A bud unfurls in
The breeze, using its perfume
To entice the bee
I kept my head bowed as I tried—and failed—to concentrate on my kanji. I was unsurprised when Tengen spoke to me abruptly. I had expected to be scolded for my lack of attention, but his words were not what I had anticipated.
“What is this?”
I was startled by both his tone and his lack of formality. He was holding my book of haiku in his hand. I had dropped it in surprise when he entered. It must have fallen under the chabudai. I must have disturbed it when I reached for paper.
“It’s a book of haiku,” I said promptly, “by the poet Yosa Buson.”
“I can see that. But what are you doing with it?”
Tengen sounded bewildered. It was the first time I had ever seen him when he was less than in total command of himself, and I was intrigued. I considered my words carefully before I spoke.
“It was loaned to me by a friend. I’d hoped it might help me with my reading, but alas, I cannot make much sense of the haiku. Still, the illustrations are very beautiful and I enjoy looking at them.”
I was surprised how fluently I lied. I was raised to believe that telling the truth at all times was important, but it was clear that Tengen was deeply interested in the haiku. Apart from the odd occasions when he spoke about his pupils, it was the only time his coldness had cracked, and I decided that, just once, I would fib. If I could get him talking, who knew where it might lead?
“Your friend is quite fortunate to possess such a beautiful thing, as are you to have it in your possession. It is very old. I think it is possible that the master Yosa Buson created the woodcuts for the illustrations himself.”
He sounded very envious. I was astonished, and—quite ridiculously—jealous. How could a book, a thing of paper and ink that could not even speak, raise such passion in a man who was usually as calm as a frozen lake?
“It is lovely,” I agreed. Suddenly, I wondered if it was possible to turn Tengen’s passion to my advantage. “I only wish that I could read some of the haiku for myself. Could you…” I hesitated, as if I was aware of the intimacy of my request. “Could you perhaps read some of the haiku to me, Brother Tengen? If you could show me the kanji at the same time, I am certain it would help me greatly.”
I expected him to hesitate, probably tell me that such a thing was far in excess of my capabilities. I coughed to hide my astonishment when he nodded at once and moved to my side, close enough so I could see the open book in his hands. Hands that trembled.
Now it was I who felt uncomfortable. Tengen’s robe was thin. We were so close, I could feel his body heat through it. His sleeve brushed against my hand, and I felt a shock run through my flesh.
I sensed he had noticed nothing amiss and fought to keep my gaze from his face. Unlike me, all his attention was on the open page. I was concentrating so hard, his voice startled me.
“This one is particularly beautiful. It might benefit you if you also looked at the illustrations; they will give you a clue as to what the haiku is about. Also, you must remember that all traditional haiku speak of nature in some way.”
Gen had said that. Still, I nodded thoughtfully as though the knowledge was new to me and moved as if to ease the position of my leg. Tengen was close, too close for me to be able to concentrate on anything other than the smell of his body—incense mixed with clean flesh—and the sensation of feeling his breath on my neck. Even though I knew it was nonsense—the man was a monk; I was no more to him than an irritating pupil he was forced to instruct—I could not stop my pulse beating loudly in my ears and my face was flaring with heat.
Tengen appeared to notice nothing. He was stroking the page with a single finger, his lips moving as he read the haiku to himself silently. I wanted to snatch the book from him, reclaim his attention no matter what it took.
Hysteria rose in my throat and I swallowed laughter as I thought of the contrast between this man and the awful Yuto. How could I ever have contemplated being forced into marrying a man like Yuto, with his rolls of fat on his neck and his greedy eyes on my leg? His expression had puzzled me at the time. Now, I realized it was the excited look a small boy would wear when he was contemplating doing horrible things to an imprisoned insect. I shuddered and Tengen glanced at me with raised eyebrows.
“Something must have startled me,” I said lightly. “As if a bird had flown up beneath my feet.”
Tengen nodded absently and leaned forward so I could see the book better. I wondered if he would feel how rigid my body was.
“This haiku is particularly beautiful. You see how the illustration represents a field in blossom? What do you think the haiku might be about?”
Tengen spoke in his school master’s voice. At once, I was irritated. What, did he think me one of his young boys that he had to ask me such a simple question?
“Summer crops in bloom?” I spoke sarcastically, but he missed my tone entirely.
“Quite right. The haiku says,
“Field of mustard blooms.
In the east, the moon rises;
Sun sinks to the west.”
He spoke the words lovingly, running his finger across each kanji. Although it seemed to me that the haiku was no more than a statement of fact, I took a deep breath and nodded enthusiastically. At least I had learned something. I had tried to read this particular haiku myself, and I had puzzled over the kanji for mustard. Now, I spoke the words aloud to ensure that I understood the kanji perfectly.
“Yes, that’s correct. But you are reading the words as if they are from a ledger rather than as poetry. Do you not feel the essence of nature that the poet has captured here?”
