Egmont
December 23rd, 2005, 09:59 am
I'm submitting the following short story to a statewide competition. I've spent the last 5 hours writing it up, so my brain is quite fried, but please, if you go through and read it, give me comments, suggestions, etc. I want to improve it if I can. It's my first attempt at a creative piece. I'm going to delete it in a few days, and I'll request this thread be hidden eventually to prevent plagiarism, but in the meantime please don't steal it. It's 7 full pages long in Word, so .. it's long. But still, if you have time, read it. Here we go; The story of the Impressionable Monk, by yours truly.
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Despite the usual rowdiness of the port city of Nagasaki during the reign of the famed Tokugawa shogunate – rowdiness due, no doubt, to its extreme importance to international commerce - the milieu was decidedly quiet upon this, the first day of the fifth month of 1615.
At least, that’s what the tavern-keeper of one of the city’s smaller inns thought as he looked out the door of his humble hostelry towards the open ocean, which was conveniently located just outside his shop’s open door. In fact, he imagined he couldn’t hear anything other than the pleasant song of the lapping shoreline and the wafting breeze, carrying to him traces of the scents found in the neighboring shops. Even from his own customers, huddled into separate corners of the damp floor, he could hardly hear the slurping of the tavern’s sake, which was inexpensive but, he figured – and imagined that his customers had a similar frame of mind – still served the perhaps somniferous purpose of any alcohol.
As he was reflecting upon this singular silence, however, he heard the faint song of a bamboo flute, proper called a shakuhachi, carried into his shop courtesy of the ever-present wind. The artiste, it seemed, was certainly no grand performer – though he could play it, it sounded quite humbled but, the keeper imagined, faintly noble. It was most likely a wandering priest, he reasoned; a member of the Fuke sect of Buddhism noted for their method of praise through the playing shakuhachi flutes. They played the instruments as they wandered about, hoping as much, ideally, to expel earthly desires through the holes in their flutes as to receive alms. As the sound appeared to be getting closer, the tavern keeper prepared to receive another guest in his abode.
Indeed, presently a silhouette came into view through the doorway and stopped. Its head looked thoroughly distorted to the shop-keeper; komuso, as they were called, were also noted for wearing basket-hats, called tengai, which thoroughly covered their profiles all the way down to the shoulders. From this odd headwear protruded a long circular shaft which grew in girth towards its end, fanning out at the very tip - presumably the bamboo flute, which the monk absentmindedly lowered as he attempted read the sign for the inn. Apparently, he couldn’t see very well underneath the hat, for, after realizing his error, he took the hat off and attempted to read it again. Satisfied, he removed his extremely worn shoes and ventured from the dazzling spring sunlight into the dank reception room of the inn.
The priest looked around, holding his cap under his armpit and tucking his flute into his sash. The smell of alcohol pervaded from all four corners of the room, where, in each, there sat upon a cushion a man at a low table pouring over his respective cup of the rice-wine. Behind a short counter, located at the opposite wall of the entrance, stood the intelligent-looking owner; behind him was the corridor which led, presumably, to the inn’s rooms.
The innkeepers’ teeth gleamed in the sun. He was excited to have a diversion from his drab surroundings. He perused over his new guest – dressed a standard short-sleeved robe, with a cloth draped off his shoulder much like the cape of the cavaliers which would appear in Europe a century later. It was a sign of the monk – some were larger than others, and they were all constructed differently. It was apparent, too, that he had traveled a long way, for his attire was thoroughly worn-out. However, the monk’s countenance seemed generally benevolent, and he was not unhandsome, as some monks are. He seemed quite young, too; probably no more than twenty, the innkeeper concluded.
“Welcome!” he said enthusiastically. “How might I be of humble service to your holiness upon this fine afternoon?”
“Ah, thank you kindly, sir,” the monk said with a slight bow and even slighter blush in the somewhat foreign dialect more commonly heard in the middle area of Japan than in the Southwestern city of Nagasaki. Then, smiling and knitting his eyebrows, he said, “I was, perchance, looking to stay in a room for the night.”
The innkeeper was noticeably perturbed. He was extremely bored, and, as a result, had greatly wished some company other than the four swaying vagabonds in the corners, whose only intercourses with the keeper consisted of requests for more rice wine. Also, he certainly was a little more than curious to hear out the monk’s story. Thus, he became quite determined, even from the moment the monk walked in the door, to converse with this most peculiar patron. Thus, he decided quickly that, if it served his purpose, a small white lie could not possibly hurt.
“I beg for your forgiveness, sir, but no rooms are quite ready at this moment. However, I assure you that, quite soon, one will indeed be ready for you to rest in.”
The monk bowed and looked as he was about to leave; he started mumbling something about finding another place, but the innkeeper, whose tongue was a bit quicker than the monk’s own, speedily suggested that the monk rest out of the sun while the room was prepared. After being entreated in such a polite manner, the noble-minded monk couldn’t possibly refuse, and, slightly downtrodden at his defeat, sat down at the table near the center of the room, directly in front of the beaming man. Taking the flute out of his sash, he set it and his hat upon the table. He also set down one of those particularly beautiful hair-ornaments that were so popularly seen adorning the glimmering, oiled black hair of that countries’ women. It was almost complete gold, save the center, which was silver and imbued with precious stones.
