Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [205]
“But this garden’s going to ruin. Why, the only people working in it are me and three or four old men! And look how big it is!”
“Jōtarō!” said Otsū, putting her hand under his chin and lifting his face. “You’re doing nothing but repeating word for word what Master Arakida said in a lecture.”
“Oh, did you hear it too?”
“Indeed I did,” she said reproachfully.
“Uh, well, can’t win all the time.”
“Parroting what Master Arakida says will carry no weight with me. I don’t approve of it, even when what he says is right.”
“He is right, you know. When I hear him talk, I wonder whether Nobunaga and Hideyoshi and Ieyasu are really such great men. I know they’re supposed to be important, but is it really so wonderful to take control of the country if you get the idea that you’re the only person in it who counts?”
“Well, Nobunaga and Hideyoshi weren’t as bad as some of the others. At least they repaired the imperial palace in Kyoto and tried to make the people happy. Even if they did these things only to justify their conduct to themselves and others, they still deserve a lot of credit. The Ashikaga shōguns were much worse.”
“How?”
“You’ve heard about the Ōnin War, haven’t you?”
“Um.”
“The Ashikaga shogunate was so incompetent, there was constant civil war—warriors fighting other warriors all the time to gain more territory for themselves. The ordinary people didn’t get a moment’s peace, and nobody had any real concern for the country as a whole.”
“You mean those famous battles between the Yamanas and the Hosokawas?”
“Yes…. It was during those days, over a hundred years ago, that Arakida Ujitsune became the chief priest of the Ise Shrine, and there wasn’t even enough money to continue the ancient ceremonies and sacred rites. Ujitsune petitioned the government twenty-seven times for help to repair the shrine buildings, but the imperial court was too poor, the shogunate was too weak, and the warriors so busy with their bloodbaths they didn’t care what happened. In spite of all this, Ujitsune went around pleading his case till he finally succeeded in setting up a new shrine.
“It’s a sad story, isn’t it? But when you think about it, people when they grow up forget they owe their lifeblood to their ancestors, just as we all owe our lives to the goddess at Ise.”
Pleased with himself for having elicited this long, passionate speech from Otsū, Jōtarō jumped in the air, laughing and clapping his hands. “Now who’s parroting Master Arakida? You thought I hadn’t heard that before, didn’t you?”
“Oh, you’re impossible!” exclaimed Otsū, laughing herself. She would have cuffed him one, but her bundle was in the way. Still smiling, she glared at the boy, who finally took notice of her unusual parcel.
“Whose are those?” he asked, stretching out his hand.
“Don’t touch them! We don’t know whose they are.”
“Oh, I’m not going to break anything. I just want to look. I bet they’re heavy. That long sword’s really big, isn’t it?” Jōtarō’s mouth was watering.
“Sensei!” With a patter of straw sandals, one of the shrine maidens ran up. “Master Arakida is calling for you. I think there’s something he wants you to do.” Scarcely pausing, she turned and ran back.
Jōtarō looked around in all four directions, a startled expression on his face. The wintry sun was shining through the trees, and the twigs swayed like wavelets. His eyes looked as though they had spotted a phantom among the patches of sunlight.
“What’s the matter?” asked Otsū. “What are you looking at?”
“Oh, nothing,” replied the boy dejectedly, biting his forefinger. “When that girl called ‘teacher,’ I thought for a second she meant my teacher.”
Otsū, too, suddenly felt sad and a little annoyed. Though Jōtarō’s remark had been made in all innocence, why did he have to mention Musashi?
Despite Takuan’s advice, she could not conceive of