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

jaw, struggling to control it, trying to submit his emotions to the calm dispassionate words of the sutras, seeking to let go of all striving, all desires…

But it was impossible: though he sat motionless, his heart smoldered in rage. He was full of desire and passion, full of energy. Why was he squandering all that in this dreary, lifeless place? He did not have to remain: he was wasting his time. He was not even receiving the teaching he had been so eagerly looking forward to. Matsuda was treating him with scorn; so was everyone in the temple. He could leave; no one could stop him: he was the heir to the clan. He could do what he wanted: he did not have to master his desires. He could have them all gratified-he had the power to command whomever he wanted. It was on his father’s wishes that he was here, but he saw his father with a sudden flash of clarity as a weak, self-indulgent, wavering man who did not merit obedience. I would lead the clan better than he. I would not tolerate my uncles’ greed; I would act at once to deal with the Tohan. The Kitano boys would not now be in Inuyama. Then he began to imagine that his uncles had had a say in sending him away, that their influence over his father was greater when he was not there, that even now they were scheming their takeover of the clan while he moldered away here in the gloom and the rain. The idea was intolerable.

Not only was it possible for him to leave, but it was his duty.

These thoughts occupied him for the rest of the day. He lay awake that night despite his tiredness, imagining the women he would have brought to him when he got to Yamagata, the hot baths he would take, the food he would eat. He would leave in the morning, walk down to the inn where his men waited for him, and ride away. No one would dare stop him.

When the bell sounded at midnight, the rain had ceased, though it was still intensely humid. Shigeru felt sticky with sweat; his eyes scratched; his whole body was restless and uncomfortable. Mosquitoes whined around him as he hurried back from the privy. Owls hooted and stars appeared overhead as the clouds broke up. Dawn was still several hours away. If it was not raining, perhaps they would work outside today-but it did not matter to him. He was not going to sneak away like a thief but would simply leave.

After meditation he wanted to change into his own clothes, but they had been stored away. He thought of sending for them but decided against it. He went into the study hall, intending to inform the novice master of his intentions. The other boys were preparing their inkstones for writing practice.

Before he could speak, the older man said, “Don’t sit down, Lord Shigeru. You are to go to Matsuda today.”

“What for?” Shigeru said, somewhat impolitely, confused by this sudden obstacle to his plans, and by its timing.

“He will tell you.” The old man smiled at him and took up the scroll for dictation.

“Begin writing,” he said to the other novices. “The causes of human suffering are manifold…”

“Where will I find him?” Shigeru asked.

“He is waiting for you in his room, across the cloister-the third on the left. Wakefulness is the way to life; the fool sleeps as if he were already dead.” One of the boys stifled a groan.

As Shigeru left the room, he could hear the teacher’s voice continue: “But the master is awake, and he lives forever.”

“Ah, Lord Shigeru.” Matsuda was on his feet, dressed as if he were going on a journey. “The rain has stopped. We can set out today.”

“Sir, where are we going?”

“To study the art of the sword. Isn’t that why your father sent you?” Without waiting for an answer, he indicated two wooden swords lying on the floor. “Pick those up.”

As Shigeru followed him back around the cloister into the entrance, Matsuda said over his shoulder, “But perhaps you have decided to leave us.”

They both paused on the edge of the boards to step into sandals. Matsuda hitched up his robe and tied it into his sash, leaving his legs bare.

“You’d better do the same,” he said. “Otherwise you’ll get your clothes soaked. Skin dries quicker than cloth.”

Puddles dotted the gravel of the courtyard, and the earth smelled of mud and rain. Beyond the gate, the moss of the farther courtyard was a brilliant green. Water still dripped from the heavy thatch of the older roofs, but the sky between the scudding gray and white clouds was a deep summer blue.

“Well?” the old man prompted, looking up into Shigeru’s face.

“I would not leave without consulting you.”

“You are the heir to the clan, Lord Otori. You can do what you want. There is no need for you to consult an old fool like me.”

Shigeru felt the blood tingle in his neck and cheeks. There was nothing he could say. The only choices were to grow angry and leave or to follow Matsuda docilely. He swallowed his rage, feeling as if it burned his gullet.

“You have done me a great honor by agreeing to teach me,” he said. “I think I am a far greater fool than you have ever been.”

“Possibly, possibly.” The old man grunted, smiling to himself. “But then, we’re all fools at fifteen.” He called out, and one of the monks came across the courtyard from the kitchens, carrying two bundles on a carrying pole, fire in a small iron pot, and a bamboo basket.

“Carry these,” Matsuda said, indicating the bundles. He picked up the iron pot and basket himself, sniffing appreciatively.

Shigeru lifted the pole and put it across one shoulder, the two wooden swords across the other. The monk returned with two conical straw hats, which he placed on the others’ heads.

He might be the heir to the clan, but