Musashi: Bushido Code (140 page)

"I'm sure he's right."

"I've been with him more than a year now, but he hasn't given me a priestly name. Always just calls me Matahachi. Maybe something'll come up in the future I don't understand. Then I'll go to him immediately. Tell him that for me, won't you?"

And with that, Matahachi was gone.

The Evening Boat

A single red cloud, looking like a great streamer, hung low over the horizon. Near the bottom of the glassy waveless sea was an octopus.

Around noon a small boat had tied up in the estuary of the Shikama River, discreetly out of sight. Now, as twilight deepened, a thin column of smoke rose from a clay brazier on the deck. An old woman was breaking sticks and feeding the fire.

"Are you cold?" she asked.

"No," answered the girl lying in the bottom of the boat behind some red matting. She shook her head weakly, then lifted it and looked at the old woman. "Don't worry about me, Granny. You should be careful yourself. Your voice sounds a bit husky."

Osugi put a pot of rice on the brazier to make gruel. "It's nothing," she said. "But you're sick. You have to eat properly, so you'll feel strong when the boat comes in."

Otsū held back a tear and looked out to sea. There were some boats fishing for octopus and a couple of cargo vessels. The ship from Sakai was nowhere to be seen.

"It's getting late," said Osugi. "They said the ship would be here before evening." There was a hint of complaint in her voice.

News of the departure of Musashi's ship had spread rapidly. When it reached Jōtarō in Himeji, he sent a messenger to tell Osugi. She, in turn, had hurried straight to the Shippōji, where Otsū lay ill, suffering from the effects of the beating the old woman had given her.

Since that night, Osugi had begged forgiveness so often and tearfully that listening to her had come to be rather a burden for Otsū. Otsū did not hold her responsible for her sickness; she thought it was a recurrence of the malady that had kept her confined for several months at Lord Karasumaru's house in Kyoto. In the mornings and evenings, she coughed a lot and had a slight fever. And she lost weight, which made her face more beautiful than ever, but it was an excessively delicate beauty and saddened those who met and talked with her.

Still, her eyes shone. For one thing, she was happy about the change that had come over Osugi. Having finally understood that she had been mistaken about Otsū and Musashi, the Hon'iden dowager was like a woman reborn. And Otsū had hope, springing from the certainty that the day was near when she would see Musashi again.

Osugi had said, "To atone for all the unhappiness I've caused you, I'm going to get down on my hands and knees and beg Musashi to set things right. I'll bow. I'll apologize. I'll persuade him." After announcing to her own family and the whole village that Matahachi's betrothal to Otsū was nullified, she destroyed the document recording the promise to marry. From then on, she made it her business to tell one and all that the only person who would be a proper and fitting husband for Otsū was Musashi.

Since the village had changed, the person Otsū knew best in Miyamoto was Osugi, who took it upon herself to nurse the girl back to health, calling each morning and evening at the Shippōji with the same solicitous questions: "Have you eaten? Did you take your medicine? How do you feel?"

One day, she said with tears in her eyes, "If you hadn't come back to life that night in the cave, I would have wanted to die there too."

The old woman had never before hesitated to bend the truth or tell outright lies, one of the last of which turned out to be about Ogin’s being in Sayo. In fact no one had seen or heard from Ogin for years. All that was known was that she had married and gone to another province.

So at first Otsū found Osugi's protestations unbelievable. Even if she was sincere, it seemed likely her remorse would wear off after a time. But as days turned into weeks, she grew more devoted and more attentive to Otsū.

"I never dreamed she was such a good person at heart," was how Otsū came to think of her. And since Osugi's newfound warmth and kindness extended to everyone around her, this sentiment was widely shared by both the family and the villagers, though many expressed their astonishment less delicately, saying things like, "What do you suppose got into the old hag?"

Even Osugi marveled at how kind everyone was to her now. It used to be that even those people closest to her were inclined to cringe at the very sight of her; now they all smiled and spoke cordially. At last, at an age when simply being alive was something to be thankful for, she was learning for the first time what it was like to be loved and respected by others.

One acquaintance asked frankly, "What happened to you? Your face looks more attractive every time I see you."

