by Nogami Yaeko
The gate had a traditional multi-story structure. The eye was immediately captured by the sturdy new square frame around the eaves of the upper roof, the eaves of the lower roof, and the railing that wrapped around the second story of the gate. The decorative eaves and the railing together formed a cornice-like effect that conveyed both strength and balance.
The roof was covered by brand-new tiles, bound by black laces in a scale-like pattern that was reminiscent of armor. The short, steeply pitched slope of the roof over the first story was supported by six thick columns that rested on the stones that paved the entryway to the temple. The columns had been positioned with visitors’ walking patterns in mind, but they had also been engineered to help support the weight of the entire building.
The gate was decorated with stylized lines and details. A raised layer of snow-colored plaster contrasted with the light orange whitewash on the doors and trim. When viewed through the main columns, the effect was like a series of pictures that shone in the autumn afternoon light with subtle, mysterious beauty.
Rikyū did not linger long at the gate. The son of the master builder was standing on the board below the balustrade; noticing Rikyū, he started to descend the long stairs to greet him. But Rikyū waved his hands to stop him. He had no time to chat.
Trailed by his servant Unai, who had followed the palanquin on foot, Rikyū hurried toward the abbot’s chamber. The main hall of the building was still used as both a lecture hall and a Buddhist sanctum. The abbot’s chamber was in the same building that had been rebuilt in strained circumstances after the fires of the Ōnin War. The reception room was not as wide as they would have liked, and the ink-brush painting on the sliding door had become yellowish with age, but the outer sliding door, which faced the garden, had fresh white paper, giving a feeling of purity. In this room, Abbot Shunoku welcomed Rikyū: the donor behind the reconstruction of the main gate, Japan’s premier tea master, and a friend from Sakai.
“Thank you for coming in spite of your busy schedule.”
“I intended to come yesterday, but it became inconvenient.”
Kokei, who was next to Shunoku, informed Rikyū that Ankei could not come to meet him. “He became ill as soon as he finished sculpting, and is still in bed. He’s very sorry not to be able to see you. These days, Ankei is not as strong as he was, and leaves most of his work to his disciples. But this statue he did with his own hands, because he says it will be his last work. It’s a magnificent piece,” Kokei concluded.
The statue was in the alcove. It was about the height of a boy and wrapped completely in white cloth that looked like straw. Kokei had gotten a sneak peek at the piece, so he was able to say with authority that it was masterfully done. But they had been waiting for Rikyū to take the first official look at it, and so they had kept the wrap intact as it had been delivered from Ankei.
Some monks were called in to help. Together, Kokei and another monk lifted the statue down from the alcove as if they were holding a human torso. A younger monk stripped the cloth from the head, shoulder, torso, and legs, working as easily as a cook peeling the skin off freshly-dug bamboo shoots in the late spring. The statue was carved from camphor wood, and the strong smell of camphor and new paint hung thick on the air.
The statue was a smaller version of Rikyū. The image was wearing a long Buddhist robe that stretched down to its ankles, covered by a dark brown surplice. There was a round coif on top of its head. The statue held a long, wooden cane steadily at the center of its body. On its feet were bamboo-skin sandals with leather soles.
Rikyū slid forward on his knees as if he were at a formal tea gathering and moving forward to inspect some rare and valuable tea utensil. With the same sincere intensity, he gazed on his own image in the alcove. The statue had calm, open eyes that stood out with a layer of whitewash; long, thick eyebrows; big ears; a thick, high nose; a tightly closed pod-shaped mouth with a tight wrinkle around it; and rounded cheeks that made use of the wood grain. The angle under the cheeks made them look more muscular. It also connected them to the thick neck with a protruding Adam’s apple. Strong, thick shoulders led his eyes downward to the hands holding the cane in front of his torso, the bottom resting on the ground. The statue gave an impression of solid weight.
Although he had seen the basic sketch done by Tōhaku, Rikyū hadn’t known what to expect from the final product. The statue was full of force and vitality, as if it were looking at Rikyū rather than the other way around.
