Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [234]
As they stood around grumbling, Ryōhei made it perfectly clear that he regarded them as so much dirt. “All right now, go on home! Hanging around here won’t do you any good.”
The merchants grew silent but made no move to leave.
“Throw them out!” cried Ryōhei.
“Sir, this is an outrage!”
“What’s outrageous about it?” asked Ryōhei.
“It’s completely irresponsible!”
“Who says it’s irresponsible?”
“But it is irresponsible to throw us out!”
“Then why don’t you leave quietly? We’re busy.”
“If it wasn’t the last day of the year, we wouldn’t be here begging. We need the money you owe to settle our own debts before the day is out.”
“That’s too bad. Too bad. Now go!”
“This is no way to treat us!”
“I think I’ve heard enough of your complaints!” Ryōhei’s voice grew angry again.
“No one would complain—if you’d just pay up!”
“Come here!” commanded Ryōhei.
“Wh-who?”
“Anyone who’s dissatisfied.”
“This is crazy!”
“Who said that?”
“I wasn’t referring to you, sir. I was talking about this … this situation.” “Shut up!” Ryōhei seized the man by his hair and threw him out the side door.
“Anybody else with complaints?” growled Ryōhei. “We’re not going to have you riffraff inside the house claiming paltry sums of money. I won’t permit it! Even if the Young Master wants to pay you, I won’t let him do it.”
At the sight of Ryōhei’s fist, the bill collectors stumbled all over each other in their rush to get out of the gate. But once outside, their vilification of the House of Yoshioka intensified.
“Will I ever laugh and clap my hands when I see the ‘For Sale’ sign posted on this place! It shouldn’t be long now.”
“They say it won’t be.”
“How could it be?”
Ryōhei, vastly amused, held his stomach with laughter as he went to the back of the house. The other disciples went with him to the room where Seijūrō was bent, alone and silent, over the brazier.
“Young Master,” said Ryōhei, “you’re so quiet. Is something wrong?”
“Oh, no,” replied Seijūrō, somewhat cheered by the sight of his most trusted followers. “The day’s not far off now, is it?” he said.
“No,” agreed Ryōhei. “That’s what we came to see you about. Shouldn’t we decide on the time and place and let Musashi know?”
“Why, yes, I suppose so,” said Seijūrō pensively. “The place … Where would be a good place? How about the field at the Rendaiji, north of the city?” “That sounds all right. What about the time?”
“Should it be before the New Year’s decorations are taken down, or after?” “The sooner the better. We don’t want to give that coward time to worm his way out.”
“How about the eighth?”
“Isn’t the eighth the anniversary of Master Kempō’s death?”
“Ah, so it is. In that case, how about the ninth? At seven o’clock in the morning? That’ll do, won’t it?”
“All right. We’ll post a sign on the bridge this evening.”
“Fine.”
“Are you ready?” asked Ryōhei.
“I’ve been ready all along,” replied Seijūrō, who was in no position to answer otherwise. He had not really considered the possibility of losing to Musashi. Having studied under his father’s tutelage since childhood, and having never lost a match to anyone in the school, not even to the oldest and best-trained disciples, he couldn’t imagine being beaten by this young, inexperienced country bumpkin.
His confidence, nonetheless, was not absolute. He felt a tinge of uncertainty, and characteristically, instead of attributing