"Maybe so," thought Osugi later that same day, looking at herself in her mirror. The past had left its mark. When she went away from the village, there had still been black hair mixed with gray. Now it was all white. She didn't mind, for she believed that her heart, at least, was free of blackness now.

The ship Musashi was on made a regular overnight stop at Shikama to discharge and take on cargo.

Yesterday, after telling Otsū this, Osugi had asked, "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to be there, of course."

"In that case, I'll go too."

Otsū got up from her sickbed, and they were on their way within the hour. It took them until late afternoon to walk to Himeji; all the while, Osugi hovered over Otsū as though she were a child.

At Aoki Tanzaemon's house that night, plans were laid to hold a congratulatory dinner at Himeji Castle for Musashi. It was assumed that because of his previous experience at the castle, he would now deem it an honor to be feted in this fashion. Even Jōtarō thought so.

It was also decided, in consultation with Tanzaemon's fellow samurai, that it wouldn't do for Otsū to be seen openly with Musashi. People might get the idea she was his secret lover. Tanzaemon told Otsū and Osugi the gist of this and suggested the boat as a way for Otsū to be present but at the same time not be a source of embarrassing gossip.

The sea darkened, and the color faded from the sky. Stars began to twinkle. Near the dyer's house where Otsū lived, a contingent of some twenty samurai from Himeji had been waiting since midafternoon to welcome Musashi.

"Maybe this is the wrong day," remarked one of them.

"No, don't worry," said another. "I sent a man to Kobayashi's local agent to make sure."

"Hey, isn't that it?"

"It looks like the right kind of sail."

Noisily they moved closer to the water's edge.

Jōtarō left them and ran off to the small boat in the estuary.

"Otsū! Granny! The ship's in sight—Musashi's ship!" he shouted to the excited women.

"Did you really see it? Where?" asked Otsū. She nearly fell overboard as she got to her feet.

"Be careful," warned Osugi, grabbing her from behind. They stood side by side, eyes searching the darkness. Gradually a tiny distant spot grew into a large sail, black in the starlight and seemingly gliding right into their eyes.

"That's it," cried Jōtarō.

"Hurry, grab the scull," said Otsū. "Take us out to the ship."

"There's no need to rush. One of the samurai on the beach will row out and get Musashi."

"Then we have to go now! Once he's with that bunch, there won't be a chance for Otsū to talk to him."

"We can't do that. They'll all see her."

"You spend too much time worrying about what other samurai will think. And that's the reason we're stuck away in this little boat. If you ask me, we should have waited at the dyer's house."

"No, you're wrong. You don't realize how people talk. Relax. My father and I'll find a way to bring him here." He stopped to think for a fraction of a minute. "When he gets to shore, he'll go to the dyer's house for a short rest. I'll get to him then and see to it that he comes here to you. Just wait here. I'll be back soon." He rushed off toward the beach.

"Try to get a little rest," said Osugi.

Though Otsū lay down obediently, she seemed to have trouble catching her breath.

"Cough bothering you again?" asked Osugi gently. She knelt and rubbed the girl's back. "Don't worry. Musashi'll be here before long."

"Thank you. I'm all right now." Once her coughing had subsided, she patted and smoothed her hair, trying to make herself a little more presentable.

As time passed and Musashi failed to appear, Osugi grew fidgety. Leaving Otsū in the boat, she went up on the bank.

When she was out of sight, Otsū pushed her pallet and pillow behind some matting, retied her obi and straightened her kimono. The palpitations of her heart seemed in no way different from what she had experienced as a girl of seventeen or eighteen. The red light of the small beacon fire, suspended near the prow, pierced her heart with warmth. Stretching her delicate white arm over the gunwale, she moistened her comb and ran it through her hair again. Then she applied some powder to her cheeks, but so lightly that it was nearly undetectable. After all, she thought, even samurai, when suddenly summoned from a deep sleep into their lordship's presence, would sometimes sneak into a dressing room and cover up their pallor with a little rouge.

