san thought he must not remain sorrowful forever. By the roadside stone Jizō statue, he placed the flowers his little sister had given him, and from that moment on resolved to forget his hometown and the people of his household.

Along the roadside still grew shepherd’s purse with small triangular seed pods, while in the hazy sky a seasonally belated skylark sang its trill. He thought of the long journey ahead—first to Edo, then up to Kyoto, and finally to his destination in Tamashima of Bitchū Province. The road was long. Ryōkan-san’s future would be just as lengthy.

In the long path he would walk alone, in the lengthy future he would tread by himself, there would surely be various sufferings. However, Ryōkan-san had hope. Ryōkan-san’s footsteps were light. Ryōkan-san continued walking each day. A solitary shadow fell upon the road. In the woods, a cuckoo was calling. Ryōkan-san heard the call of a cuckoo. When he descended into the valley, the sound of the rapids was cool. Ryōkan-san enjoyed the sound of the rapids.

When he was young, Ryōkan-san had heard stories of that samurai searching for his sworn enemy—it occurred to him now that such must have been the way that warrior journeyed. 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 rocks or by streams, he also turned his inquiries inward, examining his own heart. Everything he saw and heard was new to Ryōkan-san’s eyes and ears. He would stop in surprise before large old trees, or surreptitiously pick up small round water-blue pebbles that had fallen on the road.

The journey taught him various things. What he had read in books until now was all true. However, many of those things were also lies. It was certain that in this world there were truly many, many instances of illness, poverty, and sorrow. That also meant that the work Ryōkan-san had to do in this world was truly vast and endless. When seeing people suffering, Ryōkan-san’s heart was filled with sorrow. However, hope would immediately well up.

When he came to Edo, the houses and temples of Edo were bustling. Ryōkan-san thought it was due to the flourishing power of the shogunate. When he came to Kyoto, the large town was quiet. Ryōkan-san wondered why Kyoto, where the Imperial Family resided, appeared so sorrowful in this manner. Ryōkan-san thought that here too he could see the righteous keeping silent while those who were not exerted their power. The righteous must show themselves. Those who are mistaken must vanish like shadows.

This was nothing other than that Ryōkan-san’s work he must do was truly vast and limitless. The long journey had left Ryōkan-san thin, and his large eyes had grown even larger. The shoulders of his robe were sun-bleached, and calluses from straw sandals had formed on his feet.

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

Nine: At Enzū-ji Temple

Tamashima in Bitchū Province, where Ryōkan-san would spend the next twenty-odd years, was a port town facing the Seto Inland Sea. The Seto Inland Sea cut slenderly into the land, forming a bay. Enzū-ji Temple stood on the hill facing that bay.

Even though both were port towns, Izumozaki in Echigo and this Tamashima were quite different. The sea of Echigo in winter was shrouded in dark clouds, and winds from the north whipped up the waves. The waves raged like angry bulls, hurling themselves against the coastal rocks, their deep groans never ceasing day or night. Moreover, the wind blew away sand and pebbles along the coast, striking the windows and doors of houses near the sea. And when eventually snow arrived, the situation worsened further. The snow and wind raged over the houses, finding every small gap to force their way inside. Therefore, in winter, people could not go outside. They had to shut every window and stay hushed inside their dark houses, like hibernating frogs. It was only natural that the children of Echigo did not rejoice in the snow. They sang thus and hated the snow.

Plop, plop. Snow, don’t fall— For the shore’s mother weeps. By comparison, Tamashima was a place where even winter remained mild. The sea was always gently cradled in blue like a foreigner’s eyes, and sunlight bathed the inlets and hills encircling them. What surprised Ryōkan-san was that green vegetables and wheat could still be seen on the hills even in winter. Snow rarely fell. When it did fall, it was sparse— No more than feathers shed by a great white swan beating its wings overhead. And so when children here saw snow, they would sing like this and rejoice.

Snow is the lord, Rain is the sandal-bearer. In nature's mild embrace, young Ryōkan-san began his life. Yet his heart could not quickly adjust to Tamashima's warm gentleness. Within Ryōkan-san lingered the harshness of Echigo's winter seas where bitter winds raged. With each ascetic practice, Ryōkan-san grew more fervent. Truth must exist somewhere—like a peach's pit at its core. If he could seize this thing, he would become great; then surely he could save all people—so Ryōkan-san believed.

Ryōkan-san would wake up earlier than his peers and go to perform zazen. He would visit Master Kokusen’s chamber to inquire about things even more frequently than his peers. At night, he would read sutras and biographies of eminent monks until late into the hours. However, such truth was not something that could be easily grasped. Where could that truth be found? Even though three or even four years had already passed since coming to Tamashima, he still did not understand. At times, Ryōkan-san would think of this and grow disheartened. What am I accomplishing like this? To have abandoned Father and Mother, gone to the trouble of coming all the way to this distant land, enduring harsh ascetic practices day and night—and still failing to attain enlightenment—what a fool I am! He berated himself.

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

Master Kokusen had been listening to the sound of the pestle for a while, but soon, “Ryō.” He called in a deep, quiet voice.

“Yes.”

Ryōkan-san stopped his feet and answered. “Come down here.” “Yes.”

Ryōkan-san descended from the treadle mortar and went before Master Kokusen.

“Ryō, you harbor dissatisfaction in your heart.” Ryōkan-san felt as though his chest was seized, “That’s not true.”

he answered nonchalantly. “No—hiding it won’t do.” “Why do you say such a thing?” “I can tell by the sound of the pestle.” “If one with a calm mind pounds rice, the pestle’s sound will also be gentle.” “If someone with an unsettled mind pounds it, the rhythm becomes disordered.”

Ryōkan-san averted his gaze from Master Kokusen and hung his head. "It's as I said, isn't it?"

“Yes.” “You fool.” “Yes.”

Master Kokusen said only that and abruptly stood up to head to the back. Ryōkan-san hurriedly, “Master!”

Ryōkan called out. “What is it?” “It is as you say, Master. There is dissatisfaction in my heart. Though I strive not to let it show upon my face, dissatisfaction remains ever-present.” “.............” “I wonder if I should continue like this forever. I merely grow older in vain—no matter how much time passes, I remain unchanged from the Eizo of old.” “………….”

“I believe the suffering endured by people in this world can be divided into two kinds.” “One is physical suffering.” “The suffering of illness and poverty.” “The other is suffering of the heart.” “The anguish of those who have lost parents and grieve, or of those who—though facing no obstacles in life—quarrel with others and nurture hatred.” “I believe we must save people from such suffering.” “To do this, first 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 accumulated twice as much of that practice as others.” “I went to the mountains to gather firewood.” “I went to the town like a beggar to beg for alms.” “I did zazen meditation as well.” “I also pounded rice.” “However, even though it has already been four years since I came here, not only do I not grasp that truth—I cannot even glimpse its shadow.”

“.............”

“That’s why doubt has arisen within me. I began to wonder what connection there could be between pounding rice and going on alms rounds like this, and the true path I seek.” Ryōkan-san, thinking Master Kokusen would say something more, watched the master’s face for a while, but the master remained silent. “Where does the truth lie? I want to know that.” “I don’t know.” For the first time, Master Kokusen spoke.

“It must be because I am a fool that you speak this way.” “Do you think it’s hopeless—that even if taught, I cannot understand?” “If so, please tell me plainly.” “If I am truly beyond help, I will give up.” “Give up.” “I cannot abandon my efforts so easily.” “What part of me is foolish?” “Please show me.” “I will mend whatever flaws I have.” “You’re a noisy creature.” “Forgive me.”

Ryōkan-san remained silent and looked down. “Ryō.”

“Yes.” “If you wish to attain enlightenment that badly, go and ask Priest Senkei.” “He knows that quite well.” Then Priest Kokusen told him which temple Priest Senkei was at. It was not too far from there. Ryōkan-san’s heart was stirred. He thought that if he went to Priest Senkei’s place, he might be taught something. “In that case, would it be all right if I go right now?”

“Yeah, go on then.” “Go and listen well to that truth.”

And then, as Ryōkan-san was about to leave, “And another thing—since the moon’s nice tonight, tell Priest Senkei to come have a drink.” “Not that it’s ’cause I got some decent sake or anything.” he said.

When Ryōkan-san came out through the temple gate, there were three or four girls there. When they saw Ryōkan-san, one of them—

“Oh, perfect timing—Ryōkan-san is here!” she said. In his free time, Ryōkan-san would often play marbles and bounce handballs with these children, or tell them stories about Echigo, the snow country—so he was beloved by the girls. “Ryōkan-san, please.” said the babysitter with a towel tied around her head. “What is it?” “Aktarō went and threw the handball up there—please get it down.” When he looked up, a handball sat perched on a branch jutting out from near the crown of a great pine tree.

“It’s way too high up—how am I supposed to reach that?” With that, Ryōkan-san declined, his mind preoccupied with haste. “But Ryōkan-san, you’re a man—go climb up and get it for us, please.” “I’m busy now—can’t do it.” Having said this, Ryōkan-san hurried past them. The girls stared after him in bewilderment, finding his demeanor unlike his usual self. Though regretting his cold words to them, Ryōkan-san pressed onward—eager to hear the truth sooner.

The tranquil spring hill was overflowing with bright happiness. A cow gazed toward the sea and occasionally lowed. On the sea were white sails, and above them violet clouds hung motionless. Heat haze shimmered across the land, while dandelions along the roadside lay scattered like golden coins. Yet Ryōkan-san, excited by the prospect of soon hearing the truth, paid no mind to these things and hurried along the path. In the field before the temple, a monk with a peasant's face squatted picking vegetables. Since this monk occasionally visited Entsū-ji, Ryōkan-san had at least recognized his features. Thinking him merely some shabby wandering monk lodging at the temple due to his poor appearance—

"Is the priest in today?" he asked casually. “Ah, I’m here.” he said, and resumed picking vegetables.

“I’ve come from Entsū-ji and would like to meet with the priest for a moment.” “Oh? What’s your business?” “I would prefer to discuss my business directly with the priest.” “Oh? “I’m the priest here.” “What—you?” Ryōkan-san was startled. “Yeah, I am.” “You’re Priest Senkei?” “Yeah, I’m Senkei.” “I see.” Ryōkan-san bowed deeply again and apologized for failing to recognize him.

“Ah, don’t you worry about that. Whether you’re a priest or a wandering monk, it’s all the same. We’re all just monks. So, what’s your business?” Ryōkan-san’s tension, which had been building until now, slackened all at once. He no longer felt any desire to ask anything.

So,

“The vegetables have grown wonderfully,” he said while surveying the field. “Yeah, well, they’re comin’ along,” replied Priest Senkei as he kept picking greens. “Want me to give ya some? Take ’em and make blanched greens or somethin’.” “Then I’ll take a little,” said Ryōkan-san. “Pull out as much as y’need,” said the priest. “Straw’s right here—use it to bundle ’em up.”

Ryōkan-san entered the field, took the hoe that was there, and dug up a little from a well-fertilized spot. "You grow so many vegetables—do you eat nothing but vegetables?" "Ah, it ain't like that—I give 'em to folks who want 'em."

With that, Priest Senkei busily set about making bundles of vegetables. He had already made about twenty bundles. “I’m headin’ to town for a bit now—you gonna wait at the temple?”

“Let me see... What time do you expect to return?” “Well now, I’ll likely be back by evening’. Though can’t say for certain. If they make me drink sake, might pass out halfway.” Since the sun still hung high, Ryōkan-san thought waiting until evening would be too much. “I can’t wait that long.” “Then why don’t you come along too?” Ryōkan-san had grown unexpectedly tranquil without noticing. He’d even forgotten why he’d come here from Enzū-ji Temple in the first place.

“Yes, I will accompany you.” Priest Senkei put the vegetables into a basket and shouldered a carrying pole. Ryōkan-san followed after him and headed toward town. When they entered the town, they went house by house, “Would anyone like some vegetables today?” Priest Senkei asked. And to each house that said they wanted some, he gave one bundle. In return for the vegetables, the households gave rice cakes, mandarins, potatoes, and the like. There were also households that gave them a bowl of sake to drink. “Won’t you have a drink too?”

When Priest Senkei said this, Ryōkan-san—who would normally decline—found himself drawn in. “Well then, I’ll have a drink.” and accepted it. After all, Priest Senkei’s spring-like, easygoing disposition ended up shaping Ryōkan-san’s heart in such a manner. In town, they encountered a single beautifully dressed monk. Perhaps returning from a memorial service or some such occasion, he walked pompously while snapping a large fan open and shut. Ryōkan-san knew full well that it was precisely such monks—shallow and superficial in substance, possessing a disposition no different from laypeople—who exemplified this truth. However, Priest Senkei bowed deeply before that monk, just like a peasant would, with a respectful “haaah”. The monk cast a sidelong glance at Priest Senkei and walked past.

“Who is that person?”

Ryōkan-san asked in astonishment. “Dunno.” “Probably just some monk from around here.” Priest Senkei remained nonchalant. Ryōkan-san grew even more astonished. “Do you bow so politely to some unfathomable monk from another sect?” “Yeah.” Priest Senkei said with a laugh. “Since he’s got such a high opinion of himself, just bow and be done with it.” "What a person free from attachment," thought Ryōkan-san.

