Where the Dead Pause, and the Japanese Say Goodbye: A Journey (45 page)

“So, K
kai died in this room?”

Yanagi waved his hand, the way Japanese do to negate something you have said in error. “No no no. Odaishisan is not dead.”

I
WAS LATE
for breakfast, the last to start eating and the last to leave. The cleaning crew had begun to remove the abandoned dishes
and tables while I was still chewing my bamboo shoots. I engaged one of the men in conversation.

His name was Furuie. He was middle-aged, and seemed to be in charge of the kitchen staff. He was a civilian, he explained, born and raised on K
yasan. Once upon a time Sh
j
shinin had had many pilgrims, but now he mostly served foreigners, many of whom did not understand the food they were eating. Consequently, there was tremendous waste. Once, he and the kitchen staff had tried to serve Western-style food, but there had been complaints. The foreigners wanted the authentic experience, even if none of them actually wanted to eat the food.

After commiserating with Furuie about the wasted food, I asked if he knew where I might find some coffee. “There are many cafés in town,” Furuie said cheerfully. “Priests love coffee!”

Not long after, I was about to leave the temple to go sightseeing when I ran into Yanagi in the large hall with the ancient rice pots. He had heard that I was in search of coffee, and had made a pot for us to share, though he asked me to make sure I did not let any of the other Westerners know. The coffee was just for us.

We sat in the reception area together, and Yanagi poured me a cup. Then he took off his face mask to drink. The coffee was excellent, and I told him so. Yanagi beamed, and I felt relieved to see his entire face. Yanagi said he was partial to good coffee and had ground the beans himself. He looked at me expectantly again.

I wasn’t quite sure what I was supposed to do, so I simply said the first thing that came to mind. I told him that I was interested in trying to learn the esoteric form of meditation called
ajikan
. Might it be possible to do
ajikan
at Sh
j
shinin?

At this, Yanagi perceptibly started. It was possible for me to try to meditate here, Yanagi said, but proper training would need to be done by the temple’s
j
shoku
, or the head priest. Unfortunately, the
j
shoku
was often quite tired late at night. The previous evening,
Yanagi had attempted to teach
ajikan
to a foreign guest, but she had complained that meditating so late in the day had not left her enough time to take a bath. Also, the meditation session had taken place immediately after dinner, and the foreigner had not liked being hurried through her meal just for the sake of making an appointment. She had been sleepy during the meditation. I, too, might not particularly like to meditate in the evening, though it was the only time the
j
shoku
had free, if he was even free at all. If he wasn’t, Yanagi himself might be able to teach me, but then he was also very busy. Perhaps, Yanagi suggested, I could try to sign up for an
ajikan
meditation class at Kong
buji, Mount Koya’s main temple. It ought to be available there. And if it was not, I could phone him back and let him know, and he would see if my
ajikan
session could be arranged without interfering with everyone else’s work.

There were now so many “coulds” and “woulds” and “mights” that I felt completely flustered. I had fallen in love with Sh
j
shinin—with the dark hallways, the intricate garden, the irrepressible cherry trees. I loved the oversized Shint
shrines by the kitchen, the bustle of the monks and the staff moving throughout the grounds, and, of course, the special little
hond
and the statues.