Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [517]
The room was deathly quiet.
“Now, Toranosuke, upon reflection, do you still believe yourself to be a samurai without shame?”
“Forgive me.”
“Get out.”
Eyes downcast, Toranosuke walked backward ten paces and knelt on the floor with his arms before him, preparatory to bowing.
“I wish you the best of health, sir…. And the same to the rest of you.” His voice was dark.
He rose and walked sadly from the dōjō.
Tadaaki stood up. “I, too, must take my leave of the world.” Suppressed sobs were audible. His final words were stern, yet full of affection. “Why mourn? Your day has come. It’s up to you to see that this school advances into a new age with honor. Beginning now, be humble, work hard and try with all your might to cultivate your spirit.”
Returning to the guest room, Tadaaki appeared quite unperturbed as he quietly took a seat and addressed Kojirō.
After apologizing for keeping him waiting, he said, “I’ve just expelled Hamada. I advised him to change his ways, to try to understand the real meaning of the samurai’s discipline. I intend, of course, to release the old woman. Would you like to take her back with you, or should I arrange for her to go later?”
“I’m satisfied with what you’ve done. She can go with me.” Kojirō moved as though to rise. The bout had completely drained him, and the subsequent wait had seemed very, very long.
“Don’t go yet,” said Tadaaki. “Now that it’s all over, let’s have a cup together and let bygones be bygones.” Clapping his hands, he called, “Omitsu! Bring some sake.”
“Thank you,” said Kojirō. “It’s kind of you to ask me.” He smiled and said hypocritically, “I know now why Ono Tadaaki and the Ittō Style are so famous.” He had no respect whatsoever for Tadaaki.
“If his natural talents are developed in the right way,” thought Tadaaki, “the world will bow at his feet. But if he takes the wrong turn, there’s another Zenki in the making.”
“If you were my student—” The words were on the tip of Tadaaki’s tongue. Instead of saying them, he laughed and replied modestly to Kojirō’s flattery.
In the course of their conversation, Musashi’s name came up and Kojirō learned he was under consideration to become one of the select group of men who gave lessons to the shōgun.
Kojirō merely said, “Oh?” But his expression betrayed his displeasure. Turning his eyes quickly toward the setting sun, he insisted it was time for him to go.
Not many days after that, Tadaaki vanished from Edo. He had the reputation of being a simple, straightforward warrior, the embodiment of honesty and selflessness, but a man who lacked Munenori’s knack for politics. Not understanding why a man who could apparently accomplish anything he set his mind to would flee the world, people were consumed with curiosity and read all sorts of meanings into his disappearance.
As a result of his failure, Tadaaki, it was said, had lost his mind.
The Poignancy of Things
Musashi said it was the worst storm he’d ever seen.
Iori gazed wistfully at the sodden, tattered book pages scattered hither and yon, and thought sadly: “No more studying.”
Two days of autumn—the two hundred tenth and two hundred twentieth days of the year—were especially dreaded by farmers. It was on these two days that typhoons were most likely to destroy the rice crop. Iori, more attuned to the dangers than his master, had taken the precaution of tying down the roof and weighting it with rocks. Nevertheless, during the night, the wind had ripped the roof off, and when it was light enough to inspect the damage, it was evident that the cabin was beyond any hope of repair.
With his experience at Hōtengahara in mind, Musashi set off shortly after dawn. Watching him go, Iori thought: “What good will it do him to look at the neighbors’ paddies? Of course they’re flooded. Doesn’t his own house mean anything to him?”
He built a fire, using bits and pieces of the walls and floor, and roasted some chestnuts and dead birds for breakfast. The smoke stung