Hideyoshi and Rikyū

by Nogami Yaeko

  Sōji didn’t think his work was pointless. Records weren’t just records; they captured the joy and astonishment of seeing a beautiful object for the first time. He enjoyed recalling the beauty of each one as he read back over his records. But his new rejection of those famous utensils was certainly a reaction to his lifelong obsession. “Tea master, I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately. It’s led me to an odd conclusion.” With that preamble, ideas began to spill out of him.

  “When we look at nature, we notice how the mountain is beautiful and the river runs purely, and we look at the flowers and the singing birds. But we lose the big picture. When someone forgets about their own existence, forgets the emotion of joy, at that moment they can truly be one with nature.”

  “You want to connect that to tea, don’t you?” Rikyū interrupted, sensing where Sōji’s train of thought was going.

  Rikyū’s interest encouraged Sōji despite the interruption. “Yes, exactly. The utensils that capture you during a tea gathering and don’t leave your mind even afterward actually obstruct the way of tea. I’m ashamed that I was so infatuated with them in the past.”

  “You were always like that.” Rikyū laughed voicelessly out of one cheek, which had become thinner during his recent sickness. He felt closer to Sōji than ever. The disciple whose temperament was so different from his own, who had always lived in a different world, was finally walking the way he did. It was like being separated from a traveling companion only to look back and see him following far behind.

  When Rikyū was younger, he had been as attached to famous utensils as Sōji. Once he had paid a thousand kan for a scroll owned by Jukō, who had received it from his Zen teacher Ikkyū. The scroll had originally been written by Engo, who had compiled the Blue Cliff Record. Rikyū had also been driven to acquire Jukō’s famous incense burner, a celadon tea bowl, and many other splendid utensils. But as the years passed, he had grown tired of the gossip about who owned which item. In letters to Shimai Sōshitsu and tea practitioners in Hakata, Rikyū had complained that the people who surrounded Hideyoshi were obsessed with famous Chinese tea containers, such as Hatsuhana and Narashiba.

  Rikyū had also changed over the years, but his path was different from Sōji’s. Rikyū had begun to notice that people were attracted to the superficial qualities of utensils, either unable or unwilling to comprehend the real beauty of the objects. Even Hideyoshi himself was only satisfied when he could acquire objects that seemed to be inaccessible. After seeing all of this, Rikyū had begun to value the plain, uneven Raku ware over famous Chinese utensils. Not long ago, Rikyū had come to the conclusion that the practice of tea ceremony was nothing more than boiling water and drinking it.

  “We’ve walked the same way after all,” Rikyū told Sōji. For a moment his big eyes were introspective, then he continued, “You came to the same conclusion that I had a long time ago. You’ve come to the place one has to travel through.”

  “I understand.”

  “But Sōji, the road continues. Don’t stop here.”

  Puzzled, Sōji didn’t respond.

  “As you said, in order to be immersed in nature, one should not be captured by the form of a mountain, the flow of a river, blooming flowers, or singing birds. In the same way, if one is distracted by external details like tea utensils, his tea will not be true. For someone who goes beyond the form, even if he uses famous utensils or displays famous objects, he is able to handle them as if they were merely objects. If both host and guest are enlightened in a formal tea gathering, there will be no question of using famous utensils or not using famous utensils. The most important thing that a tea practitioner can strive to achieve is this state of mind.”

  Sōji listened to each of Rikyū’s words as if absorbing them with his whole body. Not only had Rikyū listened and understood what Sōji had said, this gift of teaching was more than he had expected, and gratitude made Sōji awkward. He kept silent, like a village boy who is too shy to speak out in front of people. The escape through Komine Gate the previous night felt like a fading dream. When he finally opened his mouth, he said, “When I return to Odawara, I will have no regrets.”

  “Are you really planning to go back?” Just as Rikyū seldom laughed out loud, he didn’t often raise his voice. But at that moment, something sharp in his quiet tone startled Sōji.

  Still, Sōji’s mind was made up. He had never thought he would see Rikyū again while he was alive. Now, he had not only seen his beloved teacher, who looked healthy, but had had a discourse with him on the deepest meaning of tea. The only desire he had left in his life now was to keep his promise to Genan.

  “But Sōji,” Rikyū objected gently, “You have to go and greet Kampaku-sama.” He used Hideyoshi’s formal title.

