Musashi: Bushido Code (65 page)

"Leave the dōjō to me from now on. I'll prove I can make it several times as successful as it was in our father's time. If you'll just put aside your suspicions that I'm trying to take your school away from you, I'll show you what I can do." He poured the last of the sake into his cup.

"Denshichirō!" cried Seijūrō. He tried to rise from his pallet, but couldn't even push aside the covers. Falling back, he reached out and grasped his brother's wrist.

"Watch out!" sputtered Denshichirō. "You'll make me spill this." He shifted his cup to his other hand.

"Denshichirō, I'll gladly let you have the school, but you'll have to take over my position as head of the house too."

"All right, if that's the way you want it."

"You shouldn't undertake the burden so lightly. You'd better give it some thought. I'd rather ... close the place down than have you make the same mistakes I did and bring greater disgrace on our father's name."

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm not like you."

"Do you promise to mend your ways?"

"Hold on! I'll drink if I want—if that's what you mean."

"I don't care about your drinking, if you don't carry it to excess. After all, the mistakes I made didn't really come from sake."

"Ah, I'll bet your trouble was women. You always did like them too much. What you should do when you get well is marry and settle down."

"No. I'm giving up the sword, but it's no time to think about taking a wife. Yet there is one person I must do something for. If I can be sure she's happy, I'll ask for nothing more. I'll be content to live by myself in a thatched hut in the woods."

"Who is she?"

"Never mind; it doesn't concern you. As a samurai, I feel I should hang on and try to redeem myself. But I can swallow my pride. You take charge of the school."

"I'll do that. You have my promise. I also swear that before long I'll clear your name too. Just where is Musashi now?"

"Musashi?" Seijūrō choked. "You're not thinking of fighting Musashi! I've just warned you not to make the same mistakes I did."

"What else could I be thinking of? Isn't that why you sent for me? We have to find Musashi before he escapes. If it weren't for that, what point was there in my coming home so fast?"

"You don't know what you're talking about." Seijūrō shook his head. "I forbid you to fight Musashi!"

Denshichirō's tone became resentful. Taking orders from his elder brother had always annoyed him.

"And why not?"

A tinge of pink appeared on Seijūrō's pale cheeks. "You can't win!" he said curtly.

"Who can't?" Denshichirō's face was livid.

"You
can't. Not against Musashi."

"Why can't I?"

"You're not good enough!"

"Nonsense!" Denshichirō deliberately broke into a laugh that shook his shoulders. Pulling his hand loose from Seijūrō's, he upended the sake jar. "Somebody bring sake," he bellowed. "There's none left."

By the time a student came with the sake, Denshichirō was no longer in the room, and Seijūrō was lying face down under the covers. When the student straightened him around and put his head on the pillow, he said softly, "Call him back. I've something more to say to him."

Relieved that the Young Master was speaking clearly, the man ran out to look for Denshichirō. He found him seated on the floor of the dōjō, with Ueda Ryōhei and Miike Jūrōzaemon, Nampo Yoichibei, Ōtaguro Hyōsuke and a few more of the senior disciples.

One was asking, "Have you seen the Young Master?"

"Mm. I just came from his room."

"He must have been happy to see you."

"He didn't seem too pleased. Until I went to his room, I'd been eager to see him. But he was dejected and cross, so I said what I had to say. We got into a quarrel, as usual."

"You argued with him? You shouldn't have done that. He's only just beginning to recover."

"Wait till you hear the whole story."

Denshichirō and the senior disciples were like old chums. He grabbed the reproachful Ryōhei by the shoulder and shook him in a friendly way.

"Listen to what my brother said," he began. "He said I shouldn't try to clear his name by fighting Musashi, because I couldn't win! And if I was defeated, the House of Yoshioka would be ruined. He told me he'd retire and accept sole responsibility for the disgrace. He doesn't expect me to do any more than carry on in his place and work hard to put the school back on its feet."

"I see."

"What do you mean by that?"

Ryōhei didn't answer.

As they sat there in silence, the student came in and said to Denshichirō, "The Young Master wants you to come back to his room."

Denshichirō scowled. "What happened to the sake?" he snapped. "I left it in Seijūrō's room."

"Well, bring it here!"

