Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [180]
“What people? Oh, you mean that bunch of tradesmen who’ve been gambling behind their curtain?”
“Don’t talk so big! They paid three times as much fare as the others.”
“That doesn’t make them anything but what they are—low-class, irresponsible merchants, throwing around their gold where everybody can see it, drinking their sake, and acting as though they owned the ship. I’ve been watching them, and I don’t like them at all. What if the monkey did run away with their cards? I didn’t tell him to. He was just imitating what they themselves were doing. I see no need for me to apologize!”
The young man looked fixedly at the rich merchants and directed a loud, sardonic laugh their way.
The Seashell of Forgetfulness
It was evening when the ship entered the harbor at Kizugawa, where it was met by the all-pervading odor of fish. Reddish lights twinkled onshore, and the waves hummed steadily in the background. Little by little, the distance between the raised voices coming from the ship and those issuing from the shore closed up. With a white splash, the anchor was dropped; ropes were cast and the gangplank was moved into place.
A flurry of excited cries filled the air.
“Is the son of the priest at the Sumiyoshi Shrine aboard?”
“Is there a runner around?”
“Master! Here we are, over here!”
Like a wave, paper lanterns bearing the names of various inns rolled across the dock toward the ship, as the touts vied with each other for business. “Anyone for the Kashiwaya Inn?”
The young man with the monkey on his shoulder pushed his way through the crowd.
“Come to our place, sir—no charge for the monkey.”
“We’re right in front of Sumiyoshi Shrine. It’s a great place for pilgrims. You can have a beautiful room with a beautiful view!”
No one had come to meet the youth. He walked straight away from the dock, paying no attention to the touts or anyone else.
“Who does he think he is?” growled one passenger. “Just because he knows a little swordsmanship!”
“If I weren’t just a townsman, he wouldn’t have gotten away without a fight.”
“Oh, calm down! Let the warriors think they’re better than anybody else. As long as they’re strutting around like kings, they’re happy. The thing for us townsmen to do is to let them have the flowers while we take the fruit. Why get excited over today’s little incident?”
While talking on in this fashion, the merchants saw to it that their mountains of baggage were properly gathered together, then disembarked, to be met by swarms of people and lanterns and vehicles. There was not one among them who was not immediately surrounded by several solicitous women.
The last person off the ship was Gion Tōji, on whose face there was an expression of extreme discomfort. Never in all his life had he spent a more unpleasant day. His head was decently covered with a kerchief to conceal the mortifying loss of his topknot, but the cloth did nothing to hide his downcast eyebrows and sullen lips.
“Tōji! Here I am!” called Okō. Though her head was also covered with a kerchief, her face had been exposed to the cold wind while she was waiting, and her wrinkles showed through the white powder that was meant to hide them.
“Okō! So you came after all.”
“Isn’t that what you expected? You sent me a letter telling me to meet you here, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but I thought it might not have reached you in time.”
“Is something the matter? You look upset.”
“Oh, it’s nothing. Just a little seasick. Come on, let’s go to Sumiyoshi and find a nice inn.”
“Come this way. I have a palanquin waiting.”
“Thanks. Did you reserve a room for us?”
“Yes. Everybody’s waiting at the inn.”
A look of consternation crossed Tōji’s face. “Everybody? What are you talking about? I thought just the two of us were going to spend a couple of pleasant days here at some quiet place. If there are a lot of people around, I’m not going.”
Refusing the palanquin, he strode angrily