Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [169]
“I doubt it’ll do any good,” said the sake vendor, “but you might try asking over there at the magician’s stall. The local vermin often gather behind there to gamble. If Yasoma came by some money, he may be trying to build it into something bigger.”
“Thanks,” said Matahachi, jumping up excitedly. “Which is the magician’s stall?”
The enclosure to which the man pointed was surrounded by a fence of pointed bamboo stakes. Out in front, barkers were drumming up trade, and flags suspended near the wooden gate announced the names of several famous sleight-of-hand artists. From within the curtains and strips of straw matting lining the fence came the sound of strange music, mingled with the loud, rapid patter of the performers and the applause of the audience.
Going around to the rear, Matahachi found another gate. When he glanced in, a lookout asked, “You here to gamble?”
He nodded and the man let him in. He found himself in a space surrounded by tenting but open to the sky. About twenty men, all unsavory types, sat in a circle playing a game. All eyes turned toward Matahachi and one man silently made room for him to sit down.
“Is Akakabe Yasoma here?” Matahachi asked.
“Yasoma?” repeated one gambler in a puzzled tone. “Come to think of it, he hasn’t been around lately. Why?”
“Do you think he’ll come later?”
“How should I know? Sit down and play.”
“I didn’t come to play.”
“What’re you doing here if you don’t want to play?”
“I’m looking for Yasoma. Sorry to bother you.”
“Well, why don’t you go look somewhere else!”
“I said I’m sorry,” said Matahachi, exiting hastily.
“Hold on there!” commanded one of the gamblers, getting up and following him. “You can’t get away with just saying you’re sorry. Even if you don’t play, you’ll pay for your seat!”
“I don’t have any money.”
“No money! I see. Just waiting for a chance to swipe some cash, huh? Damned thief, that’s what you are.”
“I’m no thief! You can’t call me that!” Matahachi pushed the hilt of his sword forward, but this merely amused the gambler.
“Idiot!” he barked. “If threats from the likes of you scared me, I wouldn’t be able to stay alive in Osaka for one day. Use your sword, if you dare!”
“I warn you, I mean it!”
“Oh, you do, do you?”
“Do you know who I am?”
“Why should I?”
“I’m Sasaki Kojirō, successor of Toda Seigen of Jōkyōji Village in Echizen. He created the Tomita Style,” Matahachi declared proudly, thinking this pronouncement alone would put the man to flight. It didn’t. The gambler spat and turned back into the enclosure.
“Hey, come on, all of you! This guy’s just called himself some fancy name; seems to want to pull his sword on us. Let’s have a look at his swordsmanship. It ought to be fun.”
Matahachi, seeing that the man was off guard, suddenly drew his sword and sliced across his backside.
The man jumped straight up in the air. “You son of a bitch!” he screamed.
Matahachi dived into the crowd. By sneaking from one cluster of people to the next, he managed to stay hidden, but every face he saw looked like one of the gamblers. Deciding he couldn’t hide that way forever, he looked around for more substantial shelter.
Directly in front of him, draped on a bamboo fence, was a curtain with a large tiger painted on it. There was also a banner on the gate bearing a design of a forked spear and a snake-eye crest, and a barker standing on an empty box, shouting hoarsely, “See the tiger! Come in and see the tiger! Take a trip of a thousand miles! This enormous tiger, my friends, was captured personally by the great general Katō Kiyomasa in Korea. Don’t miss the tiger!” His spiel was frenetic and rhythmical.
Matahachi threw down a coin and darted through the entrance. Feeling relatively safe, he looked around for the beast. At the far end of the tent a large tiger skin lay stretched out like