Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [361]
“I’m told somebody’s sick. Oh, well, can’t do anything about it now, but that’s why I brought the milk.”
“Sick? Oh, yeah … my traveling companion.”
“That’s too bad. Anyway, it’s good to see you. The last I heard from you was the letter Jōtarō brought when I was on my way to Nara.”
Matahachi hung his head, hoping Musashi wouldn’t mention the boastful predictions he’d made at the time.
Musashi put his hand on Matahachi’s shoulder, thinking how good it was to see him again and how he’d like to have a good long talk.
“Who’s traveling with you?” he asked innocently.
“Oh, it’s nobody, nobody you’d be interested in. It’s just—”
“It doesn’t matter. Let’s go somewhere where we can talk.”
As they walked away from the inn, Musashi asked, “What are you doing for a living?”
“Work, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t have any special talents or skills, so it’s hard to get a position with a daimyō. I guess I can’t say I do anything in particular.”
“You mean you’ve been loafing all these years?” asked Musashi, vaguely suspecting the truth.
“Stop it. Saying things like that brings back all sorts of unpleasant memories.” His mind seemed to drift back to those days in the shadow of Mount Ibuki. “Where I made my great mistake was in taking up with Okō.”
“Let’s sit down,” said Musashi, crossing his legs and dropping to the grass. He felt a twinge of exasperation. Why did Matahachi persist in considering himself inferior? And why did he attribute his troubles to others? “You blame everything on Okō,” he said firmly, “but is that any way for a full-grown man to talk? Nobody can create a worthwhile life for you but you yourself.”
“I admit I was wrong, but … how can I put it? I just don’t seem able to alter n y fate.”
“In times like these, you’ll never get anywhere thinking that way. Go to Edo if you want, but when you get there, you’re going to find people from all over the country, everyone hungry for money and position. You won’t make a name for yourself just doing what the next man does. You’ll have to distinguish yourself in some way.”
“I should have taken up swordsmanship when I was young.”
“Now that you mention it, I wonder if you’re cut out to be a swordsman. Anyway, you’re just starting out. Maybe you should think of becoming a scholar. I suspect that’d be the best way for you to find a position with a daimyō.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll do something.” Matahachi broke off a blade of grass and put it between his teeth. His shame weighed him down. It was mortifying to realize what five years of idleness had done. He’d been able to brush off stories he’d heard about Musashi with comparative ease; confronting him in the flesh like this drove home the contrast between them. In Musashi’s overpowering presence, Matahachi had trouble remembering they had once been the best of friends. Even the man’s dignity was somehow oppressive. Neither envy nor his competitive urge could save him from the painful awareness of his own inadequacy.
“Cheer up!” said Musashi. But even as he slapped Matahachi on the shoulder, he sensed the man’s weakness. “What’s done is done. Forget about the past,” he urged. “If you killed five years, so what? All it means is you’re starting out five years later. Those five years may in their own way hold a valuable lesson.”
“They were lousy.”
“Oh, I forgot! I just left your mother a little while ago.”
“You saw my mother?”
“Yes. I must say, I can’t understand why you weren’t born with more of her strength and tenacity.” Nor, he thought to himself, could he understand why Osugi had a son like this, so shiftless and full of self-pity. He felt like shaking him and reminding him how lucky he was to have a mother at all. Staring at Matahachi, he asked himself how Osugi’s wrath could be assuaged. The answer came immediately: if Matahachi would only make something of himself …
“Matahachi,” he said solemnly. “Why, when you have a mother like yours, don’t you try to do something to make her happy? Having no parents, I can’t help feeling you’re not as grateful as you ought to be.