The Ennin Mysteries: Collected Stories 26-30

by Ben Stevens

  A slightly awkward silence followed my master’s words.

  ‘Err… Thank you, Ennin-sensei, for your summary,’ said the priest then. ‘But you have no idea as to what might have caused this monk’s death – or was it just natural causes, the facial expression remarkable but ultimately unimportant…?’

  Two monks now appeared at the entrance into the hall.

  ‘We would like to take Abe-san’s body away, and prepare it for burial,’ said the priest. ‘If you have no further need to examine it, Ennin-sensei…?’

  I thought I detected a certain edge to the priest’s voice. Almost some insinuation that my master’s scrutiny of the corpse had been rather disrespectful – and also unnecessary.

  I wondered if the priest was not considering that the dead priest’s past need not have been exposed… That ultimately it had no bearing on how he died, and that everyone was – after all – entitled to a second chance in life. (Although, surely that tattoo would have been discovered as the body was prepared for burial?)

  ‘I do not. You may remove it from this hall,’ said my master firmly. ‘I have no need to trespass any further upon your valuable time, either. But, if I may, I would like to remain in this hall a while longer, to see if anything… occurs to me, as it were. I need only be accompanied by my servant here, Kukai.’

  ‘You may do as you please, Ennin-sensei,’ returned the priest, and now there was no mistaking the sharp tone to his voice. He may have agreed to this latest request from my master – but it was obvious he considered it to be a strange one.

  The two monks who’d just entered picked up the corpse by its shoulders and feet, and followed by the senior monk and the priest they left the hall.

  This left just my master and me in that brightly-lit, spacious room, with its fresh tatami, glowing windows of rice-paper and the altar, upon which was the life-size golden statue of the Buddha, other gold ornaments and the fruit and flowers placed either side of him.

  2

  Silence. My master did not speak and so naturally neither did I. He looked all around him, a thin smile upon his lips. Then he looked back at that golden statue of the Buddha, its body robed in magnificent garments of green and blue, slightly in the Chinese style.

  ‘And yet,’ said my master suddenly, ‘looking at this statue of the Buddha, I have to ask myself one question. Where is the natural, slight protrusion upon the throat, which would indicate that this statue is supposed to represent a male – that is, Buddha himself?

  This caused me to look closer, at this particular area of the life-sized golden statue – and I all but started. It was true, there was no such protrusion of the throat. The whole area was as smooth as a woman’s.

  ‘Speak, statue!’ said my master then, so that I transferred my gaze to him, wondering if he had gone quite mad.

  ‘Speak as you spoke to that monk Abe, there as he performed the usual morning service alone in this hall. A golden statue supposedly of the Buddha suddenly opening its mouth and talking – that was what caused the expression of amazement upon that monk’s face, and his heart to then give out.’

  ‘You are absolutely correct, Ennin-sensei.’

  These words emerged from the statue’s mouth, which moved just slightly, the lips still twisted in that slight smile which is so often depicted upon a statue of the Buddha. A slim, Japanese-style statue of the Buddha, that is – not the laughing, large-bellied caricature so beloved of the Chinese. And yet, I say again, the actual clothing placed upon the statue was, with its bright colors, still slightly in the Chinese style.

  ‘I intended to kill Abe, once I’d finished talking to him. For that reason, I still have several shuriken or throwing stars lying in the palm of my right hand – which is concealed by my left.

  ‘But Abe robbed me of this pleasure by suddenly clutching his chest and collapsing to the ground, almost the moment I’d finished my explanation – which was somewhat concise, I must say. For I did not know at what point someone else might enter into this hall, and disturb us. I had to say what I needed to say, and quickly.

