Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [533]
Suddenly he saw that his way was blocked by a man with both arms outstretched.
He didn’t have time to figure out how Jōtarō had got ahead of him, but he was on home ground now. He jumped back and drew his sword.
“You bastard,” he screamed.
Jōtarō rushed forward empty-handed and caught Iori’s collar, but the boy pulled free and jumped ten feet to the side.
“Son of a bitch,” muttered Jōtarō, feeling warm blood running down his right arm from a two-inch cut.
Iori took a stance and fixed his mind on the lesson Musashi had drummed into him. Eyes … Eyes … Eyes … His strength concentrated in his bright pupils, his whole being seemed to be channeled into a pair of fiery eyes.
Outstared, Jōtarō whipped out his own sword. “I’ll have to kill you,” he snarled.
Iori, taking fresh courage from the strike he had scored, charged, his attack the one he always employed against Musashi.
Jōtarō was having second thoughts. He hadn’t believed Iori could use a sword; now he put his full strength into the fight. For the sake of his comrades, he had to get this meddling child out of the way. Seemingly ignoring Iori’s attack, he pressed forward and swung viciously, but unsuccessfully.
After two or three parries, Iori turned around, ran, stopped, and charged again. When Jōtarō countered, he retreated again, encouraged to see that his strategy was working. He was drawing the opponent into his own territory.
Pausing to catch his breath, Jōtarō looked around the dark grove and shouted, “Where are you, you stupid little bastard?” The answer was a shower of bark and leaves. Jōtarō raised his head and shouted, “I see you,” though all he could actually see through the foliage was a couple of stars.
Jōtarō started climbing toward the rustling sound Iori made as he moved out on a limb. From there, unfortunately, there was nowhere to go.
“I’ve got you now. Unless you can grow wings, you’d better give up. Otherwise you’re dead.”
Iori moved silently back to the fork of two limbs. Jōtarō climbed slowly and carefully. When Jōtarō reached out to grab him, Iori again moved out on one of the limbs. With a grunt, Jōtarō caught hold of a branch with both hands and started to pull himself up, giving Iori the chance he’d been waiting for. With a resounding whack, his sword connected with the branch Jōtarō was on. It broke, and Jōtarō plummeted to the ground.
“How do you like that, thief!” gloated Iori.
His fall broken by lower branches, Jōtarō wasn’t seriously injured, except for his pride. He cursed and started back up the tree, this time with the speed of a leopard. When he was under Iori’s feet again, Iori slashed back and forth with his sword to keep him from getting any nearer.
While they were locked in stalemate, the plaintive tones of a shakuhachi came to their ears. For a moment, they both stopped and listened.
Then Jōtarō decided to try reasoning with his adversary. “All right,” he said, “you put up a better fight than I expected. I admire you for that. If you’ll tell me who asked you to follow me, I’ll let you go.”
“Admit you’re licked!”
“Are you crazy?”
“I may not be very big; but I’m Misawa Iori, the only disciple of Miyamoto Musashi. Begging mercy would be an insult to my master’s reputation. Give up!”
“Wh-what?” said Jōtarō incredulously. “S-say that once more.” His voice was shrill and unsteady.
“Listen carefully,” Iori said proudly. “I am Misawa Iori, the only pupil of Miyamoto Musashi. Does that surprise you?”
Jōtarō was ready to admit defeat. With a mixture of doubt and curiosity, he asked, “How is my teacher? Is he well? Where is he?”
Astonished, but keeping a safe distance from Jōtarō, who was moving closer, Iori said, “Ha! Sensei would never have a thief for a disciple.”
“Don’t call me that. Didn’t Musashi ever mention Jōtarō?”
“Jōtarō?”
“If you’re really Musashi’s pupil, you must’ve heard him mention my name sometime or other. I was about your age then.”
“That’s a lie.”
“No it isn’t. It’s the