“Hōïchi, my poor friend, you are now in great danger! How unfortunate
that you did not tell me all this before! Your wonderful skill in music
has indeed brought you into strange trouble. By this time you must be
aware that you have not been visiting any house whatever, but have been
passing your nights in the cemetery, among the tombs of the Heiké;—and
it was before the memorial-tomb of Antoku Tennō that our people
to-night found you, sitting in the rain. All that you have been
imagining was illusion—except the calling of the dead. By once obeying
them, you have put yourself in their power. If you obey them again,
after what has already occurred, they will tear you in pieces. But they
would have destroyed you, sooner or later, in any event... Now I shall
not be able to remain with you to-night: I am called away to perform
another service. But, before I go, it will be necessary to protect your
body by writing holy texts upon it.”
Before sundown the priest and his acolyte stripped Hōïchi: then, with
their writing-brushes, they traced upon his breast and back, head and
face and neck, limbs and hands and feet,—even upon the soles of his
feet, and upon all parts of his body,—the text of the holy sûtra called
_Hannya-Shin-Kyō_.[7] When this had been done, the priest instructed
Hōïchi, saying:—
“To-night, as soon as I go away, you must seat yourself on the
verandah, and wait. You will be called. But, whatever may happen, do
not answer, and do not move. Say nothing and sit still—as if
meditating. If you stir, or make any noise, you will be torn asunder.
Do not get frightened; and do not think of calling for help—because no
help could save you. If you do exactly as I tell you, the danger will
pass, and you will have nothing more to fear.”
After dark the priest and the acolyte went away; and Hōïchi seated
himself on the verandah, according to the instructions given him. He
laid his biwa on the planking beside him, and, assuming the attitude of
meditation, remained quite still,—taking care not to cough, or to
breathe audibly. For hours he stayed thus.
Then, from the roadway, he heard the steps coming. They passed the
gate, crossed the garden, approached the verandah, stopped—directly in
front of him.
“Hōïchi!” the deep voice called. But the blind man held his breath, and
sat motionless.
“Hōïchi!” grimly called the voice a second time. Then a third
time—savagely:—
“Hōïchi!”