Musashi: Bushido Code (124 page)

He hurried on, not waiting to be asked questions. "Daizō and I have sworn by the gods of heaven and earth not to tell anyone what our aim in life is. I can't even tell you. Still, I can't stand by when Musashi's been thrown in prison. I'll go to Chichibu tomorrow and confess."

Takuan said, "Then it was you and Daizō who robbed the treasure house." "Yes," Jōtarō replied without the slightest sign of contrition.

"So you
are
a thief," said Takuan.

Jōtarō lowered his head to avoid Takuan's eyes. "No ... no," he murmured lamely. "We're not just common burglars."

"I was not aware that thieves came in different varieties."

"Well, what I'm trying to say is we don't do these things for our own gain. We do them for the people. It's a matter of moving public property for the good of the public."

"I don't understand reasoning like that. Are you telling me your robberies are righteous crimes? Are you saying you're like the bandit heroes in Chinese novels? If so, it's a poor imitation."

"I can't answer that without revealing my secret agreement with Daizō." "Ha, ha. You aren't going to let yourself be taken in, are you?"

"I don't care what you say. I'll confess only to save Musashi. I hope you'll put in a good word for me with him later."

"I wouldn't be able to think of a good word to put in. Musashi's innocent. Whether you confess or not, he'll be freed eventually. It seems to me it's far more important for you to take yourself to the Buddha. Use me as an intermediary and confess everything to him."

"Buddha?"

"That's what I said. To hear you tell it, you're doing something grand for the sake of other people. In fact, you're putting yourself before others. Has it not occurred to you that you leave quite a number of people unhappy?"

"One can't consider himself when one is working on behalf of society."

"Stupid fool!" He struck Jōtarō soundly on the cheek with his fist. "One's self is the basis of everything. Every action is a manifestation of the self. A person who doesn't know himself can do nothing for others."

"What I meant—I wasn't acting to satisfy my own desires."

"Shut up! Don't you see you're barely grown? There's nothing more frightening than a half-baked do-gooder who knows nothing of the world but takes it upon himself to tell the world what's good for it. You needn't say any more about what you and Daizō are doing; I have a very good idea already.... What are you crying about? Blow your nose."

Ordered to bed, Jōtarō lay down obediently but couldn't get to sleep for thinking of Musashi. He clasped his hands together over his chest and silently begged forgiveness. Tears dribbled into his ears. He turned on his side and began thinking about Otsū. His cheek hurt; Otsū’s tears would hurt worse. Still, revealing his secret promise to Daizō was inconceivable, even if Takuan tried to get it out of him in the morning, as he was sure to do.

He got up without making a sound, went outside and looked up at the stars. He would have to hurry; the night was nearly gone.

"Stop!" The voice froze Jōtarō where he was. Behind him, Takuan was a huge shadow.

The priest came to his side and put his arm around him. "Are you determined to go and confess?"

Jōtarō nodded.

"That's not very intelligent," said Takuan sympathetically. "You'll die a dog's death. You seem to think that if you give yourself up, Musashi will be set free, but it isn't that simple. The officials will keep Musashi in prison until you tell them everything you've been refusing to tell me. And you—you'll be tortured until you talk, whether it takes a year, two years or more."

Jōtarō hung his head.

"Is that what you want, to die a dog's death? But you have no choice now: either you confess everything under torture or you tell me everything. As a disciple of the Buddha, I'll not sit in judgment. I'll relay it to Amida."

Jōtarō said nothing.

"There is one other way. By the sheerest chance, I happened to meet your father last night. He now wears the robes of a mendicant priest. Of course, I never dreamed you were here too. I sent him to a temple in Edo. If you've made up your mind to die, it'd be good for you to see him first. And when you see him, you can ask him if I'm not right.

"Jōtarō, there're three paths open to you. You must decide for yourself which one to follow." He turned away and started back into the house.