This, of course, piqued the fascinated innkeeper’s curiosity immensely. Eager, more than ever, to hear the monk’s story, but obliged to go through the customary motions, he politely offered some of the ever-popular wine to his visitor, completely forgetting that which is so crucial to a monk: abstinence. He was quickly reminded. Humbly, the monk bowed and said, “Thank you, kind sir, but I have only enough money for one night’s stay. Also,” he flashed a soft grin, “regretfully, you seem to have forgotten that monks take a vow of abstinence against alcohol.”
“Ah, so I have. My sincerest apologies,” the man behind the counter bowed, “but one can never be too sure, you know? I’ve heard of spies or master-less warriors who don the same outfit that your holiness is presently attired in, and was merely humbly inquiring.” He bowed, deeper this time, and got straight to business. Flashing a grin, he said coyly, “Might this lowly innkeeper inquire as to the purpose of your travel to this distant city?”
The monk looked down somberly at the ornament lying on the table and responded, “I can tell that this object has caught your fascination.” Indeed, the innkeeper had stared at almost without respite since the mendicant had placed it upon the table. “I suppose it will help pass the time until the room is complete, then, won’t it? Well then,” he said after the host had nodded vigorously, “I shall endeavor to humor you.”
With this, the monk changed seating positions and now sat in the more informal style, his legs crossed out in front of him. Whilst he spoke, he glanced often at the ornament in before him, and often averted his eyes from the piercing, fascinated stare of his eager host.
“It all began a few weeks ago,” he said in an uncharacteristically dramatic manner, attempting to appease the wide-eyed host, “when I, a mendicant, was doing that which is common for our particular lot: seeking kind donations through the playing of my instrument. Though my vision is clouded by the barrier I wear over my head, I can still perceive quite a bit when I wish to through the slits in this tengai. Normally, I attempt to close my eyes whilst I play, in order to further distance myself from this transitory world. However, one day, amidst my amateurish playing, I heard I peculiar noise which called my spirit down from its lofty heights. I saw a palanquin pass by in quite a hurry; inside I feigned to believe I saw a woman of enormous… dare I say it? Well, she was quite a sight to behold, and though I admit it is not quite my place to say so, she was around my age, and thus I could somewhat empathize with her. Regardless, as she rode by, presently, this object spilt out. As it looked to be of extreme value – though I do not consider things of this world to have any lasting importance, I picked it up.” At this time, it should be noted that a sound like that of a muffled snicker emitted from one of the room’s corners. It went unnoticed by the somewhat naďve monk, who went on saying, “I thought that it was my duty to return the object to its rightful owner. I had to protect it against burglary, you see, so I took it and…”
He was cut short by a sudden peal of laughter by one of the fellow customers, dressed as a traveling merchant. “How quaint is this fellow!” he slowly said with a slur. “I am terribly sorry, good sir,” he chuckled, uneasily making his way over to the monk’s table and plopping himself down next to the mendicant, “but I simply could not help overhearing this… recollection.” He blinked and smiled, eyes glossed and teeth gleaming. The priest wrinkled his nose at the stench of alcohol, but, undeterred, the man went on. “You say that you took it in order to keep it from being taken?” Another fit of laughter overcame the jovial man, but the monk peered sadly at the ornament. “In this, my friend,” he patted the monk on the shoulder, “you are quite mistaken! I would ask you to – hic – dutifully reconsider your action! Your intent was noble, I can tell, but in doing this task you have invariably stolen the item from the floor! Indeed, I know of what you speak, for I was there that day. I know that some people went back and searched for it, but it simply could not be found! Oh, but I could not remember who they were.” He laughed and hit the monk on the back again; it was hard to tell if he truly meant to teach the monk a lesson, or if he was simply bored along with the innkeeper. The monk, however, took this completely to heart, and was thoroughly saddened by his apparent mistake, for he thought that he was being quite noble in his aspiration. However, the innkeeper urged him to continue, and after a bout of thinking, the peculiar priest continued his tale.
“I saw, upon the backside of the ornament, the name and residence of the lady to whom it belongs, and the address said that she resided in this city. As I am a vagabond, and have no home, I decided it would be right for me to attempt to return it to her. I decided it was time to quit my residence in Kyoto and journey to this place, eager for any opportunity to help my spirituality.
“Before I left I decided to pray for safety at the Byodoin Temple. As I passed through the front gates, after cleansing myself at the well, I saw before me the woman to whom this precious item belongs heading in the opposite direction. In my haste to reach her, I must admit – for the Buddha warns against lying – that, in my hat, I could not see my footpath and verily, I stumbled and fell upon the floor.” As expected, the drunken man laughed quite loudly at this. Whether the others were laughing as well was impossible to tell, for the monk was blushing and staring at the table as the man laughed in his ear. Once the laughter subsided, he continued. “When I looked up, unfortunately, the woman was completely out of sight. I could not find her at all, so I rewashed hands and continued to go pray at the temple’s main building. Having accomplished this, unperturbed, I set out to journey to Nagasaki.
“Once I got on the highway, however, it was already dusk. I did not feel tired at all, but decided to make camp slightly off the main road. Apparently, however, this would be a mistake, for, indeed, I accidentally ran into a band of thieves. They did not expect much of me, I assume, for we mendicants are well known amongst thieves as not possessing anything of particular value. Still, I suppose that the thieves thought it wouldn’t be disadvantageous to see if I did have anything of value, and thus I was assaulted in quite a rough manner, as you may perceive by the state of my garb. Pinned to the ground, they questioned me half-heartedly, concerning whether I had any precious items with me. I emptied out the few pieces of change that I had in my alms bowl and, for it seemed that this was more than they expected, they let me off.”