  “Kampaku-sama.” Sōji echoed the name as if unconsciously trying to push aside a raging fire. If Rikyū had told him to leap over a pile of burning firewood, he would not have been as surprised. He stared at his master as if he had lost his senses, wondering if he’d heard him correctly.

  Ignoring Sōji’s astonishment, Rikyū continued talking quietly, as if slowly opening something that was folded to show it to him. “I was thinking about it even before I saw you. It’s known in Kyōto and Sakai that you are in Odawara. You met a monk who lives at Daitokuji Temple, and when he came home the story spread. Kampaku-sama has heard this, of course. You served him once, and you cannot ignore him now. Don’t you agree?”

  “But I was exiled.”

  “Let bygones be bygones. You went through a lot of hardship. You know Hideyoshi’s temperament. If you go to see him as a loyal servant, he will forgive you, and there may be a chance for you to serve him again. I know you, and I understand why you want to keep your promise to Genan. But I have my own feelings, and I can’t ignore them either. You went to so much trouble to come here, and I’ve finally seen you again. You’re here, and you’re safe. Do you think I can just let you walk away and watch you return to Odawara?” Rikyū worked hard to persuade Sōji to stay, not wanting his beloved student to suffer when Odawara finally fell.

  Big tears fell from Sōji’s eyes. His own hardship had made him sensitive to other people’s compassion. He was grateful to Rikyū for everything, but at the same time, an uncontrollable helplessness spread like a darkness in his mind. Until that moment, he hadn’t thought of Hideyoshi at all. The only reason he had escaped was to see Rikyū. Of course he knew that wherever Hideyoshi went, Rikyū would be there, and going to see Rikyū meant that he would also be close to Hideyoshi. But for Sōji, Hideyoshi existed only at Mount Ishigaki Castle, and Sōji didn’t think he was in any danger of running into him.

  If two lovers separate, their agony is proof that their love still exists. Sōji’s strange insensibility to Hideyoshi showed that he was still deeply affected by his two exiles. The resentment and indignation lodged in the bottom of his heart made him distrust anyone of higher rank. It showed that the pain of his exiles went so deep that he could no longer feel anger, or even a grudge.

  From the start, Sōji hadn’t even wanted to serve Genan. Sōji was a son of the liberal city of Sakai, and he rebelled against the idea of being imposed on. Sōji longed for his old home and vividly remembered the taste of food from his favorite shop. He would have liked to see Odawara, which people said now resembled Kyōto or Sakai, if he could have gone there without being seen by anyone. But his homesickness was limited to the things he loved. If Rikyū hadn’t mentioned Hideyoshi’s name, Sōji would never have thought of his former master again.

  Sōji bent his head, tightened his lips, and kept silent. He was torn between a desire to obey Rikyū and a stubborn resistance to being reunited with Hideyoshi. So he sat like a deeply buried root that has been given up by a woodcutter because it has resisted all attempts to cut it free. But he was unable to hide his distress. In order to keep his promise to Genan, he had to return to Odawara at all costs. He believed that if he could find the right words to explain this, Rikyū would understand. But
there was one thing that weighed on his heart, pressing down like a thick board. If he left tonight against Rikyū’s wishes, would Hideyoshi hear about his secret visit? If so, what would happen to Rikyū? Rikyū might end up receiving a severe rebuke. He suddenly remembered his accidental meeting with the servant from Gorōbei estate in Itabashimura, the one who had told him where to find Rikyū, and sadness and fear for his old teacher tightened his chest.

  “Well, you don’t need to think about it so hard.” Rikyū, who had been waiting patiently for Sōji to speak, finally broke the silence. “All I have to do is ask Kampaku-sama to see you.”

  Sōji didn’t answer.

  “That’s all. You don’t have to agree or disagree.”

  Anxiety gripped Sōji. He couldn’t speak.

  “Sōji.”

