Musashi: Bushido Code (54 page)

"At last," she thought. Until now she'd had to seek comfort within herself, and she was tired of it. She felt a measure of pride, both in herself and toward the gods, for having remained true to her purpose. Now that she was about to see Musashi again, her spirit was dancing with joy. This elation, she knew, was that of anticipation; she could not predict whether Musashi would accept her devotion. Her joy at the prospect of meeting him was only slightly tarnished by a gnawing premonition that the encounter might bring sadness.

On the shady slope of Kōji Hill, the ground was frozen, but at the tea shop near the bottom, it was so warm flies were flying around. This was an inn town, so of course the shop sold tea to travelers; it also carried a line of miscellaneous goods required by the farmers of the district, from cheap sweets to straw boots for oxen. Jōtarō stood in front of the shop, a small boy in a large and noisy crowd.

"Where's Musashi?" She looked around searchingly.

"He's not here," replied Jōtarō dispiritedly.

"Not here? He must be!"

"Well, I can't find him anywhere, and the shopkeeper said he hasn't seen a samurai like that around. There must have been some mistake." Jōtarō, though disappointed, was not despondent.

Otsū would have readily admitted that she had had no reason on earth to expect as much as she had, but the nonchalance of Jōtarō's reply annoyed her. Shocked and a little angry at his lack of concern, she said, "Did you look for him over there?"

"Yes."

"How about behind the Kōshin milepost?"

"I looked. He's not there."

"Behind the tea shop?"

"I told you, he isn't here!" Otsū turned her face away from him. "Are you crying?" he asked.

"It's none of your business," she said sharply.

"I don't understand you. You seem to be sensible most of the time, but sometimes you act like a baby. How could we know if Sannojō's story was true or not? You decided all by yourself that it was, and now that you find it wasn't, you burst into tears. Women are crazy," Jōtarō exclaimed, bursting into laughter.

Otsū felt like sitting down right there and giving up. In an instant, the light had gone out of her life; she felt as bereft of hope as before—no, more so. The decaying milk teeth in Jōtarō's laughing mouth disgusted her. Angrily she asked herself why she had to drag a child like this around with her anyway. The urge swept over her to abandon him right there.

True, he was also searching for Musashi, but he loved him only as a teacher. To her, Musashi was life itself. Jōtarō could laugh everything off and return to his normal cheerful self in no time, but Otsū would for days be deprived of the energy to go on. Somewhere in Jōtarō's youthful mind, there was the blithe certainty that one day, sooner or later, he'd find Musashi again. Otsū had no such belief in a happy ending. Having been too optimistic about seeing Musashi today, she was now swinging toward the opposite extreme, asking herself if life would go on like this forever, without her ever again seeing or talking to the man she loved.

Those who love seek a philosophy and, because of this, are fond of solitude. In Otsū's case, orphan that she was, there was also the keen sense of isolation from others. In response to Jōtarō's indifference, she frowned and marched silently away from the tea shop.

"Otsū!" The voice was Sannojō's. He emerged from behind the Kōshin milepost and came toward her through the withered underbrush. His scabbards were damp.

"You weren't telling the truth," Jōtarō said accusingly.

"What do you mean?"

"You said Musashi was waiting at the bottom of the hill. You lied!"

"Don't be stupid!" said Sannojō reproachfully. "It was because of that lie that Otsū was able to escape, wasn't it? What are you complaining about? Shouldn't you be thanking me?"

"You just made up that story to fool those men?"

"Of course."

Turning triumphantly to Otsū, Jōtarō said, "See? Didn't I tell you?"

Otsū felt she had a perfect right to be angry with Jōtarō, but there was no reason to nurse a grudge against Sannojō. She bowed to him several times and thanked him profusely for having saved her.

"Those hoodlums from Suzuka are a lot tamer than they used to be," said Sannojō, "but if they're out to waylay somebody, he's not likely to get over this road safely. Still, from what I hear about this Musashi you're so worried about, it sounds to me like he's too smart to stumble into one of their traps."

"Are there other roads besides this one to Omi?" asked Otsū.

