Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [269]
“Look, you bastard, are you making fun of me?”
“No, of course not. I’m quite serious. I’ve never been more serious in my life. Tell me, Kojirō, what’s my name?”
“Why make a nuisance of yourself? You answer the question.”
“All right. I shall ask myself my name, and then, at the risk of seeming presumptuous, I shall tell it to you.”
“Good, let’s have it.”
“Don’t be startled!”
“Idiot!”
“I am Sasaki Kojirō, also known as Ganryū.”
“Wh-what?”
“Since the days of my ancestors, my family has lived in Iwakuni. The name Kojirō I received from my parents. I am also the person known among swordsmen as Ganryū. Now, when and how do you suppose it came about that there are two Sasaki Kojirōs in this world?”
“Then you … you’re …”
“Yes, and even though a great number of men are traveling about the countryside, you’re the first I’ve ever encountered with my name. The very first. Isn’t it a strange coincidence that has brought us together?”
Matahachi was thinking rapidly.
“What’s the matter? You seem to be trembling.”
Matahachi cringed.
Kojirō came closer, slapped him on the shoulder, and said, “Let’s be friends.”
Matahachi, face dead white, jerked away and yelped.
“If you run, I’ll kill you.” Kojirō’s voice thrust like a lance straight into Matahachi’s face.
The Drying Pole screaming over Kojirō’s shoulder was a silver snake. Only one strike, no more. In one bound Matahachi covered nearly ten feet. Like an insect blown from a leaf, he turned three somersaults and stretched out on the ground unconscious.
Kojirō did not even look his way. The three-foot sword, still bloodless, slid back into its scabbard.
“Akemi!” called Kojirō. “Come down! I won’t do that sort of thing anymore, so come back to the inn with me. Oh, I knocked your friend down, but I didn’t really hurt him. Get down here and take care of him.”
No answer. Seeing nothing among the dark branches, Kojirō climbed up the tree and found himself alone. Akemi had run away from him again.
The breeze blew softly through the pine needles. He sat quietly on the limb, asking himself where his little sparrow could have flown. He simply could not fathom why she was so afraid of him. Had he not given her his love in the best way he knew how? He might have been willing to agree that his way of showing affection was a little rough, but he did not appreciate how different it was from the way other people made love.
A clue might be found in his attitude toward swordsmanship. When he had entered Kanamaki Jisai’s school as a child, he had displayed great ability and was treated as a prodigy. His use of the sword was quite extraordinary. Even more extraordinary was his tenacity. He absolutely refused to give up. If he faced a stronger opponent, he clung on all the tighter.
In this day and age, the manner in which a fighter won was far less significant than the fact of winning. No one questioned methods very closely, and Kojirō’s proclivity to hang on by hook or crook until he finally conquered was not considered dirty fighting. Opponents complained of his harassing them when others would have admitted defeat, but no one considered this unmanly.
Once when he was still a boy, a group of older students, whom he openly despised, pummeled him senseless with wooden swords. Taking pity on him, one of his attackers gave him some water and stayed with him until he revived, whereupon Kojirō seized his benefactor’s wooden sword and beat him to death with it.
If he did lose a bout, he never forgot it. He would lie in wait until his enemy was off guard—in a dark place, asleep in bed, even in the toilet—and then attack with full force. To defeat Kojirō was to make an implacable enemy.
As he grew older, he took to speaking of himself as a genius. There was more than braggadocio in this, both Jisai and Ittōsai having acknowledged the truth of it. Nor was he making anything up when he claimed to have learned how to cut down flying sparrows and to have created his own style. This led the people in the neighborhood to regard him as a