Musashi: Bushido Code (45 page)

"Me?" She dropped her eyes to the beautiful sand around her feet and said, "I'm looking for seashells."

"Why look for them? There are millions of them all over the place. It just goes to show you—women waste their time in crazier ways than men."

"I'm looking for a very particular type of shell. It's called the seashell of forgetfulness."

"Oh? And is there really such a shell?"

"Yes, but they say you can only find it here on the shore at Sumiyoshi." "Well, I'll bet there's no such thing!"

"There is too! If you don't believe it, come with me. I'll show you."

She pulled the reluctant youth over to a row of pine trees and pointed to a stone on which an ancient poem was carved.

Had I but the time

I'd find it on the Sumiyoshi shore.

They say it comes there—

The shell that brings

Oblivion to love.

Proudly, Akemi said, "See? What more proof do you need?"

"Aw, that's only a myth, one of those useless lies they tell in poetry."

"But in Sumiyoshi they also have flowers that make you forget, and water too."

"Well, suppose it does exist. What magic will it work for you?"

"It's simple. If you put one in your obi or sleeve, you can forget everything."

The samurai laughed. "You mean you want to be more absentminded than you already are?"

"Yes. I'd like to forget everything. Some things I can't forget, so I'm unhappy in the daytime and lie awake nights. That's why I'm looking for it. Why don't you stay and help me look?"

"This is no time for child's play!" the samurai said scornfully, then suddenly remembering his duty, flew off at full speed.

When she was sad, Akemi often thought her problems would be solved if she could only forget the past and enjoy the present. Right now she was hugging herself and wavering between holding on to the few memories she cherished and wanting to cast them out to sea. If there really were such a thing as a seashell of forgetfulness, she decided, she wouldn't carry it herself, but instead sneak it into Seijūrō's sleeve. She sighed, imagining how lovely life would be if he would just forget all about her.

The very thought of him turned her heart cold. She was tempted to believe he existed for the sole purpose of ruining her youth. When he importuned her with his wheedling protestations of love, she comforted herself by thinking of Musashi. But if Musashi's presence in her heart was at times her salvation, it was also a frequent source of misery, for it made her want to run away to escape into a world of dreams. Yet she hesitated to give herself up entirely to fantasy, knowing it was likely that Musashi had forgotten her completely.

"Oh, if there was some way I could erase his face from my mind!" she thought.

The blue water of the Inland Sea looked suddenly tempting. Staring at it, she grew frightened. How easy it would be to run straight in and disappear.

Her mother had no idea Akemi entertained such desperate thoughts, let alone Seijūrō. All the people around her considered her a very happy creature, a little flippant perhaps, but nonetheless a bud still so far from blossoming that she couldn't possibly accept the love of a man.

To Akemi, her mother and the men who came to the teahouse were something outside her own self. In their presence, she laughed and joked, tinkled her bell and pouted as the occasion seemed to demand, but when she was alone, her sighs were care-filled and sullen.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a servant from the inn. Spotting her by the stone inscription, he ran up and said, "Young lady, where've you been? The Young Master's been calling for you, and he's getting very worried."

Back at the inn, Akemi found Seijūrō all alone, warming his hands under the red quilt covering the
kotatsu.
The room was silent. In the garden a breeze rustled through the withered pines.

"Have you been out in this cold?" he asked.

"What do you mean? I don't think it's cold. It's very sunny on the beach." "What have you been doing?"

"Looking for seashells."

"You act like a child."

"I
am
a child."

"How old do you think you'll be on your next birthday?"

"It doesn't make any difference. I'm still a child. What's wrong with that?" "There's a great deal wrong with it. You ought to think about your mother's plans for you."

"My mother? She's not thinking about me. She's convinced she's still young herself."

"Sit down here."

"I don't want to. I'd get too hot. I'm still young, remember?"

"Akemi!" He seized her wrist and pulled her toward him. "There's no one else here today. Your mother had the delicacy to return to Kyoto."

Akemi looked at Seijūrō's burning eyes; her body stiffened. She tried unconsciously to back away, but he held her wrist tightly.

"Why are you trying to run away?" he asked accusingly.

"I'm not trying to run away."

"There's no one here now. It's a perfect opportunity, isn't it, Akemi?" "For what?"

"Don't be so obstinate! We've been seeing each other for nearly a year. You know how I feel about you. Okō gave her permission long ago. She says you won't give in to me because I don't go about it the right way. So today, let's—"

"Stop! Let go of my arm! Let go, I tell you!" Akemi suddenly bent over and lowered her head in embarrassment.

"You won't have me, whatever happens?"