  Sōji fought down the fear that filled his heart, forcing the words through his heavy stammer. “If something would happen …”

  It was Rikyū’s turn to be silent. Some new expression passed fleetingly across his face. It was hard to tell if it was a ray of reflected light from the drizzling rain in the garden, or the blinking of his big eyes, or the slight clench of his jaw. Quickly his face returned to normal, and he responded casually. “Even if the man who works for Gorōbei estate tells someone he saw you, he doesn’t know where you are, or where you came from. Don’t cross the bridge before you come to it.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “Leave everything up to me. Depending on how things turn out, you may be able to keep your promise to Genan after all.” These weren’t just empty words: if Hideyoshi found out about Sōji’s relationship with Genan, he might send Sōji back to Odawara, knowing that when he defeated Odawara he would meet Genan. Rikyū knew that Hideyoshi loved to show off like that. “But even so, when you visit him at the castle you must be careful what you say. Everything depends on his mood.”

  “Thank you so much for all this.” There was nothing else Sōji could say. In truth, he wasn’t grateful at all. His blind determination had led him to his worst nightmare.

  If he allowed himself—if he could get beyond his famous stubbornness—he could allow Rikyū’s concern to sway him, to make him give up his desire to return to Genan and rebuild his life as a tea master somewhere else. But he had a more immediate challenge to face. Whatever his intentions in leaving Odawara, he was on the other side of the battle lines now, and he had no choice but to go to Hideyoshi. Sōji knew that Rikyū had a deep regard for him, and for Rikyū’s sake Sōji could give up the idea of going back to Odawara. But that one phrase, “depends on his mood,” gave him an instant chill, as if a raindrop had fallen on the nape of his neck.

  12

  These days, Hideyoshi’s ego had grown beyond his official title, Kampaku-sama, chief advisor to the emperor. He preferred to be known as Tenka, or Most Honored One: just as the world was sustained by sunlight, because of Hideyoshi heaven and earth continued in their rounds.

  Sōji was more afraid of Hideyoshi’s temper than of his absolute authority. Hideyoshi exercised his supreme power according to his whim. Sōji had been exiled twice just for incurring Hideyoshi’s displeasure. Now his worry spilled over, and for the first time he asked Rikyū about Hideyoshi, trying to gauge his recent mood.

  “How is his health? We heard here in the eastern region about the birth of his first child, Tsurumatsu—is the baby making him happy? Is he still practicing tea with you?” Sōji was very aware that he hadn’t seen Hideyoshi in a long time, and he was curious to know how Hideyoshi’s temper had been. “I worry that even if you make the effort to intercede for me, I may not be able to see him.”

  “I have to go to the castle tomorrow morning anyhow,” Rikyū replied. “I will tell him about you then. If he says he will see you, I’ll send you a messenger.” Perhaps sensing Sōji’s worry, he continued, “Now that Odawara Castle is about to fall, a messenger came all the way from the Imperial Palace. Hideyoshi was very pleased that the emperor would honor him in that way. I think that will give us an advantage.”

  A representative from the imperial court, Gondainagon Kanshuji Harutoyo, had come with a group bearing gifts and a letter from the emperor inquiring about Hideyoshi’s health at the front. Because he had been sick, Rikyū had missed their arrival. But one of the party, Karasuma Mitsunobu, had also become sick and was forced to stay behind when the others left. He was finally ready to leave for Kyōto, but Rikyū had been ordered to prepare a formal tea gathering for him first. Hideyoshi had at first said he wasn’t planning to attend, but Rikyū knew he might change his mind. Rikyū was used to dealing with Hideyoshi’s whims, although recently his mood swings had gotten much worse. Rikyū remembered an incident involving a bamboo flower vase about a month ago, and misgivings formed in his mind.

  It had happened while Rikyū was still at Sōunji Temple. Rikyū had found the perfect piece of Nirayama bamboo to make a flower vase he had promised Hideyoshi, with a single opening cut into the side near the top. He wanted to bring it to Hideyoshi right away. There was a gardenia blooming near the temple, and Rikyū had cut a branch before visiting the castle. He was ordered to bring them into the room immediately, which he did.

  But when Rikyū entered the room next to Hideyoshi’s private room, the magistrate Kimura Yoshikiyo was with Hideyoshi. Since it looked like he and Hideyoshi were in the middle of a serious discussion, Rikyū had proceeded to the hallway and put the bamboo vase, with the flower, at the end of the porch. Hideyoshi had glanced back with his left eye, and hadn’t said a word to Rikyū. He didn’t seem to like the vase. Like all of Hideyoshi’s aides, Rikyū knew that anything that Hideyoshi didn’t like should be put away as soon as possible. But before Rikyū could take the vase away, Hideyoshi appeared in the hallway and kicked it from the porch. The vase hit a stepping stone with a sharp sound, and the flower was thrown to one side, gleaming against the dark ground with its two white flowers and shiny, thick, green leaves.

