Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [488]
Osugi said, “We passed some on the way here. Everywhere they’re posted, people are standing around gossiping. It made me feel good to hear the things they’re saying about Musashi.”
“If he doesn’t answer the challenge, he’s finished as a samurai. The whole country’ll be laughing at him. That should be ample revenge for you, Granny.”
“Not on your life. Being laughed at isn’t going to get through to him. He’s shameless. And it won’t satisfy me either. I want to see him punished once and for all.”
“Ha, ha,” laughed Kojirō, amused by her tenacity. “You get older, but you never give up, do you? By the way, did you come about anything in particular?”
The old lady rearranged herself and explained that after more than two years with Hangawara she felt she should be moving on. It was not right for her to live on Yajibei’s hospitality indefinitely; besides, she was tired of mothering a houseful of roughnecks. She had seen a nice little place for rent in the vicinity of Yoroi Ferry.
“What do you think?” Her face was serious, questioning. “It doesn’t look like I’ll find Musashi soon. And I have a feeling Matahachi’s somewhere in Edo. I think I should have some money sent from home and stay on for a while. But by myself, as I said.”
There being no reason for Kojirō to object, he quickly agreed with her. His own connection with the Hangawara ménage, entertaining and useful at the beginning, was now a little embarrassing. It was certainly no asset to a rōnin looking for a master. He had already decided to discontinue the practice sessions.
Kojirō summoned one of Kakubei’s subordinates and had him bring a watermelon from the patch behind the house. They chatted while it was being cut and served, but before long he showed his guest out, his manner rather suggesting he preferred to have her out of the way before sundown.
When they had left, he himself swept his rooms and sprinkled the garden with well water. The morning glory and yam vines growing on the fence had reached the top and returned to the ground again, threatening to ensnare the foot of the stone water basin. Their white flowers waved in the evening breeze.
In his room again, he lay down and wondered idly if his host would be on duty that night at the Hosokawa house. The lamp, which would probably have been blown out by the wind anyway, was unlit. The light of the moon, rising beyond the bay, was already on his face.
At the bottom of the hill, a young samurai was breaking through the cemetery fence.
Kakubei stabled the horse he rode to and from the Hosokawa mansion at a florist’s shop at the foot of Isarago Hill.
This evening, curiously enough, there was no sign of the florist, who always came out promptly to take charge of the animal. Not seeing him inside the shop, Kakubei went around to the back and started to tether his horse to a tree. As he did so, the florist came running out from behind the temple.
Taking the reins from Kakubei’s hands, he panted, “Sorry, sir. There was a strange man in the cemetery, on his way up the hill. I shouted, told him there was no pathway there. He turned and stared at me—angry he was—then disappeared.” He paused for a moment, peered up into the dark trees and added worriedly, “Do you think he could be a burglar? They say a lot of daimyō houses have been broken into recently.”
Kakubei had heard the rumors, but he replied with a short laugh, “That’s all talk, nothing more. If the man you saw was a burglar, I daresay he was a petty thief or one of the rōnin who waylay people on the streets.”
“Well, we’re right here at the entrance to the Tōkaidō, and lots of travelers have been attacked by men fleeing to other provinces. It makes me nervous when I see suspicious-looking men around at night.”
“If anything happens, run up the hill and knock at my gate. The man staying with me is chafing at the bit, always complaining there’s never any action around here.”
“You mean Sasaki Kojirō? He’s got quite a reputation as a swordsman here in the neighborhood.”
Hearing this did Kakubei’s self-esteem no harm.