Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [611]
The ship Musashi was on made a regular overnight stop at Shikama to discharge and take on cargo.
Yesterday, after telling Otsū this, Osugi had asked, “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to be there, of course.”
“In that case, I’ll go too.”
Otsū got up from her sickbed, and they were on their way within the hour. It took them until late afternoon to walk to Himeji; all the while, Osugi hovered over Otsū as though she were a child.
At Aoki Tanzaemon’s house that night, plans were laid to hold a congratulatory dinner at Himeji Castle for Musashi. It was assumed that because of his previous experience at the castle, he would now deem it an honor to be feted in this fashion. Even Jōtarō thought so.
It was also decided, in consultation with Tanzaemon’s fellow samurai, that it wouldn’t do for Otsū to be seen openly with Musashi. People might get the idea she was his secret lover. Tanzaemon told Otsū and Osugi the gist of this and suggested the boat as a way for Otsū to be present but at the same time not be a source of embarrassing gossip.
The sea darkened, and the color faded from the sky. Stars began to twinkle. Near the dyer’s house where Otsū lived, a contingent of some twenty samurai from Himeji had been waiting since midafternoon to welcome Musashi.
“Maybe this is the wrong day,” remarked one of them.
“No, don’t worry,” said another. “I sent a man to Kobayashi’s local agent to make sure.”
“Hey, isn’t that it?”
“It looks like the right kind of sail.”
Noisily they moved closer to the water’s edge.
Jōtarō left them and ran off to the small boat in the estuary.
“Otsū! Granny! The ship’s in sight—Musashi’s ship!” he shouted to the excited women.
“Did you really see it? Where?” asked Otsū. She nearly fell overboard as she got to her feet.
“Be careful,” warned Osugi, grabbing her from behind. They stood side by side, eyes searching the darkness. Gradually a tiny distant spot grew into a large sail, black in the starlight and seemingly gliding right into their eyes.
“That’s it,” cried Jōtarō.
“Hurry, grab the scull,” said Otsū. “Take us out to the ship.”
“There’s no need to rush. One of the samurai on the beach will row out and get Musashi.”
“Then we have to go now! Once he’s with that bunch, there won’t be a chance for Otsū to talk to him.”
“We can’t do that. They’ll all see her.”
“You spend too much time worrying about what other samurai will think. And that’s the reason we’re stuck away in this little boat. If you ask me, we should have waited at the dyer’s house.”
“No, you’re wrong. You don’t realize how people talk. Relax. My father and I’ll find a way to bring him here.” He stopped to think for a fraction of a minute. “When he gets to shore, he’ll go to the dyer’s house for a short rest. I’ll get to him then and see to it that he comes here to you. Just wait here. I’ll be back soon.” He rushed off toward the beach.
“Try to get a little rest,” said Osugi.
Though Otsū lay down obediently, she seemed to have trouble catching her breath.
“Cough bothering you again?” asked Osugi gently. She knelt and rubbed the girl’s back. “Don’t worry. Musashi’ll be here before long.”
“Thank you. I’m all right now.” Once her coughing had subsided, she patted and smoothed her hair, trying to make herself a little more presentable.
As time passed and Musashi failed to appear, Osugi grew fidgety. Leaving Otsū in the boat, she went up on the bank.
When she was out of sight, Otsū pushed her pallet and pillow behind some matting, retied her obi and straightened her kimono. The palpitations of her heart seemed in no way different from what she had experienced as a girl of seventeen or eighteen. The red light of the small beacon fire, suspended near the prow, pierced her heart with warmth. Stretching her delicate white arm over the gunwale, she moistened her comb and ran it through