Authors: Eiji Yoshikawa
Kiyomori gazed thoughtfully out to sea. His dream was beginning to look hopeless. The expense of money and labor had been colossal, but something new had yet to be devised, and he had asked the Heike Governor of northern Kyushu to send him several Chinese engineers, political refugees, who had recently come to southern Japan for asylum.
When the visitors arrived in Fukuhara, they were lodged in the Hall of a Thousand Lanterns, erected a year before in a pine grove by the sea to commemorate the ex-Emperor Goshirakawa's first visit to Fukuhara. Their coming was attended with great commotion, for the inhabitants here and even people from Kyoto who had settled in Fukuhara had never before this seen a foreigner.
The Chinese soon were spending their days out on the water or consulting at length with the overseer, who shook his head in disappointment. Nothing new, he later told Kiyomori, had been added to their knowledge. Everything possible had already been done. His hopes dashed, Kiyomori none the less seemed to derive deep satisfaction from the thought that he had exhausted every known device, and that his men had not been lacking in skill or industry. He then ordered that the work on the harbor should continue as before, adding, to the overseer:
"We have failed to withstand these autumn storms because the work has never progressed far enough before the season of typhoons. Nine tenths of the breakwater must be completed between the autumn and summer of the following year. If we can accomplish that, I am certain of success. We need more men, more materials—and money, but you need not be anxious because of that."
Kiyomori appeared confident. Until now he had drawn solely on the wealth of the Heike; there was a limit, however, to even that source, but he was certain that the government would now shoulder the undertaking. Two years had already passed since the ex-Emperor had promised Kiyomori to allot state funds for completing the harbor, and though nothing was done, Kiyomori did not doubt that Goshirakawa would give him support.
Formal representations had long since been made to the ex-Emperor Goshirakawa by Kiyomori for the promised state funds, and Goshirakawa had replied each time that Kiyomori should wait a little longer, and Kyomori had waited. But he now realized that he could wait no longer. The harbor must be completed soon or forever abandoned, and he made up his mind to appeal to Goshirakawa once more in person for aid.
When reports of the altercation between the Regent's retainers and Shigemori's first reached Kiyomori, he did not explode in anger as he was fully expected to do, but merely shook his head saying: "My grandchildren and nephews only grow more idle as they get older. Undoubtedly, my grandson is guilty of a breach of etiquette, and the Regent too young and conceited." Then he added, sadly: "Their life has been too easy for them and there's the danger."
Not long after, the ex-Emperor visited Fukuhara at Kiyomori's invitation. His first visit a year before had been to see the progress made on the harbor of Owada and to attend the dedication of a new temple. This time Kiyomori had arranged that Goshirakawa should see the eight Chinese who were staying at Fukuhara. Two young women, daughters of one of the engineers, were to dance before the ex-Emperor and to impress him with some of the exquisite refinements of the Sung civilization. But Kiyomori's real reason was to remind Goshirakawa once more of his promise of aid.
After the ex-Emperor's departure, Kiyomori perceived that no help was to be expected from Goshirakawa. The ex-Emperor had skillfully parried and eluded Kiyomori's reminders.
But Kiyomori still refused to accept defeat. He was now fifty-three; his mental vigor was undiminished; his outlook youthful, and to his contemporaries at the Court he was a man possessed whose actions needed watching, for he applied himself once more to the task of completing the harbor.
That autumn every able-bodied man to be found in his western feudatories was brought to Fukuhara and every kind of material was collected in this last effort to prove that Kiyomori's dream had not been vain. Day and night, month after month the unstinting labor of thousands of men was poured with pitiless purpose into this task which must end before next year's season of storms. The near-by cape and surrounding hills were scraped clean of rocks and stones, which were piled along the beach. Giant tree-trunks, lashed together to form rafts and weighted with stones in wooden crates, were towed seaward and submerged. Massive rocks, piled on boat after boat, sank beneath the sea; beams laid across beams, and boat upon boat.
Through the lengthening nights of late autumn, squadrons of small craft with blazing torches were strung out along the bay like mysterious sea-lights, and Kiyomori looked on content. He had done his utmost; the rest lay with the gods. As he gazed at the Milky Way one night, it occurred to him that many months had passed since he left the capital, and he wondered what was taking place there. Who of all his sons and brothers, he reflected, was able enough to replace him as the chief of the Heike? Tsunemori, his younger brother, was frail; Norimori, the next younger, only meek. Tokitada, his brother-in-law, was apt to go to extremes; obviously gifted, but too headstrong. Though promising, Tadanori, his half-brother, was still too young.
As for his eldest son and successor, Shigemori—Kiyomori knew that he was respected by all the Heike, but not really loved. There was something forbidding about him; beneath that quiet exterior was hidden a meanness of soul. Kiyomori did not much like the cool, astute eyes, whose shrewdness, he often regretted, made Shigemori seem petty rather than wise. Shigemori had changed, too. Much of the freshness and vigor he had had as a youth had vanished. Was he ill? Kiyomori wondered. He would have a good physician examine him as soon as he got back to Kyoto. Whatever the case, he had been hearing that Shigemori now had a private chapel where he spent much of his time. . . . That was most likely at the bottom of it. There was entirely too much of this nonsense going on, he often mused. His brothers and children were beginning to ape the aristocrats: they had grown to love luxurious living; were immersed in all manner of elegant refinement; made an ornamental pastime of their religion, kneeling at their prayers with painted faces and eyebrows, and their teeth dyed black.
