“So, what do you have to do to believe with every fiber of your being?”
“You have to move something to the level of actual practice.”
“What is ‘something’? And what kind of practice amounts to ‘actual practice’?”
“I don’t know. If I did, I wouldn’t have agonized for five years about whether to have surgery.”
Tetsuyuki crawled out of bed and turned on the light. He moved his face close to Kin and grabbed the unyielding nail. For some reason, that nail that refused to budge brought to the back of his mind the image of Sawamura Chiyono’s face in death, and he answered Isogai’s intent stare: “I’m going to pull the nail out in April.”
11
It was the day after Tetsuyuki completed his examinations for graduation when Isogai, the referral letter in hand, headed for the cardiovascular hospital in Senri. Tetsuyuki, whom Isogai had beseeched to accompany him, was made to wait nearly three hours in this hospital, which boasted all the latest equipment. When Isogai finally came back, he sat down next to Tetsuyuki. “They’ll still be doing some tests on me this afternoon.”
“Will they be able to operate?”
“It seems that’s what the tests will determine. But they talked as if they’d have to operate in any case. From what they said, I could be admitted even today.”
“But you’re not prepared to be admitted, are you?”
His pale face cast down, Isogai thought for a while then took a notebook out of his jacket pocket and went to a public phone.
“Who’re you going to call?”
“The place where my sister works. I’ll have her bring pajamas, a change of underwear, and toiletries.”
“You’ll need slippers too.”
“Yeah, you’re right.”
Not two hours had passed before Isogai’s sister showed up in the waiting room, having apparently been informed of Tetsuyuki’s features and the color of his sweater, for she approached him with no hesitation. “Are you Mr. Iryō?”
Tetsuyuki stood up and they exchanged greetings. The comment Isogai had once made that his sister was really cute was not off the mark. Dazed by her attractiveness, Tetsuyuki was unable to follow his greeting with appropriate words.
“Has my brother been assigned a room?”
Tetsuyuki took her to the nurses’ station. A surly young nurse showed them to the room, pointing to a bed by the window and saying simply, “There.” Then she returned to her station. It was a room for four occupants; a boy of middle school age, a middle-aged man with piercing eyes, and a corpulent elderly man were lying in their respective beds.
Isogai’s sister set on the bed the new pajamas she had hurriedly purchased, but appeared confused about where to put the large paper bag containing changes of underwear and toiletries. Tetsuyuki pointed to a corner by the wall. “You could put them here for now, Miss Isogai . . .”
“Please call me Kaori.”
“Don’t you need to get back to work, Kaori?”
“No, they let me off early.”
They returned to the waiting room and sat down together on a bench. “Please don’t think I’m just saying this because I’m not related, but I hear that the success rate for operations for valve disorders is nearly one hundred percent . . .” Tetsuyuki commented, noticing the unusual shade of the whites of Kaori’s eyes, which suggested an illness even more severe than her brother’s. He sensed a shadow of unhappiness on her attractive face.
“There’s plenty to be afraid of, but it’s not as if he had to set out swimming to America across the Pacific Ocean or anything like that.” Kaori raised her head and gave Tetsuyuki a dubious look. “But once you think, ‘Oh hell, just do it!’ and set out, then it’s ‘What? That one step was all there was to it?’ I’ve begun to think that, as long as you’re determined, everything in life is like that.”
Kaori did not respond, but after some time had passed, said, “Thank you for accompanying my brother today.” She stood up and bowed politely. Tetsuyuki had to leave.
Arriving at the Umeda Hankyū Line station, he took the escalator down to the subterranean mall, wondering how he might kill some time. He glanced through the window of a coffee shop to see Nakazawa Masami leaning against the glass wall panel as he drank his coffee alone. Tetsuyuki did not feel like wandering about aimlessly, and so he went on in. He tapped Nakazawa on the shoulder. “Are you by yourself?” He intended to move along if Nakazawa was waiting for someone.
“Oh, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
“Sure has. Since last summer, when I was refused a loan.”
