Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [547]
Kojirō, of course, made no effort to stop her, but he offered no special encouragement either, knowing that she wouldn’t rest until she had done a thorough job. And thorough it was: she even wrote malicious letters about Musashi’s past and threw them into the compounds of the Commissioner of Edo and the members of the Council of Elders. Before she was done, even Kojirō wondered if she hadn’t gone too far.
Kojirō encouraged Osugi to make the journey, believing it would be better for him if she was back in the country where she could do a minimum of harm. If Osugi had any regret, it was only that Matahachi was not going with her, for she was still convinced that someday he would see the light and return to her.
Iori had no way of knowing the circumstances. Unable to flee, loath to cry for fear it would discredit Musashi, he felt trapped among enemies. Deliberately, Kojirō stared directly into the boy’s eyes and to his surprise found his stare returned. Not once did Iori’s eyes waver.
“Do you have brush and ink?” Kojirō asked Osugi.
“Yes, but the ink’s all dried up. Why?”
“I want to write a letter. The signs Yajibei’s men put up didn’t draw Musashi out, and I don’t know where he is. Iori is the best messenger one could ask for. I think I should send Musashi a note on the occasion of my departure from Edo.”
“What are you going to write?”
“Nothing elaborate. I’ll tell him to practice his swordsmanship and visit me in Buzen one of these days. I’ll let him know I’m willing to wait the rest of my life. He can come whenever he has the necessary confidence.”
Osugi threw up her hands in horror. “How can you talk like that? The rest of your life, indeed! I haven’t got that much time to wait. I must see Musashi dead within the next two or three years at most.”
“Leave it to me. I’ll take care of your problem at the same time I take care of mine.”
“Can’t you see I’m getting old? It has to be done while I’m still alive.”
“If you look after yourself, you’ll be around when my invincible sword does its work.”
Kojirō took the writing kit and walked to a nearby stream, where he wet his finger to moisten the ink stick. Still standing, he took some paper from his kimono. He wrote quickly, but both his calligraphy and his composition were those of an expert.
“You can use this for paste,” said Osugi, taking a few grains of cooked rice and placing them on a leaf. Kojirō mashed them between his fingers, spread the stuff along the edge of the letter and sealed it. On the back, he wrote: “From Sasaki Ganryū, Retainer to the House of Hosokawa.”
“Come here, you. I’m not going to hurt you. I want you to take this letter to Musashi. Make sure he gets it, because it’s important.”
Iori hung back a minute but then grunted his assent and snatched the letter from Kojirō’s hand. “What’s written in it?”
“Just what I told the old lady.”
“May I look at it?”
“You aren’t to break the seal.”
“If you wrote something insulting, I won’t take it.”
“There’s nothing rude in it. I asked him to remember our promise for the future and told him I look forward to seeing him again, perhaps in Buzen, if he should happen to come there.”
“What do you mean by ‘seeing him again’?”
“I mean meeting him on the boundary between life and death.” Kojirō’s cheeks reddened slightly.
Stuffing the letter into his kimono, Iori said, “All right, I’ll deliver it,” and ran off. About thirty yards away, he stopped, turned and stuck out his tongue at Osugi. “Crazy old witch!” he shouted.
“Wh-what?” She was ready to go after him, but Kojirō took her arm and held her back.
“Let it pass,” he said with a rueful smile. “He’s only a child.” Then to Iori he shouted, “Don’t you have anything better to say?”
“No …” Tears of anger rose from his chest. “You’ll be sorry, though. There isn’t any way Musashi could lose