The Clever Hawk
Page 14
*
One evening we made camp some distance from the highway. A wordless routine of carrying out our evening tasks had developed; I collected firewood while Yobutomo unpacked his bag and prepared for our meal, and then I would clear a space for us to sleep while he started the fire.
A heavy spell of rain had caught us that afternoon and our clothes were soaked through, and it took a little longer before Yobutomo could get a flame to catch, and even when it did, the wood hissed and steamed fitfully. With the heavy cloud cover it was much darker than usual, and the mood somber. That initial elation of finding my stride was giving way to fatigue and discomfort, and I could not help but think of Miyamori Castle, where if things had been different, I would be right now, warm and dry.
I held my hands out, squatting close to the feeble flames in an attempt to dry to drive the wetness from my clothing and socks. I looked across at Yobutomo, once again at work at weaving new sandals. He seemed pained, and more than once flexed his right hand, curling the stumps of his fingers into his palm. He saw the focus of my attention and dropped his hand back to his work.
“It aches with the weather,” he said, looking up into the darkness. “I’d judge we are in for more this evening.”
I could only nod. I too felt something heavy in the air, a foreboding, but to me it seemed not just the weather; I had the uncanny sensation we were being watched. It was as if the wetly dripping forest whispered cold breath around us, a feeling of malevolence, something hidden just beyond the shadows.
I shuddered, and sought for something to distract me.
“Can I help?” I asked. The mud and rain had meant the flimsy strands of our sandals had worn out even faster that day, leaving but a semblance of a shoe upon our feet.
Wordlessly he passed me a handful of the flat bladed grass stems.
My fingers were stiff and slow to move, and I had to painstakingly direct each small motion, yet slowly I followed his directions and fumbled the strands together. The result, some time later, was an odd-looking thing, but I was proud of it. Sitting there, with the long muscles in my legs aching agreeably, I forgot that creeping sensation of being watched. Had I been of a different mindset, I might have believed I delved into the memories of a long-past and ancient life. My thoughts led me back in a circle, to my childhood.
“Master Masakage never let me outside the castle,” I said, more to myself than to Yobutomo. “He sometimes made me stay in the roof space for days, he wanted me to endure hardships and solitude. I hated every moment of it.”
Yobutomo smiled. “We can transform his teachings into something useful. I see that you are not kind to yourself - I see the way your face twitches, as if you are being reprimanded by some inner voice. Our first step is to silence that voice.”
I hung my head, at once sorry I had opened my mouth.
“It is part of human nature to want to feel included,” Yobutomo continued, his voice softening. “To fit in, society requires elements of one’s self to be sacrificed. The result is a pervasive malaise, from the lowest servant right through to the mighty samurai. Despite his cruelty, your old master has done you a service of sorts.” He paused and looked at me, deep conviction in his voice. “You have learnt to be with yourself - that is a difficult skill that many cannot do. It will serve you well in Enryaku-ji.”
“Mount Hiei,” I said after a long pause.
Yobutomo sensed my curiousity. He shifted his weight, his voice taking on a different tone. “Hundreds of years ago, when the Emperor abandoned Nara as his capital, he searched for a new site. They came to what seemed an auspicious place, with places for each of the four celestial guardians of the city. To the east was a river for the home of the Green Dragon, to the west a vast plain for the territory of the White Tiger. To the south, a basin for the Red Phoenix, and in the north hills for the Black Tortoise to dwell. ‘There is only one drawback,’ the Emperor had said. ‘That large mountain to the northeast. That is the direction of the demon gate where evil enters a city, and that mountain looks forbidding.’ His advisors reassured him, telling him that upon that peak there were dedicated monks in service of the emperor who would pray day and night for peace and protect the city. So it was that the Emperor brought his court to the new site that was to become Kyoto. To ensure divine protection of the city, the Emperor appointed the leader of those atop Mount Hiei an imperial monk, and their temple given full support of the Emperor’s funds.”
“The monks there still serve the Emperor?”
Yobutomo broke from his reverie and gave a laugh. “That was a long time ago. Things have changed. For many years the warrior monks of Enryaku-ji have been opposed to the emperor, sweeping down at will from the hillside to show their displeasure. In many ways the monks of Enryaku-ji are like the yamabushi… Most especially, those who undertake the trials of the kaihogyo.”
“Kaihogyo? What is that?”
Yobutomo did not answer, and in the pause the silence was filled by the distant call of a night bird in the forest. Thinking he had not heard me, I repeated my question, and he roused himself.
“Forgive an old man, Tonbo, sometimes I think too much.” He gave a shake of his head to clear it of ancient memories, and I sensed it better not to ask any more questions.
“It’s getting late,” he said, “we should be getting some sleep.”
I lay awake staring at the stars, and was long in getting to sleep that night.