Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [375]
Otsū’s pulse was beating wildly, but realizing that the longer they stood there, the farther ahead Musashi would have gone, she got back on the cow.
As they started off, Jōtarō said, “I can’t figure it out. Until we got to the waterfall at Magome, we were all as friendly as could be. Since then, Musashi’s hardly said a word, and you haven’t been talking to him either. What’s the matter?”
When she said nothing, he went on: “Why is he walking on ahead of us? Why do we sleep in different rooms now? Did you have a fight or something?”
Otsū couldn’t bring herself to give him an honest answer, for she hadn’t been able to give herself one. Did all men treat women the way Musashi had treated her, openly trying to force his love on her? And why had she rejected him so vehemently? Her distress and confusion now were, in a way, more painful than the illness from which she had but recently recovered. The fountain of love that had comforted her for years had suddenly turned into a raging waterfall.
The memory of that other waterfall resounded in her ears, along with her own cry of distress and Musashi’s angry protest.
She could ask herself whether they would go on like this forever, never understanding each other, but why she was now trailing along behind him, trying not to lose sight of him, struck even her as illogical. Though, out of embarrassment, they kept apart and spoke rarely, Musashi showed no signs of breaking his promise to go with her to Edo.
At the Kōzenji they turned onto another road. There was a barrier at the top of the first hill. Otsū had heard that ever since the Battle of Sekigahara, government officials had been examining travelers, particularly women, on this road with great thoroughness. But Lord Karasumaru’s letter of introduction worked like a charm, and they passed the checkpoint without difficulty.
As they reached the last of the tea shops on the far side of the barrier, Jōtarō asked, “Otsū, what does ‘Fugen’ mean?”
“Fugen?”
“Yeah. Back there, in front of a tea shop, a priest pointed at you and said you ‘looked like Fugen on a cow.’ What does that mean?”
“I suppose he was referring to the Bodhisattva Fugen.”
“That’s the bodhisattva that rides on an elephant, isn’t it? In that case, I must be the Bodhisattva Monju. They’re always together.”
“A very gluttonous Monju, I should say.”
“Good enough for a crybaby Fugen!”
“Oh, you would say that!”
“Why are Fugen and Monju always together? They’re not a man and a woman.”
Intentionally or not, he was striking close again. Having heard much about these things while she was living at the Shippōji, Otsū could have answered the question in some detail, but she replied simply, “Monju represents wisdom, Fugen, devoted conduct.”
“Stop!” The voice was Matahachi’s and it came from behind them.
Sick with revulsion, Otsū thought: “The coward!” She turned and stared frigidly at him.
Matahachi glared back, his feelings more muddled than ever. At Nakatsugawa, it had been pure jealousy, but he’d continued to spy on Musashi and Otsū. When he saw that they were keeping apart, he interpreted this as an attempt to deceive people and imagined all sorts of scandalous goings-on when they were alone.
“Get down!” he commanded.
Otsū stared at the cow’s head, unable to speak. Her feeling toward him had settled once and for all into hatred and contempt.
“Come on, woman, get down!”
Though she burned with indignation, she spoke coldly. “Why? I have no business with you.”
“Is that so?” he growled menacingly, taking hold of her sleeve. “You may not have any business with me, but I have business with you. Get down!”
Jōtarō let go of the rope and shouted, “Leave her alone! If she doesn’t want to get off, why should she?” Holding his arms straight out, he butted Matahachi’s chest.
“What do you think you’re doing, you little bastard?” Thrown off balance, Matahachi readjusted his feet in his sandals and raised his shoulders threateningly. “I thought I’d seen your ugly face somewhere. You’re the tramp from