Nakazawa Masami moved only his eyes to look up at Tetsuyuki, but smiled slightly as he said in a casual tone, “Well, have a seat. But you’ve got to pay for your own coffee.”
“I owe you for a lot. I don’t know how many times I’ve had you feed me, or how many days you’ve put me up. When I’m able to, I want to make it up to you somehow.”
“What noble sentiments! It sounds as if you want to break off all ties with me.”
To be sure, that was Tetsuyuki’s intention, but he made a point of laughing and feigning otherwise.
“There’d be no need to repay someone you intended to break all ties with, would there? Don’t take it so cynically.”
“Cynically? Why should I be cynical toward you? Don’t say such foolish things.”
Nakazawa smiled as he spoke, but a wrinkle resembling a dimple appeared at the corner of his mouth, expanding and contracting like the mouth of a goldfish, an unfailing indicator that his pride had been wounded.
Tetsuyuki inferred that their argument about Lamenting the Deviations had left more of a stubborn anger within Nakazawa than he had imagined. Perhaps anger at a total rejection of a system of thought in which one believes—especially if it is religion—is greater and deeper than even the one who is rejected is capable of understanding. But he had no desire to rehash the argument and instead was about to ask him whether he planned to inherit his father’s business after graduating or seek employment in a different company. But before he could get the question out, Nakazawa spoke first.
“Do you still hold to your theory that Shinran didn’t exist?”
After sipping some coffee, Tetsuyuki answered calmly, “Let’s forget about that topic. I wasn’t in my right frame of mind then. People are free to hold whatever religious beliefs they wish. It isn’t as if I was rejecting you.”
“That doesn’t answer my question. I asked about your theory of Shinran’s nonexistence.”
“I don’t care whether he existed or not. If you think he existed, then he probably did.”
“It isn’t a matter of what I think. Shinran actually existed. There’s a ton of evidence. It’s a historical fact.”
“Okay, fine, let’s say he did.”
“That’s not recognizing the fact. I want you to recognize it.”
“And if you get me to recognize it, what does that matter?”
Nakazawa smiled gloatingly and leaned closer. “That day, you said this to me: ‘Lamenting the Deviations is a collection of words that rob people of their vitality. Reading it makes me sick of living.’ Do you remember?”
“Yeah, I remember. And after that, I said, ‘It’s absurd for a rich man’s kid who’ll one day inherit this building to say “Hell will surely be my final abode.”’”
“What’s absurd is to place joining a religion on the same level as the question of whether one is rich or poor. Don’t you think so?”
“Yeah, you’re right. After all, there are children of privilege who benefit greatly from capitalism but end up as Communists.”
Holding up two fingers, Nakazawa smiled. “With that, you’ve now recognized two errors in the impertinent comments you made then.”
“Enough of this. I don’t feel like arguing today. I came into this shop because I saw you for the first time in a while.”
But Nakazawa would not give up, and continued talking triumphantly. “Do you realize how many illuminating insi
ghts Lamenting the Deviations has opened up for people? Do you realize how it has given people courage to live? Using logic, tell me why it’s a hellish book.”
His chin resting in his hand, Tetsuyuki stared into Nakazawa’s eyes. A faint whiff of cologne wafted from Nakazawa’s chest, which for some reason angered Tetsuyuki.
“Well then, in order for me to explain logically, answer this question.” Nakazawa nodded and folded his arms. “What is death (ōjō)?”
“It’s to go (ō) and then be reborn (jō) in paradise.”
“Where does one ‘go’?”
“To the Pure Land, I suppose.”
“And where is that?”
“You’ll find out when you die.”
“It’s something I can’t know until I die? That is to say, asking for rebirth in paradise is asking for death? ‘Illuminating insights’ that can be obtained by asking for death, or ‘the courage to live’ . . . what exactly are they? And it’s not at all the same thing as the saying ‘Fortune favors the bold.’ Where is paradise? Show it to me.”