"What about your brother?"

"He seems to be suffering from a case of the jitters. Do as I say."

The protestations of the others that they did not want any, that this was no time to be drinking, annoyed Denshichirō and he lashed out at them. "What's the matter with all of you? Are you afraid of Musashi too?"

Shock, pain and bitterness were evident in their faces. To their dying day, they would remember how with a single blow of a wooden sword their master had been crippled and the school disgraced. Still, they had been unable to agree on a plan of action. Every discussion over the past three days had split them into two factions, some favoring a second challenge, others arguing for leaving bad enough alone. Now a few of the older men looked approvingly at Denshichirō, but the rest, Ryōhei included, were inclined to agree with their defeated master. Unfortunately, it was one thing for Seijūrō to urge forbearance and quite another for the students to agree, particularly in the presence of this hotheaded younger brother.

Denshichirō, observing their hesitancy, declared, "Even if my brother is injured, he has no business behaving like a coward. Just like a woman! How could I be expected to listen, let alone agree?"

The sake had been brought, and he proceeded to pour each man a cup. Now that he was going to be running things, he intended to set the tone he himself liked: this would be a real man's outfit.

"This is what I'm going to do," he announced. "I'll fight Musashi and defeat him! It doesn't matter what my brother says. If he thinks we should let this man get away with what he did, it's no wonder he got beaten. Don't any of you make the mistake of thinking I'm yellow like him."

Nampo Yoichibei spoke up. "There's no question about your ability. We all have confidence in that, but still ..."

"But still what? What's on your mind?"

"Well, your brother seems to be of the opinion that Musashi isn't important. He's right, isn't he? Think of the risk—"

"Risk?" howled Denshichirō.

"I didn't mean it that way! I take it back," stammered Yoichibei.

But the damage was done. Denshichirō, jumping up and seizing him by the scruff of the neck, threw him violently against the wall.

"Get out of here! Coward!"

"It was a slip of the tongue. I didn't mean to—"

"Shut up! Out! Weaklings aren't fit to drink with me."

Yoichibei turned pale, then quietly sank to his knees, facing the others. "I thank you all for letting me stay among you so long," he said simply. He went to the small Shinto shrine in the back of the room, bowed and left.

Without so much as a glance in his direction, Denshichirō said, "Now let's all drink together. After that, I want you to find Musashi. I doubt that he's left Kyoto yet. He's probably swaggering around town boasting of his victory.

"And another thing. We're going to put some life back into this dōjō. I want each of you to practice hard and see that your fellow students do too. As soon as I've had a rest, I'll start practicing myself. And remember one thing. I'm not soft like my brother. I want even the youngest to go at it for all they're worth."

Exactly a week later, one of the younger students came running into the dōjō with the news: "I've found him!"

Denshichirō, true to his word, had been training relentlessly day after day. His seemingly inexhaustible energy came as a surprise to the disciples, a group of whom were now watching him take care of Ōtaguro, one of the most experienced among them, as though he were a child.

"We'll stop now," said Denshichirō, withdrawing his sword and sitting down at the edge of the practice area. "You say you've found him?"

"Yes." The student came and knelt before Denshichirō.

"Where?"

"East of Jissōin, in Hon'ami Lane. Musashi's staying at the house of Hon'ami Kōetsu. I'm sure of it."

"Strange. How would a rustic like Musashi get to know a man like Kōetsu?" "I don't know, but that's where he is."

"All right, let's go after him. Now!" barked Denshichirō, striding off to make his preparations. Ōtaguro and Ueda, trailing along behind, tried to dissuade him.

"Taking him by surprise would make it look like a common brawl. People would disapprove, even if we carried it off."

"Never mind. Etiquette is for the dōjō. In a real battle, he who wins, wins!"

"True, but that isn't the way that oaf defeated your brother. Don't you think it would be more befitting a swordsman to send him a letter specifying the time and place, then beat him fair and square?"

"Urn, maybe you're right. All right, we'll do it that way. In the meantime I don't want any of you to let my brother talk you into opposing me. I'll fight Musashi whatever Seijūrō or anybody else says."

"We've gotten rid of all the men who disagreed with you, as well as the ingrates who wanted to leave."

