The Potter's Notebook by Frank Giovinazzi, a historical novel set in 17th century Japan, is available on the Amazon Kindle platform and in paperback.
Eleven Hideaki stepped off the ladder into a sea of jabbering, excited schoolchildren in yellow caps and blue jumpers. He felt like a giant who suddenly walked into a world of little people. He nodded briefly to the beleaguered schoolteachers standing to the side. They too were watching the rainclouds pushing in closer and were eager to usher their charges back down the easy trail that led to the chugging school buses down below. Not yet ready to leave the mountainside, Hideaki looked over the opposite side of the peak for the shelter he was seeking. Down beneath the tree cover was an open field that led to a broad waterfall. Beneath that, in a small cul de sac was a luxury housing development that looked out of place. Through his hazy vision, he saw a totally different scene materialize. The last floes of frozen memory unburdened in his mind, and oblivious to the teeming crowd he started making his way toward the scene.* * * Hideaki found the Abbot waiting for him in the garden the next morning. They had stayed up late, walking through the monastery lit by aromatic hanging cedar lanterns. The monastery was as busy and serene at night as during the day. Work was performed, devotions sung, studies pursued. The Abbot explained, "there is no time here, in the usual sense. We are always working and enjoying life, no matter what the hour, color of sky or type of weather around us. Those are all ephemeral distinctions. Sometimes the best time to work is in the still of the night. What is to stop us?" The engulfing blackness seemed ready to reach down and snuff the microcosmic world out of existence. But, there was something about the monastery that gave something to the ocean around it, that in a sense gave form to the formless, gave shape to non-existence. "Sort of like the shape that is created out of empty space when a cup is formed?" The Abbot with the slate grey eyes seemed taller in the night. "Exactly," said the boy, "The shape of the cup gives the world a way to be used." The Abbot laughed. "Without it, water isn't drank, tea isn't shared, all the potential goes to waste, unused. The world needs to be used or what's it here for?" The Abbot continued laughing as Hideaki was excited and was nearly shouting. When he finished, Hideaki had the distinct impression he had just listened to a deeper part of himself talking, as if he had gotten out of the way and observed the whole thing. Hideaki enjoyed the tour with the Abbot so much he didn't wonder about where the old man was, or what he was doing. Until the next morning. When he joined them, Hideaki was stunned. The Abbot made no notice of his friend's condition. The Abbot withdraw into silent, close-lidded meditation, allowing the old man to compose himself. Hideaki was certain he had not slept. Worse, he had new lines of anguish worn into his aged face. Hideaki's suspicion was confirmed – the story was indeed about the old man. Why would the Abbot subject him to such a painful ordeal? Hideaki looked again at the twisted mask of defeat stamped on the old man's face. If he had learned nothing else in his time with these two men, he resolved never to live with the self-inflicted torture the old man was experiencing right now. Out of respect and love for his friend, Hideaki joined the Abbot in contemplation, closing his eyes and pulling his mind inward to a stillpoint. He felt the gratitude of the old man for averting his eyes. It was early morning. The dew was cool on the air, floating up from the grass and leaves, evaporating back into the invisible all around them. The Abbot opened the shutter of his eyelids to reveal the grey windows to his soul. Malice could not exist there; Hideaki remained puzzled about his intention. Deep in their midst was a hint of mischief that suggested he was up to something good in the long run. Hideaki had never lost trust in him, now he relaxed and waited for the surprise. The old man had no access to the Abbot's positive design either. He waited with a barely assuaged look of misery on his face. As if he knew he was going to be forced to crawl over broken glass a second day. The Abbot broke his silence. "The boy fled in the night. There was no refuge for him in feudal Japan - to go to another house, even a warring one, meant eventual capture or repatriation. What could he offer if he did find his way to a house that would take him in? He was sick of pottery. It had gotten him in trouble twice, and he wanted nothing to do with it. He ran into the protective cloak of the mountains, knowing the guards would search for him along the roads at night, then turn to the mountains in the light. “As he runs along the path he knows so well, aided by the light of a pregnant moon illuminating his way through the breaks in the trees, he sees lights in the distance, where he knows there should not be any. Crossing a stream and climbing a steep set of stairs, the boy comes to a hidden monastery." The Abbot paused to look at the old man, whose familiar serene countenance beamed from underneath the clouded mask. "The monastery takes him in, promising him refuge from the Daimyo's anger. Waiting in dread for days after his flight, the boy is surprised when no guards appear to search the grounds. In the meantime, the boy is kept busy by the monks with all manner of work. Isolated, self-sufficient monasteries have no shortage of work to be done, and there was plenty to keep the boy busy. Though he is busy, and recuperating from the hurt of being conspired against and banished, the boy is drawn back to the clay. “He is surprised at the pull it has on him. As before, when he was ejected from the studio, he creates with clay in his spare time. The monks who supervise him make sure he has plenty to do, but they never interfere with him once he has completed his tasks for the day. He starts small, once again creating his own studio. Again, he is inspired by love for the work. He creates a new generation of ware similar to his previous effort, but now there is even more emotion, more raw beauty than before. His pottery soon begins to supports the monastery, and the ware becomes favored throughout the land. “Even without a teacher to guide him, the boy becomes an elevated pottery