Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [472]
Keeping for themselves only that which is old and worn.
The child takes a bride
And brings this stranger into the house.
The parents become more distant.
The new husband and wife are intimate with each other.
They stay in their own room, talking happily with each other.”’
“That’s the way it works, all right,” broke in a voice.
“‘The parents grow old.
Their spirits weaken, their strength diminishes.
They have only the child to depend on,
Only his wife to do things for them.
But the child no longer comes to them,
Neither at night nor in the daytime.
Their room is cold.
There is no more pleasant talk.
They are like lonely guests at an inn.
A crisis arises, and they call their child.
Nine times in ten, he comes not,
Nor does he serve them.
He grows angry and reviles them,
Saying it would be better to die
Than to linger on unwanted in this world.
The parents listen, and their hearts are filled with rage.
Weeping, they say, “When you were young,
Without us, you would not have been born,
Without us, you could not have grown.
Ah! How we—””’
Jūrō broke off abruptly and threw the text aside. “I … I can’t. Somebody else read it.”
But there was no one to take his place. Lying on their backs, sprawled out on their bellies, sitting with their legs crossed and their heads drooping between their knees, they were as tearful as lost children.
Into the middle of this unlikely scene walked Sasaki Kojirō.
Spring Shower in Red
“Isn’t Yajibei here?” Kojirō asked loudly.
The gamblers were so absorbed in their play, and the weepers in their memories of childhood, that no one replied.
Going over to Jūrō, who was lying on his back with his arms over his eyes, Kojirō said, “May I ask what’s going on?”
“Oh, I didn’t know it was you, sir.” There was a hasty wiping of eyes and blowing of noses as Jūrō and the others pulled themselves to their feet and bowed sheepishly to their sword instructor.
“Are you crying?” he asked.
“Unh, yes. I mean, no.”
“You’re an odd one.”
While the others drifted off, Jūrō began telling about his chance encounter with Musashi, happy to have a subject that might distract Kojirō’s attention from the state of the young men’s room. “Since the boss is away,” he said, “we didn’t know what to do, so Osugi decided to go and talk to you.”
Kojirō’s eyes flared brightly. “Musashi’s putting up at an inn in Bakurōchō?”
“He was, but now he’s staying at Zushino Kōsuke’s house.”
“That’s an interesting coincidence.”
“Is it?”
“It just happens I sent my Drying Pole to Zushino to work on. As a matter of fact, it should be ready now. I came this way today to pick it up.”
“You’ve been there already?”
“Not yet. I thought I’d drop in here for a few minutes first.”
“That’s lucky. If you’d showed up suddenly, Musashi might have attacked you.”
“I’m not afraid of him. But how can I confer with the old lady when she’s not here?”
“I don’t imagine she’s reached Isarago yet. I’ll send a good runner to bring her back.”
At the council of war held that evening, Kojirō expressed the opinion that there was no reason to wait for Yajibei’s return. He himself would serve as Osugi’s second, so that she might, at long last, take her proper revenge. Jūrō and Koroku asked to go along too, more for the honor than to help. Though aware of Musashi’s reputation as a fighter, they never imagined he might be a match for their brilliant instructor.
Nothing could be done tonight, however. For all her enthusiasm, Osugi was dead tired and complained of a backache. They decided they would carry out their plan the following night.
The next afternoon, Osugi bathed under cold water, blackened her teeth and dyed her hair. At twilight, she made her preparations for battle, first donning a white underrobe she had bought to be buried in and had carried around with her for years. She had had it stamped for good luck at every shrine and temple she visited—Sumiyoshi Shrine in Osaka, Oyama Hachiman Shrine and Kiyomizudera in Kyoto, the Kannon Temple in Asakusa,