"Good! We're that much stronger. We have no need of crooks like Gion Tōji or timid souls like Nampo Yoichibei."

"Should we mention it to your brother before sending the letter?" "Not you, no! I'll do it myself."

As he went off toward Seijūrō's room, the others prayed there wouldn't be another fraternal clash; neither brother had budged an inch on the question of Musashi. When after a time no loud voices were heard, the students took up the matter of time and place for this second confrontation with their mortal foe.

Then Denshichirō's voice rang out. "Ueda! Miike! Ōtaguro ... all of you! Come here!"

Denshichirō was standing in the middle of the room with a clouded look on his face and tears in his eyes. No one had ever seen him like this.

"Take a look at this, all of you."

He held up a long, long letter and said, with forced anger, "See what my idiot brother has done now. He had to tell me his opinions again, but he's gone for good.... Didn't even say where he's going."

A Mother’s Love

Otsū put down her sewing and called, "Who's there?"

She slid open the shoji onto the veranda, but no one was in sight. Her spirits sank. She had hoped it was Jōtarō. She needed him now more than ever.

Another day of utter loneliness. She could not keep her mind on her needlework.

Here below Kiyomizudera, at the bottom of Sannen Hill, the streets were squalid, but behind the houses and shops were bamboo groves and small fields, camellias blooming and plum blossoms beginning to fall. Osugi was very fond of this particular inn. She stayed here whenever she was in Kyoto, and the innkeeper always let her have this small, quiet separate house. Behind it was a stand of trees, part of the garden next door; in front was a small vegetable garden, beyond which was the always bustling kitchen of the inn.

"Otsū!" called a voice from the kitchen. "It's time for lunch. May I bring it to you now?"

"Lunch?" said Otsū. "I'll eat with the old woman when she comes back." "She said she wouldn't be back until late. We probably won't see her before evening."

"I'm not hungry."

"I don't see how you can go on, eating so little."

Pine smoke billowed into the enclosure from potters' kilns in the neighborhood. On the days when they were fired, there was always a lot of smoke. But after the air cleared, the early spring sky was bluer than ever.

From the street came the sound of horses and the footsteps and voices of pilgrims on their way to the temple. It was from the passersby that the story of Musashi's victory over Seijūrō had reached Otsū’s ears. Musashi's face appeared before her eyes. "Jōtarō must have been at the Rendaiji that day," she thought. "If only he'd come and tell me about it!"

She couldn't believe the boy had looked for her and not been able to find her. Twenty days had passed, and he knew she was staying at the foot of Sannen Hill. He might be sick, but she did not really believe this either; Jōtarō was not the type to be ill. "He's probably out flying a kite somewhere, having a good time," she said to herself. The idea made her a little peevish.

Maybe he was the one who was doing the waiting. She had not been back to the Karasumaru house, though she had promised him she would return soon.

She was unable to go anywhere, for she had been forbidden to leave the inn without Osugi’s permission. Osugi had obviously told the innkeeper and servants to keep an eye on her. Whenever she so much as glanced toward the street, someone would ask, "Are you going out, Otsū?" The question, the tone of voice, sounded innocent, but she comprehended the meaning. And the only way she could send a letter was by entrusting it to the people at the inn, who had been instructed to keep any message she might try to send.

Osugi was something of a celebrity in this area, and people were easily persuaded to do her bidding. Quite a few of the shopkeepers, palanquin bearers and draymen in the neighborhood had seen her in action the year before, when she challenged Musashi at Kiyomizudera, and, for all her irascibility, regarded her with a certain affectionate awe.

As Otsū made yet another attempt to finish reassembling Osugi’s travel outfit, which had been taken apart at the seams to be washed, a shadow appeared outside. She heard an unfamiliar voice say, "I wonder if I'm in the wrong place."

A young woman had come through the passageway from the street and was standing under a plum tree between two patches of scallions. She seemed nervous, a little embarrassed, but reluctant to turn back.

"Isn't this the inn? There's a lantern at the entrance of the passageway saying it is," she said to Otsū.

Otsū could hardly believe her eyes, so painful was the suddenly reawakened memory.

Thinking she had made a mistake, Akemi asked diffidently, "Which building is the inn?" Then, looking around, she noticed the plum blossoms and exclaimed, "My, aren't they pretty!"