master through dedication to his craft, love of the work for its own sake, and persistence through years of trial and error. “Because he is a condemned man, and partly because of his vanity, his name is obscured. The pottery is signed with the name of the monastery. “Many years later, a traveling party of the Daimyo's family comes to visit the monastery. The party's guide informs one of the monks that his master wants to procure some of the famous ware. “Out of the litter, steps a beautiful woman. The Daimyo's wife! But it has been too long, it cannot be her. Next, out of the litter steps an older version of the same woman. The potter understands. The first woman was the daughter he had fallen in love with so many years ago, behind her was her mother. From the haggard, defeated set of the older woman's face, the potter knew there had never been a son. “The two women are led into a small hut where the ware is displayed. The potter has secreted himself on the side of the hut to listen to the women. Both women admire the ceramics, but the older woman does so in the manner of one trying to stave off boredom with forced activity. For her, the bulk of life has already passed. The daughter, whose radiance contrasts with the decline of her mother, is genuinely delighted. “For a moment, the potter recalls the little girl who found so much pleasure in his sculptures so many years past. Except now she is educated, and as a noble, has surely seen the best art Japan has to offer. And still she appraises his work with high honor. As she inspects it, he cannot see her, he can only hear her comments. There is a significant silence. Before she says anything, he knows she has intuited the truth. 'Who makes this ware?' she asks the monk attending her. 'The monastery.' 'Is there a monk here by the name of . . .' 'There is nothing here but the monastery and the monks.' Came the polite, steadfast refusal to respond. 'But is there a monk named . . .' 'The only monk here is Buddha.' “Silence again, this time signifying the confirmation of the query in the wake of the refusal. 'The monastery makes pottery of the highest worth. Whoever puts their hand to these shapes has wisdom and compassion in them.' That was her response to the refusal. “Outside the hut, the potter smiled and walked back to his studio.” The Abbot rested, as if the entire story had just come out on the strength of a single exhalation. "I shall bring tea." He rose and entered the doorway to the compound. The old potter wept quietly. Though he had found fulfillment in his work, he still bore regret for his lack of discipline in early life. Tears ran down a face as lined and parched as a riverbed that hasn't seen rain in years. In that moment acute awareness of what he had lost all those years before washed over him like a flood. A mass of emotions swirled on his face – loss, shame, and a desire to revisit the scene of his errors. Through all that, the old man fixed Hideaki with a look that said, 'Do not miss the opportunity to right your own life.' This took the Hideaki aback. The old man would have been justified in weeping tears of self-pity. In his darkest moment he was still dedicated to Hideaki. The boy had never witnessed, let alone been the object of such selfless consideration for another. He reached out and wiped the tears from the potter's cheek, and vowed he would do whatever he had to in order to set his own world right. He also discovered a strong urge to pass on the gift the potter had given him. The gift of service to another, the possibility of guiding another on the right path. So many ideas were in the boy's head right now: 'Everyone needs guidance - if they don't get it, how easy it is to make the wrong choice - or even worse, not even make choices, simply follow their own mind unaware of the ultimate consequences. That is cause of despair, making wrong choices and looking back years later to realize you had other options you never saw.' These and many other thoughts raced through his mind like wind on the mountain during a summer typhoon. Hideaki reeled from the realizations flowing over him. In the midst of these, he held onto his double resolution: to set his own life straight, and to serve another in the same way the old man, this simple potter, was serving him. The old man's face cleared. The Abbot rejoined them with a small tray of cool fruit tea. "You will have the chance to do both." The Abbot sat down and enjoyed the tea with his friends. A long time passed. The Abbot spoke to the boy. "The potter brought you here with the highest intention. He wanted to help steer you on the right path in your life. Unlike him in his earlier life, you sought help, and were eager to follow good advice when it was given. This is a very strong quality in you. But I disagree with his original idea. He was going to take you on a tour of his life and show you where he went wrong. That is why I told you the story, and why he was so surprised when I did so. That kind of teaching has a short-lived effect. Like fireworks, once the echoes subside and the flash fades from the inside of your mind, what are you left with? A memory that never really affected you."The Abbot turned to the old man. "You will have the opportunity to do things right this time. This is no place for a boy to grow up. You need your chance to live in the world – with all that entails. You may fail. But, to send you back as you are now, putting your adult mind into your childhood body, will do no good. You will go back, and get the chance to start over, but as the child you once were. You will have the same chances you had then to make mistakes, or to do things right. But this time, there will be one difference." The slate grey eyes smiled at the Hideaki again. "This time you will have someone with you to guide you along the right path. This way, he learns too. By observing someone like himself, and having responsibility for another. This is a lesson that will be remembered." The Abbot was very pleased with himself, and made no effort to disguise it behind a veil of piety. He was laughing at the bewilderment of both his friends. Hideaki looked at the old man and the old man at Hideaki. They laughed too. Now they were partners. Soon, all three were laughing at the very unexpected and very exquisite solution. "But before you go, you will spend another night here." |