Mistress Oriku. Matsutaro KawaguchiЧитать онлайн книгу.
Kannon sect.)
Although country-born in the old province of Kazusa, Oriku had been making the Asakusa pilgrimage ever since she first went there with the Silver Flower’s proprietor, after she was sold to the Yoshiwara and settled into Hashiba as his mistress. Over time Kannon had become the object of her personal prayers, and she visited the temple often. Whenever the press of business kept her away for too long she felt apologetic, and she would then hurry there as soon as she could. No neglect of hers ever made Kannon angry. Oriku always felt as though the deity greeted her with a smile. Although not especially devout, she never passed a shrine or temple without bowing toward it. Most such places are a bit gloomy, being set among thick groves or deep forests, and so solemn a mood pervades their grounds that you can hardly stand before them without straightening your collar, but that kind of formality is unknown at the Asakusa Kannon temple. The main hall stands alone and unadorned in its corner of the flat, parklike grounds. No forest stands behind it, nor does any other contrivance serve to enhance its dignity. It has a Niō Gate and a Five-Story Pagoda, but for the people of Asakusa these too are friends. No one scolds the children who amuse themselves by swinging from the enormous straw sandals—the ones belonging to the great Niō guardians—hung on either side of the gate. Behind the hall a famous ginkgo tree towers skyward, the only real tree to be seen. The broad, open space that contains the Enma, Jizō, and Nenbutsu halls attracts street performers of all kinds, while, behind it, a clamor of women’s voices from a row of tea stalls invites passersby in for a cup. Popular pleasures constitute the temple’s only ornaments. Far from being solemn, it is wide open to the sky and as unpretentious as it could possibly be.
Oriku liked that. The sight of naughty little boys sliding down the main hall’s stairway balustrades always gave her the sense that Kannon, who loves children, must be smiling at their antics. The hall, one hundred eight feet square, has on each side a flight of steps that you are welcome to climb without taking off your shoes, and no one objects either if you run all the way around the hall on the veranda that surrounds it. Inside, it is light and airy, and pilgrims feel almost as if they were off on a picnic. Many come as much for pleasure as for prayer. A few more serious adherents may have made the traditional vow not to leave the temple grounds before coming to pray before Kannon a hundred times in a row, but most are simply people dressed in their finery, and, of these many—for such is the character of Asakusa itself—are from the entertainment world. All the visitors to the temple together make a very colorful picture, and so do the rows of votive lanterns, each inscribed with an evocative name, that hang from the ceiling of the hall.
The inhabitants of the Yoshiwara were all, without exception, Kannon devotees. When an employee there returned a little late from an errand, saying that he had gone to pray to Kannon before starting back was enough to avert a scolding.
“I’ll go by the temple on my way home, if I’m done before dark.” That was what Oriku always said when she went out. Every route she might take back to Mukōjima led through the Kaminari Gate. This remained true whether she crossed Azuma Bridge by rickshaw, walked through Shōtenchō and took the ferry from Imado Bridge, or boarded the steamboat from Azuma Bridge to Kototoi. As a result she was in a position to visit the temple as often as she liked. And yet her visits were surprisingly infrequent.
“I can’t believe it! I haven’t been for three months!” Whenever a thought like this struck her she would rush off, sometimes arriving after sunset, when they closed the great doors of the main hall. Packed though it always was as long as the doors remained open, the hall grew quiet once they were shut and twilight had set in. The women who sell pigeon food packed up their things and left, the daytime noise and bustle abruptly ceased, and dusk came on. The building itself was lacquered in brilliant red-orange, but the doors were black, and the area before the hall grew suddenly dark once they were closed.
“Oh no, I’m too late! The doors are shut!” Oriku more than once clicked her tongue in disappointment as she came through the Niō Gate, but, closed or not, she did not turn back. Instead she ran up the steps and saluted Kannon anyway. Even after sundown people went on tossing ringing coins into the great big offering box. Oriku had nothing in particular to ask for, so she just prayed in a general way for the soul of the Silver Flower’s late proprietor, the success of her Shigure Teahouse, and the prosperity of the Silver Flower. Her usual offering was a five-sen coin. In those days most people offered just five rin. Few tossed in a silvery coin like that, but Oriku was one of them.
That night—not late, but around seven, just after sunset—Oriku was on her way home from the Ichimura Theater. It was late March, and the cherry buds had just begun to open. The area was dark enough to make her nervous, thieves not being unknown in the vicinity, and she was therefore making sure her wooden geta clattered loudly on the stone pavement. Beggars lay on the foundation stones under the main hall, and youths sat hunched up, their arms around their knees, beside the great offering box. They pretended to be asleep, but really they were waiting for a coin to bounce off the bars across the top of the box and fall to the ground.
“Mistress Oriku!” Oriku was about to leave again, after praying a moment to Kannon, when a young man’s voice hailed her from the far side of the offering box. “Can’t you spare some change?” She could only see his outline.
“Who are you?” Oriku asked, glancing back. She had just started down the steps.
“I know it’s you, Mistress Oriku. I saw you throw in that shiner.”
He had not missed it. Copper coins were called “clinkers,” and silvery nickel-copper coins worth five sen and up were “shiners.” He would hardly come running after her once she reached the bottom of the steps, what with all the other pilgrims to distract him, and if she said nothing to him now, that would be that. However, it worried her that this street urchin knew her name.
“How do you know who I am?” She peered at him in the dim light, but he stuck close to the offering box and refused to show his face.
“How do you know my name?” she repeated. “Just tell me, and you’ll have an offering too.”
“We all know you, Mistress Oriku.”
“Now, now, don’t try to put me off! It makes no sense, your recognizing me this way.”
She took out two silver ten-sen coins.
“Well, anyway, you do, so you’ve got me.” She placed the coins on the edge of the offering box.
The boy stretched out both hands toward them, but apparently he could not actually reach that far, because when he bent forward he lost his balance and began to fall.
“Goodness, look out!” Oriku said, rushing to him to catch him as he fell. “What’s the matter?” she asked, helping him up. His whole body was shaking. “There’s something the matter with you, isn’t there?”
He looked as though he would fall over again, right there on the steps, if she let go.
“Hold on, now!” She carried him down one or two steps.
“Is anyone out there?” she called. “Could you help me, please? This boy is sick!”
Shadowy forms came running up the steps toward her—apparently other street urchins like him, from underneath the hall.
“Sorry!” With this apology, one of them put his arms around the boy to get him to his feet.
“Now look at you! We told you, didn’t we?”
“We told you you shouldn’t come tonight, but you just wouldn’t listen!”
They were going to half-carry him away. His eyes were closed. Oriku had a feeling she had seen that innocent, grubby face before.
“Wait a minute! Isn’t he Bandō’s son?” She came down the steps after them. “I’m sure you’re Bandō’s son, aren’t you.”
“Yes, I’m Shūsaku.” The boy opened his eyes and answered her himself. Apparently these ragamuffins did not know one another’s first names.
“Look, I’m sorry, but I know him, so I want you to leave him to me.”