Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [473]
She carefully tucked a letter to Matahachi into the sash under her obi, together with a copy of the Sutra on the Great Love of Parents. There was also a second letter, which she always carried in a small money pouch; this said: “Though I am old, it has become my lot to wander about the country in an effort to realize one great hope. There is no way of knowing but that I may be slain by my sworn enemy or die of illness by the wayside. Should this be my fate, I ask the officials and people of goodwill to use the money in this purse to send my body home. Sugi, widow of Hon’iden, Yoshino Village, Mimasaka Province.”
With her sword in place, her shins wrapped in white leggings, fingerless gloves on her hands and a blind-stitched obi snugly holding her sleeveless kimono in place, her preparations were nearly complete. Placing a bowl of water on her writing table, she knelt before it and said, “I’m going now.” She then closed her eyes and sat motionless, addressing her thoughts to Uncle Gon.
Jūrō opened the shoji a crack and peeked in. “Are you ready?” he asked. “It’s about time we were leaving. Kojirō’s waiting.”
“I’m ready.”
Joining the others, she went to the place of honor they had left open for her before the alcove. The Acolyte took a cup from the table, put it in Osugi’s hand and carefully poured her a cupful of sake. Then he did the same for Kojirō and Jūrō. When each of the four had drunk, they extinguished the lamp and set forth.
Quite a few of the Hangawara men clamored to be taken along, but Kojirō refused, since a large group would not only attract attention but encumber them in a fight.
As they were going out the gate, one young man called to them to wait. He then struck sparks from a flint to wish them luck. Outside, under a sky murky with rain clouds, nightingales were singing.
As they made their way through the dark, silent streets, dogs started barking, set off, perhaps, by some instinctive sense that these four human beings were on a sinister mission.
“What’s that?” Koroku asked, staring back along a narrow lane. “Did you see something?”
“Somebody’s following us.”
“Probably one of the fellows from the house,” said Kojirō. “They were all so eager to come with us.”
“They’d rather brawl than eat.”
They turned a corner, and Kojirō stopped under the eaves of a house, saying, “Kōsuke’s shop’s around here, isn’t it?” Their voices dropped to whispers. “Down the street, there, on the other side.”
“What do we do now?” asked Koroku.
“Proceed according to plan. The three of you hide in the shadows. I’ll go to the shop.”
“What if Musashi tries to sneak out the back door?”
“Don’t worry. He’s no more likely to run away from me than I am from him. If he ran away, he’d be finished as a swordsman.”
“Maybe we should position ourselves on opposite sides of the house anyway—just in case.”
“All right. Now, as we agreed, I’ll bring Musashi outside and walk along with him. When we get near Osugi, I’ll draw my sword and take him by surprise. That’s the time for her to come out and strike.”
Osugi was beside herself with gratitude. “Thank you, Kojirō. You’re so good to me. You must be an incarnation of the great Hachiman.” She clasped her hands and bowed, as if before the god of war himself.
In his heart, Kojirō was thoroughly convinced that he was doing the right thing. Indeed, it is doubtful that ordinary mortals could imagine the vastness of his self-righteousness at the moment he stepped up to Kōsuke’s door.
At the beginning, when Musashi and Kojirō had been very young, full of spirit and eager to demonstrate their superiority, there had existed no deep-seated cause for enmity between them. There had been rivalry, to be sure, but only the friction that normally arose between two strong and almost equally matched fighters. What had subsequently rankled with Kojirō was seeing Musashi gradually gaining