Kato, The Monk

Whenever I pass a monastery, I would think of him.

Kato was one of my best friends when I was studying in Japan.

There was a cafe we frequented in Shinjuku called Fugetsudo where many artists gathered. One night an American hippie gave him half a joint. As he walked out, he was caught by the police, but he was subsequently released on bail.

Before the trial, he called on all his friends to donate money to him to hire a good lawyer. Not to defend him, but so he could to leave a proposition that marijuana was not as harmful as alcohol. He was prepared to go to jail. Now that medical marijuana has been legalised in many countries, this story seems ironic.

After I left Japan, my former secretary once wrote to me and said Kato had become a monk, and that one day he would come to visit me in Hong Kong. On one visit to Japan, I found out he was no longer living there but roaming the world.

Years later he appeared at the Golden Harvest studio wearing a yellow robe. I was so happy to see him again.

“Come on, let’s go and have some vegetarian food.” I said.

“No, if you don’t mind, I’d rather you took me home and cooked me some dumplings. I miss them so much.”

In our student days we were so poor that we didn’t have meat for months. When I had some money, I would buy some cheap ground pork and make dumplings for friends.

‘There is meat in dumplings,” I reminded him.

“It’s ok. I am not eating meat. I am eating memories,” he replied.

After the meal, I showed him around Hong Kong and brought him to the premiere of my new movie.

There were many reporters from the entertainment media. Everyone was curious to know what on earth a monk was doing there.

Kato enjoyed taking photographs with the actresses and got very used to the flashing of the camera.

“It is called illusions and shadows in Buddhism,” he laughed.

The next day he bid me goodbye.

“What will you be doing from now on?” I asked.

“I am going back to a temple in Massachusetts. I will try to build a pagoda there.”

I never saw Kato again, but each New Year I receive goodwill Sutras from him. He had indeed built a magnificent pagoda in Massachusetts.