Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [346]
He strode off ahead, but she hung back.
“Matahachi, not that way!”
“Why?”
Y•
“We’ll have to pass that rock again.”
“Ha, ha! And see the midget with a woman’s face? Forget it! I’m with you now. Oh, listen—isn’t that my mother calling? Hurry up, before she comes looking for me. She’s a lot worse than a small ghost with a scary face.”
The Spreading Pine
The wind soughed in the bamboo. Though it was still too dark to take flight, birds were awake and chirping.
“Don’t attack! It’s me—Kojirō!” Having run like a demon for more than a mile, he was breathing heavily when he reached the spreading pine.
The faces of the men who emerged from their hiding places to encircle him were numb from waiting.
“Didn’t you find him?” Genzaemon asked impatiently.
“I found him, all right,” replied Kojirō with an inflection that turned every eye upon him. Looking around coolly, he said, “I found him and we walked together up the Takano River for a way, but then he—”
“He ran away!” exclaimed Miike Jūrōzaemon.
“No!” Kojirō said emphatically. “To judge from his calmness and from what he said, I don’t think he did. At first it seemed that way, but on second thought I decided he was just trying to get rid of me. He’s probably devised some strategy he wanted to conceal from me. Better keep your guard up!”
“Strategy? What kind of strategy?”
They jostled closer to avoid missing a word.
“I suspect he’s enlisted several seconds. He was probably on his way to meet them so they could attack all at once.”
“Uh,” groaned Genzaemon. “That seems likely. It also means it won’t be long before they arrive.”
Jūrōzaemon separated himself from the group and ordered the men back to their stations. “If Musashi attacks while we’re scattered like this,” he warned, “we may lose the first skirmish. We don’t know how many men he’ll have with him, but it can’t be very many. We’ll stick to our original plan.”
“He’s right. Mustn’t be caught off guard.”
“It’s easy to make a mistake when you’re tired of waiting. Be careful!” “Get to your posts!”
Gradually they dispersed. The musketeer resettled himself in the upper branches of the pine tree.
Kojirō, noticing Genjirō standing stiffly with his back to the trunk, asked, “Sleepy?”
“No!” the boy replied pluckily.
Kojirō patted him on the head. “Your lips have turned blue! You must be cold. Since you’re the representative of the House of Yoshioka, you have to be brave and strong. Be patient a little longer and you’ll see some interesting things happen.” Walking away, he added, “Now I have to find a good place for myself.”
The moon had traveled with Musashi from the hollow between Shiga Hill and Uryū Hill, where he’d left Otsū. Now it sank behind the mountain, as a gradual upward movement of the clouds resting on the thirty-six peaks served notice that the world would soon be beginning its daily chores.
He quickened his pace. Directly below him, a temple roof came into view. “It’s not far now,” he thought. He looked up and reflected that in only a short time—a few breaths—his spirit would join the clouds in their skyward flight. To the universe, the death of one man could hardly have any more significance than that of a butterfly, but in the realm of mankind, a single death could affect everything, for better or worse. Musashi’s only concern now was how to die a noble death.
The welcome sound of water struck his ears. Stopping and kneeling at the foot of a tall rock, he scooped some water from the brook and drank quickly. His tongue smarted from its freshness, an indication, he hoped, that his spirit was calm and collected and his courage had not deserted him.
Taking a moment to rest, he seemed to hear voices calling him. Otsū? Jōtarō? He knew it couldn’t be Otsū; she was not the kind to lose control of herself and chase after him at a time like this. She knew him too well for that. Still, he couldn’t rid himself of the notion that he was being beckoned. He looked