Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [274]
As they were about to get under way again, barking dogs in the dark woods attracted their attention.
“What do you suppose is going on?”
“Nothing but a pack of dogs.”
The city was full of stray dogs, great numbers of them coming in from the outlying districts, now that there were no longer any battles to furnish them with a supply of human meat.
Denshichirō shouted angrily to stop dawdling, but one of the students said, “Wait; there’s something funny about what’s going on over there.”
“Go see what it is,” said Denshichirō, who then proceeded to take the lead himself.
After Kojirō left, the dogs had come back. The three or four circles of canines around Matahachi and his tree were raising a tremendous racket. If dogs were capable of the higher sentiments, it might be imagined that they were taking revenge for the death of one of their flock. It is far more likely, however, that they were merely tormenting a victim they sensed to be in an impossible position, all of them being as hungry as wolves—their bellies concave, backbones sharp as knives, and teeth so keen they might have been filed.
Matahachi was far more afraid of them than he had been of Kojirō and Gempachi. Unable to use his arms and legs, he had for weapons only his face and his voice.
After first having naively tried to reason with the animals, he switched tactics. He howled like a wild beast. The dogs grew timid and backed off a little. But then his nose started running, and the effect was immediately spoiled.
Next he had opened his mouth and eyes as wide as he could and glared—somehow managing not to blink. He’d wrinkled his face and stuck his tongue out far enough to touch the tip of his nose, only to become quickly exhausted. Ransacking his brain, he had resorted again to pretending that he himself was just one of their number but had nothing against the rest of them. He barked, even imagined that he had a tail to wag.
The howling grew louder, the dogs closest to him baring their teeth in his face and licking his feet.
Hoping to soothe them with music, he began singing a famous passage from Tales of the Heike, imitating the bards who went about reciting this story to the accompaniment of the lute.
Then the cloistered Emperor decided
In the spring of the second year
To see the country villa of Kenreimon’in,
In the mountains near Ohara.
But throughout the second and third months
The wind was violent, the cold lingered on,
Nor did the white snows on the mountain peaks melt.
Eyes closed, face strained in a painful grimace, Matahachi sang almost loudly enough to deafen himself.
He was still singing when the arrival of Denshichirō and his companions sent the dogs scurrying.
Matahachi, beyond any pretense of dignity, cried, “Help! Save me!”
“I’ve seen that guy at the Yomogi,” said one of the samurai.
“Yeah, that’s Okō’s husband.”
“Husband? She’s not supposed to have a husband.”
“That’s the story she told Tōji.”
Denshichirō, taking pity on Matahachi, ordered them to stop gossiping and set him free.
In response to their questions, Matahachi made up a story in which his sterling qualities figured prominently and his weaknesses not at all. Taking advantage of the fact that he was talking to Yoshioka partisans, he brought up Musashi’s name. They had been childhood friends, he revealed, until Musashi had abducted his fiancée and covered his family with unspeakable shame. His valiant mother had vowed not to return home; both his mother and himself were bent on finding Musashi and destroying him. As for being Okō’s husband, this was far from the truth. His long stay at the Yomogi Teahouse was not because of any personal connection with the proprietress, and the proof of this was in her having fallen in love with Gion Tōji.
Then he explained why he was tied to a tree. He had been set upon by a band of robbers, who had stolen his money. He had put up no resistance, of course; he had to be careful not to be injured because of his