Drifting, like a lotus on a pond, it has come up beside me, towers above me, wears stars like a crown, glows with its own milky, supernal light. It is a delicate-featured image of a bodhisattva, not unlike Kwannon, in garments woven of moonbeams.
“Mari.”
Its voice is soft and caressing.
“Yes?” I answer.
“You have returned to travel in Japan. You are coming to me, are you not?”
The illusion is broken. It is Kit. He has carefully sculpted this epigon-form and wears it himself to visit me. There must be a terminal in the monastery. Will he try to force me?
“I was on my way to see you, yes,” I manage.
“You may join me now, if you would.”
He extends a wonderfully formed hand, as in benediction.
“I’ve a few small matters I must clear up before we are reunited.”
“What could be more important? I have seen the medical reports. I know the condition of your body. It would be tragic if you were to die upon the road, this close to your exaltation. Come now.”
“You have waited this long, and time means little to you.”
“It is you that I am concerned with.”
“I assure you I shall take every precaution. In the meantime, there is something which has been troubling me.”
“Tell me.”
“Last year there was a revolution in Saudi Arabia. It seemed to promise well for the Saudis but it also threatened Japan’s oil supply. Suddenly the new government began to look very bad on paper, and a new counterrevolutionary group looked stronger and better-tempered than it actually was. Major powers intervened successfully on the side of the counterrevolutionaries. Now they are in power and they seem even worse than the first government which had been overthrown. It seems possible, though incomprehensible to most, that computer readouts all over the world were somehow made to be misleading. And now the Osaka Conference is to be held to work out new oil agreements with the latest regime. It looks as if Japan will get a very good deal out of it. You once told me that you are above such mundane matters, but I wonder? You are Japanese, you loved your country. Could you have intervened in this?”
“What if I did? It is such a small matter in the light of eternal values. If there is a touch of sentiment for such things remaining within me, it is not dishonorable that I favor my country and my people.”
“And if you did it in this, might you not be moved to intervene again one day, in some other matter where habit or sentiment tell you you should?”
“What of it?” he replies. “I but extend my finger and stir the dust of illusion a bit. If anything, it frees me even further.”
“I see,” I answer.
“I doubt that you do, but you will when you have joined me. Why not do it now?”
“Soon,” I say. “Let me settle my affairs.”
“I will give you a few more days,” he says, “and then you must be with me forever.”
I bow my head.
“I will see you again soon,” I tell him.
“Good night, my love.”
“Good night.”
He drifts away then, his feet not touching the ground, and he passes through the wall of the monastery.
I reach for my medicine and my brandy. A double dose of each . . .
22. Mt. Fuji from the Sumida River in Edo
And so I come to the place of crossing. The print shows a ferryman bearing a number of people across the river into the city and evening. Fuji lies dark and brooding in the farthest distance. Here I do think of Charon, but the thought is not so unwelcome as it once might have been. I take the bridge myself, though.
As Kit has promised me a little grace, I walk freely the bright streets, to smell the smells and hear the noises and watch the people going their ways. I wonder what Hokusai would have done in contemporary times? He is silent on the matter.
I drink a little, I smile occasionally, I even eat a good meal. I am tired of reliving my life. I seek no consolations of philosophy or literature. Let me merely walk in the city tonight, running my shadow over faces and storefronts, bars and theaters, temples and offices. Anything which approaches is welcome tonight. I eat sushi,I gamble, I dance. There is no yesterday, there is no tomorrow for me now. When a man places his hand upon my shoulder and smiles, I move it to my breast and laugh. He is good for an hour’s exercise and laughter in a small room he finds us. I make him cry out several times before I leave him, though he pleads with me to stay. Too much to do and see, love. A greeting and a farewell.
Walking. . . . Through parks, alleys, gardens, plazas. Crossing. . . . Small bridges and larger ones, streets and walkways. Bark, dog. Shout, child. Weep, woman. I come and go among you. I feel you with a dispassionate passion. I take all of you inside me that I may hold the world here, for a night.
I walk in a light rain and in its cool aftermath. My garments are damp, then dry again. I visit a temple. I pay a taximan to drive me about the town. I eat a late meal. I visit another bar. I come upon a deserted playground, where I swing and watch the stars.
And I stand before a fountain splaying its waters into the lightening sky, until the stars are gone and only their lost sparkling falls about me.
Then breakfast and a long sleep, another breakfast and a longer one . . .
And you, my father, there on the sad height? I must leave you soon, Hokusai.
23. Mt. Fuji from Edo
Walking again, within a cloudy evening. How long has it been since I spoke with Kit? Too long, I am sure. An epigon could come bounding my way at any moment.
I have narrowed my search to three temples—none of them the one in the print, to be sure, only that uppermost portion of it viewed from that impossible angle, Fuji back past its peak, smoke, clouds, fog between—but I’ve a feeling one of these three will do in the blue of evening.
I have passed all of them many times, like a circling bird. I am loath to do more than this, for I feel the right choice will soon be made for me. I became aware sometime back that I was being followed, really followed this time, on my rounds. It seems that my worst fear was not ungrounded; Kit is employing human agents as well as epigons. How he sought them and how he bound them to his service I do not care to guess. Who else would be following me at this point, to see that I keep my promise, to force me to it if necessary?
I slow my pace. But whoever is behind me does the same. Not yet. Very well.
Fog rolls in. The echoes of my footfalls are muffled. Also those at my back. Unfortunate.
I head for the other temple. I slow again when I come into its vicinity, all of my senses extended, alert.
Nothing. No one. It is all right. Time is no problem. I move on.
After a long while I approach the precincts of the third temple. This must be it, but I require some move from my pursuer to give me the sign. Then, of course, I must deal with that person before I make my own move. I hope that it will not be too difficult, for everything will turn upon that small conflict.
I slow yet again and nothing appears but the moisture of the fog upon my face and the knuckles of my hand wrapped about my staff. I halt. I seek in my pocket after a box of cigarettes I had purchased several days ago in my festive mood. I had doubted they would shorten my life.
As I raise one to my lips, I hear the words, “You desire a light, madam?”
I nod my head as I turn.
It is one of the two monks who extends a lighter to me and flicks forth its flame. I notice for the first time the heavy ridge of callous along the edge of his hand. He had kept it carefully out of sight before, as we sojourned together. The other monk appears to his rear, to his left.