"There are," replied Sannojō, raising his eyes toward the mountain peaks sparkling dazzlingly in the midday sun. "If you go to Iga Valley, there's a road to Ueno, and from Ano Valley there's one that goes to Yokkaichi and Kuwana. There must be three or four other mountain paths and shortcuts. My guess is, Musashi left the highroad early on."

"Then you think he's still safe?"

"Most likely. At least, safer than the two of you. You've been rescued once today, but if you stay on this highway, Tsujikaze's men will catch you again at Yasugawa. If you can stand a rather steep climb, come with me, and I'll show you a path practically nobody knows."

They quickly assented. Sannojō guided them up above Kaga Village to Makado Pass, from which a path led down to Seto in Otsu.

After explaining in detail how to proceed, he said, "You're out of harm's way now. Just keep your eyes and ears open, and be sure to find a safe place to stay before dark."

Otsū thanked him for all he had done and started to leave, but Sannojō stared at her and said, "We're parting now, you know." The words seemed fraught with meaning, and there was a rather hurt look in his eyes. "All along," he continued, "I've been thinking, 'Is she going to ask now?' but you never did ask."

"Ask what?"

"My name."

"But I heard your name when we were on Kōji Hill."

"Do you remember it?"

"Of course. You're Tsuge Sannojō, and you're the nephew of Watanabe Hanzō."

"Thank you. I don't ask you to be eternally grateful to me or anything like that, but I do hope you'll always remember me."

"Why, I'm deeply indebted to you."

"That's not what I mean. What I want to say is, well, I'm still not married. If my uncle weren't so strict, I'd like to take you to my home right now.... But I can see you're in a hurry. Anyway, you'll find a small inn a few miles ahead where you can stay overnight. I know the innkeeper very well, so mention my name to him. Farewell!"

After he was gone, a strange feeling came over Otsū. From the outset, she had not been able to figure out what sort of person Sannojō was, and when they had parted, she felt as though she had escaped from the clutches of a dangerous animal. She had gone through the motions of thanking him; she did not really feel grateful in her heart.

Jōtarō, in spite of his tendency to take to strangers, reacted in much the same way. As they started down from the pass, he said, "I don't like that man."

Otsū did not want to speak badly of Sannojō behind his back, but she admitted she did not like him either, adding, "What do you suppose he meant by telling me that he was still single."

"Oh, he's hinting that one day he's going to ask you to marry him." "Why, that's absurd!"

The two made their way to Kyoto without incident, albeit disappointed at not finding Musashi at any of the places where they had hoped to—neither on the lakeside in Omi nor at the Kara Bridge in Seta nor at the barrier in Osaka. From Keage, they plunged into the year-end crowds near the Sanjō Avenue entrance to the city. In the capital, the house fronts were adorned with the pine-branch decorations traditional during the New Year's season. The sight of the decorations cheered Otsū, who, instead of lamenting the lost chances of the past, resolved to look forward to the future and the opportunities it held for finding Musashi. The Great Bridge at Gojō Avenue. The first day of the New Year. If he did not show up that morning, then the second, or the third ... He had said he would certainly be there, as she had learned from Jōtarō. Even though he wasn't coming to meet her, just to be able to see him and talk to him again would be enough.

The possibility that she might run into Matahachi was the darkest cloud shadowing her dream. According to Jōtarō, Musashi's message had been delivered only to Akemi; Matahachi might never have received it. Otsū prayed that he hadn't, that Musashi would come, but not Matahachi.

Otsū slowed her steps, thinking Musashi might be in the very crowd they were in. Then a chill ran up her spine and she started walking faster. Matahachi's dreadful mother might also materialize at any moment.

Jōtarō hadn't a care in the world. The colors and noises of the city, seen and heard after a long absence, exhilarated him no end. "Are we going straight to an inn?" he asked apprehensively.

"No, not yet."

"Good! It'd be dull being indoors while it's still light out. Let's walk around some more. It looks like there's a market over there."

"We haven't time to go to the market. We have important business to take care of."

"Business? We do?"

"Have you forgotten the box you're carrying on your back?"

"Oh, that."

"Yes, that. I won't be able to relax until we've found Lord Karasumaru Mitsuhiro's mansion and delivered the scrolls to him."

