Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [135]
Kizaemon slapped his knee and said, “That’s a splendid suggestion.”
“It’ll be a party for us too,” Murata added. “Let’s send him an answer right away.”
As he sat down to write the reply, Kizaemon said, “The boy’s outside. Have him come in.”
A few minutes earlier, Jōtarō had been yawning and grumbling, “How can they be so slow,” when a big black dog caught his scent and came over to sniff at him. Thinking he had found a new friend, Jōtarō spoke to the dog and pulled him forward by the ears.
“Let’s wrestle,” he suggested, then hugged the dog and threw him over. The dog went along with this, so Jōtarō caught him in his hands and threw him two or three more times.
Then, holding the dog’s jaws together, he said, “Now, bark!”
This made the dog angry. Breaking away, he caught the skirt of Jōtarō’s kimono with his teeth and tugged tenaciously.
Now it was Jōtarō’s turn to get mad. “Who do you think I am? You can’t do that!” he shouted.
He drew his wooden sword and held it menacingly over his head. The dog, taking him seriously, started barking loudly to attract the attention of the guards. With a curse, Jōtarō brought his sword down on the dog’s head. It sounded as though he had hit a rock. The dog hurled himself against the boy’s back, and catching hold of his obi, brought him to the ground. Before he could get to his feet, the dog was at him again, while Jōtarō frantically tried to protect his face with his hands.
He tried to escape, but the dog was right on his heels, the echoes of his barking reverberating through the mountains. Blood began to ooze between the fingers covering his face, and soon his own anguished howls drowned out those of the dog.
Jōtarō’s Revenge
On his return to the inn, Jōtarō sat down before Musashi and with a smug look reported that he had carried out his mission. Several scratches crisscrossed the boy’s face, and his nose looked like a ripe strawberry. No doubt he was in some pain, but since he offered no explanation, Musashi asked no questions.
“Here’s their reply,” said Jōtarō, handing Musashi the letter from Shōda Kizaemon and adding a few words about his meeting with the samurai, but saying nothing about the dog. As he spoke, his wounds started to bleed again.
“Will that be all?” he asked.
“Yes, that’s all. Thanks.”
As Musashi opened Kizaemon’s letter, Jōtarō put his hands to his face and hurriedly left the room. Kocha caught up with him and examined his scratches with worried eyes.
“How did that happen?” she asked.
“A dog jumped on me.”
“Whose dog was it?”
“One of the dogs at the castle.”
“Oh, was it that big black Kishū hound? He’s vicious. I’m sure, strong as you are, you wouldn’t be able to handle him. Why, he’s bitten prowlers to death!”
Although they were not on the best of terms, Kocha led him to the stream out back and made him wash his face. Then she went and fetched some ointment, which she applied to his face. For once, Jōtarō behaved like a gentleman. When she had finished her ministrations, he bowed and thanked her over and over again.
“Stop bobbing your head up and down. You’re a man, after all, and it looks ridiculous.”
“But I appreciate what you’ve done.”
“Even if we do fight a lot, I still like you,” she confessed.
“I like you too.”
“Really?”
The parts of Jōtarō’s face that showed between the patches of ointment turned crimson, and Kocha’s cheeks burst into subdued flame. There was no one around. The sun shone through the pink peach blossoms.
“Your master will probably be going away soon, won’t he?” she asked with a trace of disappointment.
“We’ll be here for a while yet,” he replied reassuringly.
“I wish you could stay for a year or two.”
The two went into the shed where the fodder for the horses was kept and lay down on their backs in the hay. Their hands touched, sending a warm tingle through Jōtarō. Quite without warning, he pulled Kocha’s hand toward him and bit her finger.
“Ouch!”
“Did that hurt? I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. Do it again.”
“You