Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [340]
Then he gasped—apparition?—and his body bristled like a chestnut in its burr. Reflected in the small pool was a striped pattern, half a dozen trees on the other side. Right beside them was the image of Musashi.
Jōtarō thought his imagination was playing tricks on him, that the reflection would soon dissolve. When it failed to go away, he raised his eyes very slowly.
“You’re here!” he cried. “You’re really here!” The peaceful reflection of the sky turned to mud as he splashed across to the other side, wetting his kimono to the shoulders.
“You’re here!” He threw his arms around Musashi’s legs.
“Quiet,” said Musashi softly. “It’s dangerous here. Come back later.” “No! I’ve found you. I’m staying with you.”
“Quiet. I heard your voice. I’ve been waiting here. Now take Otsū some water.”
“It’s muddy now.”
“There’s another brook over there. See? Here, take this with you.” He held out a bamboo tube.
Jōtarō raised his face and said, “No! You take it to her.”
They stood like that for a few seconds, then Musashi nodded and went to the other brook. Having filled the tube, he carried it to Otsū’s side. He put his arm around her gently and held the tube to her mouth.
Jōtarō stood beside them. “Look, Otsū! It’s Musashi. Don’t you understand? Musashi!”
As Otsū sipped the cool water, her breath came a little more easily, though she remained limp in Musashi’s arm. Her eyes seemed to be focused on something very far away.
“Don’t you see, Otsū? Not me, Musashi! It’s Musashi’s arm around you, not mine.”
Burning tears gathered in her vacant eyes until they looked like glass. Two streams sparkled down her cheeks. She nodded.
Jōtarō was beside himself with joy. “You’re happy now, aren’t you? This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” Then, to Musashi: “She’s been saying, over and over, that whatever happened, she had to see you. She wouldn’t listen to anybody! Please tell her, if she keeps on acting like this, she’ll die. She won’t pay any attention to me. Maybe she’ll do what you tell her.”
“It was all my fault,” said Musashi. “I’ll apologize and tell her to take better care of herself. Jōtarō …”
“Yes?”
“Would you leave us alone, just for a little while?”
“Why? Why can’t I stay here?”
“Don’t be that way, Jōtarō,” Otsū said pleadingly. “Just for a few minutes. Please.”
“Oh, all right.” He couldn’t refuse Otsū, even if he didn’t understand. “I’ll be up the hill. Call me when you’re through.”
Otsū’s natural shyness was magnified by her illness, and she could not decide what to say.
Musashi, embarrassed, turned his face away from her. With her back to him, she stared at the ground. He gazed up at the sky.
He feared instinctively that no words existed to tell her what was in his heart. All that had happened since the night she had freed him from the cryptomeria tree passed through his mind, and he recognized the purity of the love that had kept her searching for him these five long years.
Who was stronger, who had suffered more? Otsū, her life difficult and complex, burning with a love she could not conceal? Or he himself, hiding his feelings behind a stony face, burying the embers of his passion under a layer of cold ashes? Musashi had thought before, and thought now, that his way was the more painful. Yet there was strength and valor in Otsū’s constancy. The burden she had borne was too heavy for most men to bear alone.
“Only a short time to go,” thought Musashi.
The moon was low in the sky, the light whiter now. Dawn was not far away. Soon both the moon and he himself would fade behind the mountain of death. He must, in the short time remaining, tell Otsū the truth. He owed her that much, for her devotion and her faithfulness. But the words would not come. The harder he tried to speak, the more tongue-tied he became. He watched