Seventeen

Is a cloud a member of the sky?

I had now spent a year and a half in Japan. Leo Marks was introducing me to his acquaintances as “my Buddhist friend.” But I had never become a Buddhist. When I paid my monthly 2000 yen (£2) to the head monk I told him that I would like to become a Buddhist, to enter the religion officially.

The head monk put the money into his drawer, drew some artistic characters in his ledger and noted on a strip of paper: “Jan-san, 2000 yen,” and the date. The strip of paper was glued to the wall of the corridor, where it became the last miniature paper flag at the end of a row of thousands of strips. When the corridor was full he would tear them all down and begin again.

“Well,” he said, “it can be done, of course. But it’s up to the master really. He is the high priest and he decides about an important matter like this. I’ll mention your request and you’ll hear from us.”

About a week later Han-san came to tell me that the master was expecting me. The master was having dinner when I came and I waited, kneeling on the floormat, till he had finished. He never had his meals with us but was served, three times a day, a tray with covered bowls: a bowl of rice, a bowl of vegetables and a bowl of soup; and a pot of green tea. The distance from the kitchen to the master’s little house was about a quarter of a mile and his food, especially during winter, must have been cold many times. I pitied him; it would have been better if he had shared our meals. We could always have second helpings by folding our hands and staring at the cook while he was serving—we weren’t allowed to point but we could indicate the required dish by looking at it and shaking our heads if he got it wrong. The master had to satisfy himself with whatever was brought to him.

While I waited I tried to imagine how this man lived. Every morning he had to get up at three o’clock, then he saw twenty or more disciples, each at a different stage of development, each in his own world, most of them working on different koans from different angles, with all sorts of blocks and problems and wrong or half-baked ideas. Then, after that, perhaps a nap. Then breakfast, work in the garden, or his job in the main temple. He was the high priest of a large complex of Zen temples and had to supervise them all. He had to know what the Zen priests in the neighborhood were doing and guide them when necessary. One of the temples near us was a home for the elderly and two young priests were in charge, looking after the old men and women. There had been a scandal when one of the priests had gambled and lost a large part of the temple’s funds. The master had taken care of the crisis and the young priest had been sent on a pilgrimage. The master had spent a lot of time on the priest, trying to find a way of using the incident for the priest’s benefit. Perhaps he had given him a fresh koan, or he may have insisted that the priest solved the last koan he was working on, when he finished his three years in the monastery.

The master also went off on lecturing trips now and then, visiting the large cities, speaking to whoever showed interest in Zen, travelling during the months when our discipline was relaxed. And when he returned from such a trip he would have to deal with us again. I knew he had two ways of relaxing: he would watch baseball on TV and when an important match was on he would lock his house and nobody could see him. He would also go to the cinema sometimes, but only when he could see a picture connected in some way with Africa; he liked animals and the jungle-lush, tropical vegetation. I had even witnessed a difference of opinion between master and head monk. The master wanted to go to the cinema and asked the head monk for money. The master never had any money, because the monastery’s funds were in the hands of the head monk. The head monk refused.

“You have been ill. You are supposed to stay in and sleep in the afternoons. You have a weak heart.”

“Maybe,” the master said, “but I want to go to the cinema now. It’s the last day this picture is on, I looked it up in the newspaper. Who knows if and when the picture will come again. There’s an elephant hunt in it and I must see it.”

In the end the monk gave in, on condition that the master took a taxi and Han-san went with him in case he became unwell.

Our master, in fact, was a pleasant man of simple habits. I knew that some high priests of the sect enjoyed heading processions, marching along in gold-colored robes, protected by huge sunshades carried by acolytes. They insisted on being addressed by their proper titles and if you had had tea with them you had to leave the room walking backwards. But one of these high priests, who was also a Zen master, had shocked his public by joining a procession dressed in a cheap house robe, and wearing plastic bath sandals. Later he had left his palatial temple and gone to India, as a deck passenger, to visit the holy places. He begged on the way, for he had taken no money, begged with his bowl, as the rule prescribes. He took only an extra kimono, some underwear and his toilet gear, a staff and his bowl. He was away for two years. The priests were annoyed when he came back. They had expected him to travel in style; he was, after all, a high priest, comparable to a bishop or a cardinal. He could have travelled first class and taken monks with him, as servants. The Buddhist church is no longer rich—in 1946 most its possessions were taken away—but there’s still some money.

The master had finished his meal and looked at me.

“I hear you want to become a Buddhist.”

“Yes,” I said. “I have been your disciple for some time now, but I have never entered the faith, or the church, or whatever I should call it. I should like to do so now.”

“It can be done,” the master said. “We have a special ceremony for this purpose. Quite an impressive ceremony really. All our monks, and also all priests connected with the monastery in one way or another, will come. They will all dress in their best robes. I’ll wear the garb which you’ll have seen me in before, at New Year for instance; the robe is uncomfortable because brocade is heavy, but it looks well. Sutras will be chanted and you’ll have to come forward and kneel down and I’ll ask you some questions to which you’ll have to answer ‘yes.’ You’ll have to declare that you are seeking your refuge in Buddha, in the Teaching, and in the Brotherhood of Buddhists. You’ll also have to confirm that you will refuse to enter Nirvana till all living beings are ready to become part of the ultimate reality.

“Then I’ll wave my horsehair brush and the sutra chanting will begin again and Gi-san will play his drum and the head monk and Ke-san will strike their gong and after that there will be a feast for monks and guests. It can be organized. I’ll have to ask the head monk to find a suitable date for the ceremony.”

He looked at me. I didn’t know what to say. It seemed a very acceptable proposition. But it seemed that the master was expecting something.

“All right then,” I said in the end. “Many thanks for your trouble.”

He nodded. I thought the interview had ended, bowed and got up. When I was near the door the master called me back.

“There’s something I wanted to ask. Why do you want this ceremony to take place? Do you think it will do something for you?”

I had to admit that I didn’t think so.

“Do you think that, by becoming a Buddhist, you’ll get closer to solving your koan?”

No, I didn’t think so.

“Hmm,” the master said and turned away. The interview was now really at an end and I left the room.

In the garden I looked for Han-san and found him loading cucumbers into a wheelbarrow.

“Are you a Buddhist?” I asked.

Han-san might be a simple country lad but he was quick on the uptake.

“I?” he asked innocently. “I study Zen Buddhism”; (literally translated he said “I do Zen Buddhism study”).

“Yes,” I said impatiently, “I know. But are you a Buddhist?”

“You know,” Han-san said, “that ‘I’ don’t exist. I change all the time. Every moment I am different. I exist in the way a cloud exists. A cloud is a Buddhist, too. You call me ‘Han-san’ and pretend that I was yesterday what I shall be today. But that’s your business. In reality there is no Han-san. And how can an unreal Han-san be a Buddhist?”

“Don’t be so intricate” I said. “All I ask you is whether or not you are a member of the Buddhist brotherhood.”

“Is a cloud a member of the sky?” Han-san asked.

I gave up. The ceremony was never mentioned again.