Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [171]
“Please, Mama,” begged Matahachi, crying like a baby. “Forgive me. Please forgive me! I’m sorry. I know what I did was wrong. It was because I knew I’d failed you that I couldn’t go home. I didn’t really mean to run away from you. I was so surprised to see you, I started running without thinking. I was so ashamed of the way I’d been living, I couldn’t face you and Uncle Gon.” He covered his face with his hands.
Osugi’s nose crinkled, and she, too, started to bawl, but almost immediately she stopped herself. Too proud to show weakness, she renewed her attack, saying sarcastically, “If you’re so ashamed of yourself and feel you’ve disgraced your ancestors, then you really must have been up to no good all this time.”
Uncle Gon, unable to restrain himself, pleaded, “That’s enough. If you keep on like that, it’ll surely twist his nature.”
“I told you to keep your advice to yourself. You’re a man; you shouldn’t be so soft. As his mother, I have to be just as stern as his father would be if he were still alive. I’ll do the punishing, and I’m not finished yet! … Matahachi! Sit up straight! Look me in the face.”
She sat down formally on the ground and pointed to the place where he was to sit.
“Yes, Mama,” he said obediently, lifting his dirt-stained shoulders and getting into a kneeling position. He was afraid of his mother. She could on occasion be an indulgent parent, but her readiness to raise the subject of his duty to his ancestors made him uncomfortable.
“I absolutely forbid you to hide anything from me,” said Osugi. “Now, what exactly have you been doing since you ran off to Sekigahara? Start explaining, and don’t stop till I’ve heard all I want to hear.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t hold anything back,” he began, having lost the desire to fight. True to his word, he blurted out the whole story in detail: about escaping from Sekigahara, hiding at Ibuki, becoming involved with Okō, living off her—though hating it—for several years. And how he now sincerely regretted what he’d done. It was a relief, like throwing up bile from his stomach, and he felt much better after he’d confessed.
“Hmm …” mumbled Uncle Gon from time to time.
Osugi clicked her tongue, saying, “I’m shocked at your conduct. And what are you doing now? You seem to be able to dress well. Have you found a position that pays adequately?”
“Yes,” said Matahachi. The answer slipped out without forethought, and he hastened to correct himself. “I mean, no, I don’t have a position.”
“Then where do you get money to live on?”
“My sword—I teach swordsmanship.” There was the ring of truth in the way he said this, and it had the desired effect.
“Is that so?” said Osugi with obvious interest. For the first time, a glimmer of good humor appeared in her face. “Swordsmanship, is it? Well, it doesn’t really surprise me that a son of mine would find time to polish his swordsmanship—even leading the kind of life you were. Hear that, Uncle Gon? He is my son, after all.”
Uncle Gon nodded enthusiastically, grateful to see the old woman’s spirits rise. “We might have known,” he said. “That shows he does have the blood of his Hon’iden ancestors in his veins. So what if he went astray for a time? It’s clear he’s got the right spirit!”
“Matahachi,” said Osugi.
“Yes, Mama.”
“Here in this area, who did you study swordsmanship under?”
“Kanemaki Jisai.”
“Oh? Why, he’s famous.” Osugi had a happy expression on her face. Matahachi, eager to please her even more, brought out the certificate and unrolled it, taking care to cover Sasaki’s name with his thumb.
“Look at this,” he