Musashi: Bushido Code (68 page)

"Yes, two men. Come on, let's run."

Danger united mother and son in the twinkling of an eye, but Osugi couldn't tear herself away from her gory task.

"Just a minute," she said. "After coming this far, I'm not going back without the head. If I don't have it, how can I prove I took vengeance on Otsū? I'll be through in no time."

"Oh," he moaned with revulsion.

A horrified cry sprang from Osugi's lips. She dropped the head, half stood, staggered, and collapsed on the ground.

'It's not her!" she screamed. She flailed her arms and tried to stand up, but again fell down.

Matahachi jumped forward to look and stammered, "Wh-wh-what?"

"See, it's not Otsū! It's a man—beggar—invalid—"

"This couldn't be," exclaimed Matahachi. "I know this man."

"What? Some friend of yours?"

"Oh, no! He tricked me into giving him all my money," he blurted out. "What was a dirty swindler like Akakabe Yasoma doing here, so near a temple?"

"Who's there?" called Takuan. "Otsū, is that you?" Suddenly he was standing right behind them.

Matahachi was fleeter of foot than his mother. As he dashed out of sight, Takuan caught up with her and took a firm grip on her collar.

"Just as I thought. And I trust it was your loving son who fled. Matahachi! What do you mean by running away and leaving your mother behind? Ungrateful lout! Come back here!"

Osugi, though squirming miserably at his knees, had lost none of her spunk. "Who are you?" she demanded angrily. "What do you want?"

Takuan released her and said, "Don't you remember me, Granny? You must be getting senile after all."

"Takuan!"

"Are you surprised?"

"I don't see why I should be. A beggar like you, going wherever he pleases. Sooner or later, you were bound to float into Kyoto."

"You're right," he agreed with a grin. "It's just as you say. I was roaming about in Koyagyū Valley and Izumi Province, but I came up to the capital and last night at a friend's house heard some disturbing news. I decided it was too important not to act on."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"I thought Otsū would be with you, and I'm looking for her."

"Hmph!"

"Granny."

"What?"

"Where's Otsū?"

"I don't know."

"I don't believe you."

"Sir," said the innkeeper. "Blood has been spilled here. It's still fresh." He moved his lantern closer to the corpse.

A stony frown came to Takuan's face. Osugi, seeing him preoccupied, jumped up and started running away. Without moving, the priest shouted, "Wait! You left home to clear your name, didn't you? Are you going back now with it more sullied than ever? You said you loved your son. Do you plan to desert him now that you've made him miserable?" The force of his booming voice wrapped itself around Osugi, bringing her to an abrupt halt.

Her face distorted by defiant wrinkles, she cried, "Soiled my family's name, made my son unhappy—what do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said."

"Fool!" She gave a short, scornful laugh. "Who are you? You go around eating other people's food, living in other people's temples, relieving your bowels in the open field. What do you know about family honor? What do you know of a mother's love for her son? Have you ever once borne the hardships ordinary people bear? Before telling everybody else how to act, you should try working and feeding yourself, like everybody else."

"You strike a sore spot, and I feel it. There are priests in this world to whom I'd like to say the same thing. I've always said I was no match for you in a battle of words, and I see you still have command of a sharp tongue."

"And I still have important things to do in this world. You needn't think the only thing I can do is talk."

"Never mind that. I want to discuss other matters with you."

"And what might they be?"

"You put Matahachi up to killing Otsū tonight, didn't you? The two of you murdered her, I suspect."

Stretching her wrinkled neck, Osugi laughed contemptuously. "Takuan, you can carry a lantern through this life, but it won't do you any good unless you open your eyes. What are they anyway? Just holes in your head, funny ornaments?"

Takuan, feeling slightly uneasy, finally turned his attention to the scene of the murder.

When he looked up in relief, the old woman said, not without a touch of rancor, "I suppose you're happy it's not Otsū, but don't think I’ve forgotten that you were the unholy matchmaker who threw her together with Musashi and caused all this trouble in the first place."

"If that's the way you feel, fine. But I know you're a woman with religious faith, and I say you shouldn't go away and leave this body lying here."

"He was stretched out there, on the verge of death anyway. Matahachi killed him, but it wasn't Matahachi's fault."

"This rōnin," said the innkeeper,
"was
a little peculiar in the head. For the last few days, he's been staggering around town drooling at the mouth. He had a huge lump on his head."

