Musashi: Bushido Code (108 page)

"And watch out you don't get possessed by a fox again," added Otsū.

Iori had regained his confidence. "Thanks," he called back, already running along the river. When he reached the crossroads, he half turned and shouted, "To the left here?"

"That's it," answered Hyōgo. "The road's dark, so be careful." He and Otsū stood watching from the bridge for a minute or two. "What a strange child," he said.

"Yes, but he seems rather bright." In her mind she was comparing him with Jōtarō, who had been only a little bigger than Iori when she had last seen him. Jōtarō, she reflected, must be seventeen now. She wondered what he was like and felt an inevitable pang of yearning for Musashi. So many years since she'd had any word of him! Though now accustomed to living with the suffering that love entails, she dared hope that leaving Edo might bring her closer to him, that she might even meet him somewhere along the road.

"Let's get on," Hyōgo said brusquely, to himself as much as to Otsū. "There's nothing to be done about tonight, but we'll have to be careful not to waste any more time."

Filial Piety

"What're you doing, Granny, practicing your handwriting?" Jūrō the Reed Mat's expression was ambiguous; it might have been admiration, or simply shock.

"Oh, it's you," said Osugi with a trace of annoyance.

Sitting down beside her, Jūrō mumbled, "Copying a Buddhist sutra, are you?" This elicited no reply. "Aren't you old enough so you don't have to practice your writing anymore? Or are you thinking of becoming a calligraphy teacher in the next world?"

"Be quiet. To copy the holy scriptures, one has to achieve a state of selflessness. Solitude is best for that. Why don't you go away?"

"After I hurried home just to tell you what happened to me today?" "It can wait."

"When will you be finished?"

"I have to put the spirit of the Buddha's enlightenment into each character I write. It takes me three days to make one copy."

"You've got a lot of patience."

"Three days is nothing. This summer I'm going to make dozens of copies. I've made a vow to make a thousand before I die. I'll leave them to people who don't have proper love for their parents."

"A thousand copies? That's a lot."

"It's my sacred vow."

"Well, I'm not very proud of it, but I guess I've been disrespectful to my parents, like the rest of these louts around here. They forgot about them a long time ago. The only one who cares for his mother and father is the boss."

"It's a sad world we live in."

"Ha, ha. If it upsets you that much, you must have a good-for-nothing son too."

"I'm sorry to say, mine has caused me a lot of grief. That's why I took the vow. This is the
Sutra on the Great Love of Parents.
Everyone who doesn't treat his mother or father right should be forced to read it."

"You're really giving a copy of whatever-you-call-it to a thousand people?"

"They say that by planting one seed of enlightenment you can convert a hundred people, and if one sprout of enlightenment grows in a hundred hearts, ten million souls can be saved." Laying down her brush, she took a finished copy and handed it to Jūrō. "Here, you can have this. See that you read it when you have time."

She looked so pious Jūrō nearly burst out laughing, but he managed to contain himself. Overcoming his urge to stuff it into his kimono like so much tissue paper, he lifted it respectfully to his forehead and placed it on his lap.

"Say, Granny, you sure you wouldn't like to know what happened today? Maybe your faith in the Buddha gets results. I ran into somebody pretty special."

"Who might that be?"

"Miyamoto Musashi. I saw him down at the Sumida River, getting off the ferry."

"You saw Musashi? Why didn't you say so!" She pushed the writing table away with a grunt. "Are you sure? Where is he now?"

"There, now, take it easy. Your old Jūrō doesn't do things halfway. After I found out who he was, I followed him without him knowing it. He went to an inn in Bakurōchō."

"He's staying near here?"

"Well, it's not all that close."

"It may not seem that way to you, but it does to me. I've been all over the country looking for him." Springing to her feet, she went to her clothes cabinet and took out the short sword that had been in her family for generations.

"Take me there," she ordered.

"Now?"

"Of course now."

"I thought you had a lot of patience, but ... Why do you have to go now?" "I'm always ready to meet Musashi, even on a moment's notice. If I get killed, you can send my body back to my family in Mimasaka."