  Rikyū still didn’t understand why Hideyoshi had reacted that way. It couldn’t have been that he didn’t like the design of the vase. Later, when Rikyū had presented him with a vase that was almost identical, he was very pleased. Like a small boy who’d been misbehaving, Hideyoshi pretended that he didn’t remember the first flower container.

  Maybe it was the conversation with Yoshikiyo; they had been talking about attacking Nirayama Castle. Hōjō’s forces still controlled the main route from Izu to Odawara. The castle owned by Ujimasa’s brother Hōjō Ujinori had more soldiers and better natural defenses than Odawara Castle, which would soon fall. Even with ten times the number of soldiers, Oda Nobuo had been forced to resort to a siege. The slowness of the blockade irritated Hideyoshi, and perhaps the situation had made him flare up at the mere sight of Nirayama bamboo.

  Ordinarily, Hideyoshi was quite gentle, but the temper hidden under his generosity could sometimes flare unexpectedly. Rikyū could accept that. But just as a fan unfolds panel by panel to reveal the design inside, memories hidden in Rikyū’s subconscious came together one by one to show him the design behind Hideyoshi’s behavior.

  He remembered hearing that Yodo-dono was longing to go back to Kyōto, a rumor leaked by the servants who had come to Odawara with her. Although the day-to-day life at Mount Ishigaki Castle was not so different from Jurakudai or Ōsaka Castle, Yodo-dono and her retinue were tired of being on a battlefield in the country. They wanted to return to the sophistication of Kyōto. Maybe it was just the servants complaining under the name of Yodo-dono. But in any case, the rumors spread quickly.

  “Yodo-dono wants to see Tsurumatsu-sama again.” They whispered that Tsurumatsu had been left with Hideyoshi’s wife, and Yodo-dono was afraid the other woman would claim her son. Perhaps it was envious mistresses who were spreading the stories, but the facts were true enough. Publicly, Tsurumatsu was considered Hideyoshi’s wife’s child, and Hideyoshi made everyone refer to his wife as Tsurumatsu’s mother. The longer Yodo-dono stayed in Odawara, the more the fiction could
become reality.

  That certainly wasn’t dampening Hideyoshi’s spirits, Rikyū knew: he was enjoying listening to Yodo-dono complain and plead. Nor did he neglect his other mistresses. In the same way that the isolation of a long battle makes common soldiers rough and wild, Hideyoshi’s private life, which was controlled by his wife when he was at Jurakudai and Ōsaka Castle, was in his own hands here.

  Rikyū remembered, too, that Hideyoshi had been more forgetful lately. Since his memory was ordinarily sharp, it made him angry when he forgot things. Whenever that happened, he would frown, crinkling the skin between his eyebrows. Usually, his skin looked tight because of his cheekbones, but at those times his skin would go slack. Lately, his eyes had lost their usual sharpness, and the bluish shadows under his eyes were more distinct. He yawned with his mouth open wide like a barking dog.

  Rikyū didn’t want to burden Sōji with unnecessary matters. If they were unlucky and today was a bad day, he simply wouldn’t bring it up. He didn’t want to ask for a pardon for Sōji unless Hideyoshi was mentally and physically balanced.

  Rikyū finally got up and opened the paper screen facing the garden, shifting the topic of conversation. He stepped out onto the porch. “The weather tomorrow morning will be good. When the clouds move over the mountains like that, it means the rain will stop,” he said cheerfully.

  Sōji came to stand beside him. Sōji had a massive build, but even so, he looked small standing next to Rikyū. Rikyū pointed to the silver-gray clouds, floating like a net thrown around the far-away sky. He told Sōji that on a clear day, Mount Fuji would appear like the hump of a camel, pointing in the direction of the mountain.

  As Rikyū predicted, the next morning was beautiful. He left home in a kago palanquin that was sent from the castle. He left a message for Sōji saying that he would send his attendant, Kisaku, to get Sōji as soon as Hideyoshi gave his permission. Rikyū also chose the clothing that Sōji would wear, wanting to create just the right impression.