The New Samurai (31 page)

As far as I can make out from what he said (as this is a greatly edited version), Shinto is the religion of
this life
and is used for births, marriages, and festivals, with gods residing in the natural world. Buddhism is for the
next life
, so most funerals are Buddhist, and this religion stresses the impermanence of the natural world. Are you with me so far? Shinto is ‘the way of the gods’ and is the indigenous religion and seems to be tied up with a lot of folklore, local customs and rural rituals. Buddhism is the imported religion, but they seem combined in many ways and even share sacred places with shrines and temples built together. The gods are ‘kami’ and seem a lot like the Greek ones, needing offerings of food and money to appease them.

Anyway, Nikko is a popular place for Tokyoites to go for the weekend and drive along the 15 miles of the famous cedar avenue, planted over 400 years ago (it’s the national tree of Japan), or wander through the wooded foothills. Luckily we were travelling slightly out of season so it wasn’t as busy as it can get. It’s also a lot colder than Tokyo because it’s much higher up. It wasn’t until later that we realised why this was going to be a big deal.

Paul has two things to tick off his must-do-before-going-home list: take part in a tea ceremony and stay in a Buddhist monastery. Why a Roman Catholic from Brooklyn would have ‘become a Buddhist monk’ on his must-do list is a mystery: but he wasn’t saying and I didn’t ask. I guess we’ve managed to tick off the second one on his list now.

Well, after a long but enjoyable day of shrine-hopping and just soaking up the atmosphere of these huge forests of cedar where the tombstones were covered in moss, we were ready for a rest. We’d booked into a temple that has guest lodgings called a shokubu, with the most beautiful garden. A monk called Tani showed us around and invited us to join him in an outdoor meditation, which he called zazen.

Yoshi and Helen were really getting into it and I have to say it was quite calming and easy to let the mind sort of wander off (no comments, please), but sitting still is so
not
Paul’s forte. He kept fidgeting, which was kind of annoying, but then his stomach started rumbling and that finished it for me. Paul and Tara started giggling so we just got up and walked away, leaving them to it. Helen gave us a bollocking later, saying we could have offended Yoshi. I hope we didn’t – he seemed pretty cool about it, but then again, I’ve never seen Yoshi lose his temper – I’m not sure he has one. Maybe it’s because he’s from the mountains and they’re just more chilled out up there.

There were two other gaijin there who were staying on an extended vacation, studying meditation and calligraphy and other stuff, Sonia and Cliff from Pittsburgh. We all joined together for the evening meal (vegetarian, of course). The food was simple but pretty good (although Paul would have said there wasn’t enough of it, but I suppose abstinence is sort of the point). We had konyaku (which Yoshi translated as ‘devil’s tongue jelly’, which seemed deeply inappropriate, but he swore that’s what it was); yuba (tofu skin), as delicious as it sounds; and koyadofu (freeze dried tofu). After a night there I felt like a real carnivore and would have killed for a burger – even a horse-meat burger – which is probably why the monks need to do so much meditation.

Then we were shown to our rooms – separate for men and women, of course. You should have seen Paul’s face, although I don’t know what he was expecting. There was one large room for the four of us (Yoshi, Paul, Cliff and me) with tatami mats on the floor, sliding doors made from rice paper and thin futons that were spread straight onto the floor. Apparently in the winter they offer guests gas heaters but there weren’t any when we were there and it was
freezing
! By 2 am I was cold enough to have shared a futon with Paul and Yoshi, if it weren’t for the fact that Paul’s teeth were chattering so loudly it kept everyone awake anyway.

We gave it up as a bad job about 5 am and went to join the monks for 45 minutes of prayers – after washing in cold water. I was praying alright, praying for central heating. But actually it was a pretty intense experience, and joining the monks in their daily life for just one day was memorable. Yoshi found it very moving although I don’t think he’s cut out to be a monk – he’s just too…
happy
.

The girls had a better night than we did on the basis that they actually did end up sharing their bed (futon). I won’t comment on the look on Paul’s face when they told him that. (Sorry, Julie!)

