Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [439]
When they had finished eating, Iori brought out a book. Then, kneeling formally before his teacher, he said, “While we’re waiting for the water to go down so we can work, would you teach me some reading and writing?”
Musashi agreed. On such a dismal stormy day, it was a good way to pass the time. The book was a volume of the Analects of Confucius. Iori said it had been giyen to him at the temple.
“Do you really want to study?”
“Yes.”
“Have you done much reading?”
“No; only a little.”
“Who taught you?”
“My father.”
“What have you read?”
“The Lesser Learning.”
“Did you enjoy it?”
“Yes, very much,” he said eagerly, his eyes brightening.
“All right then. I’ll teach you all I know. Later on, you can find somebody better educated to teach you what I don’t know.”
They devoted the rest of the day to a study session, the boy reading aloud, Musashi stopping him to correct him or explain words he did not understand. They sat in utter concentration, oblivious of the storm.
The deluge lasted two more days, by which time there was no land visible anywhere.
On the following day, it was still raining. Iori, delighted, took out the book again and said, “Shall we begin?”
“Not today. You’ve had enough of reading for a while.”
“Why?”
“If you do nothing but read, you’ll lose sight of the reality around you. Why don’t you take the day off and play? I’m going to relax too.”
“But I can’t go outside.”
“Then just do like me,” said Musashi, sprawling on his back and crossing his arms under his head.
“Do I have to lie down?”
“Do what you want. Lie down, stand up, sit—whatever’s comfortable.”
“Then what?”
“I’ll tell you a story.”
“I’d like that,” said Iori, flopping down on his stomach and wiggling his legs in the air. “What kind of story?”
“Let me see,” said Musashi, going over the tales he had liked to hear as a child. He chose the one about the battles between the Genji and the Heike. All boys loved that.
Iori proved to be no exception. When Musashi came to the part about the Genji being defeated and the Heike taking over the country, the boy’s face became gloomy. He had to blink to keep from crying over Lady Tokiwa’s sad fate. But his spirits rose as he heard about Minamoto no Yoshitsune learning swordsmanship from the “long-nosed goblins” on Mount Kurama and later making his escape from Kyoto.
“I like Yoshitsune,” he said, sitting up. “Are there really goblins on Mount Kurama?”
“Maybe. Anyway, there’re people in this world who might as well be goblins. But the ones who taught Yoshitsune weren’t real goblins.”
“What were they?”
“Loyal vassals of the defeated Genji. They couldn’t come out in the open while the Heike were in power, so they stayed hidden in the mountains until their chance came.”
“Like my grandfather?”
“Yes, except he waited all his life, and his chance never came. After Yoshitsune grew up, the faithful Genji followers who had looked after him during his childhood got the opportunity they had prayed for.”
“I’ll have a chance to make up for my grandfather, won’t I?”
“Hmm. I think it’s possible. Yes, I really think so.”
He pulled Iori to him, lifted him up and balanced him on his hands and feet like a ball. “Now try being a great man!” He laughed.
Iori giggled, and stammered, “You … you’re a gob-goblin too! Stop … it. I’ll fa-fall.” He reached down and pinched Musashi’s nose.
On the eleventh day, it finally stopped raining. Musashi chafed to be out in the open, but it was another week before they were able to return to work under a bright sun. The field they had so arduously carved out of the wilderness had disappeared without a trace; in its place were rocks, and a river where none had been before. The water seemed to mock them just as the villagers had.
Iori, seeing no way to reclaim their loss, looked up and said, “This place is beyond hope. Let’s look for better land somewhere else.”
“No,” Musashi said firmly. “With the water drained off, this