Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [408]
“I often heard Matahachi mention Otsū,” Akemi lied. “What kind of person is she?”
“She’s a very good person,” Jōtarō said soberly. “Sweet and gentle and considerate and pretty. I really like her.”
The threat Akemi felt hanging over her grew heavier, but she cloaked her feelings with a benign smile. “Is she really so wonderful?”
“Oh, yes. And she can do anything. She sings; she writes well. And she’s good at playing the flute.”
Now visibly ruffled, Akemi said, “I don’t see what good it does a woman to be able to play the flute.”
“If you don’t, you don’t, but everybody, even Lord Yagyū Sekishūsai, speaks
highly of Otsū. There’s only one little thing I don’t like about her.”
“All women have their faults. It’s just a question of whether they honestly
admit to them, the way I do, or try to hide them behind a ladylike pose.” “Otsū’s not like that. It’s just this one weakness of hers.”
“What’s that?”
“She’s always breaking into tears. She’s a regular crybaby.”
“Oh? Why is that?”
“She cries whenever she thinks of Musashi. That makes being around her pretty gloomy, and I don’t like it.” Jōtarō expressed himself with youthful abandon, heedless of the effect this might have.
Akemi’s heart, her whole body, was afire with raging jealousy. It showed in the depths of her eyes, even in the color of her skin. But she continued her interrogation. “Tell me, how old is she?”
“About the same.”
“You mean the same age as me?”
“Urn. But she looks younger and prettier.”
Akemi plunged on, hoping to turn Jōtarō against Otsū. “Musashi’s more masculine than most men. He must hate having to watch a woman carry on all the time. Otsū probably thinks tears will win a man’s sympathy. She’s like the girls working for the Sumiya.”
Jōtarō, very much irked, retorted, “That’s not true at all. In the first place, Musashi likes Otsū. He never shows his feelings, but he’s in love with her.”
Akemi’s flushed face grew bright crimson. She longed to throw herself into a river to quench the flames that were consuming her.
“Jōtarō, let’s go this way.” She pulled him toward a red light in a side street. “That’s a drinking place.”
“Well, what of it?”
“Women have no business in a place like that. You can’t go in there.”
“All of a sudden I have the urge to drink, and I can’t go in alone. I’d be embarrassed.”
“You’d be embarrassed. What about me?”
“They’ll have things to eat. You can have anything you want.”
At first glance, the shop seemed empty. Akemi walked right in, then, facing the wall rather than the counter, said, “Bring me some sake!”
One cup after another went down as fast as was humanly possible. Jōtarō, frightened by the quantity, tried to slow her down, but she elbowed him out of the way.
“Quiet!” she yelped. “What a nuisance you are! Bring some more sake! Sake!”
Jōtarō, insinuating himself between her and the sake jar, pleaded, “You’ve got to stop. You can’t go on drinking here like this.”
“Don’t worry about me,” she slurred. “You’re a friend of Otsū’s, aren’t you? I can’t stand women who try to win a man with tears!”
“Well, I dislike women who get drunk.”
“I’m so sorry, but how could a runt like you understand why I drink?” “Come on, just pay the bill.”
“You think I’ve got money?”
“Don’t you?”
“No. Maybe he can collect from the Sumiya. I’ve already sold myself to the master anyway.” Tears flooded her eyes. “I’m sorry … I’m really sorry.”
“Weren’t you the one who was making fun of Otsū for crying? Look at yourself.”
“My tears aren’t the same as hers. Oh, life’s too much trouble. I might as well be dead.”
With that, she stood up and lurched out into the street. The shopkeeper, having had other female customers like this