Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [182]
The man who had appointed himself ringleader called back, “Don’t ask foolish questions. Nobody pays money to fight! We called you in so we could drink and have some fun.”
“Well,” said the girl tactfully, “I’m glad to hear that, but I do wish you’d be a little quieter.”
“If that’s the way you want it, fine! Let’s sing some songs.”
In deference to the feminine presence, several hairy shins were retracted under kimono skirts, and a few horizontal bodies became vertical. The music started, spirits rose, and the party gained momentum. It was in full swing when a young maid came in and announced that the man who had come in on the ship from Shikoku had arrived with his companion.
“What’d she say? Somebody coming?”
“Yeah, she said somebody named Tōji’s coming.”
“Great! Wonderful! Good old Tōji’s coming…. Who’s Tōji?”
Tōji’s entrance with Okō did not interrupt the proceedings in the least; in fact, they were ignored. Having been led to believe the gathering was all for his sake, Tōji was disgusted.
He called back the maid who had shown them in and asked to be taken to Seijūrō’s room. But as they went into the hall, the ringleader, reeking of sake, staggered over and threw his arms around Tōji’s neck.
“Hey, Tōji!” he slurred. “Just get back? You must have been having a good time with Okō somewhere while we sat here waiting. Now, that’s not the thing to do!”
Tōji tried unsuccessfully to shake him off. The man dragged him struggling into the room. In the process, he stepped on a tray or two, kicked over several sake jars, then fell to the floor, bringing Tōji down with him.
“My kerchief!” gasped Tōji. His hand sped to his head, too late. On his way down, the ringleader had snatched at the kerchief and now had it in his hand. With a collective gasp, all eyes looked straight at the spot where Tōji’s topknot should have been.
“What happened to your head?”
“Ha, ha, ha! That’s some hairdo!”
“Where did you get it?”
Tōji’s face flushed blood red. Grabbing the kerchief and replacing it, he sputtered, “Oh, it’s nothing. I had a boil.”
To a man, they doubled up with laughter.
“He brought a boil back with him as a souvenir!”
“Cover the vile spot!”
“Don’t talk about it. Show us!”
It was obvious from the feeble jokes that nobody believed Tōji, but the party went on, and no one had much to say about the topknot.
The next morning it was a different matter altogether. Ten o’clock found the same group assembled on the beach behind the inn, sober now and engaged in a very serious conference. They sat in a circle, some with shoulders squared, some with arms crossed, but all looking grim.
“Any way you look at it, it’s bad.”
“The question is, is it true?”
“I heard it with my own ears. Are you calling me a liar?”
“We can’t let it pass without doing anything. The honor of the Yoshioka School is at stake. We have to act!”
“Of course, but what do we do?”
“Well, it’s still not too late. We’ll find the man with the monkey and cut off his topknot. We’ll show him that it’s not just Gion Tōji’s pride that’s involved. It’s a matter that concerns the dignity of the whole Yoshioka School! Any objections?” The drunken ringleader of the night before was now a gallant lieutenant, spurring his men on to battle.
Upon awakening, the men had ordered the bath heated, so as to wash away their hangovers, and while they were in the bath, a merchant had come in. Not knowing who they were, he told them about what had happened on the ship the day before. He furnished them with a humorous account of the cutting off of the topknot and concluded his tale by saying that “the samurai who had lost his hair claimed to be a leading disciple of the House of Yoshioka in Kyoto. All I can say is that if he really is, the House of Yoshioka must be in worse shape than anyone imagines.”
Sobering up fast, the Yoshioka disciples had gone looking for their wayward senior to question him about the incident. They soon discovered he had