Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [341]
Otsū stared at the ground and wept. Within her heart was a flaming love, a love so strong that it had driven everything else out. Principles, religion, concern for her own welfare, pride—all paled beside this one consuming passion. In some way, she believed, this love simply had to overcome Musashi’s resistance. Somehow, through her tears, a way must be found for them to live together, apart from the world of ordinary people. But now that she was with him, she was helpless. She could not bring herself to describe the pain of being away from him, the misery of traveling through life alone, the agony she suffered over his lack of feeling. If only she had a mother to whom she could pour out all her sorrows…
The long silence was broken by the honking of a flock of geese. Attuned to the approach of dawn, they rose above the trees and flew off over the mountaintops.
“The geese are flying north,” said Musashi, conscious of the irrelevance. “Musashi …”
Their eyes met in a shared memory of the years in the village, when the geese had passed high above each spring and fall.
Everything had been so simple then. She had been friendly with Matahachi. Musashi she had disliked because of his roughness, but she had never been afraid to talk back to him when he said insulting things to her. Each now thought of the mountain where the Shippōji stood and the banks of the Yoshino River below. And both knew they were squandering precious moments—moments that would never return.
“Jōtarō said you were ill. Is it very bad?”
“It’s nothing serious.”
“Are you feeling better now?”
“Yes, but it’s of no importance. Are you really expecting to be killed today?” “I’m afraid so.”
“If you die, I can’t go on living. Perhaps that’s why it’s so easy to forget about my sickness now.”
A certain light came into her eyes, and it made him feel the weakness of his own determination as compared to hers. To acquire even a degree of self-control, he had had to ponder the question of life and death for many years, discipline himself at every turn of the road, force himself to undergo the rigors of a samurai’s training. With no training or conscious self-discipline, this woman was able to say without the slightest hesitation that she, too, was prepared to die if he did. Her face expressed perfect serenity, her eyes telling him she was neither lying nor speaking impulsively. She seemed almost happy over the prospect of following him in death. He wondered, with a tinge of shame, how women could be so strong.
“Don’t be a fool, Otsū!” he suddenly blurted. “There’s no reason why you should die.” The strength of his own voice and the depth of his feeling surprised even him. “It’s one thing for me to die fighting against the Yoshiokas. Not only is it right for a man who lives by the sword to die by the sword; I have a duty to remind those cowards of the Way of the Samurai. Your willingness to follow me in death is deeply touching, but what good would it do? No more than the pitiful death of an insect.”
Seeing her burst into tears again, he regretted the brutality of his words.
“Now I understand how over the years I’ve lied to you, and I’ve lied to myself. I didn’t intend to deceive you when we ran away from the village or when I saw you at Hanada Bridge, but I did—by pretending to be cold and indifferent. That wasn’t the way I really felt.
“In a little while, I’ll be dead. What I’m about to say is the truth. I love you, Otsū. I’d throw everything to the four winds and live out my life with you, if only …”
After a moment’s pause, he continued in a more forceful vein. “You must believe every word I say, because I’ll never have another chance to tell you this. I speak with neither pride nor pretense. There have been days when I couldn’t concentrate for thinking about you, nights I couldn’t sleep for dreaming of you. Hot, passionate dreams, Otsū, dreams that nearly drove me mad. Often I’ve hugged my pallet, pretending it was you.
“But even when I felt like that, if I took out my sword and looked