Free Anthology of Japanese Literature by Donald Keene Page A

Province. Today there has been nothing approaching a wave on the sea—it seems as if the gods and Buddhas have granted us their protection. It is now the thirty-ninth day from when we first embarked. Now that we have reached Izumi Province, there is no need to worry about pirates.
    High seas detain them for three days at Nada.
    Fourth day, third moon: " Today, judging by the wind and the clouds, we shall have very bad weather," said the pilot, and we did not venture from this harbor. But all day long there has been not a sign of wind or waves. Even as a judge of the weather, this pilot is useless. Along the beach of the harbor were innumerable shells and pebbles of great beauty, and someone in the boat, still unable to think of anything except the child who is no longer with us, composed this poem:
Wash your shells to my ship, o waves!
I'll gather forgetting-shells for one I loved.
    Another, equally unable to bear his grief, and sick in spirit after the trials of the voyage, replies:
I'll gather no forgetting-shells, but jewels,
Mementos of the jewel-like one I loved.
    In grief even a father grows childlike. It might be said, I suppose, that this particular child could hardly be likened to a jewel—but "a departed child has a beautiful face," goes the proverb. . .
    Fifth day: Today we made haste out of Nada, and steered for the harbor of Ozu. Pines stretch endlessly along the beaches. ... As we were rowed along, admiring the view and talking of this and that, a sudden wind rose, and no matter how desperately the boatmen rowed, we were driven slowly backwards. The boat was in danger of foundering in the waves. "This God of Sumiyoshi is the same as other gods. There is something on board the ship he wants," said the pilot. "Make an offering of paper symbols," he urged. The master complied, but the wind did not abate—it blew all the harder, and the waves rose higher. "Paper symbols are not to the god's taste. The ship makes no headway!" shouted the pilot. "Have you nothing which will please him better?" "There's nothing but this," said the master. "I have two eyes, but only one mirror. I shall give this mirror to the god." He threw it into the waves, and as it sank (a loss indeed!) the sea suddenly became as smooth as the face of a mirror. Someone composed this poem:
Seeking to fathom the mind of the raging god, we cast
A mirror into the stormy sea. In that his image is revealed.
    An amazing experience! Surely this cannot be the god whom we commonly associate with such gentle things as "Limpid Waters," "The Balm of Forgetfulness," and "Pines along the Shore"? We have all seen with our own eyes—and with the help of a mirror—what sort of a god he is.
    On the following day, to the great joy of all the passengers, Naniwa (Osaka) is reached, and the ship commences its voyage up the river Yodo towards Kyoto. Progress is slow, owing to the shallowness of the channel, but after five days the bridge at Yamazaki—the terminus for river traffic—is sighted.
    Eleventh day: After a litde rain the skies cleared. Continuing up-river, we noticed a line of hills converging on the eastern bank. When we learned that this is the Yawata Hachiman Shrine, there was great rejoicing and we humbly abased ourselves in thanks. The bridge of Yamazaki came in sight at last, and our feelings of joy could no longer be restrained. Here, close by the Ō ō ji Temple, our boat came to anchor; and here we waited, while various matters were negotiated for the remainder of our journey. By the riverside, near the temple, there were many willow trees, and one of our company, admiring their reflection in the water, made the poem:
A pattern of wave ripples, woven—it seems—
On a loom of green willows reflected in the stream.
    They wait several days at Yamazaki for carriages to arrive from Kyoto. Kyoto is reached late at night, on the sixteenth day of the second moon.
    Sixteenth day: As we reached the house and passed through