What’s missing?
He tried beating his head against the rocks for a while as if that might jar the memory loose, but it did nothing except to start his head bleeding and make him dizzy. He tried to climb down from his perch and ended up tumbling down the slope, smashing his head and limbs against what seemed like every single stone in the pile before he finally came to rest, battered and bleeding, on the hot sand.
“That must have hurt. It seems you hardly need me at all when it comes to pain,” said a familiar voice.
Hiroi opened his eyes. The green-faced demon sat on the top of the hill that he himself had just, somewhat hastily, descended. The effort of seeing was too much; he closed his eyes again.
“If that’s true,” Hiroi said when he got his breath back, “then why are you here?”
“To see if you’re ready for your real punishment.”
“My pain is great enough, I assure you.”
“Don’t assure me. I only do what I must, remember? The question is, will you do what you must? After all this time, I still don’t think you grasp the implications of your situation here.”
“I’m still dizzy from the fall and not inclined to debate you or solve riddles. Say what you mean.”
“Hell is an illusion. Whose? Yours. So what else does that imply about Hell?”
“That everything in Hell is a projection of my need for punishment, including the other sinners. We talked about this, too. Frankly, I’m not convinced. Why would anyone do this to themselves?”
“Who else in all the universe cares about you so much?” the demon asked.
Hiroi frowned. “Well . . . that is a point. Yet if everything here is just an extension of myself . . . ”
The demon smiled, showing very pointed teeth. Hiroi tried to remember if the creature had always had such teeth. He supposed so, though he wouldn’t have sworn to it.
“You’re beginning to understand, I believe. If everything here is an extension of yourself, then it follows everything you need for self knowledge is also here. Including your memory.”
Hiroi’s eyes opened again, and this time they stayed that way. “Where is it?”
“Weren’t you paying attention? All around you, of course.”
“All I see are stones.”
“You remember the first stone you picked up? Touch it again. You needn’t move it, just touch it.”
“I touched that stone a thousand times!”
“As a stone,” replied the demon, calmly. “Because that’s all it was. Touch it now as a memory. That’s all you need to do.”
It was some time before Hiroi could move but, when he was able to crawl again, he drug himself over the hot sand to the first stone and placed his hand against it.
“Oh,” he said, and that was all.
“What is it?” the demon asked, leering at him.
Hot tears were streaming down Hiroi’s face. “Tofuku-ji. The rock garden at the temple, arranged to resemble . . . I thought I was remembering the ocean. I only got part of it . . . ”
“Just three stones,” the demon said, nodding. “Yet there was so much more, wasn’t there? The way the small stones were raked to flow around the larger stones like the ocean around islands. Well, I don’t suppose you can be blamed. The small pebbles were white, and all you have is black sand, some gravel and grit. No pebbles.”
“It was so beautiful,” Hiroi said. “How could I forget so much beauty?”
“Perhaps because you needed to forget. You can forget again, if you want. I recommend it. The memory of beauty lost is too painful, Hiroi. Even for Hell.”
“Don’t tell me what is too painful,” he said, blinking through the tears.
The demon raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Is there a point to your meddling with the stones now? Knowing you will never recapture the beauty that inspired them? What you do will never be more than a crude mockery. Better to forget and get back to your slated punishment. It’s less painful.”
Hiroi’s hands balled into fists. “I won’t!”
The demon sighed. “Suit yourself. Embrace the torment, for all I care. Though I should point out there’s a great deal more where that came from.”
The demon went away again. First it was there, and then it wasn’t. Hiroi slowly forced himself to his feet, though he was sure several bones were cracked. No matter; they would heal. The memory would not. He would not let it. He reached for another stone.
When the last stone was in place Hiroi turned his attention to the sand. He could not hope to duplicate either the texture or the color of the small white pebbles at Tofuku-ji; he resolved to work with what he had.
I need a rake.
There wasn’t one to be had, of course. Hiroi walked some distance away to where one of the blackened trees had long since fallen and lay half-buried in the sand. It took some effort, but he managed to break off a branch that forked in just the right place. He then broke off shorter branches and used a piece of fractured obsidian to cut them to length and sharpen one end to form tines. Carving the baked dry wood was like carving stone, and he cut his hands as often as not, but whenever the damage was too great he simply waited to heal and then got back to work. Attaching the tines to the rake frame was even trickier, and he finally got around that by weaving strands of his own hair into twine to tie the tines onto the frame. When he was done he had a crude but very serviceable rake.
Hiroi immediately went to rake the sand. This went a little slower than he’d hoped since, beneath the surface, there were even more buried stones waiting to snag the tines of his rake. He spent more time digging for and removing these obstructions, at least a first, than he spent raking. Yet in time the sand around his garden stones was properly prepared and he got to work in earnest. Now and again the green-faced demon reappeared in its same perch atop the hill of stones and watched him work, but it didn’t say anything. It seemed thoughtful, or at least that was the best interpretation Hiroi could make of the expression on the creature’s tusked and fanged visage. For his own part, Hiroi was grateful to be able to work uninterrupted.
