Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [320]
Jōtarō, eager to get his point across, said much more, but this was the substance of it. Musashi grunted occasionally, once or twice saying, “Is that so?” but for reasons the boy could not fathom, he did not come out and say in so many words that he would do what he was asked, despite the boy’s begging and pleading. Jōtarō, for all his devotion to his teacher, began to feel a dislike for him, an itch to have a real fight with his teacher.
His belligerence boiled higher, to the point where it was held in check only by his respect. He lapsed into silence, his disapproval written large on his face, his eyes sullen and his lips twisted as though he had just drunk a cup of vinegar.
Musashi took up his drawing manual and brush and began adding strokes to one of his sketches. Jōtarō, glaring distastefully at the eggplant drawing, thought: “What makes him think he can paint pictures? He’s awful!”
Presently Musashi lost interest and began washing out his brush. Jōtarō was about to make one more appeal, when they heard wooden sandals on the stepping-stones outside.
“Your wash is dry,” said a girlish voice. The attendant who had been Jōtarō’s guide entered with a kimono and a cloak, both neatly folded. Placing them in front of Musashi, she invited him to inspect them.
“Thank you,” he said. “They look as good as new.”
“Bloodstains don’t come out easily. You have to scrub and scrub.” “They seem to be gone now, thank you…. Where’s Yoshino?”
“Oh, she’s terribly busy, going from one guest to another. They don’t give her a moment’s rest.”
“It’s been very pleasant here, but if I stay longer, I’ll be a burden on people. I plan to slip away as soon as the sun comes up. Would you tell Yoshino that and convey my deepest thanks to her?”
Jōtarō relaxed. Musashi must certainly be planning to see Otsū. This was the way his master should be, a good upright man. He broke into a happy smile.
As soon as the girl left, Musashi laid the clothes before Jōtarō and said, “You came at just the right time. These must be returned to the woman who lent them to me. I want you to take them to the house of Hon’ami Kōetsu—it’s in the north part of the city—and bring back my own kimono. Will you be a good boy and do this for me?”
“Certainly,” said Jōtarō with a look of approval. “I’ll go now.”
He wrapped the garments in a piece of cloth, along with a letter from Musashi to Kōetsu, and swung the parcel onto his back.
The attendant arrived just then with dinner and threw up her hands in horror.
“What are you doing?” she gasped. When Musashi explained, she cried, “Oh, you can’t let him go!” and told him what Jōtarō had done. Fortunately, Jōtarō’s aim had not been perfect, so the servant had survived. She assured Musashi that since this was only one fight among many, the matter had ended there, Yoshino having personally warned the owner and the younger people in the establishment to keep quiet. She also pointed out that by unwittingly proclaiming himself to be Miyamoto Musashi’s student, Jōtarō had lent credence to the rumor that Musashi was still at the Ōgiya.
“I see,” said Musashi simply. He looked inquisitively at Jōtarō, who scratched his head, retreated to a corner and made himself as small as possible.
The girl went on: “I don’t need to tell you what would happen if he tried to leave. There are still a lot of Yoshioka men around waiting for you to show your face. It’s very difficult for Yoshino and the proprietor, because Kōetsu begged us to take good care of you. The Ōgiya can’t possibly let you walk straight into their clutches. Yoshino’s resolved to protect you.
“Those samurai are so persistent. They’ve kept constant watch and sent men around several times accusing us of hiding you. We’ve gotten rid of them, but they’re still not convinced. I don’t understand it, really. They act as if they were on a major campaign. Beyond the gate to the quarter, there are three or four ranks of them, and lookouts everywhere,