He stood beside me, looking onward:
“That is impossible. There are never any guides. There is only power. Besides, there are different ways for different people and I know nothing of yours.”
I looked about me, considering. The bridge was the obvious way and certainly the easiest. I did not know the hour, and there was a hint of dusk in the air, but I had already learnt that in this strange land time and its phenomena have quite other meanings than with us. Night might break on me in a wave of sunlight or dawn open its rose in the heart of midnight. Who could tell? But the bridge way would be safer.
I turned to say a last word to Arima. There was no human being in sight; it was a vast solitude dominated by the black cone of the mountain’s shadow.
I made for the bridge walking as quickly as the rough stones allowed, and climbing its semi-circular hump I looked before me and rejoiced to see the track much clearer than it had seemed from the other side. Evidently a well-used way, and this encouraged me in my hope of meeting someone who could direct me to the monastery of Naniwa. Therefore I went with more confidence, relieved from the crawling fear of the supernatural which the other side of the bridge inspired.
The track took me up a slight rise and round a jutting rock which obscured the river, and having done about two miles of quick walking I heard steps coming round a bend of the trail and rejoiced to think I could ascertain the way.
Nearer they came and disclosed a Japanese, his kimono pulled up through the obi for the ease of walking. He made the usual polite bow and would have passed but for my raised hand. I asked my way with the honorifics I had learnt from Arima. He stopped at once and replied with the utmost courtesy:
“The monastery? Yes— You could go this way. One reaches it by several. But it is not the right way. Far from it.”
“Then will you tell me how to go?”
“Sir, I cannot tell you. I wish I could. I really do not know your way.” It was infuriating. I said scoffingly: