Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [241]
With Osugi, it was quite the opposite. She could not rid herself of the image of Takezō, the obnoxious and unruly little brat she had known since he was a baby, the boy with the runny nose and sores on his head, his arms and legs so long that he looked deformed. Not that she was unconscious of the passage of time. She was old now; she knew that. And Musashi was grown. But she could not overcome the urge to treat him as a vicious urchin. When she thought of how this little boy had shamed her—revenge! It was not only a matter of vindicating herself before the village. She had to see Musashi in his grave before she ended up in her own.
“There’s no need for talk!” she screeched. “Either give me your head, or prepare to feel my blade! Get ready, Musashi!” She wiped her lips with her fingers, spat on her left hand and grabbed her scabbard.
There was a proverb about a praying mantis attacking the imperial carriage. Surely it must have been invented to describe the cadaverous Osugi with her spindly legs attacking Musashi. She looked exactly like a mantis; her eyes, her skin, her absurd stance, were all the same. And as Musashi stood on guard, watching her approach as he might a child at play, his shoulders and chest gave him the invincibility of a sturdy iron carriage.
In spite of the incongruity of the situation, he was unable to laugh, for he was suddenly filled with pity. “Come now, Granny, wait!” he begged, grabbing her elbow lightly but firmly.
“Wh-what are you doing?” she cried. Both her powerless arm and her teeth shook with surprise. “C-c-coward!” she stammered. “You think you can talk me out of this? Well, I’ve seen forty more New Years than you, and you can’t trick me. Take your punishment!” Osugi’s skin was the color of red clay, her voice filled with desperation.
Musashi, nodding vigorously, said, “I understand; I know how you feel. You’ve got the fighting spirit of the Hon’iden family in you, all right. I can see you have the same blood as the first of the Hon’idens, the one who served so bravely under Shimmen Munetsura.”
“Let go of me, you—! I’m not going to listen to flattery from somebody young enough to be my grandchild.”
“Calm down. It doesn’t become an old person like you to be rash. I have something to say to you.”
“Your last statement before you meet your death?”
“No; I want to explain.”
“I don’t want any explanations from you!” The old woman drew herself up to her full height.
“Well, then, I’ll just have to take that sword away from you. Then when Matahachi shows up, he can explain everything to you.”
“Matahachi?”
“Yes. I sent him a message last spring.”
“Oh, you did, did you?”
“I told him to meet me here on New Year’s morning.”
“That’s a lie!” shrieked Osugi, vigorously shaking her head. “You should be ashamed, Musashi! Aren’t you Munisai’s son? Didn’t he teach you that when the time comes to die, you should die like a man? This is no time for playing around with words. My whole life is behind this sword, and I have the support of the gods and bodhisattvas. If you dare face it, face it!” She wrested her arm away from him and cried, “Hail to the Buddha!” Unsheathing her sword and grasping it with both hands, she lunged at his chest.
He dodged. “Calm down, Granny, please!”
When he tapped her lightly on the back, she screamed and whirled around to face him. As she prepared to charge, she invoked the name of Kannon. “Praise to Kannon Bosatsu! Praise to Kannon Bosatsu!” She attacked again.
As she passed him, Musashi seized her wrist. “You’ll just wear yourself out, carrying on like that. Look, the bridge is just over there. Come with me that far.”
Turning her head back over her shoulder, Osugi bared her teeth and pursed her lips. “Phooey!” She spat with all the breath she had left.
Musashi let go of