Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [175]
Seijūrō wrote a circular to that effect, and thus armed, Tōji set out to solicit contributions from former students in western Honshu, Kyushu and Shikoku. There were many men in various feudal domains who had studied under Kempō, and most of those still alive were now samurai of enviable status. As it turned out, however, for all the earnestness of Tōji’s pleas, not many were ready to make substantial donations or subscribe on such short notice. With discouraging frequency, the answer had been, “I’ll write you about it later,” “We’ll see about it the next time I’m in Kyoto,” or something equally evasive. The contributions Tōji was returning with amounted to but a fraction of what he’d anticipated.
The endangered household was not, strictly speaking, Tōji’s own, and the face that came to mind now was not Seijūrō’s but Okō’s. But even hers could divert him only superficially, and soon he became fidgety again. He envied the young man picking the fleas off his monkey. He had something to do to kill time. Tōji walked over and tried to strike up a conversation.
“Hello, there, young fellow. Going to Osaka?”
Without actually raising his head, the young man lifted his eyes a bit and said, “Yes.”
“Does your family live there?”
“No.”
“Then you must be from Awa.”
“No, not there either.” This was said with a certain finality.
Tōji lapsed into silence for a time before he made another try. “That’s quite a sword you have there,” he said.
Seemingly happy to have the weapon praised, the young man rearranged himself to face Tōji and replied genially, “Yes, it’s been in my family a long time. It’s a battle sword, but I plan to get a good swordsmith in Osaka to remount it, so I can draw it from my side.”
“It’s too long for that, isn’t it?”
“Oh, I don’t know. It’s only three feet.”
“That’s pretty long.”
Smiling, the youth replied confidently, “Anybody should be able to handle a sword that long.”
“Oh, it could be used if it was three feet long, or even four feet,” said Tōji reproachfully. “But only an expert could handle it with ease. I see a lot of fellows swaggering around with huge swords these days. They look impressive, but when the going gets rough, they turn and run. What style did you study?” In matters pertaining to swordsmanship, Tōji could not conceal a feeling of superiority over this mere boy.
The young man flashed a questioning look at Tōji’s smug face and replied, “The Tomita Style.”
“The Tomita Style is for use with a shorter sword than that,” said Tōji authoritatively.
“The fact that I learned the Tomita Style doesn’t mean I have to use a shorter sword. I don’t like to be imitative. My teacher used a shorter sword, so I decided to use a long one. That got me thrown out of the school.”
“You young people do seem to take pride in being rebellious. What happened then?”
“I left Jōkyōji Village in Echizen and went to Kanemaki Jisai. He’d also discarded the Tomita Style, then developed the Chūjō Style. He sympathized with me, took me in as a disciple, and after I’d studied under him four years, he said I was ready to go out on my own.”
“These country teachers are all quick to pass out certificates.”
“Oh, not Jisai. He wasn’t like that. In fact, the only other person he had ever given his certificate to was Itō Yagorō Ittōsai. After I made up my mind to be the second man to get formally certified, I worked at it very hard. Before I was through, though, I was suddenly called home because my mother was dying.”
“Where’s your home?”
“Iwakuni in Suō Province. After I went home, I practiced every day in the neighborhood of Kintai