Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [592]
Musashi stopped and drew his elbows to his sides. He walked over to the alcove and put the muskets back. With a slight laugh, he said, “Perhaps that will help you to understand.” Offering no further explanation, he bowed to his host and took his leave. Astounded, Shima forgot all about sending someone with him.
Outside the gate, Musashi turned for a final look, relieved to be out of Watari Shima’s grasp. He still did not know the man’s real intentions, but one thing was clear. Not only was his identity known; he had become involved in an incident. The wisest thing would be to leave Okazaki this very night.
He was thinking about his promise to Matahachi to wait for Gudō’s return when the lights of Okazaki came into view and a voice called to him from a small roadside shrine.
“Musashi, it’s me, Matahachi. We were worried about you, so we came out here to wait.”
“Worried?” said Musashi.
“We went to your house. The woman next door said people had been spying on you recently.”
“We?”
“The master came back today.”
Gudō was seated on the veranda of the shrine. He was a man of unusual mien, his skin as black as a giant cicada’s, his deep-set eyes shining brilliantly under high eyebrows. He looked to be somewhere between forty and fifty, but it was impossible to tell with a man like this. Thin and wiry, he had a booming voice.
Musashi went over, knelt and lowered his forehead to the ground. Gudō regarded him silently for a minute or two. “It’s been a long time,” he said.
Lifting his head, Musashi said quietly, “A very long time.” Gudō or Takuan—Musashi had long been convinced that only one or the other of these two men could deliver him from his present impasse. Here, at last, after a wait of a whole year, was Gudō. He gazed at the priest’s face as he might at the moon on a dark night.
Suddenly and forcefully, he cried out, “Sensei!”
“What is it?” Gudō had no need to ask; he knew what Musashi wanted, anticipated it as a mother divines a child’s needs.
Musashi, head to the ground again, said, “It’s been nearly ten years since I studied under you.”
“Is it that long?”
“Yes. But even after all those years, I doubt my progress along the Way is measurable.”
“You still talk like a child, don’t you? You couldn’t have come very far.” “I’m full of regrets.”
“Are you?”
“My training and self-discipline have accomplished so little.”
“You’re always talking about such things. So long as you do that, it’s futile.” “What would happen if I gave up?”
“You’d be tied up in knots again. You’d be human rubbish, worse off than before, when you were merely an ignorant fool.”
“If I desert the Way, I fall into the depths. Yet when I try to pursue it to the peak, I find I’m not up to the task. I’m twisting in the wind halfway up, neither the swordsman nor the human being I want to be.”
“That seems to sum it up.”
“You can’t know how desperate I’ve been. What should I do? Tell me! How can I free myself from inaction and confusion?”
“Why ask me? You can only rely on yourself.”
“Let me sit at your feet again and receive your chastisement. Me and Matahachi. Or give me a blow with your staff to awaken me from this dark emptiness. I beg you, Sensei, help me.” Musashi had not lifted his head. He shed no tears, but his voice choked up.
Completely unmoved, Gudō said, “Come, Matahachi,” and together they walked away from the shrine.
Musashi ran after the priest, grabbed his sleeve, pleaded and begged.
The priest shook his head silently. When Musashi persisted, he said, “Not one thing!” Then, angrily: “What have I to tell you? What more have I to give you? There is only a blow on the head.” He waved his fist in the air but did not strike.
Musashi, letting go of his sleeve, was about to say something else. The priest walked rapidly away, not pausing to look back.
At Musashi’s side, Matahachi said, “When I saw him at the temple and explained