As they walked through the wheat fields on their way back, Ryōkan-san thought it strange to return without having asked anything despite making the effort to visit, and said: "Um, since Priest Kokusen said you knew well and I should come ask you, I've come to inquire, but..." When he said this, "What? Academic studies?" "I don't know a thing about academic studies." "The only thing I know is how to grow vegetables." Priest Senkei said. "Even so, Priest Kokusen told me that if I asked you, my doubts would be cleared."

“I don’t know a thing. “I don’t read sutras nor practice zazen—just your garden-variety lazy monk through and through.”

It truly appeared that this priest did not know even a single passage from the sutras. Even after coming to Enzū-ji Temple, Ryōkan-san had been well aware that he had not once engaged in zazen meditation. That this was how the priest conducted himself didn’t strike him as strange in the least.

With a warm, fulfilled feeling that was the exact opposite of when he had come, Ryōkan-san set out on his return journey. In one hand, he dangled a bundle of souvenir vegetables.

“Panicking won’t do any good.”

In a loud voice, Ryōkan-san muttered to himself. From within the wheat before his eyes, a lark burst forth, and just when it seemed to have risen slightly, it began to sing. "Things can only turn out as they do." While following the lark with his eyes, Ryōkan-san muttered to himself again. As the lark passed before the sun, it vanished from sight. Only its voice could be heard. "Stay calm and steadily do what you've been given to do."

Ryōkan-san said this and jumped over a pile of grass. A tranquility unlike any before filled Ryōkan-san’s chest. The reason Priest Kokusen had said that visiting Priest Senkei would bring understanding had finally become clear to Ryōkan-san. Before the temple gate, the girls still remained. Having given up on the handball, they were playing marbles on the stone steps. “Shall I retrieve the handball for you?” Ryōkan-san asked the girls.

Ryōkan-san was not very good at climbing trees, so it was quite a struggle. By the time he shook the branch to drop the handball and climbed back down, his robe was torn. His legs were scraped. “Ryōkan-san, we’re sorry.” The girls showed concern for Ryōkan-san. “It’s alright, it’s alright. We’ll play again later.” With that, Ryōkan-san entered the temple gate, smiling.

Ten: Buried Alive

The barley on the hill ripened when the hot season came.

Even at that time, a lark was singing somewhere in the sky as though forgotten. However, the larks’ song was no longer a novelty to people’s ears, and people began to think that larks sang for all too long. Compared to larks, children were clever. The children plucked blackened spikes from the wheat fields, and the peaceful sound of wheat-stalk flutes drifting away occurred only while the wheat fields were still green. By the time the wheat turned a dazzling yellow, the children no longer blew.

When the wheat ripened, the farmers became extremely busy. They had to quickly harvest the wheat and then plant rice afterward. If rice planting was delayed, you couldn’t harvest much rice. From early morning, the farmers took everyone who had the strength to harvest wheat and went out to the fields. Those left behind at home were either blind old women, infants in their cradles, or cats narrowing their golden eyes in the sun. Even that old woman wasn’t in every household. Therefore, in villages made up entirely of farmers, there were often times during the day when no one was around.

The sun blazed down relentlessly, scorching everything into stillness, when from afar, the lonely croak of frogs drifted in. Times like these are precisely when burglars prefer to strike.

After all, the old woman’s eyes were so clogged with discharge that she couldn’t see at all who was walking beyond the fence, and even if the cat saw and knew something was wrong, since it wasn’t a dog, it couldn’t bark. When it came to infants, they were utterly impossible to reason with. Because they couldn’t tell the difference between a thief and their father. As the burglar was leaving, he playfully stuck out his tongue with a “bleh-bleh-bleh” to humor one of them, who in response flailed its arms and legs in delight. That it couldn’t be carried off by the burglar along with the tea kettle was at least some consolation.

So yesterday, the day before that, and even earlier, when the farmers returned home exhausted in the evening, they discovered that a burglar had paid a visit during their absence. They could tell a burglar had visited from things such as the tea kettle being missing, the lid of the rice chest left open, or the drawer beneath the household Buddhist altar pulled out and left as it was—such signs made it clear. Everyone hates burglars, but it’s not because they take things away. It’s because they target times when no one is around and come in silently that they’re hated. Thus, even Kanmata-san—who had only lost one pair of straw sandals but conversely ended up profiting when the burglar left behind a splendid tobacco pouch—became just as furious as Yasuke-san, from whom a gleaming brass tea kettle and one hen had been stolen. “If I catch him, I’ll wring his neck!” he blustered repeatedly, and the next day set out for the fields.

When they finished cutting one row of barley, their backs would start to ache, so at that point the farmers stretched their backs. While they were at it, shielding their eyes with their hands to keep watch over the village, it worked out quite efficiently. Then, finally around noon, Kanmata-san found something suspicious. A monk who looked like a beggar, wearing a deep bun-shaped hat, came from the north alone, holding a begging bowl in his hand. And without looking right or left, he smoothly entered the village.

The way he was entering the village in such a brazen manner made Kanmata-san grow angrier by the moment. “Hey, Yasuke! Did you see that guy just now?”

Kanmata-san called out to Yasuke-san, who was in the opposite wheat field. “Oh, I saw him!” Yasuke-san replied. “Let’s go nab ’im, I say!” Kanmata-san, still clutching his sickle, began walking toward Yasuke-san. “But that there’s a monk, ain’t it?” Yasuke-san removed the cloth covering his cheeks and shook it out. “Even monks ain’t necessarily above stealin’, I tell ya. Even Kōchiyama Sōshun was a great thief, I tell ya.” “Hmm, I wonder...”

At that point, Yasuke-san also decided he might as well go home and check. Because the two of them felt uneasy going alone, they invited the farmers working along the way. In the end, their numbers grew to about ten people. Everyone came holding sickles, ropes, carrying poles, and such in their hands. Ryōkan-san had been unbearably lonely since morning. It was as if his heart had become like a single tree standing atop a hill in late autumn—stripped completely of its leaves, buffeted by a biting wind—left utterly alone in this world with nothing to rely on. It was a loneliness so profound that not even tears would come.

Lately, such things had been happening frequently to Ryōkan-san. It seemed that Mother’s passing last year still lay at the root of it all. When he had returned to his hometown of Izumozaki to hold her memorial service, his younger siblings had already grown up, so he hadn’t felt Mother’s death so keenly then—and yet. After all, Ryōkan-san was now truly all alone. While Mother was alive, even if no one showed him affection, he could always return to Mother’s place—and if he did, Mother would welcome him warmly and kindly as she always did—this feeling had been hidden somewhere in his heart. That is why he had been able to feel secure. However，that Mother was nowhere to be found anymore. Even though his younger siblings had grown up, how could the eldest son, Ryōkan-san, possibly turn to them for support? Father was still healthy. However, that Father too had by now become practically missing; no one knew where he was or what had become of him.

When one truly feels all alone, how terribly lonely a person must be. Lonely though one may be, one does not feel like crying. Even if one were to cry, no one would do anything about it. Even if someone were to comfort one, this was no shallow loneliness that could be healed by such things.

However, Ryōkan-san thought. The great monks of old must have endured this kind of solitary loneliness until finally they no longer even perceived that loneliness as loneliness. Just as a snail carries its own shell on its back, to bear one's own loneliness within one's heart alone and endure that loneliness must surely be a splendid form of ascetic practice. And only then can one polish one’s soul into something of the highest quality.

Therefore, Ryōkan-san resolved to make himself utterly alone today and went out holding a single begging bowl.

Ryōkan-san walked on, letting his feet lead him. Urging himself inwardly to become lonelier, to become more alone. When people fixate solely on their own hearts, they often walk with their eyes open yet remain unaware of where they tread. When he suddenly noticed, Ryōkan-san was walking through a village.

Apparently he was somewhat tired. His legs were heavy. Thereupon, Ryōkan-san sat down beside the wayside shrine and rested. Something hard brushed against his chest. Wondering what it was, he reached to check and found it was the handball he had tucked into his robe when leaving the temple. He had brought it thinking that if he happened upon some nursemaids somewhere, he could play along with them.

The farmers had all gone out for wheat harvesting, leaving no one around. Thinking this would be safe, Ryōkan-san began bouncing the handball alone. Since coming to Tamashima, Ryōkan-san had often played games like bouncing handballs and flicking marbles with nursemaid girls, so he had grown quite adept at girls' pastimes by now. Between Ryōkan-san's slender hands and the parched ground, the beautiful handball embroidered with colored threads moved back and forth in steady rhythm.

Then, naturally, the handball song the girls sang rose to Ryōkan-san’s lips. Thresh the wheat, oh thresh the wheat Nine beans in your hands, oh nine beans Nine beans you see, oh nine beans you see Oya’s village is so dear, oh so dear……… He was just about to reach the part about lending one kan. Suddenly, the handball went flying off ahead. Someone’s foot kicked it. “This one.” “Tie him up!” Immediately, a voice sounded overhead. And Ryōkan-san was effortlessly bound up.

"What a brazen beggar monk." "Comes to steal, thinks nobody's around, and has the gall to play with a handball!" These people have mistaken me for a thief, Ryōkan-san thought. Yet he found himself unable to muster the will to protest, I am not a thief. Become even more alone, Ryōkan-san thought. See what happens when one is all alone.

While being showered with curses by the villagers and prodded from behind, Ryōkan-san was dragged to the village official’s house. Throughout it all, no matter what the villagers questioned him about, Ryōkan-san remained as silent as stone. “I gotta report, sir.” “We caught that Daytime Kite Thief from t’other day.”

Before Kanu-san even entered the house, he shouted loudly from this side of the well. “What? The Daytime Kite Thief!” The official, who had been reading documents, jolted upright. “Put him in the garden.” “I’ll begin questioning at once.” He barked orders toward the yard, hastily fastened his hakama trousers, seized his sword, and strode onto the veranda. Having expected some brawny thief with a ruddy face, scraggly beard around his mouth, and wild glaring eyes—the very image evoked by “Daytime Kite Thief”—the official found himself deflated when confronted instead by a gaunt monk sitting meekly in the garden, his gentleness tinged with melancholy.

“What’s this? A monk?” The Official settled into his judicial posture. “Ain’t no monk you can let yer guard down ’round. That monk Kōchiyama Sōshun—you must’ve seen ’im in them plays, eh?—he was one helluva swindler.”

said Kanu-san.

Then the interrogation began. However, it had only just begun, and no matter how much time passed, it did not progress. The official kept the investigation ledger open but found nothing to write. This was because the monk had not uttered a single word. He tried threatening and coaxing, questioning him repeatedly, but all proved futile. Eventually, the official's voice grew hoarse. Only then did he realize this was no different from speaking to a stone lantern.

The villagers were also growing impatient. Kanu-san held up the tobacco pouch the thief had left behind. Thrusting it forward, "You recognize this, don’t ya?!" "This is yours, ain’t it?!" "No matter how much you put on that saintly act like a Jizo statue, in the end, you’re just the Daytime Kite Thief who smokes tobacco, ain’t ya?!" he said. When the monk still didn’t respond, "Hah! Brazen tobacco-smoking Daytime Kite Thief!" he barked, smacking Ryōkan’s nose with the pouch.

“Become even more alone—let whatever happen happen,” Ryōkan-san kept repeating in his heart. Finally, Ryōkan-san was taken to the pine grove at the edge of the village. Everyone had resolved to bury this “Daytime Kite Thief monk” alive there. “Is doing such a thing truly right?” Yasuke-san asked nervously again and again as they came. “Ain’t no ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ in this. This bastard’s been making trouble for folks. Took people’s things without asking.”

Kanu-san barked, his lips pursed.

“They gave me a kettle ’n’ chicken, y’know? I don’t want that kinda stuff.”

Yasuke-san said. “What’re you sayin’ now? Even if you forgive ’im, I ain’t forgivin’ ’im!” “But Kanu-san, no need gettin’ so riled up. Weren’t nothin’ but some old straw sandals got swiped? And didn’t you end up with a fancy tobacco pouch left ’stead? Hell, you oughta be thankin’ ’im!” “What’re you yappin’ ’bout, you fool? Them sandals weren’t no cheap trash. Had kinkan cords on ’em.”

“Do not quarrel.”

"Do not quarrel," said the official. "I hereby order that this thief be buried alive." The official had grown furious, for no matter how much he interrogated [the monk] until his voice turned hoarse, the other party refused to respond—as if mocking him—and he felt his authority had been undermined.

“Dig here.” the official commanded. Kanu-san, who had come carrying a hoe, began to dig. Everyone stood around it watching. Ryōkan-san was also watching. He watched calmly as if it were someone else’s affair. As the hole gradually deepened, it was the villagers who instead began to grow anxious. The villagers began to think they shouldn’t have come to such a place.

“Excuse me. I’ll just head home for a bit.” “I’ll just head home for a bit and come back.”

Yasuke-san started to head over there. Because everyone was feeling uneasy, “Wh-what do you think you’re doing?” Kanu reproached.

“Uh, I need to go feed the chickens their noon meal.” “You can’t.”