Displaying an absolute lack of concern, Osugi turned to leave. Takuan asked the innkeeper to take care of the corpse and followed her, much to Osugi's annoyance. But as she turned to unleash her poisonous tongue again, Matahachi called softly, "Mother."

She went happily toward the voice. He was a good son after all; he had stayed to make sure his mother was safe. Whispering a few words to each other, they apparently decided they were not completely free from danger in the priest's presence and ran as fast as they could toward the foot of the hill.

"It's no use," murmured Takuan. "To judge from that performance, they wouldn't listen to anything I have to say. If only the world could be rid of silly misunderstandings, how much less people would suffer."

But right now, he had to find Otsū. She had discovered some means of escaping. His spirits rose a little, but he could not really relax until he was sure she was safe. He decided to continue his search despite the darkness.

The innkeeper had gone up the hill a while earlier. He came back down, accompanied by seven or eight men with lanterns. The night watchmen at the temple, having agreed to help with the burial, brought shovels and spades. Presently Takuan heard the unpleasant sound of grave digging.

About the time the hole was deep enough, someone cried, "Look, over here, another body. This one's a pretty young girl." The man was about ten yards from the grave, on the edge of a marsh.

"Is she dead?"

"No, just unconscious."

The Urbane Craftsman

Until his dying day, Musashi's father had never stopped reminding him of his ancestry. "I may be only a country samurai," he'd say, "but never forget, the Akamatsu clan was once famous and powerful. It should be a source of strength and pride to you."

Since he was in Kyoto, Musashi decided to visit a temple called the Rakanji, near which the Akamatsus had once had a house. The clan had long since fallen, but it was just possible he might find at the temple some record of his ancestors. Even if he didn't, he could burn some incense in their memory.

Arriving at the Rakan Bridge over the Lower Kogawa, he thought that he must be near the temple, for it was said to be located a little east of where the Upper Kogawa became the Lower Kogawa. His inquiries in the neighborhood, however, drew a complete blank. No one had ever heard of it.

Returning to the bridge, he stood and gazed at the clear, shallow water flowing beneath it. Though it wasn't so many years since Munisai's death, it appeared that the temple had been either moved or destroyed, leaving neither trace nor memory.

He watched idly as a whitish eddy formed and disappeared, formed and disappeared again. Noticing mud dripping from a grassy spot on the left bank, he concluded that it came from a sword polisher's shop.

"Musashi!"

He looked around and saw the old nun Myōshū returning from an errand.

"How good of you to come," she exclaimed, thinking he was there to pay a call. "Kōetsu's at home today. He'll be glad to see you." She led him through the gate of a nearby house and sent a servant to fetch her son.

After warmly welcoming his guest, Kōetsu said, "At the moment, I'm busy with an important polishing job, but later we can have a nice long chat."

It pleased Musashi to see that both mother and son were as friendly and natural as they had been the first time he met them. He spent the afternoon and evening chatting with them, and when they urged him to spend the night, he accepted. The next day, while Kōetsu showed him the workshop and explained the technique of sword polishing, he begged Musashi to stay on as long as he wished.

The house, with its deceptively modest gate, stood on a corner southeast of the remains of the Jissōin. In the neighborhood were several houses belonging to Kōetsu's cousins and nephews, or to other men engaged in the same profession; all the Hon'amis lived and worked here, after the fashion of the large provincial clans of the past.

The Hon'amis were descended from a fairly distinguished military family, and had been retainers to the Ashikaga shōguns. In the present social hierarchy, the family belonged to the artisan class, but insofar as wealth and prestige were concerned, Kōetsu might have been taken for a member of the samurai class. He hobnobbed with high court nobles and had on occasion been invited by Tokugawa Ieyasu to Fushimi Castle.

The Hon'amis' position was not unique; most of the wealthy artisans and merchants of the day—Suminokura Soan, Chaya Shirōjirō and Haiya Shōyū, among others—were of samurai descent. Under the Ashikaga shōguns, their ancestors had been assigned work related to manufacture or trade. Success in these fields led to a gradual severing of connections with the military class, and as private enterprise became profitable, they were no longer dependent on their feudal emoluments. Although their social rank was technically lower than that of the warriors, they were very powerful.

When it came to business, not only was samurai status more of a hindrance than a help, there were definite advantages to being a commoner, chief of which was stability. When fighting erupted, the great merchants were patronized by both sides. True, they were sometimes forced to furnish military supplies for little or nothing, but they had come to regard this onus as no more than a fee paid in lieu of having their property destroyed during wartime.

