Heaven's Net Is Wide by Lian Hearn (good books to read for 12 year olds .TXT) 📕

huge and empty, the thin mats that the monks slept on folded and put away in the closets behind sliding doors. On the floor lay a pile of clothes.

“Your own things will be stored away for you,” Matsuda said. Shigeru had dressed in his most formal clothes in honor of the Abbot and the temple. Now he took off the plum-colored silk garment, woven with a deeper pattern of purple, the Otori heron in silver on the back; it was carefully folded and put away, along with his other clothes. In its place he put on the simple brown robe like the monks’-the only difference between him and them now was that his hair was not cut. The material, clean but not new, was rough, unlike the silk he was used to; it chafed his skin and had an unusual smell.

There was a clap of thunder overhead, and a few moments later the sound of rain pouring in torrents onto the roofs and cascading from the eaves.

9

The rain continued without letup for a week. Every day, Shigeru expected his lessons with Matsuda to start, but he did not see the older man; nor did anyone speak to him other than to instruct him, with the other novices, in the teachings of the Enlightened One. The monks rose at midnight, prayed and meditated until daybreak, ate the first meal of the day-a little boiled rice mixed with barley-and devoted themselves to the daily chores of the temple: sweeping, washing, tending the gardens and the vegetable plots, though these outdoor activities were curtailed by the rain. The novices spent three hours studying, reading sacred texts, and listening to their teachers’ exposition. They ate again at the first half of the Hour of the Horse, then returned to the main hall of the temple to pray and meditate.

Later in the afternoon they performed exercises designed to train them in the control of the life force and to make the body and limbs strong and supple. The exercises, Shigeru could see, bore some relation to swordplay-in the stance, the shape of the movements, though not their speed. But the boys never held a sword in their hands. The older men practiced with wooden swords at this time, the clash of the poles and their sudden shouts breaking the silence of the temple, setting the doves into flight.

Shigeru overheard one of the novices whisper that they would be allowed to use poles one day, and he found himself longing for it. He practiced the exercises as diligently as anyone, but he could not see how they were enhancing what he assumed he already knew. When the physical training was over, they ate again-vegetables and a little soup-then retired at dusk to sleep for a few hours until midnight.

The other boys, aged from eleven upward, seemed in awe of him. They sometimes whispered to one another, risking a reprimand from their stern-faced teachers, but none of them spoke to him. Their heads were already shaved. Unless they ran away, as novices occasionally did, the temple would be their home for the rest of their lives. Where would anyone who ran away go? They could hardly return to their families, bringing disgrace and dishonor to them; nor, being cut off from their relatives and clan, could they enter the service of any other. They would become at best masterless, at worst bandits or beggars. The boys seemed quite content with their lot; they studied hard and did not complain. Some of them entered into close friendships with older monks, performed small services for them, possibly shared their beds, certainly formed ties of affection and loyalty.

Shigeru wondered how they could bear to live without women. He had not realized how much time he had spent watching the girls in Hagi castle, always aware of their quiet presence, their soft footsteps, their scent as they knelt with trays of food, bowls of tea, flasks of wine, always offering something. Then his thoughts strayed to the girl who had offered herself to him, until he thought he would be driven out of his mind by longing for her. He slept badly at night, unaccustomed to the strict routine and always hungry. He also missed Kiyoshige, and he worried about Takeshi-who would keep his brother from killing himself if he were not around?

All the boys suffered from tiredness, their growing bodies craving sleep. The worst time was after the midday meal. They sat cross-legged, heads nodding, eyes closing, on hard black cushions in the dim hall, which was airless and heavy with the smell of incense, wax, and oil. Often the priest leading the meditation would walk quietly among the seated figures, his hand descending with sudden force against an ear or a neck. Then the guilty boy would jerk awake, eyes stinging, cheeks flushing.

Shigeru dreaded being struck, not from fear of pain but from the ignominy. He could never forget that he was the heir to the Otori clan: his role and his position had been impressed upon his nature before he could even talk. At his mother’s house he had been beaten in punishment for various childish misdemeanors, but since he had lived in the castle, no one had raised a hand against him. No one would have dared, even if there had been a need.

He had suffered the usual mishaps of growing up-concussion from a fall from a horse; a fractured cheekbone from a blow in practice, which turned one side of his face purple; bruises and other scars. From all these he had learned to ignore pain. When finally he could keep his eyelids up no longer and felt his whole body plunge toward sleep, the cuff from the priest was not hard, just enough to wake him. It did not hurt, but it enraged him, sending such a wave of fury from his belly he thought he would faint if he did not immediately hurt someone in return. He clenched his fists and his