Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [416]
The two workmen, along with others who had congregated in the meantime, signified their assent. Some of the laborers promised that they would see to it that the thief got his share of ridicule. It wasn’t just samurai who feared public exposure of their misdeeds or weaknesses. Even for ordinary townspeople in these times, to be laughed at was the worst of all punishments.
Punishing criminals without reference to law was a firmly established practice. In the days when the warriors were too busy with warfare to maintain order, townsmen had, for the sake of their own safety, taken it upon themselves to deal with miscreants. Though Edo now had an official magistrate and a system was developing whereby leading citizens in each district functioned as government representatives, the summary administration of justice still occurred. With conditions still being a bit chaotic, the authorities saw little reason to interfere.
“Ushi,” said Yajibei, “take the old lady her purse. Too bad this had to happen to somebody her age. She seems to be all alone. What happened to her kimono?”
“She says she washed it and hung it up to dry.”
“Go get it for her, then bring her along. We might as well take her home with us. There’s little point in punishing the thief if we’re going to leave her here for some other ruffian to prey on.”
Moments later, Yajibei strode away. Ushi was close behind, the kimono over his arm and Osugi on his back.
They soon reached Nihombashi, the “Bridge of Japan” from which all distances along the roads leading out of Edo were now measured. Stone parapets supported the wooden arch, and since the bridge had been constructed only about a year before, the railings still preserved a feeling of newness. Boats from Kamakura and Odawara were moored along one riverbank. On the other was the city’s fish market.
“Oh, my side hurts,” Osugi said with a loud groan.
The fishmongers looked up to see what was going on.
Being gaped at was not to Yajibei’s liking. Glancing back at Osugi, he said, “We’ll be there soon. Try to hold on. Your life’s not in danger.”
Osugi laid her head on Ushi’s back and became as quiet as a baby.
In the downtown area, tradesmen and artisans had formed their own neighborhoods. There was a blacksmiths’ district, one for lance-makers, others for dyers, tatami weavers, and so on. Yajibei’s house stood out prominently from those of the other carpenters because the front half of the roof was covered with tiles; all the other houses had board roofs. Until a fire a couple of years before, nearly all the roofs had been made of thatch. As it happened, Yajibei had acquired what passed for his surname from his roof, Hangawara meaning “half tiled.”
He had come to Edo as a rōnin, but being both clever and warmhearted, he had proved to be a skillful manager of men. Before long he set himself up as a contractor employing a sizable crew of carpenters, roofers and unskilled workers. From building projects carried out for various daimyō, he acquired enough capital to branch out into the real estate business as well. Too affluent now to have to work with his own hands, he played the role of local boss. Among Edo’s numerous self-appointed bosses, Yajibei was one of the best known and most highly respected.
The townspeople looked up to the bosses as well as to the warriors, but of the two, the bosses were the more highly admired, because they usually stood up for the common people. Although those of Edo had a style and spirit of their own, the bosses were not unique to the new capital. Their history went back to the troubled latter days of the Ashikaga shogunate, when gangs of thugs roamed the countryside like prides of lions, pillaging at will and submitting to no restraints.
According to a writer of that era, they wore little more than vermilion loincloths and wide stomach wrappers. Their long swords were very long—nearly four feet—and even their short swords were more than two feet in length. Many used other weapons, of a cruder type, such as battle-axes