At this, a customer in the corner let out an angry shout. “You meandering, malicious mendicant! You persuasive, pretentious priest! How you have deceived me! You have lied to me!” The man emerged from the shadows, and the priest saw, in shock, that it was the leader of the bandits. Regardless, he did not have any weapons on him, and, other than his temper, seemed too drunk to be of any harm. Presently, he walked over and sat down at the table across from the jovial man. “All along, you must have had this ornament with you! How could you lie to us, and after we treated you so nicely? Didn’t you just mention that lying was not permitted by the Buddha?” He scowled. “Because of you,” he stuck his finger on the tip of the monk’s wrinkled nose, “my gang mutinied on me for forcing them to attack such worthless subjects! Now look at me! I’m squandering all I have in a desperate attempt to forget the past! How could you lie to me, you fraudulent friar?! Well, monk? Answer me!” If he was being serious, the man obviously had his morals quite mixed up; despite this, the monk was extremely sorry and, bowing his head to the ground as was customary, begged the man for forgiveness. The former thief merely crossed his arms in contempt, and the monk looked even more downtrodden then ever. He was, apparently, unaware that he was somewhat justified in his previous fib. Despite this, eventually the innkeeper asked to hear the rest of the story, and, depressed and humbled, the monk obliged.
“Well… after this, I went off a bit and attempted once more to sleep, and I succeeded, though I probably should have realized my mistake.” Shaking this off after a bit of further contemplation, he continued a bit less morosely. “The next morning I continued on my journey towards this city. I walked along, playing my flute in praise to the Buddha and, as it was a beautiful spring day, I was in astonishment of the beauty of the world, though I kept in my mind that all good things must pass. I remembered, however, that we are taught not to take life from other creatures. While many people that it is inevitable to step on such creatures as ants, it is true that through my flute playing, I was giving fair warning to all sentinel beings, and thus, though I hope I have not, it is not my fault if I accidentally hurt one. This, of course, is a widely held belief, and I hope none of you will object to it.” He peered around the room, and, indeed, nobody interjected. He, somewhat proud of his victory, continued his tale. “I traveled all day along the highway without meeting the mysterious woman, but as the day waned on, I realized with regret that I had neglected eating for quite a long time. Once the sun began its descent into the sea, I found some edible vegetation and, using water, created a vegetable stew, which I vociferously ate, thankful to the Buddha for the meal.”
At this, a former doctor, eager to join the fray, found sufficient reason to interrupt. Standing up and walking briskly to the table, he sat down. The monk gaped at the doctor and braced himself, while the doctor had somewhat of a sly smile upon his lips. His eyes gleamed sharply, and he did not smell of liquor. “Recently, my dear fellow, it has been proven that indeed, plants are in fact alive. You do not believe me, I see. Then I shall indeed prove it to you.” He was somewhat educated, it seemed, with the scientific thought of the West, and eager to prove it. “We are alive, as are animals. We know this, for we grow and eventually die, as do they. Do not plants grow in a similar way? Is not the seed, which grows in the soil, similar to the seed which grows eventually in the mother? Plants grow, too; this is obvious. And they die if not fed with life-giving water. Similarly, humans and animals, as I have said, grow and die. Therefore, you, in eating those live vegetables, were quite in the wrong. Buddha said not to take life from anything, did he not? Then what have you done!”
Aghast, the monk starred into his palms, as if it they were wholly responsible. He then stared at his stomach. “Oh, you vile organ! How dare you force me to commit such atrocities? What abhorrent crimes I have committed for your sake!” Lifting his guilt-stricken head up, he faced his prosecutor. “Oh, I beseech you, kind doctor, please forgive me! I knew not of the plants’ lives.” He looked as if he were on the verge of weeping, but closed his eyes and contemplated. The doctor’s well thought words could not possibly be wrong, he figured, and thus he had failed thrice in following the Buddha. The doctor himself was on the verge of laughing, but, as is particular with that breed of professional, managed to keep a completely straight face. The monk sank into momentary depression before being urged for continuance once more by the innkeeper, who seemed genuinely concerned for the monk – not for his supposed shortcomings as a monk, but for his naivety.
Though extremely hesitant, the priest, again, continued, this time thinking each sentence through quite thoroughly, judging himself with each word. “After many days of travel, I reached this city. It is a strange city, it seems. There are quite a few barbarians here, and there are always women tugging at my sleeve, though I know that the Buddha teaches monks not to engage in any sort of sexual misconduct.” Barbarians, it should be noted, were what foreigners were referred to for their uncouth manners, such as not removing their shoes as they entered a house – considered absolutely disgusting and unclean by the people of Japanese society. It should also be noted that the people that visited Japan were not the most cultured of types, for indeed it was quite the journey, and not for the weak of heart, nor for those who liked keeping sanitary. Thus, the Japanese only got the impression of foreigners from those willing to spend years on the high seas, who were, most likely, not the most cultured of the Europeans, though, to their credit, the “barbarians” did carry some scientific knowledge with them to the port of Nagasaki. This port, it also should be noted, was the only port in all of Japan where foreigners could come and trade.
