Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [55]
“Your daughter-in-law? I don’t believe I’ve ever met her. In any case, I don’t know her name. How can I call her?”
“Call her, I say!” Osugi repeated impatiently.
“Who on earth are you talking about?”
“Why, Otsū, of course!”
“Otsū! Why do you call her your daughter-in-law? She hasn’t entered the Hon’iden family, has she?”
“No, not yet, but I plan to take her in very soon as Matahachi’s bride.” “That’s hard to imagine. How can she marry someone when he’s not around?”
Osugi became more indignant. “Look, you vagabond! This has nothing to do with you! Just tell me where Otsū is!”
“I imagine she’s still in bed.”
“Oh, yes, I should’ve thought of that,” the old woman muttered, half to herself. “I did tell her to watch Takezō nights, so she must become pretty tired by daybreak. Incidentally,” she said accusingly, “aren’t you supposed to be watching him during the day?”
Without waiting for an answer, she did an about-face and marched under the tree. There she stared upward for a long time, as if in a trance. When it finally broke, she plodded off toward the village, mulberry stick in hand.
Takuan returned to his room, where he stayed until evening.
Otsū’s room was not far from his, in the same building. Her door was also closed all day except when opened by the acolyte, who several times brought her medicine or an earthenware pot full of thick rice gruel. When they had found her half dead in the rain the night before, they’d had to drag her in kicking and screaming and force her to swallow some tea. The priest had then given her a severe scolding while she sat mutely propped against a wall. By morning she had a high fever and was hardly able to lift her head to drink the gruel.
Night fell, and in sharp contrast to the previous evening, a bright moon shone like a clearly cut hole in the sky. When everyone else was sound asleep, Takuan put down the book he was reading, slipped into his wooden clogs and went out into the yard.
“Takezō!” he called.
High above him a branch shook and glistening dewdrops fell.
“Poor boy, I guess he doesn’t have the strength to reply,” Takuan said to himself. “Takezō! Takezō!”
“What do you want, you bastard of a monk?” came the ferocious response.
Takuan was seldom taken off guard, but he could not conceal his surprise. “You certainly howl loudly for a man at death’s door. Sure you’re not really a fish or some kind of sea monster? At this rate you ought to last another five or six days. By the way, how’s your stomach? Empty enough for you?”
“Forget the small talk, Takuan. Just cut my head off and get it over with.”
“Oh, no! Not so fast! One has to be careful about things like that. If I cut your head off right now, it’d probably fly down and try to bite me.” Takuan’s voice trailed off and he stared at the sky. “What a beautiful moon! You’re lucky to be able to view it from such an excellent vantage point.”
“Okay, just watch me, you filthy mongrel of a monk! I’ll show you what I can do if I put my mind to it!” With every ounce of strength in him, Takezō then began to shake himself violently, flinging his weight up and down and nearly breaking off the branch he was bound to. Bark and leaves rained down on the man below, who remained unruffled but perhaps a bit affectedly nonchalant.
The monk calmly brushed his shoulders clean, and when he was finished he looked up again. “That’s the spirit, Takezō! It’s good to get as angry as you are now. Go ahead! Feel your strength to the fullest, show you’re a real man, show us what you’re made of! People these days think it’s a sign of wisdom and character to be able to control their anger, but I say they’re foolish. I hate seeing the young being so restrained, so proper. They have more spirit than their elders and they should show it. Don’t hold back, Takezō! The madder you get, the better!”
“Just wait, Takuan, just wait! If I have to chew through