The official stopped him. “You are all witnesses. Not a single one of you is to move a step.” Yasuke-san returned to where everyone was with a tearful face. “That’s enough now.” With that, Kanu-san, who had dug a hole up to chest depth, emerged from it. “Cast the criminal down!” the official commanded. At that moment, a slight disturbance arose. Everyone shrank back.

"I’m all alone, all alone—even this solitude will come to an end," Ryōkan-san quietly thought.

At that moment, someone came running into the woods. He was a well-dressed elderly villager. “Oh, Kichisaburō-san,” the villagers muttered with relief, as though saved. “I heard they meant to bury the monk alive, so I came rushing here,” said Kichisaburō-san. “Now hold on—burying can wait till any time.” Then Kichisaburō-san stared intently at Ryōkan-san’s eyes for a while. When Ryōkan-san looked into those aged villager’s eyes, he found them filled with an immensely kind and warm heart deep within.

“Is this man the Daytime Kite Thief? I simply can’t believe it.”

Kichisaburō-san muttered. "This person understands things deeply and possesses a tranquil heart," Ryōkan-san thought. “By any chance might you be the monk staying at Entsū-ji Temple in Tamashima? I had heard tell of an unconventional yet remarkable monk who came from Echigo for training.”

Ryōkan-san could not stop the sudden surge of joy welling up inside him. “Yes, that’s correct.” “I am.” “Though I’m not great at all.” “I knew it was so.” Then Kichisaburō-san explained the purity of Ryōkan-san’s heart to everyone and the officials. Everyone had indeed heard of Ryōkan-san before. “We did wrong without knowin’.” The villagers apologized. “When we saw you playin’ handball at the wayside shrine, we thought that was mighty suspicious.” “We figured back then that no Daytime Kite Thief would be playin’ handball or nothin’, but what can ya expect from pumpkin-brained fools like us?”

said one of them. “I ain’t made things right by slappin’ your nose.” “Go on and smash my nose to vent your anger.” “It’s a flat nose—hitting it wouldn’t do any good anyway.” And Kanu-san also apologized. “Oh, it’s nothing, nothing.” said Ryōkan-san.

On the way back, Kichisaburō-san, “Even so, Ryōkan-san, even though you were going to be buried alive, why didn’t you say a single word in your own defense?” Kichisaburō-san asked.

Ryōkan-san answered.

“I thought everything was karmic fate and had resigned myself to it. That I met such misfortune—I believed I must have done something wrong somewhere before, that this was my retribution.” “Then you didn’t resent us at all, did you?” said Kanu-san.

Tears began to well up in the eyes of many villagers. "There are people like this... and there are also kind-hearted people like this," everyone thought.

When passing by the wayside shrine earlier, Ryōkan-san gazed around restlessly. “Did you drop a coin or somethin’?” the villagers asked.

“No, no.”

Even as he said this, Ryōkan-san kept searching here and there. Then, upon spotting the handball lying at the base of the sanshō tree across the way, he hurried over and discreetly tucked it into the fold of his robe. He didn’t want anyone to see him. Yet everyone had seen what it was. They exchanged glances. What a pure-hearted person he was. Just like a child. Their eyes spoke these words silently.

11. Wandering

“Monk, you must be tired.” Ryōkan-san was addressed from behind. It happened on the highway stretching east from Hizen Nagasaki. On a clear autumn day nearing noon, white buckwheat flowers shone refreshingly across the fields, while siskins occasionally traversed the sky, letting fall their slender, crystalline cries. “Ah.” Responding as he turned, Ryōkan-san hastily cleared a path. An ox cart had drawn up close behind him.

“Monk, where are you headed?” As he walked beside the ox’s head, the ox driver spoke again. “There’s no such thing as ‘how far.’ I’ll go as far as I can go, you see.”

said Ryōkan-san.

The peasant peered under the hat and, getting a good look at the monk’s face, found him to be a refined and kindly man, so— “If you’d like, why don’t you ride in the cart?” “It’s empty, so no trouble at all.” said the ox driver. “Is that so? “That’s most gracious of you.” Ryōkan-san went around to the back of the ox cart and climbed aboard. On the cart’s platform, as the vehicle jolted up and down over the uneven road, three or four grains danced about. While observing this, Ryōkan-san felt grateful for the ox driver’s kindness.

The cart creaked and groaned as it slowly moved through the autumn sunlight. Ryōkan-san looked ahead and found it strange. This was because the kind ox driver was simply walking alongside the ox with his arms folded, while holding the reins was a boy who appeared to be only twelve or thirteen years old. The boy seemed to be trying his hardest to guide the ox. When approaching a slope, he would urge the ox on with “Hut hut!”, and when passing other carts, he would say “Whoa there!” while pushing against the ox’s neck to clear the way.

Why would someone make a small child hold the reins while they themselves, despite being an adult, idly let their hands rest? Ryōkan-san wondered as he watched the kind ox driver.

The sun reached its zenith. From the village beyond the pine forest came the sound of a bell announcing noon. Having been jostled about for some time, Ryōkan-san's buttocks grew sore. “Let’s eat our lunch here.”

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 meals, but strangely enough, it was the child who performed this task. The ox driver stood by, busying himself with various tasks. And when the child made mistakes or fumbled about, he scolded him harshly.

The child took husks and finely chopped straw from the bag on the cart and put them into the feeding trough. Then, using a vessel made by splitting a gourd in two, he fetched water from the clean stream below the road and mixed it into the feed. When the bucket was brought under its nose, the ox, as if completely indifferent to the child’s efforts, immediately thrust its face into it and began munching away. Once that work was finished, the ox driver finally had the child take out their lunch. As he watched, Ryōkan-san thought that in this situation, it seemed the ox driver cared more about the ox than the child.

“Monk, what will you be having?” The ox driver sat down at the base of the pine tree and said while opening a lunch. “I’m not hungry yet.” said Ryōkan-san. But in truth, he was hungry. The reason was simply that he did not have a lunch. “That’s not true at all.” “There ain’t no ox or human alive who isn’t hungry come noon.” “From what I can tell, you don’t have a lunch, do you?”

“You’re quite the perceptive one, aren’t you?” The ox driver laughed and said,

“Well then, why don’t you eat half of mine? It’s awfully dark rice—might not suit your taste.” “Not at all! Dark rice is my favorite. With eggplants and rice—the darker the better.” While making such jokes, Ryōkan-san began to eat the rice shared onto his lunchbox lid. “Monk, how old are you?” “Thirty-three.” “Hmm, thirty-three. So we’re the same age then.”

Ryōkan-san looked at the man again. Because the man was stocky and thick-necked, Ryōkan-san had thought he must be around forty. This man was thirty-three, the same age as himself... When people hear they're the same age, they suddenly start comparing their lives. Ryōkan-san promptly began doing just that. "What's this child to you?" "This here brat's my eldest son." said the ox driver in rough tones. Yet his eyes as he looked at the child brimmed with tender affection.

“There’s still three under this one.” “The youngest one’s still crawling around the garden like a baby turtle.” “But this one’s already thirteen.” “He’s already starting to become full-fledged.” “You—even though they’re your own children—why don’t you dote on them more and take better care of them?” “Is there really such a thing as making a pitiful child do all the work while you just stand there with your arms folded, watching?”

“Heh.”

The ox driver laughed. "Well now, you sure do talk like a monk, Monk-san." "But Monk, if we don't put 'em through such hardships, kids'll never grow proper." Then the ox driver happily explained he'd been teaching the child how to handle the ox these past few days, and since the boy had been watching regular-like, he was catching on quick. The child listened smiling too.

So that’s how it was—he had been teaching his son, who was becoming an adult, the work of an ox driver—Ryōkan-san finally understood the question that had been on his mind until now. “Monk, where are you from?”

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.” “What made you come all the way out to this backwater part of Kyushu, huh?”

Ryōkan-san fell silent. The answer was difficult to say. However, after gulping down the rice, he said.

“I came here intending to go to Qing.” “Qing, huh? Why on earth would you want to go to Qing of all places?”

To this question as well, Ryōkan-san found it difficult to answer. However, Ryōkan-san told the truth. “I intended to go to Qing, study, and become a great monk.” “Hmm, to become a great monk, eh?”

“A beggar monk like me thinking of such grand plans—you must find it laughable.” “Laughable or not, I don’t really know what makes someone great. Never been one myself.” “I’ve never once been a great person myself, you see.” “For a long time, I had held the wish to save the people suffering in this world.” “So I resolved to gather the leprosy patients, who were the most despised in society, and save them from their pitiful circumstances—being pelted with stones and chased away with sticks.” “For that, I needed to collect money, build a large house, and invite good doctors.” “For two or three years, I went on alms rounds and desperately saved up what I received.” “However, with my weak body and poor way with words, even after two or three years of saving, the coins I’d managed to gather amounted to barely anything.” “This way, I realized that even if I spent my whole life at it, I couldn’t build a proper house—much less a cowshed.” “And I realized there was one more obstacle that couldn’t be spoken aloud.”

“What’s that now?” “This is something I can’t reveal even to you.”

That was the Tokugawa Shogunate, which ruled the land at that time. Would the Shogunate ever permit a monk like Ryōkan—unknown and insignificant—to build a large house, gather many patients, and undertake such a grand work of providing medical treatment? For being deemed a meddlesome fellow, Ryōkan-san would be captured, charged with a crime, and his house demolished—this would undoubtedly be the outcome. The unease that Ryōkan-san could not speak of, even if he had wanted to, was this.

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

The ox occasionally raised its head from the feed bucket, licking off the fodder that had gotten into its nostrils with the tip of its tongue and eating it. A kite cried as it rose and fell above the pine forest. “Crossing to Qing is forbidden by law, isn’t it?”

said the ox driver. “It is indeed forbidden by law.” “Since it was forbidden by law, I intended to cross in secret.” “As 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 sailors and we couldn’t understand each other’s language, we discussed by writing Chinese characters on paper.” “However, they looked at me suspiciously, scrutinizing me up and down, 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 in the end, they wouldn’t listen to me.” “In the end, I resigned myself to the fact that this too was not meant for me.”

“Monk, you’re a man quick to resign yourself, aren’t you.” “For folks like us, such easy resignation just ain’t possible.” “Though folks like us don’t have grand ambitions like crossing over to Qing or gathering patients or such.” “Well, what folks like us hope for is just to have a little bit of our own farmland, buy a good ox, raise a son, and retire once we hit fifty—pretty trivial hopes, ain’t they?” “I see, I see.” “And so, have you achieved those hopes of yours?”

“Ah, well, though it’s a bit embarrassing for me to say it myself, take a look at this ox.” “This here’s the finest ox in the whole village, I tell ya.” “You probably don’t know much about oxen, Monk, but one with a small forehead, horns slanting back, and yellowish eyes like this here—that’s what makes a top-quality ox, I tell ya.” “I see, I see.”

“I bought this ox myself.” “As for the rice fields too, last year I was finally able to make about five tan my own.” “Since I was born a second son, I started with nothin’ at all, but I worked my fingers to the bone and finally got what I have now, I tell ya.” “And once this kid grows up to be a proper adult, I’ll finally be able to retire, I tell ya.”

On the ox driver's face overflowed the joy of fulfillment.

When lunch was finished, Ryōkan-san was given a ride on the empty cart again. With a rumble, the cart began to move.

When afternoon came, small clouds like scraps of cotton appeared here and there in the sky, and each time they grazed the face of the sun, the white road was cast in shadow. As he was jolted about with a rumble, Ryōkan-san watched the ox driver, the child holding the reins, and the ox walking slowly while shaking its head every now and then.

Ryōkan thought. This ox driver—my exact contemporary—had acquired both fields and oxen through determined effort and raised children into adulthood. By comparison—what exactly had I achieved? True enough—I'd consumed countless texts. Endured grueling ascetic disciplines. Gained fundamental comprehension regarding humanity and existence itself. Yet if I persist thus—idling through existence without purposeful action—doesn't this render every effort thus far utterly valueless? Unless I actively engage with society—relieving suffering souls and comforting anguished hearts—haven't all my endeavors until now been fundamentally meaningless?

“Ryōkan—why did you abandon your parents? Why did you leave your hometown?” Ryōkan berated himself. Alright—I’ll go back to Nagasaki once more. I’ll try asking those sailors again. By any means necessary—I’ll cling to their sleeves and beg them to take me along. Having resolved himself thus, Ryōkan made up his mind.

“Please let me down here now.”

Ryōkan-san said as he alighted. “What’ll you be doin’ now?” The ox driver looked at Ryōkan-san with a puzzled expression. “I’ll be returnin’ to Nagasaki once more,” “Just thought of somethin’, I have.” “That so?” The ox driver didn’t know what resolve lay in Ryōkan-san’s heart. Likely thinking he’d merely forgotten something, he made no attempt to stop him. After thanking them for the meal, Ryōkan parted from the ox drivers. Half-running now, he turned back down the path he’d come.

Autumn brings early sunsets. When Ryōkan-san finally reached the hill overlooking the city of Nagasaki and its bay, only a faint evening glow lingered in the sky, while the dark of dusk was already seeping into the sea.

Ryōkan-san attempted to head down toward the town. However, his feet came to a halt. Ryōkan-san’s eyes came to rest on a single sailboat that was now departing Nagasaki Harbor, passing beyond Dejima.