Finally the day came when he was finished, or at least Hiroi realized that he had done all he could do. He had not created a perfect replica of the garden at Tofuku-ji; that had not been possible from the start. And yet his creation was not without some beauty of its own. The black sand flowed in rivulets around the stones, which sat like islands in a dark sea. The feeling of motion and scale were both present, if imperfectly. Hiroi climbed the stone hill himself again to get the full effect.
“Is that the best you could do?” the demon, suddenly again manifest, asked.
“Yes,” Hiroi said. “I believe it is.”
The demon nodded. “Pity. It’s not like the original at all.”
“It is what it is,” Hiroi said. “I rather like it.”
“A feeling of accomplishment after hard work. Illusory. Ultimately pointless.”
“No, that’s not it,” Hiroi said.
“Then what is?”
“I remember beauty. I can create it . . . in my own way. I feel—”
“Alive?” the creature asked, grinning.
“You mock me, demon.”
“Certainly, and why not? You’re dead, Hiroi. Rake the sand of all the Hells that ever were or will be and that fact does not change. You seek to connect again with the living world, and you cannot. Nor should you. Beauty is an illusion, and the lust for it doubly so. You made that mistake often enough. Will you repeat your error in Hell itself?”
“I did? You mean . . . I loved? Is this why I am burning now?”
The demon sighed gustily. “This your manifestation of error and therefore your Hell. You tell me.”
“I can’t. I don’t remember any of it. And why is loving someone wrong?”
“Something about it was, or you wouldn’t be here. And if you really want to remember, I promise it will cause you more pain than the memory of that silly rock garden. Still, you do have a choice, Hiroi, if I do not.”
“All you have to do is touch the second stone.”
Hiroi had no doubt which of the first three stones the demon meant; it was the second one he’d adjusted in his first struggle to remember. “But in order to do that I would have to disturb the garden. I worked for such a long time.”
“Yes. And to remember is to undo all you have done. Which is more important? To remember why you’re here or to preserve a garden in Hell?”
“How can I know until it’s too late?”
“Obviously you cannot. Hell is like that. But then, so is life.”
Hiroi considered. “Well . . . I can always re-rake the sand.”
He walked carefully over to the second stone and touched it. “Oh,” he said, and that was all.
“Who was she?” the demon asked.
“Her name was Michiko,” Hiroi said. “I lusted after her with thought both pure and impure. That’s why I’m burning now. Interesting, I suppose, but it doesn’t change anything.”
“What do you remember?” the demon asked.
Hiroi just frowned. “I just told you.”
“Her name? You already knew that you loved. Now you have a name and, one presumes, a face. Is that it?”
“Isn’t that enough? Now I know why I burn here.”
The demon laughed at him. “Hiroi, you don’t know anything, and the worst of that is why you don’t know anything. If that is the best you can do, then you will burn for a very long time and the Goddess of Mercy will never appear to fetch you from this place.”
“Assuming she’s not an illusion as well. If you really want to help, then do so! Help me. And don’t say that you ‘already are helping’ or anything so uselessly cryptic.”
The demon nodded. “Fair enough. I will help you by lessening your ignorance the slightest bit. I will tell you where you are.”
“I am in Hell!”
“Yes, but which one?”
That stopped him. Hiroi was familiar with the concept of multiple Hells, appropriate to the sin of the sinner. Yet in his self-absorption he had never connected that to his own hell. It seemed more than enough to suffer.
“Where . . . where am I?”
“You are in the Hell reserved for inappropriate love. I’ve heard it called the Fire Jar Hell, but that seems rather plain considering the delicate irony of your plight.”
“Delicate irony? My lust brought me here and keeps me here, and that seems straightforward enough. Where is the irony in this?”
“The irony is in what you still refuse to understand. You remember Michiko. You remember your lust. What, Hiroi, are you forgetting?’
“I-I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do. Somewhere inside that confusion you call a mind, you know very well.”
“You’re wrong!”
“Then prove it.”
“How?”
The demon grinned again. If anything his teeth seemed longer and sharper now. “I’ll tell you. First, remake your garden.”
“I see. And then touch the third stone?”
“Yes.”
“What if I just touch the stone now? I’ve already gotten footprints through the garden. Why fix it only to wreck it again?”
The demon shrugged. “Why seek an answer you don’t want to hear?”
Hiroi sighed and reached for the rake.
Remaking the garden wasn’t so easy as he thought it would be. There were more buried stones to clear away. Hiroi would have sworn by any power you’d care to name that he had gotten them all yet there they were, just beneath the surface of the hot sand, waiting to snarl the rake. The tines finally broke once and then again. He had replaced the tines three times and the handle twice before he was done, but once again the garden was complete, beautiful, and serene. Hiroi could almost smell the water of the ocean in the graceful spirals and swirls in the raked sand. The garden was nearly perfect. Better, even, than before. Hiroi leaned on his newly-made rake and admired the view.
I can leave it now. I don’t have to know. The demon lied to torture me, that’s all. I won’t learn anything by touching the third stone, except that I’m a fool.
“Correct,” said the demon. “You are a fool.”
Hiroi looked up at the pile of stones beyond his garden and, sure enough, the green-faced demon perched there, smiling at him. “It’s impolite to intrude on another’s thoughts, demon.”