Thus, it is no surprise that the komuso was surprised to see all of the splendors of the singular city. He spoke somewhat at length of his experience for the past week in trying to find the woman of the ornament, but was thus far unsuccessful. “Each day since my arrival here, I have spent the day outside her home, or at least the home which is on the back of this ornament, playing my shakuhachi and soliciting funds. At the same time, I have been actively inquiring about the woman, and have found out some great deal. Though young, it seems she is already a widow, and the disappearance of her husband and living relatives has been extremely mysterious. In fact, though everyone knew that all of her living relatives were missing,” he said, wide-eyed, “none knew how they met their respective fates. It’s all very engaging, and I must admit I am absolutely fascinated with her story. I can still picture her face in my mind. I attempt to blow this image out through my flute each day,” he said with a sigh, forgetting momentarily who he was speaking to, “but I simply cannot.”
“And with that, my poor friend, you fail in being a monk once more,” said a sympathetic voice from the last corner of the room. Whether the sadness was false or true, the monk could not be certain, but upon this he was certainly not thinking. He was stunned that he had let these thoughts slipped, for indeed, if he had one fault, it was that he could not, being young, ignore such thoughts from briefly passing through his mind. Again, this was not much of a big deal, but the fourth customer seemed intent upon making it seem so. “Yes,” he stood and nodded, “I used to be a monk as well, but could not constrain myself and eventually gave up.” He had a very sad look upon his face. “You, too, it seems, have a weakness. Why, you have been chasing after a woman for weeks! Your fascination with her, too, betrays your possibly noble intent. It is certain that your motivation is not holy at all, but rather for selfish reasons.” He strode over to the table and towered over the poor monk, who had such a pitiful look of terror etched upon his features. “Yes, indeed, you have fallen in love! I know what it is like, but my story had such a sad ending that I now spend my time in such places as these, drowning my sorrows in alcohol. I am sorry to hear that another has fallen.” He then paid the innkeeper, and left. Soon, the other three men did the same, and the monk was left alone in the room with the innkeeper, who was putting the money away.
If one were to have gazed upon the monk’s face, one would have noticed a slow transformation. It seemed that the initial shock had worn off, and was eventually replaced by a sort of scornful grimace, which had traces of deep sadness in its subtle depths. He sat there for quite some time; the look which had eventually settled upon his countenance did not change during this entire period. His head was slightly bent down, and he was sweating profusely. From time to time, he would shake his head vigorously.
The tavern-keeper, after watching these events, decided not to disturb the poor young man. Instead, he listened again to the softly sputtering splashes of the ocean on the shore and the waning wind which wafted whimsically along the white-tipped waves. He breathed a sigh of content, and went about washing the cups left by the four conspirators. Suddenly, he said to the priest, “Your room, my dear sir, is quite ready now, if you so desire to go.”
The monk stood up abruptly and grabbed his items. “I’m leaving.” He turned on his heel and slowly marched out of the tavern with the same piteous look upon his young face. The innkeeper reflected upon the four vices of Buddhism: stealing, lies, killing, and sexual misconduct. Boredom, he consented, might as well be added to the list.
On his way out, the monk slowly put his basket hat over his head, but did so half-heartedly. His faith had been shaken to the core, and his noble deed seemed quite useless and even evil now. He could not fathom how he had been so ignorant. His own aspirations seemed impossible now, if he could not even return a lost item without committing innumerous amounts of sins. He consented to go to the shrine and see if he couldn’t somehow repent for his horrid deeds. He did not play his flute as he walked; rather, he was quite hunched over, since his hat wouldn’t let him put his head down unless he bent his upper body.
Extremely disillusioned, he hardly noticed when he had arrived at the shrine. He cleansed himself at the well, and was prepared to leave for the inner sanctum of it when he noticed a familiar sight. It was the same woman again, before him and walking away from his current position. Careful not to trip this time, he took off his tengai and sprinted towards the woman. The mere sight of her filled him with new hope; however, when he recognized this hope, he also realized from whence it sprung – that which was forbidden, according to the ex-monk in the tavern. Despite this inner struggle, he managed to reach her.
Victoriously, he addressed her politely. She turned around and wrinkled her nose at his disheveled appearance and strange scent. Undeterred, however, he monk bowed. “Excuse me for being so discourteous, ma’am. Allow me to introduce myself.” After they exchanged greetings, though the woman was obviously quite confused, he launched into the story of how he had seen her riding along in a palanquin, how he had seen her at the temple, how he had come here, and how he had waited outside of her address. He left out, however, that he had retrieved her precious ornament. He wanted to save the climax for the end.
Indeed, he now vigorously grabbed it out of the pocket in his sleeve and held it out, with both hands, to show her, saying, “And this was the reason. I believe that it is worth quite a bit, and would hate to see you lose such an obviously precious item.”
The woman looked unbelievably mortified, and let out an absolutely bone-chilling scream, shocking everybody within the vicinity at its absolute morbidity.
“That’s... why have you brought this curse back upon me! Oh Gods, why does this abhorrent cursed item follow me wherever I go! I have tried a thousand times to rid myself of its disgusting curse, yet it always ends up in my hands! It is a family heirloom – a portent of death to whomever inherits it! You destroy me!” She furiously grabbed the item and they ran to the shoreline, which was not far off. She flung it as far as she could into the depths of the sea, and laughed both maniacally and triumphantly. “Monk! Be more careful of what you pick up next time!” And with that, she hailed a palanquin and was off.
The poor monk stood there in an absolutely retched state, but only for a second. Wide-eyed, but otherwise becoming seemingly normal, he removed his hat, his sash, and the piece of cloth which was wrapped around his shoulder, and set them on the ground. He grabbed the flute and tried playing it. The tone was utterly flat and unmoving, with bouts of screeching in between. Disillusioned, the monk looked at it, laughed, and piled everything, including his clothes, into his large basket hat, and threw it into the ocean where the ornament of death had landed. They sank mournfully to the deep depths of the ocean. The monk, smiling and stark naked, walked back into the dank tavern and ordered up some of that popular and agreeable sake from the obviously bewildered innkeeper.
