Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [275]
Hoping they were taking it all in, Matahachi said, “Thank you. I feel that perhaps there is some fate that links us together. We regard one man as our common enemy, an enemy we cannot live under the same sky with. Tonight you came along at just the right moment. I am eternally grateful.
“I would judge, sir, from your appearance that you are Denshichirō. I feel certain you plan to meet Musashi. Which one of us will kill him first I cannot say, but I hope I shall have the opportunity of seeing you again.”
He did not want to give them a chance to ask questions, so he hurried on. “Osugi, my mother, is on a pilgrimage to Kiyomizudera to pray for success in our battle against Musashi. I’m on my way to meet her now. I shall certainly call soon at the house on Shijō Avenue to pay my respects. In the meantime, let me apologize for holding you up when you are in such a hurry.”
And off he went, leaving his listeners to wonder how much truth there was in what he had said.
“Who on earth is that buffoon anyway?” snorted Denshichirō, clicking his tongue over the time they had wasted.
As the doctor had said, the first few days would be the worst. This was the fourth day, and since the night before, Seijūrō felt a little better.
Slowly he opened his eyes, wondering whether it was day or night. The paper-covered lamp by his pillow was nearly out. From the next room came the sound of snoring; the men watching over him had dropped off to sleep.
“I must still be alive,” he thought. “Alive and in complete disgrace!” He pulled the quilt over his face with quivering fingers. “How can I face anyone after this?” He swallowed hard to stifle his tears. “It’s all over,” he moaned. “The end of me and the end of the House of Yoshioka.”
A cock crowed and the lamp went out with a sputter. As the pale light of dawn crept into the room, he was taken back to that morning at the Rendaiji. The look in Musashi’s eyes! The memory made him shiver. He had to admit he’d been no match for that man. Why hadn’t he thrown down his wooden sword, accepted defeat and made an attempt to save the family’s reputation?
“I had too high an opinion of myself,” he moaned. “Besides being the son of Yoshioka Kempō, what have I ever done to distinguish myself?”
Even he had come to realize that sooner or later, time would have caught up with the House of Yoshioka if he had stayed in charge. With everything else changing, it could not continue to prosper.
“My bout with Musashi only hastened the collapse. Why couldn’t I have died there? Why do I have to live?”
He knitted his brows. His armless shoulder throbbed with pain.
Only seconds after the banging on the front gate, a man came to wake up the samurai in the room next to Seijūrō’s.
“Denshichirō?” exclaimed a startled voice.
“Yes; he just arrived.”
Two men rushed out to meet him, another ran to Seijūrō’s side. “Young Master! Good news! Denshichirō’s back.”
The rain shutters were opened, charcoal put in the brazier, and a cushion spread on the floor. After a moment, Denshichirō’s voice came from beyond the shoji. “Is my brother in here?”
Seijūrō thought nostalgically: “It’s been a long time.” Though he had asked to see Denshichirō, he dreaded being seen in his present state even by his brother—no, especially by his brother. As Denshichirō entered, Seijūrō looked up wanly and tried, unsuccessfully, to smile.
Denshichirō spoke with gusto. “See?” He laughed. “When you’re in trouble, your good-for-nothing brother comes back to help you. I dropped everything and came as fast as I could. We stopped in Osaka for provisions, then traveled all night. I’m here now, so you can stop worrying. Whatever happens, I won’t let a soul lay a finger on the school… .
“What’s this?” he said gruffly, turning to a servant who had brought tea. “I don’t need any tea! Go and get some sake ready.” Then he shouted for someone to close the outside doors. “Are you all crazy? Can’t you see my brother’s cold?”
Sitting down, he leaned over the brazier and stared silently at the sick man’s face. “Just what