Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [441]
“Careful you don’t catch cold. The night air is damp.”
“Oh, leave me alone. This body’s survived a few battles. It can hold its own against a sneeze or two. But just smell those ripe blossoms! Nice fragrance, isn’t it?”
“I don’t smell anything.”
“Don’t you? If your sense of smell is that poor … you sure you don’t have a cold yourself?”
They were engrossed in this kind of seemingly light banter when suddenly the frogs fell silent, and a loud voice shouted, “You devil! What’re you doing here, staring into the guest room?”
Sado’s bodyguards were on their feet instantly.
“What is it?”
“Who’s out there?”
As their cautious eyes scanned the garden, the clatter of small feet receded in the direction of the kitchen.
A priest looked in from the veranda, bowed and said, “Sorry for the disturbance. It’s only one of the local children. There’s nothing to worry about.” “Are you sure?”
“Yes, of course. He lives a couple of miles from here. His father worked as a groom, until he died recently, but his grandfather is said to have been a samurai, and every time he sees one, he stops and stares—with his finger in his mouth.”
Sado sat up. “You mustn’t be too hard on him. If he wants to be a samurai, bring him in. We’ll have some sweets and talk it over.”
By now Iori had reached the kitchen. “Hey, Granny,” he shouted. “I’ve run out of millet. Fill this up for me, will you?” The sack he thrust out to the wrinkled old woman who worked in the kitchen would have held half a bushel.
She shouted right back. “Watch your tongue, you beggar! You talk as if we owe you something.”
“You’ve got a lot of nerve to begin with!” said a priest who was washing dishes. “The head priest took pity on you, so we’re giving you food, but don’t be insolent. When you’re asking a favor, do it politely.”
“I’m not begging. I gave the priest the pouch my father left me. There’s money in it, plenty of money.”
“And how much could a groom living out in the sticks leave his son?” “Are you going to give me the millet? Yes or no?”
“There you go again. Just look at yourself. You’re crazy, taking orders from that fool rōnin. Where did he come from anyway? Who is he? Why should he be eating your food?”
“None of your business.”
“Hmph. Digging around in that barren plain where there’s never going to be a field or a garden or anything else! The whole village is laughing at you.”
“Who asked for your advice?”
“Whatever’s wrong with that rōnin’s head must be catching. What do you expect to find up there—a pot of gold, like in a fairy tale? You’re not even dry behind the ears, and you’re already digging your own grave.”
“Shut up and give me the millet. The millet! Now.”
The priest was still teasing Iori a couple of minutes later when something cold and slimy hit his face. His eyes popped, then he saw what it was—a warty toad. He screamed and lunged for Iori, but just as he collared him, another priest arrived to announce that the boy was wanted in the samurai’s room.
The head priest had also heard the commotion and rushed to the kitchen. “Did he do something to upset our guest?” he asked worriedly.
“No. Sado just said he’d like to talk to him. He’d like to give him some sweets too.”
The head priest hurriedly took Iori by the hand and delivered him personally to Sado’s room.
As Iori timidly sat down beside the priest, Sado asked, “How old are you?”
“Thirteen.”
“And you want to become a samurai?”
“That’s right,” replied Iori, nodding vigorously.
“Well, well. Why don’t you come and live with me, then? You’d have to help with the housework at the beginning, but later I’d make you one of the apprentice samurai.”
Iori shook his head silently. Sado, taking this for bashfulness, assured him that the offer was serious.
Iori, flashing an angry look, said, “I heard you wanted to give me some sweets. Where are they?”
Paling, the head priest slapped him on the wrist.
“Don’t scold him,” Sado said reprovingly. He liked children and tended to indulge them. “He’s right. A man