The Buddha Dharma: the Eightfold Path
The 4th Noble Truth
Right View
Impermanence. Fujita Sensei spoke of impermanence, back when Chiemi’s mother took her daughters, she and Chisato, to the Daisho-in, an expansive temple complex on Miyajima Island. The tall red gateway standing in front welcomes worshippers into the island’s sacred embrace. Chiemi’s favourite had to be the Itsukushima Shrine, which juts out into the water. Though considered a Shinto shrine, its distinctive orange colour reflected the amalgamation of gods and the Buddha. A syncretic place of worship.
For the girls, the lit lanterns along the shore were particularly pretty at night. Their mother, Haruye, too found peace in walking along the path.
Fujita Sensei was a handsome man, with intense eyes but with a face of soft features. Chiemi didn’t understand what he meant by the word until much later.
When the girls became women, Chiemi made a point of going twice a year, Hanamatsuri and Obon, birth and death, rebirth, the circle of life, to sit in meditation and contemplate the Buddha. Chisato usually accompanied her, but the younger sister had married last year, and her immigration papers had finally been approved by the Canadian government far sooner than the usual two-year waiting period. She left to join her husband earlier in the summer. With all the activity surrounding her sister’s departure, Chiemi delayed going to Miyajima until the end of the Obon season. In the first letter to her sister, she quipped that the Buddha wouldn’t mind if she were a little late.
The small-craft ferry ride from Ujina Port was fun, always was; the lapping blue-green waves put her mind at ease. She once spotted jellyfish floating along side. Their diaphanous bodies seemingly the suspension of body and soul in the eternal sea. She always brought a colourful bib for the stone statue, the Shinto protectors of young women and children, that lined the stairs of the temple.
She let out a slow sigh. Impermanence leads to change and change leads to suffering, dukkha. All three link together in the flow of life. She placed her faith in the Three Jewels of Buddhism: the Buddha, the Dharma, the Sangha; the Buddha, the Buddha’s Teachings, the Buddhist Community.
***
In the cool Oni Room, Chiemi sat on her legs sitting seiza. Her father had relaxed his prohibition of the use of the room since there were only the three of them left at home. The acrid smell of incense that filled her nostrils and lungs came back to her in a reminiscence of her childhood visit to Miyajima. A large statue of the Buddha down a corridor of Itsukushima sat in peaceful repose. His hands poised in a mudra of compassion and generosity—the palm of the right hand faced outwards, and the index finger touched the thumb in the perfect circle of the Dharma. The Buddha was always near as memories abounded.
She contemplated her recent life. Chisato had married Kimura Kiyoshi, a son of a naval shipbuilding family in Kure, in the spring of 1938 and emigrated a year or so later. Their parents worried, not knowing what hardships she would have to endure in a foreign country. But that was what she wanted.
Akamatsu Hideki was ambitious to get-on with his army career. He had kept ranting about the campaign in Manchukuo. All could tell he was frustrated that he wasn’t yet into the fray.
“Did you read about Honjo-san?” he shouted to the family one day before he entered the army. Honjo Tadanobu was Hideki’s classmate, a preposterously skinny boy who worked his way into the army through physical work. “He charged a machine gun with raised sword. Cut down, being torn to pieces in the effort. Such an honourable death!”
Chiemi objected. “But he died horribly! So many are dying in Manchukuo. I hear about 10,000 so far.”
“That’s not true! Stop reading the paper!” he chided. “Don’t read what you don’t understand! He shines with glory!”
She walked away, the odour of burnt ants enveloped her.
***
When Hideki was finally and officially inducted into the army, Chiemi and family attended the marvelous ceremony. She loved the pomp and ritual. Though she didn’t approve of her brother’s zeal for military service, she was taken in by the events of the day and grew excited at the sight of her brother in full uniform, so handsome and resplendent. It was a day to remember.
Once in the army, Hideki came home intermittently, though he had every Sunday off and twenty military and patriotic holidays during the year. It seemed he didn’t want to see his family. Whenever he did, however, he received a hero’s welcome, especially the first time about two months after induction.
Chisato made a point of being there for that auspicious occasion. Chiemi could see the glee on Chisato’s and Okaasan’s faces in seeing him, Okaa especially. She was so proud of her son that she arranged a lavish dinner, including his favourite dishes: maze gohan (rice mixed with vegetables), steamed fish Chinese style, and steamed tofu. The white rice must’ve cost a small fortune on the Black Market.