During the Ōnin War of the 1460s and '70s, the whole district around the ruins of the Jissōin had been razed, and even now people planting trees often dug up rusted fragments of swords or helmets. The Hon'ami residence had been one of the first built in the vicinity after the war.

A branch of the Arisugawa flowed through the compound, meandering first through a quarter acre or so of vegetable garden, then disappearing into a grove, to emerge again near the well by the front entrance of the main house. There was a branch flowing off toward the kitchen, another toward the bath, and still another toward a simple, rustic teahouse, where the clear water was used for the tea ceremony. The river was the source of water for the workshop, where swords forged by master craftsmen like Masamune, Muramasa and Osafune were expertly polished. Since the workshop was sacred to the family, a rope was suspended over the entranceway in the manner of Shinto shrines.

Almost before he knew it, four days passed, and Musashi made up his mind to take his leave. But before he'd had a chance to mention this, Kōetsu said, "We're not doing much to entertain you, but if you're not bored, please stay as long as you like. There are some old books and curios in my study. If you'd like to look them over, feel free to do so. And in a day or two, I'm going to fire some tea bowls and dishes. You might enjoy watching. You'll find ceramics almost as interesting as swords. Maybe you could model a piece or two yourself."

Touched by the graciousness of the invitation and his host's assurance that no one would take offense if he decided to leave on a moment's notice, Musashi allowed himself to settle down and enjoy the relaxed atmosphere. He was far from bored. The study contained books in Chinese and Japanese, scroll paintings from the Kamakura period, rubbings of calligraphy by ancient Chinese masters and dozens of other things, any one of which Musashi could happily have pored over for a day or so. He was particularly attracted by a painting hanging in the alcove. Called
Chestnuts,
it was by the Sung master Liang-k'ai. It was small, about two feet high by two and a half wide, and so old that it was impossible to tell what sort of paper it was drawn on.

He sat and gazed at it by the hour. Finally, one day, he remarked to Kōetsu, "I'm sure no rank amateur could paint the sort of pictures you paint, but I wonder if maybe even I couldn't draw something as simple as this work."

"It's the other way around," Kōetsu informed him. "Anybody could learn to paint as well as I, but there is a degree of profundity and spiritual loftiness in Liang-k'ai's painting that cannot be acquired merely by studying art."

"Is that really true?" Musashi asked in surprise. He was assured that it was.

It showed nothing but a squirrel looking at two fallen chestnuts, one split open and the other tightly closed, as if it wanted to follow its natural impulse and eat the chestnuts but hesitated for fear of the thorns. Since the painting was executed very freely in black ink, Musashi had thought it looked naive. But the more he looked at it after talking to Kōetsu, the more clearly he saw that the artist was right.

One afternoon, Kōetsu came in and said, "Are you staring at Liang-k'ai's picture again? You seem to have taken a great liking to it. When you leave, roll it up and take it with you. I'd like you to have it."

Musashi demurred. "I couldn't possibly accept it. It's bad enough for me to stay here in your house so long. Why, that must be a family heirloom!"

"But you do like it, don't you?" The older man smiled indulgently. "You may have it if you want it. I really don't need it. Pictures should be owned by the people who really love and appreciate them. I'm sure that's what the artist would want."

"If you put it that way, I'm not the one to own a painting like this. To tell the truth, I've thought several times it'd be nice to have it, but if I did, what would I do with it? I'm only a wandering swordsman. I never stay in the same place very long."

"I suppose it would be a nuisance, carrying a painting around with you wherever you go. At your age, you probably don't even want a house of your own, but I think every man should have a place he can regard as home, even if it's nothing more than a little shack. Without a house, a person gets lonely—feels lost somehow. Why don't you find some logs and build a cabin in some quiet corner of the city?"

"I never thought about it. I'd like to travel to a lot of distant places, go to the farthest end of Kyushu and see how people live under the foreign influences in Nagasaki. And I'm eager to see the new capital the shōgun is building in Edo and the great mountains and rivers in northern Honshu. Maybe I'm just a vagabond at heart."

"You're not the only one, by any means. It's only natural, but you should avoid the temptation of thinking that your dreams can be realized only in some far-off place. If you think that way, you'll neglect the possibilities in your immediate surroundings. Most young people do, I fear, and become dissatisfied with their lives." Kōetsu laughed. "But an idle old man like myself has no business preaching to the young. Anyway, I didn't come here to talk about that. I came to invite you out this evening. Have you ever been to the licensed quarter?"

