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Relieved that the young man did not engage in chatter, Akitada stripped quickly, hanging his clothes on one of the hooks on the wall above the wooden benches, and walked naked into the bathing room. The attendant handed him a bucket filled with steaming water and a small cloth bag filled with rice bran. Akitada squatted near the drain and scrubbed himself down. The sudden warmth caused by the friction of the bran was pleasant. After sluicing off with the bucket of water, he climbed into the large wooden trough filled to the brim with almost unbearably hot water.
Gasping with the shock, he lowered himself gingerly to the submerged seat and let the water rise to his neck. Discomfort changed into a deep sense of well-being. With a sigh of relief, he relaxed, leaning his head back against the rim of the trough, and emptied his mind.
The attendant disappeared to the outside, and Akitada heard him stoking the firebox under the bath. He returned with considerately gentle movements and took his seat against the wall. The fire crackled softly, and the steam formed beads on Akitada’s face. It was too much trouble to brush them away. He closed his eyes and dozed off.
Male voices and laughter penetrated his slumber gradually but persistently until he returned to awareness of his surroundings. On the other side of the wall someone was pounding out a rhythm on a wooden surface. A man was chanting. The words were inaudible, but the sounds were pleasing. Akitada sighed and closed his eyes again. He allowed his mind to drift with the melody and thought of his flute. He wished he had brought it, but the urgency of his mother’s sickness had driven the matter from his mind. He wondered again how ill she was. His sister’s letter had sounded frantic. Serious illness usually meant death, and as a rule it came quickly. Perhaps he would be too late even for the funeral. He sighed again, the weight of his fears back on his shoulders.
Next door the music ceased abruptly. A great stomping ensued, accompanied by hoarse cries and shouts. Akitada turned his head to stare at the wall. Whoever had disrupted his peace, it was neither monks nor pilgrims.
Just then a woman’s shrill laughter made Akitada sit up in dismay Females in the monks’ bathhouse?
He cast a worried glance at the young attendant and saw that he was standing up, his eyes grown round with shock and his wet skin flushed all the way to his shaven head. What would he do if naked females invaded his celibate male space? Akitada was a
The attendant gathered his courage and went into the changing room, closing the door behind him. The noise stopped instantly, there was a brief exchange, then the young monk returned, looking agitated. “My apologies, sir. It’s the players. They must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. I told them that they were not permitted here, but they would not go away. I don’t think they will come in, but I shall run and fetch help.”
“Thank you.” Akitada closed his eyes again, wondering how long the players would linger. There was the matter of walking back out to get his clothes.
A door slammed behind the attendant. Then there were voices again, some sort of argument. A man kept saying, “Why?” A woman was pleading. Other male voices joined in. Akitada caught a few words. Her name appeared to be Ohisa and she had been dismissed. Ohisa sobbed, and someone shouted, “He can’t do that!” The voices grew louder and angrier. Akitada stood up and climbed out of the bath, his face thunderous.
Grabbing a towel from the rack, Akitada slung it around himself before flinging open the wooden door and glaring at the people in the undressing room.
He had a quick impression of startled eyes—four men and one woman, all fully dressed, the woman young and very pretty, the men of different ages—before they all gasped and rushed for the door in a panic, to disappear down the corridor. The scene was so fu
Akitada hung the wet towel on one of the drying racks and put his clothes back on, then made his way, still smiling, back to his room.
Someone had come in his absence to leave a tray table with food and drink and to unroll his bedding. The fare was vegetarian—rice cakes stewed with wild mushrooms, fried bean curd, pickled eggplant, cucumber, and green soybeans, along with a dish of toasted millet mixed with honey. Akitada sampled cautiously. It was delicious, and he reflected gratefully on generations of monks who had devoted their ingenuity to making palatable the grains and plants they were allowed to eat. He was sitting near the open door to the small garden, breathing in the moist mountain air and eating everything on his tray. When the bowls were empty, he drank thirstily the fruit drink in the small flask. It tasted peculiar but not unpleasant. Outside, the rain slowed until there was only a soothing, steady, soft drip-drip from the gutters.
His body pleasantly relaxed and sated, Akitada’s eyes became heavy, and he crept into the quilts and went to sleep.
He slept very deeply, but soon he was troubled by a horrible dream. In it he was naked and pursued by blue demons who had flames spurting from their fangs and reached for him with curved claws. In his rush to escape them, he passed hundreds of other naked men and women, also ru
The judge in gorgeous robes sat on a high throne. His large eyes flashed as he stroked his beard. Akitada fell to his knees and touched his head to the floor. But no one seemed to take notice of him. The guards, more blue demons, were dragging in an elderly woman, pale and aristocratic in her fine robes, her long white hair trailing behind her. To his horror, Akitada recognized his mother. Other demons stepped forward to lay charges against her, while she knelt in stoic silence. Akitada wanted to defend her, but his tongue was paralyzed. Slamming his baton on his knee with a loud thwack, the judge pronounced sentence, and the blue demons carried his mother away to hell. When Akitada raised his eyes to the judge to plead for mercy for her, he saw that he was looking at his own face.
He was the infernal judge, stroking his beard, hearing charges against poor si