“I am your thoughts, Hiroi. So. You’ve chosen to stay in Hell? Is that your wish?”
“I have no choice!”
“Of course you do. If you had no choice there would be no need for Hell, yours or anyone else’s. Touch the stone, Hiroi.”
“No.”
“Then I will.”
The demon got to its feet and slowly descended the pile of rock.
“What are you doing?”
“I thought I made that clear,” the demon said. “I’m going to touch the stone. I’m going to take your most precious memory and lock it safely away so you need never be troubled by it again, you need never change, never know any existence other than Hell. In time you will forget what little has returned to you. Perhaps even your name, and Hell will seem Paradise because you know no other. That is what you want, isn’t it?”
“You’ll wreck my garden!”
“A small detail. You can make it again.”
“No, I can’t. It wouldn’t be the same.”
“It’s always the same.”
“I said no!”
Hiroi stepped between the demon and the garden and the demon grinned wider, though Hiroi had hardly thought this possible. “I must serve your wishes, Hiroi, even if you do not know them. That is my function here and I am capable of no other. Move aside.”
“I will stop you—”
The demon swatted him aside. Hiroi scrabbled back from where he fell and threw his arms around the demon’s knees. “I won’t let you!”
“Why not?” the demon asked. “A garden in Hell is worthless.”
“A garden in Hell is still a garden!”
The demon looked amused. “You do have a history of wanting the wrong things. Don’t bother to deny it. Otherwise you would not be here.”
The demon took one step and broke Hiroi’s grip, as well as his right wrist. Hiroi grimly held on with his left hand as the demon dragged him toward the garden.
“Wait,” Hiroi said.
The demon stopped. “’Wait’ is not the same as ‘stop,’ ” he said. “Why should I wait? You’re not going to change, you’re not going to learn, by your own choice. Best to have it done with for good and all and make Hell your home for eternity.”
“Before you touch the stone, I want to know something,” Hiroi said. “All this time you’ve claimed that this Hell is my own creation and all here serve my purpose, true?”
“True,” said the demon.
“Lies,” said Hiroi. “And I will prove it now.”
The demon raised an eyebrow. “Oh? How will you do this?”
“Simple. If you are a manifestation of my will, then you know everything I know, correct?”
“I know more than you know, apparently.”
Hiroi’s grip faltered and he lay gasping on the hot black sand. “Your knowledge may or may not be greater and right now that’s beside the point. It must be at least equal.”
“So?”
“If you are what you say you are, you can tell me the name of Michiko’s mother.”
“Easily done: it’s Yoritomo no Kiyuko.”
Hiroi smiled. “Liar.”
The demon frowned. “I assure you, that is her name.”
“I’m sure it is. Only I never knew Michiko’s mother’s name! You didn’t lie about her name, but everything else! You’re nothing of me! This Hell is not my own! Admit it, you’re real! Admit it!” He lay on his back, laughing in triumph.
The demon just smiled. “Look where we are, Hiroi.”
Hiroi blinked back tears of laughter and
looked. They were within the garden, Hiroi’s outstretched left hand just inches away from the third stone.
“Oops,” the demon said.
“Damn you! Now I’ll have to do it all again!”
“I suppose so,” the demon said. “Though it’s already served its purpose—it got my attention. You don’t need to make it again.”
“I will do it,” Hiroi said. “As long as it takes. You wrecked my garden but you haven’t beaten me. I’ve beaten you.” He was laughing again.
“I was never the one you needed to beat, Hiroi,” the demon said. “Touch the stone.”
“No.” Hiroi was gasping for air now he was laughing so hard.
“The garden is wrecked. There’s no reason not to. Unless, of course, there is a reason?”
“Because you want me to! And . . . and you’re not me. The red-faced demon told me to search for the one real thing in this place, and all along it was him . . . well, you. You don’t want what I want. ‘Who else cares so much about you’ indeed! No one!”
“Then defeat me one more time, Hiroi. Prove me wrong. Touch the stone.”
Hiroi placed his hand on the third stone, and stopped laughing immediately. “Michiko . . . ”
“I thought you already remembered her. Or was, perhaps, your memory incomplete? What do you know now that you did not know a moment ago?”
It was a long time before Hiroi could speak again. “Michiko did not love me,” he said.
The demon nodded. “Your obsession was Michiko, but her obsession was love, and her idea of the perfect man. Which you were not. Yet because it served your purpose, you fed that obsession, pretended to be that something you were not. In the end she killed herself. That is your guilt, isn’t it?”
It would have been easy enough to accept the demon’s answer, but Hiroi truly remembered now, and fooling himself was not quite so simple as that. He finally took a deep breath and shook his head. “No. My guilt was far worse. I understood what she wanted . . . and then I forgot. I fell in love with her, but my love was never what she needed. Deep down I knew that.”
“What did she need, Hiroi?”
“She needed someone to pull her away from the path she chose, not someone to lead her further down and feed her delusions. I died having failed her. That’s the real reason I’m on fire now. That’s why I’m burning . . . ”
On the Banks of the River of Heaven Page 7