Jōtarō realized that the
shakuhachi
he had heard the night before must have belonged to his father. Without being told, he could imagine how his father must look and feel as he wandered around from place to place.

"Takuan, wait! I'll talk. I'll tell everything to the Buddha, including my promise to Daizō." He caught hold of the priest's sleeve, and the two went into the grove.

Jōtarō confessed in a long monologue, omitting nothing. Takuan neither moved a muscle nor spoke.

"That's all," said Jōtarō.

"Everything?"

"Every single thing."

"Good."

Takuan remained silent for fully an hour. Dawn came. Crows began cawing; dew glistened everywhere. Takuan sat on the root of a cryptomeria. Jōtarō leaned against another tree, head bowed, waiting for the tongue-lashing he knew was coming.

When Takuan finally spoke, he appeared to have no more doubts. "I must say, you got mixed up with quite a crowd. Heaven help them. They don't understand which way the world is turning. It's a good thing you told me before matters got worse." Reaching into his kimono, he produced, surprisingly enough, two gold coins and handed them to Jōtarō. "You'd better get away as fast as you can. The slightest delay may bring disaster not only to you but to your father and your teacher. Get as far away as possible but don't go near the Kōshū highroad or the Nakasendō. By noon today, they'll be carrying out a rigid check on all travelers."

"What'll happen to
Sensei?
I can't go away and leave him where he is."

"Leave that to me. After a year or two, when things have quieted down, you can go to see him and make your apologies.
Then
I'll put in a good word for you.

"Good-bye."

"Just a minute."

"Yes?"

"Go to Edo first. In Azabu there's a Zen temple called Shōjuan. Your father should be there by now. Take this seal I received from the Daitokuji. They'll know it's mine. Get them to give you and your father priests' hats and robes, as well as the necessary credentials. Then you can travel in disguise."

"Why do I have to pretend to be a priest?"

"Is there no end to your naiveté? You, my silly young friend, are an agent of a group planning to kill the shōgun, set fire to Ieyasu's castle in Suruga, throw the whole Kantō district into confusion and take over the government. In short, you're a traitor. If you're caught, the mandatory punishment is death by hanging."

Jōtarō's mouth fell open.

"Now go."

"May I ask one question? Why should men who want to overthrow the Tokugawas be considered traitors? Why aren't the ones who overthrew the Toyotomis and seized control of the country traitors?"

"Don't ask me," Takuan answered with a cold stare.

The Pomegranate

Takuan and Iori arrived at Lord Hōjō Ujikatsu's mansion in Ushigome later the same day. A young retainer stationed at the gate went to announce Takuan, and a few minutes later Shinzō came out.

"My father is at Edo Castle," said Shinzō. "Won't you come in and wait?" "At the castle?" said Takuan. "I'll go on then, since that's where I was headed anyway. Would you mind if I left Iori here with you?"

"Not at all," replied Shinzō with a smile and a quick glance at Iori. "May I order a palanquin for you?"

"If you would."

The lacquered palanquin was barely out of sight before Iori was at the stables, inspecting Lord Ujikatsu's well-fed chestnut browns and dappled grays one by one. He particularly admired their faces, which he thought much more aristocratic than those of workhorses of his acquaintance. There was a mystery here, though: how could the warrior class afford to keep large numbers of horses standing idle, instead of having them out working the fields?

He was just beginning to imagine cavalrymen riding into battle when Shinzō's loud voice distracted him. He looked toward the house, expecting a scolding, but saw that the object of Shinzō's wrath was a thin old woman with a staff and a stubbornly set face.

"Pretending to be out!" shouted Shinzō. "Why would my father have to pretend to an old hag he doesn't even know?"

"My, aren't you angry?" Osugi said sarcastically. "I gather you're his lordship's son. Do you know how many times I've come here trying to see your father? Not a few, I'll tell you, and every time I've been told he's out."

A little rattled, Shinzō said, "It doesn't have anything to do with how many times you come. My father doesn't like to receive people. If he doesn't want to see you, why do you keep coming back?"

