The Temple of the Golden Pavilion (21 page)

On the following day I waited for the Superior to call me in for a scolding. This would be an opportunity for me to explain myself. But, just as after that previous occasion when I had trampled on the prostitute, the Superior now began to torture me by passing the matter over in silence.

It was just then that I had another letter from Mother. She ended with her usual remark about living in the hope of seeing me become the master of the Golden Temple,

"You little fool, are you trying to follow me?"-as I thought about the words that the Superior had roared at me, they seemed more and more inappropriate. It he had been a more typical Zen priest, more open-minded and with a greater sense of humor, he would never have addressed such a vulgar reproof to his pupil. He would have made some more pithy, effective remark. Now, of course, the Superior could not take back what he had said; but I felt sure that at the time he had mistakenly believed that I had followed him on purpose and had sneered at him as though I had caught him out in some grave misdemeanor; as a result he had become flustered and automatically made a vulgar display of anger.

Whatever the facts of the matter may have been, the Superior's silence again became a source of uneasiness that pressed oil me day after day. The Superior's existence had become a great force, it had become like the shadow of a moth that flutters annoyingly before one's eyes.

It was customary for the Superior to take along one or two of the acolytes when he was asked to attend services outside the temple. In the past the deacon had invariably been in attendance on these occasions, but recently, as part of the so-called process of democratization it had become normal for five of us—the deacon, the sexton, myself, and two other apprentices—to take turns in accompanying the Superior. The superintendent of the dormitory, whose strictness had become proverbial among us, had been conscripted and killed in the war. His duties were now exercised by the middle-aged
sexton. Following Tsurukawa's death, another apprentice had taken his place in the temple.

Just then the Superior of a temple (which belonged to the Sokokuji sect and which had the same historical lineage as the Rokuonji) died and our Superior was invited to attend the installation of his successor. It happened to be my turn to accompany him. Since the Superior did nothing to avoid my going with him, I expected that there would be a chance for art explanation between us on the way to the temple or back. On the night before the installation ceremony, however, it was arranged that the new apprentice would be added to our party and my hopes were seriously shaken.

Readers who are familiar with Gosan literature will no doubt recall the sermon that was delivered when Ishimuro Zenkyu entered the Manju Temple in Kyoto in the first year of the Koan era (1361). The beautiful words that the new priest spoke on arriving at the temple and as he proceeded from the main gate to the Earth Hall, then to the Hall of Ancestors, and finally to the Abbot's chamber have been handed down to us. Pointing to the main gate, he had spoken proudly in words that were charged with joy at the thought of assuming his new religious duties: "Within the Tenjo Kyuchu, before the gate of Teijo Manju. Empty-handed I open the lock, barefooted I climb the sacred Mount Konron.”

The incense ceremony began. First, the priest performed the Shinoko in honor of the great religious leader, Shiho. In former times, when the Zen religion had not yet been captured by convention and when the spiritual awakening of the individual was valued above all else, it had been customary for the pupil to select his teacher, rather than for the teacher to select his pupil. In those days the pupil received religious “approval” not only from the priest who had first instructed him, but from a variety of different teachers; and during the Shihoko incense ceremony he would make public the name of the teacher to whose mission he devoutly aspired to succeed.

While I watched this impressive incense ceremony, I won
dered whether, when the time came for me to attend the succession ceremony at the Golden Temple, I would announce the name of the Superior as custom demanded. Perhaps I would break the seven-hundred-year-old custom and announce some other name. The coldness of the Abbot's chamber on this early spring afternoon, the redolent odor of the five types
of
incense, the diadem that glittered behind the Three Utensils and the resplendent halo that surrounded the main Buddha, the brightness of the surplices worn by the officiating priests... and what if one day I should find myself here performing the Shihoko incense ceremony? I imagined myself in the form of a priest undergoing this ceremony of inauguration. Inspired by the stringent atmosphere of the early spring, I should betray the old custom cheerfully. The Superior would be in attendance; hearing my words, he would be speechless with amazement and pale with anger. For I should pronounce a name other than his. Another name? But who is this other teacher who has instructed me in the true way of enlightenment? I am stuck for his name. It
is blocked by my stuttering and will not issue from my
mouth. I stutter; and, as I stutter, that other name begins to come out-“Beauty,
”
I start to say, and “Nihility.” Then all who are present burst out laughing, and I stand there awkwardly rooted to the spot amidst their laughter.

I abruptly awoke from my daydream. The Superior had some office to perform and I, as his acolyte, had to assist him. It was a proud thing for an acolyte to be present at an occasion like this; this was especially so in my case, since the Superior of the Goiden Temple was the main guest among those officiating at the ceremony. When my Superior had finished burning the incense, he struck a blow with the mallet known as the "white hammer," thus attesting to the fact that the priest who had today been installed as the Superior of this temple was not a
ganfuto,
that is to say, a clerical impostor. He intoned the traditional formula and struck a loud blow with the white hammer. Then I realized afresh the miraculous power that this Superior of mine possessed.

I could not stand the way in which the Superior passed over the recent event in silence, especially since I had no idea of how long this silence would continue. If I myself was endowed with some form of human feeling, why should I not expect corresponding human feelings from people, like the Superior, with whom I was in contact? Whether they be feelings of love or of hate. I now got into the wretched habit of examining the Superior's expression on every possible occasion, but never once could I detect any special feelings in that face of his. His absence of expression was not even equivalent to coldness. It may have signified contempt, but, if so, this was not a contempt for me as an individual, but rather something universal, something, for instance, that he directed towards humanity in general or even towards various abstract conceptions.

