Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [51]
Thereupon, as though waiting for the chance, a shadow appeared on the paper-covered window and a male voice called softly, “Otsū! Otsū!”
Hoping it was Takuan, she hardly looked at the shape of the shadow before rushing to open the window. When she did, she jerked back in surprise, for the eyes meeting hers were the captain’s. He reached through, grabbing her hand and squeezing it hard.
“You’ve been kind to me,” he said, “but I’ve just received orders from Himeji to go back.”
“Why, that’s too bad.” She tried to pull her hand from his, but the grip was too firm.
“They seem to be conducting an investigation into the incident here,” he explained. “If only I had Takezō’s head, I could say I had discharged my duty with honor. I’d be vindicated. That crazy, stubborn Takuan won’t let me take it. He won’t listen to anything I say. But I think you’re on my side; that’s why I’ve come here. Take this letter, will you, and read it later, somewhere where no one will see you?”
He pressed the letter into her hand and was off in a shot. She could hear him hurriedly walking down the steps to the road.
It was more than a letter, for a large gold piece was enclosed. But the message itself was straightforward enough: it asked Otsū to cut off Takezō’s head within the next few days and bring it to Himeji, where the writer would make her his wife, and she would live amid wealth and glory for the rest of her days. The missive was signed “Aoki Tanzaemon,” a name that, according to the writer’s own testimony, belonged to one of the most celebrated warriors of the region. She wanted to burst out laughing, but was too indignant.
As she finished reading, Takuan called, “Otsū, have you eaten yet?”
Slipping her feet into her sandals, she went out to talk with him.
“I don’t feel like eating. I have a headache.”
“What’s that in your hand?”
“A letter.”
“Another one?”
“Yes.”
“From whom?”
“Takuan, you’re so nosy!”
“Curious, my girl, inquisitive. Not nosy!”
“Would you like to have a look at it?”
“If you don’t mind.”
“Just to pass the time?”
“That’s as good a reason as any.”
“Here. I don’t mind at all.”
Otsū handed him the letter, and after reading it, Takuan laughed heartily. She couldn’t help but let the corners of her mouth turn up too.
“That poor man! He’s so desperate he’s trying to bribe you with both love and money. This letter is hilarious! I must say, our world is fortunate indeed to be blessed with such outstanding, upright samurai! He’s so brave he asks a mere girl to do his beheading for him. And so stupid as to put it in writing.”
“The letter doesn’t bother me,” said Otsū, “but what am I going to do with the money?” She handed Takuan the gold piece.
“This is worth quite a lot,” he said, weighing it in his hand.
“That’s what bothers me.”
“Don’t worry. I never have any trouble disposing of money.”
Takuan walked around to the front of the temple, where there was an alms box. Preparing to toss the coin in, he touched it to his forehead in deference to the Buddha. Then he changed his mind. “On second thought, you keep it. I daresay it won’t be in the way.”
“I don’t want it. It’ll just cause trouble. I might be questioned about it later. I’d rather just pretend I never saw it.”
“This gold, Otsū, no longer belongs to Aoki Tanzaemon. It has become an offering to the Buddha, and the Buddha has bestowed it on you. Keep it for good luck.”
Without further protest, Otsū tucked the coin into her obi; then, looking up at the sky, she remarked, “Windy, isn’t it? I wonder if it’ll rain tonight. It hasn’t rained for ages.”
“Spring’s almost over, so we’re due for a good downpour. We need it to wash away all the dead flowers, not to mention relieving the people’s boredom.”
“But if it’s a heavy rain, what’ll happen to Takezō?”
“Hmm. Takezō …” the monk mused.
Just as the two of them turned toward the cryptomeria, a call came from its upper branches.
“Takuan! Takuan!”
“What? Is that you, Takezō?”
As Takuan squinted to look up into the tree, Takezō hurled down a stream