Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [479]
His eyebrows arching in disapproval at this display of familiarity, Musashi said gravely, “Iori.”
The boy’s legs quickly shot back to their proper place under him. “Yes, sir.” “Even if you did get lost, don’t you think three days is a rather long time? What happened?”
“I was bewitched by a fox.”
“A fox?”
“Yes, sir, a fox.”
“How could a boy like you, born and raised in the country, be bewitched by a fox?”
“I don’t know, but afterward I couldn’t remember where I’d been for half a day and half a night.”
“Hmm. Very strange.”
“Yes, sir. I thought so myself. Maybe foxes in Edo have it in for people more than the ones in the country do.”
“I suspect that’s true.” Taking into account the boy’s seriousness, Musashi did not have the heart to scold him, but he did feel it necessary to pursue his point. “I also suspect,” he continued, “you were up to something you shouldn’t have been up to.”
“Well, the fox was following me, and to keep it from bewitching me, I cut it with my sword. Then the fox punished me for that.”
“No, it didn’t.”
“Didn’t it?”
“No. It wasn’t the fox punishing you; it was your own conscience, which is invisible. Now, you sit there and think about that for a while. When I come back, you can tell me what you think it means.”
“Yes, sir. Are you going somewhere?”
“Yes; to a place near the Hirakawa Shrine in Kōjimachi.”
“You’ll be back by evening, won’t you?”
“Ha, ha. I should be, unless a fox gets me.”
Musashi departed, leaving Iori to ponder his conscience. Outside, the sky was obscured by the dull, sullen clouds of the summer rainy season.
The Deserted Prophet
The forest around the Hirakawa Tenjin Shrine was alive with the hum of cicadas. An owl hooted as Musashi walked from the gate to the entrance hall of the Obata house.
“Good day!” he called, but his greeting echoed back as though from an empty cavern.
After a time, he heard footsteps. The young samurai who emerged wearing his two swords was clearly no mere underling assigned to answer the door.
Without bothering to kneel, he said, “May I ask your name?” Though no more than twenty-four or -five, he gave the impression of being someone to be reckoned with.
“My name is Miyamoto Musashi. Am I correct in thinking this is Obata Kagenori’s academy of military science?”
“That’s right,” came the reply, in clipped tones. From the samurai’s manner, it was evident he expected Musashi to explain how he was traveling around to perfect his knowledge of the martial arts, and so on.
“One of the students from your school has been wounded in a fight,” said Musashi. “He’s now being cared for by the sword polisher Zushino Kōsuke, whom I believe you know. I came at Kōsuke’s request.”
“It must be Shinzō!” There were fleeting signs of severe shock, but the youth recovered immediately. “Forgive me. I’m Kagenori’s only son, Yogorō. Thank you for taking the trouble to come and tell us. Is Shinzō’s life in danger?”
“He seemed better this morning, but it’s still too early for him to be moved. I think it’d be wise to let him stay at Kōsuke’s house for the time being.”
“I hope you’ll convey our thanks to Kōsuke.”
“I’d be happy to.”
“To tell the truth, since my father is bedridden, Shinzō was lecturing in his stead, until last fall when he suddenly left. As you can see, there’s almost nobody here now. I regret we’re not able to receive you properly.”
“Of course; but tell me, is there a feud going on between your school and Sasaki Kojirō?”
“Yes. I was away when it started, so I don’t know all the details, but apparently Kojirō insulted my father, which of course incited the students. They took it upon themselves to punish Kojirō, but he killed several of them. As I understand it, Shinzō left because he finally came to the conclusion that he himself should take revenge.”
“I see. It’s beginning to make sense. I’d like to give you a bit of advice. Don’t fight Kojirō. He can’t be beaten by ordinary sword techniques, and