Tokyo Twins Chapter 22 - Shinjuku downunder again. A deadheat piano duet. A teching on losing your career in Japan. And a parable of Buddha.

a serialized online story

by Tommy Schmitz

Chapter 22 - Shinjuku downunder again. A dead heat piano duet. A teaching on losing your career in Japan. And a parable of Buddha.


(Here is the link to Chapter 21.)

"You're impossible." said Yamoto-san.

"What?" Kenji said.

"And amazing." she added.

"What?" he asked.

"You bring together people on the street

from all over Tokyo,

and for what?...

... mission improbable?

Satchitananda-san my friend, we don't even know what's going on?

Yet everybody's happy about it."



She moved in the night, still Saturday,

through low branches of plum trees

near Shinjuku Station.

And kept an eye on her friend, Kenji.

"Okay. This is it. This is the place we've chosen. It's outta the way. But it's pretty much a straight slip into the sink.

"Let's see," said Kenji.

And Yamoto-san lifted and swung off to one side

a sizeable section of turf

apparently fixed upon plywood,

and then grabbed her friend by the hand

and led him into the black interior of the earth

and she said, "Don't move

while I reach up and slide this board over,

humph, thank you, all done. I hope you know

what you're doing?"

she went on, leading him half in crawl and half in slide

into nothing at all but black.

"Well Yamoto-san, let's put it this way.

It is unquestionably what we are going to do,

and beyond that?

I don't have a clue."



"Would it bother you," she said,

"if I told you I think you are lying through your teeth?"

She could feel Kenji's smile in the dark.

"No. Not at all." he said.



*******



[In the Tokyo Metropolitan Sewer System below Shinjuku Station.]

"Let's go over the plan on Tuesday morning around 9:00?

That good for each of the nine coordinator?" Kenji said.



"Just the same old question for you, Satchitananda-san.

Who or what is being delivered?" asked one of the nine,

with the rest shaking their heads out of frustration.



"There will be two people," said Kenji. And you will know them by a password.

"Which is...?" another voice called out to him.

"Which is I still don't know yet."

"This is getting frustrating for us." said another.

"You're asking us to do a lot here.

And we really don't know what's going on."



"And I commend you for your patience and dedication.

If you'd like to know fully what this is all about,

here is what to do, after your mission:

go to the nearest TV and tune in Fuji Television Network."



"And if we don't?" someone asked.

"No sweat. Next morning, just consult any newspaper headline,

radio news broadcast, or morning television show.

It'll all be there.

No more questions?

Good. I must be on my way." Kenji said while already to the secret exist.

"Wait! What's the damn password!?"

"I still don't know yet!"

"How are we going to find these two people?!"

"I still don't know yet!"

"This guy's too much." a man said outload.

"Where are you going?" asked another.

"I have flute recital in the morning."

"A flute recital? Well, knock `em dead," Yamoto-san said in sarcasm.


*******



Katie and Susan O'Brien awoke early Sunday morning

And silently set up the computer, the microphone,

double checked the settings,

and told Oba-chan when she checked in on them

that they had already eaten breakfast and did the cleaning up.

Oba-chan headed back for the comfort of her futon.

And then they sat by the window,

watching and waiting

for their Uncle, the flautist, to arrive.



At nine o'clock there was no sign of him.

At five minutes after nine, there was still no sign,

Except for the complaints and worries

Of nervous and impatient fourteen year old twin sisters.

There was back and forth in whines and moans.

Until one of them

finally said, "Let's get started."

And the other said, "What if he doesn't show up?"

And the one said, "Let's not think about that."

And the other said, "Okay."

"Who's gonna play grandfather's lullaby?" said Susan.

"You play it, Susan. I'll watch the recording. And the window.

"I'm too nervous to play it right now." said Susan.

"Oh come on, Susan! Okay, I'll play it. No wait."

Now I'm too nervous." Katie said.

"Okay. Loser plays it." said Katie.

"Rock sissors paper." They both said allowed

and pumped their right hands three times.

Tie.

"Rock scissors paper."

Tie again.

"Rock scissors paper...

Oh come on with this tie crap." Said Susan.

Rock scissors paper.

Tie.

No use. Katie said.

