Most of the parishioners who lived in the Niizu-cho Section were farmers, many of them quite well-to-do and therefore important to Butsuoji. Every autumn, in the slack time after the harvest, group services were held in their houses. There were more than thirty families altogether, and the series of services, repeated in each home, took up two whole days from early in the morning till late at night. With the weeding of the rice-fields completed, the farmers could afford a brief rest.

One member of each of the thirty families would come to each service. For Soshu, though most of the time he had only to read the scriptures, these two days were particularly exhausting, because he was repeating the identical service again and again--this being one of the occasions when Shoju [the “old priest” and brother of the late head priest] could not take his place. In the morning he would read the Amida Sutra, then the Shoshinge, and in the afternoon and evening, the Monruige. The last two he would intone slowly, so that the farmers sitting in rows behind him could join in. The final hymns, especially the Jodo-wasan, the Koso, and the Shozomatsu, had to be repeated very slowly in perfect unison; it was explicitly forbidden to hurry over them. Year after year for generations the farmers of Niizu-cho had held these services, on the same two days each autumn.

The houses whose turn it was for the midday and evening services would provide the priest with lunch and supper, the order being changed every year. In the evening, after Soshu had read the last service for the day and given a short sermon, he and the farmers would all sit down to a meal together, which the wives had spent all day in the kitchen preparing.

The first day of services for this year had just finished. Soshu took off his stole. He was sitting with his back to the house shrine, his shoulders bent with weariness. After the long day, even to speak was an effort. He could not let himself appear aloof or unsociable, however. No matter what the occasion, he must always hide his feelings from these people, on whom his livelihood depended. The thick damask cushion on which he was sitting made it look as if he was a specially honored guest--but it was not because of any real authority or influence that they had given it to him, he thought, silently watching the rows of faces.

Rice-wine was brought from the kitchen. The annual services gave the farmers a good excuse to enjoy their sake, and they made the most of it, drinking out of tea-bowls instead of the usual tiny sake-cups. Savoring the wine in his tired throat, Soshu watched their hands, knotty, hardened to the soil, the skin leathery like the soles of their feet. The meal their wives cooked was the same every year.

At first they hesitated to speak to him directly, but tongues loosened as the began to take effect.

`What about those people in Kiyota-cho that just joined Butsuoji, Father?’

'Mrs Komiyama, do you mean?' said Soshu, putting his half-emptied sake-cup on the table. [The woman in question was Komiyama Tomoko, a widow.]

`That's it—Mrs. Komiyama . . .'

With a sudden surge of feeling, Soshu remembered Tomoko's face.

`I've done the collecting there since way back. Didn't realize for a long while new people had moved in, though.'

For generations the farmers of Niizu-cho had collected the night-soil from Kiyota-cho. In the absence of any sewerage system, this was the only way the town houses could dispose of it. The younger men disliked going to Kiyota-cho for this purpose. It was the geisha quarter of Tan'ami, and to some of the houses and their girls the young farmers themselves were regular visitors. Dragging the long bucket-filled carts behind them, they would make their "collecting" rounds of the restaurants and tea-houses very early in the morning, their heads wrapped in towels, because they didn't want their faces to be seen. Among the night-soil they ladled into the buckets was their own; and they hated the girls to see them doing such work. Gradually Kiyota-cho came to be left to the older men.

`Komiyama--what sort of a family is there? Seems to be all women.'

`She never had any connection with Tan'ami before, I think; but she joined our temple as soon as she moved here.'

He could not speak of her connection with Yamaji Mosuke [a company president]. It was best to keep quiet even about the fact that he had introduced her to Butsuoji, unless he himself chose to let it be known. Nor was Soshu certain that Yamaji was keeping her, though in fact, of course, his suspicions were perfectly` correct. And Yamaji's brother, an elder, was sitting with them now. Tanned a dark, earthy red from one year's end to the next, he was utterly unlike the corpulent Mosuke; and it was common knowledge that the relations between them were less than brotherly.