"Stop! Let go!"

Though her arm had turned red under his grasp, he still refused to release her, and the girl was hardly strong enough to resist the military techniques of the Kyōhachi Style.

Seijūrō was different today from his usual self. He often sought comfort and consolation in sake, but today he had drunk nothing. "Why do you treat me this way, Akemi? Are you trying to humiliate me?"

"I don't want to talk about it! If you don't let me go, I'll scream!"

"Scream away! Nobody'll hear you. The main house is too far away, and anyway, I told them we were not to be disturbed."

"I want to leave."

"I won't let you."

"My body doesn't belong to you!"

"Is that the way you feel? You'd better ask your mother about that! I've certainly paid her enough for it."

"Well, my mother may have sold me, but I haven't sold myself! Certainly not to a man I despise more than death itself!"

"What's that?" shouted Seijūrō, throwing the red quilt over her head. Akemi screamed for all she was worth.

"Scream, you bitch! Scream all you want! Nobody's coming."

On the shoji the pale sunlight mingled with the restless shadow of the pines as though nothing had happened. Outside, all was quiet, save for the distant lapping of the waves and the chatter of the birds.

Deep silence followed Akemi's muffled wails. After a time, Seijūrō, his face deathly pale, appeared in the outer corridor, holding his right hand over his scratched and bleeding left hand.

Shortly afterward, the door opened again with a bang, and Akemi emerged. With a cry of surprise, Seijūrō, his hand now wrapped in a towel, moved as though to stop her, but not in time. The half-crazed girl fled with lightning speed.

Seijūrō's face creased worriedly, but he did not pursue her as she crossed the garden and went into another part of the inn. After a moment, a thin, crooked smile appeared on his lips. It was a smile of deep satisfaction.

A Hero’s Passing

"Uncle Gon!"

"What?"

"Are you tired?"

"Yes, a little."

"I thought so. I'm about walked out myself. But this shrine has splendid buildings, doesn't it? Say, isn't that the orange tree they call the secret tree of Wakamiya Hachiman?"

"Seems to be."

"It's supposed to be the first item in the eighty shiploads of tribute presented by the King of Silla to Empress Jingū when she conquered Korea."

"Look over there in the Stable of the Sacred Horses! Isn't that a fine animal?

It'd certainly come in first at the annual horse race in Kamo."

"You mean the white one?"

"Yes. Hmm, what does that signboard say?"

"It says if you boil the beans used in the horse fodder and drink the juice, it'll keep you from crying or gritting your teeth at night. Do you want some?"

Uncle Gon laughed. "Don't be silly!" Turning around, he asked, "What happened to Matahachi?"

"He seems to have wandered off."

"Oh, there he is, resting by the stage for the sacred dances."

The old lady lifted her hand and called to her son. "If we go over that way, we can see the original Great Torii, but let's go to the High Lantern first."

Matahachi followed along lazily. Ever since his mother had collared him in Osaka, he'd been with them—walking, walking, walking. His patience was beginning to wear thin. Five or ten days of sightseeing might be all well and good, but he dreaded the thought of accompanying them to take their revenge. He had tried to persuade them that traveling together was a poor way to go about it, that it would be better for him to go and look for Musashi on his own. His mother wouldn't hear of it.

"It'll be New Year's soon," she pointed out. "And I want you to spend it with me. We haven't been together to celebrate the New Year holiday for a long time, and this may be our last chance."

Though Matahachi knew he couldn't refuse her, he had made up his mind to leave them a couple of days after the first of the year. Osugi and Uncle Gon, possibly fearing they hadn't long to live, had become so wrapped up in religion they stopped at every shrine or temple possible, leaving offerings and making long supplications to the gods and Buddhas. They had spent nearly all of the present day at Sumiyoshi Shrine.

Matahachi, bored stiff, was dragging his feet and pouting.

"Can't you walk faster?" Osugi asked in a testy voice.

Matahachi's pace did not change. Fully as annoyed with his mother as she was with him, he grumbled, "You hurry me along and make me wait! Hurry and wait, hurry and wait!"

"What am I to do with a son like you? When people come to a sacred place, it's only proper to stop and pray to the gods. I've never seen you bow before either a god or a Buddha, and mark my words, you'll live to regret it. Besides, if you prayed with us, you wouldn't have to wait so long."

"What a nuisance!" growled Matahachi.

"Who's a nuisance?" cried Osugi indignantly.

For the first two or three days everything had been as sweet as honey between them, but once Matahachi had got used to his mother again, he began to take exception to everything she did and said and to make fun of her every chance he got. When night came and they returned to the inn, she would make him sit down in front of her and give him a sermon, which served to put him in worse humor than before.

