Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [223]
On the shady slope of Kōji Hill, the ground was frozen, but at the tea shop near the bottom, it was so warm flies were flying around. This was an inn town, so of course the shop sold tea to travelers; it also carried a line of miscellaneous goods required by the farmers of the district, from cheap sweets to straw boots for oxen. Jōtarō stood in front of the shop, a small boy in a large and noisy crowd.
“Where’s Musashi?” She looked around searchingly.
“He’s not here,” replied Jōtarō dispiritedly.
“Not here? He must be!”
“Well, I can’t find him anywhere, and the shopkeeper said he hasn’t seen a samurai like that around. There must have been some mistake.” Jōtarō, though disappointed, was not despondent.
Otsū would have readily admitted that she had had no reason on earth to expect as much as she had, but the nonchalance of Jōtarō’s reply annoyed her. Shocked and a little angry at his lack of concern, she said, “Did you look for him over there?”
“Yes.”
“How about behind the Kōshin milepost?”
“I looked. He’s not there.”
“Behind the tea shop?”
“I told you, he isn’t here!” Otsū turned her face away from him. “Are you crying?” he asked.
“It’s none of your business,” she said sharply.
“I don’t understand you. You seem to be sensible most of the time, but sometimes you act like a baby. How could we know if Sannojō’s story was true or not? You decided all by yourself that it was, and now that you find it wasn’t, you burst into tears. Women are crazy,” Jōtarō exclaimed, bursting into laughter.
Otsū felt like sitting down right there and giving up. In an instant, the light had gone out of her life; she felt as bereft of hope as before—no, more so. The decaying milk teeth in Jōtarō’s laughing mouth disgusted her. Angrily she asked herself why she had to drag a child like this around with her anyway. The urge swept over her to abandon him right there.
True, he was also searching for Musashi, but he loved him only as a teacher. To her, Musashi was life itself. Jōtarō could laugh everything off and return to his normal cheerful self in no time, but Otsū would for days be deprived of the energy to go on. Somewhere in Jōtarō’s youthful mind, there was the blithe certainty that one day, sooner or later, he’d find Musashi again. Otsū had no such belief in a happy ending. Having been too optimistic about seeing Musashi today, she was now swinging toward the opposite extreme, asking herself if life would go on like this forever, without her ever again seeing or talking to the man she loved.
Those who love seek a philosophy and, because of this, are fond of solitude. In Otsū’s case, orphan that she was, there was also the keen sense of isolation from others. In response to Jōtarō’s indifference, she frowned and marched silently away from the tea shop.
“Otsū!” The voice was Sannojō’s. He emerged from behind the Kōshin milepost and came toward her through the withered underbrush. His scabbards were damp.
“You weren’t telling the truth,” Jōtarō said accusingly.
“What do you mean?”
“You said Musashi was waiting at the bottom of the hill. You lied!”
“Don’t be stupid!” said Sannojō reproachfully. “It was because of that lie that Otsū was able to escape, wasn’t it? What are you complaining about? Shouldn’t you be thanking me?”
“You just made up that story to fool those men?”
“Of course.”
Turning triumphantly to Otsū, Jōtarō said, “See? Didn’t I tell you?”
Otsū felt she had a perfect right to be angry with Jōtarō, but there was no reason to nurse a grudge against Sannojō. She bowed to him several times and thanked him profusely for