  ‘And as for you, Ennin-sensei and servant, what shall I do? Throw these shuriken, and so conclusively silence you forever? Or trust in this reputation you have, that sometimes you act as your own law, deciding for yourself who is the innocent party – and who is the guilty…’

  I must confess, at these words my mouth went dry, and I looked to the entrance of the hall – the wooden door of which had been slid shut – in a bid to plot my escape. Yet, somehow I knew that any attempt to flee would be futile. In a moment – less, even – one of those shuriken would be launched from the hand of this mysterious female assassin with the soft, indeed almost caressing voice, who’d so ingeniously posed as a statue of the Buddha, and I would drop down dead...

  ‘Maybe it would be best,’ began my master, ‘if you told us exactly why you desired to go to such great lengths to kill this monk named Abe. Although, I strongly suspect that it has something to do with his past – when he was undoubtedly a member of these so-called ‘Crazy Ones’.’

  ‘You’re correct about that,’ returned the woman, her body remaining absolutely motionless. Only her lips moved slightly, as she spoke. (I need hardly say that she had, of course, shaved her head for this role. Just like all the exposed parts of her body – face, hands and so on – it was perfectly golden in color.)

  And only now did she open her eyes, brown and perfectly calm in that otherwise entirely golden face.

  ‘But then, you saw the tattoo, and the missing little finger – all the usual, subtle indications of a man who leads a less than law-abiding life…’

  ‘Tell your story,’ said my master shortly. He did not seem in the least concerned about these shuriken the woman claimed to have in the palm of her hand, and which – I’d absolutely not the slightest doubt – she could use with lethal effect.

  Also, while he was, of course, expert at detecting various minute details that most other people would entirely overlook, I was still reeling from the fact that he’d managed to recognize this female assassin – disguised as a statue of the Buddha, seated in meditation, golden in color and wearing an exotic Chinese-style kimono – in the first place.

  It sounds absolutely absurd, and yet – the disguise was perfect. Even that priest and the monks who presumably visited this hall daily, for however many years, hadn’t noticed that the real statue of the Buddha had been replaced by this…

  Well – ‘imitation’, you might say.

  ‘Very well, Ennin-sensei, I will tell you my story. And I also retract any suggestion that I might take your life, or that of your servant. I regret saying such a thing, now. For you are a good and just person, quite simply, and Japan needs you.

  ‘So when I finish my story, if you feel that I was not entirely justified in seeking to end the life of this man named Abe, then I will simply step down from this golden lotus, hand you the shuriken I have spent countless hours learning how to use, and you may take me before the chief magistrate of this region.

  ‘But first – my story…’

  3

  ‘Once, in a different lifetime, I was a maiko - a ‘trainee’ geisha. I learnt how to apply the deathly-white makeup upon my face, and how to maintain a mask-like expression. How to sit in seiza, entirely motionless. Scarcely seeming even to breathe... Useful training, wouldn’t you say, for what I would ultimately disguise myself as…?

  ‘Of course, I was also learning how to dance, play the shamisen, pour sake, act demurely in front of male patrons… And then came the day that a group of these ‘Crazy Ones’ – with their tattoos, wild hairstyles and swords – came to visit the place where I, some other maiko and our geisha tutors were staying.

  ‘We could hardly turn them away… At first they just drank, and laughed… And then they turned ugly. They barricaded the doors, the windows. People outside knew what was happening, but everyone is scared of the Crazy Ones. Some of them are former samurai; they know how to fight.

&nbs
p; ‘And how to be evil. We were raped, all of us. Repeatedly, by every man. I cried out that I was only thirteen, but the man I would – much later – again recognize only laughed as he thrust himself harder into me.

  ‘I was forced to commit some of the most vile, depraved acts you can imagine. It was not simply a matter of lying there and being used by every member of the Crazy Ones. That man who later became a monk, calling himself ‘Abe’, had a particular fondness for me.

  ‘The things he made me do…

  ‘Finally, after a couple of days, it was over. The Crazy Ones left, leaving me and the other maiko and older women lying beaten, naked and bleeding upon the tatami. Once I’d sufficiently recovered, I left – I could never become a geisha now. I learnt later that a couple of the other women were driven mad by what they’d experienced, and that one committed suicide.

