Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [632]
“I … I know that.”
“Do you? Truly?”
“Yes, but I beg you, say one word for me. Just one word. Tell me that I’m your wife.”
“It would spoil it if I told you what you know already.”
“But … but …” She was sobbing with her whole body, but with a burst of strength, she seized his hand and cried, “Say it. Say I’m your wife throughout this life.”
He nodded, slowly, silently. Then one by one he pulled her delicate fingers from his arm and stood erect. “A samurai’s wife must not weep and go to pieces when he goes off to war. Laugh for me, Otsū. Send me away with a smile. This may be your husband’s last departure.”
Both knew the time had come. For a brief moment, he looked at her and smiled. Then he said, “Until then.”
“Yes. Until then.” She wanted to return his smile but only managed to hold back the tears.
“Farewell.” He turned and walked with firm strides toward the water’s edge. A parting word rose to her throat but refused to be uttered. The tears welled up irrepressibly. She could no longer see him.
The strong, salty wind ruffled Musashi’s sideburns. His kimono flapped briskly.
“Sasuke! Bring the boat a little closer.”
Though he had been waiting for over two hours and knew Musashi was on the beach, Sasuke had carefully kept his eyes averted. Now he looked at Musashi and said, “Right away, sir.”
With a few strong, rapid movements, he poled the boat in. When it touched shore, Musashi jumped lightly into the prow, and they moved out to sea. “Otsū! Stop!” The shout was Jōtarō’s.
Otsū was running straight toward the water. He raced after her. Startled, Gonnosuke and Osugi joined in the chase.
“Otsū, stop! What are you doing?”
“Don’t be foolish!”
Reaching her simultaneously, they threw their arms around her and held her back.
“No, no,” she protested, shaking her head slowly. “You don’t understand.” “Wh-what are you trying to do?”
“Let me sit down, by myself.” Her voice was calm.
They released her, and she walked with dignity to a spot a few yards away, where she knelt on the sand, seemingly exhausted. But she had found her strength. She straightened her collar, smoothed her hair, and bowed toward Musashi’s little craft.
“Go without regrets,” she said.
Osugi knelt and bowed. Then Gonnosuke. And Jōtarō. After coming all the way from Himeji, Jōtarō had missed his chance to speak to Musashi, despite his intense yearning to say a parting word. His disappointment was softened by the knowledge that he had given his share of Musashi’s time to Otsū.
The Soul of the Deep
With the tide at its peak, the water coursed through the strait like a swollen torrent in a narrow ravine. The wind was to their rear, and the boat moved swiftly across the waves. Sasuke looked proud; he intended to be praised for his work with the scull today.
Musashi was seated in the middle of the boat, his knees spread wide. “Does it take long to get there?” he asked.
“Not very long with this tide, but we’re late.”
“Mm.”
“It’s well after eight o’clock.”
“Yes, it is, isn’t it? What time do you think we’ll get there?”
“It’ll probably be ten or a little after.”
“That’s just right.”
The sky Musashi looked at that day—the sky Ganryū looked at—was a deep azure. Snow covering the ridge of the Nagato Mountains looked like a white streamer fluttering across a cloudless sky. The houses of the city of Mojigasaki and the wrinkles and crevices of Mount Kazashi were clearly discernible. On the mountainsides, droves of people were straining their eyes toward the islands.
“Sasuke, may I have this?”
“What is it?”
“This broken oar in the bottom of the boat.”
“I don’t need it. Why do you want it?”
“It’s about the right size,” Musashi said cryptically. He held the slightly waterlogged oar out with one hand and squinted down it to see if it was straight. One edge of the blade was split off.
He placed the oar on his knee and, totally absorbed, began carving with his short sword. Sasuke cast backward glances toward Shimonoseki several times, but Musashi seemed oblivious of the people he had left behind.