Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [526]
Iori said, half to himself, “Why is that, I wonder?”
“Why is what?” asked Musashi.
“It’s getting light, but I can’t see the sun.”
“For one thing, you’re looking toward the west.”
“Oh.” Iori gave the moon, sinking behind the distant peaks, a cursory glance.
“Iori, a lot of your friends seem to live here in the mountains.”
“Where?”
“Over there.” Musashi laughed and pointed to some monkeys clustered around their mother.
“I wish I was one of them.”
“Why?”
Y•
“At least they have a mother.”
They climbed a steep part of the road in silence and came to a relatively flat stretch. Musashi noticed the grass had been trampled by a large number of feet.
After winding around the mountain for a while more, they reached a level area where they were facing east.
“Look,” cried Iori, looking over his shoulder at Musashi. “The sun’s coming up.
“So it is.”
From the sea of clouds beneath them, the mountains of Kai and Kōzuke jutted up like islands. Iori stopped and stood stock still, feet together, arms at his sides, lips tightly set. He stared in rapt fascination at the great golden sphere, imagining himself to be a child of the sun. All at once he exclaimed in a very loud voice, “It’s Amaterasu Omikami! Isn’t it?” He looked to Musashi for confirmation.
“That’s right.”
Raising his arms high above his head, the boy filtered the brilliant light through his fingers. “My blood!” he cried. “It’s the same color as the sun’s blood.” Clapping his hands, as he would at a shrine to summon the deity, he bowed his head in silent obeisance, thinking: “The monkeys have a mother. I have none. But I have this goddess. They have none.”
The revelation filled him with joy, and as he burst into tears, he seemed to hear from beyond the clouds the music of the shrine dances. The drums boomed in his ears, while the counterpoint of the flutes hovered around the melody of the Dance of Iwato. His feet caught the rhythm; his arms swayed gracefully. From his lips came the words he had memorized only the night before:
“The catalpa bow—
With each coming of spring,
I hope to see the dancing
Of the myriad of gods,
Oh, how I hope to see their dancing—”
Suddenly realizing Musashi had gone on ahead, he abandoned his dance and ran to catch up.
The morning light barely penetrated the forest they now entered. Here, in the approach to the inner shrine, the cryptomerias were of enormous circumference and all about the same height. Tiny white flowers grew in the thick patches of moss clinging to the trees. Suspecting the trees were ancient—five hundred years old, perhaps even a thousand—Iori had an urge to bow to them. Here and there, bright red vine maple caught his eye. Low striped bamboo encroaching on the road narrowed it to a path.
Without warning, the earth seemed to tremble under their feet. Close upon the thunderous report came an unnerving scream and a cascade of sharp echoes. Iori covered his ears with his hands and dived into the bamboo.
“Iori! Stay down!” Musashi commanded from the shadow of a large tree. “Don’t move even if they trample on you!”
The gloomy half light seemed infested with lances and swords. Because of the scream, the attackers thought at first the bullet had found its mark, but there was no body in sight. Uncertain as to what had happened, they froze.
Iori was at the center of a circle of eyes and unsheathed blades. In the deathly silence that followed, curiosity got the better of him. He slowly raised his head above the bamboo. Only a few feet away, a sword blade, extending from behind a tree, caught a flash of sunlight.
Losing all control, Iori screamed at the top of his lungs, “Sensei! Somebody’s hiding there!” As he shouted, he jumped to his feet and made a dash for safety.
The sword leapt from the shadows and hung like a demon above his head. But only for an instant. Musashi