Undaunted, Osugi cackled, "Doesn't like to see people! Why does he live among them, then?" She bared her teeth.

The idea of calling her a dirty name and letting her hear the click of his sword being released crossed Shinzō's mind, but he didn't want to make an unseemly show of temper, nor was he sure it would work.

"My father is not here," he said in an ordinary tone of voice. "Why don't you sit down and tell me what this is all about?"

"Well, I think I'll accept your kind offer. It's been a long walk and my legs are tired." She sat down on the edge of the step and began rubbing her knees. "When you speak softly to me, young man, I feel ashamed for raising my voice. Now, I want you to convey what I say to your father when he comes home."

"I'll be glad to do that."

"I came to tell him about Miyamoto Musashi."

Puzzled, Shinzō asked, "Has something happened to Musashi?"

"No, I want your father to know what kind of man he is. When Musashi was seventeen, he went to Sekigahara and fought against the Tokugawas.
Against
the Tokugawas, do you hear? What's more, he's done so many evil deeds in Mimasaka that no one there has anything good to say about him. He killed any number of people, and he's been running away from me for years because I've been trying to take my rightful revenge on him. Musashi's a useless vagabond, and he's dangerous!"

"Now, wait—"

"No, just listen! Musashi started playing around with the woman my son was engaged to. He actually stole her and made off with her."

"Hold on now," said Shinzō, raising his hand in protest. "Why tell such stories about Musashi?"

"I'm doing it for the sake of the country," Osugi said smugly.

"What good will it do the country to slander Musashi?"

Osugi rearranged herself and said, "I hear that slick-tongued rogue is soon to be appointed an instructor in the shōgun's house."

"Where did you hear that?"

"A man who was at the Ono dōjō. I heard it with my own ears." "Did you, now?"

"A swine like Musashi shouldn't even be allowed in the shōgun's presence, let alone be appointed tutor. A teacher to the House of Tokugawa is a teacher to the nation. It makes me sick just to think of it. I'm here to warn Lord Hōjō, because I hear he recommended Musashi. Do you understand now?" She sucked in the saliva at the corners of her mouth and went on: "I'm sure it's to the country's benefit to warn your father. And let me warn you too. Be careful you don't get taken in by Musashi's smooth talk."

Fearing she might go on in this vein for hours, Shinzō summoned his last ounce of patience, swallowed hard and said, "Thank you. I understand what you've said. I'll pass it on to my father."

"Please do!"

With the air of someone who has finally achieved a cherished goal, Osugi got up and walked toward the gate, her sandals flopping noisily on the path. "Filthy old hag!" cried a boyish voice.

Startled, Osugi barked, "What? ... What?" and looked around until she spotted Iori among the trees, showing his teeth like a horse.

"Eat that!" he shouted, and flung a pomegranate at her. It struck so hard it broke.

"Ow-w-w!" screamed Osugi, clutching at her chest.

She bent to pick up something to throw at him, but he ran out of sight. She ran to the stable and was looking inside when a large, soft lump of horse manure struck her squarely in the face.

Sputtering and spitting, Osugi wiped the mess from her face with her fingers, and the tears began to flow. To think that traveling about the country on her son's behalf had led to this sort of thing!

Iori watched at a safe distance from behind a tree. Seeing her weeping like an infant, he was suddenly very ashamed of himself. He half wanted to go and apologize to her before she got out the gate, but his fury at hearing her malign Musashi had not subsided. Caught between pity and hatred, he stood there for a time biting his fingernails.

"Come up here, Iori. You can see the red Fuji." Shinzō's voice came from a room high up on the hill.

With a great sense of relief, Iori ran off. "Mount Fuji?" The vision of the peak dyed crimson in the evening light emptied his mind of all other thoughts.

Shinzō, too, seemed to have forgotten his conversation with Osugi.