`Must be some money somewhere, if she can stay at home all day and still afford to keep a maid…’

The speaker had evidently made up his mind about how Mrs. Komiyama supported herself. It went without saying that any woman who lived in Kiyota-cho must either be connected with the geisha-houses or else be someone's mistress--such was the neighborhood's reputation. There was even an alley known as `Concubine Street'.

Soshu's tasted bitter now. It was painful to hear Tomoko discussed in such a gathering.

`That's Mrs. Komiyama you're talking about? She's pretty enough, isn't she?' said somebody else, who had been carrying on another conversation up till then. He was one of the elders, who were always the first to get to know any new members, since they went round calling on all the parishioners whenever a special service was to be held at Butsuoji.

`What does she do?'

`Nothing…'

`How much does she give to the temple?'

`A lot--you'd be surprised how much. She's one of the exceptions--most people in town don't take much interest in the temple nowadays. Salvation really means something to her.'

Soshu tried to appear unconcerned; but he could not help putting himself in her place and imagining what she would feel if she heard them speaking of her. His cheeks stiffened.

`She's got one child.'

`Has she now? I didn't see any children.'

`Somebody's taking care of her all right. Doing nothing like that all day, and living in that style…’

`Must be, I suppose.’

Soshu's uneasiness grew. He closed his eyes, trying to breathe more steadily.

It was the custom at these meetings for the parishioners to unburden themselves of whatever had been on their minds during the preceding months. Coming together like this gave them confidence; alone, deprived of the support of the group, these good people were too diffident to speak even of their hopes. Soshu felt like a prisoner in court. How utterly dependent Butsuoji was on its parishioners, he thought. Sitting in the seat of privilege, on the thick silk cushion, only intensified his wretchedness.

`Something must be done about Butsuoji, anyway--and the sooner the better ... isn't that so, Father?' said one of them, the remark setting off a general conversation on the subject. Soshu could evade their questions no longer. He had been expecting something of the kind--the thought had made the silk cushion a bed of thorns--and now it had happened. Every eye was fixed on him.

In the dock . . . his conduct dragged from obscurity to come before its judges. They could know nothing of his repentance, of his struggle to end his sin. For them the mere fact that he and Mineyo were living together in the temple house was enough; they had no idea of any conflict between them, and even if Sosbu were to tell them, they would only take it as an attempt at self-justification. Soshu bent his head, as if in silent admission of his guilt. He was pale still, in spite of the sake he had drunk.

`Whenever we go to Butsuoji, the old lady's so stuck-up, it doesn't feel like our temple any longer.'

`She'll hardly even speak to any of us, come to that.'

`And no one ever thinks of the old priest. He belongs to Butsuoji, after all, she ought to treat him better. He's so good-natured, he never complains, however hard she works him.'

`How old is she, anyway?'

`A year younger than our Granny at home--that'd make her fifty-three.'

`Fifty-three? I'd've said forty-three, more like!'

Appreciative laughter greeted the sarcasm. Soshu could not raise his eyes.

The scent she leaves behind her--the place reeks of it! As if she were a girl in her teens. It wouldn't be so bad if there really was a young woman in the house…"

The women laughed again.

`She doesn't like us because we stink of honey-buckets, that's what it is. After all, Father--' one of them was determined to force Soshu to look them in the face--'the lady who looks after the temple house must be somebody who's accepted by the rest of us, mustn't she? You'd soon know the difference by the way the contributions'd go up. We don't want a lady who thinks of nothing but clothes, but someone who'll have a smile and a welcome for us when we go to the temple. If she's not friendly…"

Soshu could only nod.

`And then it's awkward for us if you're always going to be single, Father--'

`That's true, sure enough! And it must be difficult for you too, Father, in all sorts of ways.'

There were murmurs of agreement from the whole company.

`Then there's that poor little Ryokun [son of Priest Soshu and wife, Renko].'

`Don't forget about Shoju when you marry again, Father! It's only him and Ryokun that have the old Butsuoji blood in their veins now. All of us here should think more about him and his position.'