"Are we going to stay at his house tonight?"

"Of course not." Otsū laughed, glancing toward the Kamo River. "Do you think a great nobleman like that would let a dirty little boy like you sleep under his roof, lice and all?"

The Butterfly in Winter

Akemi slipped out of the inn at Sumiyoshi without telling anybody. She felt like a bird freed from its cage but was still not sufficiently recovered from her brush with death to fly too high. The scars left by Seijūrō's violence would not heal quickly; he had shattered her cherished dream of giving herself unblemished to the man she really loved.

On the boat up the Yodo to Kyoto, she felt that all the waters of the river would not equal the tears she wanted to shed. As other boats, loaded with ornaments and supplies for the New Year celebration, rowed busily past, she stared at them and thought: "Now, even if I do find Musashi ..." Her troubled eyes filled and overflowed. No one could ever know how eagerly she had anticipated the New Year's morning when she would find him on the Great Bridge at Gojō Avenue.

Her longing for Musashi had grown deeper and stronger. The thread of love had lengthened, and she had wound it up into a ball inside her breast. Through all the years, she had gone on spinning the thread from distant memories and bits of hearsay and winding it around the ball to make it larger and larger. Until only a few days earlier, she had treasured her girlish sentiments and carried them with her like a fresh wild flower from the slopes of Mount Ibuki; now the blossom inside her was crushed. Though it was unlikely anyone was aware of what had occurred, she imagined everybody was looking at her with knowing eyes.

In Kyoto, in the fading light of evening, Akemi walked among the leafless willows and miniature pagodas in Teramachi, near Gojō Avenue, looking as cold and forlorn as a butterfly in winter.

"Hey, beautiful!" said a man. "Your obi cord is loose. Don't you want me to tie it for you?" He was thin, shabbily clothed and uncouth of speech, but he wore the two swords of a samurai.

Akemi had never seen him before, but habitués of the drinking places nearby could have told her that his name was Akakabe Yasoma, and that he hung around the back streets on winter nights doing nothing. His worn straw sandals flapped as he ran up behind Akemi and picked up the loose end of obi cord.

"What are you doing all by yourself in this deserted place? I don't suppose you're one of those madwomen who appear in the
kyōgen
plays, are you? You've got a pretty face. Why don't you fix your hair up a little and stroll about like the other girls?" Akemi walked on, pretending to have no ears, but Yasoma mistook this for shyness. "You look like a city girl. What did you do? Run away from home? Or do you have a husband you're trying to escape from?"

Akemi made no reply.

"You should be careful, a pretty girl like you, wandering around in a daze, looking as though you're in trouble or something. You can't tell what might happen. We don't have the kind of thieves and ruffians who used to hang out around Rashōmon, but there are plenty of freebooters, and their mouths water at the sight of a woman. And vagrants too, and people who buy and sell women.

Although Akemi said not a word, Yasoma persisted, answering his own questions when necessary.

"It's really quite dangerous. They say women from Kyoto are being sold for very high prices in Edo now. A long time ago, they used to take women from here up to Hiraizumi in the northeast, but now it's Edo. That's because the second shōgun, Hidetada, is building up the city as fast as he can. The brothels in Kyoto are all opening up branches there now."

Akemi said nothing.

"You'd stand out anywhere, so you should be careful. If you don't watch out, you might get involved with some scoundrel. It's terribly dangerous!"

Akemi had had enough. Throwing her sleeves up on her shoulders in anger, she turned and hissed loudly at him.

Yasoma just laughed. "You know," he said, "I think you really are crazy." "Shut up and go away!"

"Well, aren't you?"

"You're the crazy one!"

"Ha, ha, ha! That as much as proves it. You're crazy. I feel sorry for you." "If you don't get out of here, I'll throw a rock at you!"

"Aw, you don't want to do that, do you?"

"Go away, you beast!" The proud front she was putting up masked the terror she actually felt. She screamed at Yasoma and ran into a field of miscanthus, where once had stood Lord Komatsu's mansion and its garden filled with stone lanterns. She seemed to swim through the swaying plants.

"Wait!" cried Yasoma, going after her like a hunting dog.