He recognized that ship. It was the Qing trade ship that Ryōkan-san had asked to board that morning. After all that effort—thinking to ask once again, I ran all the way here without even catching my breath—and yet the ship was already setting sail. Ryōkan-san was seized by despair and, as though unable to bear its weight, collapsed onto the grass.

He wanted to cry out—Hey wait! However what good would that do? Even if Ryōkan-san’s voice had reached the sailors’ ears what reason could there have been for them to turn back? Ryōkan-san plucked grass stalks from the earth. He bit through them bitterly. My last hope... The single rope into which I had poured everything now snapped.

The ship gradually grew smaller. To Ryōkan-san’s eyes, it appeared as hope itself—fleeing away, never to return. "This is too cruel... too cruel." Ryōkan muttered under his breath. It was inexpressibly frustrating. Tears flowed steadily down his cheeks.

When the ship disappeared from view, the evening glow in the sky also vanished. The world became nothing but a vivid blue dusk. Ryōkan-san remained sitting motionless for a long time. He had no idea what to do from that point onward.

How much time had passed in that state when suddenly Ryōkan pricked up his ears. Something was coming to him. It rose faintly from within the evening haze below the hill and settled in Ryōkan-san’s ears. A pure and beautiful sound. As if it were bees buzzing through spring sunlight. That small noise resembled a tiny creature. Flitting here and there while bringing peace and happiness to human hearts.

After listening for some time, Ryōkan-san finally realized it was the sound of the evening bell ringing 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—one unlike any before—begin to stir within his heart. It was as though one of the bell sounds he had just heard had alighted in Ryōkan-san’s heart and sprouted buds there.

――I was a fool. I had been reaching for things beyond my station. Consider this properly. Was I not an incompetent who couldn't even fulfill my duties as village headman satisfactorily? That I had entertained such grandiose ideas—crossing to Qing to become a great monk, going about persuading people, planning to build a large hospital—this had been the root of my mistake.

――The ox driver had aspirations appropriate to his station. And he accomplished them. I too shall hold hopes within my reach. And I shall accomplish them. When that is done, I will then set my next hope.

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

12. Return to the Homeland

Having failed to cross from Nagasaki to Qing, Ryōkan-san had returned once more to Entsū-ji Temple in Bitchū Tamashima. And once again, he spent his days as before—sitting in zazen meditation and going on alms rounds. In Master Kokusen’s eyes, it became clear that Ryōkan-san had changed from before. In the past, Ryōkan-san would sometimes become so absorbed in some matter that his gentle eyes would take on a strangely intense glow; but such occurrences had now completely vanished. Every day, like a fool, he worked and studied diligently. Ryōkan had gradually become a true human being and come to know his true self, Master Kokusen thought.

One day，Master Kokusen composed a poem about Ryōkan-san and showed it to him. In it was written：＂Ryōkan may appear a fool，yet his heart remains remarkably generous． He never becomes flustered，entrusting himself wholly to fate， possessing such composure and calmness in his heart that he can nap anytime，anywhere．＂ In this way，Ryōkan-san accumulated such profound self-cultivation that even his master praised him，delving ever deeper into the path of sincerity．

Several more years passed at Entsū-ji Temple. Ryōkan-san turned forty-four.

One day, an unexpected event came to visit. It was brought by a courier from Kyoto. The courier handed a letter to Ryōkan-san and left. Ryōkan-san, who had known for some time that his father Inan-san was in Kyoto, wondered if this might be a letter from his father and opened it. At first, looking at the characters, he realized it was different from his father’s handwriting. It was handwriting from someone he had never seen before.

Ryōkan-san read it from the beginning. With an attitude as calm as water, he read it through to the end. After finishing reading, he spread the opened letter out like a handkerchief on both hands and stared blankly for a while; then he flipped it over. Ryōkan-san did not have much in the way of belongings. When he gathered all his belongings around him, they formed a small cloth-wrapped bundle. Ryōkan-san made it. Taking that cloth-wrapped bundle, he went to Master Kokusen’s quarters.

“Are you setting off as a wandering monk again?” Kokusen said, looking at Ryōkan-san’s cloth-wrapped bundle. “Yes.” Ryōkan-san answered. “Where are you headed this time? Back to Kyushu?” “No. This time, I intend to return to my birthplace via Kōyasan and Kyoto.” “Ah.” “Then it’ll take quite some time again, huh.” “Well, go and return at your leisure.” “Return by next winter.” “I still intend to be in good health, huh.”

“No, I do not intend to return this time.” “What? You won’t come back? Then do you mean to settle in your homeland for good?” “I don’t know where I’ll settle, but I do not intend to come back here.” “I see. That may be well, but what made you suddenly resolve upon this course?”

"My father has died. A letter just arrived from an acquaintance of my father in Kyoto." Ryōkan-san showed the letter to Master Kokusen. Master Kokusen opened it and read. It stated that your father had passed away here, that there was something he had left for you in my possession, and that you should come to Kyoto when convenient. “Then go safely.” “If fate allows our paths to cross again, we shall meet.” Master Kokusen said as he rolled up the letter.

“I have long been under your care.” “I will never forget your kindness for as long as I live.” “Please take good care of yourself.” Ryōkan-san expressed his gratitude with few words imbued with deep sincerity, put on his straw sandals, and departed Entsū-ji Temple. The sea was calm today, its color beautiful. The vegetable garden on the hill was bathed in abundant sunlight once again today. The young grass on the path Ryōkan-san trod emitted a vigorous fragrance as he walked on. In front of the earthen wall across the way, the children who often played with Ryōkan-san were playing again today. The children, unaware that Ryōkan-san had gone far away and would never return, said things like, “Let’s play marbles on your way back, Ryōkan-san.” Ryōkan-san smiled sadly and passed by.

Farewell to the sea and the hills," Ryōkan-san said within his heart. "Farewell, O bright sunlight; farewell, O children; farewell, O grassy path.

Just as a single fruit ripens, so too did the bright nature of Bitchū Province—which had softly, richly, warmly matured Ryōkan-san's heart—receive his farewell in this manner.

“Are you the one referred to as Ryōkan?”

The person who had sent the letter from Kyoto spoke nostalgically upon seeing Ryōkan-san. That person truly seemed like someone whose sole pleasure was haiku and lived in a quiet, tidy little house.

Ryōkan-san briefly expressed his gratitude for having the letter sent to him and for the kindness shown to his father Inan. “Truly, it was most unfortunate about Mr. Inan.” “This is Mr. Inan’s mementos.” When he brought them out for Ryōkan-san to see, they were a long sheet of paper (called hansetsu) and a tanzaku strip. On each, at a single glance, haiku were written in what was recognizably his father’s brushwork. Ryōkan-san read them nostalgically like this.

――In the morning mist lies a lower tier of silk tree blossoms, ――Night frost becomes my body's final form. However, when Ryōkan-san realized his father's mementos consisted solely of these two haiku, he found it disappointingly meager. "Didn't he leave behind any clothing or such?" he asked. "No, only these." That person answered with evident difficulty. Then after a pause, with resolved demeanor,

“I will tell you everything. “The truth is, Mr. Inan threw himself into the Katsura River and passed away.” “What?!” At these utterly unexpected words, Ryōkan-san was shocked. For a time, no words came. And in those brief passing moments, everything became clear to Ryōkan-san. Yet he did not give voice to it. To speak it felt forbidden. The other person comforted Ryōkan-san in various ways. “Mr. Inan was truly quite an eccentric person.”

He said things like that. “It seems he hadn’t properly informed his family about his departure to Kyoto either.” “Among our haiku teachers, there is one called Master Kyōtai, and Master Kyōtai once journeyed through the northern provinces.” “And on his return journey, he apparently stopped by your hometown of Izumozaki.” “Master Kyōtai went to the town’s public bathhouse that evening.” “Then, apparently, your father Mr. Inan had also come to the bathhouse.” Since the two had known each other beforehand, they exchanged greetings: “Oh!” “Oh!” “Where are you off to now, Master Kyōtai?” Mr. Inan asked. “I’m returning to Kyoto now.” “In Kyoto, when I return, there’s a haiku gathering.” “How about you come along as well?” said Master Kyōtai. Then Mr. Inan replied casually, “Is that so? Then I suppose I’ll accompany you.” Master Kyōtai had naturally thought it was a joke. However, when they left the bathhouse, Mr. Inan did not return home but instead came to Master Kyōtai’s inn, and they departed together the next morning. It seems that when their travel funds ran out along the way, he had borrowed money from an acquaintance in Shiidani. “We later heard that story and truly thought Mr. Inan was quite an eccentric person.”

Ryōkan-san thought that this person considered his father merely an eccentric. ――Even if Father appeared that way on the surface, in his heart he was no mere eccentric. Father had one aspiration indeed.

Ryōkan-san wanted to quickly be by himself and compose himself, so he soon took his leave from the man’s house.

In the depths of Father Inan’s heart, a fierce loyalist ambition had always burned. Ryōkan-san had known that all along.

Ryōkan-san recalled the stories his father had often told him when he was small.

――Long ago, there was a court noble called Hino Suketomo. It was a time when wicked rebels held sway, and His Majesty the Emperor had taken residence in the mountains. Suketomo lamented the state of such a world and schemed for His Majesty the Emperor. However, before the plan could be carried out, the rebels discovered it, and Suketomo was exiled far from the capital to Sado Island. Not only was he exiled, but after several years, he also fell into the hands of those rebels and died. On that Sado Island you see every day...

Mr. Inan had told this story to Ryōkan-san repeatedly and emphatically, urging him to remember it well. The clever Ryōkan-san remembered it clearly. He also understood why Father had told him this story. Eventually, Ryōkan-san had come to secretly align his own aspirations with Father’s. _Father went to Kyoto under the guise of haiku—he must have been seeking an opportunity to fulfill that ambition,_ Ryōkan-san thought.

――But had that opportunity been found? No, no―if he had found it, why would he have thrown himself into the river to die?

――In the face of the shogunate’s overwhelming power, Father had realized how feeble his own strength alone was and despaired. He had died from that despair… If he could have, Ryōkan-san would have wanted to inherit Father’s aspiration. Yet Ryōkan-san knew it was still too early for that now. ――What could come of a good-for-nothing like me struggling however much? To struggle vainly would only bring 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 toward his hometown.

Ryōkan-san gradually approached his hometown while engaging in alms begging. Twenty years ago, Ryōkan-san had walked this same path when young; now he was walking it in the opposite direction. Not only was the direction reversed, but everything seemed to Ryōkan-san inverted from how it had been twenty years prior. Back then, he had not yet truly understood worldly affairs. His heart had swelled with grand hopes. Now he had come to know humanity's manifold sufferings. In his chest remained no hope at all……

――I had walked this path twenty years ago thinking there were countless tasks I must accomplish—but how much had I actually done? When he thought this, Ryōkan-san was overcome with shame. "I did nothing... Nothing that served others." "...nothing that served others." Muttering this, Ryōkan-san sat down on a stone along the mountain path. ――Not only did I do nothing—I was unfilial to Father and Mother. "When I told Father and Mother, 'I will study and surely become someone great,' they must never have imagined I would end my days as such an insignificant wandering monk." Mother must have passed away still believing that I would surely become a great monk someday. Father must have believed that I would carry on his aspiration.

――No—truly, I am a good-for-nothing. Such a good-for-nothing can only exist by being quietly allowed to live in some corner of this human world. Let me live quietly in some corner.

Ryōkan-san stepped out quietly toward where the sun shone while carefully aligning his steps, lost in thought. Suddenly, with a flutter, two sparrows came flying down right beside him. And then they flitted lightly over to the edge of Ryōkan-san's wooden bowl that had been placed on the stone. One perched on the edge while the other entered the wooden bowl and began pecking at the grains of rice. Ryōkan-san did not try to chase them away and kept gazing at them intently.

The next day, the small floating form of Sado Island appeared on the sea's horizon. Ryōkan-san thought he had finally reached his hometown.

Thirteen: At the Five-Measure Hermitage

The elderly Ryōkan-san came to live in a small hermitage called the Five-Measure Hermitage. The hermitage was situated on the mountainside of Kunagami, a short distance from his hometown of Izumozaki. The name Five-Measure Hermitage—how did it come to be? Over a hundred years before that time, a renowned monk named Mannen had accomplished a great work and then built that hermitage to retire. And so Monk Mannen received five measures of rice each day, lived each day on that alone, and thus named the hermitage "Five-Measures." Therefore, the Five-Measure Hermitage was a modest house.

The life of Ryōkan-san, who had come to live in that hermitage, was also extremely simple. We can understand much about the Five-Measure Hermitage because Ryōkan-san himself composed poems about it. It is a poem that conveys the following meaning. The Five-Measure Hermitage is desolate. As precarious as a suspended stone instrument. Outside, nothing but cedars, On the walls hang nothing but poems. In the pot, dust has accumulated, Many are the days when no smoke rises from the hearth. But in the eastern village there are friends,

When moonlit nights arrived, they came to visit. And how quietly had Ryōkan-san lived there? One could understand by looking at Ryōkan-san’s poems. The mossy water trickling through crevices in the mountain-shadowed rocks Faintly, I am clear throughout—perhaps. It meant that, like clear water flowing silently over moss-covered stones in the quiet mountain shade, he lived with purity, making no sound. Yet Ryōkan-san had not merely lived quietly. Amidst his tranquil life, he never neglected his studies. Nor did he neglect his self-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 clearly through the forest like wooden clappers. Then Ryōkan-san made his way to a spot where he could see the sea and Sado Island. Through the trees, the sea glistened silver. And above it lay the dear green of Sado.