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Despite the usual rowdiness of the port city of Nagasaki during the reign of the famed Tokugawa shogunate – rowdiness due, no doubt, to its extreme importance to international commerce - the milieu was decidedly quiet upon this, the first day of the fifth month of 1615.
At least, that’s what the tavern-keeper of one of the city’s smaller inns thought as he looked out the door of his humble hostelry towards the open ocean, which was conveniently located just outside his shop’s open door. In fact, he imagined he couldn’t hear anything other than the pleasant song of the lapping shoreline and the wafting breeze, carrying to him traces of the scents found in the neighboring shops. Even from his own customers, huddled into separate corners of the damp floor, he could hardly hear the slurping of the tavern’s sake, which was inexpensive but, he figured – and imagined that his customers had a similar frame of mind – still served the perhaps somniferous purpose of any alcohol.
As he was reflecting upon this singular silence, however, he heard the faint song of a bamboo flute, proper called a shakuhachi, carried into his shop courtesy of the ever-present wind. The artiste, it seemed, was certainly no grand performer – though he could play it, it sounded quite humbled but, the keeper imagined, faintly noble. It was most likely a wandering priest, he reasoned; a member of the Fuke sect of Buddhism noted for their method of praise through the playing shakuhachi flutes. They played the instruments as they wandered about, hoping as much, ideally, to expel earthly desires through the holes in their flutes as to receive alms. As the sound appeared to be getting closer, the tavern keeper prepared to receive another guest in his abode.
Indeed, presently a silhouette came into view through the doorway and stopped. Its head looked thoroughly distorted to the shop-keeper; komuso, as they were called, were also noted for wearing basket-hats, called tengai, which thoroughly covered their profiles all the way down to the shoulders. From this odd headwear protruded a long circular shaft which grew in girth towards its end, fanning out at the very tip - presumably the bamboo flute, which the monk absentmindedly lowered as he attempted read the sign for the inn. Apparently, he couldn’t see very well underneath the hat, for, after realizing his error, he took the hat off and attempted to read it again. Satisfied, he removed his extremely worn shoes and ventured from the dazzling spring sunlight into the dank reception room of the inn.
The priest looked around, holding his cap under his armpit and tucking his flute into his sash. The smell of alcohol pervaded from all four corners of the room, where, in each, there sat upon a cushion a man at a low table pouring over his respective cup of the rice-wine. Behind a short counter, located at the opposite wall of the entrance, stood the intelligent-looking owner; behind him was the corridor which led, presumably, to the inn’s rooms.
The innkeepers’ teeth gleamed in the sun. He was excited to have a diversion from his drab surroundings. He perused over his new guest – dressed a standard short-sleeved robe, with a cloth draped off his shoulder much like the cape of the cavaliers which would appear in Europe a century later. It was a sign of the monk – some were larger than others, and they were all constructed differently. It was apparent, too, that he had traveled a long way, for his attire was thoroughly worn-out. However, the monk’s countenance seemed generally benevolent, and he was not unhandsome, as some monks are. He seemed quite young, too; probably no more than twenty, the innkeeper concluded.
“Welcome!” he said enthusiastically. “How might I be of humble service to your holiness upon this fine afternoon?”
“Ah, thank you kindly, sir,” the monk said with a slight bow and even slighter blush in the somewhat foreign dialect more commonly heard in the middle area of Japan than in the Southwestern city of Nagasaki. Then, smiling and knitting his eyebrows, he said, “I was, perchance, looking to stay in a room for the night.”
The innkeeper was noticeably perturbed. He was extremely bored, and, as a result, had greatly wished some company other than the four swaying vagabonds in the corners, whose only intercourses with the keeper consisted of requests for more rice wine. Also, he certainly was a little more than curious to hear out the monk’s story. Thus, he became quite determined, even from the moment the monk walked in the door, to converse with this most peculiar patron. Thus, he decided quickly that, if it served his purpose, a small white lie could not possibly hurt.
“I beg for your forgiveness, sir, but no rooms are quite ready at this moment. However, I assure you that, quite soon, one will indeed be ready for you to rest in.”
The monk bowed and looked as he was about to leave; he started mumbling something about finding another place, but the innkeeper, whose tongue was a bit quicker than the monk’s own, speedily suggested that the monk rest out of the sun while the room was prepared. After being entreated in such a polite manner, the noble-minded monk couldn’t possibly refuse, and, slightly downtrodden at his defeat, sat down at the table near the center of the room, directly in front of the beaming man. Taking the flute out of his sash, he set it and his hat upon the table. He also set down one of those particularly beautiful hair-ornaments that were so popularly seen adorning the glimmering, oiled black hair of that countries’ women. It was almost complete gold, save the center, which was silver and imbued with precious stones.
This, of course, piqued the fascinated innkeeper’s curiosity immensely. Eager, more than ever, to hear the monk’s story, but obliged to go through the customary motions, he politely offered some of the ever-popular wine to his visitor, completely forgetting that which is so crucial to a monk: abstinence. He was quickly reminded. Humbly, the monk bowed and said, “Thank you, kind sir, but I have only enough money for one night’s stay. Also,” he flashed a soft grin, “regretfully, you seem to have forgotten that monks take a vow of abstinence against alcohol.”
