Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [327]
“I do. But you can’t tell Otsū that, not while she’s sick. Tell her to be strong, to choose a path that will lead to her future happiness. That’s the message I want you to give her. You mustn’t mention anything about my being killed.”
“I will tell her! I’ll tell her everything! How can I lie to Otsū? Oh, please, please come with me.”
Musashi pushed him away. “You’re not listening.”
Jōtarō couldn’t hold back the tears. “But … but I feel so sorry for her. If I tell her you refused to see her, she’ll get worse. I know she will.”
“That’s why you have to give her my message. Tell her it won’t do either of us any good to see each other as long as I’m still training to be a warrior. The way I’ve chosen is one of discipline. It requires me to overcome my sentiments, lead a stoic life, immerse myself in hardship. If I don’t, the light I seek will escape me. Think, Jōtarō. You yourself are going to have to follow the same path, or you’ll never become a self-respecting warrior.”
The boy was quiet, except for his weeping. Musashi put his arm around him and hugged him.
“The Way of the Samurai—one never knows when it will end. When I’m gone, you must find yourself a good teacher. I can’t see Otsū now, because I know that in the long run she’ll be happier if we don’t meet. And when she finds happiness, she’ll understand how I feel now. That light—are you sure it’s coming from her room? She must be lonely. You must go and get some sleep.”
Jōtarō was beginning to understand Musashi’s dilemma, but there was a trace of sullenness in his attitude as he stood with his back to his teacher. He realized he could press Musashi no further.
Lifting his tearful face, he grasped at the last faint ray of hope. “When your studies are finished, will you see Otsū and make up with her? You will, won’t you? When you think you’ve studied long enough.”
“Yes, when that day comes.”
“When will that be?”
“It’s difficult to say.”
“Two years, maybe?”
Musashi did not answer.
“Three years?”
“There’s no end to the path of discipline.”
“Aren’t you ever going to see Otsū again, for the rest of your life?”
“If the talents I was born with are the right ones, I may someday achieve my goal. If not, I may go through life being as stupid as I am now. But now I’m faced with the possibility of dying soon. How can a man with that prospect make vows for the future to a woman as young as Otsū?”
He had said more than he’d intended to. Jōtarō looked bewildered, but then said triumphantly, “You don’t have to promise Otsū anything. All I’m asking is that you see her.”
“It’s not as simple as that. Otsū’s a young woman. I’m a young man. I dislike admitting this to you, but if I met her, I’m afraid her tears would defeat me. I wouldn’t be able to stick to my decision.”
Musashi was no longer the impetuous youth who had spurned Otsū at Hanada Bridge. He was less self-centered and reckless, more patient and much more gentle. Yoshino’s charm might have reawakened the fires of passion, had he not rejected love in much the same way that fire repels water. Still, when the woman was Otsū, he lacked confidence in his ability to practice self-control. He knew that he must not think of her without considering the effect he might have on her life.
Jōtarō heard Musashi’s voice close to his ear. “Do you understand now?” The boy wiped the tears from his eyes, but when he took his hand away
from his face and looked around, he saw nothing but thick black mist. “Sensei!” he cried.
Even as he ran to the corner of the long earthen wall, he knew his cries would never bring Musashi back. He pressed his face to the wall; the tears came afresh. He felt utterly defeated, again by adult reasoning. He wept until his throat tightened and no sound came out, but his shoulders went on shaking with convulsive sobs.
Noticing a woman outside the servants’ gate, he thought it must be one of the kitchen girls returning from a late errand and wondered if she had heard him crying.
The shadowy figure raised her veil and walked slowly