Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [243]
Exultant, he shouted in the radiant dawn, “I’m still young!”
The Great Bridge at Gojō Avenue
“Field of the Rendaiji … ninth day of the first month …”
Reading the words made Musashi’s blood surge.
His attention was distracted, however, by a sharp, stabbing pain in his left eye. Lifting his hand to his eyelid, he noticed a small needle stuck into his kimono sleeve, and a closer look revealed four or five more embedded in his clothing, shining like slivers of ice in the morning light.
“So that’s it!” he exclaimed, pulling one out and examining it. It was about the size of a small sewing needle but had no threading eye and was triangular instead of round. “Why, the old bitch!” he said with a shudder, glancing down toward the boat. “I’ve heard about blow needles, but whoever would have thought the old hag could shoot them? That was a pretty close call.”
With his usual curiosity, he gathered the needles one by one, then pinned them securely into his collar with the intention of studying them later on. He’d heard that among warriors there were two opposing schools of thought regarding these small weapons. One held that they could be effectively employed as a deterrent by blowing them into an enemy’s face, while the other maintained that this was nonsense.
The proponents held that a very old technique for the needles’ employment had been developed from a game played by seamstresses and weavers who migrated from China to Japan in the sixth or seventh century. Although it was not considered a method of attack per se, they explained, it was practiced, up until the time of the Ashikaga shogunate, as a preliminary means of fending off an adversary.
Those on the other side of the fence went so far as to claim that no ancient technique ever existed, although they did admit that needle-blowing had been practiced as a game at one time. While conceding that women may have amused themselves in this fashion, they adamantly denied that needle-blowing could be refined to the degree necessary to inflict injury. They also pointed out that saliva could absorb a certain amount of heat, cold or acidity, but it could do little to absorb the pain caused by needles puncturing the inside of a person’s mouth. The reply to this, of course, was that with enough practice, a person could learn to hold the needles in the mouth painlessly and to manipulate them with the tongue with a great deal of precision and force. Enough to blind a man.
The nonbelievers then countered that even if the needles could be blown hard and fast, the chances of hurting anyone were minimal. After all, they said, the only parts of the face vulnerable to such attack were the eyes, and the chances of hitting them weren’t very good, even under the best conditions. And unless the needle penetrated the pupil, the damage would be insignificant.
After hearing most of these arguments at one time or another, Musashi had been inclined to side with the doubters. After this experience, he realized how premature his judgment had been and how important and useful randomly acquired bits of knowledge could subsequently prove to be.
The needles had missed his pupil, but his eye was watering. As he felt around his clothing for something to dry it with, he heard the sound of cloth being torn. Turning, he saw a girl ripping a foot or so of red fabric from the sleeve of her undergarment.
Akemi came running toward him. Her hair was not done up for the New Year’s celebration, and her kimono was bedraggled. She wore sandals, but no socks. Musashi squinted at her and muttered; though she looked familiar, he couldn’t place the face.
“It’s me, Takezō … I mean Musashi,” she said hesitantly, offering him the red cloth. “Did you get something in your eye? You shouldn’t rub it. That’ll only make it worse. Here, use this.