Above Toribe Hill rose the evening moon, looking like the wild grin of a she-demon.

There was no one in the immediate vicinity. The nearest people were about three hundred yards away, in a group slowly descending a hill, but they wouldn't have come to her rescue even if they had heard her shouts, for they were returning from a funeral. Clad in formal white clothing and hats tied with white ribbons, they carried their prayer beads in their hands; a few of them were still weeping.

Suddenly Akemi, pushed sharply from behind, stumbled and fell.

"Oh, I'm sorry," said Yasoma. He fell on top of her, apologizing all the while. "Did it hurt?" he asked solicitously, hugging her to him.

Seething with anger, Akemi slapped his bearded face, but this did not faze him. Indeed, he seemed to like it. He merely squinted and grinned as she struck. Then he hugged her more closely and rubbed his cheek against hers. His beard felt like a thousand needles sticking into her skin. She could barely breathe. As she scratched desperately at him, one of her fingernails clawed the inside of his nose, bringing forth a stream of blood. Still, Yasoma did not relax the tight hold he had on her.

The bell at the Amida Hall on Toribe Hill was tolling a dirge, a lamentation on the impermanence of all things and the vanity of life. But it made no impression on the two struggling mortals. The withered miscanthus waved violently with their movements.

"Calm down, stop fighting," he pleaded. "There's nothing to be afraid of. I'll make you my bride. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Akemi screamed, "I just want to die!" The misery in her voice startled Yasoma.

"Why? Wh-what's the matter?" he stammered.

Akemi's crouching position, with her hands, knees and chest drawn tightly together, resembled the bud of a sasanqua flower. Yasoma began to comfort and cajole, hoping to soothe her into surrender. This did not seem to be the first time he had encountered a situation of this sort. On the contrary, it would appear that this was something he liked, for his face shone with pleasure, without losing its menacing quality. He was in no hurry; like a cat, he enjoyed playing with his victim.

"Don't cry," he said. "There's nothing to cry about, is there?" Giving her a kiss on the ear, he went on, "You must have been with a man before. At your age, you couldn't be innocent."

Seijūrō! Akemi recalled how stifled and miserable she had been before, how the framework of the shoji had blurred before her eyes.

"Wait!" she said.

"Wait? All right, I'll wait," he said, mistaking the warmth of her feverish

body for passion. "But don't try to run away, or I'll really get rough."

With a sharp grunt, she twisted her shoulders and shook his hand off her.

Glaring into his face, she slowly rose. "What are you trying to do to me?" "You know what I want!"

"You think you can treat women like fools, don't you? All you men do! Well, I may be a woman, but I've got spirit." Blood seeped from her lip where she had cut it on a miscanthus leaf. Biting the lip, she burst into fresh tears.

"You say the strangest things," he said. "What else can you be but crazy?"

"I'll say whatever I please!" she screamed. Pushing his chest away from her with all her might, she scrambled away through the miscanthus, which stretched as far as she could see in the moonlight.

"Murder! Help! Murder!"

Yasoma lunged after her. Before she had gone ten steps, he caught her and threw her down again. Her white legs visible beneath her kimono, her hair falling around her face, she lay with her cheek pressed against the ground. Her kimono was half open, and her white breasts felt the cold wind.

Just as Yasoma was about to leap on her, something very hard landed in the vicinity of his ear. Blood rushed to his head, and he screamed out in pain. As he turned to look, the hard object came crashing down on the crown of his head. This time there could hardly have been any pain, for he immediately fell over unconscious, his head shaking emptily like a paper tiger's. As he lay there with his mouth slack, his assailant, a mendicant priest, stood over him, holding the
shakuhachi
with which he had dealt the blows.

"The evil brute!" he said. "But he went down easier than I expected." The priest looked at Yasoma for a time, debating whether it would be kinder to kill him outright. The chances were that even if he recovered consciousness, he would never be sane again.

Akemi stared blankly at her rescuer. Apart from the
shakuhachi,
there was nothing to identify him as a priest; to judge from his dirty clothes and the sword hanging at his side, he might have been a poverty-stricken samurai or even a beggar.

"It's all right now," he said. "You don't have to worry anymore."