"That was four times."

"Eew, four. Bad luck."

"Rock scissors paper."

Tie.

"What's our record?"

"Rock scissors paper."

Tie.

"Thirteen."

"Been a long time ago."

"Rock scissors paper."

Tie.

"We were eight. Remember?"

"Rock scissors paper."

Tie.

"Yeah, over the Pacific, right?"

"Rock scissors paper."

Tie.

"Fifty thousand feet."

"Rock scissors paper."

Tie.

Yeah! We drew a crowd in coach class!"

"Rock scissors paper."

Tie.

"That was fun."

"Rock scissors paper."

Tie.

"Wait. How many was..."

"Ten." said Katie.

"Rock scissors paper."

Tie.

Eleven.

"Rock scissors paper."

Tie.

Twelve.

"Oh wow."

"Rock scissors paper."

Tie.

"Thirteen."

Here we go.

"Rock scissors paper."

Tie.

"Fourteen."

They stopped.

"New record."

"That's weird."

"Ya know what?" Katie said.

"What?" said Susan.

"I think I can play it now."

"Me too!" said Susan laughing.

"I'll take the bass." said Katie.

"Good. I got the top, and let me just hit record button here on the screen. Ready?

"Just a sec." Katie said.

And Katie and Susan O'Brien sat at the piano

and stretched their arms and wrists and hands

and in syncopation, breathed and sighed aload and

nodded their heads in eye contact, and began to play

their American grandfather's lullaby at a slow and yearning pace.

And sat quietly a few moments when they finished.

"Grandpa calls it a 'Negro Spiritual'.

"Yeah."

"What black slaves might have sung.."

"..to sooth themselves at night."

"I think he did write lyrics for it." Katie said.

"I don't think so." said Susan.

"Doesn't need `em, does it." said Katie.

"It's soothing enough without words."

"Yeah."

"Still no Uncle Flautist."

And Susan began playing from memory

the melody from Satchitananda and his flute.



"That's it!" Katie said. "That's it. Good.

Keep it going. Don't stop the recording."



And Katie began filling in with a sparse and

And wondering and waltz-like bass line.

And the two continued playing Uncle Kenji's theme,

over and over,

moving their heads in slow motion up and down,

And losing track of time.



"You remembered," came a voice from behind them.

"Satchitananda-san!"

"Uncle! Where have you been?"

You remembered, girls. Very good."

"How did you..."



"I'm sorry, Katie and Susan...

I was outside listening the whole time,

wondering how you might solve this problem,

and then wondering if you'd remember the other melody or not?"



The girls gave Kenji big, serious frowns and angry eyes.

"Very good. I'm proud of you.

It's not easy to remember the things

we hardly know when we're under the gun, is it?" said Kenji.

"No, it's not easy." the girls said.

"But you did remember, and then you acted on it."

"Yeah." the girls said.

"Very good."

"What about your flute? Will you play for us?"

"Oh, um. Unfortunately for me, at least,

it's not easy to remember

even the things I know well

when I am under the gun.

You're way ahead of me on that, girls."

"Which means what about your flute?" Katie said.

"Which means I lost it." Kenji said. And paused.

"What's already recorded sounds wonderful, girls.

Perhaps that is enough?"



"Alright." said Katie. "Susan, let's get it edited and converted."

"Uncle Kenji, look!" Susan said. "People in Hebi-yama."

"And dogs!" said Katie.

"It's okay." Kenji said.

"They'll find you!" said Susan.

"It's okay. I'll go out the front door. I better go now."

"What if they...?"

"It's okay. I'll meet you on the train a bit later."

"How?" said Katie.

And their Uncle Kenji was already gone.


*******



"Our careers are sunk." Said Kaneko-san.

"That or tanshinfunin," added Taya-san.

"Tanshinfunin." Kaneko was shaking his head. "I'd rather be dead."

"What is tanshinfunin?" came a voice from the back seat.



The agents swung around their heads and shoulders

and there was Kenji lounging in the back seat,

feet up and head rested on the window.



"Good morning." Kenji said smiling. "What is tanshinfunin?"



The agents were opened-mouthed and stunned silent.



"Well?"

"How did you..." Kaneko-san started.

