Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [497]
Matahachi stopped in his tracks.
“Is there anything wrong with that?” asked Kojirō.
“Well, my place is—it’s not the sort of place I’d want to take you to.”
Seeing the distressed look in Matahachi’s eyes, Kojirō said lightly, “Never mind. But one of these days soon you must come to see me. I’m staying with Iwama Kakubei, about halfway up Isarago Hill.”
“I’d like that.”
“By the way, did you see the signs posted around the city recently, the ones addressed to Musashi?”
“Yes.”
“They said your mother was looking for him too. Why don’t you go to see her?”
“Not the way I am now!”
“Idiot. You don’t have to put on a great show for your own mother. There’s no way of knowing just when she might find Musashi, and if you’re not there at the time, you’ll lose the chance of a lifetime. You’d regret that, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, I’ll have to do something about that soon,” Matahachi said noncommittally, thinking resentfully that other people, including the man who had just saved his life, did not understand the feelings between mothers and their offspring.
They parted, Matahachi ambling down a grassy lane, Kojirō ostensibly setting out in the opposite direction. Kojirō soon doubled back and followed Matahachi, taking care to stay out of sight.
Matahachi arrived presently at a motley collection of “long houses,” one-story tenements, each containing three or four small apartments under a single roof. Since Edo had grown rapidly and not everybody could be choosy about where he lived, people cleared land as the necessity arose. Streets came into existence afterward, developing naturally from pathways. Drainage, too, came about by accident, as waste water cut its own path to the nearest stream. Had it not been for these jerry-built slums, the influx of newcomers could not have been absorbed. The majority of the inhabitants of such places were, of course, workmen.
Near his home, Matahachi was greeted by a neighbor named Umpei, the boss of a crew of well diggers. Umpei was seated cross-legged in a large wooden tub, only his face showing above the rain shutter placed sideways in front of the tub for privacy.
“Good evening,” said Matahachi. “I see you’re having your bath.”
“I’m about to get out,” replied the boss genially. “Would you like to use it next?”
“Thanks, but I think Akemi’s probably heated water for me.”
“You two are very fond of each other, aren’t you? Nobody around here seems to know whether you’re brother and sister or husband and wife. Which is it?”
Matahachi giggled sheepishly. The appearance of Akemi saved him from having to answer.
She placed a tub under a persimmon tree and brought pailfuls of hot water from the house to fill it. When she was done, she said, “Feel it, Matahachi. See if it’s hot enough.”
“It’s a little too hot.”
There was the squeaking of the well pulley, and Matahachi, stripped to his loincloth, brought up a bucket of cold water and poured it into the bath before climbing in himself. “Ah-h-h,” he sighed contentedly. “This feels good.”
Umpei, wearing a cotton summer kimono, placed a bamboo stool under a gourd trellis and sat down. “Did you sell lots of melons?” he inquired.
“Not many. I never sell very many.” Noticing dried blood between his fingers, he hastily wiped it off.
“I don’t imagine you would. I still think your life would be easier if you went to work on a well-digging gang.”
“You’re always saying that. Don’t think I’m ungrateful, but if I did that, they wouldn’t let me off the castle grounds, would they? That’s why Akemi doesn’t want me to take the job. She says she’d be lonesome without me.”
“Happily married couple, eh? Well, well.”
“Ouch!”
“What’s the matter?”
“Something fell on my head.”
A green persimmon landed on the ground just behind Matahachi.
“Ha, ha! Punishment for bragging about your wife’s devotion, that’s what it is.” Still laughing, Umpei rapped his tannin-coated