Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [478]
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“Upstairs, where my teacher is. Something wrong?”
“More than you know,” replied the woman with an exasperated glance. “Just when did you leave here?”
Counting on his fingers, Iori answered, “The day before the day before yesterday, I think.”
“Three days ago, wasn’t it?”
“That’s right.”
“You certainly took your time, didn’t you? What happened? Did a fox bewitch you or something?”
“How’d you know? You must be a fox yourself.” Giggling at his own riposte, he started for the top of the stairs again.
“Your teacher’s not here anymore.”
“I don’t believe you.” He ran up the stairs, but soon came back with a dismayed look on his face. “Has he changed rooms?”
“What’s the matter with you? I told you he left.”
“Really gone?” There was alarm in the boy’s voice.
“If you don’t believe me, look at the account book. See?”
“But why? Why would he leave before I got back?”
“Because you were gone too long.”
“But … but …” Iori burst into tears. “Where did he go? Please tell me.” “He didn’t tell me where he was going. I imagine he left you behind because you’re so useless.”
His color changing, Iori charged out into the street. He looked east, west, then he gazed up at the sky. Tears poured down his cheeks.
Scratching the bald spot with a comb, the woman broke into raucous laughter. “Stop your bawling,” she called. “I was only fooling. Your teacher’s staying at the sword polisher’s, over there.” She had barely finished speaking when a straw horseshoe came sailing into the office.
Meekly, Iori sat down in formal fashion at Musashi’s feet and in a subdued voice announced, “I’m back.”
He’d already noticed the atmosphere of gloom hanging over the house. The wood chips had not been cleaned up, and the burned-out lamp was still sitting where it had been the night before.
“I’m back,” Iori repeated, no more loudly than before.
“Who is it?” mumbled Musashi, slowly opening his eyes.
“Iori.”
Musashi sat up quickly. Although relieved to see the boy back safe, his only greeting was: “Oh, it’s you.”
“I’m sorry I took so long.” This met with silence. “Forgive me.” Neither his apology nor a polite bow elicited a response.
Musashi tightened his obi and said, “Open the windows and tidy up the room.”
He was out the door before Iori had time to say, “Yes, sir.”
Musashi went to the room downstairs at the back and asked Kōsuke how the invalid was this morning.
“He seems to be resting better.”
“You must be tired. Shall I come back after breakfast so you can have a rest?”
Kōsuke answered that there was no need. “There is one thing I would like to see done,” he added. “I think we should let the Obata School know about this, but I don’t have anybody to send.”
Having offered to either go himself or send Iori, Musashi went back to his own room, which was now in good order. As he sat down, he said, “Iori, was there an answer to my letter?”
Relieved at not being scolded, the boy broke into a smile. “Yes, I brought a reply. It’s right here.” With a look of triumph, he fished the letter from his kimono.
“Let me have it.”
Iori advanced on his knees and placed the folded paper in Musashi’s outstretched hand. “I am sorry to say,” Sukekurō had written, “that Lord Munenori, as tutor to the shōgun, cannot engage in a bout with you, as you requested. If, however, you should visit us for some other purpose, there is a possibility that his lordship may greet you in the dōjō. If you still feel strongly about trying your hand against the Yagyū Style, the best plan, I think, would be for you to confront Yagyū Hyōgo. I regret to say, however, that he left yesterday for Yamato to be at the bedside of Lord Sekishūsai, who is gravely ill. Such being the case, I must ask you to postpone your visit until a later day. I shall be happy to make arrangements at that time.”
As he slowly refolded the lengthy scroll, Musashi smiled. Iori, feeling more secure, extended his legs comfortably and said, “The house is not in Kobikichō; it’s