a€?Yes. I take along the equipment when I go walking, but I dona€™t mind if I dona€™t actual y paint any picture.a€?
a€?Ah, so ita€™s only half-serious, then?a€?
a€?Yes, you could say that. I hate submitting myself to al that fart counting, you see.a€?
Even a Zen practitioner such as the abbot is apparently at a loss to comprehend this expression. a €?What do you mean by a€?fart countinga€™?a€?
a€?If you live in Tokyo for a long time, you get your farts counted.a€?
a€?How so?a€?
I laugh. a€?It wouldna€™t be so bad if it was just counting, but then they go on to analyze your farts, and measure your ass-hole to see if ita€™s square or triangular, and so on.a€?
a€?Ah, youa€™re talking about hygiene, are you?a€?
a€?Not hygiene, no. Ia€™m talking about detectives.a€?
a€?Detectives? So ita€™s the police, is it? Now, whata€™s the purpose of policemen, eh? Do we real y have to have them?a€?
a€?No, artists certainly have no need of them.a€?
a€?Nor do I. Ia€™ve never had any cause to bother one.a€?
a€?Ia€™m sure not.a€?
a€?Stil , I dona€™t care if the police want to go counting farts. So what? They cana€™t do a thing to you, after al , unless youa€™ve done something wrong.a€?
a€?Ita€™s dreadful just to think something might be done to you on account of a simple fart, though.a€?
a€?When I was a young monk, you know, my superiors always told me people never get anywhere with their training unless they can throw themselves into it with the same abandon it would take to expose your guts on the street in the heart of Tokyo. You should do the same sort of rigorous training, you know. Then you wouldna€™t need to go traveling.a€?
a€?If I were a real painter, I could achieve that sort of state whenever I wanted.a€?
a€?Wel then, you should do so.a€?
a€?I cana€™t if people are counting my farts al the time.a€?
The abbot laughs. a€?Wel , there you are, you see. Now, that lass of Shiodaa€™s, where youa€™re staying, young Nami, after she came back from the marriage, al sorts of things used to plague her mind, til in the end she decided to come to me for some Buddhist instruction. And now look at her, shea€™s come a long way with it. These days shea€™s got a fine head on her shoulders.a€?
a€?Wel , wel , I did get the impression she was no ordinary woman.a€?
a€?No, shea€™s very sharp. A young monk studying under me by the name of Taian was led to a moment of great crisis in life on account of her, you know. Ita€™s proved to be an excel ent aid to enlightenment for him, I understand.a€?
The pine casts its shadow across the quiet garden. The distant sea glimmers faintly, with a shifting light that seems to answer and yet not answer the lights that fil the sky. The fishing boatsa€™ far lamps wink on and off.
a€?Look at the shadow of that pine.a€?
a€?Ita€™s beautiful, isna€™t it?a€?
a€?Is that al ?a€?
a€?Yes.a€?
a€?Ita€™s not simply beautiful. It cares not if the wind blows.a€?
I drink off the last of my tea, place the cup upside down on the tea tray, and rise to my feet.
a€?Wea€™l see you as far as the gate. Ryoooneeeen! The guest is leaving!a€?
When we step out of the priestsa€™ quarters, the pigeons are cooing.
a€?Therea€™s nothing more enchanting than pigeons, you know. I have only to clap, and they al come flying over. Here, Ia€™l show you.a€?
The moonlight has grown brighter stil . In the deep silence, the magnolia tree proffers its tangled branches of cloudy blossoms to the vault of the sky. Suddenly the abbot startles the very center of the clear spring night with a loud clap. The sound dies on the breeze, and not a single pigeon appears.
a€?Not coming, eh? Funny, I thought they would.a€?
Ryonen looks at me with a hint of a smile. The abbot appears to think pigeons can see in the dark. What a happy innocence.
At the gate we part. I turn to watch their two rounded shadows, one large and one smal , fol ow each other back down the stone path and disappear.
CHAPTER 12
I believe it was Oscar Wilde who remarked that Christa€™s approach to life was supremely artistic. I dona€™t know about Christ, but I certainly believe this statement could justly be applied to the abbot of Kankaiji. Not in the sense of tastes, or of being in accord with the timesa€”after al , this is a man who hangs in his alcove a Bodhidharma scrol painting so execrable it scarcely deserves the name of art, and boasts about how fine it is; a man who believes that there are doctorates for painters, and who thinks that pigeons can see in the dark. But I
