Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [541]
Takuan rapped on the door of the shed where the kitchen helpers slept. “One of you boys come out here,” he said.
A boy came out, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. When he recognized the priest he’d seen talking with the shōgun, he came awake and said, “Yes, sir. Can I do something for you?”
“I want you to open that woodshed.”
“There’s a well digger locked up in there.”
“He isn’t in there. He’s right here. There’s no point in putting him back in through the window, so open the door.”
The boy hastened to fetch the inspector, who rushed out, apologizing and begging Takuan not to report the matter.
Takuan shoved Matahachi into the shed, went inside and closed the door. A few minutes later, he poked his head out and said, “You must have a razor somewhere. Sharpen it and bring it here.”
The inspector and the kitchen helper looked at each other, neither daring to ask the priest why he wanted the razor. Then they honed the razor and handed it over to him.
“Thanks,” said Takuan. “Now you can go back to bed.”
The inside of the shed was pitch black, only a glimpse of starlight being visible through the broken window. Takuan seated himself on a pile of kindling. Matahachi slumped down on a reed mat, hanging his head in shame. For a long time there was silence. Unable to see the razor, Matahachi wondered nervously whether Takuan was holding it in his hand.
At last Takuan spoke. “Matahachi, what did you dig up under the locust tree?”
Silence.
“I could show you how to dig up something. It would mean extracting something from nothingness, recovering the real world from a land of dreams.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You haven’t the least idea what the reality I’m talking about is. No doubt you are still in your world of fantasy. Well, since you’re as naive as an infant, I suppose I’ll have to chew your intellectual food for you…. How old are you?”
“Twenty-eight.”
“The same age as Musashi.”
Matahachi put his hands to his face and wept.
Takuan did not speak until he had cried himself out. Then he said, “Isn’t it frightening to think that the locust tree nearly became the grave marker of a fool? You were digging your own grave, actually on the verge of putting yourself into it.”
Matahachi flung his arms around Takuan’s legs and pleaded, “Save me. Please save me. My eyes … my eyes are open now. I was taken in by Daizō of Narai.”
“No, your eyes are not open. Nor did Daizō deceive you. He simply tried to make use of the biggest fool on earth—a greedy, unsophisticated, petty-minded dolt who nevertheless had the temerity to take on a task any sensible man would shrink from.”
“Yes … yes … I was a fool.”
“Just who did you think this Daizō was?”
“I don’t know.”
“His real name is Mizoguchi Shinano. He was a retainer of Otani Yoshitsugu, who’s a close friend of Ishida Mitsunari. Mitsunari, you will remember, was one of the losers at Sekigahara.”
“N-no,” gasped Matahachi. “He’s one of the warriors the shogunate is trying to track down?”
“What else would a man out to assassinate the shōgun be? Your stupidity is appalling.”
“He didn’t tell me that. He just said he hated the Tokugawas. He thought it’d be better for the country if the Toyotomis were in power. He was talking about working for the sake of everybody.”
“You didn’t bother to ask yourself who he really was, did you? Without once using your head, you went boldly about the business of digging your own grave. Your kind of courage is frightening, Matahachi.”
“What am I to do?”
“Do?”
“Please, Takuan, please, help me!”
“Let go of me.”
“But … but I didn’t actually use the gun. I didn’t even find it!”
“Of course you didn’t. It didn’t arrive on time. If Jōtarō, whom Daizō duped into becoming a part of this dreadful plot, had reached Edo as planned, the musket might very well have been buried under the tree.”
“Jōtarō? You mean the boy—”
“Never mind. That doesn’t concern you. What does concern