Kiyomori had no objections to elegance and refinement. They were thoroughly desirable. Life was richer for them. As for religion—even he had taken the vows. Not by any means did he approve of the disbeliever, but this aping of the aristocrats and this travesty of religion—he would have none of it. At Rokuhara he had tried to encourage certain ideals for the warrior class. He had seen to it that Buddhism received the respect it deserved in their way of life, but from early youth he had refused to tolerate the superstitions that grew up around it. The mysterious universe alone deserved to be worshipped. He would have Tokiko speak seriously to Shigemori about all this. It was more likely that he would listen to his mother in such matters. . . .
Late in the autumn, Kiyomori returned to Kyoto, where there was talk that he would remain in the capital for the winter.
One tranquil day when the maples were just beginning to crimson, the Regent's carriage drew up at the mansion on West Eighth Avenue where Kiyomori waited to receive his illustrious visitor. Despite assurances on every side that Kiyomori was amiably disposed, the Regent had set out in a state of apprehension, but found on arriving that his fears were quite unjustified.
"It is most gratifying, sir, to find you in good health. I have wanted for some time to call on you at Fukuhara to see the progress on the harbor and to admire your villa, but with his majesty's coming-of-age so near, various duties have kept me from paying my respects to you, sir."
"On the contrary, such trifles must not interfere with the responsibilities of your high office. When the coming-of-age rites are over, you must give yourself a leisurely trip to Fukuhara. And that reminds me to ask whether a date for the rites has been set."
"The last State Council decided on the third day of the New Year."
"That will be a day of great rejoicing for us all," Kiyomori said fervently.
The Regent's brows contracted in a troubled frown. "To tell you the truth—" he began. "You have probably already heard that there was a serious altercation between my men and your son's on the day that the State Council met."
"Hmm—that I did. I was told that it was quite a gaudy affair."
"I have no wish to apportion blame when our men have been at each other's throats, but people have let their imaginations and tongues run away with them and say that there is discord between our two houses."
"We have no way of bridling their tongues. Let who will talk . . . but I have reproved my son, Shigemori. It was a most childish performance."
"On the contrary, sir—and my reason for calling on you today was to offer my apologies. I equally deserve your censure. Neither your son nor I knew what was happening. I also understand that your grandson has been sent to Isй in disgrace and beg you to recall him as well as accept my very humble apologies."
"It is not for you to apologize," Kiyomori said with a deprecating smile. "This whole affair seems to have troubled you more than it should. Shigemori only dealt with his son as he should. I took Shigemori to task because I love him. He is my heir and it ill becomes one in his position to fly into a passion as his retainers did over a trifle. It is not at all like him to do so and I lay it to his illness. The Chinese physician who cured me has examined Shigemori and found that he is suffering from some disorder of the stomach, and has ordered him to rest. Difficult as it may be for you, I beg you to overlook this affair."
"This is more than I deserve, sir."
"Shigemori will soon be here and I shall have my other sons as well as Tokitada join us and drink with us in token of our reconciliation."
On January 3, 1173, the eleven-year-old boy-Emperor celebrated his coming-of-age with great pomp and solemnity, and in October the ex-Emperor, in his son's name, asked for the hand of Kiyomori's daughter, Tokuko, who was seventeen, and who subsequently became Takakura's Empress.
The current of events moved on relentlessly and the Heike willy-nilly were swept to eminence and power. Kiyomori's name was on every tongue and no one dared to repeat anything derogatory to the Heike. Fear also was in the air.
Kiyomori, however, seemed indifferent to all that was taking place, even scornful of the position that the Heike occupied, for his heart's wish had been granted: the harbor at Owada was almost completed. This at last was the year in which a fleet of vessels lay cradled in the smooth waters of the bay, waiting for the ships of Sung to sail in.
A MONK IS BANISHED
What was that? It was a mild afternoon in spring when an extraordinary strident voice reciting sutras interrupted the musicians at their playing. "Impossible! You shall not pass—where are you off to?" a guard challenged.
A noisy argument ensued.
An astonished courtier laid his lute aside as another discordant shout reverberated through the screening-wall.
The ex-Emperor motioned to one of the courtiers. "Go and see what it's all about."
The courtier stepped out on the gallery just as a powerfully built priest flung aside a guard and pushed his way through a gate of the inner court. His hair hung to his shoulders and his hairy legs protruded from his tattered robes like massive pine logs.
"His majesty can hear me now. He must be tired with listening to music all day. Let him listen for a change to what Mongaku preaches to the common people in the streets of the capital!" he said, looking about the narrow inner court and unrolling a sutra scroll.
"Mongaku from the hills of Takao!" a courtier exclaimed, recognizing the odd figure that he often saw at street corners appealing for alms and donations.
Mongaku read off an appeal for donations for a new temple; it sounded, however, like a peroration against maladministration and the extravagance of the aristocrats.
"See that the man is arrested," the ex-Emperor ordered. One of his attendants leaped upon a balustrade and swooped down on Mongaku, pinning his arms to his sides.
"Are you mad! Don't you realize that this is the Palace?"
Mongaku stood motionless as the body hurtled against him.
"I do," Mongaku replied fiercely to the attendant who clung to him. "I have spent years in the hills of Takao praying for the erection of a temple from which enlightment will come to the world, and in the streets of the capital have begged for donations from the common people. I have come to beg for a gift from his majesty—even a pittance willingly given is enough. Let me present my humble petition."
"What's meant by all this violence when you've come to beg?"
"I know where respect is due. I have knocked several times on the gates, but the sound of music has drowned out everything and the guards have pretended not to hear me. There was nothing left for me but to force my way in. Don't trifle with me or you'll pay for it!"