Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [218]
of the mist behind them, accompanied by the sound of running footsteps. “Who could that be?” asked Jōtarō.
“Is he calling us?” wondered Otsū.
They stopped the horse and looked around. The shadow of a man began to take form in the white, smoky mist. At first they could make out only contours, then colors, but the man was soon close enough for them to discern his general appearance and approximate age. A diabolic aura surrounded his body, as though he were accompanied by a raging whirlwind. He came rapidly to Otsū’s side, halted and with one swift motion snatched the rope from her hand.
“Get off!” he commanded, glaring up at Jōtarō.
The horse skittered backward. Clutching her mane, Jōtarō shouted, “You can’t do this! I rented this horse, not you!”
The man snorted, turned to Otsū and said, “You, woman!”
“Yes?” Otsū said in a low voice.
“My name’s Shishido Baiken. I live in Ujii Village up in the mountains beyond the barrier. For reasons I won’t go into, I’m after a man named Miyamoto Musashi. He came along this road sometime before daybreak this morning. Probably passed here hours ago, so I’ve got to move fast if I’m going to catch him in Yasugawa, on the Omi border. Let me have your horse.” He talked very rapidly, his ribs heaving in and out. In the cold air, the mist was condensing into icy flowers on branches and twigs, but his neck glistened like a snakeskin with sweat.
Otsū stood very still, her face deathly white, as though the earth beneath her had drained all the blood from her body. Her lips quivering, she wanted desperately to ask and make sure that she had heard correctly. She couldn’t utter a word.
“You said Musashi?” Jōtarō blurted out. He was still clutching the horse’s mane, but his arms and legs were trembling.
Baiken was in too much of a hurry to notice their shocked reaction.
“Come on, now,” he ordered. “Off the horse, and be quick about it, or I’ll
give you a thrashing.” He brandished the end of the rope like a whip. Jōtarō shook his head adamantly. “I won’t.”
“What do you mean, you won’t?”
“It’s my horse. You can’t have it. I don’t care how much of a hurry you’re in.
“Watch it! I’ve been very nice and explained everything, because you’re only a woman and a child traveling alone, but—”
“Isn’t that right, Otsū?” Jōtarō interrupted. “We don’t have to let him have the horse, do we?”
Otsū could have hugged the boy. As far as she was concerned, it was not so much a question of the horse as it was of preventing this monster from progressing any faster. “That’s true,” she said. “I’m sure you’re in a hurry, sir, but so are we. You can hire one of the horses that travel up and down the mountain regularly. Just as the boy says, it’s unfair to try to take our horse away from us.”
“I won’t get off,” Jōtarō repeated. “I’ll die before I do!”
“You’ve set your mind on not letting me have the horse?” Baiken asked gruffly.
“You should have known we wouldn’t to begin with,” replied Jōtarō gravely.
“Son of a bitch!” shouted Baiken, infuriated by the boy’s tone.
Jōtarō, tightening his grip on the horse’s mane, looked little bigger than a flea. Baiken reached up, took hold of his leg and started to pull him off. Now, of all times, was the moment for Jōtarō to put his wooden sword to use, but in his confusion he forgot all about the weapon. Faced with an enemy so much stronger than himself, the only defense that came to mind was to spit in Baiken’s face, which he did, again and again.
Otsū was filled with grim terror. The fear of being injured, or killed, by this man brought an acid, dry taste to her mouth. But there was no question of giving in and letting him have the horse. Musashi was being pursued; the longer she could delay this fiend, the more time Musashi would have to flee. It didn’t matter to her that the distance between him and herself would also be increased—just at a time when she knew at least that they were on the same