Musashi: Bushido Code (130 page)

"I've got it," cried Ushinosuke, pulling up a long potato and laying it on the ground.

Seeing Iori's arm sunk in the hole up to his shoulder, Gonnosuke said impatiently, "If you don't finish soon, I'm going on by myself."

Placing his hand on his hip like an aged farmer, Iori forced himself to a standing position and said, "I can't do it. It'd take me the rest of the day." With a look of resignation, he brushed the dirt off his kimono.

"You can't get the potato out after you've dug that far?" asked Ushinosuke. "Here, I'll pull it out for you."

"No," said Iori, pulling back Ushinosuke's hand. "It'll break." He gently pushed the dirt back in the hole and packed it down.

"Bye," called Ushinosuke, proudly shouldering his potato and accidentally revealing that the tip was broken off.

Seeing that, Hyōgo said, "You lost. You may have won the fight, but you're disqualified from the potato-digging contest."

Sweepers and Salesmen

The cherry blossoms were pale, past their prime, and the thistle blossoms were wilting, hinting nostalgically of the time centuries ago when Nara had been the capital. It was a little warm for walking, but neither Gonnosuke nor Iori tired of the road.

Iori tugged at Gonnosuke's sleeve and said worriedly, "That man's still following us."

Keeping his eyes straight ahead, Gonnosuke said, "Pretend you don't see him."

"He's been behind us ever since we left the Kōfukuji."

"Umm."

"And he was at the inn where we stayed, wasn't he?"

"Don't let it worry you. We don't have anything worth stealing." "We have our lives! They're not nothing."

"Ha, ha. I keep my life locked up. Don't you?"

"I can take care of myself." Iori tightened the grip of his left hand on his scabbard.

Gonnosuke knew the man was the mountain priest who had challenged Nankōbō the previous day, but couldn't imagine why he'd be tailing them. Iori looked around again and said, "He's not there anymore."

Gonnosuke looked back too. "He probably got tired." He took a deep breath and added, "But it does make me feel better."

They put up at a farmer's house that night and early the next morning reached Amano in Kawachi. This was a small village of low-eaved houses, behind which ran a stream of pristine mountain water. Gonnosuke had come to have the memorial tablet to his mother placed in the Kongōji, the so-called Women's Mount Kōya. But first he wanted to look up a woman named Oan, whom he had known since childhood, so there would be someone to burn incense before the tablet from time to time. If she could not be found, he intended to go on to Mount Kōya, the burial place of the rich and the mighty. He hoped he wouldn't have to; going there would make him feel like a beggar.

Asking directions from a shopkeeper's wife, he was told that Oan was the wife of a brewer named Tōroku and their house was the fourth one on the right inside the temple gate.

As he went through the gate, Gonnosuke wondered if the woman knew what she was talking about, for there was a sign saying that bringing sake and leeks into the sacred compound was prohibited. How could there be a brewery there?

This little mystery was cleared up that evening by Tōroku, who had made them feel welcome and readily agreed to talk to the abbot about the memorial tablet. Tōroku said that Toyotomi Hideyoshi had once tasted and expressed admiration for the sake made for use by the temple. The priests had then established the brewery to make sake for Hideyoshi and the other daimyō who contributed to the temple's support. Production had fallen off somewhat after Hideyoshi's death, but the temple still supplied a number of special patrons.

When Gonnosuke and Iori awoke the next morning, Tōroku was already gone. He returned a little past noon and said that arrangements had been made.

The Kongōji was situated in the Amano River valley, amid peaks the color of jade. Gonnosuke, Iori and Tōroku stopped for a minute on the bridge leading to the main gate. Cherry blossoms floated in the water beneath the bridge. Gonnosuke straightened his shoulders and an air of reverence seemed to settle over him. Iori rearranged his collar.

Approaching the main hall, they were greeted by the abbot, a tall, rather stout man wearing an ordinary priest's robe. A torn basket hat and a long staff would not have seemed unnatural.

"Is this the man who wants to have a service said for his mother?" he asked in a friendly voice.

"Yes, sir," replied Tōroku, prostrating himself on the ground.

Having expected a stern-visaged cleric in gold brocade, Gonnosuke was somewhat confused in his greeting. He bowed and watched as the abbot came down from the porch, slipped his big feet into dirty straw sandals and came to a halt in front of him. Prayer beads in hand, the abbot directed them to follow him and a young priest fell in behind them.

