FIC: 36 View of Mt. Fuji: Spring (2/9)
Chiaki Yamaoka put her hands on either side of the sink and glared at herself in the mirror. "Guts up, Chiaki! You can do it!" All things considered, it wasn't like this was the worst assignment she'd ever had. Her client was merely annoying, obtuse, narcissistic and ethnocentric; so far he hadn't tried to grope her or insisted on calling her his "Yokohama Mama" like that jackass philanthropist from Star City a few years ago. And the first day was over and done! Chiaki nodded at her reflection, her eyes set and determined. It was, as they said in English, a piece of cake! There were only three more days to go, after all.
Three more days!
Chiaki Yamaoka, interpreter for billionaire Bruce Wayne, put her forehead against the mirror and moaned quietly to herself.
: : :
"There sure are a lot of stairs here," complained Bruce Wayne as they made their way toward the temple, climbing up the stone steps laid into the hill. He stopped to catch his breath; Chiaki tried not to glare at him. His companion, the reporter from the Daily Planet, also leaned against the rail and rested. Americans were so out of shape!
"We should probably try to catch up to the rest of the tour group, Bruce," said the reporter--Kent, that was his name. Clark Kent.
"Well, they didn't all need to sprint like that," grumbled Wayne, slowly continuing his ascent. It wasn't like the billionaire even looked out of shape; Chiaki was forced to admit that he cut rather a nice figure in his pinstriped charcoal-gray suit. But he clearly wasn't used to having to walk where he needed to go.
They emerged at the top of the stairs to find a small temple in front of them. Behind them stretched a stunning panorama of Kyoto, nestled within its circle of hills. "What's the name of this place again?" Kent asked, squinting at his map.
"It's called Suzumushi-dera, or the Temple of Crickets," Chiaki said, relieved to be able to slip into tour guide mode. She herded them toward the main hall as she explained, "It was founded in 1723 and got its name because its founder supposedly achieved enlightenment while listening to the crickets singing around the temple." From inside the hall, a complex tapestry of creaks and chirps became audible as they drew near. "In memory of that, the monks here keep crickets alive year-round at the right temperature to make them sing."
"Enlightenment through bugs, huh?" said Wayne. "I guess I've heard of stranger things."
Kent smiled and pushed his glasses up on his nose. He had rather a nice smile. "Now, if it were enlightenment through, say, bats--that would be truly weird."
Wayne snorted. "Yeah, damn weird," he agreed as they removed their shoes and entered the lecture hall to join the rest of their group.
The hall was tatami-lined, with long tables set up for guests to sit at. At each place setting was a cup of hot green tea and a couple of small sweets on a napkin. At the front of the room was a large case full of insects, from which came the symphony of chirruping. A smiling monk in ochre robes, his head shaven, waited for the latecomers to sit down cross-legged on the floor and then began his lecture.
Chiaki translated in whispers for the two men as they drank their tea and nibbled on the hard, crumbly sweets. It was basically a history of the temple and a brief discussion of the concept of enlightenment. As the monk neared the end of his speech, Chiaki explained, "He's saying that the crickets here are treated very well, as holy creatures. They live full and happy lives, and when they die--" She broke off as a ripple of laughter went around the room.
"What'd he say?" Wayne demanded, then popped his last sweet into his mouth. He glanced over at the reporter, chewing, and Kent coughed and looked down at his cup of tea, biting his lip.
Chiaki paused to savor the moment just a bit, then explained. "He says that when the crickets die, they're ground up and made into the sweets we're eating, so that all of us can have a taste of blessedness."
The look on Wayne's face made up for a lot of what Chiaki had had to endure the last two days. "Oh," he said, swallowing gingerly.
Across the table, Clark Kent burst into laughter.
: : :
"More climbing," Bruce said plaintively. "Why'd they have to build all the temples in the hills, anyway?"
Their interpreter, walking well in front of them, muttered something rather rude, too quietly for anyone but a Kryptonian to hear. Then she turned and said politely, "Temples were used to retreat from the politics and intrigue of the capital, so they were usually in the hills."
They were walking up a narrow street paved in stone on their way to Kiyomizu Temple. On either side of the street were a multitude of little souvenir shops where one could buy anything from wind chimes to wooden Buddhas, fresh rice crackers to wall hangings of the latest popular boy band. Clark found his attention caught by a set of cherry-pink teacups; he turned them over in his hand thoughtfully.
