Chapter 6 Pilgrimage Day 17

Diary of the White Bush Clover

Day 17 (22 October) Sagara to Shizuoka

Last night I slept on a cold futon and did not sleep much. I got up at 4:30. It was still dark outside. I waited until dawn and started to walk at 6:30. I had already paid for my room so I went out without saying anything. I walked, stretching my arms above my head and breathing deeply. Today was Sunday so there were many fishermen on the shore. With so many fishing lines the fish must have been confused. I crossed over Ōi-gawa. This bridge was also long but there was no fee. The bridge shook from the passing of many cars, bouncing me up and down. In ancient times people said, “You could cross Hakone-yama by horse but you could not cross Ōi-gawa because there was too much water.” Nowadays there was not much water and I felt sad.

I stopped for a rest in the town of Katahama, where I saw a demolished car. It was so damaged I thought maybe people had died in an accident. I prayed in front of the car. Human life is transient, I thought. I am fine right now but any moment I could die. The more people use cars for convenience, the more dangerous life will become. We must live each moment with great care.

An old man, about eighty years old, came toward me. I asked him whether someone had died in this car accident. He said, “There have been four or five accidents in this place so we put up a Jizō for the people who died but still another accident happened.” He sat down on an empty wooden box on the shore and offered me a seat. He asked about my trip.

I told him, “I am walking for the people who died in the war. Today is the seventeenth day.”

The old man listened with his head bowed. When he looked up at me, his sunburned and deeply creased face was covered with tears. Suddenly I realized he had lost someone in the war. A moment later he said, “I can see Izu peninsula on the sea, Fuji-san to the east. I have enjoyed my long life in tranquility.” Then he told me, “My name is Morita Taido. I am a twenty-eighth-generation descendent of an assistant to the daimyō of Shizuoka-ken. I was a Tōkyō palace guard. My ancestors were great but I did not have good fortune. In the war my brother died in Taiwan and my son died in Singapore. Now I am in my eighties but I still feel sad for them.” The old man looked at me with tears in his eyes. “Many people bow to me. I do not bow to anyone. But now I bow to you with all my heart. I pray for your safe journey and hope you will complete your trip for the people who died in the war.” He bowed deeply to me.

I also bowed to him because I felt he had given me too much respect. I left him sitting on the box. When I looked back he kept waving at me for a long time. There was no chance to meet him again but I would never forget what happened that day. He would remain in my heart forever.

komiageru

namida koraete

gouchoku no

yasojī no okina

yukisi ko kataru

Remembering his son,

he tried to stop the tears.

The old man was in his eighties,

seemingly strong but soft inside.

He talked about his son

who died in the war.