Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [634]
It was a very small island. At the north end was a low hill, covered with pine trees. To the south the ground was level at a height about half that of the hill until the island dropped off into the shoals.
A canopy had been hung between some trees at a considerable distance from the shore. The officials and their attendants waited quietly and inconspicuously, not wishing to give Musashi the impression that they were trying to add to the dignity of the local champion.
Now, two hours past the appointed time, they were beginning to show their anxiety and resentment. Twice they had sent fast boats out to hurry Musashi on.
The lookout from the reef ran up to the officials and said, “It’s him! No doubt about it.”
“Has he really come?” asked Kakubei, rising involuntarily, and by doing so committing a serious breach of etiquette. As an official witness, he was expected to remain coolly reserved. His excitement was only natural, however, and was shared by others in his party, who also stood up.
Realizing his gaffe, Kakubei brought himself under control and motioned to the others to sit down again. It was essential that they not allow their personal preference for Ganryū to color their actions or their decision. Kakubei glanced toward Ganryū’s waiting area. Tatsunosuke had hung a curtain with a gentian crest from several wild peach trees. Next to the curtain was a new wooden bucket with a bamboo-handled ladle. Ganryū, impatient after his long wait, had asked for a drink of water and was now resting in the shade of the curtain.
Nagaoka Sado’s position was beyond Ganryū’s and slightly higher. He was surrounded by guards and attendants, Iori at his side. When the lookout arrived with his news, the boy’s face—even his lips—turned pale. Sado was seated in formal fashion, straight and motionless. His helmet shifted slightly to his right, as though he were looking at the sleeve of his kimono. In a low voice, he called Iori’s name.
“Yes, sir.” Iori bowed to the ground before looking up under Sado’s helmet. Unable to control his excitement, he was trembling from head to feet.
“Iori,” said Sado, looking straight into the boy’s eyes. “Watch everything that happens. Don’t miss a single thing. Keep in mind that Musashi has laid his life on the line to teach you what you are about to see.”
Iori nodded. His eyes sparkled like flames as he fixed his gaze on the reef. The white spray of the waves breaking against it dazzled his eyes. It was about two hundred yards away, so it would be impossible for him to see the small movements and the breathing of the fighters. But it was not the technical aspects Sado wanted him to watch. It was the dramatic moment when a samurai enters a life-and-death struggle. This was what would live on in his mind and influence him throughout his life.
The waves of grass rose and fell. Greenish insects darted hither and thither. A small, delicate butterfly moved from one blade of grass to another, then was seen no more.
“He’s nearly here,” gasped Iori.
Musashi’s boat approached the reef slowly. It was almost exactly ten o’clock.
Ganryū stood up and walked unhurriedly down the hillock behind the waiting stations. He bowed to the officials on his right and left and walked quietly through the grass to the shore.
The approach to the island was an inlet of sorts, where waves became wavelets, then mere ripples. Musashi could see the bottom through the clear blue water.
“Where should I land?” asked Sasuke, who had tempered his stroke and was scanning the shore with his eyes.
“Go straight in.” Musashi threw off the quilted coat.
The bow advanced at a very restrained pace. Sasuke could not bring himself to stroke with vigor; his arms moved only slightly, exerting little force. The sound of bulbuls was in the air.
“Sasuke.”
“Yes, sir.”
“It’s shallow enough