“Of course,” I said enthusiastically. Even as I lied, a glimmer of what Tengen meant came to me. For a moment, I could see the field of yellow blossoms shimmering coldly in the cool light as they paused before closing their blossoms to the night air. Tengen leaned a little closer to turn a page and any sensation of coolness left me abruptly.
“This book itself is a thing of beauty,” he murmured.
His fingers caressed the leather binding as so many other fingers must have done down the many years. As I reached across to touch it myself, my fingers accidentally brushed against his wrist.
At once, Tengen started back. He stared fixedly at the book. I sensed that he wanted to jerk as far away from me as he could, and that only politeness was keeping him still. I was so elated, I cared nothing for his obvious discomfort.
“That was so very kind of you, Brother Tengen. I am certain it would help improve my skills if you would read some more of the haiku to me. I am afraid that this is the only book in the house, apart from Father’s accounting ledgers. Father does not have time to read for pleasure, and my brothers are not interested in books.”
Another lie. My brothers were very interested in a certain kind of book, but not one that contained words. When I was much younger, being bored one day, I had wandered into their apartment in search of something to amuse me. The maids had not yet cleared away the futons or tidied the apartment. My brother’s clothes were strewn about the tatami, and I sighed in annoyance at their untidiness. I was distracted when I found a book face down on Ichiro’s rumpled kakebuton.
I picked it up eagerly and it fell open in the middle. I glanced at it and my mouth fell open in shock. There were no kanji, just a single illustration that covered both pages. On one side, a man—a samurai judging by his hairstyle—was looming over a woman whose robe was thrown aside. He appeared to be trying to thrust something into her body that was growing out of his groin.
Suddenly, I was overwhelmed with embarrassment. Both my brothers were in Edo, but what if a maid came in and found me looking at this distasteful thing? I thew it down as if it had grown hot and fled from the room.
The recollection of the disgusting pillow book was so strong, I glanced instinctively down at Tengen’s lap. If his tree was as enormous as that of the samurai’s, it was well hidden. By the time he looked up, I had reminded myself that he was a monk, and as far above such worldly matters as a cloud is the earth. I was ashamed of myself.
“Perhaps we could read some more on another occasion.”
He would return, then. My pleasure was clouded by the fact that I felt quite silly. No doubt I had made something out of nothing.
“I would like that,” I said simply.
“If you continue to make good progress with remembering your kanji—” High praise indeed! “—we will read some more of the haiku together.”
I was certain that Tengen regretted saying “together” as soon as the word left his lips. For my part, I pretended not to notice and watched as he put the book down very carefully on the chabudai.
“Would you like to borrow it, Brother Tengen?”
I thought he would be pleased by the suggestion, but I had another motive entirely. If he had something that belonged to me, I knew he would come back, if only to return it.
His reaction surprised me. He glanced at the book, and then at me. His face showed the warring emotions in his thoughts. I saw longing flicker across his expression, followed by anger.
“I am a Buddhist monk, Mi-san,” he said finally. His voice was calm and entirely without passion. “I have no possessions other than the robes on my back, the waraji on my feet, a razor to shave my head, and needle and thread to mend my robes should they become torn. The monastery provides my food, so I have no need of even an alms bowl. It would be very wrong for me to take possession of your book, or anything else.”
He rose and bowed formally, obviously preparing to leave. I was abruptly determined that he would not walk away from me so easily and put my hands flat on the tatami on each side of my hips and pushed myself to my feet. I teetered for a moment, finding my balance, and bowed in return. For a terrible moment, I thought I was literally going to fall flat on my face. And so did Tengen. His hand shot out and cupped my elbow, steadying me.
His touch did not linger. He removed his hand so quickly, I was left wondering if I had imagined it.
“Thank you, Brother Tengen.” Was I thanking him for the lesson he had given me, or for his touch? “I did not understand that you could have nothing personal, even it was only loaned to you. I will look forward to exploring more of the haiku with you next time.”
He was looking around the room. Searching for my crutch, or to avoid looking directly at me? I solved the problem for him by nodding silently to the corner where my crutch was waiting for me. He moved with such lithe quickness to get it for me that I sighed out loud. A lifetime ago, I too had been able to move without worrying about each step.
I snatched my crutch from him with a grunt of thanks and stood slightly to one side, waiting for him to pass me. I was bitterly pleased that courtesy demanded the man must always go first—monk or not. It meant he would not see the ungainly lurch that was the only way I could walk, even with my crutch.
At the shoji, I bowed again and watched as he walked briskly out of our garden. Only then did I lean heavily on my crutch, gasping at the effort that the oh-so-short journey had taken me.
I clenched my robe in my hands, angry when the thick silk stopped me from tearing at the flesh of my withered leg. For the first time since I had awoken from my long sleep, I had no hope at all for the future. And with the contrariness of youth, I blamed Tengen for my unhappiness. I was sorry he had not gone for good.