Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [249]
But today she had been jolted out of her optimism, not once but twice. Why, she wondered, had she ever come here this morning?
Neither tears nor anger could nullify the shock. After thinking fleetingly of suicide, she had condemned all men as wicked liars. She had been by turns furious and miserable, hating the world, hating herself, too overcome to find release in tears or to think clearly about anything. Her blood boiled with jealousy, and the insecurity it caused made her scold herself for her many shortcomings, including her lack of poise at the moment. She told herself repeatedly to keep cool and gradually repressed her impulses beneath the veneer of dignity that women were supposed to maintain.
The entire time that strange girl was at Musashi’s side, Otsū had not been able to move. When Akemi left, however, forbearance was no longer possible and Otsū felt irresistibly compelled to face Musashi and pour out how she felt. Although she had no idea where to begin, she resolved to open her heart and tell him everything.
But life is full of tiny accidents. One small misstep—a minute miscalculation made in the heat of the moment—can, in many instances, alter the shape of things to come for months or years. It was by letting Musashi out of her sight for a second that Otsū exposed herself to Osugi, On this glorious New Year’s morning, Otsū’s garden of delights was overrun by snakes.
It was a nightmare come true. In many a frenzied dream, she had encountered Osugi’s leering face, and here was the stark reality bearing down on her.
Completely winded after running several hundred yards, she halted and looked back. For a moment, her breath stopped altogether. Osugi, about a hundred yards away, was hitting Jōtarō and swinging him around, this way and that.
He fought back, kicking the ground, kicking the air, landing an occasional blow on his captor.
Otsū saw that it would be only a matter of moments before he succeeded in drawing his wooden sword. And when he did, it was a dead certainty the old woman would not only unsheath her short sword but show no compunction about using it. At a time like this, Osugi was not one to show mercy. Jōtarō might well be killed.
Otsū was in a terrible predicament: Jōtarō had to be rescued, but she dared not approach Osugi.
Jōtarō did succeed in getting his wooden sword free of his obi but not in extracting his head from Osugi’s viselike grip. All his kicking and flailing were working against him, because they increased the old woman’s self-confidence.
“Brat!” she cried snidely. “What’re you trying to do, imitate a frog?” The way her front teeth jutted out made her look harelipped, but her expression was one of hideous triumph. Step by scraping step, she pressed on toward Otsū.
As she glared at the terrified girl, her natural cunning asserted itself. In a flash it came to her that she was going about this the wrong way. If the opponent had been Musashi, trickery would not work, but the enemy before her was Otsū—tender, innocent Otsū—who could probably be made to believe anything, provided it was put to her gently and with an air of sincerity. First tie her up with words, thought Osugi, then roast her for dinner.
“Otsū!” she called in an earnestly poignant tone. “Why are you running away? What makes you flee the minute you lay eyes on me? You did the same thing at the Mikazuki Teahouse. I can’t understand it. You must be imagining things. I haven’t the slightest intention of doing you any harm.”
An expression of doubt crept over Otsū’s face, but Jōtarō, still captive, asked, “Is that true, Granny? Do you mean it?”
“Why, of course. Otsū doesn’t understand how I really feel. She seems to be afraid of me.”
“If you mean that, let go of me, and I’ll go get her.”
“Not so fast. If I let you go, how do I know you won’t hit me with that sword of yours and run away?”
“Do you think I’m a coward? I’d never do anything like that. It looks to me as though we’re fighting over nothing. There’s been a mistake somewhere.”
“All