"I'm sorry, gentlemen. I asked first." said Kenji.

"Don't you move." said Taya-san.

"Do I look mobile? Now please. Do tell."

"We'll get transferred to the boondocks forever..."

Kaneko-san started saying, "that's tanshinfunin."



"What are you doing?" Taya barked at Kaneko.

"He's answering my question. Please continue."

"You get put away... from your family,

your friends, in some office far away from home...."



"Ouch." Said Kenji.

"At least six hours by bullet train away from home." Kaneko-san added.

"...for two, three years." said Taya-san.

"A punishment we may have nipped in the bud," he continued,

"thank you for turning yourself in."



"Thank you for the explanation, Kaneko-san.

Gentlemen, I'll be on my way.

Now, if you'll look for just a moment

at the chaos taking place in Hebi-yama..."

And behold, there was Oba-chan

in her robe and sneekers,

stomping through the bamboo stalks

and waving her arms

and screaming with profound articulation

at the agents and dogs

covering the bamboo jungle.



The agents in the car turned back around to look.

Then turned around once again to speak to Kenji,

But Kenji was already gone.


*******



"I don't see him." Katie said.

Come on, we either hop on this train,

or we'll be late for practice."



Katie and Susan slipped through

the closing doors of the train at Fuda Station,

and with their gear bags slung over their shoulders,

they leaned and bumped their way

in search of standing-room

through the crowded car

of Sunday shoppers headed for Shinjuku.



Each grabbed with one hand an empty handle from the ceiling

and each grabbed with the other,

her sister's palms and fingers,

weaving what they had into one.




And in and out of the clack and rhythm

and intermittent shuffles of the train,

upon the eyes of Katie and Susan

and on the muscles of their cheeks and foreheads,

fear and despair was quickly regaining lost ground.

"There you are," came the voice of Satchitananda.

"And there you are!" the girls said breaking into a smile.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes." said Katie.

"No." Susan said.

"Okay. No." said Katie.



"What is it you're feeling?" Kenji said.



And at once the girls began to cry

in wordless sobbing and half-muttered agonies,

then gasping for a breath,

then sobbing.



Kenji looked at and put his arms around

and squeezed the shoulders and heads

of his two grand-nieces.



"Let's take a pit stop at Shimotakaido Station,

And get ourselves a drink,

and a tiny bit of rest." said Kenji.



And Katie and Susan O'Brien sat on a bench

without discretion and with great effort

to gain some control over the sobs

and began to settle down a bit,

whenKenji returned with hot green tea

for all.



"We can't really stop, Uncle Kenji. We're almost late.

"Katie and Susan, tell me now, what it is you're feeling."

"I don't know." said Susan.

"We're afraid." Katie said.

Yeah. Okay. No kiddin. We're afraid." Susan said.

"I understand," said Kenjji.

"Our mother and father may be killed in two days."

The girls squeezed harder on their hands.



Kenji remained silent.



"What can be done?" said Susan.

"How can you stop one person from taking the life of another person?"

They looked at Kenji's eyes

and could see some kind of understanding,

and could see his willingness to talk about it.



"Hmm. Good question." Kenji began.

"Let's get up and continue to the Setagaya Line,

and we'll talk along the way.



"Many years ago, I was lucky to hear a story

told to me by a young saint

traveling alone through the mountains of Nepal

where I was in silence for quite some time.



"Young saint?" the girls asked.

"He was sixteen or seventeen years old." said Kenji.

"How did you know he was a saint?" Katie asked.

Kenji chuckled and shook his head.

"I don't know. I just knew he was."

"And he told you a story...." Susan said.

"Yes. This young saint said that Buddha was once traveling alone through land that was new to him. And in this land there lived a vicious mass-murderer whose name was Angulimala,
and whose favorite target were those unfortunate individuals he happened to discover traveling alone.

Angulimalawas famous for collecting the thumbs of his victims
on a necklace he wore around his neck.

He was determined to collect one thousand pairs of thumbs on this necklace. And it just so happened that on the auspicious day when he was but a single pair of thumbs short of his dream of one-thousand, he met a lone traveler in this land. And this traveler happened to be Buddha.

