Musashi: Bushido Code (69 page)

It was still light, and the walk along the river was pleasant, all the more so because they were completely at leisure at an hour when everybody else was busy.

Musashi remarked, "I've heard Haiya Shōyū's name, but I really don't know anything about him."

"I'd be surprised if you hadn't heard of him. He's a well-known expert at composing linked verse."

"Ah! So he's a poet."

"He is, but of course he doesn't make his living writing verse. He comes from an old Kyoto merchant family."

"How did he get the name Haiya?"

"It's the name of his business."

"What does he sell?"

"His name means 'ash salesman,' and that's what he sells—ashes." "Ashes?"

"Yes, they're used in dyeing cloth. It's a big business. He sells to dyers' guilds all over the country. At the beginning of the Ashikaga period, the ash trade was controlled by an agent of the shōgun, but later it was turned over to private wholesalers. There are three big wholesale houses in Kyoto, and Shōyū's is one of them. He himself doesn't have to work, of course. He's retired and living a life of ease. Look over there; you can see his house. It's the one with the stylish gate."

Musashi nodded as he listened, but his attention was distracted by the feel of his sleeves. While the right one was waving lightly in the breeze, the left did not move at all. Slipping his hand in, he drew out an object enough to see what it was—a well-tanned purple leather thong of the type warriors used to tie up their sleeves when fighting. "Myōshū," he thought. "Only she could have put it there."

He looked backed and smiled at the men behind them, who, as he was already aware, had been trailing along at a discreet distance ever since he and Kōetsu had turned out of Hon'ami Lane.

His smile seemed to relieve the three men. They whispered a few words to each other and began taking longer strides.

Coming to the Haiya house, Kōetsu sounded the clapper on the gate, and a servant carrying a broom came to admit them. Kōetsu was through the gate and in the front garden before he noticed Musashi was not with him. Turning back toward the gate, he called, "Come in, Musashi. There's nothing to be hesitant about."

Having closed in on Musashi, the three samurai had their elbows thrust out and their hands on their swords. Kōetsu couldn't catch what they said to Musashi, nor the latter's soft reply.

Musashi told him not to wait, and Kōetsu answered with an air of complete calm. "All right, I'll be in the house. Join me as soon as you've finished your business."

"We're not here," one of the men said, "to argue about whether you ran away to hide or not. I'm Otaguro Hyōsuke. I'm one of the Ten Swordsmen of the House of Yoshioka. I've brought a letter from Seijūrō's younger brother, Denshichirō." Taking the letter out, he held it up for Musashi to see. "Read it and give us your answer immediately."

Opening the letter in an offhand manner, Musashi read it quickly and said, "I accept."

Hyōsuke looked at him suspiciously. "Are you sure?"

Musashi nodded. "Absolutely sure."

Musashi's casualness took them off guard.

"If you don't keep your word, you'll never be able to show your face in Kyoto again. We'll see to that!"

Musashi's stare was accompanied by a slight smile, but he said nothing. "Are you satisfied with the conditions? There's not much time left to prepare yourself."

"I'm quite ready," Musashi answered calmly.

"Then we'll see you later this evening."

As Musashi started through the gate, Hyōsuke approached him again and asked, "Will you be here until the time agreed on?"

"No. My host is taking me to the licensed quarter near Rokujō Avenue."

"The licensed quarter?" Hyōsuke was surprised. "Well, I assume you'll be either here or there. If you're late, I'll send someone for you. I trust you won't try any tricks."

Musashi had already turned his back and entered the front garden, a step that took him into a different world.

The irregularly shaped, artlessly spaced stepping-stones of the garden path appeared to have been put there by nature. On either side were moist clumps of low fernlike bamboo, interspersed with taller bamboo shoots, no thicker than a writing brush. As he walked on, the roof of the main house came into view, then the front entrance, a small separate house and a garden bower, each contributing to the atmosphere of venerable age and long tradition. Around the buildings, tall pines suggested wealth and comfort.

He could hear people playing the game of kickball called
kemari,
a soft sporadic thump, often heard from behind the walls of the mansions of court nobles. Hearing it in a merchant's establishment surprised him.