`We'll have to ask the new lady to see he's treated properly.'

`We all know what we think--but what about Father Soshu himself? Isn't the first thing to find out whether he's willing to marry again or not?’

'How about it, Father? Everybody is hoping you'll marry again, and the sooner the better.'

Soshu had no special idea of remarrying, nor had he made up his mind to live the rest of his life alone. Before that question could be decided, he had first to solve a greater problem. There was cruel suffering to be borne and inflicted before he could think of letting them arrange a second marriage.

'It wasn't any one individual who arranged your coming to But-suoji, Father--all of us had a hand in it; and we're still in duty bound to be of any service we can.'

Soshu felt his eyelids burn. They loved him--which made him suffer the more. They knew Renko had been driven out of Butsuoji, but hated only Mineyo [her mother; his mother-in-law and lover]for it, not himself. They knew he was a good man, as well as a pitifully weak one--a butterfly trapped in a spider's web, and beating its wings in vain. Most of those who sympathized with him were farmers; the townspeople were less well disposed, or perhaps it would be fairer to say they took a more objective view of what went on at the temple. Both partners in an affair of that kind seemed to them equally responsible, so they criticized Soshu no less than Mineyo. But all the parishioners alike had their misgivings about Soshu's continuing indefinitely to live with Mineyo. It seemed so strange, knowing him. Was he so completely under her spell that his will was literally paralyzed--as a frog is paralyzed by the snake's stare before it strikes?

`As far as marrying again is concerned, won't you leave everything to us to arrange, Father?'

Soshu started. He looked at the speaker, swallowing to hide his feelings.

`We shouldn't do anything that would distress you.'

Even if he was to marry, it would be the parishioners who would be taking care of all the arrangements--in any case, the temple family was in no position to undertake anything of that sort by itself. Soshu could guess what lay behind that "leave everything to us': Mineyo was to be dealt with before a marriage could take place. Perhaps they would insist on her going to live elsewhere. It would be impossible for her to defy any such decision, since she was so entirely dependent on them for her livelihood. But if she was forced to leave Butsuoji, it was hardly likely she would go quietly, and when the parishioners said they were still bound to `be of any service they could' to Soshu, they no doubt meant they were prepared for whatever trouble she might stir up before she finally went.

It would be easy to leave it all to them. They would cut away the hidden abscess of lust that had poisoned Butsuoji for twenty years, while he himself had only to watch. She would weep, she would scream; never, even in dreams, could she have foreseen anything like this--that she herself should be driven from Butsuoji, as she had driven her own daughter. Perhaps she might set fire to the house in a fit of passion ... they would drag her screaming away, while he stood by and watched. The poison gone, he would marry again; exchange vows with some woman he did not know, and spend the rest of his life with her. Leave it to the parishioners--that was the surest way, besides being what they themselves most wanted. They were so anxious for a new lady who would quickly get used to temple life, and who would care for Ryokun and be kind to Shoju. They would be satisfied if he went on visiting them as usual, as if nothing special had happened. The final passing of the cloud that hung over the temple would mean as much to them as a happy ending to any crisis of their own. Mineyo's pleading sounded in Soshu's ears, only to be stifled by the pitiless hands of these good men and women--in the name of devotion to their temple. For they would have no difficulty in justifying to themselves another expulsion from the temple household, in giving it a suitably religious explanation, as a vindication of moral justice on Mineyo for her sin. They would not hear her cries; that was reserved for Soshu alone. He could not stop his ears--or even if they stopped them for him, waking or sleeping his spirit would still be listening to her agony.

--But why should I alone be privileged, immune?--

Soshu was walking home, his stole and sutra-books in the little basket he carried for the purpose. There were few street-lamps in Niizu-cho, but the winding road shone white under a brilliant moon. Houses crouched dark on either side.

The frogs croaked incessantly. Niizu-cho was on the outskirts of Tan'ami; paddy-fields bordered it to the east and south. Avoiding the main street, where the trucks were still running. Soshu kept to the narrow lanes he knew so well. They were deserted, and the houses all asleep. Only the clop of his clogs on the moonlit road disturbed its stillness.

