Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [282]
It was not an easy climb. They had to walk carefully to avoid fallen rocks and holes in the path. In the deep silence of night, the waterfall sounded louder than in the daytime.
After a time, Osugi said, “I’m sure this is the place sacred to the god of the mountain. Ah, here’s the sign: ‘Cherry Tree of the Mountain God.’
“Matahachi!” she called into the darkness. “Matahachi! I’m here.” The trembling voice and face brimming with maternal affection came as a revelation to Otsū. She had never expected to see Osugi overcome by concern for her son.
“Don’t let the lantern go out!” snapped Osugi.
“I’ll take care,” replied Otsū dutifully.
The old woman grumbled under her breath. “He’s not here. He’s simply not here.” She had made a round of the temple grounds, but made another one. “He said in the letter I should come to the hall of the mountain god.”
“Did he say tonight?”
“He didn’t say tonight or tomorrow or any particular time. I wonder if he’ll ever grow up. I don’t see why he couldn’t come to the inn, but maybe he’s embarrassed about what happened in Osaka.”
Otsū pulled at her sleeve and said, “Shh! That could be him. Someone’s coming up the hill.”
“Son, is that you?” Osugi called.
The man passed them without a glance and went straight to the back of the little temple. He returned shortly and stopped beside them, staring boldly at Otsū’s face. When he had first passed, she had not recognized him, but she did now—the samurai who had been sitting beneath the bridge on New Year’s Day.
“Have you two just come up the hill?” asked Kojirō.
The question came so unexpectedly that neither Otsū nor Osugi answered. Their surprise was compounded by the sight of Kojirō’s gaudy clothes.
Pointing his finger at Otsū’s face, he went on, “I’m looking for a girl about your age. Her name’s Akemi. She’s a little smaller than you, and her face is a little rounder. She was trained in a teahouse and acts a little old for her age. Have either of you seen her around here?”
They shook their heads in silence.
“Very peculiar. Somebody told me she’d been seen in the neighborhood. I felt sure she’d spend the night in one of the temple halls.” For all the attention he was paying to them, he might as well have been talking to himself. He mumbled a few more words, then left.
Osugi clicked her tongue. “There’s another good-for-nothing. He has two swords, so I suppose he’s a samurai, but did you see that outfit? And up here looking for a woman at this time of night! Well, I guess he saw it was neither of us.”
Though she did not mention it to Osugi, Otsū had a strong suspicion that the girl he was searching for was the one who had wandered into the inn that afternoon. What on earth could be the tie that linked Musashi with the girl and the girl with this man?
“Let’s go back,” said Osugi, her voice both disappointed and resigned.
In front of the Hongandō, where Osugi’s confrontation with Musashi had taken place, they ran into Kojirō again. He looked at them, and they at him, but no words were exchanged. Osugi watched as he went up to the Shiandō, then turned away and walked straight down Sannen Hill.
“That man has scary eyes,” Osugi murmured, “like Musashi.” Just then her own eyes caught a shadowy movement and her bent shoulders jerked up. “Oww!” She hooted like an owl. From behind a large cryptomeria, a hand beckoned. “Matahachi,” murmured Osugi, thinking it was very touching that he did not want to be seen by anyone but her
She called to Otsū, now fifty or sixty feet farther down the slope. “Go on ahead, Otsū. But not too far. Wait for me at the place they call Chirimazuka. I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”
“All right,” said Otsū.
“Now, don’t go off anywhere! I’ve got my eye on you. You needn’t try to run away.”
Osugi ran swiftly to the tree. “Matahachi, it’s you, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Mother.” His hands came out of the darkness and clasped hers as though he had been waiting for years to see her.
“What are you doing behind this tree? My, your hands are as cold as ice!” She was almost moved to tears by her own solicitude.