Once in the house, he was shown into a room looking out onto the garden. Two servants entered with tea and cakes, one informing them that their host would be with them shortly. Musashi could tell from the servants' manner that they were impeccably trained.

Kōetsu murmured, "It's quite cold, isn't it, now that the sun's gone down?" He wanted to have the shoji closed but didn't ask because Musashi appeared to be enjoying the view of the plum blossoms. Kōetsu also turned his eyes toward the view. "I see there are clouds above Mount Hiei," he remarked. "I'd guess they're from the north. Aren't you chilly?"

"No, not especially," answered Musashi honestly, serenely ignorant of what his companion was hinting at.

A servant brought a candlestick, and Kōetsu took the opportunity to close the shoji. Musashi became conscious of the atmosphere within the household, which was peaceful and genial. Relaxing and listening to the laughing voices coming from the inner part of the house, he was struck by the complete absence of ostentation. It was as though the decor and surroundings had deliberately been made as simply as possible. He could imagine himself in the guest room of a large farmhouse in the country.

Haiya Shōyū entered the room and proclaimed, "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting so long." His voice, open, friendly, youthful, was just the opposite of Kōetsu's soft drawl. Thin as a crane, he was perhaps ten years older than his friend, yet far more jovial. When Kōetsu explained who Musashi was, he said, "Oh, so you're a nephew of Matsuo Kaname? I know him quite well."

Shōyū's acquaintance with his uncle must have been through the noble House of Konoe, thought Musashi, beginning to sense the close ties between the wealthy merchants and the palace courtiers.

Without further ado, the spry old merchant said, "Let's be on our way. I'd intended to go while it was still light, so that we could stroll over. But since it's already dark, I think we should call for palanquins. This young man's coming with us, I assume."

Palanquins were summoned, and the three set off, Shōyū and Kōetsu in front, Musashi behind. It was the first time he had ever ridden in one.

By the time they reached the Yanagi Riding Grounds, the bearers were already puffing white steam.

"Oh, it's cold," one complained.

"The wind cuts into you, doesn't it?"

"And it's supposed to be spring!"

Their three lanterns swung to and fro, flickering in the wind. Dark clouds above the city hinted ominously of still worse weather before the night was out. Beyond the riding field, the lights of the city shone in dazzling splendor. Musashi had the impression of a great swarm of fireflies glowing cheerfully in the cold, clear breeze.

"Musashi!" Kōetsu called from the middle palanquin. "That's where we're going, over there. It's quite an experience to come upon it suddenly, isn't it?" He explained that until three years ago the licensed district had been at Nijō Avenue, near the palace, then the magistrate, Itakura Katsushige, had had it moved, because the nightly singing and carousing was a nuisance. He said the whole area was thriving and that all new fashions originated within those rows of lights.

"You could almost say that a whole new culture has been created there." Pausing and listening carefully for a moment, he added, "You can just hear it, can't you? The sound of strings and singing?"

It was music Musashi had never heard before.

"The instruments are shamisen. They're an improved version of a three-stringed instrument brought from the Ryukyu Islands. A great many new songs have been composed for them, all right here in the quarter, then spread out among the common people. So you can see how influential this district is, and why certain standards of decency have to be maintained, even though it's rather cut off from the rest of the city."

They turned into one of the streets; the light from countless bright lamps and lanterns hanging from the willow trees reflected in Musashi's eyes. The district had kept its old name when it was moved: Yanagimachi, the Town of Willows, willows having long been associated with drinking and dalliance.

Kōetsu and Shōyū were well known at the establishment they entered. The greetings were obsequious yet jocular, and it soon became apparent that here they used nicknames—"play names," as it were. Kōetsu was known as Mizuochi-sama—Mr. Falling Water—because of the streams traversing his estate, and Shōyū was Funabashi-sama—Mr. Boat Bridge—after a pontoon bridge in the vicinity of his house.

