Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [246]
“I don’t like it,” thought Kojirō, seething with displeasure. He had taken care of Akemi since rescuing her from the deserted Amida Hall, and this patently intimate conversation between her and Musashi upset him. “Maybe he’s the kind who preys on innocent women. And her! She didn’t say where she was going, and now she’s up there weeping on a man’s shoulder!” He himself was here because he’d followed her.
The enmity in Kojirō’s eyes was not lost on Musashi, and he was also conscious of that peculiar instant conflict of wills that arises when one shugyōsha encounters another. Nor was there any doubt that Kojirō felt the spirit of defiance conveyed in Musashi’s expression.
“Who could he be?” thought Musashi again. “He looks like quite a fighter. But why the malicious look in his eye? Better watch him closely.”
The intensity of the two men came not from their eyes but from deep inside. Fireworks seemed about to shoot from their pupils. From appearances, Musashi might be a year or two younger than Kojirō, but then again it might be the other way around. In either case, they shared one similarity: both were at that age of maximum impudence when they were certain they knew everything there was to know about politics, society, the Art of War and all other subjects. As a vicious dog snarls when it sees another vicious dog, so both Musashi and Kojirō knew instinctively that the other was a dangerous fighter.
Kojirō was the first to disengage his eyes, which he did with a slight grunt. Musashi, despite the touch of contempt he could see in Kojirō’s profile, was convinced deep down that he’d won. The opponent had given in to his eyes, to his willpower, and this made Musashi happy.
“Akemi,” he said, putting his hand on her shoulder.
Still sobbing with her face to the railing, she did not reply.
“Who’s that man over there? He’s somebody who knows you, isn’t he? I mean the young man who looks like a student warrior. Just who is he?”
Akemi was silent. She had not seen Kojirō until now, and the sight threw her tear-swollen face into confusion. “Uh … you mean that tall man over there?”
“Yes. Who is he?”
“Oh, he’s … well … he’s … I don’t know him very well.”
“But you do know him, don’t you?”
“Uh, yes.”
“Carrying that great long sword and dressed to attract attention—he must think he’s quite a swordsman! How do you happen to know him?”
“A few days ago,” Akemi said quickly, “I was bitten by a dog, and the bleeding wouldn’t stop, so I went to a doctor in the place where he happened to be staying. He’s been looking after me the past few days.”
“In other words, you’re living in the same house with him?”
“Yes, well, I’m living there, but it doesn’t mean anything. There’s nothing between us.” She spoke with more force now.
“In that case, I suppose you don’t know much about him. Do you know his name?”
“His name is Sasaki Kojirō. He’s also called Ganryū.”
“Ganryū?” He had heard that name before. Though not exceptionally famous, it was known among the warriors in a number of provinces. He was younger than Musashi had imagined him to be; he took another look at him.
An odd thing happened then. A pair of dimples appeared in Kojirō’s cheeks.
Musashi smiled back. Yet this silent communication was not full of peaceful light and friendship, like the smile exchanged between the Buddha and his disciple Ananda as they rubbed flowers between their fingers. In Kojirō’s smile were both a challenging jeer and an element of irony.
Musashi’s smile not only accepted Kojirō’s challenge but conveyed a fierce will to fight.
Caught between these two strong-willed men, Akemi was about to start pouring out her feelings again, but before it came to that, Musashi said, “Now, Akemi,