Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [130]
Denshichirō sniffed with contempt and rolled up the letter. “Is that all?” he asked.
“No, he also said that although he’d like to have a cup of tea with you, he hesitates to invite you to his house, because there is no one there but warriors ignorant of the niceties of tea. Since Munenori is away in Edo, he feels that the serving of the tea would be so crude as to bring laughter to the lips of people from the imperial capital. He asked me to beg your pardon, and tell you that he hopes to see you on some future occasion.”
“Ha, ha!” exclaimed Denshichirō, putting on a suspicious face. “If I understand you correctly, Sekishūsai is under the impression we were looking forward to observing the niceties of the tea ceremony. To tell the truth, being from samurai families, we don’t know anything about tea. Our intention was to inquire personally after Sekishūsai’s health and persuade him to give us a lesson in swordsmanship.”
“He understands that perfectly, of course. But he’s spending his old age in retirement and has acquired the habit of expressing many of his thoughts in terms of tea.”
In obvious disgust, Denshichirō replied, “Well, he hasn’t left us any choice but to give up. Please tell him that if we come again, we’d like to see him.” He handed the peony back to Otsū.
“Don’t you like it? He thought it might cheer you up on the road. He said you might hang it in the corner of your palanquin, or if you’re on horseback, attach it to your saddle.”
“He meant it to be a souvenir?” Denshichirō lowered his eyes as though insulted, then with a sour face said, “This is ridiculous! You can tell him we have peonies of our own in Kyoto!”
If that was the way he felt, Otsū decided, there was no point in pressing the gift on him. Promising to deliver his message, she took her leave as delicately as she would have removed the bandage from an open sore. In ill temper, her hosts barely acknowledged her departure.
Once in the hallway, Otsū laughed softly to herself, glanced at the shiny black floor leading to the room where Musashi was staying, and turned in the other direction.
Kocha came out of Musashi’s room and ran to catch up with her. “Are you leaving already?” she asked.
“Yes, I’ve finished what I came to do.”
“My, that was fast, wasn’t it?” Looking down at Otsū’s hand, she asked, “Is that a peony? I didn’t know they bloomed white.”
“Yes. It’s from the castle garden. You can have it, if you like.”
“Oh, please,” said Kocha, stretching out her hands.
After bidding Otsū good-bye, Kocha went to the servants’ quarters and showed everyone the flower. Since no one was inclined to admire it, she went disappointedly back to Musashi’s room.
Musashi, sitting by the window with his chin in his hands, was gazing in the direction of the castle and thinking hard about his objective: how could he manage, first, to meet Sekishūsai and, second, to overcome him with his sword?
“Do you like flowers?” Kocha asked as she entered.
“Flowers?”
She showed him the peony.
“Hmm. It’s nice.”
“Do you like it?”
“Yes.”
“It’s supposed to be a peony, a white peony.”
“Is it? Why don’t you put it in that vase over there.”
“I don’t know how to arrange flowers. You do it.”
“No, you do it. It’s better to do it without thinking how it’s going to look.” “Well, I’ll go and get some water,” she said, taking the vase out with her. Musashi’s eye happened to light on the cut end of the peony stem. His head
tilted in surprise, though he couldn’t pinpoint what it was that attracted his
attention.
Casual interest had become intent scrutiny by the time Kocha