If Musashi was to become a habitué, he would certainly acquire a nickname soon, for in this never-never land, few used their real names. Hayashiya Yojibei was only the pseudonym of the proprietor of the house they were visiting, but more often than not he was called Ōgiya, the name of the establishment. Along with the Kikyōya, it was one of the two best-known houses in the district, the only two, in fact, with the reputation of being absolutely first class. The reigning beauty at the Ōgiya was Yoshino Dayū, and her counterpart at the Kikyōya, Murogimi Dayū. Both ladies enjoyed a degree of fame in the city rivaled only by that of the greatest daimyō.

Although Musashi studiously attempted not to gape, he was astonished by the elegance of his surroundings, which approached that of the most opulent palaces. The reticular ceilings, ornately carved openwork transoms, exquisite curved railings, fastidiously tended inner gardens—everything was a feast for the eye. Absorbed in a painting on a wooden door panel, he did not notice that his companions had gone on ahead until Kōetsu came back for him.

The silver-colored doors of the room they entered were transformed into a hazy liquid by the light of the lamps. One side opened onto a garden in the style of Kobori Enshū, well-raked sand and a rock arrangement suggestive of Chinese mountain scenery, such as one might see in a Sung painting.

Shōyū, complaining of the cold, sat down on a cushion and drew his shoulders together. Kōetsu also seated himself and bade Musashi to do likewise. Serving girls soon arrived with warm sake.

Seeing that the cup he had urged on Musashi had cooled off, Shōyū became insistent. "Drink up, young man," he said, "and have a hot cup."

After this refrain had been repeated two or three times, Shōyū's manner began to border on rudeness. "Kobosatsu!" he said to one of the serving girls. "Make him drink! You, Musashi! What's the matter with you? Why aren't you drinking?"

"I am," protested Musashi.

The old man was already a little tipsy. "Well, you're not doing very well. You don't have any spirit!"

"I'm not much of a drinker."

"What you mean is that you're not a strong swordsman, isn't it?"

"Maybe that's true," said Musashi mildly, laughing off the insult.

"If you're worried about drinking interfering with your studies, or throwing you off balance, or weakening your willpower, or preventing you from making a name for yourself, then you haven't got the pluck to be a fighter." "Oh, it's not that. There's only one small problem."

"What might that be?"

"It makes me sleepy."

"Well, you can go to sleep here or anywhere else in the place. No one will mind." Turning to the girls, he said, "The young man's afraid he'll get drowsy if he drinks. If he gets sleepy, put him to bed!"

"Oh, we'll be glad to!" chorused the girls, smiling coyly.

"If he goes to bed, someone will have to keep him warm. Kōetsu, which one should it be?"

"Which one indeed?" said Kōetsu noncommittally.

"It can't be Sumigiku Dayū; she's my little wife. And you yourself wouldn't want it to be Kobosatsu Dayū. There's Karakoto Dayū. Um, she won't do. She's too hard to get along with."

"Isn't Yoshino Dayū going to put in an appearance?" asked Kōetsu.

"That's it! She's just the one! Even our reluctant guest should be happy with her. I wonder why she isn't here now. Someone go call her. I want to show her to the young samurai here."

Sumigiku objected. "Yoshino's not like the rest of us. She has many clients, and she won't come running at just anyone's beck and call."

"Oh, yes she will—for me! Tell her I'm here, and she'll come, no matter who she happens to be with. Go and call her!" Shōyū reared up, looked around and called to the young girls who attended the courtesans and were now playing in the next room: "Is Rin'ya there?"

Rin'ya herself answered.

"Come here a minute. You wait on Yoshino Dayū, don't you? Why isn't she here? Tell her Funabashi is here, she should come right away. If you bring her back with you, I'll give you a present."

Rin'ya looked a little puzzled. Her eyes opened wide, but after a moment she signaled her assent. She already showed signs of becoming a great beauty, and it was almost certain she would be the successor in the next generation to the famous Yoshino. But she was only eleven years old. Barely had she gone into the outside corridor and slid the door shut when she clapped her hands and called loudly, "Uneme, Tamami, Itonosuke! Look out here!"

The three girls rushed out and began clapping their hands and shrieking joyfully, delighted by the discovery of snow outside.