"Couldn't you wait until the boss comes home? If we go off like this, all I'll get for finding Musashi is a bawling out."

"But there's no telling when Musashi might go somewhere else." "Don't worry about that. I sent a man to keep an eye on the place." "Can you guarantee Musashi won't get away?"

"What? I do you a favor, and you want to tie me up with obligations! Oh, all right. I guarantee it. Absolutely. Look, Granny, now's the time when you should be taking it easy, sitting down copying sutras or something like that."

"Where is Yajibei?"

"He's on a trip to Chichibu with his religious group. I don't know exactly when he'll be back."

"I can't afford to wait."

"If that's the way it is, why don't we get Sasaki Kojirō to come over? You can talk to him about it."

The next morning, after contacting his spy, Jūrō informed Osugi that Musashi had moved from the inn to the house of a sword polisher.

"See? I told you," declared Osugi. "You can't expect him to sit still in one place forever. The next thing you know, he'll be gone again." She was seated at her writing table but hadn't written a word all morning.

"Musashi hasn't got wings," Jūrō assured her. "Just be calm. Koroku's going to see Kojirō today."

"Today? Didn't you send somebody last night? Tell me where he lives. I'll go myself."

She started getting ready to go out, but Jūrō suddenly disappeared and she had to ask a couple of the other henchmen for directions. Having seldom left the house during her more than two years in Edo, she was quite unfamiliar with the city.

"Kojirō's living with Iwama Kakubei," she was told.

"Kakubei's a vassal of the Hosokawas, but his own house is on the Takanawa highroad."

"It's about halfway up Isarago Hill. Anybody can tell you where that is." "If you have any difficulty, ask for Tsukinomisaki. That's another name for Isarago Hill."

"The house is easy to recognize, because the gate is painted bright red. It's the only place around there with a red gate."

"All right, I understand," said Osugi impatiently, resenting the implication that she was senile, or stupid. "It doesn't sound difficult, so I'll just be on my way. Take care of things while I'm out. Be careful about fire. We don't want the place to burn down while Yajibei's away." Having put on her zōri, she checked to make sure her short sword was at her side, took a firm grip on her staff and marched off.

A few minutes later, Jūrō reappeared and asked where she was.

"She asked us how to get to Kakubei's house and went out by herself." "Oh, well, what can you do with a pigheaded old woman?" Then he shouted in the direction of the men's quarters, "Koroku!"

The Acolyte abandoned his gambling and answered the summons posthaste. "You were going to see Kojirō last night, then you put it off. Now look what's happened. The old woman's gone by herself."

"So?"

"When the boss gets back, she'll blab to him."

"You're right. And with that tongue of hers, she'll make us look real bad."

"Yeah. If she could only walk as well as she talks, but she's thin as a grasshopper. If she gets run into by a horse, that'll be the end of her. I hate to ask you, but you better go after her and see she gets there in one piece."

Koroku ran off, and Jūrō, ruminating on the absurdity of it all, appropriated a corner of the young men's room. It was a big room, perhaps thirty by forty feet. The floor was covered with thin, finely woven matting, and a wide variety of swords and other weapons were lying about. Hanging from nails were hand towels, kimono, underwear, fire hats and other items of the sort a band of ne'er-do-wells might require. There were two incongruous articles. One was a woman's kimono, in bright colors with a red silk lining; the other was the gold-lacquered mirror stand over which it was suspended. They had been placed there on the instructions of Kojirō, who explained to Yajibei, somewhat mysteriously, that if a group of men lived together in one room with no feminine touch, they were apt to get out of hand and fight each other, rather than save their energies for meaningful battles.

"You're cheating, you son of a bitch!"

"Who's cheating? You're nuts."

Jūrō cast a disdainful look at the gamblers and lay down with his legs crossed comfortably. With all the rumpus going on, sleep was out of the question, but he wasn't going to demean himself by joining one of the card or dice games. No competition, as he saw it.

