Chapter 6 Pilgrimage Day 18

Diary of the White Bush Clover

Day 18 (23 October) Shizuoka to Shimizu

I hurried to Nihondaida, without any breakfast as usual. Looking at the hill from far away, I thought it was not so high but the road up was very long. There was another toll gate. The toll road I walked on a few days ago had many trees and bushes with a valley on one side but this was only a wide grassy hill. I reached a viewpoint at the top but it was a pity that I could not see Fuji-san because of the fog. The road going down was smooth and there were mikan orchards and tea fields on both sides of the road. Soon the fog lifted and I could see the Bay of Suruga.

After three and a half hours I reached the foot of the hill and was already in Shimizu City, the birthplace of Shimizu Jirocho. His bones were interred in Beiin-ji, a Zen temple. There was a statue of him in the temple garden and in the little exhibition hall I saw the clothes, swords and cups that had belonged to him and his wife. At his grave site I found something very interesting. Many people had chipped his gravestone to take a memory of this great, kind man, hoping to be like him. But now we could not get close because there was a fence around the grave.

Next door was Ryuge-ji, the grave site of the famous Nobel peace prize author, Chogyu Takayama. In the garden there was a big, old cycad tree, a natural monument. The bent tree trunk looked like an elephant’s trunk. Higher up was a stone garden with a statue of Chogyu. He believed in the Buddhist sect, Nichiren, and he loved Fuji-san.

Since I was so close to Mihonomatsubara, a famous row of pine trees protecting the road from the sea wind, I decided to go that way even though it was a longer distance. On the way many trucks passed me carrying big logs to make paper pulp so I walked on the beach. It was hard to walk in the sand. At last I arrived at Mihonomatsubara and I could see Fuji-san over the sea. I recalled the story of the angel’s shawl. It is said that an angel came from heaven to the seaside. She was wearing a flowing shawl, which got caught on a pine tree. A passing fisherman untangled it but he did not want to give it back to her. She danced beautifully for him and he finally returned the shawl. Then she was able to go back to heaven.

I stood looking at this scene for a little while, my heart filled with deep silence. After I finish this journey, I thought, my life will be changed from silence to busy activity. A sightseeing bus arrived and many people took pictures in front of this famous pine tree. A little wave washed over my feet. I picked up a small stone as a souvenir and left. I went back the same way I had come and hurried to Monyou-ji.

In the evening I arrived at the temple at last. The last time I sat down in front of an image of Buddha was three days ago. As I prayed before the statue of Buddha once more, I remembered the proud old man’s face in Sagara, covered with tears.

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.