Musashi: Bushido Code (63 page)

With a tinge of shame, he recalled the clash of wills that had led him to stalk angrily away from his own mother at Sumiyoshi. "I shouldn't have done that to her," he thought. "Whatever her faults, there'll never be anyone else who loves me the way she does."

During the week they had been together, going, to his great annoyance, from shrine to temple and temple to shrine, Osugi had told him time and time again about the miraculous powers of the Kannon at Kiyomizudera. "No bodhisattva in the world works greater wonders," she had assured him. "Less than three weeks after I went there to pray, Kannon led Takezō to me—brought him right to the temple. I know you don't care much for religion, but you'd better have faith in that Kannon."

Now that he thought of it, she had mentioned that after the beginning of the new year, she planned to go to Kiyomizu and ask Kannon's protection for the Hon'iden family. There's where he should go! He had no place to sleep tonight; he could spend the night on the porch, and there was a chance he'd see his mother again.

As he headed down dark streets toward Gojō Avenue, he was joined by a pack of barking stray mongrels, not, unfortunately, of the sort that could be silenced by throwing a rock or two at them. But he was used to being barked at, and it didn't bother him when the dogs came up snarling and baring their teeth.

At Matsubara, a pine woods near Gojō Avenue, he saw another pack of curs gathered around a tree. The ones escorting him loped off to join them. There were more than he could count, all raising a great racket, some jumping five and six feet up the tree trunk.

Straining his eyes, he could barely make out a girl crouched trembling on a branch. Or at least he was fairly sure it was a girl.

He shook his fist and shouted to drive the dogs away. When this had no effect, he threw rocks, also to no avail. Then he remembered having heard that the way to scare dogs away was to get down on all fours and roar loudly, so he tried that. But this did not work either, possibly because there were so many of them, jumping about like fish in a net, wagging their tails, scratching the bark of the tree and howling viciously.

It suddenly occurred to him that a woman might consider it ludicrous for a young man with two swords to be down on all fours acting like an animal. With a curse, he jumped to his feet. The next instant, one dog gave a final howl and died. When the others saw Matahachi's bloody sword hanging above the body, they drew together, their bony backs heaving up and down like ocean waves.

"You want more, uh?"

Sensing the threat of the sword, the dogs scattered in all directions. "You up there!" he called. "You can come down now."

He heard a pretty little metallic tinkle among the pine needles. "It's Akemi!" he gasped. "Akemi, is that you?"

And it was Akemi's voice that called down, "Who are you?"

"Matahachi. Can't you tell from my voice?"

"It couldn't be! Did you say Matahachi?"

"What are you doing up there? You're not the type to be frightened by dogs."

"I'm not up here because of the dogs."

"Well, whatever you're hiding from, come down."

From her perch on the limb, Akemi peered around into the silent darkness. "Matahachi!" she said urgently. "Get away from here. I think he's come looking for me."

"He? Who's he?"

"There's no time to talk about it. A man. He offered to help me at the end of last year, but he's a beast. At first I thought he was kind, then he did all sorts of cruel things to me. Tonight I saw a chance to get away."

"It's not Okō who's after you?"

"No, not Mother; it's a man!"

"Gion Tōji, maybe?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm not afraid of
him....
Oh, oh—he's right over there. If you stay here, he'll find me. He'll do something awful to you too! Hide quick!"

"Do you expect me to run just because some man has turned up?" He stood where he was, fidgeting with indecision. He had half a mind to perform a valiant deed. He was a man. He had a woman in distress on his hands. And he would have liked to make up for the mortification of having been on his hands and knees trying to scare the dogs away. The more Akemi urged him to hide, the more he longed to demonstrate his virility, both to her and to himself.

"Who's there?"

The words were spoken simultaneously by Matahachi and Kojirō. Kojirō glared at Matahachi's sword and the blood dripping from it. "Who are you?" he demanded belligerently.

