There, Kokushi could find food and lodging. The monk refused to let Kokushi stay with him, but said there was a village on the other side of the hill. He wore the orange robe of a Buddhist monk, but it was faded and worn. "An old man opened the door when Kokushi knocked. He came upon a little hut, like the ones hermits sometimes live in to meditate on the Buddhist teachings. It was getting dark, and he had lost his way. "Long ago, a Buddhist priest named Kokushi was traveling alone through the mountains. It was darker here, and the girl's face disappeared in the shadows. They sat down where the overhanging roof gave shelter. He would gladly have stood there all night to listen to this girl. "Let us go under the roof, so that the rain won't fall on us." "I will see if I can frighten you," she teased. "Do you? I know one that Basho told to my grandmother when she was a child. "Some are very scary, with goblins and ghosts." "I think they are exciting," Michiko said. "I have never seen a kabuki play," Seikei said. I used some of the gold the daimyo gave me to buy herbal tea for his stomach." "I wanted to see it, but my father has been feeling ill all day. "Some traveling kabuki are giving a play at the monastery," Michiko said. The sound of laughter came across the water from the other side.
And if you do, who can stop you from writing poetry?" Isn't it Basho's spirit that we admire in his poetry? Though you are a merchant's son, you can still develop a noble spirit-brave, honest, and faithful to your family. "It is true that Basho was a samurai," Michiko said. "I only reminded myself that my family needed to sell the paper." "You thought I was courageous?" She shrugged. Seikei was surprised by the girl's boldness. "So you know," Michiko said, "that although he is a samurai, he does not have a noble spirit." "Did you hear the poem that the daimyo wrote?" Only a samurai, and I can never be a samurai." "My father says it is not something a merchant should do. "But you do not have to be a samurai for that," she said. Without thinking, he blurted out his secret wish: "I would so much like to be a samurai like Basho, and devote my life to poetry."
He realized that she was not mocking him. "That was the same poem I was thinking of before you appeared." Seikei took a deep breath, and began to recite:įrom looking at the moon. Then his eyes fell upon the pond, and he remembered one of Basho's poems. He looked away from her, feeling ashamed. Because he was a merchant's son, and merchants care for nothing except money. Michiko put her hand over her mouth to hide her smile. "I ask," he said, "only because I greatly admire Basho's poetry." She smiled, and he realized that it was rude to question her honesty. "Is it true that your family knew the poet Basho?" I was there for the same reason you were. "Was your master pleased with the paper?" she asked. The girl seemed even more beautiful than she had before. "I mean, I didn't expect to find someone here." He jumped at the sound of a footstep just behind him. I was afraid, he admitted to himself, just to be in his presence. He felt feverish from his experience in the daimyo's quarters. He didn't mind the rain falling on his head. The rain clouds had covered the moon and only a soft glow fell onto the water. He walked to the railing that overlooked a small pond. Though the stone floor was covered with mats, it felt cool through his cotton tabi, or socks. When he reached the terrace, he found that rain had started to fall softly. Seikei left, promising that he would not stay long. The streets of this town are dangerous at night." "Could I go there to look at the view until I feel tired?"įather shrugged. "There is a terrace at the back of the inn," said Seikei. "We have another long day of travel tomorrow," Father said. At least he paid you, and we didn't give him our best tea. "What can you expect?" he said, shrugging. Father was not as disappointed as Seikei thought he would be.