Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [374]
Jōtarō sensed that her tears, which she made no effort to hide, were somehow not ordinary tears. And without really understanding what had happened, he felt it was of grave concern to Otsū. After a couple of minutes, he slipped quietly back to where the cow lay in the whitish grass and sprawled out beside her.
“At this rate, we’ll never get to Edo,” he said.
Book V • SKY
The Abduction
Beyond the pass, the snow on Mount Koma glistened in lancelike streaks, while on Mount Ontake, visible through the faintly reddish tree buds, it lay in scattered patches. The light green heralding the growing season seemed to shimmer along the highroad and in the fields.
Otsū daydreamed. Jōtarō was like a new plant—stubborn and hardy. It would take an awful lot to trample him, to keep him down for long. He was growing fast these days; occasionally she thought she caught a glimpse of the man he would one day be.
The line between rambunctiousness and insolence was a fine one, however, and even making allowances for his unorthodox upbringing, Otsū was growing more and more dismayed with Jōtarō’s behavior. His demands, particularly for food, were unending. Every time they came to a food shop, he stopped dead and wouldn’t budge until she’d bought him something.
After buying rice crackers at Suhara, she vowed, “This is the very last time.” But before they’d gone a mile farther, the crackers were gone, and he was claiming to be half starved. The next crisis was only just averted by stopping at a tea shop in Nezame for an early lunch; by the time they’d crossed another pass, he was famished again.
“Look, Otsū! That shop has dried persimmons. Shouldn’t we get some, just to carry with us?”
Pretending not to hear, Otsū rode on.
When they arrived at Fukushima, in Shinano Province, a place famous for the variety and abundance of its food products, it was midafternoon, about the time they were in the habit of having a snack.
“Let’s rest awhile,” he whined. “Please.”
She paid no attention.
“Come on, Otsū! Let’s have some of those rice cakes coated with soybean flour. The ones they make here are famous. Don’t you want any?” Since he now had hold of the cow’s rope, Otsū saw it was going to be difficult to get past the shop.
“Haven’t you had enough?” she said with annoyance.
The cow, as if in secret alliance with Jōtarō, stopped and began munching grass by the roadside.
“All right!” snapped Otsū. “If that’s the way you’re going to act, I’ll go on ahead and tell Musashi.” When she made as if to dismount, Jōtarō burst into laughter, knowing perfectly well she wouldn’t carry out her threat.
Her bluff called, Otsū resignedly got off the cow, and together they went into the open-sided lean-to in front of the shop. Jōtarō shouted an order for two servings, then went out to tether the cow.
When he returned, Otsū said, “You shouldn’t have ordered any for me. I’m not hungry.”
“You don’t want anything to eat?”
“No. People who eat too much turn into stupid pigs.”
“Ah, I guess I’ll have to eat yours too.”
“You are shameless!”
His mouth was too full for his ears to hear. Presently, however, he paused long enough to shift his wooden sword to his back, where it wouldn’t interfere with his expanding ribs. He began eating again, but all at once stuffed the last rice cake in his mouth and bolted for the exit.
“Through already?” Otsū called after him. She laid some money on the table and started to follow him, but he returned and roughly shoved her back inside.
“Wait!” he said excitedly. “I just saw Matahachi.”
“You couldn’t have.” She turned pale. “What would he be doing around here?”
“I have no idea. Didn’t you see him? He had on a basket hat, and he was staring straight at us.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Want me to bring him in here and prove it?”
“You’ll do no such thing!”
“Oh,