“Good morning, Mother.”

With such feelings, Ryōkan-san bowed toward Sado. By this time, he could not help feeling a deep nostalgia for Sado Island—where his mother had been born and spent her girlhood—as if seeing his mother herself there. Then Ryōkan-san slightly adjusted his direction and faced southwest. He bowed his head politely. Beyond numerous mountains and rivers, beyond layers of clouds, lay the Imperial Palace. And Kyoto was also where his father had been—the final place for him who died in indignation after failing to achieve his imperial loyalist aspirations.

The sun had already risen quite high. Light streamed into the thicket, brightening it.

Ryōkan-san returned to the hermitage and opened the lid of the rice chest to look inside. The rice he had received through alms-begging lay scattered at the bottom. Tilting the chest and pushing it into a corner to check, he realized there was still about two days' worth remaining. Ryōkan-san washed some rice in a small earthen pot, put it in, and set it on the hearth. The fuel too was pine needles and dried grass that Ryōkan-san himself had gathered and brought back. Ryōkan-san fed it into the hearth little by little, slowly. Just as one would feed grass to a rabbit. Ryōkan-san liked such moments. When burning, pine needles emitted a pleasant fragrance, and their flames somehow seemed more beautiful than those of other things. When he did this, he found himself wanting to put his quiet, fulfilled life into poetry or song.

Wanting money, wanting feasts— Since I do not desire them, my heart is content. Wanting this, wanting that— To dwell on them brings endless pain. Even plain fare Fills my belly. Even coarse robes— They suffice for me. When loneliness comes, I retreat to mountains To play with deer. Returning to the village, I sing with children. At times with spring water I cleanse my ears— Then pine winds whisper All the more clear.

A poem of such meaning had properly taken shape in Ryōkan-san’s mind by the time the rice was cooked. The rice was cooked, but to let it steam properly, it had to be left as it was for a while. Ryōkan-san wordlessly went out into the garden.

Ryōkan-san, who had been looking around here and there, suddenly noticed a bamboo shoot growing beneath the veranda. The roots of the bamboo grove had burrowed all the way there, and the bamboo shoot must have sprouted from the tip of one of those roots. As Ryōkan-san looked at this bamboo shoot, he recalled a grasshopper he had once seen by the riverbank and found himself amused. The grasshopper had hopped briskly from Ryōkan-san’s feet. It seemed that grasshopper had been quite adept at jumping. And in the end, because it had jumped too far, it fell into the river. Even so, the grasshopper tried to jump. It appeared the grasshopper could not distinguish between water and grass. However, in the water, no matter how much it kicked, it was in vain. The grasshopper was finally carried away. Surely this bamboo shoot, too, had been adept at burrowing through the ground. Even if Mother Bamboo had tried to stop it, saying, "You mustn’t go that way so much," it probably would not have listened. And finally, it had ended up sprouting in a place like this. Its tip had already reached the edge of the veranda. By now, the bamboo shoot must be as startled as the grasshopper that had plopped onto the water.

Finding it amusing, Ryōkan entered the hermitage while laughing to himself. By now, the rice must have been properly steamed. When he removed the lid, a puff of white steam softly caressed his face, and a delicious aroma struck his nose. It seemed well done. "The poem came out poorly, but the rice turned out well." While making such a joke to himself alone, Ryōkan ate a modest breakfast. After finishing breakfast, he came to his desk and sat down. It was so he could write down the poem he had just composed before he forgot it.

He wrote it out once over on paper. He grew pleased that it had come out rather 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 was just poorly done. "The rice turned out well, but the poem came out poorly." While muttering idly like this, Ryōkan-san became completely absorbed in perfecting the poem. He no longer heard the warbler singing at the edge of the garden, nor noticed the butterfly that had wandered in through the window and was slipping out through the back door. He devoted himself entirely to improving those unsatisfactory parts of the poem.

Then Ryōkan-san realized something else had been troubling him in a corner of his mind since earlier. He didn't know why, but some matter was weighing on him. Since he couldn't quite grasp what it was, he felt uncomfortable. It was just like when a flea was biting his back before he'd clearly realized it—that inexplicably unpleasant sensation.

—Something’s weighing on me. 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. I must quickly deal with that thing; otherwise, this poem will never become anything splendid. "Ah, that's it!"

After considering various matters and suddenly reaching understanding, Ryōkan-san let out a loud voice.

――It was the bamboo shoot. A bamboo shoot growing from beneath the veranda, its head now stuck... "No wonder I felt as though something was pressing down on my head. Right, this—I can’t just leave it be." Ryōkan-san immediately rushed outside and hurriedly made his way to Kokujō-ji Temple, located a bit further up the same mountain. “Excuse me, but could you lend me a saw?”

When he saw the temple worker, Ryōkan-san said. “What’re you up to?”

The temple worker asked as he brought out a saw and handed it over. "What's this? 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.” Ryōkan-san, having borrowed the saw, returned to the Five-Measure Hermitage as if running. Before long, the temple worker from Kokujō-ji Temple, who was going on an errand to the village at the foot of the mountain, stopped by the Five-Measure Hermitage. “Ryōkan-san, did things go well with the bamboo shoot?” “Ah, it went well.” Ryōkan-san’s voice came from inside the hermitage.

The temple worker was astonished when he saw the veranda. What had been cut was not the bamboo shoot, but the veranda. The part where the bamboo shoot's head had been touching was cut out into a square. "Well, I never..."

The temple worker stood dumbfounded. "In that case, the bamboo shoot must be feeling relieved now." "I feel lighter too." "As long as its head was stuck under the veranda, I couldn’t help feeling it was someone else’s problem—and I also felt as though someone was pressing down on my head." "I see." "Well, this should do." "Thanks to that, the poem came together nicely." Ryōkan-san was an unusual person. No—he truly was an unusual person. He values the bamboo shoot more than the veranda.

Thinking this, the temple worker made his way down the slope.

The temple worker's surprise did not end there. About half a month later, when the temple worker came to the Five-Measure Hermitage again, he was even more astonished 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. And there was Ryōkan-san, puffing away briskly on his tobacco while gazing up and down at the young bamboo as though observing a dependable young man. No—Ryōkan-san was truly an astonishing person. What an utterly astonishing person.

Thinking this, the temple worker headed up toward Kokujō-ji Temple.

The next day, as Ryōkan-san was looking at the young bamboo and composing a poem about bamboo, the sound of horse hooves came from below the slope. It must be someone heading up to Kokujō-ji Temple, but it's unusual for them to come by horse. A samurai perhaps.

As he was thinking this, the sound gradually drew closer. Instead of ascending toward Kokujō-ji Temple, it entered the garden of the Five-Measure Hermitage. “Ah, Yoshiyuki.” He was Ryōkan-san’s immediate younger brother. When he was young, he had been called Saemon, but now he had changed his name to Yoshiyuki. Yoshiyuki-san too, just like Ryōkan-san, had passed the prime of manhood and was becoming an old man. After all, the household already had a grown son named Manosuke who was training to succeed as village headman.

“Brother, what on earth is that bamboo?” Yoshiyuki-san, also surprised by the bamboo on the veranda, asked while tying his horse to a tree in the garden.

“Oh, this one just happened to sprout under the veranda by mistake.” “I thought about chopping it up for miso soup and eating it, but... well, when it went to all the trouble of coming to my side like this, doing such a thing seemed too pitiful.” “That’s absurd!” “But it’s just a bamboo plant, isn’t it?” “Yeah, it’s bamboo. But isn’t bamboo just fine as it is?” “This is so ridiculous, I’m at a loss for words.” “You even made holes in the veranda and eaves.” “All for the sake of a single bamboo plant.”

Yoshiyuki-san came to the edge of the veranda and sat down. “You may call it just a single bamboo plant, but to me—whether bamboo, sparrows, cats, or human children—they all seem like living beings, all equally precious.” “I can’t take such talk seriously. What an absurd whim.” Yoshiyuki-san, as if he had lost all interest in the bamboo talk, began looking restlessly around the hermitage. And he said. “Brother, are hermitages really this empty?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s so refreshingly simple.” “Yeah, it’s refreshingly simple.” “Are you not lacking anything?” “There’s nothing I lack.” “Can you really live like this?” “As you see, I manage.”

“I see.”

Yoshiyuki-san, impressed, stepped up to get a better look inside and walked around. Even to walk around it required just 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 right now, I lack nothing.” “I am satisfied with this.” "The surroundings are quiet, with nothing to disturb the mind." “Good air can be breathed freely.” “Water from the spring always wells up. Even when lying down, I can hear the lovely songs of bush warblers and lesser cuckoos.” "When I go on alms rounds, the people all generously provide me with rice." "The children gladly play with me." "In spring, flowers bloom, and in autumn, the crimson leaves delight my eyes." “How truly grateful I am!” "For someone like me who hasn’t been able to do a single thing for the world, it feels truly more than I deserve." “Therefore, I desire nothing more.” “I live feeling grateful for everything.”

“No—I understand completely.” “Brother, if you yourself are satisfied with it, 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 come visit Izumozaki sometime.”

With that, he left.

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

What in the world had Yoshiyuki come here for?

Yoshiyuki-san, jostled on the horse’s back, thought while descending Mount Kugami. What in the world had I come here for?

Yoshiyuki-san had been having unpleasant days lately. The townspeople disliked him and his son Manosuke, and opposed everything they said. And the taxes were hardly coming in. Not only that, but the townspeople even filed complaints with the magistrate, claiming that Yoshiyuki-san and Manosuke had collected unfair taxes.

There, since staying at home left his mind in turmoil, Yoshiyuki-san decided to confide everything to his brother Ryōkan-san and ask whether there might be a way to skillfully navigate through this situation—and so he had come to visit Ryōkan-san.

But what’s the use in consulting Brother—who bores holes through verandas and eaves just to let bamboo shoots grow? I’d have better luck talking to that cow tethered there. Chuckling at this notion, Yoshiyuki-san laughed quietly to himself.

When he emerged onto the plain, Yoshiyuki-san let the horse run for a while. Before long, while slowing its pace—Wait, he thought. A life like Brother's—that might be humanity's true way of living. Not indulging in greed, receiving only what heaven bestows, and being content with that. Finding joy in trees, birds, and sunlight... Upon reflection, Yoshiyuki-san realized his current suffering had begun from his own excessive greed. He had collected heavy taxes from the townspeople. This horse had been bought with that money. With those funds, he had gone on leisure excursions with his son Manosuke. There were still countless things I want to do and possess. This way, no matter how much I collect from them, there's no end to it.

This was clear proof that my approach had been mistaken. After all, Brother had taught me. That's right—Brother truly was remarkable.

Yoshiyuki-san brightened his expression and looked around. The world suddenly appeared to have become beautiful.

Fourteen Handball

When the rice ran out, Ryōkan would descend the mountain to beg for alms. He would stand at the entrances of houses, recite a short sutra, and receive pinches of rice and wheat into the alms bowl.

In what attire did he go out for alms-begging? Ryōkan-san, having grown old and forgetful around this time, wrote down his belongings on a scrap of paper so he wouldn’t forget them. On it was written roughly as follows. Hood, hand towel, folding fan, handball, marbles, Straw hat, gaiters, arm covers, staff, Buddhist stole, Tung oil, alms bowl, bag, "When leaving the hermitage, if you do not read this thoroughly, you will surely face difficulties later." Even though he had written them down in this manner, he did not go out wearing all these items. On days with good weather, when making rounds to nearby places, having a bowl and a bag was all that was needed. However, Ryōkan-san always made sure to take his handball and marbles with him whenever he went out. It was to play with the children during his alms rounds and after finishing them.

Ryōkan-san would walk around begging for alms in nearby villages—today west, tomorrow east. Everywhere he went, he became friends with the village children. He also befriended the sparrows perched on eaves and tree branches. The children always welcomed Ryōkan-san when they saw him, though their methods differed between villages. In one village, foul-mouthed youngsters would taunt, "Heyyy, here comes the monk! The beggar monk's here!" Yet their hearts remained pure—they'd drop a kaya nut or two peanuts into his alms bowl. In another village, children would link hands to block his path in a game of keep-away. Yet another village's children showed endless fascination with his belongings—borrowing his cane to hobble about, trying on his straw hat for size, or rolling his alms bowl across the ground to test its spin.

The children of Jizōdō-machi, whom Ryōkan would occasionally visit, also had their own particular method of welcoming him. As soon as those children spotted Ryōkan, they swiftly— “Ryōkan-san, one kan!” they cried out. At this, Ryōkan leaned backward with an exaggerated look of surprise. This was how he had to respond according to their longstanding pact.