"Buying a souvenir for that raven-haired reporter of yours?" Bruce was suddenly at his shoulder. He laughed at Clark's expression. "Oh yes, I keep track of these things; I know who you've been seen with lately."
"You would," Clark grumbled, putting the tea cups down and picking up a silk handkerchief. Nothing in the store really seemed to suit Lois.
He supposed that included Clark Kent.
He didn't feel like discussing it with Bruce, certainly, but things hadn't been going very well with Lois for the last few months. She liked Superman and tolerated Clark when she noticed him, but even she had noted that her Kryptonian suitor had huge sections of his life that were walled off to her, huge sections of his personality that she had no access to. It didn't matter whether it was Superman or Clark she was interested in--she didn't know that Superman grew up milking cows, and she didn't know that Clark Kent was an orphan from the stars. As long as Clark kept his secret, she really could never know him well enough to love him.
That realization, Clark thought sadly, was probably why he hadn't really felt much of a connection with his co-worker lately. When he had first come to Metropolis, Lois was on his mind constantly. He had fantasized about her silky black hair and her soft skin almost every night; it had driven him nearly crazy to be near her at work all the time, unable to touch her and kiss her...But lately she just hadn't been on his mind as much. Instead he found himself thinking of his superhero life as he drifted to sleep: how to convince Bruce to help found the League, what the perfect team would look like, his latest case with the Toyman and whether he should ask Batman's advice on a set of clues...he was probably working too hard if Lois could no longer take his mind off work. And there was definitely something wrong if his fantasy sex life had dropped off so dramatically. Yet somehow he didn't feel particularly stressed, or deprived. Very odd--
"Kent!" Bruce's voice broke into his reverie. "Head out of the clouds, man, we have to catch up." Beyond him their long-suffering interpreter was trying not to look too impatient.
Clark put the handkerchief down and hurried after Bruce. He'd buy something for Lois later.
: : :
"This is more like it," Bruce said appreciatively as they approached the next temple, which was a long, low building of dark timbers and whitewashed walls. "No stairs, no slopes. I like this one. What's its name?"
Chiaki looked very tired. "This is Sanjusangendo."
"That's a mouthful," Bruce said cheerily, entering the building. "What's its shtick?" He made a mental note to find some way to sneak extra money into the interpreter's fund: no one should have to ferry the two of them around like this.
"It features one thousand and one statues of Kannon, the Bodhisattva of mercy." The three of them went around the corner to enter a long hall. On their right was the external wall of the temple; on their left, row upon row of nearly-identical wooden statues, gleaming with gilt, each with a quantity of arms raised in blessing. They gazed benignly at Bruce, who stared back. So much benediction.
"A Bodhisattva," Chiaki was explaining patiently, "Is a being who has achieved enlightenment, but who has chosen to stay in this world rather than enter Nirvana, until all other beings also achieve enlightenment."
Beside Bruce, Clark murmured softly, "The number of beings is endless. I vow to help save them all."
Chiaki looked startled. "Yes, that's from the Bodhisattva Vow." She looked narrowly at Clark, who glanced away and shuffled his feet.
The interpreter continued as they made their way past the array of statues. "It's said that because Kannon can take the form of any being, everyone can find a statue here that resembles their own face." She smiled wistfully. "When I was a little girl I would come here and look for my face and the faces of my family."
Clark peered exaggeratedly at the statues. "I don't think I'll find one here that looks like you, Bruce," he said. "None of them are grouchy enough."
Indeed, all the statues had roughly the same enigmatic, remote smile. Bruce started idly looking for one that resembled Clark. That one's ears were a bit too large...that one's eyes a little too close together...that one's nose just a touch too big. He sneaked a look at the Kryptonian out of the corner of his eye; Clark was busy admiring the statues, a small smile on his face.
It was hopeless, Bruce was forced to admit to himself. None of the statues looked quite like Clark. None was quite perfect--
He yanked his attention back to the statues as Clark turned to grin at him, and focused on asking Chiaki more stupid questions.
He wasn't sure why he felt as though he'd just come within inches of walking off a precipice.
Outside the temple, the early spring sun was bright and clear. A scattering of cherry blossom petals wafted over the compound's walls and into their path. Clark absent-mindedly caught one as it fluttered by, turning it over in his hand. Bruce stretched, his hands over his head. "Three down, one to go, huh? Let no one say we haven't seen enough temples to last a lifetime." Beside him he felt more than heard Chiaki's tiny sigh and promised himself to double her bonus. Getting to watch Brucie unknowingly eat crickets had probably been quite satisfying, but was hardly a tangible reward.
