Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [452]
When the boat reached the Edo side and they all piled out, a short, heavyset man called to Musashi, “Hey, you. The rōnin. You forgot something.” He held out a reddish brocade pouch, so old that the dirt seemed to shine more brightly than the few gold threads left in it.
Musashi, shaking his head, said, “It’s not mine. It must belong to one of the other passengers.”
Iori piped up, “It’s mine,” snatched the pouch from the man’s hand and stuffed it into his kimono.
The man was indignant. “What’re you doing, grabbing like that! Give it here! Then you’re going to bow three times before you get it back. If you don’t, you’re going to get thrown in the river!”
Musashi intervened, asking the man to excuse Iori’s rudeness because of his age.
“What are you?” the man asked roughly. “Brother? Master? What’s your name!”
“Miyamoto Musashi.”
“What!” exclaimed the ruffian, staring hard at Musashi’s face. After a moment he said to Iori, “You’d better be more careful from now on.” Then, as though eager to escape, he turned away.
“Just a moment,” said Musashi. The gentleness of his tone took the man completely by surprise.
He whirled around, his hand going to his sword. “What do you want?” “What’s your name?”
“What’s it to you?”
“You asked mine. As a matter of courtesy, you should tell me yours.” “I’m one of Hangawara’s men. My name’s Jūrō.”
“All right. You can go,” said Musashi, pushing him away.
“I won’t forget that!” Jūrō stumbled a few steps before he found his feet and fled.
“Serves him right, the coward,” said Iori. Satisfied that he’d been vindicated, he looked up worshipfully at Musashi’s face and moved closer to him.
As they walked into the city, Musashi said, “Iori, you have to realize that living here is not like being out in the country. There, we had only foxes and squirrels for neighbors. Here, there’re lots of people. You’ll have to be more careful about your manners.”
“Yes, sir.”
“When people live together in harmony, the earth is a paradise,” Musashi went on gravely. “But every man has a bad side as well as a good side. There are times when only the bad comes out. Then the world’s not paradise, but hell. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes, I think so,” said Iori, more subdued now.
“There’s a reason we have manners and etiquette. They keep us from letting the bad side take over. This promotes social order, which is the objective of the government’s laws.” Musashi paused. “The way you acted … It was a trivial matter, but your attitude couldn’t help but make the man angry. I’m not at all happy about it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I don’t know where we’ll be going from here. But wherever we are, you’d better follow the rules and act courteously.”
The boy bobbed his head a couple of times and made a small, stiff bow. They walked on in silence for a short while.
“Sir, would you carry my pouch for me? I don’t want to lose it again.” Accepting the small brocade bag, Musashi inspected it closely before tucking it into his kimono. “Is this the one your father left you?”
“Yes, sir. I got it back from the Tokuganji at the beginning of the year. The priest didn’t take any of the money. You can use some of it if you need to.” “Thanks,” Musashi said lightly. “I’ll take good care of it.”
“He has a talent I don’t have,” mused Musashi, thinking ruefully of his own indifference to personal finances. The boy’s innate prudence had taught Musashi the meaning of economics. He appreciated the boy’s trust and was growing fonder of him by the day. He looked forward with enthusiasm to the task of helping him develop his native intelligence.
“Where would you like to stay tonight?” he asked.
Iori, who had been looking at his new surroundings with great curiosity, remarked, “I see lots of horses over there. It looks like a marketplace, right here in town.” He spoke as though he had run across a long-lost friend in a strange country.
They had reached Bakurōchō, where there