What really troubled her was the question of what she would say to him. Fearfully she thought of becoming tongue-tied, as she had when she had seen him at other times. She didn't want to say anything that would upset him, so she had to be particularly careful about that. He was on his way to a bout. The whole country was talking about it.

At this important moment in her life, Otsū did not believe he would lose to Kojirō, yet it was not absolutely certain he would win. Accidents could happen. If she did something wrong today, and if Musashi was killed later, she would regret it for the rest of her life. Nothing would be left for her but to cry herself to death, hoping, like the ancient Chinese emperor, to be joined with her loved one in the next life.

She must say what she had to say, no matter what he himself might say or do. She had mustered the strength to come this far. Now the meeting was near at hand and her pulse raced wildly. With so many things on her mind, the words she wanted to say would not take form.

Osugi had no such problem. She was choosing the words she would use to apologize for misunderstanding and hatred, to unburden her heart and beg forgiveness. As proof of her sincerity, she would see that Otsū's life was entrusted to Musashi.

The darkness was broken only by an occasional reflection from the water. And it was quiet until Jōtarō's running footsteps became audible.

"You've finally come, have you?" said Osugi, who was still standing on the bank. "Where's Musashi?"

"Granny, I'm sorry."

"You're
sorry?
What does that mean?"

"Just listen. I'll explain everything."

"I don't want explanations. Is Musashi coming, or isn't he?"

"He's not coming."

"Not coming?" Her voice was empty and full of disappointment.

Jōtarō, looking very awkward, related what had happened, namely that when a samurai had rowed out to the ship, he was told that it wasn't stopping there. There were no passengers wanting to get off at Shikama; the cargo had been taken off by lighter. The samurai had asked to see Musashi, who came to the side of the ship and talked with the man but said disembarking was out of the question. Both he and the captain wanted to reach Kokura as quickly as possible.

By the time the samurai returned to the beach with this message, the ship was already heading out to the open sea again.

"You can't even see it anymore," said Jōtarō dejectedly. "It's already rounded the pine woods at the other end of the beach. I'm sorry. Nobody's to blame."

"Why didn't you go out in the boat with the samurai?"

"I didn't think.... Anyway, there's nothing we can do, no use talking about it now."

"I suppose you're right, but what a shame! What are we going to tell Otsū? You'll have to do it, Jōtarō; I haven't the heart. You can tell her exactly what happened ... but try to calm her first, or her sickness might get worse."

But there was no need for Jōtarō to explain. Otsū, seated behind a piece of matting, had heard everything. The lapping of the water against the side of the boat seemed to resign her heart to suffering.

"If I missed him tonight," she thought, "I'll see him another day, on another beach."

She thought she understood why Musashi was set against leaving the ship. Throughout western Honshu and Kyushu, Sasaki Kojirō was acknowledged to be the greatest of all swordsmen. In challenging his primacy, Musashi would be burning with determination to win. His mind would be on that—only that.

"To think that he was so near," she sighed. Tears streaming down her cheeks, she gazed after the invisible sail, making its way slowly westward. She leaned disconsolately against the boat rail.

Then, for the first time, she became conscious of an enormous force, swelling up with her tears. Despite her frailness, somewhere deep in her being was a font of superhuman strength. Though she had not realized it, her willpower was indomitable and had enabled her to persevere through the long years of illness and anguish. Fresh blood infused her cheeks, giving them new life.

"Granny! Jōtarō!"

They came down the bank slowly, Jōtarō asking, "What is it, Otsū?" "I heard you talking."

"Oh?"

"Yes. But I'm not going to cry about it anymore. I'll go to Kokura. I'll see the bout for myself.... We can't take it for granted Musashi will win. If he doesn't, I intend to receive his ashes and bring them back with me."

"But you're sick."

"Sick?" She'd pushed the very idea from her mind; she seemed filled with a vitality transcending the weakness of her body. "Don't think about it.
I'm
perfectly all right. Well, maybe I'm still a little sick, but until I see how the bout turns out—"

"I'm determined not to die" were the words that nearly escaped her lips. She stifled them and busied herself making preparations for her journey. When she was ready, she got out of the boat all by herself, though she had to cling tightly to the rail in order to do so.