Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [391]
A couple of small vegetable plots lay between the pool and the road, where people and horses were coming and going with the usual noise and bustle. At a shop selling lamp oil and sundries, a samurai was purchasing straw sandals. Having selected a suitable pair, he sat down on a stool, took off his old ones and tied the new ones on.
“You must have heard about it,” he said to the shopkeeper. “It happened under the great spreading pine at Ichijōji near Kyoto. This rōnin took on the entire House of Yoshioka all by himself and fought with a spirit you rarely hear about anymore. I’m sure he passed this way. Are you certain you didn’t see him?”
For all his eagerness, the samurai seemed to know little about the man he was looking for, neither his age nor how he might be dressed. Disappointed when he received a negative reply, he repeated, “I must find him somehow,” two or three times while he finished tying his sandals.
The samurai, a man of about forty, was well dressed and sunburned from traveling. The hair at his temples stood out around the cords of his basket hat, and the toughness in his facial expression matched his manly build. Musashi suspected his body bore the marks and calluses that come from wearing armor. “I don’t remember ever seeing him before,” he thought. “But if he’s going around talking about the Yoshioka School, maybe he’s one of their students. The school’s had so many students; a few must have some backbone. They may be hatching another plot for revenge.”
When the man had completed his business and left, Musashi dried himself and put on his clothes, thinking the coast was clear. But when he walked out onto the highroad, he almost bumped into him.
The samurai bowed and, looking intently into his face, said, “Aren’t you Miyamoto Musashi?”
Musashi nodded, and the samurai, ignoring the suspicion written on his face, said, “I knew it.” After a short paean to his own perspicacity, he continued familiarly, “You can’t know how happy I am to meet you at last. I’ve had the feeling I’d run into you somewhere along the way.” Without pausing to give Musashi a chance to speak, he urged him to spend the night at the same inn with him. “Let me assure you,” he added, “you don’t have to worry about me. My status, if you’ll forgive me for saying so, is such that I usually travel with a dozen attendants and a change of horses. I’m a retainer of Date Masamune, the lord of Aoba Castle in Mutsu. My name is Ishimoda Geki.”
When Musashi passively accepted the invitation, Geki decided they would stay at the inn for daimyō and led him into the place.
“How about a bath?” he asked. “But of course, you’ve just had one. Well, make yourself comfortable while I take one. I’ll be back shortly.” He took off his traveling clothes, picked up a towel and left the room.
Though the man had a winning way about him, Musashi’s head was full of questions. Why would this well-placed warrior be looking for him? Why was he being so friendly?
“Wouldn’t you like to change into something more comfortable?” asked the maid, proffering one of the cotton-stuffed kimonos furnished to guests.
“No, thank you. I’m not sure I’ll be staying.”
Musashi stepped out onto the veranda. Behind him he heard the maid quietly setting the dinner trays. As he watched the ripples on the lake change from deep indigo to black, the image of Otsū’s sad eyes formed in his mind. “I suppose I’m not looking in the right place,” he thought. “Anyone evil enough to kidnap a woman certainly has the instinct to avoid towns.” He seemed to hear Otsū calling for help. Was it really all right to take the philosophic view that all things happen as a result of heaven’s will? Standing there doing nothing, he felt guilty.
Coming back from his bath, Ishimoda Geki apologized for having left him alone and sat down before his dinner tray. Noticing that Musashi still wore his own kimono, he asked, “Why don’t you change?”
“I’m comfortable in what