Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [387]
“Come down from there!” Gonnosuke shouted. Staff in hand, he glared at Musashi. “You ran away! You figured I’d challenge you and ducked out. Come down, fight me one more time!”
Musashi stopped between two rocks, leaned against one of them and stared silently at Gonnosuke.
Taking this to mean that he was not coming, Gonnosuke said to his mother, “Wait here. I’ll go up there and throw him down. Just watch.”
“Stop!” scolded his mother, who was astride the cow. “That’s what’s wrong with you. You’re impatient. You have to learn to read your enemy’s thoughts before you go flying into battle. Supposing he were to throw a big rock down on you, then what?”
Musashi could hear their voices, but the words were not clear. As far as he was concerned, he’d already won; he already understood how Gonnosuke used his staff. What he found upsetting was their bitterness and their desire for revenge. If Gonnosuke lost again, they would be that much more resentful. From his experience with the House of Yoshioka, he knew the folly of fighting bouts that led to even greater hostility. And then there was the man’s mother, in whom Musashi saw a second Osugi, a woman who loved her son blindly and would bear an eternal grudge against anyone who harmed him.
He turned around and began climbing.
“Wait!”
Held back by the strength of the old woman’s voice, Musashi stopped and turned around.
She dismounted and walked to the foot of the cliff. When she was sure she had his attention, she knelt, put both hands on the ground and bowed deeply.
Musashi had done nothing to cause her to humble herself before him, but he bowed back as best he could from the rocky path. His hand went out as though to help her up.
“Good samurai!” she cried. “I am ashamed to appear before you like this. I’m sure you have nothing but scorn for my stubbornness. But I’m not acting out of hate or spite or ill will. I ask you to take pity on my son. For ten years he’s practiced all by himself—no teachers, no friends, no truly worthy opponents. I beg you to give him another lesson in the art of fighting.”
Musashi listened silently.
“I would hate to see you part from us like this,” she continued emotionally. “My son’s performance two days ago was shoddy. If he doesn’t do something to prove his ability, neither he nor I will be able to face our ancestors. Right now he’s nothing more than a farmer who lost a fight. Since he’s had the good fortune to meet a warrior of your stature, it would be a shame for him not to profit from the experience. That’s why I’ve brought him here. I implore you to heed my pleas and accept his challenge.”
Her speech ended, she bowed again, almost as though she were worshiping at Musashi’s feet.
Coming down the hill, he took her hand and helped her back up onto the cow. “Gonnosuke,” he said, “take the rope. Let’s talk this over while we walk. I’ll consider whether I want to fight you or not.”
Musashi walked slightly ahead of them, and though he had suggested discussing the question, said not a word. Gonnosuke kept his eyes suspiciously on Musashi’s back, now and again absently flicking a switch at the cow’s legs. His mother looked anxious and worried.
When they had gone perhaps a mile, Musashi grunted and turned on his heel. “I’ll fight you,” he said.
Dropping the rope, Gonnosuke said, “Are you ready now?” He looked around to check his position, as if ready to have it out right then and there.
Ignoring him, Musashi addressed his mother. “Are you prepared for the worst? There’s not a whit’s difference between a bout like this and a fight to the death, even if the weapons are not the same.”
For the first time, the old woman laughed. “No need to tell me that. If he loses to a younger man like you, then he may as well give up the martial arts, and if he does that, there’d be no further point in living. If it turns out that way, I’ll bear you no grudge.”
“If that’s the way you feel, all right.” He picked up the rope Gonnosuke had thrown down. “If we stay on the road, there’ll be people in the way. Let’s tie the cow up, then I’ll