From about this time I forced myself to conjure up the image of the Superior's animalian head and of the indecent physical functions that he performed. I imagined him in the process of defecating, and also pictured him as he slept with that girl in the rust-vermilion coat. I saw his expressionless features relax and a look, which could be one of either laughter or pain, appear on his face as it became languid from physical pleasure.

The appearance of his soft, sleek body as it melted into the equally soft, sleek body of the girl and as the two became virtually indistinguishable. The way in which his swollen stomach pressed against the girl's swollen stomach. Yet, strangely enough, however vigorous my imagination became, the Superior's expressionless features were always instantly linked in my mind with the animalian expression that belongs to defecation and to sexual intercourse, and nothing ever emerged to fill the space between the two. One extreme was transformed directly into the opposite extreme, without any of the intervening rainbow-like shadings of everyday life to connect them. The only thing that provided the slightest connection was the rather vulgar rebuke that the Superior had addressed to me on that afternoon: “You little fool, are you trying to follow me?”

After I had become exhausted from thinking and from waiting, I was finally seized by an obstinate desire: it was simply to catch a distinct look of hatred on the Superior's face. The plan that I formulated in consequence was mad, childish, and quite clearly to my disadvantage; but I was no longer able to control myself, I did not even take account of the fact that this prank of mine would merely confirm the Superior's previous misunderstanding of me when he thought that I had been following him on purpose.

I met Kashiwagi at the university and asked him the name and address of the shop. Kashiwagi gave me the information without even enquiring about my purpose. I promptly went to the shop and examined numerous photographs of post-card size showing the famous geishas from the Gion district. At first the girls' faces with their heavy make-up all looked the same, but after a while a variety of tones began to emerge vividly from the pictures. Through the identical masks of powder and rouge I could now distinguish the delicate shades of their respective natures-gloominess or brightness, nimble wits or beautiful dullness, ill-humor or irrepressible gaiety, misfortune or luck. Finally I came on the picture for which I was searehing. Owing to the bright electric light in the shop, the reflection of the image glittered on the glossy paper and it was hard to get a good view of the photograph, but as the reflection settled down in my hands, I could see that this was indeed the face of the girl in the rust-vermilion coat.

“I should like this one,” I said to the shopkeeper.

My peculiar boldness at this time corresponded precisely to the fact that, since I had embarked on this plan of mine, I had changed completely and become light-hearted and full of an inexplicable joy. My original idea had been to choose a time when the Superior was away and thus to conceal from him who had done the deed; but my new spirited mood now led me to carry out the plan boldly in such a way that there would be no mistaking my responsibility.

It was still my duty to deliver the morning newspaper to the Superior's room. One morning in March, when the air was still chilly, I went as usual to the entrance of the temple to fetch the paper. My heart was pounding as I extracted the photograph of the Gion geisha from my pocket and inserted it into the newspaper.

The morning sun shone down on the sago palm that grew in the center of the courtyard surrounded by a circular hedge. The rough bark of the palm's trunk was vividly shaded off in the sunlight. On the left was a small lime tree. A few belated finches on the branches made a soft chirping that sounded like the rubbing of rosary beads. It seemed strange that there should still be finches at that time of the year, but that minute expanse of yellow down, which I could see by the rays of the sun that pierced through the branches, could belong to no other type of bird. The white pebbles lay peacefully on the courtyard.

I made my way carefully along the corridor
so
as not to wet my feet in the puddles that remained here and there from the recent mopping. The door of the Superior's office in the Great Library was firmly closed. It was still so early in the morning that the whiteness of the paper sliding-door shone brightly.

I knelt down outside in the corridor and said as usual: “May I enter, Father?” At the word of acknowledgment from the Superior, I pushed open the sliding-door, entered the room and placed the lightly folded newspaper on a corner of the desk. The Superior was busy with a book and did not look into my eyes. I retired from his presence, closed the door, and walked slowly along the corridor back to my room, making a special effort to remain calm.

When I reached my room, I sat down and gave myself over entirely to my throbbing excitement until the time came for me to leave for the university. Never had I looked forward to anything in my life with such anticipation. Though I had made my plan with the expectation of arousing the Superior's anger, the scene that I now envisaged was filled only with the dramatic passion of the moment when two human beings come to understand each other.

Perhaps the Superior would suddenly burst into my room and forgive me. And if he forgave me, perhaps for the first time in my life I should reach that pure, bright state of feeling in which Tsurukawa had always lived. The Superior and I would embrace each other, and all that would remain thereafter would be our regret that we had not arrived sooner at a mutual understanding.

This dream did not last long, but it seems quite inexplicable that even for a short time I should have given myself over to such
idiotic
fancies. When I thought about it calmly, I realized that, while I had been incurring the Superior's anger by this act of utter folly, thus removing my name from the list of possible candidates for succession, and thus, in turn, myself paving the way for a situation in which I could never possibly hope to become the master of the Golden Temple—during all this time I had been so absorbed with my immediate objective that I had actually forgotten my lifelong devotion to the Golden Temple itself.

My attention was concentrated on listening for any sound that might come from the Superior's room in the Great Library. I could hear nothing.

Now I began to wait for the Superior's violent rage, for the thunderous shout that he would roar out. I felt that there would be no regrets on my part even if I were assaulted, kicked onto the floor, and made to shed blood. But there was complete silence in the direction of the Great Library; not a sound approached me as I sat waiting in my room.

When finally the time came for me to leave the temple and set out for the university, my heart was utterly worn out and desolate. I was unable to concentrate on the lecture and, when the instructor asked me a question, I gave a completely inappropriate answer. Everyone laughed at me. I glanced at Kashiwagi and saw that he alone was indifferent to all this and was gazing out of the window. He was undoubtedly aware of the drama that was taking place within me.