Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [474]
And now that Kojirō had taken it upon himself to become Osugi’s protector, the trend of events bore the unmistakable seal of fate.
“Kōsuke!” Kojirō rapped lightly on the door. “Are you awake?” Light seeped through a crack, but there was no other sign of life inside.
After a few moments, a voice asked, “Who’s there?”
“Iwama Kakubei gave you my sword to work on. I’ve come for it.” “The great long one—is that the one?”
“Open up and let me in.”
“Just a moment.”
The door slid open, and the two men eyed each other. Blocking the way, Kōsuke said curtly, “The sword’s not ready yet.”
“I see.” Kojirō brushed past Kōsuke and seated himself on the step leading up to the shop. “When will it be ready?”
“Well, let’s see….” Kōsuke rubbed his chin, pulling the corners of his eyes down and making his long face seem even longer.
Kojirō had the feeling he was being made fun of. “Don’t you think it’s taking an awful long time?”
“I told Kakubei very clearly I couldn’t promise when I’d finish.” “I can’t do without it much longer.”
“In that case, take it back.”
“What’s this?” Kojirō was taken aback. Artisans didn’t talk that way to samurai. But instead of trying to ascertain what might be behind the man’s attitude, he jumped to the conclusion that his visit had been anticipated. Thinking it best to act quickly, he said, “By the way, I heard Miyamoto Musashi, from Mimasaka, is staying here with you.”
“Where did you hear that?” Kōsuke said, looking anxious. “As it happens, he is staying with us.”
“Would you mind calling him? I haven’t seen him for a long time, since we were both in Kyoto.”
“What’s your name?”
“Sasaki Kojirō. He’ll know who I am.”
“I’ll tell him you’re here, but I don’t know whether he can see you or not.” “just a moment.”
“Yes?”
“Perhaps I’d better explain. I happened to hear at Lord Hosokawa’s house that a man of Musashi’s description was living here. I came with the idea of inviting Musashi out to drink a little and talk a little.”
“I see.” Kōsuke turned and went toward the back of the house.
Kojirō mulled over what to do if Musashi smelled a rat and refused to see him. Two or three stratagems came to mind, but before he had come to a decision, he was startled by a horrendous howling scream.
He jumped like a man who had been savagely kicked. He had miscalculated. His strategy had been seen through—not only seen through but turned against him. Musashi must have sneaked out the back door, gone around to the front and attacked. But who had screamed? Osugi? Jūrō? Koroku?
“If that’s the way it is …” thought Kojirō grimly, as he ran out into the street. Muscles taut, blood racing, in an instant he was ready for anything. “I have to fight him sooner or later anyway,” he thought. He had known this since that day at the pass on Mount Hiei. The time had come! If Osugi had already been struck down, Kojirō swore that Musashi’s blood would become an offering for the eternal peace of her soul.
He had covered about ten paces when he heard his name called from the side of the road. The painfully forced voice seemed to clutch at his running footsteps.
“Koroku, is that you?”
“I-I-I’ve b-been h-h-hit.”
“Jūrō! Where’s Jūrō?”
“H-him too.”
“Where is he?” Before the answer came, Kojirō spotted Jūrō’s blood-soaked form about thirty feet away. His entire body bristling with vigilance for his own safety, he thundered, “Koroku! Which way did Musashi go?”
“No … not … Musashi.” Koroku, unable to lift his head, rolled it from side to side.
“What are you saying? Are you telling me it wasn’t Musashi who attacked you?”
“Not … not … Musa—”
“Who was it?”
It was a question Koroku would never answer.
His thoughts in a turmoil,