This time, the children, “Ryōkan-san, two kan!” they shouted. Then Ryōkan-san leaned back even more severely than before. In this way, the children gradually increased the number of kan. As they did so, Ryōkan-san leaned back deeper each time, as though the weight on his back were increasing by one kan at a time. And finally, the children said this. “Ryōkan-san, ten kan!”

Ryōkan-san leaned backward to the point where he could no longer go any deeper. In other words, he ended up falling flat on his back on the ground. And then, with the children, Ryōkan-san’s favorite handball and marbles would begin—such was the way of things.

Today, Ryōkan-san came to Jizōdō-machi. When he reached the corner where the wayside shrine—a place the children often played—came into view, he realized his carelessness.

“Oh no, this is bad. I shouldn’t have come here today.” This was because Ryōkan-san was wearing a newly tailored robe that day. The old robe had been worn for as long as ten years and had become tattered, so Abe Shuzōemon, a close acquaintance of Ryōkan-san, had made him a new one this time. It was a fine robe that made a light, refreshing sound with each step he took. “To make matters worse, I came right after the rain.”

Ryōkan-san looked at the ground. Everywhere was slightly muddy. "If I fall over here, my robe will be ruined." However, Ryōkan-san could no longer turn back now. This was because there was another newly made item in Ryōkan-san’s pocket. It was a handball. Yesterday, when Ryōkan-san had free time, he had made a handball at the Five-Measure Hermitage. Even though it was just a handball, one couldn’t make it without materials, and since Ryōkan-san owned nothing, he had had to receive them from someone else. So Ryōkan-san wrote a letter and had a farmer who was just then cutting firewood and heading down to the foot of the mountain take it for him. The letter arrived at Abe Shuzōemon-san’s residence. When Shuzōemon-san opened it and looked,

"Yesterday, I humbly received the new robe. On this occasion, I would like to make one more humble request. Please deliver one needle, a generous amount of white cotton thread, and small quantities each of yellow, blue, and red thread. Please deliver them promptly." Words to that effect had been written. Thinking that he might have caught the hem of his robe on something and torn it, Shuzōemon-san had the servant carry the requested items while...

“The Zen Master is elderly, and such delicate work would be difficult for him, so you should do it for him.” he said.

The servant went up to the Five-Measure Hermitage. Ryōkan-san received the needle and thread from the servant. “Oh, thank you for your trouble. That’s enough now—you may go home,” he said.

The servant fidgeted restlessly, “But Ryōkan-san, my master instructed me to come and do the needlework.” “I can mend tabi socks or do anything else, so please let me handle it.” the servant answered. “No, no. You have no more business here—be on your way now.” Ryōkan-san said curtly. The servant, no matter how much he pleaded, found that Ryōkan-san would not let him do the work; so he said, “I see,” rose to his feet, and left the earthen-floored area. However, thinking he would be scolded by his master if he returned like this, he decided to see what exactly Ryōkan-san was doing before going back. He once stomped off toward the opposite direction, but immediately softened his footsteps and returned to the hermitage. Then, from the dimly lit back door, he sneaked in like a thieving cat and watched Ryōkan-san’s movements from behind objects.

Ryōkan-san wound thread around a rolled-up piece of paper, using it as the core. Round and round, he wound it for a long time. Even after it became a round object, the servant watching from behind objects still couldn't understand what it was. What in the world is he doing? wondered the servant as he watched in puzzlement. When the ball reached a suitable size, Ryōkan-san began embroidering it in various ways with colored threads. Ryōkan-san embroidered with single-minded focus. From time to time, perhaps to inspect his progress, he would hold it at arm's length and gaze at it. At that moment, Ryōkan-san's elongated head bobbled comically from side to side, and the servant watching from behind couldn't help but let out a sudden pfft of laughter. Then Ryōkan-san's face flushed crimson,

“You’re quite the mischievous one,” he said. “I’m ashamed to be seen like this.” The servant pressed further: “Ryōkan-san—what exactly are you making? It couldn’t possibly be...a handball?” Ryōkan-san flushed deeper still. “That handball indeed,” he confessed through crimson cheeks, producing from his sleeve an unfinished orb wrapped in thread. Thus took form his painstaking creation. Proud of its spherical perfection and floral embroidery—patterns blooming through colored threads—he burned with impatience to test its bounce among village children, this exquisite new plaything fresh from his hands.

That’s right—today would be a good day to do somersaults. Since the ground was muddy today, it seemed safe enough to do somersaults no matter how much the children pressed him. Having thus resolved himself, Ryōkan-san went to the side of the wayside shrine.

However, five or six girls who were playing on the veranda of the wayside shrine as usual, “Ryōkan-san, One!”

When they shouted this, his earlier resolve weakened. And it wasn’t a gradual weakening—it had dulled all at once with a thud. There, Ryōkan-san somersaulted backward as usual. “Ryōkan-san, Two!” Ah well, there’s no helping it, Ryōkan-san thought as he somersaulted even more deeply.

“Ryōkan-san, Three!” With a “Hup, hup! Let’s do this!”, Ryōkan-san arched his back. The count kept increasing. “Ryōkan-san, Ten!”

――Come on now, let's do this. Ryōkan-san landed on his behind backward. And the back of his new robe was soiled with mud. ―Good grief, kids are such hopeless creatures. Muttering this to himself, Ryōkan-san rose to his feet. And it was precisely those hopeless children that Ryōkan-san loved. Then, the handball game that Ryōkan-san had been eagerly awaiting began. Ryōkan-san did not bring out the newly made handball at first. For a while, to surprise everyone, he bounced the old handball the girls had been using, keeping the new one hidden in his pocket.

They played rock-paper-scissors, and Ryōkan-san was first to stick out his hand. On the veranda boards, the handball thumped with a pleasant sound—Oh well, just wait till I show them my handball. They’ll be amazed! he thought, chuckling quietly to himself. When Ryōkan-san missed the bounce and looked up, a bush warbler’s song came from somewhere. “What’s a bush warbler doing singing at this time of year? It’s already autumn.”

Ryōkan-san said.

"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 and disappeared behind the earthen wall. Then she peeked out about half her face again and stared fixedly in this direction.

“Come on, now it’s my turn to bounce.” “Now it’s Ryōkan-san’s turn to sing the song.” There, Ryōkan-san began to sing the handball song. Those passing by yonder Are they pilgrims to Ise Or pilgrims to Kumano? Are those traveler's robes—

……………….

In front of Ryōkan-san's nose, the girl was bouncing the handball with single-minded concentration, in quick, small motions.

Then the bush warbler flute sounded again.

“Why is that child blowing a bush warbler flute all alone? Won’t you come here and play with us?”

And Ryōkan-san heard the girl who had been bouncing the handball miss and stop.

"But Kiku-chan doesn't have a mother." "Even without a mother, isn't that all right? If we play together."

The girls exchanged glances for a moment. "But Kiku-chan doesn't have a handball, you see." said one of the children. "Come on, now it's my turn to bounce." said the third child. The handball game began again. Ryōkan-san was now only watching the corner of the wall. He was watching a friendly face with cute eyes that kept peeking out and hiding halfway there.

Again, the child blew the bush warbler flute.

“Hoo, hoo-ke-kyo.” Even though it’s not spring, why are you blowing a bush warbler flute? Ryōkan-san pitied the child in his heart. The children bouncing the handball there were looking down on that motherless child.—Just like adults often do, these children were mistakenly scorning someone who should have been pitied. That’s what Ryōkan-san thought.

Ryōkan-san beckoned toward the two eyes in the shadow of the wall. The two black eyes merely continued blinking as they watched Ryōkan-san. Ryōkan-san beckoned again and again. Then, as if torn between trusting and doubting, the girl with the bush warbler flute gradually revealed herself and approached Ryōkan-san.

The girl with the bush warbler flute came to the edge of the veranda where Ryōkan-san was sitting. She stood there without blinking, staring into Ryōkan-san’s eyes. “Your bush warbler flute makes such a lovely sound.” “But it’s strange for you to be blowing a bush warbler flute this time of year.” “Let’s swap this one of mine with yours.” So saying, what Ryōkan-san pulled 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 doubting Ryōkan-san’s true intentions, she looked up.

“There now—take it without hesitation.” The child saw the gentle hue of benevolence pooled in Ryōkan-san’s large eyes. Taking the handball with care, she laid her small bush warbler flute—still damp from her lips—upon his palm. The girls who had ceased their bouncing to watch grasped at once that Ryōkan-san’s deed was righteous. Deep within their hearts bloomed clarity—they’d erred; this was how people must tend to one another.

“Can I even make this thing sound?”

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

Fifteen: Master Kameda Hōsai’s Visit

There was a renowned scholar called Kameda Hōsai in Edo. Because his calligraphy was excellent, he was celebrated throughout the land. One autumn in a certain year, Master Kameda Hōsai was traveling through the northern provinces and came to Nagaoka in Echigo.

As Master Kameda Hōsai was walking along the busiest street in Nagaoka, he came across some splendid characters unlike any he had seen before. There, his feet came to a natural stop. It was the characters of an advertisement that a large merchant house by the roadside had posted on their shōji screens. It had been written with a thick brush like this. "Vinegar, Soy Sauce, Jōshūya" What beautiful characters these were. The more he looked, the more he grew fond of them—warm, gentle, yet dignified characters. These were characters that could not have been written by anyone but a beautiful-hearted, exemplary person.

Who could have written such splendid characters? Master Kameda Hōsai went over to the posted notice and gazed at it for a long time. He examined each line and every dot repeatedly, savoring them. Then steeling himself, he entered Jōshūya. "I am one called Kameda Hōsai of Edo..."

As Master Kameda Hōsai began to speak, the man who appeared to be the master, “Hah! You’re the renowned Master Kameda Hōsai!” “I see.” “Please come right in.” “No need for introductions—I’ve long known your esteemed name.” said the shopkeeper. Even in a place like this, they know my name, Master Kameda Hōsai thought happily. “To be truthful, after seeing the characters pasted on your shop’s shōji screens, I decided to intrude—may I ask who wrote those?”

Once he had been shown inside, Master Kameda inquired. "That was written by the monk Ryōkan who dwells on Mount Kugami." "My father had him write it on a certain occasion."

“Ryōkan…” “As for Master Ryōkan, I have heard a little of him.” “So this is Master Ryōkan’s esteemed handiwork?” “I see.”

Master Kameda Hōsai was deeply impressed. “We have no expertise and cannot fully comprehend, but could they truly be such splendid characters, Master?” “They are splendid.” “I have traveled to many places, but this is the first time I’ve seen such fine characters by the roadside.” “I see.”

“No—it’s truly a waste to leave Master Ryōkan’s calligraphy displayed so carelessly like that. It would be better to put that away, I think.” “But that is our shop’s signboard.” “If you wish, I shall write a replacement for you. My calligraphy is precisely suited for signboards. To treat Master Ryōkan’s work in such a manner would invite divine punishment.” “Is that so?”

Thereupon, Master Kameda had Master Ryōkan's calligraphy put away and instead wrote a replacement himself in the same manner.

Having left Jōshūya, Master Kameda Hōsai suddenly found himself wanting to visit Master Ryōkan. Until now, he had heard that this monk Ryōkan wrote excellent calligraphy and composed quite good poems, but since he was merely someone living in a rural backwater like Echigo, he had underestimated him as being of little consequence. Upon seeing the characters pasted on Jōshūya's shōji screens, a feeling of reverence welled up within him all at once. This is a great master on an entirely different plane from someone like me. I must have him teach me many things.

Master Kameda Hōsai hired a horse and went to Mount Kugami. He arrived at the foothills around the time when the setting autumn sun cast a crimson light, making the mountain’s maple leaves appear even more vividly red and beautiful.

After dismounting his horse, Master Kameda Hōsai began climbing a narrow mountain path with bamboo and trees growing thickly on both sides. The surroundings were quiet, and there was no one coming down the path. Chestnut burrs lay scattered on the path.

"It’s because he lives in such a quiet mountain that he can write such profoundly tasteful, excellent characters," thought Master Kameda Hōsai.

Because there was a small hermitage by the side of the path, Master Kameda Hōsai briskly entered the garden and,

“Excuse me for asking, but is Master Ryōkan’s residence still further up from here?” Master Kameda Hōsai inquired. “Ryōkan is here. And this old me is none other than Ryōkan.” A long-faced, shabby monk answered calmly while sitting in the middle of the room. Master Kameda was surprised. He had thought he would be living in a more splendid residence. Even the characters I write fetch a fairly good price. Master Ryōkan produces such splendid calligraphy, so his financial circumstances must be quite comfortable; he must have built and be living in a grand house—that is what he had thought.

When Master Kameda Hōsai announced his name, “Ah, you are Kameda-sensei. “You’ve come all this way.”

Having said that, Ryōkan stood up for the first time.

“You must be weary from your travels. Come now—wash your feet and enter,” said Ryōkan. “Use this water for washing.” As he spoke these words and brought water drawn from the back door, Kameda saw that the vessel was none other than a suribachi mortar. “Is this not—could this truly be—a suribachi?”