Certainly, it was Rikyū, but also not Rikyū. Ankei’s sharp chisel had not only reproduced the frame of Rikyū’s body, the flesh, face, muscle, the tension and looseness, and the curves and depressions, but it had also captured the light and shade and a thousand other details that made the living Rikyū unique. The sculpture was perfectly made, and there was a physical resemblance, but Ankei had also communicated some mysterious aspect of Rikyū’s soul that was hidden even from its owner. The sculpture was something entirely new.
Rikyū concentrated on the statue in deep silence. He could not take his eyes off this self that was not himself. It was as if time itself had slowed down to prolong the moment. Rikyū finally went back to his seat and said to Shunoku and Kokei, almost as if he were talking to himself, “When I look at this, I feel that I’m the one who is the shadow figure.”
He could not have given higher praise or conveyed more profound emotion. Shunoku replied, “If Ankei were here with us today, your words would have hit him like a lightning bolt.” But the words contained a nuance of sympathy for Ankei, who was almost deaf.
Kokei thought about Ankei, lying at home in his bed. He gave a friendly smile, showing off the brown stain on his cheek. Shunoku also had trouble hearing. For him, Ankei’s problem was not simply someone else’s problem, which was why he talked about it so often.
With the statue unveiled and Ankei’s great work praised, Kokei had other issues to discuss. They were planning to move three Buddha statues at Shōryūji Temple on the outskirts of the city to the new building on top of the gate, which would be used as a Buddha hall. Shōryūji Temple had been built by Daitō-kokushi, the founder of Daitokuji Temple, when he was young. But the building had deteriorated since the Ōnin War, so this was a good solution to the problem of where to put these historic Buddhas. Hasegawa Tōhaku was enthusiastic about the project, and, unusually for him, had agreed to paint the wall with a richly colored scene. The basic sketch of a dragon on the ceiling and the two guardian gods of temple gates on the pillars were done already. Starting tomorrow, he would be staying overnight with his disciples to complete the painting. Shunoki’s niece, Unei, had done the calligraphy for the great signboard with the name of the temple, Kinmōkaku. It would be ready to hang on the front at more or less the same time.
Kokei told them all these things quickly and laughed about Tōhaku, who loved to drink. “We’ll serve a lot of sake for him so that he won’t complain about having to sleep in the temple.”
“Thank you for taking care of everything,” Rikyū said. “I haven’t been very helpful.”
“Well, it’s easier for us to do everything ourselves anyhow,” Kokei replied. “But if you have any thoughts about the ceremonies for the inauguration of the gate, please let me know.”
Even Shunoku, who tended to fall asleep during business discussions, added, “Since the date for the inauguration has been decided, construction will speed up.”
The inauguration ceremonies weren’t just to honor Rikyū as the donor who had sponsored the gate; it would also be a historic moment in the history of Daitokuji Temple, when the temporary gate finally took on its traditional, multi-storied form. The monks wanted to conduct a glorious Buddhist ceremony to celebrate.
Rikyū was usually actively involved in arrangements like this, making requests and reviewing all the details. But today, he barely responded to what the two monks were saying. When he did answer, it was after a pause, and he didn’t touch directly on the problems they raised. He looked empty. In a hollow v
oice, he started to tell them about the confrontation with Hōjō, which had finally come to an end. Hideyoshi would issue the punitive order within a couple of days. The rumor was that, privately, several hundred thousand of Tokugawa Ieyasu’s soldiers had already been sent as the advance guard, and the other troops were proceeding. “And if our lord travels to the front the same way he did when attacking Shimazu, we will go with him. You know his temperament. If he decides to move, he will waste no time. So even if we plan on a specific date and time for the inauguration, I’m not sure how it will turn out with things so uncertain. But even if the gate is completed while I am still in Kyōto, I would like to celebrate the inauguration as privately as possible. In any case, the guests who would like to come may already be on the battlefield.”
As he spoke, his eyes seemed to see something other than the two monks in front of him. He was recalling the visage of Hosokawa Tadaoki, Furuta Oribe, and the other lords and warriors who were counted as Rikyū’s ten disciples. If so, another face must also have popped into his mind, a rugged face with a distinctive forehead and thin pits in the skin. Yamanoue Sōji’s unengaging, farmer-like visage was always a social disadvantage among the tea practitioners of Sakai. His inflexible personality and his two dismissals from Hideyoshi’s service only kept him further apart. But if he had settled near the Hōjō family castle in Odawara, then Rikyū would soon be very close to where his old student was exiled.