: : :
Chiaki Yamaoka cringed as the three of them approached Ryoanji; Zen gardens were always the most difficult. Western visitors always wanted explanations and interpretations, which wasn't the point at all. Both men had become more quiet as they made their way through the rolling, mossy grounds; they both seemed to be thinking about something. Or maybe they were just tired.
Chiaki certainly was.
Eventually they made their way to the stone Zen garden. The rest of the tour group was milling about and chatting on the wide wooden veranda that overlooked the garden. Wayne settled down on the soft, polished wood and crossed his legs, looking out over the raked white pebbles and dark rocks, oddly graceful even in his formal suit. After a moment, the reporter sat down next to him.
Chiaki joined them and together they gazed at the garden. In the yard in front of them, small white rocks were carefully raked into patterns around fifteen larger stones: Lines of white pebbles like waves that broke into circular ripples around the dark stones. No greenery broke up the austerity; stone and gravel framed by a plain ochre wall behind it.
It was one of Chiaki's favorite sights in Kyoto, and she never tired of sitting and watching the spaces and the tensions between the rocks, the freedom and the restraint...the freedom within restraint, beyond words and knowledge. But she knew that couldn't be expressed, so she gathered herself back into tour guide mode, turning mentally from her own contemplation. "Ryoanji is considered the pinnacle of karesansui, or the dry garden style, which uses rocks with minimal greenery."
"What does it mean?" Wayne asked a bit petulantly, and Chiaki bristled. Always with the stupid questions!
"Some interpret the garden as islands in a vast ocean. Others as mountains rising out of fog."
"I see rocks," said the playboy.
Chiaki paused, the irritation knocked out of her somewhat. "That's actually--" despite yourself-- "A very Zen answer, Mr. Wayne. To focus on what the garden truly is rather than what is appears to be."
"Sh," said the reporter suddenly, putting his hand on Wayne's arm, staring out at the garden.
"What do you see, Clark?" asked Wayne, looking at Kent with a small smile.
Kent continued to gaze at the rocks, rapt. "Everything," he said softly. He seemed to have forgotten to remove his hand from the other man's arm. After a moment he added, almost too softly for Chiaki to hear, "I see us." He sounded slightly puzzled, and a little surprised.
Bruce Wayne turned to look out over the garden, falling silent. The rest of the tour group moved and shifted around them like waves around stones. Long after they were gone the two of them continued to look out at the garden, at the spaces and the silences, deeper than words and more vast.
Three more days!
Chiaki Yamaoka, interpreter for billionaire Bruce Wayne, put her forehead against the mirror and moaned quietly to herself.
: : :
"There sure are a lot of stairs here," complained Bruce Wayne as they made their way toward the temple, climbing up the stone steps laid into the hill. He stopped to catch his breath; Chiaki tried not to glare at him. His companion, the reporter from the Daily Planet, also leaned against the rail and rested. Americans were so out of shape!
"We should probably try to catch up to the rest of the tour group, Bruce," said the reporter--Kent, that was his name. Clark Kent.
"Well, they didn't all need to sprint like that," grumbled Wayne, slowly continuing his ascent. It wasn't like the billionaire even looked out of shape; Chiaki was forced to admit that he cut rather a nice figure in his pinstriped charcoal-gray suit. But he clearly wasn't used to having to walk where he needed to go.
They emerged at the top of the stairs to find a small temple in front of them. Behind them stretched a stunning panorama of Kyoto, nestled within its circle of hills. "What's the name of this place again?" Kent asked, squinting at his map.
"It's called Suzumushi-dera, or the Temple of Crickets," Chiaki said, relieved to be able to slip into tour guide mode. She herded them toward the main hall as she explained, "It was founded in 1723 and got its name because its founder supposedly achieved enlightenment while listening to the crickets singing around the temple." From inside the hall, a complex tapestry of creaks and chirps became audible as they drew near. "In memory of that, the monks here keep crickets alive year-round at the right temperature to make them sing."
"Enlightenment through bugs, huh?" said Wayne. "I guess I've heard of stranger things."
Kent smiled and pushed his glasses up on his nose. He had rather a nice smile. "Now, if it were enlightenment through, say, bats--that would be truly weird."
Wayne snorted. "Yeah, damn weird," he agreed as they removed their shoes and entered the lecture hall to join the rest of their group.