Otsū looked at the girl without answering.

A clerk, summoned by one of the kitchen girls, came hurrying around the corner of the inn. "Are you looking for the entrance?" he asked.

"Yes."

"It's on the corner just to the right of the passageway."

"The inn faces directly on the street?"

"It does, but the rooms are quiet."

"I'd like a place where I can come and go without people watching me. I thought the inn was away from the street. Isn't that little house part of the inn?"

"Yes."

"It looks like a nice quiet place."

"We also have some very nice rooms in the main building."

"There seems to be a woman staying there now, but couldn't I stay too?" "Well, there's another lady. I'm afraid she's old and rather nervous." "Oh, I don't mind, if it's all right with her."

"I'll have to ask her when she comes back. She's out now."

"May I have a room to rest in till then?"

"By all means."

The clerk led Akemi down the passageway, leaving Otsū to regret that she had not taken the opportunity to ask a few questions. If only she could learn to be a little more aggressive, she reflected sadly.

To assuage her jealous suspicions, Otsū had assured herself time and time again that Musashi was not the kind of man who played around with other women. But ever since that day, she had been discouraged. "She's had more opportunities to be near Musashi.... She's probably much cleverer than I—knows better how to win a man's heart."

Until that day, the possibility of another woman had never crossed her mind. Now she brooded over what she considered to be her own weaknesses. "I'm just not beautiful.... I'm not very bright either.... I have neither parents nor relatives to back me in marriage." Comparing herself with other women, it seemed that the great hope of her life was ridiculously beyond her reach, that it was presumptuous to dream that Musashi could be hers. She could no longer summon up the bravery that had enabled her to climb the old cryptomeria tree during a blinding storm.

"If only I had Jōtarō's help!" she lamented. She even imagined she had lost her youthfulness. "At the Shippōji, I still had some of the innocence Jōtarō has now. That was why I was able to free Musashi." She began to weep into her sewing.

"Are you here, Otsū?" Osugi asked imperiously. "What are you doing, sitting there in the dark?"

Twilight had descended without the girl's noticing it. "Oh, I'll light a lamp right away," she said apologetically, rising and going to a small room in the rear.

As she came in and sat down, Osugi cast a cold look at Otsū's back.

Otsū placed the lamp by Osugi's side and bowed. "You must be worn out," she said. "What did you do today?"

"You should know without asking."

"Shall I massage your legs for you?"

"My legs aren't so bad, but my shoulders have been stiff the last four or five days. Probably the weather. If you feel like it, massage them a little." To herself, she was saying that she had to put up with this dreadful girl only a little while longer, until she found Matahachi and got him to set right the evils of the past.

Otsū knelt behind her and started to work on her shoulders. "They're really stiff, aren't they? It must hurt to breathe."

"It does feel as though my chest is clogged up sometimes. But I'm old. One of these days I'll probably have some sort of seizure and die."

"Oh, that's not going to happen to you. You've got more vitality than most young people."

"Maybe, but think of Uncle Gon. He was as lively as could be, but then it was all over in an instant. People don't know what's going to happen to them. There's no mistake about one thing, though. All I have to do to be myself is think about Musashi."

"You're wrong about Musashi. He's not a wicked man."

"Yes, yes, that's right," said the old woman with a slight snort. "After all, he's the man you love so much you threw my son over for him. I shouldn't say bad things about him to you."

"Oh, it's not like that!"

"Isn't it? You do love Musashi more than Matahachi, don't you? Why not admit it?"

Otsū was silent, and the old woman went on: "When we find Matahachi, I'll have a talk with him and fix everything up the way you want it. But I suppose after that you'll run straight to Musashi, and the two of you will malign us for the rest of your lives."

"Why do you think that? I'm not that kind of person. I won't forget the many things you've done for me in the past."

"The way you young girls talk these days! I don't know how you manage to sound so sweet. I'm an honest woman myself. I can't conceal my feelings with a lot of clever words. You know, if you marry Musashi, you'll be my enemy. Ha, ha, ha! It must be annoying to massage my shoulders."

The girl did not answer.

"What are you crying about?"

"I'm not crying."

"What's that water falling on my neck?"

