I picked up a pebble and dropped it into the water. There was a splash of such exaggerated loudness that the air about me seemed to have cracked. For a while I crouched in the darkness without a sound, hoping by my silence to eradicate the noise that I had accidentally produced.
I put my hand into the water and the lukewarm duckweed clung to my fingers. First I let the mosquito-net rod slip into the water from my moist fingers. Then I entrusted my ash tray to the pond, as though I were rinsing it out. In the same way I dropped my cup and my ink bottle. That took care of all the things that had to be thrown into the water. All that remained beside me was the cushion and the cloth in which I had wrapped these objects. Nothing was left for me now but to take these two things in front of Yoshimitsu's statue and then finally to fire the temple.
The fact that at this moment I was abruptly overcome by hunger accorded too much with what I had expected and, far from gratifying me, made me feel that I had been betrayed. I was still carrying the sweet bread and the bean-jam wafers, which I had started eating on the previous day. I wiped my wet hands on the end of my jumper and devoured the food greedily. I was not aware of the taste. My stomach cried out loudly for food and did not care in the slightest about any sense of taste. It was a good thing that I was able to concentrate on stuffing the sweet bread hurriedly into my mouth. My heart was pounding. When I had finished swallowing the food, I scooped some water out of the pond and drank.
I was on the very threshold of my deed. I had completed all the preparations that led to the deed and now I was standing on the further edge of those preparations with nothing left to do but to hurl myself into the actual deed. With only the slightest effort I should be able to attain that deed.
I did not imagine for a moment that a gulf great enough to swallow my entire life was opening up between me and what I intended to do.
For at that moment I gazed at the Golden Temple to bid it a last farewell. The temple was dim in the darkness of the rainy night and its outline was indistinct. It stood there in deep black, as though it were a crystallization of the night itself. When I strained my eyes, I managed to make out the Kukyocho, the top story of the temple, where the entire structure suddenly became narrow, and also the forest of narrow pillars that surrounded the Choondo and the Hosui-in. But the various details of the temple, which had moved me so greatly in the past, had melted away into the monochrome darkness.
As my remembrance of the beauty grew more and more vivid, however, this very darkness began to provide a background against which I could conjure up my vision at will. My entire conception of beauty lurked within this somber, crouching form. Thanks to the power of memory, the various aesthetic details began to glitter one by one out of the surrounding darkness; then the glittering spread wider and wider, until gradually the entire temple had emerged before me under that strange light of time itself, which is neither day nor night. Never before had the Golden Temple showed itself to me in so perfect a form, never had I seen it glitter like this in its every detail. It was as though I had appropriated a blind man's vision. The light that emanated from the temple itself had made the building transparent, and standing by the pond I could vividly see the paintings of angels on the roof inside the Choondo and the remains of the ancient gold foil on the walls in the Kukyocho. The delicate exterior of the Golden Temple had become intimately mingled with the interior. As my eyes took in the entire prospect, I could perceive the temple's structure and the clear outline of its motif, I could see the painstaking repetition and decoration of the details whereby this motif was materialized, I saw the effects of contrast and of symmetry. The two lower stories, the Hosui-in and the Choondo, were of the same width and, though there was a slight difference between them, they were protected by the same extensive eave; one story rested on top of its companion, so that they looked like a pair ot closely related dreams or like memories of two very similar pleasures that we have enjoyed in the past. These twin stories had been crowned by a third story, the Kukyocho, which abruptly tapered off. And high on top of the shingled roof the gilt bronze phoenix was facing the long, lightless night.
Yet even this had not satisfied the arehitect. At the west of the Hosui-in he had added the tiny Sosei, which projected from the temple like an overhanging pavilion. It was as if he had put all his aesthetic powers into breaking the symmetry of the building. The role of the Sosei in the total arehitecture was one of metaphysical resistance. Although it certainly did not stretch very far over the pond, it looked as though it were running away indefinitely from the center of the Golden Temple. The Sosei was like a bird soaring away from the main structure of the building, like a bird that a few moments before had spread its wings and was escaping toward the surface of the pond, toward everything that was mundane. The significance of the Sosei was to provide a bridge that led between the order which controls the world and those things, like carnal desire, which are utterly disordered. Yes, that was it. The spirit of the Golden Temple began with this Sosei, which resembled a bridge that has been severed at its halfway point; then it formed a three-storied tower; then once more it fled from this bridge. For the vast power of sensual desire that shimmered on the surface of this pond was the source of the hidden force that had constructed the Golden Temple; but, after this power had been put in order and the beautiful three-storied tower formed, it could no longer bear to dwell there and nothing was left for it but to escape along the Sosei back to the surface of the pond, back to the endless shimmering of sensual desire, back to its native land. Every time in the past that I had looked at the morning mist or the evening mist as it wandered over the pond I had been struck by this same thought-the thought that this was the dwelling-place of the abundant sensual power that had originally constructed the Golden Temple.
