Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [305]
The Elegant People
“No impudent nobleman’s going to get the best of me! If he thinks he can put me off by sending a blank piece of paper, I’ll just have to have a word with him. And I’ll bring Yoshino back, if only for the sake of my pride.”
It is said that one need not be young to enjoy playing games. When Haiya Shōyū was in his cups, there was no holding him back.
“Take me to their room!” he ordered Sumigiku. He put a hand on her shoulder to prop himself into a standing position.
In vain, Kōetsu admonished him to be calm.
“No! I’m going to get Yoshino…. Standard bearers, ho! Your general is moving into action! Those with heart, follow!”
A peculiar characteristic of the inebriated is that though they appear to be in constant danger of falling, or suffering some worse mishap, if left alone they usually escape harm. Still, if no one took measures to protect them, it would be a cold world indeed. With all his years of experience, Shōyū was able to draw a fine line between amusing himself and entertaining others. When they thought him tipsy enough to be easy to handle, he would contrive to be as difficult as possible, staggering and tottering until someone came to his rescue, at which point there would be a meeting of spirits on the boundary where drunkenness evokes sympathetic response.
“You’ll fall,” cried Sumigiku, rushing to prevent this.
“Don’t be silly. My legs may wobble a bit, but my spirit’s firm!” He sounded peevish.
“Try walking alone.”
She let go, and he immediately slumped to the floor.
“I guess I’m a little tired. Someone’ll have to carry me.”
On the way to Lord Kangan’s parlor, appearing to know nothing, yet perfectly conscious of everything, he staggered, swayed, turned into jelly, and otherwise kept his companions on edge from one end of the long hallway to the other.
At stake was whether or not “insolent, half-baked noblemen,” as he called them, were going to monopolize Yoshino Dayū. The great merchants, who were nothing more than rich commoners, did not stand in awe of the Emperor’s courtiers. True, they were appallingly rank-conscious, but this counted for little because they had no money. By spreading around enough gold to keep them happy, participating in their elegant pastimes, making a show of deference to their status and allowing them to maintain their pride, it was possible to manipulate them like puppets. No one knew this better than Shōyū.
Light danced gaily on the shoji of the anteroom to Lord Karasumaru’s parlor as Shōyū fumbled to open it.
Abruptly the door was opened from inside. “Why, Shōyū, it’s you!” exclaimed Takuan Sōhō.
Shōyū’s eyes widened, first in astonishment, then in delight. “Good priest,” he sputtered, “what a pleasant surprise! Have you been here all along?”
“And you, good sir, have you been here all along?” mimicked Takuan. He put his arm around Shōyū’s neck, and the two drunkenly embraced like a pair of lovers, cheek against stubbled cheek.
“Are you well, you old scoundrel?”
“Yes, you old fraud. And you?”
“I’ve been hoping to see you.”
“And I you.”
Before the maudlin greeting had run its course, the two were patting each other on the head and licking each other on the nose.
Lord Karasumaru turned his attention from the anteroom to Lord Konoe Nobutada, who sat opposite him, and said with a sardonic grin, “Ha! Just as I expected. The noisy one has arrived.”
Karasumaru Mitsuhiro was still young, perhaps thirty. Even without his impeccable dress, he would have had an aristocratic air about him, for he was handsome and light-complexioned, with thick eyebrows, crimson lips and intelligent eyes. While he gave the impression of being a very gentle man, beneath the polished surface lurked a strong temper, fed by pent-up resentment against the military class. Often he had been heard to say, “Why, in this age when only the warriors are deemed to be full-fledged human beings, did I have to be born a nobleman?”
In his opinion, the warrior class should concern itself with military matters and nothing else, and any young courtier