Recovering from her daze, Akemi thanked him and began straightening her hair and her kimono. But she peered into the darkness around her with eyes still full of fright.

"Where do you live?" asked the priest.

"Eh? Live ... do you mean where's my house?" she said, covering her face with her hands. Through her sobs, she tried to answer his questions, but she found herself unable to be honest with him. Part of what she told him was true—her mother was different from her, her mother was trying to exchange her body for money, she had fled here from Sumiyoshi—but the rest was made up on the spur of the moment.

"I'd rather die than go back home," she wailed. "I've had to put up with so much from my mother! I've been shamed in so many ways! Why, even when I was a little girl, I had to go out on the battlefield and steal things from the bodies of dead soldiers."

Her loathing for her mother made her bones tremble.

Aoki Tanzaemon helped her along to a little hollow, where it was quiet and the wind less chilly. Coming to a small dilapidated temple, he flashed a toothy grin and said, "This is where I live. It's not much, but I like it."

Though aware that it was a little rude, Akemi could not help saying, "Do you really live here?"

Tanzaemon pushed open a grille door and motioned for her to enter. Akemi hesitated.

"It's warmer inside than you'd think," he said. "All I have to cover the floor with is thin straw matting. Still, that's better than nothing. Are you afraid I might be like that brute back there?"

Silently Akemi shook her head. Tanzaemon did not frighten her. She felt sure he was a good man, and anyway he was getting on—over fifty, she thought. What held her back was the filthiness of the little temple and the smell of Tanzaemon's body and clothing. But there was nowhere else to go, no telling what might happen if Yasoma or someone like him were to find her. And her forehead was burning with fever.

"I won't be a bother to you?" she asked as she went up the steps.

"Not at all. No one will mind if you stay here for months."

The building was pitch black, the kind of atmosphere favored by bats. "Wait just a minute," said Tanzaemon.

She heard the scratching of metal against flint, and then a small lamp, which he must have scavenged somewhere, cast a feeble light. She looked about and saw that this strange man had somehow accumulated the basic necessities for housekeeping—a pot or two, some dishes, a wooden pillow, some straw matting. Saying he would make a little buckwheat gruel for her, he began puttering around with a broken earthenware brazier, first putting in a little charcoal, then some sticks, and after raising a few sparks, blowing them into a flame.

"He's a nice old man," thought Akemi. As she began to feel calmer, the place no longer seemed so filthy.

"There now," he said. "You look feverish, and you said you were tired. You've probably caught a cold. Why don't you just lie down over there until the food is ready?" He pointed to a makeshift pallet of straw matting and rice sacks.

Akemi spread some paper she had with her on the wooden pillow and with murmured apologies for resting while he worked, lay down. For cover, there were the tattered remains of a mosquito net. She started to pull this over her, but as she did so, an animal with glittering eyes jumped out from under it and bounded over her head. Akemi screamed and buried her face in the pallet.

Tanzaemon was more astonished than Akemi. He dropped the sack from which he was pouring flour into the water, spilling half of it on his knees. "What was that?" he cried.

Akemi, still hiding her face, said, "I don't know. It seemed bigger than a rat."

"Probably a squirrel. They sometimes come when they smell food. But I don't see it anywhere."

Lifting her head slightly, Akemi said, "There it is!"

"Where?"

Tanzaemon straightened up and turned around. Perched on the railing of the inner sanctum, from which the image of the Buddha was long gone, was a small monkey, shrinking with fright under Tanzaemon's hard stare.

Tanzaemon looked puzzled, but the monkey apparently decided there was nothing to fear. After a few trips up and down the faded vermilion railing, he sat down again, and turning up a face like a peach with long hair, began blinking his eyes.

"Where do you suppose he came from? ... Ah ha! I see now. I thought a good deal of rice had been scattered around." He moved toward the monkey, but the latter, anticipating his approach, bounded behind the sanctum and hid.

"He's a cute little devil," said Tanzaemon. "If we give him something to eat, he probably won't do any mischief. Let's let him be." Brushing the flour off his knees, he sat down before the brazier again. "There's nothing to be afraid of, Akemi. Get some rest."