  ‘I travelled; I walked far. I lived in forests and drank from rivers. I learnt how to use a knife and how to use that dreaded weapon of the ninja, the shuriken, so that no man would ever use me as that man with the hooded eyes, and the missing little finger, had.

  ‘And I learnt how to meditate, calming my mind. Turning my own thoughts away from the blackness, and the odd desire for suicide, which was the result of my treatment at the hands of the Crazy Ones. I learnt how to sit absolutely motionless for hours, so that birds, even, would alight on my shoulders. I entered into one town and there, in a dark back alley, came across two men attempting to rape a woman. I killed them both, with the knife. Then I melted back into the darkness, almost before the woman knew that she had just been saved.

  ‘I became an assassin, but only of those men I encountered who abused women. I continued to travel; I had no need for money; I had only those possessions I absolutely required. I learnt how to blend into any scenery; once I disguised myself as a scarecrow, standing there in a field all day long as farmers labored all around me. I was able to control my breathing, my thoughts – everything.

  ‘And then came the day when I entered into this temple hall – as anyone may do – with the intention of praying before the statue of Buddha for a while, and saw that monk.

  ‘It was him! I knew it instantly. Those hooded eyes gazed upon me, attempting to look benign. And the missing little finger…

  ‘He quietly greeted me. I nodded in reply. For the first time in many years, I actually felt my heart-rate increase. I wanted to kill him there and then, and yet I knew the moment I said who I was – and what he had done to me, while I was still basically a child – he would shout for help and attempt to flee.

  ‘I first needed to ‘stun’ him, in some way… To shock him so greatly that he would be rendered incapable of shouting out for help…

  ‘I went away, into the forest that lies behind this temple, and there meditated for several days.

  ‘And then the idea came to me… I had, previously, successfully disguised myself as a scarecrow, amongst other things – a tree, a rock… But would I be able to impersonate that statue of the Buddha that was in the temple hall…?

  ‘I visited the temple several times more. People frequently entered into that hall, from outside, in order to pray. I was not especially noticed. Besides which I have trained myself to pass unnoticed, even when I am present. You would be surprised at how great an aura even the most ‘unremarkable’ of humans projects – once you actually become consciously aware of such a thing…

  ‘I realized that that accursed man, now masquerading as a monk, ‘opened’ the hall most mornings – and that he always did this alone.

  ‘I closely observed the statue of the Buddha. I learnt to replicate its pose exactly. I obtained golden body-paint. I practiced applying it. I shaved my head. One day I entered into the temple and hid in the small corridor that lies behind this hall. No once checked there, before locking up in the evening. In the night I took down the statue – it was heavy, but not impossible to lift; I believe it is gold plating upon a wooden frame – and, first disrobing it, placed it, along with my clothing and few possessions, inside one of the cupboards that are along that corridor.

  ‘Then I undressed, and by lamplight applied the golden paint, put upon the robes – which are sufficiently loose that they serve to disguise my breasts – and took position on top of this golden lotus. I waited there as dawn began lighting the hall, illuminating the sliding windows of wood and paper. And then entered that man; I had my eyes closed, as does the statue, but I knew it was him. He had a snuffly way of breathing, and dragged his feet slightly…

  ‘And then I opened my eyes, and addressed him! And yet, it was not as satisfying as I’d imagined… At first, he could only mutter ‘No… no…’, so that I feared I had, in fact, shocked him so greatly that he’d just been driven insensible…

  ‘But then he pleaded that he’d changed character, had turned his back upon his former life – the very reason for him having become a monk. He begged for his life…

  ‘But nothing would change my resolve; he was going to die, come what may, for what he and those other men had done to me and the other women and girls. He clutched at his chest, those hooded eyes growing ever wider with shock and fear as I continued to quietly explain just who I was, and so the reason why he was shortly going to die.