"The geisha district?"

"Yes. I've a friend named Haiya Shōyū. Despite his age, he's always up to some mischief or other. I just received a note inviting me to join him near Rokujō Avenue this evening, and I wondered if you'd like to come along."

"No, I don't think so."

"If you really don't want to, I'll not insist, but I think you'd find it interesting."

Myōshū, who had crept in silently and was listening with obvious interest, put in, "I think you should go, Musashi. It's an opportunity to see something you haven't seen. Haiya Shōyū's not the kind of man you have to be stiff and formal with, and I believe you'd enjoy the experience. By all means, go!"

The old nun went to the chest of drawers and began taking out a kimono and obi. As a rule, older people were at pains to prevent young men from frittering away their time and money at geisha houses, but Myōshū seemed as enthusiastic as if she herself were getting ready to go somewhere.

"Now let's see, which of these kimonos do you like?" she asked. "Will this obi do?" Chattering away, she busied herself getting out things for Musashi as if he were her son. She chose a lacquered pillbox, a decorative short sword and a brocade wallet, then took some gold coins from the money chest and slipped them into the wallet.

"Well," said Musashi, with only a trace of reluctance, "if you insist, I'll go, but I wouldn't look right in all that finery. I'll just wear this old kimono I have on. I sleep in it when I'm out in the open. I'm used to it."

"You'll do no such thing!" Myōshū said sternly. "You yourself may not mind, but think of the other people. In those nice pretty rooms, you'd look no better than a dirty old rag. Men go there to have a good time and forget their troubles. They want to be surrounded by beautiful things. Don't think of it as dressing up to make yourself look like something you're not. Anyway, these clothes aren't nearly as fancy as some men wear; they're just clean and neat. Now, put them on!"

Musashi complied.

When he was dressed, Myōshū remarked cheerfully, "There, you look very handsome."

As they were about to leave, Kōetsu went to the household Buddhist altar and lit a candle on it. Both he and his mother were devout members of the Nichiren sect.

At the front entrance, Myōshū had laid out two pairs of sandals with new thongs. While they were putting them on, she whispered with one of the servants, who was waiting to shut the front gate after them.

Kōetsu said good-bye to his mother, but she looked up at him quickly and said, "Wait just a minute." Her face was creased in a worried frown.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"This man tells me three rough-looking samurai were just here and spoke very rudely. Do you suppose it's anything important?"

Kōetsu looked questioningly at Musashi.

"There's no reason to be afraid," Musashi assured him. "They're probably from the House of Yoshioka. They may attack me, but they don't have anything against you."

"One of the workmen said the same sort of thing happened a couple of days ago. Only one samurai, but he came through the gate without being asked and looked over the hedge by the teahouse path, toward the part of the house where you're staying."

"Then I'm sure it's the Yoshioka men."

"I think so too," agreed Kōetsu. He turned to the trembling gateman. "What did they say?"

"The workmen had all left, and I was about to close the gate when these three samurai suddenly surrounded me. One of them—he looked mean—took a letter out of his kimono and ordered me to hand it to the guest staying here."

"He didn't say 'Musashi'?"

"Well, later on he did say 'Miyamoto Musashi.' And he said Musashi'd been staying here for several days."

"What did you say?"

"You said not to tell anyone about Musashi, so I shook my head and said there was no one here by that name. He got angry and called me a liar, but one of the others—a somewhat older man, with a smirk on his face—calmed him down and said they'd find a way to deliver the letter directly. I'm not sure what he meant, but it sounded like a threat. They went off toward the corner down there."

"Kōetsu, you walk on a little ahead of me," said Musashi. "I don't want you to get hurt or become involved in any trouble because of me."

Kōetsu replied with a laugh, "There's no need to worry about me, particularly if you're sure they're Yoshioka men. I'm not the least bit afraid of them. Let's go."

After they were outside, Kōetsu put his head back through the small door in the gate and called, "Mother!"

"Did you forget something?" she asked.

"No, I was just thinking: if you're worried about me, I could send a messenger to Shōyū and tell him I can't come this evening."

"Oh, no. I'm more afraid something might happen to Musashi. But I don't think he'd come back if you tried to stop him. Go on, and have a good time!"

Kōetsu caught up with Musashi and as they ambled along the riverbank said, "Shōyū's house is just down the road, at Ichijō Avenue and Horikawa Street. He's probably getting ready now, so let's stop in for him. It's right on the way."