ACT II.

Time: The present day.

Scene: The outer court of the Temple at Asakusa. It is dusk in the court, but inside the chancel screen one sees the gleam of candle-light on the faces of the Buddha and the Rakkan, and the gold and red of lacquer work. The bronze figure of Binzuru is in the court, to the right of the chancel. He is cross-legged, his hands folded on his stomach. A few incense-sticks are smouldering before the chancel steps, and from inside comes the intermittent chant of the priests. Beside the low pedestal on which Binzuru sits a Kurumayasan is squatting, and reading the “Jin Shimbun.” He is in dark blue, with the “mon” of his craft in great white characters on his back. Opposite him to the left of the court sits the Seller 27of Incense-Sticks smoking, and beside him the Seller of Hot Beans, who is blowing the charcoal in his brazier. There are small bowls ranged before him.

Seller of Incense. The times are not good times.

Seller of Hot Beans. They are bad times.

Seller of Incense. What hast thou to grumble at, thou Seller of Hot Beans? This people are swine. They will buy hot beans to fill themselves, but they will not buy incense to fill the gods. Hardly a stick of incense have I sold this day.

Seller of Beans. It is the hand of the gods on thee for thy bad tongue. I told thee that the Buddhas would chastise it.

Seller of Incense. The Buddhas are asleep. They sleep loud. Hearken, and thou wilt hear them——

Seller of Beans. Hold thy peace. Half afraid am I to sit beside thee, lest the gods mistake me for thee.

28Seller of Incense. They will not do that, O Man of Beans. Do not flatter thyself. See, O Kurumayasan (he calls to the man behind the paper as another Kurumayasan limps painfully into the court) here is thy brother, nigh as light of foot as thou.

(The lame Kurumayasan smiles broadly.)

Kurumayasan. Greeting, O my brother. Greeting, O Man of Incense. Greeting, O Man of Beans.

Seller of Incense. What aileth thee, O Runner? Wouldst thou be taken for the Sacred Tortoise?

Kurumayasan. Thy tongue is as sharp as the edge of the bamboo grass. Yesterday I strained myself pulling a fat pig of a foreigner up the Tori-i-zaka. And to-day I was two hours crawling hither. A—ah! (He sits down with a grunt before Binzuru, and applies himself vigorously to rubbing the thigh of Binzuru alternately with his own.)

29Seller of Beans. There was a young man from the University. He said there was no virtue in Binzuru. That it was a lie of the priests. That a man might as well rub himself upon his own mats. What sayest thou, O Runner!

Kurumayasan. I say that the young man was a fool. It was but last week that the akambo had the colic, was swollen even as a paper lantern, and his mother brought him—Aha!

(Two young girls pass into the court. The Seller of the Incense-Sticks and the Seller of Hot Beans and the two Kurumayasans eye them with satisfaction. They stop before the Seller of Incense shyly.)

One of the Young Girls. How much?

Seller of Incense (bowing). Five sen.

(They buy half-a-dozen. The Seller of Incense touches the pavement with his 30head, and they pass on. The Kurumayasan behind the paper grunts with appreciation.)

Seller of Beans. Will that be for the Buddha now?

Seller of Incense (derisively). Nay, nor Binzuru either. They go to Kwannon—to pray for their lovers. The Buddha maketh no account of women. What, O Runner (the lame Kurumayasan is on his feet and stepping gingerly) art on thy legs again? May the devil possess me if thou art not as nimble as—Daruma! (The Kurumayasan makes towards him threateningly.) Peace, and I will tell thee a joke about Daruma. I thought on it last night in my bed.

(The Seller of Hot Beans inclines to listen, and with him the appeased Kurumayasan. The Seller of Incense-Sticks speaks rapidly, with snorts of laughter. They fall apart into the diverse attitudes of a savoured 31jest. On their laughter breaks the deep booming of the temple gong, a single stroke, dominant and mournful. A priest, robed in yellow and with shaven crown, appears in the opening of the chancel screens. He makes the gesture of dismissal. The Sellers collect their wares, the Kurumayasan rises, leaving his paper on the ground, the young girls come hurrying from the farther shrine. In a little while the court is empty. The priests march chanting in procession from the chancel, round the court to the outer gates. There is a clash, as of their closing. The sound of chanting grows fainter. Silence. The incense-sticks before the chancel burn with a faint blue smoke; the twilight has deepened, but there is a glimmer of moonlight on the motionless figure of Binzuru. The silence is broken by a deep breath of relief. The rigidity of the bronze figure relaxes. He stretches his arms above his head with a luxurious yawn, 32and settles down to twirl his thumbs, contemplating them the while he smiles to himself. In a little while he chuckles, a reminiscent chuckle. He is so intent upon his thumbs that he does not see a figure advancing from inside the chancel. It is the Buddha himself, cumbrous and magnificent and stately, the gold boss of wisdom between his brows. He pauses for a moment in the opening of the chancel screens, moves slowly forward, and stands before Binzuru, watching him.)

Buddha. Binzuru!

Binzuru (starting violently). Master! (He struggles to get up.)

Buddha. It is enough, Binzuru; we are no longer young.

Binzuru. It is not that. It is my back. Sciatica. They have me nearly hollow. But, Master (he looks round, anxious to do the honours of the outer court), where is there a—would you not sit down?

33Buddha. In truth, Binzuru, I am tired sitting. (He glances at the dim chancel.)

Binzuru (confidentially). I wouldn’t wonder. Exercise—nothing like it. Told Daruma so. Years ago. Centuries ago.

Buddha. But not to profit, Binzuru. He has lost his legs. Nine hundred years ago.