Matahachi remained silent. Having heard the fear in Akemi's voice, he grew tense. But after a second look, he relaxed. The stranger was tall and well built, but no older than Matahachi himself. From his boyish hairdo and outfit, Matahachi took him to be a rank novice, and contempt came into his eyes. The monk had given him a real scare, but he was sure he could not lose to this young fop.

"Could this be the brute who was tormenting Akemi?" he wondered. "He looks green as a gourd to me. I haven't heard what it's all about yet, but if he's causing her a lot of trouble, I guess I'll just have to give him a lesson or two."

"Who are you?" Kojirō asked again. The force of the utterance was such as to roll away the darkness around them.

"Me?" Matahachi answered teasingly. "I am merely a human being." He grinned deliberately.

The blood rushed to Kojirō's face. "So you have no name," he said. "Or could it be that you're ashamed of your name?"

Provoked but unafraid, Matahachi retorted, "I see no need to give my name to a stranger, who probably wouldn't recognize it anyway."

Watch how you talk!" snapped Kojirō. "But let's leave the fight between you and me until later. I'm going to get that girl down from the tree and take her back where she belongs. You wait here."

"Don't talk like a fool! What makes you think I'll let you have her?" "What's it got to do with you?"

"That girl's mother used to be my wife, and I'm not going to let her be harmed. If you lay one finger on her, I'll slice you to bits."

"Now, this is interesting. You seem to fancy yourself to be a samurai, though I must say I haven't seen such a bony one for many a day. But there's something you should know. This Drying Pole on my back has been weeping in its sleep, because not once since it was passed on as a family heirloom has it gotten its fill of blood. It's getting a little rusty too, so now I think I'll polish it a bit on that scrawny carcass of yours. And don't try to run away!"

Matahachi, lacking the sense to see that this was no bluff, said scornfully, "Stop talking so big! If you want to reconsider, now's the time. Just leave, while you can still see where you're going. I'll spare your life."

"The same to you. But listen, my fine human being. You boasted that your name was too good to mention to the likes of me. Pray, just what is that illustrious name? It's part of the etiquette of fighting to declare yourself. Or don't you know that?"

"I don't mind telling it, but don't be startled when you hear it."

"I shall steel myself against surprise. But first, what is your style of swordsmanship?"

Matahachi figured that no one who prattled on in this fashion could be much of a swordsman; his estimation of his opponent dropped even lower.

"I," he informed Kojirō, "hold a certificate in the Chūjō Style, which branched off from the style of Toda Seigen."

Kojirō, astonished, tried to hide a gasp.

Matahachi, believing that he had the advantage, decided it would be foolish not to press it. Mimicking his questioner, he said, "Now would you tell me your style? It's part of the etiquette of fighting, you know."

"Later. Just who did you learn the Chūjō Style from?"

"From Kanemaki Jisai, of course," Matahachi answered glibly. "Who else?" "Oh?" exclaimed Kojirō, now really puzzled. "And do you know Itō Ittōsai?"

"Naturally." Interpreting Kojirō's questions as proof his story was taking effect, Matahachi felt sure the young man would soon propose a compromise. Laying it on a bit thicker, he said, "I supposed there's no reason to hide my connection with Itō Ittōsai. He was a predecessor of mine. By that, I mean that we both studied under Kanemaki Jisai. Why do you ask?"

Kojirō ignored the question. "Then may I ask again, just who are you?" "I am Sasaki Kojirō."

"Say that again!"

"I am Sasaki Kojirō," Matahachi repeated very politely.

After a moment of dumbfounded silence, Kojirō uttered a low hum and showed his dimples.

Matahachi glared at him. "Why do you look at me that way? Does my name take you by surprise?"

"I should say it does."

"All right then—go away!" Matahachi commanded menacingly, raising his chin.

"Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Oh! Ha, ha, ha!" Kojirō held his stomach to keep from collapsing with laughter. When he finally brought himself under control, he said, "I’ve met many people in the course of my travels, but never have I heard anything to compare with this. Now, Sasaki Kojirō, would you kindly tell me who
I
am?"

"How should I know?"

"But you must know! I hope I don't seem to be rude, but just to be sure I heard you right, would you repeat your name one more time?"