“Perhaps it doesn’t exist. But by using the device of having the people dream of an imaginary Pure Land, Shinran helped them to overcome the sufferings of reality. The Pure Land is within each of us, but if he had taught that to the people of that time, what would it have amounted to? The real significance of Lamenting the Deviations is the depth of its ideas.”
“But Lamenting the Deviations maintains that even if you want to abandon attachment to this world there’s no way you can do it, and that’s okay. Eventually, your ties to this world will be exhausted and you’ll die whether you want to or not. Even as you tell everyone that it’s okay, you just keep telling them to ask for rebirth in paradise, don’t you? In the end, that’s the same as telling them, ‘Hurry up and die, hurry up and die,’ isn’t it? But even if they’re told to, people don’t just die. They want to live, after all. And Shinran himself no doubt felt the same way. So the idea of chanting such prayers creates people who’re dead while still alive. The ‘illuminating insights’ and joy given by Lamenting the Deviations are like the morphine given to sick patients to relieve their pain. If the pain vanishes, then they are under the illusion that the illness is cured. But that morphine is a virulent poison that hastens the patient’s demise. That’s why I called Lamenting the Deviations a hellish book. Sometimes nihilism is a sweet liquor. But the liquor of nihilism brewed in the cask of such chanting will make anyone who deeply imbibes of it suddenly hang himself, jump off a tall building, or jump in front of a train. That’s because it’s a liquor that draws out a resignation colored by the lowest depths of the spirit.”
“You’ve only given Lamenting the Deviations a superficial reading, so I suppose it’s no wonder you think that way. But that’s because you don’t even know how deep or violent Shinran’s inner conflicts were. It’s useless to argue with sensibilities that can’t even grasp that.” Nakazawa glared with a sneering smile, his cigarette still in his mouth. Then the smile disappeared. “In this subterranean mall there are tens of thousands of guys like you wandering around.”
“What kind of guys are ‘guys like me’?”
“Antireligious idealists.”
A spontaneous smile spread on Tetsuyuki’s face. “Do you chant ‘Hail Amitabha Buddha’ every day?”
“I don’t chant, but Buddha always exists in my heart.”
“Religion is practice, isn’t it? Aren’t you the real idealist, you who don’t chant anything but just keep it in your heart?” Nakazawa reddened. Tetsuyuki continued as he placed his money for the coffee on the table, “I’m neither an atheist nor antireligious. It’s just that, whether gods or buddhas as expedient means, I can’t believe in any religion that posits something outside of myself. I think I would lend an ear if it were a religion that affirmed what is absolutely and definitively within me. A certain lizard taught me that.”
“A lizard?”
Tetsuyuki stood up and looked down at Nakazawa. “I’m far more reverent toward religion than you are. Things like ‘Heaven’ or ‘Pure Land’ were probably meant as metaphors, and through some dialectical process came to be thought of as actually existing places. Intellectuals call that ‘back thinking’ or something like that. So what is ‘back thinking’? Ultimately, isn’t it just taking a defiant attitude because you don’t understand something? And that’s why I called Shinran a loser. His agonizing over defiling himself with women is idiotic. Sex is just part of Mother Nature, isn’t it? It’s the intellectuals who are impressed that a priest hypocritically transformed his indulgence into enlightenment. No matter who manipulates the paradoxes through whatever theory or rhetoric, I’ll go on calling Shinran a loser.”
Wishing to respond, Nakazawa grabbed Tetsuyuki’s wrist, but the latter said with a nonchalant smile, “Take care. As I said, somehow I’ll pay back your kindness.” Nakazawa released his grip.
Tetsuyuki thought as he walked through the crowd: it was definitely not out of friendship that Nakazawa Masami had lent him money and let him stay in his room those many times. For one thing he did it to combat boredom, and for another, to gain a feeling of satisfaction with himself for having done something for someone else. But thanks to Nakazawa, he had been helped out many times. Nakazawa would no doubt refuse it, but some day he would pay him back with sincere feelings. He wished that such a day would come soon.