Kokei did not miss the shade of Rikyū’s thoughts. About a year ago, a monk had met Sōji on his way back to Kyōto from a training session in Kamakura, and Rikyū had peppered him with questions about it. It showed that he had not forgotten his unfortunate student.
Still, if Rikyū went to Odawara, there would be no chance to visit. If Hōjō had hired Sōji as his personal tea master, then Sōji and Rikyū would be on opposite sides in the upcoming conflict. Even though Rikyū and Sōji trusted each other, Sōji would be forced to treat him as the enemy.
In the silence that followed, the smell of the camphor wood was even more intense. Kokei left his seat and opened a low paper screen, designed to give a good view of the garden to anyone sitting on the floor. Outside, the garden, the sky, the pine groves along the Kamo River, and Mount Hiei and its surrounding mountains all appeared in the rectangular space like a distant land glimpsed through a crevice. Framed in that narrow view of the outside world, the color of the sky was a dull, fading yellow. As if the sky itself had urged him to hurry, Rikyū informed them that he had to leave. He wished he could stay longer and see Tōhaku’s sketch for the Buddha hall, but he had duties to attend to. With a wry smile, he quoted a line from the Noh play Kinuta that Yahei had once recited for him: “I wanted to come home sooner, but the service I owe my master allowed me no time to do so.”
8
The following year, on March 1, Hideyoshi departed for the front. Besides innumerable soldiers, he took his concubine Kyōgoku-dono and several other women, the court intellectuals, and the tea masters. All of them rode along in a procession of dozens of koshi palanquins. It was a much more splendid sight than his departure to the war with Shimazu three years before had been, and this time they were heading east from Jurakudai rather than west.
A month later, Hideyoshi was defeating fort after fort on Hōjō’s defensive lines, working his way through the Hakone mountain ranges. He finally settled in Yumoto, less than five miles from their goal, Odawara. Sōunji Temple—named after Hōjō Sōun, the founder of the Hōjō family—was chosen for the interim main camp from which they would mount their final assault on the Hōjō clan.
For Hideyoshi, it became a place to sojourn and enjoy the company of his mistresses, each of whom had her own room. The magnificent Buddhist altar, altar fittings, and sculptures were taken away and replaced with gold and silver silk cushions and armrests. Hideyoshi’s seat was a pedestal with gaudy sculptures, a more convenient way of displaying his power and authority to the people who came to pay tribute than an ordinary dais. The temple kitchen was filled with soldiers, attendants, pages, and guards.
Rikyū, Tsuda Sōgyū, and Imai Sōkyū stayed as close to Hideyoshi as his military staff, but since their duties were different, they were given the abbot’s chambers. The chambers were diagonally across from the Buddha hall, where the altar had once rested, through a breezeway. Spring water drawn from the forest behind the temple flowed through a bamboo water pipe and dripped onto the moss garden under the eaves, producing a pleasant sound. The water was soft, and quite delicious. The tea masters were delighted with the spot, pronouncing it the perfect place for tea. They held tea gatherings constantly, even in the camp.
Tokugawa Ieyasu was in command of the first army to advance, taking a detour from Nakasendō into eastern Odawara. Hosokawa Tadaoki and Ukita Hidemasa guarded western Odawara. Lords Hashiba Hidetsugu, Hidekatsu, Gamō Ujisato, and Oda Nobuo set up camp on the mountain to the rear. On the ocean, the navy grew even more powerful as Lord Satomi from Bōsō added his ships. It was just as Hideyoshi wrote to his wife: “Truly, we have put the enemy in a bird cage. We are in no danger, so please, be at ease.”
These chief lords gathered often at Hideyoshi’s camp to discuss strategies and other important issues. The tea masters were as busy as they had been in Kyōto. Rikyū had the added distraction of the construction of Mount Ishigaki Castle.
