Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [386]
The diminutive Sengen Shrine marked the pinnacle of the rocky eminence that stood out like a carbuncle on the plateau. This was the highest point in the Shiojiri area.
Musashi’s sleep was interrupted by the sound of voices. “Come up here,” shouted one man. “You can see Mount Fuji.” Musashi sat up and looked around without seeing anyone.
The morning light was dazzling. And there, floating on a sea of clouds, was the red cone of Mount Fuji, still wearing its winter mantle of snow. The sight brought a childish cry of delight to his lips. He had seen paintings of the famous mountain and had a mental image of it, but this was the first time he had actually seen it. It was nearly a hundred miles away but seemed to be on the same level as he was.
“Magnificent,” he sighed, making no effort to wipe the tears from his unblinking eyes.
He felt awed by his own tininess, saddened by the thought of his insignificance in the vastness of the universe. Since his victory at the spreading pine, he had secretly dared to think there were few, if any, men as well qualified as he was to be called great swordsmen. His own life on earth was short, limited; the beauty and splendor of Mount Fuji eternal. Annoyed and a little depressed, he asked himself how he could possibly attach any importance to his accomplishments with the sword.
There was an inevitability in the way nature rose majestically and sternly above him; it was in the order of things that he was doomed to remain beneath it. He fell on his knees before the mountain, hoping his presumptuousness would be forgiven, and clasped his hands in prayer—for his mother’s eternal rest and for the safety of Otsū and Jōtarō. He expressed his thanks to his country and begged to be allowed to become great, even if he could not share nature’s greatness.
But even as he knelt, different thoughts came rushing into his mind. What had made him think man was small? Wasn’t nature itself big only when it was reflected in human eyes? Didn’t the gods themselves come into existence only when they communicated with the hearts of mortals? Men—living spirits, not dead rock—performed the greatest actions of all.
“As a man,” he told himself, “I am not so distant from the gods and the universe. I can touch them with the three-foot sword I carry. But not so long as I feel there is a distinction between nature and humankind. Not so long as I remain distant from the realm of the true expert, the fully developed man.”
His contemplation was interrupted by the chattering of some merchants who had climbed up near where he was and were gazing at the peak.
“They were right. You can see it.”
“But it’s not often you can bow before the sacred mountain from here.”
Travelers moved in antlike streams in both directions, laden with a kaleidoscopic array of luggage. Sooner or later Daizō and Jōtarō would come up the hill. If by chance he failed to pick them out from among the other travelers, surely they would see the sign he had left at the foot of the cliff: “To Daizō of Narai. I wish to see you when you pass through. I shall wait at the shrine up above. Musashi, Jōtarō’s teacher.”
The sun was well above the horizon now. Musashi had been watching the road like a hawk, but there was no sign of Daizō. On the other side of the pass, the road divided into three. One went through Kōshū straight to Edo. Another, the main route, crossed Usui Pass and entered Edo from the north. The third veered off to the northern provinces. Whether Daizō was going north to the Zenkōji or east to Edo, he would have to use this pass. Still, as Musashi realized, people did not always move as one might expect. The wholesaler could have gone somewhere well off the beaten path, or he could be spending an extra night at the foot of the mountain. Musashi decided it might not be a bad idea to go back there and ask about Daizō.
As he started down the path cut into the cliffside, he heard a familiar raucous voice say, “There he is, up there!” It brought to mind instantly the staff that had grazed his body two