Binzuru. Told him so. Told him so. Atrophy, they call it. Not that they were much loss. Said so himself. (Binzuru surveys his own legs.) And my own—marvellous the Kurumayasans and the wrestlers that come. Come here and rub me. Rub me away.

Buddha (surveying him). I had hardly thought it would be so soon. The stubborn flesh.... Only another thousand years, Binzuru, and you shall sit with us again—yonder. (He looks again at the chancel.)

Binzuru (terrified). You—you think so?

Buddha (laughing softly). You are in no hurry, Binzuru?

34Binzuru (squirms. His voice lowers.) Master—your pardon—but—(in a rush) dost never find it ... DULL?

(The Buddha eyes the chancel.)

Buddha. Speaking as one Buddha to another—(Binzuru bridles and inclines his head). Speaking as one Buddha to another, Binzuru, it is dull. (He eyes Binzuru very kindly.) How long is it since you and I talked together, Binzuru?

Binzuru (reflectively). With the Great Cold it will be two thousand—two thousand four hundred years.

Buddha. I would have come before this, Binzuru. Many times. But Daruma—he never sleeps.

Binzuru. A marvellous man, Daruma. Marvellous man. But, Master, to-night?

Buddha. I discoursed, Binzuru——

Binzuru. I hear you sometimes. Snatches. Only snatches. Am getting deaf. Earache. So many cases.

35Buddha. It was on the first chapter of the eighth book of the Vedas—you remember it, Binzuru?

Binzuru (feelingly). I do.

Buddha. And at last even Daruma slept. (He looks round the court with pleased interest, and stoops to pick up the “Jin Shimbun.”) What is this, Binzuru? Is it a Sacred Writing?

Binzuru (convulsed). It is not. The Kurumayasans—they read it aloud to one another. I listen. I am always listening. I hear it all. The divorce cases. And the news from the Front. And politics—the political situation. (He says it proudly.)

Buddha. Politics? What are politics, Binzuru? Are they religious? Religious ceremonies?

Binzuru (again convulsed). They are not. Politics—Politics—(he flounders). They pass the time. They pass the time. Master 36(eagerly), take it, in your girdle, and read it. Tell Daruma it is a Sacred Writing.

Buddha (wistfully, looking from it to the chancel). The light is bad, Binzuru. They burn so much incense. And my eyes——

Binzuru. Same with my own. And headache—(he draws his hand across his forehead and shakes his head mournfully). Master, they have all the good looks rubbed off me.

Buddha. See what it is to be popular, Binzuru.

Binzuru (still grumbling, but affectionately). There was a small one this morning burnt his tongue with the hot beans, yonder. He came and stood on me and licked me. And then he gave me his bib. This is it. He put it on me himself. (He tugs at a pink wisp under his left ear. The Buddha stoops to inspect it. Then he straightens himself and looks down at Binzuru with immense affection.)

Buddha (teasingly). And the young girls, Binzuru?

37Binzuru (mournfully). Not for me. Not for me. I see them. But they go past old Binzuru.

Buddha (indulgently). Where, Binzuru? They do not come to us.

Binzuru. Yonder (he jerks his head to the darkness behind him), to Kwannon—(he checks himself in confusion. The Buddha inclines his head gravely, as one who acknowledges information. He is apparently unaware of Binzuru’s embarrassment. He gazes again about the court, then turns upon him with a gleam, as suddenly remembering.)

Buddha. Tell me, Binzuru, what was it was in your mind as I came through the chancel?

Binzuru (lighting up). It was a joke. The Seller of Incense-Sticks told it to the Seller of Hot Beans. It was a good joke. I was for shouting it over the screen to Daruma just as you came out.

Buddha. That was fortunate. It would have wakened him.

38Binzuru. It would, in soul. (He rocks himself.)

Buddha (eyeing him wistfully). Is it a good joke?

Binzuru (struggling for gravity). Master, it is a profane joke.

Buddha. Tell me, Binzuru.

(Their heads come close. Binzuru whispers amid splutters of laughter behind his hand. Back goes the Buddha’s head in a shout of laughter, stifled halfway by the sudden terror on Binzuru’s face. They listen. Inside the chancel someone yawns, a comprehensive, waking yawn.)

Binzuru (hopelessly). It is Daruma.

(For a moment the Buddha stands stupefied. Then with a swing of his great shoulders he turns his back on the chancel and stands looking before him into the night. While one might count ten he stands to make 39decision. Then with a long breath he turns round and paces steadily toward the chancel, the while he begins in the voice of intoning.)

Buddha. Now it is written in the first chapter of the eighth book of the Vedas that whoso hath attained to the perception of the Infinite can in no wise be ensnared——

(There is a snore, gentle, long-drawn, continuous. Binzuru, who has been wagging his head in admiration, is silently convulsed. The Buddha pauses on the first step of the chancel, and turns to look at Binzuru. For a moment he shares the jest. Then gravity falls on him. He stands gazing at Binzuru. After a long pause he speaks, half to himself.)

Buddha. Two thousand—two thousand four hundred years. Binzuru, the years are long years.

40Binzuru (gravely). They are long years.

(Again there is silence. The Buddha turns his eyes from Binzuru, and looks into the night.)

Buddha (haltingly). Binzuru—was she very beautiful?

(Binzuru eyes him.)

Binzuru. Beautiful? As Kwannon.

(The Buddha turns and looks at Binzuru. For a while the two gaze at each other. It is the final comprehension. The Buddha turns to climb the steps, and paces into the chancel. Binzuru watches him till he disappears, then relapses into the old attitude.)

CURTAIN.

41

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