Kaze reflected that honor was like the wind. It was invisible, yet you felt it tugging at your conscience and impelling you in a direction that you might not want to go. You were buffeted by honor until you bent to its will, moving in the direction that it blew you.
As he grew older, Kaze stopped playing with kites but more keenly felt the effects of honor. If his karma was to grow old, he looked with anxious anticipation toward a time when he would again be near one end of his life span, this time the old end. Then he could have the luxury of playing with kites again.
Now the wind, insistent but not strong, forced him to hold his kimono a little tighter as it pushed against his chest and face. He sat in the dark outside Lord Manase’s manor and waited until it was time to again visit the old blind Sensei, Nagahara. Since adding a nightly visit to the Sensei to his schedule, Kaze had devised a plan for entering Manase Manor that didn’t require a snoozing guard.
The manor, as with almost all buildings of its kind, was built on a foundation of pilings resting on large rocks. This left a large crawl space under the floor, and this crawl space, plus the fact that the floorboards were not fastened down, made it rather easy for him to enter the manor anytime he wanted to. He knew the Sensei stayed up late reciting the books he was so desperate to retain, so he always appeared late at night, when the rest of the household was asleep.
Nagahara Sensei’s energy appeared to be fading, but Kaze’s visits seemed to revitalize him as he taught classes for pupils long since past. For his part, Kaze was learning about a Japan also long since past, a Japan where meat, not fish, was eaten in large quantities; where Buddhism was not a major religion; where people didn’t bath for pleasure and ritual purification; and where beliefs were totally different from the beliefs Kaze held.
When the time was right, Kaze rapidly crawled under the manor, making his way under the hallway in front of Nagahara Sensei’s room. When he was sure it was safe, Kaze displaced several floorboards and climbed into the hall. Replacing the floorboards so there was no evidence of his entry, Kaze slid back the shoji and called out softly, “Sensei?”
“Hai.” Nagahara’s voice seemed weak. Kaze entered the room and found the old man reclining on a futon. The room was dark, because there was no need for a light with a blind man, but from the tiny amount of light that spilled in from the open door, Kaze could see that the old man looked tired.
“Perhaps it’s a bad night, Sensei,” Kaze said.
“Nonsense,” the old man replied. “You’re just trying to get out of your lessons so you can play with the other boys. Come in here immediately.”
“Sensei,” Kaze said gently, “Don’t you remember? I am Matsuyama Kaze, the samurai, not one of your youthful charges.”
“Matsuyama? Matsuyama? Are you one of my pupils?”
“In a way. Remember? We have been talking about the age of Genji for the last few nights.”
“The Genji? Shall I recite it for you?”
“No, Sensei, I’m just here to talk to you some more about it.”
“What about the age of Genji?”
“Last night you were telling me about the time Genji went to see his paramour. Remember?”
“Genji? Oh yes. As you recall, it was the fourteenth of the month, so naturally Genji couldn’t go to see his newest love directly. So instead he went to his good friend To-no-Chujo’s and visited for awhile. After this visit, he then went to the Lady’s house.”
“But how did he know he had to do that?”
“Well, of course he looked it up. In a book. It’s like today when we have feast days and extra months and other things on our calendar. In those days such things were on their calendar, in special books.”
“And what about the things you told me about obakes in the road, Sensei? Did they learn that from books, too?”
“You learn everything from books,” the old man said sternly. “In a sense, a book is like an obake, because it allows a person to speak to us long after death. But a young boy like you shouldn’t concern yourself with things like obakes. Instead, I want you to recite the poems I gave you to memorize.”
“Remember, Sensei? This is Matsuyama. I was not the one you gave the poems to memorize to.”
“But if you’re not the one …” The old man looked confused, then he gave a great groan.
“Sensei?” Kaze said, alarmed. He reached out in the darkness and touched the arm of the old man. It felt as skinny as a twig and as fragile as an old, dried leaf. “Are you all right?”
“It’s …” The old man seemed to weaken suddenly, and his breathing became labored.
“Perhaps I should leave, Sensei.”
“No. Don’t. I feel so peculiar, it’s like I was …”
“What is it, Sensei?”
The old man sighed. In the dark, it seemed like a sigh of contentment, not distress. “The sight of Fuji-san at dawn is the most wonderful thing I can imagine.”
Kaze thought the old man was drifting again, but he was glad to hear a renewed strength in the old teacher’s voice.
“Look there! See how the snow turns red with the rising of the sun? See how the entire mountaintop is capped in crimson!” The old man was pointing into the darkness, and Kaze realized that the old man was hallucinating in his blindness, seeing with his mind’s eye and memory what his real eyes could no longer discern. “It’s such a glorious sight, don’t you think?”
“Yes, Sensei,” Kaze replied.
“It’s good that we can see such beauty, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Sensei.”
The old teacher gave another sigh. His arm dropped to the futon.
“Sensei?” Kaze asked, concern creeping into his voice.
“It’s wonderful to see such marvelous beauty,” the old man said softly. “Now I can die truly happy.” A slow, prolonged hiss escaped from the old man. Kaze sat in the darkness for several minutes, listening for the old man’s breathing. Finally, he dared to put his hand near the face of the blind teacher, but he felt no breath on his palm. Kaze sat in the dark silence for many more minutes, then he put his palms together and started reciting a sutra for the dead.
CHAPTER 23
Vain rooster, with plumes
of yellow and shining green.
Beware the sharp spurs!
He sat in a thicket, just as he had been sitting for several days. The last days of summer were gone, and it was starting to chill. He lived off the land, cooking rabbits caught in snare traps and roots and edible plants he gathered. At night he would sneak to Jiro’s hut, stopping to get a pinch of salt or some miso to flavor his food. He still had the senbei he had received at the inn but decided to save it for a special occasion.
Kaze, by temperament and training, had more than his share of patience in a world filled with patient men. So he was not disappointed as the days passed and he didn’t see what he expected to see. His long talks with the Sensei had convinced him that he had finally placed the mountain in the right spot. He was determined to be that mountain and not to budge from the spot until he saw what he expected to see.
Finally, after eight days, his patience was rewarded.
Instead of coming with his usual paraphernalia, he showed up dressed as a warrior. He jumped off his horse and unloaded his gear. He went to the trees and hung marumono, round targets, from low hanging branches spaced many paces apart. The targets were round coils of braided straw, whitewashed with a large black dot in the center. They hung from pieces of hemp twine.
After he finished hanging the targets, he shrugged both his outer kimono and white inner kimono off his left shoulder. He walked over to a quiver sitting on the ground and took out three arrows: brown arrows with goose-feather fletching, all of them of unusual quality.