Yoshi surprised me when he said that very few Japanese people bother to stay a night with the monks, and you could see he was pretty pleased with himself that he’d done it – none of his friends at home have, he says.

Then we were headed back to Tokyo, cold, hungry, tired, dying for a shower, but pure and clean inside – at least in theory.

Monastery haiku

My bed is cold, my food is thin

Teeth chatter like magpies

Soul is warm.

Sayonara!

Two weeks later and Sam was stuffing the last of his clothes into his duffel bag for the Nagasaki trip.

Tara was lying on his futon watching him. The fact she was distinctly underdressed wasn’t helping his concentration. For the third time he lost count of the number of shirts he’d packed.

She grinned up at him.

“Sure you’ve got everything?”

He shook his head. “I have no idea. I’m feeling a little distracted,” he admitted as he looked at her.

She laughed. “Don’t worry so much: I’ll still be here when you get back.”

“Here?” he said, raising his eyebrows. “Right here?”

“You never know your luck!”

“Mmm! That’s something to look forward to,” he said.

She laughed again. “I thought only teenage boys had one-track minds.”

He shrugged. “I’m multitasking.”

“It’ll be weird sleeping back in my own room,” she said, thoughtfully. “And Heidi next door snores like a dinosaur with toothache.”

She stood up and pulled on a pair of jeans and one of Sam’s shirts as she spoke.

Sam completely lost track of what he was supposed to be doing.

“Oh well,” she said, “at least Paul won’t have anything to complain about for the next five days.”

Sam nodded slowly. Then shook his head to clear it.

“Okay, I think I’m done,” he said. “I’d better get to the station.”

He sighed.

“You’re not going away for
that
long,” said Tara with a chuckle. “Barely enough time to miss me!”

He reached for her hand.

“I
will
miss you,” he whispered.

She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him so close he could feel the heat of her body through his clothes. She kissed him seriously, her lips silently insisting that she would miss him, too.

“Now get going,” she said, pushing him out of the door. “See you in five days!”

It was dark when Sam arrived at the mainline station; Sunday evening revellers crowded the terminal, heading back to the suburbs, others with suitcases and the weariness that accompanies the city vacationer. Even so, it wasn’t hard to spot the 36 students in their navy uniforms milling excitedly around the meeting point, a bronze statue of a dog called Hachiko, a memorial to a Japanese Greyfriars Bobby.

Several greeted him enthusiastically and he was introduced to pairs of curious parents who had escorted their offspring to the station.

Few of the parents spoke English but Sam was able to understand their Japanese if they spoke slowly enough. Language skills definitely seemed to be a generational issue.

Ms Amori glowered at him darkly from the edge of the group: Sam couldn’t help noticing that the students avoided her except to bow formally when confronted by her severe eye.

The other teachers supervising the trip were Ito-san, a small, studious man from the history department whom Sam had only met briefly in passing; and Takaki-san, a smiling junior teacher who reminded Sam of a female Yoshi.

Ms Amori had allocated each teacher a group of students to their particular care. Sam’s included Kazuo, who had been friendly from the first day, and seven other young men, most of whom he knew by sight. Everything was arranged strictly along gender lines. Naturally.

With Sam’s arrival, Ms Amori waved away the last of the parents and assigned the sleeping compartments for the journey. Sam was billeted with Mr Ito at one end of their carriage, and Mrs Takaki was to share with Ms Amori at the other: the students would be sandwiched in compartments between. It seemed that good behaviour wasn’t as guaranteed as Sam had expected; either that or Ms Amori believed in preparing for every eventuality.

The compartments contained two sofa-like seats facing each other, and a small bathroom with a toilet and tiny sink. Mr Ito bowed to Sam, but continued hovering nervously by the door and frowning when he thought Sam wasn’t looking. Sam sighed: there were times when he felt very much an outsider.

After leaving their luggage, Mr Ito was clearly relieved to escape the close confines of the sleeping compartment to meet with the other teachers and students in the buffet car.