As he closed his eyes, he heard a dejected voice say, "It's no good today—no luck at all." The loser, with the sad eyes of the utterly defeated, dropped a pillow on the floor and stretched out beside Jūrō. They were joined by another, then another and another.

"What's this?" asked one of them, reaching out for the sheet of paper that had fallen from Jūrō's kimono. "Well, I'll be—it's a sutra. Now, what would a mean cuss like you be carrying a sutra for? "

Jūrō opened one sleepy eye and said lazily, "Oh, that? It's something the old woman copied. She said she'd sworn to make a thousand of them."

"Let me see it," said another man, making a grab for it. "What do you know? It's written out nice and clear. Why, anybody could read it."

"Does that mean you think
you
can read it?"

"Of course. It's child's play."

"All right then, let's hear some of it. Put a nice tune to it. Chant it like a priest."

"Are you joking? It's not a popular song."

"What difference does that make? A long time ago they used to sing sutras. That's how Buddhist hymns got started. You know a hymn when you hear one, don't you?"

"You can't chant these words to the tune of a hymn."

"Well, use any tune you like."

"You sing, Jūrō."

Encouraged by the enthusiasm of the others, Jūrō, still lying on his back, opened the sutra above his face and began:

"The Sutra on the Great Love of Parents.

Thus have I heard.

Once when the Buddha was on the Sacred Vulture Peak

In the City of Royal Palaces,

Preaching to bodhisattvas and disciples,

There gathered a multitude of monks and nuns and lay believers, both male and female,

All the people of all the heavens, dragon gods and demons,

To hear the Sacred Law.

Around the jeweled throne they gathered

And gazed, with unwavering eyes,

At the holy face—"

"What's all that mean?"

"When it says 'nuns,' does it mean the girls we call nuns? You know, I heard some of the nuns from Yoshiwara have started powdering their faces gray and will give it to you for less than in the whorehouses—"

"Quiet!"

"At this time the Buddha

Preached the Law as follows:

'All ye good men and good women,

Acknowledge your debt for your father's compassion,

Acknowledge your debt for your mother's mercy.

For the life of a human being in this world

Has karma as its basic cause,

But parents as its immediate means of origin."'

"It's just talking about being good to your mama and daddy. You've already heard it a million times."

"Shh!"

"Sing some more. We'll be quiet."

"'Without a father, the child is not born.

Without a mother, the child is not nourished.

The spirit comes from the father's seed;

The body grows within the mother's womb."'

Jūrō paused to rearrange himself and pick his nose, then resumed.

"'Because of these relationships,

The concern of a mother for her child

Is without comparison in this world...."'

Noticing how silent the others were, Jūrō asked, "Are you listening?"

"Yes. Go on."

"'From the time when she receives the child in her womb,

During the passage of nine months,

Going, coming, sitting, sleeping,

She is visited by suffering.

She ceases to have her customary love for food or drink or clothing

And worries solely about a safe delivery."'

"I'm tired," complained Jūrō. "That's enough, isn't it?"

"No. Keep singing. We're listening."

"'The months are full, and the days sufficient.

At the time of birth, the winds of karma hasten it on,

Her bones are racked with pain.

The father, too, trembles and is afraid.

Relatives and servants worry and are distressed.

When the child is born and dropped upon the grass,

The boundless joy of the father and mother

Match that of a penurious woman

Who has found the omnipotent magic jewel.

When the child utters its first sounds,

The mother feels that she herself is born anew.

Her chest becomes the child's place of rest;

Her knees, its playground,

Her breasts, its source of food.

Her love, its very life.

Without its mother, the child cannot dress or undress.

Though the mother hungers,

She takes the food from her own mouth and gives it to her child.

Without the mother, the child cannot be nourished....
^'
"

"What's the matter? Why'd you stop?"

"Wait a minute, will you?"

"Will you look at that? He's crying like a baby."

"Aw, shut up!"

It had all begun as an idle way to pass the time, almost a joke, but the meaning of the words of the sutra was sinking in. Three or four others besides the reader had unsmiling faces, their eyes a faraway look.

"'The mother goes to the neighboring village to work.