The man smiled sadly at Ryūnosuke, slowly shook his head again and said, ‘Never listens, so never learns. I don’t know why I bother, I really don’t know why …’
But in the twilight, now on the path, Padre Organtino was before them now, his cross in the face of Ryūnosuke now, as the priest thundered, ‘BUT THE MOUTH OF THEM THAT SPEAK LIES SHALL BE STOPPED!’
And then the cross was gone, and now the path was gone, and only the twilight remained, but now the twilight of the Garden of Boulders of the Shunkōin Temple, Ryūnosuke sitting on the polished dark steps of the veranda, Ryūnosuke sitting beside the Western man –
Looking out over the garden, the man made a spyglass of his hands, then the man raised the glass to his eye and said, ‘Farewell to Nanbanji – for the wind passeth over it, and it is gone; and the place thereof shall know it no more – goodbye to Organtino; the good Padre prefers to stroll along the shore, under a broad umbrella carried by a negro boy, plotting and talking with the captains and the traders, waiting for the Black Ships and their cannons, the Silver Birds and their bombs, waiting to have his revenge, the revenge of the big-nosed, red-haired Southern Barbarians, making burnt-out prairies of this land, leaving nothing, nothing but shadows, shadows on the stones …’
‘Who are you,’ asked Ryūnosuke.
‘I am Nemo,’ said the man, with a wink. ‘That’s Latin, you know …’
‘For “no man”,’ said Ryūnosuke. ‘I know.’
‘Yes,’ said the man, with a smile, ‘you know many things, you’ve read many things. But have you read this story, I wonder, do you know this tale, one last little story for you, a Zen tale, seeing as we are sitting in this temple here, the story of Nanquan Puyuan and the cat? Once, Nanquan – or Nansen Fūgan, if you prefer – saw the monks of the eastern and western halls arguing over a cat – Does the cat have the nature of the Buddha or not? In the future, will the cat become a Buddha? – endlessly fighting over this cat. And so Nansen seized the cat by the scruff of its neck, held it up before the squabbling monks and said, If any one of you can say one true word about this cat, then you can save the cat. Of course, none of the monks could say a thing, and so Nansen cut the cat in two and threw it at their feet. Later that evening, Jōshū returns to the temple, and Nansen tells him what happened. Jōshū listens, then takes off his sandals, puts them on his head, and walks away, as Nansen says, If you’d been there, you could have saved the cat.’
‘I know the story,’ said Ryūnosuke.
‘Of course,’ said the man, with a smile again. ‘But now I think it’s time you, too, walked away, for you really should be going. Your friend has just finished his classes for the day, and will soon be awaiting you in Kane-yo. You have a long journey in a short time, and so don’t be late again …’
‘But …’ Ryūnosuke started to say. ‘How …’
‘Fear not,’ said the man, ‘for we will meet again, Ryūnosuke. As I said, you will always find me in the garden …’
Ryūnosuke turned away from the Garden of Boulders, stood up, then looked down at the Western man and said, ‘I pray not.’
‘Pray all you want,’ laughed the man, ‘but always remember, Ryūnosuke: desine fata deum flecti sperare precando …’
*
The fool hath said in his heart, There is no God. They are corrupt, they have done abominable works, there is none that doeth good.
The LORD looked down from heaven upon the children of men, to see if there were any that did understand, and seek God.
They are all gone aside, they are all together become filthy: there is none that doeth good, no, not one.
Have all the workers of iniquity no knowledge? who eat up my people as they eat bread, and call not upon the LORD.
There were they in great fear: for God is in the generation of the righteous.
Ye have shamed the counsel of the poor, because the LORD is his refuge.
Oh that the salvation of Israel were come out of Zion! when the LORD bringeth back the captivity of his people, Jacob shall rejoice, and Israel shall be glad.
*
It had rained and rained since Ryūnosuke arrived in Nagasaki, so he had stayed in his room at the Hana-ya Ryokan in Gotōmachi, trying to write, but failing to write, trying then to read, but failing even to read; as the rain fell, the stench of the toilets rose and filled the second floor of the ryokan, engulfing his room in a greasy, stinking cloud of urine and excrement. Now he regretted not staying someplace more refined, somewhere such as the Midori-ya or Ueno-ya. But then, on the third day, the clouds rolled away and the sun shone again, Ryūnosuke released again, at last …
There were merchants out selling biwa fruit on the streets, a taste of summer on its way, azalea blooming red in gardens glimpsed, a scent of summer already here, even Nagasaki fighting kites practising their battles across the warm, blue skies as Ryūnosuke wandered through the streets of Manzai-machi, meandering across Tokiwa Bridge, over the Nakashima River, making his way to Sōfukuji Temple again, through the Ryūgumon Gate, the gate of the Dragon Palace, and into the grounds of the temple, this temple he loved most, loved most of all the temples in Nagasaki, with its elegant, faded vermilion walls and upturned roofs in the Chinese style.
Here in the courtyard of the Sōfukuji Temple, high above the city, Ryūnosuke sat to rest a while, the bashō plants full, but the place deserted; Ryūnosuke was grateful for the tranquillity, savouring the calm and the silence, yet feeling mournful and somehow sad such a beautiful, tasteful