They passed the Hall of Yakushi, the refectory, the one-story treasure pagoda and the priests' living quarters. When they reached the Hall of Dainichi, the young priest came forward and spoke to the abbot. The latter nodded and the priest opened the door with an enormous key.

Entering the large hall together, Gonnosuke and Iori knelt before the priests' dais. Fully ten feet above this was a huge golden statue of Dainichi, the universal Buddha of the esoteric sects. After a few moments, the abbot appeared from behind the altar, attired in his cassock, and arranged himself on the dais. The chanting of the sutra began, and he seemed to be subtly transformed into a dignified high priest, his authority evident in the set of his shoulders.

Gonnosuke clasped his hands in front of him. A small cloud seemed to pass before his eyes and from it emerged an image of Shiojiri Pass, where he and Musashi had tested each other. His mother was sitting to one side, straight as a board, looking worried, just as she had been when she called out the word that saved him in that fight.

"Mother," he thought, "you don't have to worry about my future. Musashi has consented to be my teacher. The day is not far off when I'll be able to establish my own school. The world may be in turmoil, but I won't stray from the Way. Nor will I neglect my duties as a son...."

By the time Gonnosuke came out of his reverie, the chanting had stopped and the abbot was gone. Beside him, Iori sat transfixed, his eyes glued to the face of Dainichi, a miracle of sculptural sensitivity carved by the great Unkei in the thirteenth century.

"Why are you staring so, Iori?"

Without moving his eyes, the boy said, "It's my sister. That Buddha looks like my sister."

Gonnosuke burst out laughing. "What are you talking about? You've never even seen her. Anyway, no human could ever have the compassion and serenity of Dainichi."

Iori shook his head vigorously. "I have seen her. Near Lord Yagyū's residence in Edo. And talked to her. I didn't know she was my sister then, but just now, while the abbot was chanting, the Buddha's face turned into hers. She seemed to be saying something to me."

They went out and sat down on the porch, reluctant to break the spell of the visions they had experienced.

"The memorial service was for my mother," said Gonnosuke pensively. "But it's been a good day for the living too. Sitting here like this, it's hard to believe fighting and bloodshed exist."

The metal spire of the treasure pagoda glistened like a jeweled sword in the rays of the setting sun; all the other buildings stood in deep shadow. Stone lanterns lined the darkened path leading up the steep hill to a Muromachi-style teahouse and a small mausoleum.

Near the teahouse, an old nun, her head covered with a white silk bandanna, and a plump man of about fifty were sweeping leaves with straw brooms.

The nun sighed and said, "I guess it's better than it was." Few people came to this part of the temple, even to clear away the winter's accumulation of leaves and bird skeletons.

"You must be tired, Mother," said the man. "Why don't you sit down and rest? I'll finish up." He was dressed in a simple cotton kimono, sleeveless cloak, straw sandals, and leather socks with a cherry blossom design, and carried a short sword with an unadorned hilt made of sharkskin.

"I'm not tired," she replied with a little laugh. "But what about you? You're not used to this. Aren't your hands chapped?"

"No, not chapped, but they're covered with blisters."

The woman laughed again, saying, "Now, isn't that a nice reminder to take home with you?"

"I don't mind. I feel my heart's been purified. I hope that means our little offering of labor has pleased the gods."

"Oh, it's getting so dark. Let's leave the rest for tomorrow morning."

Gonnosuke and Iori were standing by the porch now. Kōetsu and Myōshū came down the path slowly, hand in hand. When they got near the Dainichi Hall, both started and cried, "Who's there?"

Then Myōshū said, "It's been a lovely day, hasn't it? Have you come for sightseeing?"

Gonnosuke bowed and said, "No, I've had a sutra read for my mother."

"It's nice to meet young people who are grateful to their parents." She gave Iori a maternal pat on the head. "Kōetsu, do you have any of those wheat cakes left?"

Taking a small package from his sleeve, Kōetsu offered it to Iori, saying, "Forgive me for offering you leftovers."

"Gonnosuke, may I accept it?" asked Iori.

"Yes," said Gonnosuke, thanking Kōetsu on Iori's behalf.

"From the way you talk, you seem to be from the east," said Myōshū. "May I ask where you're going?"

"It seems to be on an endless journey on a never-ending road. This boy and I are fellow disciples in the Way of the Sword."

"It's an arduous path you've chosen. Who is your teacher?"

"His name is Miyamoto Musashi."

"Musashi? You don't say!" Myōshū gazed into space, as though conjuring up a pleasant memory.