Land of Dreams

Ieyasu turned the office of shōgun over to Hidetada in 1605 but continued to govern from his castle in Suruga. Now that the work of laying the foundations for the new regime was largely completed, he was beginning to let Hidetada take over his rightful duties.

When he yielded his authority, Ieyasu had asked his son what he intended to do.

Hidetada's reply, "I'm going to build," was said to please the old shōgun immensely.

In contrast to Edo, Osaka was still preoccupied with preparations for the final battle. Illustrious generals laid secret plots, couriers carried messages to certain fiefs, displaced military leaders and rōnin were provided with solace and compensation. Ammunition was stockpiled, lances polished, moats deepened.

And more and more townsmen deserted the western cities for the booming city in the east, frequently changing loyalties, for the fear lingered that a Toyotomi victory might mean a reversion to chronic strife.

To the daimyō and higher-ranking vassals who had yet to decide whether to entrust the fate of their children and grandchildren to Edo or Osaka, the impressive construction program in Edo was an argument in favor of the Tokugawas.

Today, as on many other days, Hidetada was engaged in one of his favorite pastimes. Dressed as though for a country outing, he left the main encirclement and went to the hill at Fukiage to inspect the construction work.

At about the time the shōgun and his retinue of ministers, personal attendants and Buddhist priests stopped for a rest, a commotion broke out at the bottom of Momiji Hill.

"Stop the son of a bitch!"

"Catch him!"

A well digger was running around in circles, trying to shake off the carpenters who were chasing him. He darted like a hare between stacks of lumber and hid briefly behind a plasterers' hut. Then he made a dash for the scaffolding on the outer wall and began climbing.

Cursing loudly, a couple of the carpenters climbed after him and caught hold of his feet. The well digger, arms waving frantically, fell back into a pile of shavings.

The carpenters fell on him, kicking and beating him from all sides. For some strange reason, he neither cried out nor attempted to resist, but clung as tightly as he could to the ground, as if that was his only hope.

The samurai in charge of the carpenters and the inspector of workmen came running up.

"What's going on here?" asked the samurai.

"He stepped on my square, the filthy pig!" one carpenter whined. "A square is a carpenter's soul!"

"Get hold of yourself."

"What would you do if he walked on your sword?" demanded the carpenter.

"All right, that's enough. The shōgun is resting up there on the hill."

Hearing the shōgun mentioned, the first carpenter quieted down, but another man said, "He's got to go wash. Then he's got to bow to the square and apologize!"

"We'll take care of the punishment," said the inspector. "You men go back to work."

He seized the prostrate man by the collar and said, "Lift your face." "Yes, sir."

"You're one of the well diggers, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"What are you doing down here? This isn't where you work."

"He was around here yesterday too," said the carpenter.

"Was he?" said the inspector, staring at Matahachi's pale face and noticing

that for a well digger he was a little too delicate, a little too refined.

He conferred with the samurai for a minute, then led Matahachi away. Matahachi was locked in a woodshed behind the Office of the Inspector of Workmen and for the next several days had nothing to look at but some firewood, a sack or two of charcoal and barrels for making pickles. Fearing the plot would be discovered, he was soon in a state of terror.

Once inside the castle, he'd reconsidered and decided that if it meant being a well digger the rest of his life, he wasn't going to become an assassin. He'd seen the shōgun and his entourage several times and done nothing.

What took him to the foot of Momiji Hill whenever he could manage it during his rest periods was an unforeseen complication. A library was to be built, and when it was, the locust tree would be moved. Matahachi guiltily supposed the musket would be uncovered and this would link him directly to the plot. But he hadn't been able to find a time when no one was around to dig up the musket and throw it away.

Even when sleeping, he'd break out in a sweat. Once he dreamed he was in the land of the dead, and wherever he looked there were locust trees. A few nights after his confinement in the woodshed, in a vision as clear as day, he dreamed of his mother. Instead of taking pity on him, Osugi shouted angrily and threw a basketful of cocoons at him. When the cocoons rained down on his head, he tried to run away. She pursued him, her hair mysteriously transformed into white cocoons. He ran and ran, but she was always behind him. Bathed in sweat, he jumped off a cliff and began falling through the darkness of hell, falling endlessly through blackness.