The hall was tatami-lined, with long tables set up for guests to sit at. At each place setting was a cup of hot green tea and a couple of small sweets on a napkin. At the front of the room was a large case full of insects, from which came the symphony of chirruping. A smiling monk in ochre robes, his head shaven, waited for the latecomers to sit down cross-legged on the floor and then began his lecture.
Chiaki translated in whispers for the two men as they drank their tea and nibbled on the hard, crumbly sweets. It was basically a history of the temple and a brief discussion of the concept of enlightenment. As the monk neared the end of his speech, Chiaki explained, "He's saying that the crickets here are treated very well, as holy creatures. They live full and happy lives, and when they die--" She broke off as a ripple of laughter went around the room.
"What'd he say?" Wayne demanded, then popped his last sweet into his mouth. He glanced over at the reporter, chewing, and Kent coughed and looked down at his cup of tea, biting his lip.
Chiaki paused to savor the moment just a bit, then explained. "He says that when the crickets die, they're ground up and made into the sweets we're eating, so that all of us can have a taste of blessedness."
The look on Wayne's face made up for a lot of what Chiaki had had to endure the last two days. "Oh," he said, swallowing gingerly.
Across the table, Clark Kent burst into laughter.
: : :
"More climbing," Bruce said plaintively. "Why'd they have to build all the temples in the hills, anyway?"
Their interpreter, walking well in front of them, muttered something rather rude, too quietly for anyone but a Kryptonian to hear. Then she turned and said politely, "Temples were used to retreat from the politics and intrigue of the capital, so they were usually in the hills."
They were walking up a narrow street paved in stone on their way to Kiyomizu Temple. On either side of the street were a multitude of little souvenir shops where one could buy anything from wind chimes to wooden Buddhas, fresh rice crackers to wall hangings of the latest popular boy band. Clark found his attention caught by a set of cherry-pink teacups; he turned them over in his hand thoughtfully.
"Buying a souvenir for that raven-haired reporter of yours?" Bruce was suddenly at his shoulder. He laughed at Clark's expression. "Oh yes, I keep track of these things; I know who you've been seen with lately."
"You would," Clark grumbled, putting the tea cups down and picking up a silk handkerchief. Nothing in the store really seemed to suit Lois.
He supposed that included Clark Kent.
He didn't feel like discussing it with Bruce, certainly, but things hadn't been going very well with Lois for the last few months. She liked Superman and tolerated Clark when she noticed him, but even she had noted that her Kryptonian suitor had huge sections of his life that were walled off to her, huge sections of his personality that she had no access to. It didn't matter whether it was Superman or Clark she was interested in--she didn't know that Superman grew up milking cows, and she didn't know that Clark Kent was an orphan from the stars. As long as Clark kept his secret, she really could never know him well enough to love him.
That realization, Clark thought sadly, was probably why he hadn't really felt much of a connection with his co-worker lately. When he had first come to Metropolis, Lois was on his mind constantly. He had fantasized about her silky black hair and her soft skin almost every night; it had driven him nearly crazy to be near her at work all the time, unable to touch her and kiss her...But lately she just hadn't been on his mind as much. Instead he found himself thinking of his superhero life as he drifted to sleep: how to convince Bruce to help found the League, what the perfect team would look like, his latest case with the Toyman and whether he should ask Batman's advice on a set of clues...he was probably working too hard if Lois could no longer take his mind off work. And there was definitely something wrong if his fantasy sex life had dropped off so dramatically. Yet somehow he didn't feel particularly stressed, or deprived. Very odd--
"Kent!" Bruce's voice broke into his reverie. "Head out of the clouds, man, we have to catch up." Beyond him their long-suffering interpreter was trying not to look too impatient.
Clark put the handkerchief down and hurried after Bruce. He'd buy something for Lois later.
: : :
"This is more like it," Bruce said appreciatively as they approached the next temple, which was a long, low building of dark timbers and whitewashed walls. "No stairs, no slopes. I like this one. What's its name?"
Chiaki looked very tired. "This is Sanjusangendo."
"That's a mouthful," Bruce said cheerily, entering the building. "What's its shtick?" He made a mental note to find some way to sneak extra money into the interpreter's fund: no one should have to ferry the two of them around like this.
"It features one thousand and one statues of Kannon, the Bodhisattva of mercy." The three of them went around the corner to enter a long hall. On their right was the external wall of the temple; on their left, row upon row of nearly-identical wooden statues, gleaming with gilt, each with a quantity of arms raised in blessing. They gazed benignly at Bruce, who stared back. So much benediction.