“Ah, so I have. My sincerest apologies,” the man behind the counter bowed, “but one can never be too sure, you know? I’ve heard of spies or master-less warriors who don the same outfit that your holiness is presently attired in, and was merely humbly inquiring.” He bowed, deeper this time, and got straight to business. Flashing a grin, he said coyly, “Might this lowly innkeeper inquire as to the purpose of your travel to this distant city?”
The monk looked down somberly at the ornament lying on the table and responded, “I can tell that this object has caught your fascination.” Indeed, the innkeeper had stared at almost without respite since the mendicant had placed it upon the table. “I suppose it will help pass the time until the room is complete, then, won’t it? Well then,” he said after the host had nodded vigorously, “I shall endeavor to humor you.”
With this, the monk changed seating positions and now sat in the more informal style, his legs crossed out in front of him. Whilst he spoke, he glanced often at the ornament in before him, and often averted his eyes from the piercing, fascinated stare of his eager host.
“It all began a few weeks ago,” he said in an uncharacteristically dramatic manner, attempting to appease the wide-eyed host, “when I, a mendicant, was doing that which is common for our particular lot: seeking kind donations through the playing of my instrument. Though my vision is clouded by the barrier I wear over my head, I can still perceive quite a bit when I wish to through the slits in this tengai. Normally, I attempt to close my eyes whilst I play, in order to further distance myself from this transitory world. However, one day, amidst my amateurish playing, I heard I peculiar noise which called my spirit down from its lofty heights. I saw a palanquin pass by in quite a hurry; inside I feigned to believe I saw a woman of enormous… dare I say it? Well, she was quite a sight to behold, and though I admit it is not quite my place to say so, she was around my age, and thus I could somewhat empathize with her. Regardless, as she rode by, presently, this object spilt out. As it looked to be of extreme value – though I do not consider things of this world to have any lasting importance, I picked it up.” At this time, it should be noted that a sound like that of a muffled snicker emitted from one of the room’s corners. It went unnoticed by the somewhat naďve monk, who went on saying, “I thought that it was my duty to return the object to its rightful owner. I had to protect it against burglary, you see, so I took it and…”
He was cut short by a sudden peal of laughter by one of the fellow customers, dressed as a traveling merchant. “How quaint is this fellow!” he slowly said with a slur. “I am terribly sorry, good sir,” he chuckled, uneasily making his way over to the monk’s table and plopping himself down next to the mendicant, “but I simply could not help overhearing this… recollection.” He blinked and smiled, eyes glossed and teeth gleaming. The priest wrinkled his nose at the stench of alcohol, but, undeterred, the man went on. “You say that you took it in order to keep it from being taken?” Another fit of laughter overcame the jovial man, but the monk peered sadly at the ornament. “In this, my friend,” he patted the monk on the shoulder, “you are quite mistaken! I would ask you to – hic – dutifully reconsider your action! Your intent was noble, I can tell, but in doing this task you have invariably stolen the item from the floor! Indeed, I know of what you speak, for I was there that day. I know that some people went back and searched for it, but it simply could not be found! Oh, but I could not remember who they were.” He laughed and hit the monk on the back again; it was hard to tell if he truly meant to teach the monk a lesson, or if he was simply bored along with the innkeeper. The monk, however, took this completely to heart, and was thoroughly saddened by his apparent mistake, for he thought that he was being quite noble in his aspiration. However, the innkeeper urged him to continue, and after a bout of thinking, the peculiar priest continued his tale.
“I saw, upon the backside of the ornament, the name and residence of the lady to whom it belongs, and the address said that she resided in this city. As I am a vagabond, and have no home, I decided it would be right for me to attempt to return it to her. I decided it was time to quit my residence in Kyoto and journey to this place, eager for any opportunity to help my spirituality.
“Before I left I decided to pray for safety at the Byodoin Temple. As I passed through the front gates, after cleansing myself at the well, I saw before me the woman to whom this precious item belongs heading in the opposite direction. In my haste to reach her, I must admit – for the Buddha warns against lying – that, in my hat, I could not see my footpath and verily, I stumbled and fell upon the floor.” As expected, the drunken man laughed quite loudly at this. Whether the others were laughing as well was impossible to tell, for the monk was blushing and staring at the table as the man laughed in his ear. Once the laughter subsided, he continued. “When I looked up, unfortunately, the woman was completely out of sight. I could not find her at all, so I rewashed hands and continued to go pray at the temple’s main building. Having accomplished this, unperturbed, I set out to journey to Nagasaki.
“Once I got on the highway, however, it was already dusk. I did not feel tired at all, but decided to make camp slightly off the main road. Apparently, however, this would be a mistake, for, indeed, I accidentally ran into a band of thieves. They did not expect much of me, I assume, for we mendicants are well known amongst thieves as not possessing anything of particular value. Still, I suppose that the thieves thought it wouldn’t be disadvantageous to see if I did have anything of value, and thus I was assaulted in quite a rough manner, as you may perceive by the state of my garb. Pinned to the ground, they questioned me half-heartedly, concerning whether I had any precious items with me. I emptied out the few pieces of change that I had in my alms bowl and, for it seemed that this was more than they expected, they let me off.”