Master Kameda Hōsai, who was halfway through untying the laces of his straw sandals, exclaimed in surprise once more. “Ah, it’s a suribachi.” “By ‘suribachi,’ you mean that miso suribachi used for grinding miso, is that not?” “It’s a miso suribachi.” “Well, I’m appalled. In that case, I can’t possibly wash my feet with this.” “Well, I must apologize. My place is poor, you see—we’ve no washbasins or buckets here—so most things get managed with this suribachi, it does. So we wash our faces, wash our hands, rinse our mouths, brush the dust off our feet, and grind miso—that’s how it’s done here, it does. But to those who don’t know, it must look filthy, right? No—it was my fault. There’s a spring out back; please go there to wash.”

Master Ryōkan apologized with genuine contrition. As Master Kameda Hōsai washed the dust from his feet using the spring water, he wondered: Why must someone like Master Ryōkan—a man who creates such exquisite calligraphy—live in such poverty that he must wash his feet in a suribachi? If brought to Edo, the master’s works would surely command high prices.

Then, a conversation about calligraphy began between the two of them. Since both of them loved writing calligraphy, their conversation never ran dry. The two actually took up brushes and wrote down their respective thoughts on a single sheet of paper. In the middle of their conversation, Master Kameda Hōsai, “Do you not sell the poem cards and half-sheets on which you write characters?” When asked, Ryōkan answered, “I’ve never even thought of doing such things, you know.” “Since I receive kind offerings from everyone and live without want, in return, I write characters for those who desire them.” “However, when I’m not in good spirits, I cannot write, it does.”

Ryōkan answered. Once more, Master Kameda asked, "How about coming out to Edo?" "If you have such skill, a hundred or two hundred disciples would gather around you in no time." "You'll become instantly famous."

When he made this invitation, Master Ryōkan replied, “No, I’ve no wish to become instantly famous, you see.” “I have not been able to do a single thing of use for the world, and as I am truly a good-for-nothing, I am grateful simply to be allowed to live quietly here in these mountains, you see.” Ryōkan answered. When addressed thus, Master Kameda had nothing more to say.

Not only were the two of them fond of calligraphy, but they also enjoyed sake, so when night fell, it became Master Ryōkan's task to go and buy it. "Well then, I'll make a quick run down to the village at the foot of the mountain. You just hum a tune and wait here for me, all right?" Having said that, Master Ryōkan hung a sake flask at his side and went out.

It was a windless, quiet night. Around the hermitage, insects sang. Within the hermitage too, crickets chirped. A lone cricket thumped across the matting and settled beneath the lamp where Master Kameda Hōsai sat gazing in lonely contemplation. A long time passed. Overhead came the cry of wild geese. Master Kameda Hōsai grew utterly exhausted from waiting.

What could have happened? Even though it was Fumoto Village, it was already about time he should have returned.

Finally unable to wait any longer, Master Kameda Hōsai left the hermitage and set out toward the foot of the mountain to meet him. After walking a short distance, he came upon a small clearing where the view below was splendid. Someone was sitting at the base of a pine tree there, gazing at the freshly risen moon. "Is that not Zen Master Ryōkan?" Master Kameda Hōsai called out. "Ah. 'Tis me," came the reply. "Look now—'tis a fine moon. A fine moon indeed." Master Ryōkan never once took his eyes from the moon.

“It’s a lovely moon, isn’t it? The moon is lovely indeed—but did you obtain the sake?”

When Master Kameda said this, Master Ryōkan—as if struck in the chest—startled, and upon grabbing the sake flask that had been placed beside him, sprinted off toward the foot of the mountain. Master Ryōkan had been so entranced by the moon that he had forgotten all about the sake. "No—well, really..." Master Kameda Hōsai, left behind, thought to himself with a wry smile. This marked the first time the celebrated Kameda Hōsai had ever been kept waiting and forgotten. There was no matching Zen Master Ryōkan.

However, because of this, Master Kameda came to like Master Ryōkan even more and also respected him.

What had become of the advertisement Master Kameda had written for Jōshūya?

After that, one day, another passerby noticed Jōshūya’s sign that read, "Vinegar, Soy Sauce, Jōshūya."

With these words, the person entered Jōshūya.

“The work pasted on the front of the shoji screen appears to be Master Kameda Hōsai’s calligraphy, isn’t that so?” That was Maki Ryōko, a man likewise skilled in calligraphy.

Master Maki said the same kind of thing that Master Kameda had said regarding Master Ryōkan's calligraphy.

“Is there any principle that permits leaving Master Kameda’s calligraphy exposed on the roadside? I shall write you a replacement instead—put that one away.” Thereupon, Master Kameda’s “Vinegar, Soy Sauce, Jōshūya” was stored away, and Master Maki’s “Vinegar, Soy Sauce, Jōshūya” was hung up.

However, Master 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 arrived, made them take down Master Maki’s “Vinegar, Soy Sauce, Jōshūya,” and had his own written “Vinegar, Soy Sauce, Jōshūya” displayed in its place instead.

From this, one can understand just how exceptional a calligrapher Master Ryōkan—who had written the very first advertisement—truly was.

Sixteen: The Boatman’s Test

Mr. Busuke the boatman was an arrogant man. And Mr. Busuke’s worst flaw was his incorrigible habit of contradicting whatever anyone said just to oppose them.

For example, if someone were to say, "I hear that over at that house, a baby was born with a birthmark on the sole of its foot. Isn't that something to celebrate? It's sure to bring great fortune to the family someday." When he heard someone talking like this, Mr. Busuke immediately felt compelled to contradict them. He himself understood that it would be better not to say anything, but he ached so much to speak that there was simply nothing to be done about it.

So, “What’s so auspicious about that?” “A thing with a birthmark on the sole of its foot is the reincarnation of a cat or somethin’.” “It’s nothin’ good.” “Before long, that house’s fortune’ll come crashin’ down around ’em, mark my words.” he declared.

In reality, just because a baby was born with a birthmark on the sole of its foot didn't mean one could know whether that household's fortunes would improve or decline. However, be that as it may, if Mr. Busuke contradicted them in this manner, the person who had started speaking would likely take offense.

Now then, one day, Mr. Busuke once again gave in to this bad habit.

Three villagers boarded Mr. Busuke's boat. And the three of them began talking about the monk named Master Ryōkan while smoking tobacco.

“Master Ryōkan is a splendid person. “A truly splendid person never speaks of grandiose things. “He doesn’t preach at all. “He remains silent. “And yet he influences others, doesn’t he?” “So Master Ryōkan is that sort of person, is he? “I’ve heard he was originally the eldest son of Izumozaki’s village headman, but was ordained at eighteen, trained throughout Japan for many years, and returned to Echigo three or four years ago.”

“That’s right.” “And Master Ryōkan doesn’t act arrogantly at all.” “Suppose Master Ryōkan comes to a certain house.” “Then Master Ryōkan would do things like a servant—sweeping that house’s garden, looking after the baby, sometimes even heating the bath—all of that.” “Strangely enough, as he does so, the people of the household find their moods softening, and any quarrels they might have had until then just naturally melt away, you see.”

“That’s just like the light of the spring sun.”

The listener looked up at the sky and said.

The gentle spring sunlight, not strong, was pouring down on the river and on the withered grass of the embankment across the river. Mr. Busuke, the boatman who had been listening silently, muttered under his breath, "That's a lie. Such a person couldn't exist in this world." "He truly is like the light of the spring sun." "When you're near him, you feel warm and happy." "As proof, when Master Ryōkan sits by the roadside, sparrows—those very ones flying about there—perch on his shoulders and hands, playing as if utterly at ease." "For creatures like sparrows to grow attached to someone—that's something that only happens with a person like the Buddha himself, you know."

That story was pure nonsense—if it were actually true, then that monk Ryōkan must be a complete fool, letting sparrows perch on his shoulders and hands without even catching them—Mr. Busuke desperately wanted to say. The words were already on the verge of leaving his mouth, but unfortunately, just at that moment, the boat reached the opposite shore. There, an elderly monk with a dark complexion sat huddled as if cold, a wooden alms bowl resting on his lap as he crouched.

“Hey, Master Ryōkan.”

And then, the person who had been talking about Master Ryōkan until now said while getting off the boat. “Ah, good day, Mr. Shukemon.” “We were just talking about you in the boat." “Speak of the devil.” “Truly.” “Where are you off to now?” “With this fine weather, I went wandering about for alms-begging.” “If you’re crossing by boat, best board quick.” Mr. Busuke the boatman said brusquely. Mr. Busuke was angry because he hadn’t been able to voice a single thought of his own.

“Well then,’scuse me. “I’ll see ya ’fore long.”

With that, Master Ryōkan boarded the boat. Mr. Busuke, handling the pole, watched Master Ryōkan with a sidelong glance. Master Ryōkan crouched low at the bow, gazing at the river upstream and downstream. "What the hell—having this damned monk nearby doesn’t warm me up one bit," Mr. Busuke muttered under his breath as he spitefully rocked the boat back and forth. Master Ryōkan, startled as the boat began rocking violently, grabbed onto the gunwale.

"This boat does rock quite a bit, doesn’t it?" “Yeah, it sure does rock a lot.” “A small boat’ll rock plenty, sure does.” Mr. Busuke suddenly thought of something wicked. The idea was to rock Master Ryōkan into the river and make him lose his temper. He’d surely fly into a rage. If he were to get angry like that, then he’d just be an ordinary person.

The boat reached the middle of the river. Mr. Busuke stopped rocking the boat to reassure Master Ryōkan. Master Ryōkan let go of the gunwale and gazed at the water’s surface. “Ah—a butterfly,” “That butterfly’s crossing over the river now,” “Off on a pilgrimage perhaps?” “A fine day indeed.” Master Ryōkan narrowed his eyes at a small white shape passing by. Then he spoke again: “When spring comes to the river, how its waters swell with melted snow,” “This overflowing water flowing so leisurely—it lifts one’s spirits, does it not?”

Suddenly, the boat lurched. Master Ryōkan plunged into the water with a splash and realized that “overflowing water like this feels good” was not the case after all. Because the water was deep and his feet couldn’t reach the bottom, Master Ryōkan thrashed his limbs to keep from sinking. “Monks must be terrible swimmers,” Mr. Busuke thought as he watched for a while. But since it would be disastrous if Master Ryōkan drowned, he finally extended his pole toward him at what seemed an opportune moment. Master Ryōkan grabbed hold of it and clambered back into the boat.

"Well now, a fight's about to start between this monk and me," Mr. Busuke thought as he braced himself. However, no fight occurred. "I'm terribly sorry for the trouble. You went and saved me." "If you hadn't thrust out that pole to me, I'd have drowned right then and there." "I'm truly sorry for the trouble, truly sorry," Master Ryōkan said in gratitude. Then he sneezed three times in quick succession.

“Nothin’, nothin’.”

Mr. Busuke answered arrogantly.

“You truly are my life’s savior. “I’m grateful, so grateful. “Even these old bones still fear death. “How foolish I am. “You must have found it amusing to watch.” “No, no. “Nobody likes dying.” Mr. Busuke, who had braced for a fight, found his vigor drained and spoke only empty words. When the boat reached shore, Master Ryōkan thanked Mr. Busuke again and climbed the embankment, shuddering violently from the cold. As he watched the retreating figure grow smaller, Mr. Busuke stood motionless in his boat, utterly absorbed—until at last—

“Hmph, what the hell’s with that monk?”

“Hmph, what the hell’s with that monk?” he muttered.

Mr. Busuke couldn’t make sense of what had just happened.

Around the time a light flickered on in Mr. Busuke’s small house at the village outskirts amidst the rice paddies, Mr. Busuke returned home.

“Oh! You startled me. Why on earth are you lumbering in like a cow?”

said his wife as she was preparing dinner in the kitchen. Mr. Busuke silently went up into the house, turned his head toward the main pillar, and flopped down. In the paddy field out front, frogs were croaking hesitantly. They would call out repeatedly with gurgling cries, then fall silent for long stretches. Mr. Busuke lay there vaguely listening to them.

“Alright, it’s ready now.”

Busuke’s wife called out from the kitchen. Mr. Busuke stood up and went to sit before the meal tray, then silently took up his chopsticks. “It’s your favorite—river snails dressed in miso.” As Mr. Busuke kept eating in silence, his wife grew bored and spoke up. “Yeah.”

Mr. Busuke responded heavily. And after eating two bowls of rice, he said he didn’t want any more.

“Is something wrong? Are you not feeling well?” his wife asked as she studied Mr. Busuke’s face—the face of a man who would normally polish off seven bowls in an instant. “Yeah.”

Mr. Busuke once again answered heavily. “Is your stomach hurting?” “Not my stomach.” “Then is your head bothering you?” “Doesn’t seem like it.” “Then does it feel like your chest is being pressed down?” “That’s not it.” “Then where exactly does it hurt?” “I don’t really know where.” However, something was definitely wrong. What part of him was wrong? What was hurting inside Mr. Busuke? That was none other than Mr. Busuke’s conscience. It was the conscience hidden deep within Mr. Busuke’s chest.

"I dropped such a gentle monk into the water. What a terrible thing I did." And his conscience kept speaking from deep within his chest.

When he finished dinner, Mr. Busuke said he was going to bed and got under the covers.

