Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [608]
“Don’t let it worry you,” said Kōetsu. “There’ll be another ship in a few days.”
“I really wanted to travel with Musashi.” He paused, then went on earnestly. “I think this trip may be the decisive point in Musashi’s life. He disciplines himself constantly. He isn’t likely to lose to Kojirō. Still, in a fight like that, you never know. There’s a superhuman element involved. All warriors have to face it; winning or losing is partly a matter of luck.”
“I don’t think you need to worry. Musashi’s composure was perfect. He seemed completely confident.”
“I’m sure he did, but Kojirō has a high reputation too. And they say since he went into Lord Tadatoshi’s service, he’s been practicing and keeping himself fit.”
“It’ll be a test of strength between a man who’s a genius, but really somewhat conceited, and an ordinary man who’s polished his talents to the utmost, won’t it?”
“I wouldn’t call Musashi ordinary.”
“But he is. That’s what’s extraordinary about him. He’s not content with relying on whatever natural gifts he may have. Knowing he’s ordinary, he’s always trying to improve himself. No one appreciates the agonizing effort he’s had to make. Now that his years of training have yielded such spectacular results, everybody’s talking about his ‘god-given talent.’ That’s how men who don’t try very hard comfort themselves.”
“Thank you for saying that,” said Gonnosuke. He felt Kōetsu might have been referring to him, as well as to Musashi. Looking at the older man’s broad, placid profile, he thought: “It’s the same with him too.”
Kōetsu looked like what he was, a man of leisure who had deliberately set himself apart from the rest of the world. At the moment, his eyes lacked that gleam that emanated from them when he concentrated on artistic creation. Now they were like a smooth sea, calm and unruffled, under a clear, bright sky.
A young man stuck his head in the door and said to Kōetsu, “Shall we go back now?”
“Ah, Matahachi,” Kōetsu replied amiably. Turning to Gonnosuke, he said, “I suppose I’ll have to leaye you. My companions seem to be waiting.”
“Are you going back by way of Osaka?”
“Yes. If we get there in time, I’d like to take the evening boat to Kyoto.” “Well, then, I’ll walk that far with you.” Rather than wait here for the next boat, Gonnosuke had decided to travel overland.
The three of them walked side by side, their talk rarely straying from Musashi, his present status and past exploits. At one point, Matahachi expressed concern, saying, “I hope Musashi wins, but Kojirō’s sharp. His technique is terrific, you know.” But his voice lacked enthusiasm; the memory of his own encounter with Kojirō was too vivid.
By twilight, they were on the crowded streets of Osaka. Simultaneously Kōetsu and Gonnosuke noticed Matahachi was no longer with them.
“Where could he have gone?” asked Kōetsu.
Retracing their steps, they found him standing by the end of the bridge. He was looking spellbound out over the riverbank, where wives from nearby dwellings, a row of broken-down shacks covered by a single roof, were washing cooking utensils, unhulled rice and vegetables.
“That’s an odd expression on his face,” said Gonnosuke. He and Kōetsu stood a little apart and watched.
“It is her,” cried Matahachi. “Akemi!”
In the first flash of recognition, he was struck by the capriciousness of fate. But immediately it began to seem otherwise. Destiny was not playing tricks—merely confronting him with his past. She had been his common-law wife. Their karmas, too, were entwined. So long as they inhabited the same earth, they were fated to come together again, sooner or later.
He’d had trouble recognizing