Angulimala directly approached Buddha
and with a big display and loud voice
stood before him and proclaimed,
"I am the feared and vicious Angulimala ,
famous for murdering
nine hundred and ninety-nine people
and collecting their thumbs
on this necklace you see here.
All in a proud and glorious effort
to have a proud and glorious necklace
of one thousand pairs of thumbs,
and you, poor soul," Angulimala said,
drilling his intimidating stare
upon the eyes of Buddha,
"are at last my final victim."

"Is that a fact," responded Buddha,
not biting at the bait
that dangled before him
to capture his anger or his panic or his fear.


And Buddha continued with a calm and friendly voice,
"Isn't that interesting. Me. Your final victim."
The words were spoken quietly, directly,
and with compassion and respect:
"Now then, Angulimala-san,
I stand here patiently,
I stand here honored
to welcome you, and
to be delivered whatever it is
you wish to do to me.
You may attack me at your will."

And for the first time in his murderous life,
Angulimala was struck by the understanding,
and alas - the compassion! - of his murderous ways.

And from the power of Buddha's opening heart,
Angulimala fell to his knees
sobbing helplessly like a child
who was feeling loved
and feeling it all brand new.

Buddha comforted the murderer
until he was able to stand up again
and invited Angulimala to walk along with him.

Angulimala did so.
In fact, he did so for quite some time.
And after seven or eight years of walking with Buddha,
Angulimala became, like his teacher, enlightened.

And soon was sent away by Buddha
to walk alone
and to instruct those he might find along his own path.

And one day Angulimala happened unwittingly
upon a village he had forgotten had suffered
many deaths at his very own hands years before.

And the people of this village recognized him
as the murderer that had taken away
so many of their loved ones,
and they attacked him,
and Angulimala fell to his knees
in surrender to these people as they beat him.

And Angulimala remained surrendered
and curled upon the ground
during this vast and furious beating
brought down upon him
by a considerable majority of people in this village.

After a time, the people became exhausted
of their beating and their passion,
and then also became bewildered
at the surrender
of this vicious mass-murderer,
and his acquiescence toward them
and of their venting anger.

So the people of the village
stopped their beating of Angulimala.
And let him lay there in a great pool of blood
while their victim simply continued
to ask for nothing but their forgiveness.

Angulimala survived the beating
and resolved to remain in and serve
the people of this village.

Years later, many people from that town
became enlightened through Angulimala`s
patient and artful teachings.

And that is the story
of "Buddha and Angulimala"
told to me by this young saint
as he was walking through Nepal
many years ago.

"What was his name,

the name of this saint?" Katie asked.

"I only later heard some people

refer to him as "Punditji.

They say he was born and raised and lives now

in the city of Bangalore, India." Kenji said.

"Now?"

"Yes." said Kenji.

"Oh! And here you are, your destination.

And please forgive me, girls,

I will remain aboard

and will see you at home this evening."

"But... but....". the girls tried to speak.

"Have a good practice." Kenji said.

And the girls tripped out of the train car,

And the doors of the train car closed,

and the train itself was fading from view,

as was - in a disappearing window -

their uncle's smiling face,

and then the girls remembered

they forgot to lift their arms

or to raise their voices

to wave

or to say goodbye.

"We didn't even ..." Katie started saying,

shaking her head

and throwing up her hands.

"... no, we sure as hell didn't." said Susan.

And the two began kicking pebbles beneath them

Yet feeling better, and so noticing it in surprise,

neither, of course, had foreseen

the sudden "what-is-this?" emptying-out

Of something stuck inside,

something old and dark and dense.

And then creating "what-is-this?" anew,

some ancient and quiet and familiar vacancy

now expanding in a lively wakefulness

inside each of them.

*******

End of Chapter 22 - Shinjuku downunder again. A dead heat piano duet. A teaching on losing your career in Japan. And a parable of Buddha.

Note: The parable, above, is adapted from a talk given by Sri Sri Ravi Shankar years ago as part of a verbal commentary containing thirty public talks on the Bhakti Sutras. The parable, though not repeated verbatim from Sri Sri, does contain, imo, Sri Sri's own dash of knowledge often not apart of this ancient and often told parable.

...