"Haven't you got ears? I'm Sasaki Kojirō."

"And I am ... ?"

"Another human being, I suppose."

"No question about that, but what's my name?"

"Look, you bastard, are you making fun of me?"

"No, of course not. I'm quite serious. I've never been more serious in my life. Tell me, Kojirō, what's my name?"

"Why make a nuisance of yourself? You answer the question."

"All right. I shall ask myself my name, and then, at the risk of seeming presumptuous, I shall tell it to you."

"Good, let's have it."

"Don't be startled!"

"Idiot!"

"I am Sasaki Kojirō, also known as Ganryū."

"Wh-what?"

"Since the days of my ancestors, my family has lived in Iwakuni. The name Kojirō I received from my parents. I am also the person known among swordsmen as Ganryū. Now, when and how do you suppose it came about that there are two Sasaki Kojirōs in this world?"

"Then you ... you're . . ."

"Yes, and even though a great number of men are traveling about the countryside, you're the first I've ever encountered with my name. The very first. Isn't it a strange coincidence that has brought us together?"

Matahachi was thinking rapidly.

"What's the matter? You seem to be trembling."

Matahachi cringed.

Kojirō came closer, slapped him on the shoulder, and said, "Let's be friends."

Matahachi, face dead white, jerked away and yelped.

"If you run, I'll kill you." Kojirō's voice thrust like a lance straight into Matahachi's face.

The Drying Pole screaming over Kojirō's shoulder was a silver snake. Only one strike, no more. In one bound Matahachi covered nearly ten feet. Like an insect blown from a leaf, he turned three somersaults and stretched out on the ground unconscious.

Kojirō did not even look his way. The three-foot sword, still bloodless, slid back into its scabbard.

"Akemi!" called Kojirō. "Come down! I won't do that sort of thing anymore, so come back to the inn with me. Oh, I knocked your friend down, but I didn't really hurt him. Get down here and take care of him."

No answer. Seeing nothing among the dark branches, Kojirō climbed up the tree and found himself alone. Akemi had run away from him again.

The breeze blew softly through the pine needles. He sat quietly on the limb, asking himself where his little sparrow could have flown. He simply could not fathom why she was so afraid of him. Had he not given her his love in the best way he knew how? He might have been willing to agree that his way of showing affection was a little rough, but he did not appreciate how different it was from the way other people made love.

A clue might be found in his attitude toward swordsmanship. When he had entered Kanamaki Jisai's school as a child, he had displayed great ability and was treated as a prodigy. His use of the sword was quite extraordinary. Even more extraordinary was his tenacity. He absolutely refused to give up. If he faced a stronger opponent, he clung on all the tighter.

In this day and age, the manner in which a fighter won was far less significant than the fact of winning. No one questioned methods very closely, and Kojirō's proclivity to hang on by hook or crook until he finally conquered was not considered dirty fighting. Opponents complained of his harassing them when others would have admitted defeat, but no one considered this unmanly.

Once when he was still a boy, a group of older students, whom he openly despised, pummeled him senseless with wooden swords. Taking pity on him, one of his attackers gave him some water and stayed with him until he revived, whereupon Kojirō seized his benefactor's wooden sword and beat him to death with it.

If he did lose a bout, he never forgot it. He would lie in wait until his enemy was off guard—in a dark place, asleep in bed, even in the toilet—and then attack with full force. To defeat Kojirō was to make an implacable enemy.

As he grew older, he took to speaking of himself as a genius. There was more than braggadocio in this, both Jisai and Ittōsai having acknowledged the truth of it. Nor was he making anything up when he claimed to have learned how to cut down flying sparrows and to have created his own style. This led the people in the neighborhood to regard him as a "wizard," an appraisal with which he heartily concurred.

Exactly what form his tenacious will to dominate took when Kojirō was in love with a woman, no one knew. But there could be no doubt that he would have his way. He himself, however, saw no connection whatever between his swordsmanship and his love-making. He couldn't begin to understand why Akemi disliked him, when he loved her so much.