"A Bodhisattva," Chiaki was explaining patiently, "Is a being who has achieved enlightenment, but who has chosen to stay in this world rather than enter Nirvana, until all other beings also achieve enlightenment."
Beside Bruce, Clark murmured softly, "The number of beings is endless. I vow to help save them all."
Chiaki looked startled. "Yes, that's from the Bodhisattva Vow." She looked narrowly at Clark, who glanced away and shuffled his feet.
The interpreter continued as they made their way past the array of statues. "It's said that because Kannon can take the form of any being, everyone can find a statue here that resembles their own face." She smiled wistfully. "When I was a little girl I would come here and look for my face and the faces of my family."
Clark peered exaggeratedly at the statues. "I don't think I'll find one here that looks like you, Bruce," he said. "None of them are grouchy enough."
Indeed, all the statues had roughly the same enigmatic, remote smile. Bruce started idly looking for one that resembled Clark. That one's ears were a bit too large...that one's eyes a little too close together...that one's nose just a touch too big. He sneaked a look at the Kryptonian out of the corner of his eye; Clark was busy admiring the statues, a small smile on his face.
It was hopeless, Bruce was forced to admit to himself. None of the statues looked quite like Clark. None was quite perfect--
He yanked his attention back to the statues as Clark turned to grin at him, and focused on asking Chiaki more stupid questions.
He wasn't sure why he felt as though he'd just come within inches of walking off a precipice.
Outside the temple, the early spring sun was bright and clear. A scattering of cherry blossom petals wafted over the compound's walls and into their path. Clark absent-mindedly caught one as it fluttered by, turning it over in his hand. Bruce stretched, his hands over his head. "Three down, one to go, huh? Let no one say we haven't seen enough temples to last a lifetime." Beside him he felt more than heard Chiaki's tiny sigh and promised himself to double her bonus. Getting to watch Brucie unknowingly eat crickets had probably been quite satisfying, but was hardly a tangible reward.
: : :
Chiaki Yamaoka cringed as the three of them approached Ryoanji; Zen gardens were always the most difficult. Western visitors always wanted explanations and interpretations, which wasn't the point at all. Both men had become more quiet as they made their way through the rolling, mossy grounds; they both seemed to be thinking about something. Or maybe they were just tired.
Chiaki certainly was.
Eventually they made their way to the stone Zen garden. The rest of the tour group was milling about and chatting on the wide wooden veranda that overlooked the garden. Wayne settled down on the soft, polished wood and crossed his legs, looking out over the raked white pebbles and dark rocks, oddly graceful even in his formal suit. After a moment, the reporter sat down next to him.
Chiaki joined them and together they gazed at the garden. In the yard in front of them, small white rocks were carefully raked into patterns around fifteen larger stones: Lines of white pebbles like waves that broke into circular ripples around the dark stones. No greenery broke up the austerity; stone and gravel framed by a plain ochre wall behind it.
It was one of Chiaki's favorite sights in Kyoto, and she never tired of sitting and watching the spaces and the tensions between the rocks, the freedom and the restraint...the freedom within restraint, beyond words and knowledge. But she knew that couldn't be expressed, so she gathered herself back into tour guide mode, turning mentally from her own contemplation. "Ryoanji is considered the pinnacle of karesansui, or the dry garden style, which uses rocks with minimal greenery."
"What does it mean?" Wayne asked a bit petulantly, and Chiaki bristled. Always with the stupid questions!
"Some interpret the garden as islands in a vast ocean. Others as mountains rising out of fog."
"I see rocks," said the playboy.
Chiaki paused, the irritation knocked out of her somewhat. "That's actually--" despite yourself-- "A very Zen answer, Mr. Wayne. To focus on what the garden truly is rather than what is appears to be."
"Sh," said the reporter suddenly, putting his hand on Wayne's arm, staring out at the garden.
"What do you see, Clark?" asked Wayne, looking at Kent with a small smile.
Kent continued to gaze at the rocks, rapt. "Everything," he said softly. He seemed to have forgotten to remove his hand from the other man's arm. After a moment he added, almost too softly for Chiaki to hear, "I see us." He sounded slightly puzzled, and a little surprised.
Bruce Wayne turned to look out over the garden, falling silent. The rest of the tour group moved and shifted around them like waves around stones. Long after they were gone the two of them continued to look out at the garden, at the spaces and the silences, deeper than words and more vast.