"Where is Musashi now?" asked Kōetsu. "It's been a long time since last we saw him."

Gonnosuke told them of Musashi's fortunes during the past couple of years. As he listened, Kōetsu nodded and smiled, as if to say: "That's what I'd expect of him."

When he finished, Gonnosuke asked, "May I inquire who you are?"

"Oh, forgive me for not telling you before." Kōetsu introduced himself and his mother. "Musashi stayed with us for a while, several years ago. We're very fond of him and often talk about him even now." He then told Gonnosuke about two or three incidents that had occurred when Musashi was in Kyoto.

Gonnosuke had long known of Kōetsu's reputation as a sword polisher, and more recently he had heard of Musashi's relationship with the man. But he'd never expected to run into this wealthy townsman tidying up neglected temple grounds.

"Is there a grave of someone close to you here?" he asked. "Or perhaps you've come for an outing?"

"No, nothing so frivolous as an outing," exclaimed Kōetsu. "Not in a holy place like this.... Have you heard from the priests something of the history of the Kongōji?"

"No."

"In that case allow me, in the priests' stead, to tell you a little about it. Please understand, however, that I'm merely repeating what I've heard." Kōetsu paused and looked around slowly, then said, "We have just the right moon tonight," and pointed out the landmarks: above them the mausoleum, Mieidō and Kangetsutei; below, the Taishidō, Shinto shrine, treasure pagoda, refectory and two-story gate.

"Look carefully," he said, seemingly under the spell of the lonely setting. "That pine tree, those rocks, every tree, every blade of grass here, partake of the invisible constancy, the elegant tradition of our country."

He went on in this vein, solemnly telling how in the fourteenth century, during a conflict between southern and northern courts, the mountain had been a stronghold of the southern court. How Prince Morinaga, known also as Daitō no Miya, had held secret conferences to plan the overthrow of the Hōjō regents. How Kusunoki Masashige and other loyalists had fought the armies of the northern court. Later the Ashikagas had come to power, and Emperor Go-Murakami, driven from Mount Otoko, had been forced to flee from place to place. Finally he took refuge at the temple and for many years lived the same sort of life as the mountain priests, suffering the same deprivations. Using the refectory as his seat of government, he had worked tirelessly to recover the imperial prerogatives seized by the military.

At an earlier time, when samurai and courtiers had gathered around the ex-emperors Kōgon, Kōmyō and Sukō, the monk Zen'e had written poignantly: "The priests' quarters and mountain temples were all swept away. The loss is indescribable."

Gonnosuke listened humbly, respectfully. Iori, awed by the gravity of Kōetsu's voice, could not take his eyes from the man's face.

Kōetsu took a deep breath and went on: "Everything here is a relic of that age. The mausoleum is the last resting place of the Emperor Kōgon. Since the decline of the Ashikagas, nothing's been properly taken care of. That's why my mother and I decided to do a little cleaning up, as a gesture of reverence."

Pleased by the attentiveness of his audience, Kōetsu searched diligently for words to express his heartfelt emotions.

"While we were sweeping, we found a stone with a poem carved on it, perhaps by a soldier-priest of that age. It said:

Though the war goes on,

Even for a hundred years,

Spring will return.

Live with a song in your hearts,

You, the Emperor's people.

"Think of the bravery, the largeness of spirit it took for a simple soldier, after fighting for years, perhaps decades, to protect the emperor, to be able to rejoice and sing. I'm sure it's because the spirit of Masashige communicated itself to him. Though a hundred years of fighting have passed, this place remains a monument to the imperial dignity. Isn't this something for which we should be very grateful?"

"I didn't know this was the site of a sacred battle," said Gonnosuke. "I hope you'll forgive my ignorance."

"I'm glad I had a chance to share with you some of my thoughts on the history of our country."

The four of them strolled down the hill together. In the moonlight, their shadows seemed thin and unsubstantial.

As they passed the refectory, Kōetsu said, "We've been here seven days. We'll be leaving tomorrow. If you see Musashi, please tell him to come see us again.

Gonnosuke assured him that he would.

The shallow, swift-flowing stream along the outer temple wall was like a natural moat and was crossed by a dirt-floored bridge.

Gonnosuke and Iori had hardly set foot on the bridge when a large white figure armed with a staff emerged from the shadows and flew at Gonnosuke's back. Gonnosuke evaded the attack by sliding to one side, but Iori was knocked off the bridge.