Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [39]
“What’s the condition?” said the captain warily.
“If I bring back the fugitive, you’ll let me decide his fate.”
“What do you mean by that?” The captain pulled at his mustache, a string of thoughts racing through his mind. How could he be sure that this strange monk wasn’t deceiving him completely? Although he spoke eloquently, it could be that he was completely insane. Could he be a friend of Takezō’s, an accomplice? Might he know where the man was hiding? Even if he didn’t, which was likely at this stage, there was no harm in leading him on, just to see whether he’d go through with this crazy scheme. He’d probably worm out of it at the last minute anyway. With this in mind, the captain nodded his assent. “All right, then. If you catch him, you can decide what to do with him. Now, what happens if you don’t find him in three days?”
“I’ll hang myself from the big cryptomeria tree in the garden.”
Early the next day, the temple’s manservant, looking extremely worried, came rushing into the kitchen, out of breath and half shouting: “Has Takuan lost his mind? I heard he promised to find Takezō himself!”
Eyes rounded.
“No!”
“Not really!”
“Just how does he plan to do it?”
Wisecracks and mocking laughter followed, but there was also an undercurrent of worried whispering.
When word reached the temple priest, he nodded sagely and remarked that the human mouth is the gateway to catastrophe.
But the person most genuinely disturbed was Otsū. Only the day before, the farewell note from Matahachi had hurt her more than news of his death could ever have. She had trusted her fiancé and had even been willing to suffer the formidable Osugi as a slave-driving motherin-law for his sake. Who was there to turn to now?
For Otsū, plunged into darkness and despair, Takuan was life’s one bright spot, her last ray of hope. The day before, weeping alone in the loom shed, she’d seized a sharp knife and cut to shreds the kimono cloth into which she’d literally woven her soul. She’d also considered plunging the fine blade into her own throat. Though she was sorely tempted to do so, Takuan’s appearance had finally driven that thought from her mind. After soothing her and getting her to agree to pour the captain’s sake, he’d patted her on the back. She could still feel the warmth of his strong hand as he led her out of the loom shed.
And now he’d made this insane agreement.
Otsū wasn’t nearly as concerned over her own safety as she was over the possibility that her only friend in the world might be lost to her because of his silly proposal. She felt lost and utterly depressed. Her common sense alone told her it was ridiculous to think that she and Takuan could locate Takezō in so short a time.
Takuan even had the audacity to exchange vows with Scraggly Beard before the shrine of Hachiman, the god of war. After he returned, she took him severely to task for his rashness, but he insisted there was nothing to worry about. His intention, he said, was to relieve the village of its burden, to make travel on the highways safe once more and to prevent any further waste of human life. In view of the number of lives that could be saved by quickly apprehending Takezō, his own seemed unimportant, she must see that. He also told her to get as much rest as she could before the evening of the following day, when they would depart. She was to come along without complaint, trusting in his judgment completely. Otsū was too distraught to resist, and the alternative of staying behind and worrying was even worse than the thought of going.
Late the following afternoon, Takuan was still napping with the cat in the corner of the main temple building. Otsū’s face was hollow. The priest, the manservant, the acolyte—everybody had tried to persuade her not to go. “Go and hide” was their practical advice, but Otsū, for reasons she herself could hardly fathom, didn’t feel the least inclined to do so.
The sun was sinking fast, and the dense shadows of evening had begun to envelop the crevices in the mountain range that marked the course of the