At her invitation, Sam seated himself next to Mrs Takaki, who chirruped away happily in a mixture of Japanese and mangled English, her words tripping over themselves in both languages. She was easy company and seemed delighted to be on the trip, delighted that Sam was joining them, and delighted with the buffet car, menu, and sleeping compartment. Everything was either ‘ii’ (good) or ‘omoshiroi’ (exciting).

Mr Ito spent most of the meal discussing the itinerary in more detail with Ms Amori, who looked a little bored. He seemed to be a generally anxious individual so Sam tried not to take his twitchy glances too personally.

Sam was surprised when Mr Ito ordered a light beer with his meal. At Kidbrooke, teachers were banned from drinking on school trips and, from Sam’s experience, it made it easier to enforce a no-alcohol rule with pupils if the teachers were following the same set of rules. On balance, he decided it would be wiser to stick to O-cha, as did Ms Amori and Mrs Kakaki. Ms Amori’s expression was guarded, expressing neither disapproval nor approbation.

As soon as the meal was finished Mr Ito made his bows and hurried back to the sleeping compartment; Ms Amori soon followed, stalking off, intent on speaking to the conductor about the arrangements for breakfast.

Sam felt himself relax and even Mrs Takaki seemed to loosen several notches, becoming even more jolly. She was a popular teacher and two of the female students soon joined them at their table, asking questions about the itinerary and practising their halting English on Sam, whilst gazing up at him from beneath their lashes. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat: he hadn’t had any problems from female students since he’d arrived in Japan, but the planned trip had an intangible air that suggested the pupils were feeling let off the leash.

Eventually the evening drew to a close when the attendants in the buffet car began to turn off the lights, and Mrs Takaki herded the remaining pupils back to their compartments; Sam, reluctant to spend too much time with the nervy Mr Ito, had no choice but to do the same.

He’d expected to find Mr Ito asleep, but instead the teacher was propped up on his sofa wearing a string vest and a pair of thick reading glasses that were slipping down his nose. Mr Ito greeted Sam cheerfully and Sam suspected that this recent good humour resulted from the bottle of Japanese whisky that was nestling next to Mr Ito’s pillow. Every few minutes, Mr Ito unscrewed the lid of his whisky bottle and took another slug, slipping further down his mattress each time.

The sofas had been turned into small but comfortable-looking beds, presumably by a train steward whilst they were eating, and Sam’s duffel bag had been carefully laid on top. He knelt on the bed and drew back the pleated curtain from the darkened window: distant lights flitted past but with nothing more to see, Sam turned back to his bed, pulled out a book of Matsu Basho’s haiku, and read for a while.

He spent a few extra minutes with a Japanese dictionary working out that the sign on the wall kindly informed passengers that it was illegal to have more than one person in a bed at the same time. It made him think of Tara, wondering how many ways they could have broken that rule on the overnight journey.

Eventually he switched off his reading light and rolled onto his side. He fell asleep to the sound of the train whistling over the tracks, and with the thought that Mr Ito was going to have a bad head in the morning.

The sun was only just peeking through the thin curtains when Sam woke up. He felt stiff from lying on the hard sofa mattress, especially as it was several inches too short to allow him to stretch out fully. Mr Ito was still snoring softly, a miasma of whisky souring his breath; Sam made a face but moved quietly so as not to wake him.

He shaved awkwardly in the tiny sink, relieved he’d managed not to inflict too much damage in spite of the train’s awkward movement, and dressed in silence. Mr Ito showed no signs of stirring so Sam slipped out of the compartment and made his way along the carriage. Several sleepy students wished him good morning and followed him, yawning widely, to the buffet car. Neither of the female teachers had arrived yet. That surprised Sam: he’d begun to think of Ms Amori as some sort of super-teacher who had eyes in the back of her head, never made a mistake and never slept. It was possible she wasn’t even human, although that was just a theory brought on by reading too many of Yoshi’s manga magazines.

Kazuo and two other students asked permission to join Sam for the morning rice. They only had one topic of conversation, which they seemed to have been plotting to bring up.

“You like sakka, Patterson-san? You play sakka?”

It took half a minute of mutual misunderstandings before Sam realised they were asking him if he played soccer.