He was grateful to the parishioners for the goodwill they showed him. Yet his very popularity was a kind of reaction from the dislike which Mineyo inspired, and therefore undeserved. Soshu felt guilty towards her still.

--How can I stand idly by if she is forced to leave Butsuoji--when the fault is as much mine as hers?--

But then there was Ryokun.. . . Soshu realised that he himself deserved to be punished if anyone did; but still he could not bring himself to accept the agony such punishment would entail. To leave everything to the parishioners would be to put all the blame on to Mineyo, and that he could not endure either. Invariably weak and hesitant in his dealings with others, in assessing his own conduct Soshu was inflexible to the point of tormenting himself, so that the conflict within him was continual; yet all his struggles with his conscience could not justify the record of twenty years, because even the bitterest remorse belonged to a different world from that of actual conduct, and one could not cancel the other out. The passion of twenty years was still a reality. It could not be obliterated, as one strikes out a phrase in a manuscript; he would carry it with him to the grave--and even when he was dead, it would still remain in the memories of those who survived him. What he and Mineyo had done would outlive both of them, to haunt Ryokun. An obsession would grow upon the boy, that lust had fouled the blood of the Getsudos ... and whose was the sin but his? Soshu walked with bent head.

Someone was approaching from the opposite direction, evidently wearing straw sandals, for the footsteps were noiseless. 'Konban-wa!' [Good Evening] The figure spoke in greeting as they passed. Looking up in surprise, Soshu returned the salutation. It was the wife of one of his parishioners. The sandals were thick, home-made.

He entered Butsuoji by the back gate, which had been left un-fastened, and locked it after him. Out of the silence of the compound rose the temple, black against the moonlit sky. As he passed the main hall he stopped and stood for some minutes with his hands joined in prayer, yet without any very clear idea of what he was praying about or for. The Buddha saw through all he did, had watched him in every action of those twenty years. Without reproaching, without hating, without despising, steadfastly the Holy One had gazed upon him. There were eyes from which nothing could be hid, that could read every secret of the heart, before which every aspect of Soshu's life was laid bare. His priest's robes gave him an outward dignity; but how much of the disciple was there about the man who wore them? He was tainted, unclean. . . And in his struggle to rise above the lust to which he had played the slave for so long, still the Buddha was watching him, intently ...

He opened the door of the house, and at once heard feet hurrying towards him, as if she had been waiting for the moment.

'O-kaeri nasai! [Welcome back] You must be tired, it's so late.' Mineyo took from him the little cane basket, which he used on daytime visits in preference to a cloth wrapper, because it did not make the hand sweat.

`You can take your bath right away. The water's just right--I tried it a moment ago.'

Mineyo helped him off with his robe, and he entered the bath, his body surrendering suddenly to the sense of well-being the contact with the steaming water gave. He realized how tired he was.

`Is it hot enough, Father?'

It was O-Sugi, [maid to Getsudo family] waiting outside the fuel-hole.

`Put another bundle in, would you?'

Although there were no chinks in the wooden wall, a strong smell of rape-seed husks permeated the bathroom as soon as O-Sugi began to push them through the narrow hole into the fire. They crackled and caught fire immediately, burning up in a few seconds, so that she was kept busy refilling the furnace.

Someone entered the changing-room. Soshu stiffened. A moment later the footsteps withdrew. Mineyo had brought him fresh under-clothes to put on after the bath.

She had opened the sliding windows and shutters along the verandah, and brought a cushion for him. Fresh from the bath, he sat down. Even in the hottest weather, he would never take off his robe, or sit cross-legged as other people do when they relax; and he had corns from always sitting upright--the skin on the instep of each foot had grown dark and as hard as the sole.

Mineyo sat by his side fanning him.

