Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [342]
Her face turned toward him, tearful but as radiant as a morning glory, she started to speak. Seeing the fervor in his eyes, her words caught in her throat and she looked at the ground again.
“The sword is my refuge. Any time my passion threatens to overcome me, I force myself back into the world of swordsmanship. This is my fate, Otsū. I’m torn between love and self-discipline. I seem to be traveling on two paths at once. Yet when the paths diverge, I invariably manage to keep myself on the right one.
“I know myself better than anyone else does. I’m neither a genius nor a great man.”
He became silent again. Despite his desire to express his feelings honestly, his words seemed to him to be concealing the truth. His heart told him to be even more candid.
“That’s the kind of man I am. What else can I say? I think of my sword, and you disappear into some dark corner of my mind—no, disappear altogether, leaving no trace. At times like that I’m happiest and most satisfied with my life. Do you understand? All this time you’ve suffered, you’ve risked body and soul on a man who loves his sword more than he loves you. I’ll die to vindicate my sword, but I wouldn’t die for the love of a woman. Not even you. As much as I’d like to fall on my knees and beg your forgiveness, I can’t.”
He felt her sensitive fingers tighten on his wrist. She was no longer crying. “I know all that,” she said emphatically. “If I didn’t know it, I wouldn’t love you as I do.”
“But can’t you see the foolishness of dying on my account? For this one moment, I’m yours, body and soul. But once I’ve left you … You mustn’t die for the love of a man like me. There’s a good way, a proper way, for a woman to live, Otsū. You must search for it, make a happy life for yourself. These must be my parting words. It’s time for me to go.”
Gently he removed her hand from his wrist and stood up. She caught his sleeve and cried, “Musashi, just one minute more!”
There were so many things she wanted to tell him: she did not care if he forgot her when he was not with her, she did not mind being called insignificant, she’d had no delusions about his character when she fell in love with him. She caught his sleeve again, her eyes searching his, trying to prolong this last moment, to keep it from ever ending.
Her silent appeal nearly undid him. There was beauty even in the weakness that prevented her from speaking. Overcome by his own weakness and fear, he felt himself to be a tree with brittle roots, menaced by a raging wind. He wondered if his chaste devotion to the Way of the Sword would crumble, like a landslide, under the weight of her tears.
To break the silence, he asked, “Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she said weakly. “I understand perfectly, but if you die, I’ll die too. My dying will have a meaning to me, just as yours has to you. If you can face the end calmly, so can I. I won’t be trampled down like an insect, or drown in a moment of grief. I have to decide for myself. Nobody else can do it for me, not even you.”
With great strength and perfect calm, she went on. “If in your heart you’ll consider me to be your bride, that’s enough, a joy and a blessing that only I, of all the women in the world, possess. You said you didn’t want to make me unhappy. I can assure you I won’t die because of unhappiness. There are people who seem to consider me unfortunate, yet I don’t feel that way in the least. I look forward with pleasure to the day when I die. It will be like a glorious morning when the birds are singing. I’ll go as happily as I would to my wedding.”
Nearly out of breath, she folded her arms over her breast and gazed up contentedly, as though captivated by a delightful dream.
The moon seemed to be sinking rapidly. Though it was still not daybreak, mist had begun to rise through the trees.
The silence was shattered by a horrifying scream that rent the air like the screech of a mythical bird. It came from the cliff Jōtarō had climbed earlier. Startled out of her dreams, Otsū directed her eyes to the top of the