Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [105]
“And so you see,” concluded the monk after explaining all this, “it wouldn’t do you much good to go there. You probably couldn’t meet the master, and even if you did, you wouldn’t learn anything.” His brusque manner made it clear that he was eager to be rid of Musashi.
Though aware he was being made light of, Musashi persisted. “I’ve heard about In’ei, and I know what you’ve said about him is true. But I’ve also heard that a priest named Inshun has taken over as his successor. They say he’s still studying but already knows all the secrets of the Hōzōin Style. According to what I’ve heard, although he already has many students, he never refuses to give guidance to anyone who calls on him.”
“Oh, Inshun,” said the monk disdainfully. “There’s nothing in those rumors. Inshun is actually a student of the abbot of the Ōzōin. After In’ei began to show his age, our abbot felt it would be a shame for the reputation of the Hōzōin to go to waste, so he taught Inshun the secrets of lance fighting—what he himself had learned from In’ei—and then saw to it that Inshun became abbot.”
“I see,” said Musashi.
“But you still want to go over there?”
“Well, I’ve come all this distance… . “
“Yes, of course.”
“You said it’s behind here. Is it better to go around to the left or to the right?”
“You don’t have to go around. It’s much quicker just to walk straight through our temple. You can’t miss it.”
Thanking him, Musashi walked past the temple kitchen to the back of the compound, which with its woodshed, a storehouse for bean paste and a vegetable garden of an acre or so, very much resembled the area around the house of a well-to-do farmer. Beyond the garden he saw the Hōzōin.
Walking on the soft ground between rows of rape, radishes and scallions, he noticed, off to one side, an old man hoeing vegetables. Hunched over his hoe, he was looking intently at the blade. All Musashi could see of his face was a pair of snow-white eyebrows, and save for the clank of the hoe against the rocks, it was perfectly quiet.
Musashi assumed that the old man must be a monk from the Ōzōin. He started to speak, but the man was so absorbed in his work that it seemed rude to disturb him.
As he walked silently by, however, he suddenly became aware that the old man was staring out of the corner of his eye at Musashi’s feet. Although the other man neither moved nor spoke, Musashi felt a terrifying force attack him—a force like lightning splitting the clouds. This was no daydream. He actually felt the mysterious power pierce his body and, terrified, he leaped into the air. He felt hot all over, as if he’d just narrowly avoided a death blow from a sword or lance.
Looking over his shoulder, he saw that the hunched back was still turned toward him, the hoe continuing its unbroken rhythm. “What on earth was that all about?” he wondered, dumbfounded by the power he’d been hit with.
He found himself in front of the Hōzōin, his curiosity unabated. While waiting for a servant to appear, he thought: “Inshun should still be a young man. The young monk said In’ei was senile and had forgotten all about the lance, but I wonder… .” The incident in the garden lingered in the back of his mind.
He called out loudly two more times, but the only reply was an echo from the surrounding trees. Noticing a large gong beside the entrance, he struck it. Almost immediately an answering call came from deep inside the temple.
A priest came to the door. He was big and brawny; had he been one of the warrior-priests of Mount Hiei, he might well have been the commander of a battalion. Accustomed as he was to receiving visits from people like Musashi day in and day out, he gave him a brief glance and said, “You’re a shugyōsha?”
“Yes.”
“What are