And beauty synthesized the struggles and the contradictions and the disharmonies in every part of this building-and, furthermore, it was beauty that ruled over them all! The Golden Temple had been built with gold dust in the long, lightless night, just like a sutra that is painstakingly inscribed with gold dust onto the dark-blue pages of a book. Yet I did not know whether beauty was, on the one hand, identical with the Golden Temple itself or, on the other, consubstantial with the night of nothingness that surrounded the temple. Perhaps beauty was both these things. It was both the individual parts and the whole structure, both the Golden Temple and the night that wrapped itself about the Golden Temple. At this thought I felt that the mystery of the beauty of the Golden Temple, which had tormented me so much in the past, was halfway towards being solved. If one examined the beauty of each individual detail-the pillars, the railings, the shutters, the framed doors, the ornamented windows, the pyramidal roof—the Hosui-in, the Choondo, the Kukyocho, the Sosci-the shadow of the temple on the pond, the little islands, the pine trees, yes, even the mooring-place for the temple boat -the beauty was never completed in any single detail of the temple; for each detail adumbrated the beauty of the succeeding detail. The beauty of the individual detail itself was always filled with uneasiness. It dreamed of perfection, but it knew no completion and was invariably lured on to the next beauty, the unknown beauty. The adumbration of beauty contained in one detail was linked with the subsequent adumbration of beauty, and so it was that the various adumbrations of a beauty which did not exist had become the underlying motif of the Golden Temple. Such adumbrations were signs of nothingness. Nothingness was the very structure of this beauty. Therefore, from the incompletion of the various details of this beauty there arose automatically an adumbration of nothingness, and this delicate building, wrought of the most slender timber, was trembling in anticipation of nothingness, like a jeweled necklace tremoling in the wind.
Yet never did there come a time when the beauty of the Golden Temple ceased! Its beauty was always echoing somewhere. Like a person who suffers from ringing of the cars, i invariably heard the sound of the Golden Temple's beauty wherever I might be and I had grown accustomed to it. If one compared this beauty to a sound, the building
was like a little golden bell that has gone on ringing for five and a half centuries, or else like a small harp. But what if that sound should stop?
I was overco? me by intense weariness.
Above the Golden Temple that existed in the darkness I could still vividly see the Golden Temple of my vision. It had not yet concluded its glittering. The railing of the Hosui-in at the water's edge withdrew with the greatest modesty, while on its eaves the railing of the Choondo, supported by its Indian-style brackets, thrust out its breast dreamily towards the pond. The caves were illuminated by the pond's reflection and the flickering of the water reflected itself uncertainly against them. When the Golden Temple reflected the evening sun or shone in the moon, it was the light of the water that made the entire structure look as if it were mysteriously floating along and flapping its wings. The strong bonds of the temple's form were loosened by the reflection of the quivering water, and at such moments the Golden Temple seemed to be constructed of materials like wind and water and flame that are constantly in motion.
The beauty of the Golden Temple was unsurpassed. And I knew now where my great weariness had come from. That beauty was taking a last chance to exercise its power over me and to bind me with that impotence which had so often overcome me in the past. My hands and my feet flinched from what lay before me. A few moments before, I had been only one step from my deed, but now once again I had retreated far into the distance.
“I had made all my preparations,” I murmured to myself, "and was only one step from the deed. Having so completely dreamed the deed, having so completely lived that dream, is there really any need to act it out physically? Wouldn't such action be quite useless at this stage?
"Kashiwagi was probaoly right when he said that what changed the world was not action but knowledge. And there was also the type of knowledge that tried to copy the action to the utmost possible limit. My knowledge is of this nature. And it is this type of knowledge that makes the action really invalid. Does not the reason, then, for all my careful preparations lie in the final knowledge that I would not have to act in earnest?
"Yes, that's it. Action is now simply a kind of superfluity for me. It has jutted out of life, it has jutted out of my own will, and now it stands before me, like a separate, cold steel mechahism, waiting to be put in motion. It is as if there is not the slightest connection between me and my action. Up to this point it has been I, from here on it is not I. How can I dare to stop being myself?"
I leaned against the bottom of the pine tree. The wet, cool skin of the tree bewitched me. I felt that this sensation, this coolness was—myself. The world had stopped just as,it was; no longer was there any desire and I, too, was utterly satisfied.
What should I do with this terrible weariness, I thought? Somehow I felt feverish and languid and my hands would not move where I intended. Surely I must be ill.
The Golden Temple was still glittering before me, just like the view of the Jissokan that Shuntokumaru had once seen. Within the black night of his blindness Shuntokumaru had seen the setting sun playing lambently on the Sea of Namba. He had seen Awaji Eshima, Suma Akashi, and even the Sea of Kii reflecting the evening sun under a cloudless sky.
My body seemed to be paralyzed and the tears flowed incessantly. I did not mind staying here just as I was until the morning came and I was discovered. I should not offer a word of excuse.
Until now I had been speaking at great length about how impotent my memory had been since the time of my childhood, but I must point out that a memory which is suddenly revived carries a great power of resuscitation. The past does not only draw us back to the past. There are certain memories of the past that have strong steel springs and, when we who live in the present touch them, they are suddenly stretched taut and then they propel us into the future.
