Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [74]
“Why, look! He’s going to do the Dance of the Hida Maiden! Let’s hear the song too, Tōji”
He invited them all to join in, and they began rapping rhythmically on the dishes with their chopsticks, while one man clanged the fire tongs against the edge of the brazier.
Across the bamboo fence, the bamboo fence, the bamboo fence,
I caught sight of a long-sleeved kimono,
A long-sleeved kimono in the snow… .
Drowned in applause after the first verse, Tōji bowed out, and the women took up where he had left off, accompanying themselves on shamisen.
The girl I saw yesterday
Is not here today.
The girl I see today,
She’ll not be here tomorrow.
I know not what the morrow will bring,
I want to love her today.
In one corner, a student held up a huge bowl of sake to a comrade and said, “Say, why don’t you down this in one gulp?”
“No, thanks.”
“No, thanks? You call yourself a samurai, and you can’t even put this away?” “Sure I can. But if I do, you have to too!”
“Fair enough!”
The contest began, with them gulping like horses at the trough and dribbling sake out of the corners of their mouths. An hour or so later a couple of them started vomiting, while others were reduced to immobility and blankly staring bloodshot eyes.
One, whose customary bluster became more strident the more he drank, declaimed, “Does anyone in this country besides the Young Master truly understand the techniques of the Kyōhachi Style? If there is—hic—I want to meet him… . Oops!”
Another stalwart, seated near Seijūrō, laughed and stammered through his hiccups. “He’s piling on the flattery because the Young Master’s here. There are other schools of martial arts besides the ones here in Kyoto, and the Yoshioka School’s not necessarily the greatest anymore. In Kyoto alone, there’s the school of Toda Seigen in Kurotani, and there’s Ogasawara Genshinsai in Kitano. And let’s not forget Hō Ittōsai in Shirakawa, even though he doesn’t take students.”
“And what’s so wonderful about them?”
“I mean, we shouldn’t get the idea we’re the only swordsmen in the world.” “You simple-minded bastard!” shouted a man whose pride had been offended. “Come forward!”
“Like this?” retorted the critic, standing up.
“You’re a member of this school, and you’re belittling Yoshioka Kempō’s style?”
“I’m not belittling it! It’s just that things aren’t what they used to be in the old days when the master taught the shōguns and was considered the greatest of swordsmen. There are far more people practicing the Way of the Sword these days, not only in Kyoto but in Edo, Hitachi, Echizen, the home provinces, the western provinces, Kyushu—all over the country. Just because Yoshioka Kempō was famous doesn’t mean the Young Master and all of us are the greatest swordsmen alive. It’s just not true, so why kid ourselves?”
“Coward! You pretend to be a samurai, but you’re afraid of other schools!”
“Who’s afraid of them? I just think we should guard ourselves against becoming complacent.”
“And who are you to be giving warnings?” With this the offended student punched the other in the chest, knocking him down.
“You want to fight?” growled the fallen man.
“Yeah, I’m ready.”
The seniors, Gion Tōji and Ueda Ryōhei, intervened. “Stop it, you two!” Jumping to their feet, they pulled the two men apart and tried to smooth their ruffled feathers.
“Quiet down now!”
“We all understand how you feel.”
A few more cups of sake were poured into the combatants, and presently things were back to normal. The firebrand was once again eulogizing himself and the others, while the critic, his arm draped around Ryōhei, pleaded his case tearfully. “I only spoke up for the sake of the school,” he sobbed. “If people keep spouting flattery, Yoshioka Kempō’s reputation will eventually be ruined. Ruined, I tell you!”
Seijūrō alone remained relatively sober. Noticing this, Tōji said, “You’re not enjoying the party, are you?”
“Unh. Do you think they really enjoy it? I wonder.”
“Sure; this is their idea of a good time.”
“I don’t see how, when they