The Heike Story (65 page)

When autumn came, Saigyo took leave of his host and journeyed westward to the province of Echigo; in September he reached the southern end of Lake Biwa, where a vessel was about to set sail for the western shore. Saigyo joined the other passengers on board, and as they waited for the boat to start, Saigyo began to wonder about his companion and disciple, Saiju, from whom he had parted several months before at the Tenryu River.

Saigyo and Saiju had come to the Tenryu River and boarded a ferry that was preparing to sail with a full load, when three warriors, local soldiery, suddenly appeared, waving and shouting to the boatman to stop. The boatman's reluctance to take on any more passengers enraged the warriors, who pushed their way on board with sour looks, blustering: "We're in a great hurry and you've only these peasants and beggar monks on board, haven't you?"

Saigyo knew what to expect of them. Soldiers everywhere were getting to be a belligerent, truculent lot. Ignoring them, he continued to sit quietly gazing out over the river, until one of the soldiers suddenly stood over him and bellowed:

"Here, you beggar—you priest, get up!"

Saigyo made no sign that he heard, but the other soldiers quickly assumed a threatening air and swore at him. "Get off, you! You won't?"

Saigyo did not intend to resist them, but he could feel Saiju beside him trembling with rage, and tightened his grip on his disciple's arm. They had been fellow monks for twenty years, but Saigyo knew that Saiju, his former retainer, was still a hot-blooded warrior at heart. How often he had cautioned Saiju to curb that temper of his!

Saigyo's meekness, however, seemed to enrage the soldiers even more.

"Here, are you deaf?" one shouted. Seizing Saigyo by his collar, he sent him sprawling onto the riverbank. Saigyo's head struck a stone and he groaned softly; blood trickled down over one eye. But as he lay prone, he kept calling to Saiju, who finally came to his assistance.

Saiju was beside himself. "So this is how you, Yoshikiyo, once the bravest of the Imperial Guards, behave when you're insulted!" he raged. "If you expect me to put up with such treatment—cowering like a beaten cur—then I've had enough of the holy life! I took the vows to escape the torments of hell, but this is worse than the fate of the damned! I'm through with this life! Were I not a monk I would give them what they deserve!" Saiju wept with rage.

"Ah, Saiju, are you still not ready for this life that you chose? Have you forgotten that day I sent you to Lady Taikenmon and you got into trouble with the Guards at the Rashomon Gate and were thrown into jail? When I heard you were in trouble, I rode all night back from Toba to rescue you from the terrible Tameyoshi of the Genji. Have you forgotten that, Saiju?"

"That I have not."

"Are you any wiser than you were then?"

"It's all very well for you to say that, but it's not my nature to let ruffians bully harmless people. I can't endure such humiliation, for I've always held my head high before men."

"Saiju, as long as you feel that way, we shall never be able to get along together. Though we travel side by side, our hearts will not be following the same path. It's better that we part here and now, Saiju."

"What makes you say that?"

"For the time being, it would be better for you to do as you please."

"Does this mean I am released from my vows?"

"I have no authority to do that, Saiju. My prayer has always been to find joy in life, and for that one must give up all worldly ambitions and conflict, submit to the influences of nature, and cling to the life of the poet, finding contentment in the precepts of Buddha. That is the vow we took. Who am I to lay down rules? Ah, Saiju, you seem unable to understand me at all."

"No, I am simply a clumsy fool, humbly permitted to follow you. But I dare think that I understand."

"I'm afraid you still don't. You're no better than those who think I retreated from life. It is not so, for I am more than ever of the world. My purpose is to realize myself more completely, to enjoy life even more, and to regret nothing. That is how I wish to make my life worth while, and all that I ask of life. . . . How different that is from your idea of the holy life!"

"No, I agree with you, but—"

"Then why should you so often feel anger, rage over being humiliated, and regret your choice? Had you truly embraced the monk's life, then you'd not repent it, nor regret having taken the vows. You don't seem to have renounced the world, so why go on like this any more? Wouldn't it be better for you to put away all pretense and go back to the world?"

