Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [295]
“No, not especially,” answered Musashi honestly, serenely ignorant of what his companion was hinting at.
A servant brought a candlestick, and Kōetsu took the opportunity to close the shoji. Musashi became conscious of the atmosphere within the household, which was peaceful and genial. Relaxing and listening to the laughing voices coming from the inner part of the house, he was struck by the complete absence of ostentation. It was as though the decor and surroundings had deliberately been made as simply as possible. He could imagine himself in the guest room of a large farmhouse in the country.
Haiya Shōyū entered the room and proclaimed, “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting so long.” His voice, open, friendly, youthful, was just the opposite of Kōetsu’s soft drawl. Thin as a crane, he was perhaps ten years older than his friend, yet far more jovial. When Kōetsu explained who Musashi was, he said, “Oh, so you’re a nephew of Matsuo Kaname? I know him quite well.”
Shōyū’s acquaintance with his uncle must have been through the noble House of Konoe, thought Musashi, beginning to sense the close ties between the wealthy merchants and the palace courtiers.
Without further ado, the spry old merchant said, “Let’s be on our way. I’d intended to go while it was still light, so that we could stroll over. But since it’s already dark, I think we should call for palanquins. This young man’s coming with us, I assume.”
Palanquins were summoned, and the three set off, Shōyū and Kōetsu in front, Musashi behind. It was the first time he had ever ridden in one.
By the time they reached the Yanagi Riding Grounds, the bearers were already puffing white steam.
“Oh, it’s cold,” one complained.
“The wind cuts into you, doesn’t it?”
“And it’s supposed to be spring!”
Their three lanterns swung to and fro, flickering in the wind. Dark clouds above the city hinted ominously of still worse weather before the night was out. Beyond the riding field, the lights of the city shone in dazzling splendor. Musashi had the impression of a great swarm of fireflies glowing cheerfully in the cold, clear breeze.
“Musashi!” Kōetsu called from the middle palanquin. “That’s where we’re going, over there. It’s quite an experience to come upon it suddenly, isn’t it?” He explained that until three years ago the licensed district had been at Nijō Avenue, near the palace, then the magistrate, Itakura Katsushige, had had it moved, because the nightly singing and carousing was a nuisance. He said the whole area was thriving and that all new fashions originated within those rows of lights.
“You could almost say that a whole new culture has been created there.” Pausing and listening carefully for a moment, he added, “You can just hear it, can’t you? The sound of strings and singing?”
It was music Musashi had never heard before.
“The instruments are shamisen. They’re an improved version of a three-stringed instrument brought from the Ryukyu Islands. A great many new songs have been composed for them, all right here in the quarter, then spread out among the common people. So you can see how influential this district is, and why certain standards of decency have to be maintained, even though it’s rather cut off from the rest of the city.”
They turned into one of the streets; the light from countless bright lamps and lanterns hanging from the willow trees reflected in Musashi’s eyes. The district had kept its old name when it was moved: Yanagimachi, the Town of Willows, willows having long been associated with drinking and dalliance.
Kōetsu and Shōyū were well known at the establishment they entered. The greetings were obsequious yet jocular, and it soon became apparent that here they used nicknames—”play names,” as it were. Kōetsu was known as Mizuochi-sama—Mr. Falling Water—because of the streams traversing his estate, and Shōyū was Funabashi-sama