  ‘But he robbed me of that part of my revenge – the throwing of the shuriken – by suddenly dropping dead upon the tatami, curse him. Still, I had undoubtedly caused his death, at least…

  ‘And then some other monks entered, before I could come down and replace the Buddha statue in its original position. And then you were summoned, and I continued to sit motionless. It did not matter, I thought, I could wait all day. When the hall became empty, I would quickly restore the statue and dress myself, before secretly taking my leave…

  ‘But you, Ennin-sensei – you saw through my disguise. My congratulations; your reputation is certainly deserved…

  4

  ‘…And my congratulations to you,’ said my master quietly, after a few moments of silence had passed. The hall was very bright now, lit up by the midday sun outside. ‘You are a remarkable woman, a survivor of a horrific experience that would have broken many other people; and you have successfully taken your revenge against a truly evil man.

  ‘For some offences in life, surely, a second chance can never be permitted.’

  Before anything else could be said, there came the sound of voices in the corridor beyond the entrance to the temple hall. In entered the fox-faced priest, the senior monk accompanying him.

  ‘Despite the unfortunate tragedy of Abe-san’s death,’ began the priest brusquely, ‘we are still shortly due to hold a service, here in this hall. So, if there is nothing else…’

  The dismissal was obvious, and my master nodded.

  ‘No, I believe the monk’s death to have been entirely natural. A heart attack, most likely,’ he said casually. ‘My servant and I will leave, now. Although… after the service, is the hall in use?’

  ‘Well, no,’ returned the priest, looking confused by my master’s seemingly strange question. ‘People may visit it in order to pray before the statue of the Buddha here, but nothing else in particular is planned, following the service.

  ‘On occasion, this hall just lies empty…’

  ‘I see,’ said my master, in the same easy tone. ‘Come, Kukai.’

  And we left that hall.

  The Fourth Immortal of the Wine Cup

  The famous Chinese poet, Li Du, was lying face down almost exactly in the center of a small and perfectly still lake. Floating beside him was a small wooden boat.

  ‘A sad end, but one that might almost have been predicted,’ sighed my master, as another boat was dispatched from the shore to fetch the corpse.

  ‘We are sure it’s Li Du, master?’ I queried. ‘We cannot see his face…’

  ‘True,’ nodded my master. ‘But we can observe that striking orange robe he was apparently so fond of wearing, with the ornate black embroidery around the shoulders, and… Well, we shall s
ee in a moment, in any case.’

  The two men upon the boat dispatched from the shore pulled the body onboard. One man shouted to the magistrate, who was stood beside my master and me –

  ‘It’s certainly Li Du, sir. I saw him any number of times around this town – often in the pleasure quarters.’

  ‘Yes,’ sighed my master. ‘That was Li Du. A man equally as fond of carousing as he was writing poetry. After all, one of his most famous works is a frank celebration of drunkenness…’

  And my master quoted from memory –

  What is this life if not but one big dream?

  Why spoil it with labor or care?

  I choose to remain drunk all day

  Lying helpless upon the lap of a woman

  When I awoke, I was lying upon the spring-grass

  As glorious and green as the Emperor’s robes

  She had left me but I cared not

  There will always be wine and women

  In the tree above a bird burst into song

  I delighted in the sound

  But my head ached and so

  I reached for the flask of wine again

  I have to say, I failed to see what was so remarkable about this particular poem. But the rare look of reverence in my master’s eyes then made me wonder if I wasn’t perhaps missing some subtle meaning to the words.

  The magistrate stood beside my master and me also nodded solemnly, as my master finished reciting that particular poem of Li Du’s.

  ‘It is, as you say, a sad end but also a predictable one, Ennin-sensei,’ said the magistrate then. ‘I have read a number of this man’s works, translated into Japanese. I knew he had moved to this region all the way from China several years before – there is the story, of course, that he was forced to flee his country for his very life, after he slept with one of the Emperor’s concubines…’

  ‘The last of the Four Immortals of the Wine Cup passes,’ replied my master quietly.