With the restoration of the emperor came different improvements to raise the status of the undertrodden peasantry. Universal education was one. A grammar school was erected in the village next to the burgomaster's house. Textbooks were not adequate and the old classics of Chinese derivation were taught to instill the age old maxims and aphorisms that every educated person was expected to know by heart.
Every morning before he started out to school, Torao was given a cup of rice wine by his grandfather. To be a man, one had to take his liquor well and that training might as well start early. It was a peculiar notion from later standards, but in the eyes of the Japanese, heated rice wine is usually weak in alcoholic content, and was not devastating in its effect like the distilled spirits of the West. Besides, it was used in all the religious and formal rituals. Only on the departure for an undertaking that presages sudden or certin death is wine substituted by plain water. Plain water exchanged in drinking connotes death and a willingness to enter into such a contract. Rice wine is drunk in Japan by the men just like wine is freely taken in France or in Italy. Thus, Torao was trained to drink from his childhood, but this training was destined to cause heartbreak and loneliness in his later years.
About once a month Mrs. Murayama used to take her children to Amizu where her ancestral home was situated and proceed to the hill in back of the village where the family cemetery was located. The purpose behind this monthly pilgrimage was to impress upon her youngsters that though the world she had been brought up into had changed and was replaced by a more enlightened era under the direct rule of the emperor, it was still important to learn and feel proud of their lineage.
Not far from her father's home was a trail that led up to the hill. The approach to the cemetery was well kept for it led to the Fudo Temple which was cared for by the village but had originally been built by her own direct ancestors as a family shrine of worship and piety. It was a tiny structure built along the traditional lines of temples, but had a leading to it. In other words, it was a mixture of Shinto and Buddhist worship and had been cared for as the village guardian deity since the temple had been adopted by the village as a whole.
Fudo-san, of Indian origin, was looked upon in Japan as a special benefactor against all catastrophies and calamities and as a guardian for the villagers. It was perhaps an appropriate god. From the torii to the temple there was a rather steep climb with steps cut into the slope and buttressed by wooden reenforcements. The approach was always kept free of weeds and swept clean. Cherry trees lined the road.
Her father had been the burgomaster of this region for generations. This class was peculiar in that although farmers, they were allowed the distinction of having a surname and privileged to wear two swords like any samurai. Lately too much drinking and inattention to details of farming had made the fortune of the family rather precarious. Just as the old order was giving way to the new, so were many established families losing out to the more aggressive element that was riding with the new tide of social and economic progress. This temple was merely a relic and reminder of her family's past splendor.
From this building the trail led up to tall weeds that bloomed in the fall and were known as the "seven shrubs of autumn," to the open area where graveyards were arranged in little compounds for different families. Perched on the side of this hill it commanded the magnificent view of the large Ariake Sea that lay quietly between the main island and the Shimabara Peninsula.
The Unzen Mountains towered majestically across the Sea, the summits usually covered by a veil of clouds. The tip of the Shimabara Peninsula, on which Unzen was located, seemed to merge with the large islands of the Amakusa group to the left. The silvery line in the plain lying in front was the Midorikawa River and the shallow shore receded for miles with the ebb of the tide, leaving sandy stretches as far as the eye could see. The mountain rising abruptly from the other end of the vast Higo Plain was the Kimbosan, behind which the active volcano Aso sent up its smoky column on quiet, windless days. Just in front of them, not more than two miles away, placed like a cone on the bay shore, was the hill of Sumiyoshi surrounded by a fishing village.
The village cemetery overlooked this beautiful, majestic landscape. Among the tombstones, the most conspicuous was her ancestors'; especially the stone of the ancestor about two hundred and fifty years dead who had contributed most to the villagers while he was alive. A stone monument over his grave towered above the other markers and under his posthumous Buddhist name there were fifty-seven names of his disciples engraved upon the face of the rock: those that would have followed him into batde and died for him if necessary.
When they arrived, panting, they stopped for a short while and became fascinated with the view that unfolded before them. Mrs. Murayama would have the children pull weeds and tidy the immediate neighborhood of the tomb, change the water in the vases that were placed in front of it, and place new greens and flowers that they brought from home. Then, lighting a bundle of incense, each child was given several to stick into the soft ground beside the vase. As the thin lines of smoke rose from individual incense sticks to merge higher up, Mrs. Murayama assumed a squatting position and with hands brought together before her face, led her three children in the intonation of praise of the Buddha, "Namu, Amida Butsu, Namu, Amida Butsu." Each child held a tiny rosary in his hand and squatting alongside his mother would silently bow following her every move from the corner of his eye and repeat the "Namu Amida Butsu, Namu Amida Butsu." Then she would get up and pour water over the moss-covered tombstone.
She did not know why this was done but by so doing felt that the right thing was done for the departed ones. Perhaps the departed one was thirsty. Anyway, water was pure and it was an act of purification. Tradition and custom usually had some rational purpose when analyzed. After this was done they proceeded to clean the neighboring graveyards. Some graves had no one to care for them; the line had died out or the survivor had moved away. They felt so much better after this was done. It made them feel that they were not only doing something for their own, but also serving others.
"This world," Mrs. Murayama would tell her children, "is not to be lived in alone selfishly. One must be willing to help others whether the act is noted or not. The time may come when you will be the recipient of a kindly act. If you do good to others, it is natural that others will be good to you. But you must not expect reward. It makes one feel good to be doing good."
About the time of the Bon Festival, care of the family graves took on additional significance. During late August or early September when the moon was full and most beautiful, the departed spirits were supposed to return to their former mortal abodes. It was a season when spirits hovered in the atmosphere. Even the dead could not stay quiet. The lure of the lunar beauty was overwhelming. Every household which had a case of death in the preceding year would receive presents of fancy paper lanterns from friends. The departed spirit on its first return from the nether world would find that his erstwhile mortal friends remembered him on this occasion. The mistress of the house had the house ready for the return of the departed souls. Every nook and corner of the house had to be spick and span; the graveyard weeded and cleanly swept. The room in which the Buddhist altar was placed was decorated with fancy lanterns, and before the image of Buddha flowers, fresh greens, and the produce of the fields were placed. There would be carrots, eggplants, and cucumbers piled high on plates. Candies, cakes, and the special favorite of the recently departed one were placed especially for him. A pair of huge lanterns bearing the family crest were hung from the ceiling in front of the altar. At the graveyard similar lanterns were hung and were lighted nightly during the Bon period. The cemetery put on a festive air. No colored flower was used to decorate the graveyard. All plants were branches of green foliage.
The festival began on the thirteenth of the lunar month. Next to New Year's day, this day was of extreme importance to the common people. On this night, the boys that were apprenticed to farms, shops, or mercantile houses, or the girls that served as maids in other homes, returned home and all proceeded together to