"Mother! Forgive me," he cried out like a hurt child, and the sound of his own voice awakened him. The reality he woke to—the prospect of death—was more terrifying than the dream.

He tried the door, which was locked, as he already knew. In desperation he climbed up a pickle barrel, broke a small window near the roof and squeezed through. Using piles of lumber and rock and small hills of excavated dirt for cover, he made his way stealthily to the vicinity of the western rear gate. The locust tree was still there. He sighed with relief.

He found a hoe and started digging as if he expected to discover his own life. Unnerved by the noise he was making, he stopped and looked all around him. Seeing no one, he began again.

The fear that someone had already found the musket made him swing the hoe frantically. His breathing became rapid and uneven. Sweat and grime mixed, making him look as if he'd just come from a mud bath. He was beginning to get dizzy, but he could not stop.

The blade struck something long. Casting the hoe aside, he reached down to pull it out, thinking: "I've got it."

His relief was short-lived. The object wasn't wrapped in oil paper, there was no box, and it wasn't cool like metal. He took hold, held it up and dropped it. It was a slender white wristbone or shinbone.

Matahachi did not have the heart to pick up the hoe again. It seemed like another nightmare. But he knew he was awake; he could count every leaf of the locust tree.

"What would Daizō have to gain by lying?" he wondered, as he walked around the tree, kicking at the dirt.

He was still circling the tree when a figure walked quietly up behind him and slapped him lightly on the back. With a loud laugh, right beside Matahachi's ear, he said, "You won't find it."

Matahachi's whole body went limp. He almost fell into the hole. Turning his head toward the voice, he stared blankly for several minutes before uttering a little croak of astonishment.

"Come with me," said Takuan, taking him by the hand.

Matahachi could not move. His fingers went numb, and he clawed at the

priest's hand. A chill of abject horror spread from his heels upward. "Didn't you hear? Come with me," said Takuan, scolding with his eyes.

Matahachi's tongue was almost as useless as a mute's. "Th-this ... fix . . .

dirt ... I—"

In a pitiless tone, Takuan said, "Leave it. It's a waste of time. The things people do on this earth, good or bad, are like ink on porous paper. They cannot be erased, not in a thousand years. You imagine that kicking a little dirt around will undo what you've done. It's because you think like that that your life is so untidy. Now come with me. You're a criminal, your crime heinous. I'm going to cut off your head with a bamboo saw and cast you into the Pool of Blood in hell." He seized Matahachi's earlobe and pulled him along.

Takuan rapped on the door of the shed where the kitchen helpers slept. "One of you boys come out here," he said.

A boy came out, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. When he recognized the priest he'd seen talking with the shōgun, he came awake and said, "Yes, sir. Can I do something for you?"

"I want you to open that woodshed."

"There's a well digger locked up in there."

"He isn't in there. He's right here. There's no point in putting him back in through the window, so open the door."

The boy hastened to fetch the inspector, who rushed out, apologizing and begging Takuan not to report the matter.

Takuan shoved Matahachi into the shed, went inside and closed the door. A few minutes later, he poked his head out and said, "You must have a razor somewhere. Sharpen it and bring it here."

The inspector and the kitchen helper looked at each other, neither daring to ask the priest why he wanted the razor. Then they honed the razor and handed it over to him.

"Thanks," said Takuan. "Now you can go back to bed."

The inside of the shed was pitch black, only a glimpse of starlight being visible through the broken window. Takuan seated himself on a pile of kindling. Matahachi slumped down on a reed mat, hanging his head in shame. For a long time there was silence. Unable to see the razor, Matahachi wondered nervously whether Takuan was holding it in his hand.