"What a pair!" Uncle Con lamented to himself, trying to figure out a way to soothe the old woman's pique and restore a measure of calmness to his nephew's scowling face. Sensing yet another sermon in the making, he moved to head it off. "Oh," he called cheerily. "I thought I smelled something good! They're selling broiled clams at that teahouse over by the beach. Let's stop in and have some."

Neither mother nor son displayed much enthusiasm, but Uncle Gon managed to steer them to the seaside shop, which was sheltered with thin reed blinds. While the other two got comfortable on a bench outside, he went in and came back with some sake.

Offering a cup to Osugi, he said amiably, "This will cheer Matahachi up a little. Maybe you're being a little hard on him."

Osugi looked away and snapped, "I don't want anything to drink."

Uncle Gon, caught in his own web, offered the cup to Matahachi, who, though still grumpy, proceeded to empty three jars as fast as he could, knowing full well this would make his mother livid. When he asked Uncle Gon for a fourth, Osugi had had all she could take.

"You've had enough!" she scolded. "This isn't a picnic, and we didn't come here to get drunk! And you watch yourself too, Uncle Gon! You're older than Matahachi, and should know better."

Uncle Gon, as mortified as if only he had been drinking, tried to hide his face by rubbing his hands over it. "Yes, you're quite right," he said meekly. He got up and ambled off a few paces.

Then it began in earnest, for Matahachi had struck at the roots of Osugi's violent though brittle sense of maternal love and anxiety, and it was out of the question for her to wait until they returned to the inn. She lashed out furiously at him, not caring whether other people were listening. Matahachi stared at her with a look of sullen disobedience until she finished.

"All right," he said. "I take it you've made up your mind that I'm an ungrateful lout with no self-respect. Right?"

"Yes! What have you done up till now that shows any pride or self-respect?" "Well, I'm not as worthless as you seem to think, but then you wouldn't have any way of knowing that."

"Oh, I wouldn't, would I? Well, nobody knows a child better than his parents, and I think the day you were born was a bad day for the House of Hon'iden!"

"You just wait and see! I'm still young. One day when you're dead and buried, you'll be sorry you said that."

"Ha! I wish that were so, but I doubt that would happen in a hundred years. It's so sad, when you think of it."

"Well, if it makes you so terribly sad to have a son like me, there's not much use in my hanging around any longer. I'm leaving!" Steaming with rage, he stood up and walked away in long, determined strides.

Taken by surprise, the old woman tried in a pitifully trembling voice to call him back. Matahachi paid no heed. Uncle Gon, who could have run and tried to stop him, stood looking intently toward the sea, his mind apparently occupied with other thoughts.

Osugi got up, then sat back down again. "Don't try to stop him," she said needlessly to Uncle Gon. "It's no use."

Uncle Gon turned toward her, but instead of answering, said, "That girl out there is acting very funny. Wait here a minute!" Almost before the words were out, he had chucked his hat under the eaves of the shop and headed like an arrow toward the water.

"Idiot!" cried Osugi. "Where are you going? Matahachi's—"

She chased after him, but about twenty yards from the shop, snagged her foot in a clump of seaweed and fell flat on her face. Mumbling angrily, she picked herself up, her face and shoulders covered with sand. When she caught sight of Uncle Gon again, her eyes opened like mirrors.

"You old fool! Where are you going? Have you lost your mind?" she screamed.

So excited that she looked as if she might be mad herself, she ran as fast as she could, following Uncle Gon's footsteps. But she was too late. Uncle Gon was already in up to his knees and pushing out farther.

Enveloped in the white spray, he seemed almost in a trance. Still farther out was a young girl, feverishly making her way toward deep water. When he had first spotted her, she had been standing in the shadow of the pines, looking blankly at the sea; then suddenly she sped across the sand and into the water, her black hair streaming out behind her. The water was now halfway up to her waist, and she was rapidly approaching the point where the bottom fell off sharply.

As he neared her, Uncle Gon called out frantically, but she pressed on. Suddenly, with an odd sound, her body disappeared, leaving a swirl on the surface.

"Crazy child!" cried Uncle Gon. "Are you determined to kill yourself?" Then he himself sank below the surface with a glug.

Osugi was running back and forth along the edge of the water. When she saw the two go down, her screaming turned to strident calls for help.

Waving her hands, running, stumbling, she ordered the people on the beach to the rescue as though they were the cause of the accident. "Save them, you idiots! Hurry, or they'll drown."

Minutes later, some fishermen brought the bodies in and laid them on the sand.

"A love suicide?" asked one.

