Kusamakura

“Nonemotional, remember!†she says sternly as she swiftly straightens herself.

“Of course,†I promptly reply.

In the aftermath of the little earthquake, the startled water in the hol ow of the garden rock continues to sway gently to and fro; the shock has risen up through the water in a swel ing wave that does not break the surface, creating instead a fine lacework pattern of tiny ripples in irregular curves.

Were it to exist, the expression “tranquil motion†would describe this perfectly. The wild cherry tree that steeps its calm reflection there wavers in the rocking water, stretching and shrinking, curving and twisting; yet I am fascinated to observe that however its shape changes, it stil preserves the unmistakable form of a cherry tree.

What an enchanting sight—so beautiful and shifting. This is how motion should be.

“If we humans could only move in that way, we could move al we liked, couldn’t we?†she says.

“You have to be nonemotional to move like that, you know.â€

She gives a laugh. “You’re certainly fond of this ‘nonemotional, ’ aren’t you!â€

“I wouldn’t say you were exactly averse to it either. That performance with the wedding kimono yesterday, for instance.â€

But here she suddenly breaks in coquettishly. “Give me a little reward!â€

“What for?â€

“You said you wanted to see me in my wedding kimono, didn’t you? So I went out of my way to show you.â€

“I did?â€

“I gather that the artist who came over the mountains put in a special request to the old lady up at the teahouse.â€

I can produce no appropriate response, and she goes on unhesitatingly, “What’s the point of throwing my al into trying to please someone so hopelessly forgetful?†She speaks in a mocking, bitter tone. This is the second barb that has struck home, hitting me fair in the face, and the tide of battle is turning increasingly against me. She’s somehow managed to ral y, and now that she holds the upper hand, her armor seems to have become impregnable.

“So that scene in the bathhouse last night was purely kindness too, was it?†I try, scrambling to save myself from the perilous situation. She is silent.

“I do apologize,†I go on, seizing the moment to advance when I can. “What should I give you as reward, then?†However, my sal y has no effect. She is gazing with an innocent air at the piece of cal igraphy by Daitetsu that hangs over the door.

After a pause she murmurs softly, “‘Bamboo shadow sweeps the stair, but no dust moves.’†Then she turns back to me and, as if suddenly recol ecting, studiedly raises her voice. “What was that you said?†I’m not going to be trapped again, however.

I try taking my cue from the tranquil motion of the water after the earthquake. “I met that abbot just a while ago, you know.â€

“The abbot from Kankaiji? He’s fat, isn’t he?â€

“He asked me to do him a Western painting for his sliding door. These Zen priests say the most peculiar things, don’t they?â€

“That’s how come he can get so fat.â€

“I also met someone else there, a young man.â€

“That would be KyÅ«ichi.â€

“That’s right, yes,†I say.

“How much you know!â€

“Hardly. I only know Kyuichi. I’m quite ignorant otherwise. He doesn’t like talking, does he?â€

“He’s just being polite. He’s stil a child.â€

“A child? He’s about the same age as you, surely.â€

She laughs. “You think so? He’s my cousin, and he’s off to the war, so he’s come to take his leave of the family.â€

“He’s staying here, is he?â€

“No, he’s in my older brother’s house.â€

“So he came here special y to take tea, then.â€

“He likes plain hot water better than tea, actual y. I do wish Father wouldn’t invite people to tea like that, but he wil do it. I bet his legs went numb from al that formal sitting. If I’d been there, I would have sent him home early.â€

“Where were you, in fact? The abbot was asking about it, guessing you must have gone off for a walk again.â€

“Yes, I walked down to Mirror Pool and back.â€

“I’d like to go there sometime. . . .â€

“Please do.â€

“Is it a good place to paint?â€

“It’s a good place to drown yourself.â€

“I don’t have any intention of doing that just yet.â€

“I may do it quite soon.â€

This joke is uncomfortably close to the bone for mere feminine banter, and I glance quickly at her face. She looks disconcertingly determined.

“Please paint a beautiful picture of me floating there—not lying there suffering, but drifting peaceful y off to the other world.â€

“Eh?â€

“Aha, that surprised you, didn’t it! I’ve surprised you, I’ve surprised you!â€

She rises smoothly to her feet. Three paces take her across to the door, where she turns and beams at me. I just sit there, lost in astonishment.

CHAPTER 10

I have come to take a look at Mirror Pool.

The path behind Kankaiji temple drops down out of the cedar forest into a val ey, forking before it begins to climb the mountain beyond, and there, enclosed by the two ways, lies Mirror Pool. Dwarf bamboo crowds its edges. In some places the leaves press in so densely on either side that you can barely avoid setting up a rustling as you pass. The water is visible from among the trees, but unless you actual y go around it, you have no way of guessing where the pool begins and ends. A walk around its perimeter reveals that it’s surprisingly smal , probably no more than three hundred fifty yards. However, the shape is highly irregular; large rocks jut out here and there into the water. What’s more, the exact point of the shoreline is as difficult to judge as the pool’s shape, for the lapping waves create a constant, irregular undulation along its edge.

The area around the pool is largely broadleaf woods, containing countless hundreds of trees, some not yet flush with spring leaf bud. Where the branches are relatively sparse there is even a carpet of young grass, sprouting in the warmth of the bright spring sunlight that filters through, and the tender forms of little wild violets peep out here and there.

Japanese violets seem asleep. No one would be tempted to describe them, as one Western poet has done, in the grandiose terms of “a divine conception†. . . but just as this thought crosses my mind, my feet come to a sudden halt. Now once your feet have stopped moving, you can find yourself standing in one place for an inordinate length of time—and lucky is the man who can do so. If your feet suddenly halt on a Tokyo street, you wil very soon be kil ed by a passing tram, or moved on by a policeman. Peaceful folk are treated like beggars in the city, while fine wages are paid to detectives, who are no better than petty criminals.

I lower my peaceful rump onto the cushion of grass. No one wil raise an objection even if I should choose simply to stay sitting here for the next five or six days. That is the wonderful thing about the natural world; while on the one hand it has neither pity nor remorse, on the other, it is neither fickle nor arbitrary in its dealings with people—it treats al indifferently alike. Many are prepared to turn their noses up at the rich and powerful, the Iwasakis and Mitsuis of this world.1 But who besides Nature can cool y turn his back on the ancient authority of emperors? The virtues of Nature far and away transcend our pitiful human world; there absolute equality holds eternal sway. Rather than associate with the vulgar and thus induce in yourself the kind of misanthropic fury felt by Timon of Athens, 2 far better to fol ow the way of the sages of old, to cultivate flowers and herbs in your little plot and spend your days in peaceful coexistence with Nature. People like to speak loftily of “fairness†and “disinterest.†Wel , if this means so much to them, surely we would do best to kil a thousand petty criminals a day and use their corpses to fertilize a world of gardens. . . .