At this, a customer in the corner let out an angry shout. “You meandering, malicious mendicant! You persuasive, pretentious priest! How you have deceived me! You have lied to me!” The man emerged from the shadows, and the priest saw, in shock, that it was the leader of the bandits. Regardless, he did not have any weapons on him, and, other than his temper, seemed too drunk to be of any harm. Presently, he walked over and sat down at the table across from the jovial man. “All along, you must have had this ornament with you! How could you lie to us, and after we treated you so nicely? Didn’t you just mention that lying was not permitted by the Buddha?” He scowled. “Because of you,” he stuck his finger on the tip of the monk’s wrinkled nose, “my gang mutinied on me for forcing them to attack such worthless subjects! Now look at me! I’m squandering all I have in a desperate attempt to forget the past! How could you lie to me, you fraudulent friar?! Well, monk? Answer me!” If he was being serious, the man obviously had his morals quite mixed up; despite this, the monk was extremely sorry and, bowing his head to the ground as was customary, begged the man for forgiveness. The former thief merely crossed his arms in contempt, and the monk looked even more downtrodden then ever. He was, apparently, unaware that he was somewhat justified in his previous fib. Despite this, eventually the innkeeper asked to hear the rest of the story, and, depressed and humbled, the monk obliged.
“Well… after this, I went off a bit and attempted once more to sleep, and I succeeded, though I probably should have realized my mistake.” Shaking this off after a bit of further contemplation, he continued a bit less morosely. “The next morning I continued on my journey towards this city. I walked along, playing my flute in praise to the Buddha and, as it was a beautiful spring day, I was in astonishment of the beauty of the world, though I kept in my mind that all good things must pass. I remembered, however, that we are taught not to take life from other creatures. While many people that it is inevitable to step on such creatures as ants, it is true that through my flute playing, I was giving fair warning to all sentinel beings, and thus, though I hope I have not, it is not my fault if I accidentally hurt one. This, of course, is a widely held belief, and I hope none of you will object to it.” He peered around the room, and, indeed, nobody interjected. He, somewhat proud of his victory, continued his tale. “I traveled all day along the highway without meeting the mysterious woman, but as the day waned on, I realized with regret that I had neglected eating for quite a long time. Once the sun began its descent into the sea, I found some edible vegetation and, using water, created a vegetable stew, which I vociferously ate, thankful to the Buddha for the meal.”
At this, a former doctor, eager to join the fray, found sufficient reason to interrupt. Standing up and walking briskly to the table, he sat down. The monk gaped at the doctor and braced himself, while the doctor had somewhat of a sly smile upon his lips. His eyes gleamed sharply, and he did not smell of liquor. “Recently, my dear fellow, it has been proven that indeed, plants are in fact alive. You do not believe me, I see. Then I shall indeed prove it to you.” He was somewhat educated, it seemed, with the scientific thought of the West, and eager to prove it. “We are alive, as are animals. We know this, for we grow and eventually die, as do they. Do not plants grow in a similar way? Is not the seed, which grows in the soil, similar to the seed which grows eventually in the mother? Plants grow, too; this is obvious. And they die if not fed with life-giving water. Similarly, humans and animals, as I have said, grow and die. Therefore, you, in eating those live vegetables, were quite in the wrong. Buddha said not to take life from anything, did he not? Then what have you done!”
Aghast, the monk starred into his palms, as if it they were wholly responsible. He then stared at his stomach. “Oh, you vile organ! How dare you force me to commit such atrocities? What abhorrent crimes I have committed for your sake!” Lifting his guilt-stricken head up, he faced his prosecutor. “Oh, I beseech you, kind doctor, please forgive me! I knew not of the plants’ lives.” He looked as if he were on the verge of weeping, but closed his eyes and contemplated. The doctor’s well thought words could not possibly be wrong, he figured, and thus he had failed thrice in following the Buddha. The doctor himself was on the verge of laughing, but, as is particular with that breed of professional, managed to keep a completely straight face. The monk sank into momentary depression before being urged for continuance once more by the innkeeper, who seemed genuinely concerned for the monk – not for his supposed shortcomings as a monk, but for his naivety.
Though extremely hesitant, the priest, again, continued, this time thinking each sentence through quite thoroughly, judging himself with each word. “After many days of travel, I reached this city. It is a strange city, it seems. There are quite a few barbarians here, and there are always women tugging at my sleeve, though I know that the Buddha teaches monks not to engage in any sort of sexual misconduct.” Barbarians, it should be noted, were what foreigners were referred to for their uncouth manners, such as not removing their shoes as they entered a house – considered absolutely disgusting and unclean by the people of Japanese society. It should also be noted that the people that visited Japan were not the most cultured of types, for indeed it was quite the journey, and not for the weak of heart, nor for those who liked keeping sanitary. Thus, the Japanese only got the impression of foreigners from those willing to spend years on the high seas, who were, most likely, not the most cultured of the Europeans, though, to their credit, the “barbarians” did carry some scientific knowledge with them to the port of Nagasaki. This port, it also should be noted, was the only port in all of Japan where foreigners could come and trade.
Thus, it is no surprise that the komuso was surprised to see all of the splendors of the singular city. He spoke somewhat at length of his experience for the past week in trying to find the woman of the ornament, but was thus far unsuccessful. “Each day since my arrival here, I have spent the day outside her home, or at least the home which is on the back of this ornament, playing my shakuhachi and soliciting funds. At the same time, I have been actively inquiring about the woman, and have found out some great deal. Though young, it seems she is already a widow, and the disappearance of her husband and living relatives has been extremely mysterious. In fact, though everyone knew that all of her living relatives were missing,” he said, wide-eyed, “none knew how they met their respective fates. It’s all very engaging, and I must admit I am absolutely fascinated with her story. I can still picture her face in my mind. I attempt to blow this image out through my flute each day,” he said with a sigh, forgetting momentarily who he was speaking to, “but I simply cannot.”