As he spoke, Saigyo realized that the life which should have meant freedom for Saiju had become a burden to him; and out of compassion for him, he insisted that they should part.

At length Saiju said: "I will do as you tell me, and shall think on what you have said—not only think, but act upon it, and when you return to the capital in the autumn I shall be there waiting for you."

Saigyo wondered where Saiju expected to find him after this long separation, for he had no idea of where he himself would be staying. He noticed that the boat was midway across Lake Biwa, and that the peaks of Mount Hiei were beginning to tower above it. He recalled how passengers a year ago seemed to talk of nothing but of Yoshitomo of the Genji and his sons and their flight to East Omi. Then he fell asleep. As he slept one of his fellow passengers glanced at him sharply from time to time, and when Saigyo woke, smiled at him pleasantly, saying:

"Here we meet again!"

"Let me see, who are you?"

"I am Otoami, a carver of Buddhist images—we met some time ago in the northeast."

"Ah, yes, to be sure! . . . Are you on your way back to the capital, too?"

"Yes, though I still have years of work on the temple in the northeast, an urgent call from Rokuhara brought me back, an order for Lady Ariko."

"What an immense distance for you to come!"

"Yes, indeed, and it would also be a pleasure if I were traveling at will like you. As it is, I have orders to fill both in the capital and in the north, and traveling with my men in a limited time. . . ." Otoami smiled, looking round at his companions, who made up more than half the passengers on board. With him were not only apprentices, but lacquer-workers, woodworkers, carvers of metal, and other such artisans. A passenger who sat near Otoami suddenly leaned over and spoke to the latter in undertones and then addressed Saigyo.

"Sir, are you Saigyo, the monk poet? I saw you several times in Koromogawa, where the Chieftain Hidehira himself is one of my patrons," he said, adding: "I am Kichiji, a merchant; I bring placer gold several times a year from the northeast to the capital and exchange it for merchandise from China, which is then sent north. . . . When you next come our way, you must not fail to visit me."

Saigyo nodded amiably, smiling to himself at the thought that rumors about him had reached even those distant parts.

As the boat neared the shore the passengers busied themselves with getting off. Otoami and the merchant were the first to disembark. After loading their pack-horses, they prepared to move off in an impressive procession, when Kichiji turned to Saigyo, saying affably:

"We have enough horses for us all. Would you care to join us tonight at our inn?"

Saigyo declined the invitation and went on his way.

Saigyo spent his time in the hills about Kyoto, visiting temples and calling on old friends. One day as he walked through the capital he found himself in the lane where his home had once stood. Nothing remained of it now except broken tiles and a waste of tall autumn grasses. He stared at the scene numbly, then turned away into the dusk, in search of a night's lodging, while the night winds sighed around his travel-worn figure. He thought of several friends who would welcome him, but the memory of the wife and child whom he had abandoned twenty long years ago haunted him. His wife, he was told, had entered a nunnery; he wondered about the daughter, who was four when he last saw her. He had heard she was married. From time to time he paused and listened to the night, alive with the chirring of crickets. Everything—the trees, the earth itself, the hedgerows, and even the stars suddenly seemed filled with the sound of weeping, and his mind ached, and his heart, and he began to wonder why he wandered so aimlessly through the dark streets. What brought him here like a ghost from the past?

A sudden longing to see Saiju overcame him—not his disciple, but a fellow being of whom he could beg forgiveness and to whom he could confess his blindness and folly. Twenty years of the holy life!—and he had only begun to learn tonight that the human heart could not be denied by an act of will nor by the disciplines of religion. Where did Saiju expect to find him, after promising to meet him in the capital? Then Saigyo thought of his cousin, Lord Tokudaiji, among whose retainers Saiju had several friends. Saigyo spent the night at a temple in the Eastern Hills and on the following day went down to the capital. On arriving at Lord Tokudaiji's mansion, he was surprised to find soldiers, footmen, and servants crowding about the gate, where several grand carriages waited. He was about to turn away when he heard someone calling him. It was Saiju.

