Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [279]
A Mother’s Love
Otsū put down her sewing and called, “Who’s there?”
She slid open the shoji onto the veranda, but no one was in sight. Her spirits sank. She had hoped it was Jōtarō. She needed him now more than ever.
Another day of utter loneliness. She could not keep her mind on her needlework.
Here below Kiyomizudera, at the bottom of Sannen Hill, the streets were squalid, but behind the houses and shops were bamboo groves and small fields, camellias blooming and plum blossoms beginning to fall. Osugi was very fond of this particular inn. She stayed here whenever she was in Kyoto, and the innkeeper always let her have this small, quiet separate house. Behind it was a stand of trees, part of the garden next door; in front was a small vegetable garden, beyond which was the always bustling kitchen of the inn.
“Otsū!” called a voice from the kitchen. “It’s time for lunch. May I bring it to you now?”
“Lunch?” said Otsū. “I’ll eat with the old woman when she comes back.” “She said she wouldn’t be back until late. We probably won’t see her before evening.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I don’t see how you can go on, eating so little.”
Pine smoke billowed into the enclosure from potters’ kilns in the neighborhood. On the days when they were fired, there was always a lot of smoke. But after the air cleared, the early spring sky was bluer than ever.
From the street came the sound of horses and the footsteps and voices of pilgrims on their way to the temple. It was from the passersby that the story of Musashi’s victory over Seijūrō had reached Otsū’s ears. Musashi’s face appeared before her eyes. “Jōtarō must have been at the Rendaiji that day,” she thought. “If only he’d come and tell me about it!”
She couldn’t believe the boy had looked for her and not been able to find her. Twenty days had passed, and he knew she was staying at the foot of Sannen Hill. He might be sick, but she did not really believe this either; Jōtarō was not the type to be ill. “He’s probably out flying a kite somewhere, having a good time,” she said to herself. The idea made her a little peevish.
Maybe he was the one who was doing the waiting. She had not been back to the Karasumaru house, though she had promised him she would return soon.
She was unable to go anywhere, for she had been forbidden to leave the inn without Osugi’s permission. Osugi had obviously told the innkeeper and servants to keep an eye on her. Whenever she so much as glanced toward the street, someone would ask, “Are you going out, Otsū?” The question, the tone of voice, sounded innocent, but she comprehended the meaning. And the only way she could send a letter was by entrusting it to the people at the inn, who had been instructed to keep any message she might try to send.
Osugi was something of a celebrity in this area, and people were easily persuaded to do her bidding. Quite a few of the shopkeepers, palanquin bearers and draymen in the neighborhood had seen her in action the year before, when she challenged Musashi at Kiyomizudera, and, for all her irascibility, regarded her with a certain affectionate awe.
As Otsū made yet another attempt to finish reassembling Osugi’s travel outfit, which had been taken apart at the seams to be washed, a shadow appeared outside. She heard an unfamiliar voice say, “I wonder if I’m in the wrong place.”
A young woman had come through the passageway from the street and was standing under a plum tree between two patches of scallions. She seemed nervous, a little embarrassed, but reluctant to turn back.
“Isn’t this the inn? There’s a lantern at the entrance of the passageway saying it is,” she said to Otsū.
Otsū could hardly believe her eyes, so painful was the suddenly reawakened memory.
Thinking she had made a mistake, Akemi asked diffidently, “Which building is the inn?” Then, looking around, she noticed the plum blossoms and exclaimed, “My, aren’t they pretty!”
Otsū looked at the girl without