"I'm sorry. I couldn't help it."

"Stop it! It feels like a bug crawling around. Quit pining over Musashi and put some strength into your arms!"

A light appeared in the garden. Otsū thought it was probably the maid, who usually brought their evening meal about this time, but it turned out to be a priest.

"I beg your pardon," he said, stepping up onto the veranda. "Is this the room of the Hon'iden dowager? Ah, there you are." The lantern he held bore the legend "Kiyomizudera on Mount Otowa."

"Let me explain," he began. "I'm a priest from the Shiandō, up the hill." He put the lantern down and took a letter from his kimono. "I don't know who it was, but this evening just before sunset a young rōnin came to the temple and asked if an elderly lady from Mimasaka was doing her devotions there. I told him no, but a devoted worshiper answering that description did come occasionally. He asked for a brush and wrote this letter. He wanted me to give it to the lady the next time she came. I'd heard that you were staying here, and since I was on my way to Gojō Avenue, I dropped in to deliver it."

"That was very kind of you," said Osugi cordially. She offered him a cushion, but he took his leave immediately.

"Now what?" thought Osugi. She unfolded the letter; as she read, her color changed.

"Otsū," she called.

"Yes, what is it?" replied the girl from the back room.

"There's no need to prepare tea. He's already gone."

"Has he? Why don't you drink it, then?"

"How dare you think of serving me tea you made for him? I'm not a drainpipe! Forget about the tea and get dressed!"

"Are we going out?"

"Yes. Tonight we'll reach the settlement you've been hoping for." "Oh, then the letter was from Matahachi."

"That doesn't concern you."

"Very well; I'll go and ask for our dinner to be brought now."

"Haven't you eaten yet?"

"No; I was waiting for you to come back."

"You're always doing foolish things. I ate while I was out. Well, have some rice and pickles. But be quick about it!"

As Otsū started for the kitchen, the old woman said, "It'll be cold on the mountain tonight. Have you finished sewing up my cloak?"

"I still have a little more to do on your kimono."

"I didn't say kimono, I said cloak. I put that out for you to work on too. And have you washed my socks? The cords on my sandals are loose. Have some new ones brought."

The orders came so fast Otsū didn't have time to answer, let alone comply, but she felt powerless to rebel. Her spirit seemed to crouch in fear and dismay before this gnarled old harridan.

Food was out of the question. In a matter of minutes, Osugi declared she was ready to leave.

Placing new sandals by the veranda, Otsū said, "You go ahead. I'll catch up.

"Did you bring a lantern?"

"No—"

"Nitwit! Were you expecting me to stumble around on the mountainside without a light? Go borrow one from the inn."

"I'm sorry. I didn't think."

Otsū wanted to know where they were going but did not ask, knowing it would provoke Osugi's anger. She fetched the lantern and led the way silently up Sannen Hill. For all the harassment, she felt cheerful. The letter must have been from Matahachi, and this meant the problem that had vexed her for so many years would be solved tonight. "As soon as everything has been talked over," she thought, "I'll go to the Karasumaru house. I must see Jōtarō."

It was not an easy climb. They had to walk carefully to avoid fallen rocks and holes in the path. In the deep silence of night, the waterfall sounded louder than in the daytime.

After a time, Osugi said, "I'm sure this is the place sacred to the god of the mountain. Ah, here's the sign: 'Cherry Tree of the Mountain God.'

"Matahachi!" she called into the darkness. "Matahachi! I'm here." The trembling voice and face brimming with maternal affection came as a revelation to Otsū. She had never expected to see Osugi overcome by concern for her son.

"Don't let the lantern go out!" snapped Osugi.

"I'll take care," replied Otsū dutifully.

The old woman grumbled under her breath. "He's not here. He's simply not here." She had made a round of the temple grounds, but made another one. "He said in the letter I should come to the hall of the mountain god."

"Did he say tonight?"

"He didn't say tonight or tomorrow or any particular time. I wonder if he'll ever grow up. I don't see why he couldn't come to the inn, but maybe he's embarrassed about what happened in Osaka."

Otsū pulled at her sleeve and said, "Shh! That could be him. Someone's coming up the hill."

"Son, is that you?" Osugi called.