Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [181]
“I’ll stay somewhere by myself!” he bellowed. “Send the palanquin away! How could you be such a fool? You don’t understand me at all.” He snatched his sleeve away from her and hurried on.
They were in the fish market by the waterfront; all the shops were closed, and the scales strewn about the street glittered like tiny silver seashells. Since there was virtually no one around to see them, Okō hugged Tōji and attempted to soothe him.
“Let go of me!” he shouted.
“If you go off by yourself, the others will think something’s wrong.” “Let them think what they want!”
“Oh, don’t talk like that!” she pleaded. Her cool cheek pressed against his. The sweetish odor of her powder and her hair penetrated his being, and gradually his anger and frustration ebbed.
“Please,” begged Okō.
“It’s just that I’m so disappointed,” he said.
“I know, but we’ll have other chances to be together.”
“But these two or three days with you—I was really looking forward to them.”
“I understand that.”
“If you understood, why did you drag a lot of other people along? It’s because you don’t feel about me the way I feel about you!”
“Now you’re starting on that again,” said Okō reproachfully, staring ahead and looking as if the tears were about to flow. But instead of weeping, she made another attempt to get him to listen to her explanation. When the runner had arrived with Tōji’s letter, she had, of course, made plans to come to Osaka alone, but as luck would have it, that very night Seijūrō had come to the Yomogi with six or seven of his students, and Akemi had let it slip out that Tōji was arriving. In no time at all, the men had decided that they should all accompany Okō to Osaka and that Akemi should come along with them. In the end, the party that checked into the inn in Sumiyoshi numbered ten.
While Tōji had to admit that under the circumstances there was not much Okō could have done, his gloomy mood did not improve. This had clearly not been his day, and he was sure there was worse to come. For one thing, the first question he expected to hear would concern how he had made out on his canvassing campaign, and he hated to have to give them the bad news. What he dreaded far more was the prospect of having to take the kerchief off his head. How could he ever explain the missing topknot? Ultimately he realized there was no way out and resigned himself to his fate.
“Oh, all right,” he said, “I’ll go with you. Have the palanquin brought here.”
“Oh, I’m so happy!” cooed Okō, as she turned back toward the dock.
At the inn, Seijūrō and the others had taken a bath, wrapped themselves up snugly in the cotton-padded kimonos provided by the inn, and settled down to wait for Tōji and Okō’s return. When, after a time, they failed to reappear, someone said, “Those two will be here sooner or later. There’s no reason to sit here doing nothing.”
The natural consequence of this statement was the ordering of sake. At first they drank merely to pass the time, but soon legs began to stretch out comfortably, and the sake cups to pass back and forth more rapidly. It was not long before everybody had more or less forgotten about Tōji and Okō.
“Don’t they have any singing girls in Sumiyoshi?”
“Say, that’s a good idea! Why don’t we call in three or four nice girls?”
Seijūrō looked hesitant until someone suggested that he and Akemi retire to another room, where it would be quieter. The none-too-subtle move to get rid of him brought a wistful smile to his face, but he was nevertheless happy to leave. It would be far more pleasant to be alone with Akemi in a room with a warm kotatsu than to be drinking with this crew of ruffians.
As soon as he was out of the room, the party began in earnest, and before long several singing girls of the class known locally as the “pride of Tosamagawa” appeared in the garden outside the room. Their flutes and shamisen were old, of poor quality and battered from use.
“Why are you