Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [596]
Having washed her hands and wiped the sweat from her forehead, Otsū invited Mambei to sit down and rest on the veranda.
He declined with a wave of his hand and said, “You came from the village of Miyamoto, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I go up that way on business, to buy hemp, and the other day I heard a rumor….”
“Yes?”
“About you.”
“Me?”
“I also heard something about a man named Musashi.”
“Musashi?” Otsū’s heart was in her throat and her cheeks flushed.
Mambei gave a little laugh. Though it was autumn, the sun was still fairly strong. He folded a hand towel, put it on his head and squatted on his heels. “Do you know a woman named Ogin?” he asked.
“You mean Musashi’s sister?”
Mambei nodded vigorously. “I ran into her at Mikazuki Village in Sayo. I happened to mention your name. She looked very surprised.”
“Did you tell her where I was?”
“Yes. I didn’t see any harm in that.”
“Where’s she living now?”
“She’s staying with a samurai named Hirata—a relative of hers, I think. She said she’d like very much to see you. She said several times how much she missed you, how much she had to tell you. Some of it was secret, she said. I thought she was going to start crying.”
Otsū’s eyes reddened.
“There in the middle of the road was no place to write a letter, of course, so she asked me to tell you to come to Mikazuki. She said she’d like to come here, but couldn’t just now.” Mambei paused. “She didn’t go into details, but she said she’d had word from Musashi.” He added that he was going to Mikazuki the next day and suggested she go with him.
Though Otsū’s mind was made up right then, she felt she should talk it over with the dyer’s wife. “I’ll let you know this evening,” she said.
“Fine. If you decide to go, we should get an early start.” With the sea murmuring in the background, his voice sounded particularly loud, and even Otsū’s soft reply seemed rather shrill.
As Mambei went out the gate, a young samurai who had been sitting on the beach rubbing a handful of sand stood up and watched him with piercing eyes, as if to verify his thoughts about the man. Handsomely attired and wearing a straw basket hat shaped like a ginkgo leaf, he appeared to be eighteen or nineteen years old. When the hemp dealer was out of sight, he turned and stared at the dyer’s house.
Despite the excitement caused by Mambei’s news, Otsū picked up her mallet and resumed her work. The sounds of other mallets, accompanied by singing, floated through the air. No sound came from Otsū’s lips when she worked, but in her heart was a song of her love for Musashi. Now she silently whispered a poem from an ancient collection:
Since our first meeting,
My love has been more profound
Than that of others,
Though it matches not the hues
Of the cloth from Shikama.
She felt sure that if she visited Ogin, she would learn where Musashi was. And Ogin was a woman too. It would be easy to tell her her feelings.
The beats of her mallet slowed to an almost languid pace. Otsū was happier than she had been for a long time. She understood the feelings of the poet. Often the sea seemed melancholy and alien; today it was dazzling, and the waves, though gentle, appeared to be bursting with hope.
She hung the cloth on a high drying pole and, heart still singing, wandered out through the open gate. Out of the corner of her eyes, she caught sight of the young samurai strolling unhurriedly along the water’s edge. She had no idea who he was, but somehow he held her attention, and she noticed nothing else, not so much as a bird riding the salty breeze.
Their destination was not very far; even a woman could walk the distance with little difficulty, stopping over once on the way. It was nearly noon now. “I’m sorry to put you to all this trouble,” said Otsū.
“No trouble. You seem to have good walking legs,” said Mambei. “I’m used to traveling.