He had changed in appearance: his hair was cut close to his scalp, with some scabs where the razor’s blade had cut him, he had a three-day growth of beard (which he shaved off immediately after returning and before his sisters could tease him), his eyes had darkened with bags under them, and he appeared sullen, rarely speaking. He was still skinny, perhaps skinnier, but no one commented on it. For most of the meal, he sat hunched over, mute about his experiences in the military even as his father praised him.
“We received a letter from your Commanding Officer, a Colonel Hashimoto,” Otousan said at dinner. “Very reassuring. He said we should consider him your father of the army. I like that. He’ll take care of you. You should have a sword,” he observed. “Let me buy you one. Maybe get a better fitting uniform—”
“No, Otousan, no!” he replied adamantly coming alive.
“But why? We can afford it.”
Silence was his answer.
***
Chiemi was the only one who had any insight into Hideki. After that night in the garden the summer before when Chiemi gave her brother the pouch of home soil and saw the bruises on his face and neck, she constantly worried about him. More so after a night bath.
The nightly hot water ofuro took place in a separate extension of the large concrete kitchen. Otousan had built a comfortable but small room just off and attached to the cooking area. It featured an oversized, steep-sided wooden tub with comfortable wooden benches and stools surrounding. There was a crude drainage system for family members to wash before relaxing in the tub. The kitchen stove was fired up to boil the water from the pump. It was the girls who filled the tub with buckets of hot water.
Chisato thought the tub was made from a shoyu casket, but Hideki said they were too small to accommodate their bodies. When the three were babies, Haruye dutifully washed the children before handing each off to Gunhei who was in the tub. But that was years ago. In any case, members of the household enjoyed the ritual: Otousan first, followed by Hideki, Okaasan, Chiemi, and last Chisato.
Chiemi became visibly distressed when she saw her brother’s naked body covered with bruises during his first visit home, much more than just his face and shoulders. She never commented on them, too embarrassing to call attention to them. After all, Hideki said nothing.
The shadows of brutality inspired her to take a long piece of white cloth and stitch it with red thread, 1,000 knots, for a senninbari, a belt to protect him. He will suffer but will survive China.
She gave it to him and the Hiroshima bag of soil in the garden the night he left for the army, for war, for glory. Chiemi sighed with relief afterwards, even if the arguments continued.
“We are invincible,” Hideki proclaimed. “It’s because of the Emperor’s divine spirit. It’s in all of us. The Nankin are weak…nothing. We can’t be defeated.”
Ever since the destruction of Nanking, Nankin, a slang word for the Chinese, came into popular use.
“But everything is impermanent. Everything changes,” Chisato argued. “Yes, our military is everywhere, but that will change.”
“Don’t talk blasphemy!” he yelled. “We defeated Russia. We defeated China and we conquered Manchuria. We are again at war with China, and we’ll defeat them again. Look at how easily we invaded and subjugated Nanking. We are working towards invading the Philippines and Indochina. There is no end to our ambition and power.”
“What will happen when Europe and America get involved?”
That gave him pause.
“They’re…already involved. But just with words. Nothing but…complaints. They’re weak, afraid of Japan’s might!” he said with some trepidation. “They are!” His voice had faltered.
She looked at him with a skeptical eye. He spoke patriotically but more to convince himself, she thought.
A few months later, Hideki came home unexpectedly. He appeared haggard, like he hadn’t slept in days. He was sullen, weak, and noncommunicative. Though he did say he wanted to talk to Father.
Chiemi, horrified at her brother’s condition, followed the two at a distance to the Oni Room. She stood just outside and listened as best as she could.
“What’s wrong, son?” Gunhei asked as he sat in his favourite position.
Hideki did not sit; instead, he positioned himself in front of his father and bent over slightly as if a weight was pushing him down.
“Otousan, I will come straight to the point, I wish to leave the military.”
Gunhei didn’t say a word. Instead, he let his son continue.
“I am but an insect among insects. If I am killed, there will be no glory.”
“Have you seen men get killed?”
“Yes,” he said and paused before speaking again. “I don’t see the point of it all.”
“I understand, but you were the one who chose to be in the army.” Gunhei stood and placed his hand on his son’s shoulder.
“And now I am the one who chooses to leave,” Hideki said emphatically.
Chiemi turned away. Still, she heard her father talking about bringing shame to the family. Hideki had committed himself to the military life and Otousan impressed upon him the imperative of seeing it through. There wasn’t anything Father or anyone could do.
Chiemi walked away in order to avoid being discovered by her brother or father.
That night, Hideki left in the darkness.