At last Takuan spoke. "Matahachi, what did you dig up under the locust tree?"

Silence.

"I could show you how to dig up something. It would mean extracting something from nothingness, recovering the real world from a land of dreams."

"Yes, sir."

"You haven't the least idea what the reality I'm talking about is. No doubt you are still in your world of fantasy. Well, since you're as naive as an infant, I suppose I'll have to chew your intellectual food for you.... How old are you?"

"Twenty-eight."

"The same age as Musashi."

Matahachi put his hands to his face and wept.

Takuan did not speak until he had cried himself out. Then he said, "Isn't it frightening to think that the locust tree nearly became the grave marker of a fool? You were digging your own grave, actually on the verge of putting yourself into it."

Matahachi flung his arms around Takuan's legs and pleaded, "Save me. Please save me. My eyes ... my eyes are open now. I was taken in by Daizō of Narai."

"No, your eyes are not open. Nor did Daizō deceive you. He simply tried to make use of the biggest fool on earth—a greedy, unsophisticated, petty-minded dolt who nevertheless had the temerity to take on a task any sensible man would shrink from."

"Yes ... yes ... I was a fool."

"Just who did you think this Daizō was?"

"I don't know."

"His real name is Mizoguchi Shinano. He was a retainer of Otani Yoshitsugu, who's a close friend of Ishida Mitsunari. Mitsunari, you will remember, was one of the losers at Sekigahara."

"N-no," gasped Matahachi. "He's one of the warriors the shogunate is trying to track down?"

"What else would a man out to assassinate the shōgun be? Your stupidity is appalling."

"He didn't tell me that. He just said he hated the Tokugawas. He thought it'd be better for the country if the Toyotomis were in power. He was talking about working for the sake of everybody."

"You didn't bother to ask yourself who he really was, did you? Without once using your head, you went boldly about the business of digging your own grave. Your kind of courage is frightening, Matahachi."

"What am I to do?"

"Do?"

"Please, Takuan, please, help me!"

"Let go of me."

"But ... but I didn't actually use the gun. I didn't even find it!"

"Of course you didn't. It didn't arrive on time. If Jōtarō, whom Daizō duped into becoming a part of this dreadful plot, had reached Edo as planned, the musket might very well have been buried under the tree."

"Jōtarō? You mean the boy—"

"Never mind. That doesn't concern you. What does concern you is the crime of treason, which you have committed and which cannot be pardoned. Nor can it be condoned by the gods and the Buddha. You may as well stop thinking about being saved."

"Isn't there any way ... ?"

"Certainly not!"

"Have mercy," sobbed Matahachi, clinging to Takuan's knees.

Takuan stood up and kicked him away. "Idiot!" he shouted in a voice that threatened to lift the roof off the shed. The ferocity of his glare was beyond description—a Buddha refusing to be clung to, a terrifying Buddha unwilling to save eyen the penitent.

For a second or two, Matahachi met the look resentfully. Then his head dropped in resignation, and his body was racked with sobs.

Takuan took the razor from the top of the woodpile and touched Matahachi's head with it lightly.

"As long as you're going to die, you may as well die looking like a disciple of the Buddha. Out of friendship, I'll help you do that. Close your eyes and sit quietly with your legs crossed. The line between life and death is not thicker than an eyelid. There is nothing frightening about death, nothing to cry over. Don't weep, child, don't weep. Takuan will prepare you for the end."

The room where the shōgun's Council of Elders met to discuss matters of state was isolated from other parts of Edo Castle. This secret chamber was completely enclosed by other rooms and hallways. Whenever it was necessary to receive a decision from the shōgun, the ministers would either go to his audience chamber or send a petition in a lacquered box. Notes and replies had been going back and forth with unusual frequency, and Takuan and Lord Hōjō had been admitted to the room several times, often remaining there for day-long deliberations.

On this particular day, in another room, less isolated but no less well guarded, the ministers had heard the report of the envoy sent to Kiso.