`It'll soon be time for the Honzan elections. Are you going to refuse to stand again?' She was speaking of the elections for the Council of the central temple of their sect. The organization of this temple, Senshuji, resembles that of the Government and Diet. The rules are strict. Besides the Council, there are the Executive Board, the Administration Office, the Committee on Doctrine, and the General and Delegate Assemblies of Laymen, each having its part in the enactment, administration, and enforcement of the general regulations of the sect, and together forming a miniature state. Soshu had the right to vote in elections for the council, as does any priest over twenty who has lived for at least six months in a designated temple, branch temple or preaching-house, an electoral register being compiled shortly before each election takes place. Any priest of over twenty-five who has spent a year or more in a designated temple is eligible for nomination--with the exception of 'persons physically or mentally incapable, bankrupts, persons under-going terms of imprisonment, under probation or having been under probation within a period of one year prior to the election, and persons in arrear with contributions to the central temple'; such people also being deprived of the right to vote. Members of the Council are elected from small electoral districts, of which Tan'ami and the branch temples surrounding it form one, contributing two representatives. Elections are conducted in the usual way: a candidate is required to submit his candidature and a deposit of five thousand yen to the General Affairs Office of the sect during the period beginning with the official announcement of the election and ending fifteen days before the election itself. There are `election campaigns,’ and a rule limiting each candidate to one `campaign manager'. Voting and the counting of votes are governed by regulations similar to those obtaining in political elections, with a right of appeal and penalties for misuse of the ballot. The candidates in any constituency can only be officially elected if together they poll more than one-fifth of the total valid votes. Service on the Council is for a three-year term.

Soshu had no desire to be a candidate.

`The last two elections everybody wanted you to stand, but you wouldn't accept. Are you going to refuse again?'

`That sort of thing doesn't appeal to me.’

'Some priests are so anxious to get on the Council, they run their own campaign.'

Mineyo's make-up was lighter than usual, but still a faint fragrance hung in the air. She sat at ease in a gaily-colored bathrobe.

`Some of the parishioners wish you would be more active in that sort of way--for the honour of Butsuoji.'

'I'm not the right person.’

'You haven't the slightest ambition, have you?' Mineyo smiled. `Refusing to stand when there isn't even any need for a campaign--they'd elect you without your saying a word.'

There were among the parishioners some who were anxious for Butsuoji to be given a higher rank. The color of the priest's robes varies according to the rank of his temple, which also determines where he sits when the priests meet in general assembly; and a natural warmth of feeling for their own priest made the congregation of Butsuoji eager for Soshu to occupy as high a position as possible. When the memorial services for St. Shinran were held at Butsuoji, the seating of the priests coming from other Takada temples of the same sect was also determined by the status of their temples, in order to emphasize the dignity and solemnity of the occasion--though in this case, of course, the priest of Butsuoji would take the seat of honor, irrespective of status. Priests are classified into nine ranks; all wear robes of coarse silk, but colored according to rank--lilac for the first three ranks, dark brown for the fourth and fifth, a lighter brown for the sixth and seventh, and pale green for the last two. For all these robes the parishioners pay. In effect, the rank itself depends on how much money the parishioners contribute to the central temple, for even Senshuji has not been able to escape the evils of large-scale organized Buddhism--in fact, it is the possession of such a huge temple that has compelled the Takada branch of the Pure Land Sect to have so many rules and to standardize even the colors of priestly robes in different classes. St. Shinran, the founder [13th century], wore only the simplest black. Nor did he ever seek the refuge of a temple. Even when he was over ninety, he still had no real home. Yet his teachings spread throughout the eastern provinces, taking deep root among the people; they had nothing to do with temples, large or small. To the end of his life he strove consistently to avoid dependence on outward forms.

Soshu turned his face away; she kept looking at him. A breath of wind drifted into the house. Gradually, with the feelings she could not control, Mineyo's breathing grew less even. Sensing the change in her, Soshu's whole body turned rigid.

Niwa, Fumio. Chap 18, The Buddha Tree. Trans. Kenneth Strong. Rutland, VT: Charles Tuttle Company, 1966; 162-171.