Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [503]
The master of the house appeared shortly after that, attended by a young samurai. Dispensing with formalities, he said, “Good of you to come.” In good soldierly fashion, he seated himself cross-legged on a cushion spread by the attendant and said, “From what I hear, my son is much indebted to you. I hope you’ll pardon my asking you to come here rather than visiting your house to express my thanks.” With his hands resting lightly on the fan in his lap, he inclined his prominent forehead ever so slightly.
“I’m honored to be invited to meet you,” said Musashi.
It was not easy to estimate Hōjō Ujikatsu’s age. Three front teeth were missing, but his smooth, shiny skin testified to a determination never to grow old. The heavy black mustache, streaked with only a few white hairs, had been allowed to grow out on both sides to conceal any wrinkles resulting from the lack of teeth. Musashi’s first impression was of a man who had many children and got along well with young people.
Sensing that his host wouldn’t object, Musashi went straight to the point. “Your son tells me that you have a guest who knows me. Who might that be?” “Not one but two. You’ll see them by and by.”
“Two people?”
“Yes. They know each other very well, and both are good friends of mine. I happened to meet them at the castle today. They came back with me, and when Shinzō came in to greet them, we started chatting about you. One of them said he hadn’t seen you for a long time and would like to. The other, who knows you only by reputation, expressed the desire to be introduced.”
Smiling broadly, Musashi said, “I think I know. One is Takuan Sōhō, isn’t it?”
“That’s right,” exclaimed Lord Ujikatsu, slapping his knee in surprise. “I haven’t seen him since I came east several years ago.”
Before Musashi had time to make a guess at who the other man was, his lordship said, “Come with me,” and went out into the corridor.
They climbed a short stairway and walked down a long, dark corridor. Rain shutters were in place on one side. Suddenly Musashi lost sight of Lord Ujikatsu. He stopped and listened.
After a few moments, Ujikatsu called, “I’m down here.” His voice seemed to come from a well-lit room that was situated across an open space from the corridor.
“I understand,” Musashi called back. Instead of heading directly for the light, he stood where he was. The space outside the corridor was openly inviting, but something told him danger lurked in that stretch of darkness.
“What are you waiting for, Musashi? We’re over here.”
“Coming,” answered Musashi. He was in no position to reply otherwise, but his sixth sense had warned him to be on the alert. Stealthily, he turned and walked back about ten paces to a small door, which let out onto the garden. Slipping on a pair of sandals, he made his way around the garden to the veranda of Lord Ujikatsu’s parlor.
“Oh, you came that way, did you?” said his lordship, looking around from the other end of the room. He sounded disappointed.
“Takuan!” called Musashi as he entered the room, a radiant smile on his face. The priest, seated in front of the alcove, stood up to greet him. To meet again—and under the roof of Lord Hōjō Ujikatsu—seemed almost too fortuitous. Musashi had trouble convincing himself that it was really happening.
“We’ll have to bring each other up to date,” said Takuan. “Shall I begin?” He was clad in the plain robes he always wore. No finery, not so much as prayer beads. Yet he seemed mellower than before, more soft-spoken. Just as Musashi’s rural upbringing had been leached out of him by strenuous attempts at self-discipline, Takuan, too, seemed to have had the sharper corners rounded off and to have become more deeply endowed with the wisdom of Zen. To be sure, he was no longer a youth. Eleven years older than Musashi, he was now approaching forty.
“Let’s see. Kyoto, wasn’t it? Ah, I remember. It was shortly before I