Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [100]
“You’re a fine one, you are! When you ask someone’s name, it’s only good manners to state your own first.”
“My name’s Jōtarō.”
This brought forth more laughter.
“That’s not fair!” cried Jōtarō. “You made me tell my name, but I still don’t know yours. What’s your name, sir?”
“My name’s Shōda,” said the samurai.
“That must be your family name. What’s your other name?”
“I’ll have to ask you to let me off on that one.”
Undaunted, Jōtarō turned to the girl and said, “Now it’s your turn. We told you our names. It wouldn’t be polite for you not to tell us yours.”
“Mine is Otsū.”
“Otsū?” Jōtarō repeated. He seemed satisfied for a moment, but then chattered on. “Why do you go around with a flute in your obi?”
“Oh, I need this to make my living.”
“Are you a flute player by profession?”
“Well, I’m not sure there’s any such thing as a professional flute player, but the money I get for playing makes it possible for me to take long trips like this one. I suppose you could call it my profession.”
“Is the music you play like the music I’ve heard at Gion and the Kamo Shrine? The music for the sacred dances?”
“No.”
“Is it like the music for other kinds of dancing—Kabuki maybe?” “No.”
“Then what kind do you play?”
“Oh, just ordinary melodies.”
The samurai had meanwhile been wondering about Jōtarō’s long wooden sword. “What’s that you’ve got stuck in your waist?” he asked.
“Don’t you know a wooden sword when you see one? I thought you were a samurai.”
“Yes, I am. I’m just surprised to see one on you. Why are you carrying it?” “I’m going to study swordsmanship.”
“Oh, are you now? Do you have a teacher yet?”
“I do.”
“And is he the person to whom the letter is addressed?”
“Yes.”
“If he’s your teacher, he must be a real expert.”
“He’s not all that good.”
“What do you mean?”
“Everybody says he’s weak.”
“Doesn’t it bother you to have a weak man for a teacher?”
“No. I’m no good with the sword either, so it doesn’t make any difference.”
The samurai could hardly contain his amusement. His mouth quivered as if to break into a smile, but his eyes remained grave. “Have you learned any techniques?”
“Well, not exactly. I haven’t learned anything at all yet.”
The samurai’s laughter finally burst forth. “Walking with you makes the road seem shorter! … And you, young lady, where are you going?”
“Nara, but exactly where in Nara I don’t know. There’s a rōnin I’ve been trying to locate for a year or so, and since I’ve heard that a lot of them have gathered in Nara recently, I’m planning to go there, though I admit the rumor’s not much to go on.”
The bridge at Uji came into view. Under the eaves of a teahouse, a very proper old man with a large teakettle was purveying his stock-in-trade to his customers, who were seated around him on stools. Catching sight of Shōda, he greeted him warmly. “How nice to see someone from the House of Yagyū!” he called. “Come in, come in!”
“We’d just like to take a short rest. Could you bring the boy here some sweet cakes?”
Jōtarō remained on his feet while his companions sat. To him, the idea of sitting down and resting was a bore; once the cakes arrived, he grabbed them and ran up the low hill behind the teahouse.
Otsū, sipping her tea, inquired of the old man, “Is it still a long way to Nara?”
“Yes. Even a fast walker’d probably get no farther than Kizu before sunset. A girl like you should plan to spend the night at Taga or Ide.”
Shōda spoke up immediately. “This young lady has been searching for someone for months. But I wonder, do you think it’s safe these days for a young woman to travel to Nara alone, with no place to stay in mind?”
The old man grew wide-eyed at the question. “She shouldn’t even consider it!” he said decisively. Turning to Otsū, he waved his hand back and forth before his face and said, “Give the idea up entirely. If you were sure you had someone to stay with, it’d be a