"Ah, Saiju, so you came here after all!"

"Yes, I have been staying here for some time with my friends; I was sure that you would soon come, and have been waiting impatiently."

"Yes, how good it is to see you again!" Saigyo replied eagerly.

"Ever since we parted at the Tenryu River, I have meditated morning and night upon your reproof. Dunce that I am, I feel I am somewhat the wiser now. Never shall I act so foolishly as I did then. Forgive me for what I said."

"Saiju, you are not the only foolish one. I am even more so. ... I, too, need to be forgiven. But let us talk of this later."

"No, no, that is not possible. . . . But this is no place for us to talk. Let us go round to the rear gate to my lodgings."

"But my cousin has guests today."

"Not only today. Kiyomori and other state ministers come here frequently to consult with Lord Tokudaiji. We shall not be in the way in my quarters." And so saying, Saiju led Saigyo round to one of the rear gates.

A MERCHANT FROM THE NORTHEAST

New Year's Day a year ago had hardly been a time for the traditional observances, but this time freshly cut pine trees and pine boughs adorned gateways, giving the entire capital a festive air.

"We mustn't forget that we owe all this to Lord Kiyomori. It would be disrespectful even to sleep with our feet pointing in the direction of Rokuhara," Bamboku was saying to a score or more of his hired men and clerks as they sipped the New Year wine. During the New Year season Bamboku's gate stood open to a stream of guests—relatives, business acquaintances, fellow merchants, and neighbors—whom he entertained sumptuously.

The Nose had every reason for eternal gratitude to the Lord of Rokuhara, though his guests quipped over their wine that Bamboku's hospitality was somewhat on the meager side as compared with the profits he had made in the past year. To the sly remarks that the Nose must be worth his weight in gold, if not more, Bamboku replied airily:

"Joking aside, such profits are mere trifles—nothing like what I shall make when I'm really successful. And when that time comes you shall see what I can really do in the way of entertaining you."

Convivial guffaws greeted Bamboku's remarks, though no one doubted that the Nose would be as good as his word. City merchants never questioned Bamboku's credit or his abilities. Had he not, singlehanded, supplied all the materials for rebuilding the Cloister Palace last year? Kiyomori, moreover, was his patron, and the Nose had a finger in every notable business transaction in the capital. It could not be denied that without Kiyomori's patronage Bamboku could never have achieved his considerable wealth. On the other hand, the Nose had gone to quite some trouble and expense to settle the affair with Tokiwa. But, all told, that had been nothing compared with what he had gained: for one thing, he was in Tokiko's good graces once more. The mistress of Rokuhara had summoned him and condescended to say: "You may come here as you did before, Bamboku." For another, Kiyomori had inclined his ear to Bamboku's long cherished ambition—an appointment at the Court.

There was a time when Red-Nose would have sneered at the idea of a court post, but he was, after all, getting on toward fifty and there was nothing strange in a change of heart after twenty years of making his way in the world. The ludicrous paraphernalia of court life had once disgusted him and made him declare: "All this foolish strutting and groveling! Yes, I'm for myself and myself alone. I'll make my fortune, and gold—yellow gold—shall give me all the pleasures of life." Ironically enough, as his wealth increased Red-Nose began envying what he had once despised. The parvenu once had longed for and acquired a wife of good family; and as the number of his hired men grew, he began to hanker after a little authority. A merchant financier, Red-Nose had numerous occasions to mingle with the aristocrats, whose abilities seemed to him quite insignificant. He could do as well—better he reflected, had he the necessary credentials to that society—a court title. And the more Red-Nose thought of it, the more was he convinced that he was justified in his ambition.