He was not in an agitated state, but one phrase that was not the product of self-possessed thinking came to mind: “I’m far more reverent toward religion than you are.” Was that really true? Tetsuyuki slowly ascended stairs littered with newspapers and advertising flyers. The February wind made his flesh contract. How are gods and buddhas different? The Bible is a single work, but why is the vast corpus of Buddhist scripture divided into various sutras? Looking at Kin he realized that there was an enormous power of life—a power of regeneration—in fleas, lice, and dandelions as well as in dogs or tigers or human beings. All have this power within them. There’s neither a windup spring nor batteries in my body, and yet my hands and legs move freely. My heart beats, and my blood is constantly flowing. And this thing I call my mind goes on moment by moment ceaselessly being born even as it changes, quite apart from my ability to do anything about it. Such a reality is very strange, isn’t it? And yet all living things die. Why do they die?
Various kinds of illumination moved in the dusk of the metropolis. The time was approaching when he would pull the nail out. Kin appeared everywhere in Tetsuyuki’s field of vision, but what he saw was not a lizard; it seemed like a congealment of shining life in the guise of a lizard. Sensing something of infinite power and purity, he came to a standstill. But that scene of bliss lasted for one blink, then vanished. He looked up at the sky in an attempt to recall the same ecstasy, but Kin had become nothing more than a lizard.
That night there were many vacant rooms in the hotel, and Tetsuyuki had time to call Yōko twice during his shift. During the first call, she told him that through her father’s connections she had secured employment with a mid-level company. He called a second time because he had forgotten to ask about her starting salary, and excitedly ran to the public phone.
“That’s three thousand yen more than I’ll make. And they say that it’s hard for women who graduate with four-year degrees to get jobs . . .”
“Yeah, but you’ll get more in bonuses than I will. My base salary is less.”
“I can’t say I like this. It seems no matter what, you always have better luck than I do.”
“After we’re married, we’ll both share the same fate, won’t we?”
Yōko was concerned about the results of Tetsuyuki’s graduation examinations.
“The results were doubtful in only one subject, but they said they’d let me take a makeup exam.”
Yōko lowered her voice. “It’s not much longer.”
“Yeah.” After he hung up, Tetsuyuki wondered what Yōko was referring to when she said “It’s not much longer,” but he concluded happ
ily that “not much longer” and everything would happen: he would graduate, move out of the apartment in Suminodō, pull the nail out of Kin’s back, and live together with Yōko and his mother.
Buffeted by cold winds sweeping off Mount Ikoma, he arrived at his apartment and immediately spread his futon. Then he boiled some water and made hot whiskey. He was waiting for his foot warmer to heat and had begun to sip the hot whiskey, when a man’s voice came from outside the door.
“I’d like to ask about your electric meter.”
Tetsuyuki went near the door. “This late at night?”
“You were out during the day.”
The moment Tetsuyuki opened the door a pair of brawny arms grabbed him by the collar and shoved him against the wall. “Don’t make any noise,” the man whispered and, motioning with his chin, dragged Tetsuyuki down the stairs. He felt a strange aching all over his body and his feet became tangled. He was shoved into a waiting car. The man did not release his grip on Tetsuyuki’s collar even after the car set off.
He did not recognize the driver, but concluded that he must also be one of the henchmen of the collector Kobori. Tetsuyuki shuddered at the thought that he might be taken deep into the mountains of Ikoma and killed. But the car turned right on the highway and stopped by a river. There were no streetlights, only a large field with no houses around.
The man gripping his collar said, “You thought you could slight us, didn’t you?” The driver appeared to be the lookout, maintaining silence as he watched in the darkness.
“Because of you, my buddy got five years in the slammer. So, you’re prepared for what you’ve got coming, right?”
“What’re you going to do with me?”
“Kill you.”
“What would I have to do not to be killed?”
“It’d have to feel the same as five years in the clink. And what’s more, we still haven’t turned your old man’s promissory notes into cash.”
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