Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [487]
The next morning, after listening to a lecture on the Chinese classics, he emerged from his study onto the veranda and caught sight of Sado in the garden. “Good morning, my elderly friend,” he called.
Sado turned and politely bowed his morning greeting.
“Are you still on the lookout?” asked Tadatoshi.
Puzzled by the question, Sado merely stared back.
“I mean, are you still keeping an eye out for Miyamoto Musashi?” “Yes, my lord.” Sado lowered his eyes.
“If you do find him, bring him here. I want to see what he’s like.”
Shortly after noon on the same day, Kakubei approached Tadatoshi at the archery range and pressed his recommendation of Kojirō.
As he picked up his bow, the Young Lord said quietly, “Sorry, I’d forgotten. Bring him any time you wish. I’d like to have a look at him. Whether he becomes a retainer or not is another matter, as you well know.”
Buzzing Insects
Seated in a back room of the small house Kakubei had lent him, Kojirō was examining the Drying Pole. After the incident with Hōjō Shinzō, he had requested Kakubei to press the craftsman for the return of the weapon. It had come back this morning.
“It won’t be polished, of course,” Kojirō had predicted, but in fact the sword had been worked on with an attention and care that were beyond his wildest hopes. From the blue-black metal, rippling like the current of a deep-running stream, there now sprang a brilliant white glow, the light of centuries past. The rust spots, which had seemed like leprous blemishes, were gone; the wavy tempering pattern between the blade’s edge and the ridge line, hitherto smudged with bloodstains, was now as serenely beautiful as a misty moon floating in the sky.
“It’s like seeing it for the first time,” marveled Kojirō. Unable to take his eyes from the sword, he didn’t hear the visitor calling from the front of the house: “Are you here? … Kojirō?”
This part of the hill had been given the name Tsukinomisaki because of the magnificent view it afforded of the rising moon. From his sitting room, Kojirō could see the stretch of bay from Shiba to Shinagawa. Across the bay, frothy clouds appeared to be on a level with his eyes. At this moment, the white of the distant hills and the greenish blue of the water seemed fused with the blade.
“Kojirō! Isn’t anybody here?” This time the voice came from the grass-woven side gate.
Coming out of his reverie, he shouted, “Who is it?” and returned the sword to its scabbard. “I’m in the back. If you want to see me, come around to the veranda.”
“Oh, here you are,” said Osugi, walking around to where she could see into the house.
“Well, this is a surprise,” said Kojirō cordially. “What brings you out on a hot day like this?”
“Just a minute. Let me wash my feet. Then we can talk.”
“The well’s over there. Be careful. It’s quite deep. You, boy—go with her and see she doesn’t fall in.” The man addressed as “boy” was a low-ranking member of Hangawara’s gang who had been sent along to guide Osugi.
After washing her sweaty face and rinsing her feet, Osugi entered the house and exchanged a few words of greeting. Noticing the pleasant breeze coming off the bay, she squinted and said, “The house is nice and cool. Aren’t you afraid you’ll get lazy, staying in a comfortable place like this?”
Kojirō laughed. “I’m not like Matahachi.”
The old woman blinked her eyes sadly but ignored the barb. “Sorry I didn’t bring you a real gift,” she said. “In place of one I’ll give you a sutra I copied.” As she handed him the Sutra on the Great Love of Parents, she added, “Please read it when you have time.”
After a perfunctory glance at her handiwork, Kojirō turned to her guide and said, “That reminds me. Did you put up the signs I wrote for you?”
“The ones telling Musashi to come out of hiding?”
“Yes, those.”
“It took us two whole days, but we put one up at almost