"Are you joking?" said another, laughing.

Uncle Gon had caught hold of the girl's obi and was still holding it, but neither he nor she was breathing. The girl presented a strange appearance, for though her hair was matted and messy, her powder and lipstick had not washed away, and she looked as if she were alive. Even with her teeth still biting her lower lip, her purple mouth bore the suggestion of a laugh.

"I've seen her before somewhere," somebody said.

"Isn't she the girl who was looking for shells on the beach a while ago?" "Yes, that's right! She was staying at the inn over there."

From the direction of the inn, four or five men were already approaching,

among them Seijūrō, who breathlessly pushed his way through the crowd. "Akemi!" he cried. His face went pale, but he stood perfectly still.

"Is she a friend of yours?" asked one of the fishermen.

"Y-y-yes."

"You'd better try and get the water out of her fast!"

"Can we save her?"

"Not if you just stand there gaping!"

The fishermen loosened Uncle Gon's grip, laid the bodies side by side, and began slapping them on the back and pressing them in the abdomen. Akemi regained her breathing fairly rapidly, and Seijūrō, eager to escape the stares of the bystanders, had the men from the inn carry her back.

"Uncle Gon! Uncle Gon!" Osugi had her mouth to the old man's ear and was calling to him through her tears. Akemi had come back to life because she was young, but Uncle Gon ... Not only was he old, but he had had a fair amount of sake in him when he went to the rescue. His breath was stilled forever; no amount of urging on Osugi's part would open his eyes again.

The fishermen, giving up, said, "The old man's gone."

Osugi stopped crying long enough to turn on them as though they were enemies rather than people trying to help. "What do you mean? Why should he die when that young girl was saved?" Her attitude suggested she was ready to attack them physically. She pushed the men aside and said firmly, "I'll bring him back to life myself! I'll show you."

She set to work on Uncle Gon, putting to use every method she could think of. Her determination brought tears to the eyes of the onlookers, a few of whom stayed to help her. Far from being appreciative, however, she ordered them around like hired help—complained that they were not pressing the right way, told them that what they were doing would not work, ordered them to build a fire, sent them off for medicine. Everything she did, she did in the surliest fashion imaginable.

To the men on the shore, she was neither a relative nor a friend but just a stranger, and eventually even the most sympathetic became angry.

"Who is this old hag anyway?" growled one.

"Humph! Can't tell the difference between somebody who's unconscious and somebody who's dead. If she can bring him back, let her do it."

Before long, Osugi found herself alone with the body. In the gathering darkness, mist rose from the sea, and all that remained of the day was a strip of orange clouds near the horizon. Building a fire and sitting down beside it, she held Uncle Gon's body close to her.

"Uncle Gon. Oh, Uncle Gon!" she wailed.

The waves darkened. She tried and tried to bring warmth back to his body. The look on her face said that she expected him at any minute to open his mouth and speak to her. She chewed up pills from the medicine box in his obi and transferred them to his mouth. She held him close and rocked him.

"Open your eyes, Uncle Gon!" she pleaded. "Say something! You can't go away and leave me alone. We still haven't killed Musashi or punished that hussy Otsū."

Inside the inn, Akemi lay in a fretful sleep. When Seijūrō attempted to adjust her feverish head on the pillow, she mumbled deliriously. For a time, he sat by her side in utter stillness, his face paler than hers. As he observed the agony he himself had heaped on her, he suffered too.

It was he himself who by animal force had preyed on her and satisfied his own lust. Now he sat gravely and stiffly beside her, worrying about her pulse and her breathing, praying that the life that had for a time left her would be safely restored. In one short day, he had been both a beast and a man of compassion. But to Seijūrō, given as he was to extremes, his conduct didn't seem inconsistent.

His eyes were sad, the set of his mouth humble. He stared at her and murmured, "Try to be calm, Akemi. It's not just me; most other men are the same way.... You'll soon come to understand, though you must have been shocked by the violence of my love." Whether this speech was actually directed toward the girl or was intended to quiet his own spirit would have been difficult to judge, but he kept voicing the same sentiment over and over.

The gloom in the room was like ink. The paper-covered shoji muffled the sound of the wind and waves.

Akemi stirred and her white arms slipped out from under the covers. When Seijūrō tried to replace the quilt, she mumbled, "Wh-what's the date?" "What?"

"How ... how many days ... till New Year's?"

"It's only seven days now. You'll be well by then, and we'll be back in Kyoto." He lowered his face toward hers, but she pushed it away with the palm of her hand.

"Stop! Go away! I don't like you."

He drew back, but the half-crazed words poured from her lips.