Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [306]
Lord Karasumaru considered it a grave mistake on the part of the gods to have made a man like himself a nobleman. And, though a servant of the Emperor, he saw only two paths open to him: to live in constant misery or to spend his time carousing. The sensible choice was to rest his head on the knees of a beautiful woman, admire the pale light of the moon, view the cherry blossoms in season and die with a cup of sake in his hand.
Having advanced from Imperial Minister of Finance to Assistant Vice Minister of the Right and then to Imperial Councilor, he was a high official in the Emperor’s impotent bureaucracy, but he spent a great deal of time in the licensed quarter, where the atmosphere was conducive to forgetting the insults he had to endure when attending to more practical affairs. Among his habitual companions were several other disgruntled young noblemen, all of them poor in comparison with the military rulers but somehow able to raise the money for their nightly excursions to the Ōgiya—the only place, they averred, where they were free to feel human.
Tonight he had as his guest a man of another sort, the taciturn, well-mannered Konoe Nobutada, who was about ten years older. Nobutada, too, had an aristocratic demeanor and a grave look in his eyes. His face was full and his eyebrows thick, and though his darkish complexion was marred by shallow pockmarks, the pleasant modesty of the man made the blemishes seem somehow appropriate. In places like the Ōgiya, an outsider would never have guessed he was one of Kyoto’s highest-ranking noblemen, the head of the family from which imperial regents were chosen.
Smiling affably by Yoshino’s side, he turned to her and said, “That’s Mr. Funabashi’s voice, isn’t it?”
She bit her lips, already redder than plum blossoms, and her eyes betrayed embarrassment at the awkwardness of the situation. “What shall I do if he comes in?” she fretted.
Lord Karasumaru commanded, “Don’t stand up!” and grasped the hem of her kimono.
“Takuan, what are you doing out there? It’s cold with the door open. If you’re going out, go, and if you’re coming back, come back, but close the door.”
Swallowing the bait, Takuan said to Shōyū, “Come on in,” and pulled the old man into the room.
Shōyū walked over and sat down directly in front of the two noblemen. “My, what a pleasant surprise!” exclaimed Mitsuhiro with feigned sincerity. Shōyū, on his bony knees, edged closer. Sticking his hand out toward Nobutada, he said, “Give me some sake.” Having received the cup, he bowed with exaggerated ceremony.
“Good to see you, Old Man Funabashi,” said Nobutada with a grin. “You always seem to be in high spirits.”
Shōyū drained the cup and returned it. “I didn’t dream that Lord Kangan’s companion was your excellency.” Still pretending to be drunker than he actually was, he shook his thin, wrinkled neck like an ancient manservant and said in mock fear, “Forgive me, esteemed excellency!” Then, in a different tone, “Why should I be so polite? Ha, ha! Isn’t that so, Takuan?” He put his arm around Takuan’s neck, pulled the priest toward him and pointed a finger at the two courtiers. “Takuan,” he said, “the people in this world I feel sorriest for are the noblemen. They bear resounding titles like Councilor or Regent, but there’s nothing to go with the honors. Even the merchants are better off, don’t you think?”
“I do indeed,” replied Takuan, contriving to disengage his neck.
“Say,” said Shōyū, placing a cup directly beneath the priest’s nose. “I haven’t received