Just go to sleep. By tomorrow morning you'll have forgotten everything, and your mind will feel clear. That's what Mr. Busuke thought. Yet he couldn't sleep. Even when he firmly shut his eyes, sleep wouldn't come. He tossed and turned endlessly, sighing each time. And the night grew deeper still.

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

“Where are you going at this hour?” Busuke’s wife placed what she had been sewing on her lap and asked. “Mount Kugami.” “Huh? Mount Kugami? Why on earth are you suddenly going off to such a far place?”

Mr. Busuke briefly explained how he had shaken Ryōkan off the boat earlier that day. And he told how Ryōkan, contrary to his expectation of anger, had instead expressed gratitude to him. “I was a fool. I’ve done a terrible thing. So now I’m going to apologize to that monk and come back.” Busuke’s wife also acknowledged that his actions had been wrong. “You have a habit of opposing everything others say. It’s truly a bad habit.”

However, she tried to stop him by 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 and coming right back,” he said. “My conscience won’t let me just lie here and sleep anymore.”

So saying, Mr. Busuke went out into the bright moonlit night outside.

The village was quiet, with only the sound of threshing straw coming from somewhere. Mr. Busuke got into the boat alone and pulled out the upright pole. The boat advanced to the middle of the river.

“This must be cold.”

After muttering to himself and gazing at the water’s surface for a while, Mr. Busuke finally jumped in with a splash.

The moonlight on the water’s surface was scattered, then gradually settled until only the empty boat floated on the mirror-like expanse where no one remained. But before long, Mr.Busuke suddenly emerged kappa-like with his head above water and cut through the water toward the boat with swift strokes. After climbing onto the boat, Mr.Busuke shuddered violently through his whole frame and wrung out his clothes, _With this,_ he thought_, my mind feels a bit lighter now._ _But that monk was caught off guard—he didn’t know how to swim._ “Sorry... So sorry,” he muttered.

he muttered. Ryōkan-san woke to the sound of knocking on the door. It was still midnight. Outside appeared moonlit, the knotholes in the door glowing pale and bright. “Evenin’... Evenin’...”

And outside, someone was calling.

“Who could it be at this hour? A thief perhaps?” “That ain’t it. It’s your daytime boatman. Open up here.” “Well now! I thought ’twas a thief, but ’tis the boatman!”

Ryōkan-san opened the door and let the boatman inside. Then the boatman suddenly prostrated himself at Ryōkan-san’s feet with a thud, startling him. “I’m truly sorry. “Monk. “I’m truly sorry. “This is how it is. “I beg of you—please forgive me.” The boatman pressed his forehead to the ground. Flustered, Ryōkan-san said: “What in the world have you done? “Making a show like the Red Oni surrendering to Momotarō… What’s all this about, huh?”

Mr. Busuke explained that he had deliberately rocked the boat and caused Ryōkan-san to fall into the river. Because Ryōkan-san did not get angry but instead expressed gratitude, he then explained how he could not help feeling guilty afterward. He explained that because he couldn’t fall asleep no matter how hard he tried, he had come to apologize despite his wife’s attempts to stop him. He also explained how he had jumped into the water at the river's center as at least some form of atonement, coming back soaked through. “Hmm, so that’s how it was.” “No, no—you’re quite the admirable person.” “Well, please come in.” “I’ll build a fire in the hearth, so dry your clothes and stay here tonight.”

Ryōkan-san helped the boatman up and put firewood into the hearth. "You didn’t have to go to such lengths to come here. I was saved by you and am rejoicing." "Monk, you’re truly a kind-hearted person. Everything those people said is all true. Even though we’re both born human, compared to you, what a wicked-hearted wretch I am. I’m of such a nature that if others say one thing, I say another—a disposition that can’t help but contradict. My heart’s rotten through and through."

“No, no—that’s not the case.” “In every human being, there are two hearts—a good one and a bad one.” “It’s true that your wanting to contradict whatever others say comes from a bad heart, but your conscience keeping you awake tonight—that’s a good heart.” “At your core, you’re a good person.” “It’s just that your outer shell’s a bit rough.” “We humans, you see, must press down our bad hearts and let our good ones grow.” “That’s what I think.”

Mr. Busuke listened while nodding. ――Truly, it was just as the monk had said. From now on, he had thought, he must become a good person.

Seventeen Violets

Ryōkan-san came to be respected by people as he aged. Everyone thought Ryōkan-san was a great person. Ryōkan-san had not done any particularly grand work that would astonish people. Ryōkan-san’s greatness was unassuming and inconspicuous. It was like an invisible thread, like a spring rain soaking gently into the earth. The spring rain moistens the soil black and causes the grass and trees to bud. Ryōkan-san’s character, in a similar fashion, moistens the hearts of those around him, calms their restless hearts with quiet composure, and before they know it, causes buds of hope and joy to sprout.

Among those hailed as great in society, there are indeed people who accomplish grand deeds through sheer force of will, yet there are also those who lack human warmth. However, Ryōkan-san was different from such people. Ryōkan-san, to the very end, did not lose his human warmth.

One day, Ryōkan-san was walking along a solitary path through the fields. He had visited a household he was acquainted with after a long time, but unfortunately, they were out. With no destination in mind anymore, he wandered aimlessly. A single white, billowing cloud drifted in the sky. In the field, only the figure of Ryōkan-san could be seen. There was nothing else. A spring breeze blew lightly. In the distance, something flickered. It was blades of grass and water. Ryōkan-san walked absentmindedly. Then suddenly, one thing came to his mind.

"If you pick up coins on the road, it’s very delightful," he had once heard from someone.

When Ryōkan-san recalled this, he immediately wanted to try it out. Fortunately, there was no one around. Ryōkan-san took out the coins he had received earlier from a farmer’s household from his alms bowl and threw them onto the road. Then he picked them up. "Huh... Not happy at all," he muttered to himself. In truth, he felt no joy whatsoever. Let me try again.

This time, he threw them a little farther away. The coins hit a pebble and flipped over with a clink. Ryōkan-san picked them up again. "Huh... Not happy at all." Maybe my approach is flawed—let me try once more. This time, he threw them even farther. At the same time, he closed his own eyes. A clinking sound rang out. Then he gently opened his eyes and looked.

“Oh?” The coins had disappeared somewhere. They were no longer visible on the road. Ryōkan-san ran to where the coins had fallen. And then he searched around.

The coins were nowhere to be found.

“Oh no, this is bad.” Ryōkan-san scratched his head and searched through the grass. Before long, the coins were finally found. They were hidden under the violet leaves bearing small purple flowers. “Oh, so it was the violet that had hidden them?” With these words, Ryōkan-san returned the coins to his alms bowl.

With this, the experiment was complete. And as a result, Ryōkan-san came to understand that what people say—"It’s delightful to pick up coins on the road"—was indeed true. “No, absolutely.” “Completely true.”

And yet, why am I doing such a thing in the middle of this field? Ryōkan-san looked at the cloud and pondered for a moment, but could not understand.

Then, after placing the bowl beside him, he began picking violets. First, he picked the violets that had hidden the coins under their leaves. Then, he continued picking those growing nearby one after another. Gradually, the purple violet flowers increased in Ryōkan-san’s hands. “There are still some here. Ah, there are still some over there.” There was no end. Ryōkan-san became engrossed in picking violets and had forgotten the passage of time. When the flowers had accumulated to more than both hands could hold, Ryōkan-san—his waist now aching—stood up and saw that the sky had been dyed in the crimson of dusk without him noticing.

"Oh, it's already dusk." The wind grew colder as well. "I mustn't delay any longer."

Ryōkan-san leaned forward and hurried along the country path.

Soon he entered a village. In the village, amidst the stillness, there lingered somehow both dusk's ambient sounds and a sense of hurried activity. Along the hedge that Ryōkan-san followed, sparrows seeking shelter for the night remained unsettled, their wings fluttering restlessly.

Ryōkan-san was searching for children. He had wanted to share the violets with the children. While tapping the earthen wall, a single boy came from the opposite direction. “Boy, how about I give you some violets?” Ryōkan-san said and offered them. The children knew Ryōkan-san well. He was a kind-hearted monk who always played with them. However, it was now dusk. The children missed home. They were hungry. “I don’t want any violets.” The child passed by, having said that.

Ryōkan-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 as if she wanted to cry herself, singing a lullaby. “How about I give you some violets?” Ryōkan-san said and offered the violets again. If it were daytime, the nursemaid would play handball with Ryōkan-san. But now it was dusk. Moreover, the baby was crying on her back. She felt like crying herself.

“Ryōkan-san, I don’t need them.” With a tearful voice, the nursemaid passed by.

Ryōkan-san then encountered three or four children. Each time he met them, he offered violets. Yet every child told him they didn't want them. Ryōkan-san finally gave up and, still clutching the bunch of violets in both hands, resolved to return to the Five-Measure Hermitage in the mountains. ——Even so, why had I done such a thing? I gathered all these violets and tried giving them to each child one by one... Ryōkan-san pondered while gazing at the violets now turned black in the twilight. But he couldn't grasp it clearly.

Ryōkan-san trudged toward the Five-Measure Hermitage. His legs felt very heavy.

When dusk came, all the children eagerly headed home. But even though I am returning to my own home, there is no joy in it at all. Because in my house, there is no one waiting for me.

Thinking this, he climbed the lonely mountain path.

With a creak of the brushwood door, Ryōkan-san entered the Five-Measure Hermitage. Inside was dark. And not a single sound could be heard. ――Well now, even when it gets dark no one lights a lamp. Is this where I live? Have I been living in a place like this? Ryōkan-san removed his straw sandals and stepped up, but without the energy to light the lamp, he sat blankly with the bunch of violets on his lap. Before long, there came footsteps outside as someone approached the hermitage.

“Ryōkan-san.” “Oh, who could it be?” When Ryōkan-san heard a human voice, he suddenly regained his vigor and stood up.

The one who entered was a familiar farmer. “This is your bowl, isn’t it, Ryōkan-san?” “Oh, it’s mine.” Ryōkan-san had been picking violets and had forgotten his bowl in the field. “Ah, just as I thought. I thought this bowl looked familiar—sure enough, it was yours.”

“Thank you, this is really kind of you. “I was picking violets and left it behind.” “Well, come on up.” Ryōkan-san forcibly made the villager come up. And he lit the lamp and boiled tea. “It’s still before dinner, so I can’t stay long.” “Now, now, don’t say that. “If cold rice is okay, I have some here—eat before you go.”

Ryōkan-san persistently tried to detain the villager.

The villager looked around inside the Five-Measure Hermitage, “Ryōkan-san, it’s amazing you’re not lonely living in a place like this every day and night.” said the villager. “Ah, that’s right. I too just came back from outside and had been thinking exactly that about myself. It’s something, isn’t it—how I managed to stay alone in a place like this for so long.” “The landlord of Shimazaki Village, Mr. Kimura, mentioned there’s a small detached house within his estate. If it suits you, he’d like you to move in.”

“Yes, I’d heard from Mr. Kimura too.” “You ought to go stay at Mr. Kimura’s place.” “Yes, thank you.”

After drinking tea, the villager left. While the villager was there, Ryōkan-san's heart had been light, but once alone, he sank again. ――Why am I like this? Now I clearly understood. I longed for people―that was it. Being alone was lonely―that was it. ――In my younger days, I trained myself to endure loneliness. I strove to remain unperturbed by any solitude. And in those days, I could do that too. But perhaps with age―I had begun losing that endurance. In the end, I was a weak human who couldn't remain alone.

Ryōkan-san went outside to look at the village at the foot of the mountain.

In the sky, a faint trace of light still lingered. Under that lingering light, a flock of birds flew west. A single lagging bird was seen desperately trying to catch up without falling behind. And soon it disappeared from view. ――We humans are just like those birds, Ryōkan-san thought. ――We humans too cannot live all alone. Everyone must come together and help each other to live on.

For no particular reason, tears spilled from Ryōkan-san’s eyes. And when he turned his tear-blurred eyes downward, he saw the small lights of houses on the plain clustered here and there.

"I will go there," he resolved. "I will make my way to the house in Shimazaki Village that has offered me shelter." "Like a lone bird lagging behind its flock, I will follow after those people." Tears overflowed endlessly from Ryōkan’s eyes as he gazed down at the plain below—the scattered lights of village homes blurring into one through his tear-filled vision.

At the end of this book,

What I wanted to tell 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 like this. "What makes Ryōkan-san great?" Have you all come to understand what makes Ryōkan-san great? If you have understood, it would make me very happy. Even if you do not understand Ryōkan-san's greatness, after reading this story, would you not have come to like him? Even so, I am satisfied. If you all neither find Ryōkan-san great nor can come to like him, I would be very disappointed.

However, it was not that Ryōkan-san was lacking—it was my way of telling the story that fell short. Therefore, you must not let this book alone shape your view of Ryōkan-san as uninteresting. There remain many other books written about Ryōkan-san. When you have grown a little older, you would do well to read the works on Ryōkan-san composed by such esteemed scholars as Sōma Gyofū, Nishigori Kyūgo, and Tsuda Seifū. These are truly exceptional writings. Indeed, had they not existed, I doubt I could have written this book at all.

Well then, I shall hereby bring my story to a close.