Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [457]
reading the characters?”
“No. You’ll notice it doesn’t say a word about polishing swords. My business is polishing the souls of the samurai who come in, not their weapons. People don’t understand, but that’s what I was taught when I studied sword polishing.”
“I see,” said Musashi, although he didn’t really.
“Since I try to abide by my master’s teachings, I refuse to polish the swords of samurai who take pleasure in killing people.”
“Well, you have a point there. But tell me, who was this master of yours?”
“That’s written on the sign too. I studied in the House of Hon’ami, under Hon’ami Kōetsu himself.” Kōsuke squared his shoulders proudly as he uttered his master’s name.
“That’s interesting. I happen to have made the acquaintance of your master and his excellent mother, Myōshū.” Musashi went on to tell how he had met them in the field near the Rendaiji and later spent a few days at their house.
Kōsuke, astonished, scrutinized him closely for a moment. “Are you by any chance the man who caused a great stir in Kyoto some years ago by defeating the Yoshioka School at Ichijōji? Miyamoto Musashi was the name, I believe.”
“That is my name.” Musashi’s face reddened slightly.
Kōsuke moved back a bit and bowed deferentially, saying, “Forgive me. I shouldn’t have been lecturing you. I had no idea I was talking to the famous Miyamoto Musashi.”
“Don’t give it a second thought. Your words were very instructive. Kōetsu’s character comes through in the lessons he teaches his disciples.”
“As I’m sure you know, the Hon’ami family served the Ashikaga shōguns. From time to time they’ve also been called upon to polish the Emperor’s swords. Kōetsu was always saying that Japanese swords were created not to kill or injure people but to maintain the imperial rule and protect the nation, to subdue devils and drive out evil. The sword is the samurai’s soul; he carries it for no other purpose than to maintain his own integrity. It is an ever-present admonition to the man who rules over other men and seeks in doing so to follow the Way of Life. It’s only natural that the craftsman who polishes the sword must also polish the swordsman’s spirit.”
“How true,” agreed Musashi.
“Kōetsu said that to see a good sword is to see the sacred light, the spirit of the nation’s peace and tranquility. He hated touching a bad sword. Even being near one used to nauseate him.”
“I see. Are you saying you sensed something evil in my sword?”
“No, not in the least. I just felt a little depressed. Since coming to Edo, I’ve worked on any number of weapons, but none of their owners seem to have an inkling of the sword’s true meaning. I sometimes doubt they have souls to polish. All they care about is quartering a man or splitting his head open—helmet and all. It got so tiresome. That’s why I put up a new sign a few days ago. It doesn’t seem to have had much effect, though.”
“And I came in asking for the same thing, didn’t I? I understand how you feel.”
“Well, that’s a beginning. Things may turn out a little differently with you. But frankly, when I saw that blade of yours, I was shocked. All those nicks and stains, stains made by human flesh. I thought you were just one more senseless rōnin, proud of himself for committing a number of meaningless murders.”
Musashi bowed his head. It was the voice of Kōetsu, coming from Kōsuke’s mouth. “I’m grateful for this lesson,” he said. “I’ve carried a sword since I was a boy, but I’ve never really given sufficient thought to the spirit that resides in it. In the future, I’ll pay heed to what you’ve said.”
Kōsuke appeared vastly relieved. “In that case, I’ll polish the sword for you. Or perhaps I should say I consider it a privilege for one in my profession to be able to polish the soul of a samurai like yourself.”
Twilight had faded, and the lights had been lit. Musashi decided it was time to go.
“Wait,” said Kōsuke. “Do you have another sword to carry while I’m working on this one?”
“No; I have