WHERE IS THE SNOW NOW?


"Shiboryo-kun. It's been a while." The old man took a sip of tea and Shiboryo followed his example. After the novice had taken his leave with a deep bow, the sage and his former disciple relaxed. There was a wordless agreement between the two to despise empty ceremony.

They sat like so many times in the past in front of the airy pavilion that somehow looked like it was about to take off and fly away with the wind any moment – except that it never had, not even in the strongest storm.

"Sensei, is there peace of mind for me?" Shiboryo asked after some silence with a pleading, almost desperate voice.

Igai-sensei shrugged, a familiarity he would have never allowed himself with younger disciples, and motioned around the mountainside with his arm. "What are you seeing?"

Shiboryo knew the meaning of those ritual worlds. Speaking to the wind begins in the sacred format we have received from our ancestors. He remembered his first lessons as if they had taken place yesterday.

The Itsumoshizuka Temple was dedicated to a path different from everyone else's. The wind, the fastest of the elements, was the only one that could answer your questions – that was the theory. After years of practice, Shiboryo knew probably hundreds of ways the wind could talk, but not once had it answered a question.

He cast the memory of his past frustrations away and let it fly after a passing swallow, following the swift bird as it leaped over the pavilion and then let itself float in invisible airstreams only to make a sharp turn, probably to catch a flying insect neither of the two men had any chance of seeing.

After some time, Shiboryo said:

"My fidgety mind
into the ocean of joy
its fishing line casts."

He almost gasped when he realized what kind of a prank his lips had played on him. Briefly evading the brain's supervision, they had pronounced the name Kaisainoumi (which, of course, meant "Ocean of Joy"). She was the reason he had returned to this mountain, his home he had left long ago.

The old master didn't seem surprised.

"True as what we touch
our ever sweeter dreamscapes
make themselves look like."

Sweeter? How could he say such thing? It was the opposite! Tormented by bitterness, Shiboryo struggled with his composure. After Kaisainoumi's betrayal, he could no longer trust anyone or anything.

He let his eyes follow an invisible stream of air high above, before he spoke:

"The ever-firm ground
under the carpet of snow –
is it even real?"

"What makes the snow?" Igai-sensei replied.

"Water."

"Where does it go?"

"Earth." What of it? Shiboryo thought, annoyed at these elementary questions every child could answer.

Igai-sensei pointed at the green grass around them. "The carpet of snow you just mentioned. We both remember it, don't we? We can close our eyes and see it vividly. We open our eyes. Where is it now? Who cares?"

"She has children by another!" exclaimed Shiboryo. His voice sounded accusing as if it had been Igai-sensei's fault.

Quieting, thought-stopping relaxation went almost audibly through the old man's body half a minute before he spoke:

"Imprisoned heartache
for an elusive reason
permeates your being."

Somehow those words plunged into Shiboryo's heart through his eyes that, wide open, stared at his teacher. The answer was obvious, wasn't it?. All the snows that have emerged and disappeared are in my memory. But they have no meaning, because they will go on appearing and disappearing in all future winters, forever.

The young man looked utterly surprised by the words his own tongue didn't spend much time looking for: "I don't have to insist I'm suffering."

An ever so slight nod on his teacher's face encouraged him to go on.

"When I remember and cherish everything wonderful we've had," Shiboryo's trembling voice spoke with increasing confidence, "she'll be in my heart forever, wherever I go, whomever I'm with."

With the hint of a smile, Igai-sensei closed his eyes as if reluctant to disturb the younger man's bliss. Looking past his gray hair that fluttered slightly in the breeze, Shiboryo spoke softly, more to himself: "She can be happy in her new life and I in mine."

A sudden gust of wind seemed to carry that thought down the mountain and spread it all across the valley.



(C) Olavi Jaggo
First published: 2021-01-13
This version: 2021-09-28

The first version of this story won the 2nd place out of 11 in the monthly Literary Maneuvers competition.




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