The castle was one of Hideyoshi’s many strategies to intimidate Hōjō, one that he was particularly excited about. The mountain stood to the west of the villages along the Hayakawa River, which were just under a mile away. It looked down on Odawara as one might look at a neighbor’s house from the roof.
Since last year, Hideyoshi had put the lords of six provinces—Kii, Awaji, Aki, Sanuki, Iyo, and Tosa—to work constructing food storage warehouses in order to supply the ports of Shimizu and Ejiri. Hideyoshi had also ordered the lords to repair the roads to allow the troops to move eastward more easily, although he currently needed only some of the roads. He concentrated most of his attention on the construction of Mount Ishigaki Castle.
As construction progressed, the main camp at Sōunji Temple was moved to the top of the mountain. Hideyoshi ordered his workers to remove all of the thick pine and cedar trees from the hillside and paste white paper over a series of walls and observation posts to create a false castle. His enemies were frightened and shocked by the sight of a white castle appearing overnight, as if it had been conjured from the earth by some dark magic. But Hideyoshi was planning to build a real, royally appointed castle—the first in the Kantō region—as a show of power. Because the war required a long stay at Mount Ishigaki, the structure of the castle grew until it rivaled Ōsaka Castle.
Some of the minor lords in the region had no intention of challenging Hideyoshi, and they yielded their castles to him easily. Only a few places, like the far-off Hachigata and Oshi and the closer Nirayama, gave him a serious challenge, but even they avoided attacking Mount Ishigaki Castle.
Odawara Castle, located in the middle of a plain nine miles from east to west and twelve miles from north to south, was bigger and more heavily defended than Mount Ishigaki Castle. The retrenchment had a traditional structure, but the outer perimeter wall was in Chinese style, the influence of trade with Ming China. The outer perimeter had the Hakone mountain range at its back, the Sagami Sea in front, and the plains between the Hayakawa River and Sakawagawa River on each side, an area of twenty miles. Numerous forts, earthworks, and dry moats were scattered throughout the castle property to give double and triple layers of protection. In the two years spent preparing for war, the Hōjō family had enhanced their security, so taking Odawara Castle would not be easy.
After two failed attacks on Odawara in early April, Hideyoshi resigned himself to a long campaign. He decided that rather than pushing too hard and inviting serious losses, they should tighten their siege and push their way slowly up to the enemy, like a snake coiling itself around a frog. Discord in the Hōjō family, whose members disagreed on whether or not to stand again
st Hideyoshi, led to divisions within Hōjō’s ranks. Some soldiers acted as spies for Hideyoshi, while others simply deserted.
It was clear that the war was going to drag on for a long time, so there was time for Hideyoshi to build the castle. Mount Ishigaki was the best location, though there were many sites that would have served the purpose. The pine and cedar trees they cleared for the original facade became construction material. Stone was taken from the cliff on the northern part of the mountains, and two particularly attractive types, komatsu and nebukawa, were taken from the nearby town of Manazuru.
Tens of thousands of workers were engaged in the construction of the castle from start to finish. The stones were carried in low, four-wheeled carts away from the quarries and the worksites where they were carved into shape. Workers piled up the stones to create a wall so high that one had to throw one’s head back to see the top. In this way, the fortress grew strong and secure along the Hayakawa River. Wherever one looked, laborers were swarming like worker bees wriggling on rich compost.
Unfortunately for the workers, the rainy season started early. They were forced to proceed in spite of the weather. Those worker bees wore rain hats and straw raincoats, but they were quickly covered with mud, making them now look like a mass of worms flattening themselves against their posts.
By the middle of May, the military installations in the area between the outer fortifications and the main castle, including the castle’s outbuildings, turrets, and stone storehouses, were completed on schedule. Mashita Nagamori, the head of construction, personally designed that area, determining the number of wells, the location of stables, and so forth. The inner appointments were another story.
Rikyū did not have any official responsibility for the construction, but Hideyoshi was planning to build a teahouse, and he wanted the halls and reception rooms of the castle to have an opulent but refined appearance. Rikyū’s aesthetic sense was vital, and so he became the unofficial construction magistrate.