“And with that, my poor friend, you fail in being a monk once more,” said a sympathetic voice from the last corner of the room. Whether the sadness was false or true, the monk could not be certain, but upon this he was certainly not thinking. He was stunned that he had let these thoughts slipped, for indeed, if he had one fault, it was that he could not, being young, ignore such thoughts from briefly passing through his mind. Again, this was not much of a big deal, but the fourth customer seemed intent upon making it seem so. “Yes,” he stood and nodded, “I used to be a monk as well, but could not constrain myself and eventually gave up.” He had a very sad look upon his face. “You, too, it seems, have a weakness. Why, you have been chasing after a woman for weeks! Your fascination with her, too, betrays your possibly noble intent. It is certain that your motivation is not holy at all, but rather for selfish reasons.” He strode over to the table and towered over the poor monk, who had such a pitiful look of terror etched upon his features. “Yes, indeed, you have fallen in love! I know what it is like, but my story had such a sad ending that I now spend my time in such places as these, drowning my sorrows in alcohol. I am sorry to hear that another has fallen.” He then paid the innkeeper, and left. Soon, the other three men did the same, and the monk was left alone in the room with the innkeeper, who was putting the money away.
If one were to have gazed upon the monk’s face, one would have noticed a slow transformation. It seemed that the initial shock had worn off, and was eventually replaced by a sort of scornful grimace, which had traces of deep sadness in its subtle depths. He sat there for quite some time; the look which had eventually settled upon his countenance did not change during this entire period. His head was slightly bent down, and he was sweating profusely. From time to time, he would shake his head vigorously.
The tavern-keeper, after watching these events, decided not to disturb the poor young man. Instead, he listened again to the softly sputtering splashes of the ocean on the shore and the waning wind which wafted whimsically along the white-tipped waves. He breathed a sigh of content, and went about washing the cups left by the four conspirators. Suddenly, he said to the priest, “Your room, my dear sir, is quite ready now, if you so desire to go.”
The monk stood up abruptly and grabbed his items. “I’m leaving.” He turned on his heel and slowly marched out of the tavern with the same piteous look upon his young face. The innkeeper reflected upon the four vices of Buddhism: stealing, lies, killing, and sexual misconduct. Boredom, he consented, might as well be added to the list.
On his way out, the monk slowly put his basket hat over his head, but did so half-heartedly. His faith had been shaken to the core, and his noble deed seemed quite useless and even evil now. He could not fathom how he had been so ignorant. His own aspirations seemed impossible now, if he could not even return a lost item without committing innumerous amounts of sins. He consented to go to the shrine and see if he couldn’t somehow repent for his horrid deeds. He did not play his flute as he walked; rather, he was quite hunched over, since his hat wouldn’t let him put his head down unless he bent his upper body.
Extremely disillusioned, he hardly noticed when he had arrived at the shrine. He cleansed himself at the well, and was prepared to leave for the inner sanctum of it when he noticed a familiar sight. It was the same woman again, before him and walking away from his current position. Careful not to trip this time, he took off his tengai and sprinted towards the woman. The mere sight of her filled him with new hope; however, when he recognized this hope, he also realized from whence it sprung – that which was forbidden, according to the ex-monk in the tavern. Despite this inner struggle, he managed to reach her.
Victoriously, he addressed her politely. She turned around and wrinkled her nose at his disheveled appearance and strange scent. Undeterred, however, he monk bowed. “Excuse me for being so discourteous, ma’am. Allow me to introduce myself.” After they exchanged greetings, though the woman was obviously quite confused, he launched into the story of how he had seen her riding along in a palanquin, how he had seen her at the temple, how he had come here, and how he had waited outside of her address. He left out, however, that he had retrieved her precious ornament. He wanted to save the climax for the end.
Indeed, he now vigorously grabbed it out of the pocket in his sleeve and held it out, with both hands, to show her, saying, “And this was the reason. I believe that it is worth quite a bit, and would hate to see you lose such an obviously precious item.”
The woman looked unbelievably mortified, and let out an absolutely bone-chilling scream, shocking everybody within the vicinity at its absolute morbidity.
“That’s... why have you brought this curse back upon me! Oh Gods, why does this abhorrent cursed item follow me wherever I go! I have tried a thousand times to rid myself of its disgusting curse, yet it always ends up in my hands! It is a family heirloom – a portent of death to whomever inherits it! You destroy me!” She furiously grabbed the item and they ran to the shoreline, which was not far off. She flung it as far as she could into the depths of the sea, and laughed both maniacally and triumphantly. “Monk! Be more careful of what you pick up next time!” And with that, she hailed a palanquin and was off.
The poor monk stood there in an absolutely retched state, but only for a second. Wide-eyed, but otherwise becoming seemingly normal, he removed his hat, his sash, and the piece of cloth which was wrapped around his shoulder, and set them on the ground. He grabbed the flute and tried playing it. The tone was utterly flat and unmoving, with bouts of screeching in between. Disillusioned, the monk looked at it, laughed, and piled everything, including his clothes, into his large basket hat, and threw it into the ocean where the ornament of death had landed. They sank mournfully to the deep depths of the ocean. The monk, smiling and stark naked, walked back into the dank tavern and ordered up some of that popular and agreeable sake from the obviously bewildered innkeeper.