Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [253]
“Ah, so there you are, Sasaki!”
“Why, it’s Ryōhei.”
“Where’ve you been all this time?” Ryōhei demanded, grabbing Kojirō’s hand as though taking him prisoner. “You haven’t been to the dōjō for more than ten days. The Young Master wanted to get in some practice with you.”
“So what if I stayed away? I’m here today.”
Placing themselves discreetly around Kojirō, Ryōhei and his comrades led him off to their fire.
The whisper went around among those who had seen Kojirō’s long sword and his flashy outfit. “That’s Musashi, for sure!”
“Is that him?”
“It must be.”
“Pretty loud clothing he’s got on. He doesn’t look weak, though.”
“That’s not Musashi!” Jōtarō cried disdainfully. “Musashi’s not like that at all! You’d never catch him dressed up like a Kabuki actor!”
Presently even those who could not hear the boy’s protest realized their mistake and went back to wondering what was going on.
Kojirō was standing with the Yoshioka students, regarding them with obvious contempt. They listened to him in silence, but their faces were sullen.
“It was a blessing in disguise for the House of Yoshioka that neither Seijūrō nor Musashi arrived on time,” said Kojirō. “What you’d better do is split up into groups, head Seijūrō off and take him home quickly before he gets hurt.”
This cowardly proposal enraged them, but he went further. “What I’m advising would do Seijūrō more good than any assistance he could possibly get from you.” Then, rather grandly: “Heaven sent me here as a messenger for the sake of the House of Yoshioka. I shall give you my prediction: if they fight, Seijūrō will lose. I’m sorry to have to say this, but Musashi will certainly defeat him, maybe kill him.”
Miike Jūrōzaemon thrust his chest against the younger man’s and shouted, “That’s an insult.” His right elbow between his own face and Kojirō’s, he was prepared to draw and strike.
Kojirō looked down and grinned, “I take it you don’t like what I said.” “Ugh!”
“In that case, I’m sorry,” said Kojirō blithely. “I won’t attempt to be of further assistance.”
“Nobody asked for your help in the first place.”
“That’s not quite right. If you had no need of my support, why did you insist that I come from Kema to your house? Why were you trying so hard to keep me happy? You, Seijūrō, all of you!”
“We were simply being polite to a guest. You think a lot of yourself, don’t you?”
“Ha, ha, ha, ha! Let’s stop all this, before it ends up with my having to fight all of you. But I warn you, if you don’t heed my prophecy, you’ll regret it! I’ve compared the two men with my own eyes, and I say the chances Seijūrō will lose are overwhelming. Musashi was at the Gojō Avenue bridge on New Year’s morning. As soon as I laid eyes on him, I knew there was danger. To me, that sign you put up looks more like an announcement of mourning for the House of Yoshioka. It’s very sad, but it seems to be the way of the world that people never realize when they’re finished.”
“That’s enough! Why come here if your only purpose is to talk like that?”
Kojirō’s tone became snide. “It also seems to be typical of people on the way down that they won’t accept an act of kindness in the spirit in which it’s offered. Go on! Think what you like! You won’t even have to wait the day out. You’ll know in an hour or less how wrong you are.”
“Yech!” Jūrōzaemon spat at Kojirō. Forty men moved a step forward, their anger radiating darkly over the field.
Kojirō reacted with self-assurance. Jumping quickly to one side, he demonstrated by his stance that if they were looking for a fight, he was ready. The goodwill he had professed earlier now seemed a sham. An observer might well have asked if he wasn’t using mob psychology to create an opportunity for himself to steal the show from Musashi and Seijūrō.
A stir of excitement spread through those close enough to see. This was not the fight they had come to watch, but it promised to be a good one.
Into the midst of this murder-charged atmosphere ran a young girl. Speeding along behind her like a rolling ball was a small monkey. She