While my body seemed benumbed, my mind was groping somewhere within my memory. Some words floated up to the surface and then vahished. I seemed to reach them with the hands of my spirit and then once again they were hidden. Those words were calling me. They were trying to approach me in order to put me on my mettle.
"face the back, face the outside, and if ye meet, kill instantly!"
Yes, the first sentence went like that. The famous passage in that chapter of the Rinsairoku. Then the remaining words emerged fluently: "When ye meet the Buddha, kill the Buddha! When ye meet your ancestor, kill your ancestor! When ye meet a disciple of Buddha, kill the disciple! When ye meet your father and mother, kill your father and mother! When ye meet your kin, kill your kin! Only thus will ye attain deliverance. Only thus will ye escape the trammels of material things and become free.”
The words propelled me out of the impotence into which I had fallen. All of a sudden my whole body was infused with strength. One part of my mind still kept on telling me that it was now futile to perform this deed, but my new-found strength had no fear of futility. I must do the deed precisely because it was so futile.
I rolled up the cloth that lay beside me and tucked it under my arm together with the cushion. Then I stood up. I looked towards the Golden Temple. The glittering temple of my vision had begun to fade. The railings were gradually swallowed up in the darkness and the forest of slender pillars lost its clarity. The light vahished from the water ana its reflection on the back of the caves also vahished. Soon all the details were concealed in the darkness and the Golden Temple left nothing but a vague, black outline.
I ran. I ran round the north of the temple. My feet became accustomed to their task and I did not stumble. The darkness opened up before me successively and guided me on my way.
From the edge of the Sosei I leaped into the Golden Temple through the hinged door at the western entrance, which I had left open. I threw the cushion and the cloth onto the pile that I had already prepared.
My heart was throbbing merrily and my wet hands were trembling. Moreover, my matches were wet. The first one wouldn't light. The second one was about to light when it broke. The third one burst into flames and as I held out my hand against the wind it illuminated the spaces between my fingers.
Then I had to seareh for the bundles of straw. For, although I had dragged the three bundles in here myself and placed them in different parts of the building, I had completely forgotten where I had put them. By the time that I had found them, the match had burned out. I crouched down by the straw and this time struck two matches together.
The fire delineated the complex shadows of the piles of straw and, giving forth the brilliant color of the wild places, it spread minutely in all directions. As the smoke rose into the air, the fire hid itself within its white mass. Then, unexpectedly far from where I was standing, the flames sprang up, puffing out the green of the mosquito net. I felt as if everything round me had suddenly become alive.
At this moment my head became completely clear. There was a limit to my supply of matches. I ran to another corner of the room, and, carefully striking a match, set fire to the next bundle of straw. The new flames that sprang up heartened me. In the past when I had been out with my companions and we had made campfires I had always been particularly adept at the job.
Within the Hosui-in a great flickering shadow had arisen. The statues of the Three Holy Buddhas, Amida, Kannon, and Seishi were lit up in red. The wooden statue of Yoshimitsu flashed its eyes; and in the back its shadow fluttered.
I could hardly feel the heat. When I saw that the steadfast flames had moved to the offertory box, I felt that everything was going to be all right.
I had forgotten about the arsenic and the pocketknife. Suddenly I had the idea of dying in the Kukyocho surrounded by the flames. Then I fled from the fire and ran up the narrow stairs. It did not occur to me to wonder why the door leading up to the Choondo was open. The old guide had forgotten to close the second-story door.
The smoke swirled toward my back. As I coughed, I gazed at the statue of Kannon that was attributed to Keishin and at the music-playing angels painted on the ceiling. Gradually the drifting smoke filled the
Choondo. I ran up the next flight of stairs and tried to open the door of the Kukyocho. The door would not open. The entrance to the third story was firmly locked.
I knocked at the door. It must have been a violent knocking, but the sound did not impinge on my ears. With all my might I knocked at the door. I felt that someone might open the door to the Kukyocho for me from the inside. What I dreamed of finding in the Kukyocho was a place to die, but since the smoke was already pursuing me I knocked impetuously at the door as though I were instead seeking a refuge. What lay on the other side of that door could only be a little room. And at that moment I poignantly dreamed that the walls of the room must be fully covered with golden foil, though I knew that in actual fact they were almost completely defoliated. I cannot explain how desperately I was longing for that radiant little room as I stood there knocking at the door. If only I could reach it,I thought, everything would be all right. If only I could reach that little golden room.
I knocked as hard as I could. My hands were not strong enough and I threw my whole body against the door. Still it would not open.
The Choondo was already filled with smoke. Beneath my feet I could hear the crackling sound of the fire. I choked in the smoke and almost lost consciousness. As I coughed, I kept on knocking. But still the door would not open.
When at a certain moment there arose in me the clear consciousness of having been refused, I did not hesitate. I dodged the stairs. I ran down to the Hosui-in through the swirling smoke; I must have passed through the fire itself. When finally I reached the western door, I threw myself out into the open. Then I started to run like a shot, not knowing where I was going.