Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [75]
“Look, why don’t we go someplace quieter? I’ve had enough of this too.” Seijūrō, looking much relieved, quickly assented. “I’d like to go to the place we were at last night.”
“You mean the Yomogi?”
“Yes.”
“That’s much nicer. I thought all along you wanted to go there, but it would’ve been a waste of money to take along this bunch of oafs. That’s why I steered them here—it’s cheap.”
“Let’s sneak out, then. Ryōhei can take care of the rest.”
“Just pretend you’re going to the toilet. I’ll come along in a few minutes.”, Seijūrō skillfully disappeared. No one noticed.
Outside a house not far away, a woman stood on tiptoe, trying to hang a lantern back on its nail. The wind had blown out the candle, and she had taken it down to relight it. Her back was stretched out under the eaves, and her recently washed hair fell loosely around her face. Strands of hair and the shadows from the lantern made lightly shifting patterns on her outstretched arms. A hint of plum blossoms floated on the evening breeze.
“Okō! Shall I hang it for you?”
“Oh, it’s the Young Master,” she said with surprise.
“Wait a minute.” When the man came forward, she saw that it was not Seijūrō but Tōji.
“Will that do?” he asked.
“Yes, that’s fine. Thank you.”
But Tōji squinted at the lantern, decided it was crooked, and rehung it. It was amazing to Okō how some men, who would flatly refuse to lend a hand in their own homes, could be so helpful and considerate when visiting a place like hers. Often they would open or close the windows for themselves, get out their own cushions, and do a dozen other little chores they’d never dream of doing under their own roofs.
Tōji, pretending not to have heard, showed his master indoors.
Seijūrō, as soon as he was seated, said, “It’s awfully quiet.”
“I’ll open the door to the veranda,” said Tōji.
Below the narrow veranda rippled the waters of the Takase River. To the south, beyond the small bridge at Sanjō Avenue, lay the broad compound of the Zuisenin, the dark expanse of Teramachi—the “Town of Temples”—and a field of miscanthus. This was near Kayahara, where Toyotomi Hideyoshi’s troops had slain the wife, concubines and children of his nephew, the murderous regent Hidetsugu, an event still fresh in many people’s memory.
Tōji was getting nervous. “It’s still too quiet. Where are the women hiding? They don’t seem to have any other customers tonight.” He fidgeted a bit. “I wonder what’s taking Okō so long. She hasn’t even brought us our tea.” When his impatience made him so jumpy he could no longer sit still, he got up to go see why the tea hadn’t been served.
As he stepped out onto the veranda, he nearly collided with Akemi, who was carrying a gold-lacquered tray. The little bell in her obi tinkled as she exclaimed, “Be careful! You’ll make me spill the tea!”
“Why are you so late with it? The Young Master’s here; I thought you liked him.”
“See, I’ve spilled some. It’s your fault. Go fetch me a rag.”
“Ha! Pretty sassy, aren’t you? Where’s Okō?”
“Putting on her makeup, of course.”
“You mean she’s not finished yet?”
“Well, we were busy during the daytime.”
“Daytime? Who came during the daytime?”
“That’s none of your business. Please let me by.”
He stepped aside and Akemi entered the room and greeted the guest. “Good evening. It was good of you to come.”
Seijūrō, feigning nonchalance, looked aside and said, “Oh, it’s you, Akemi. Thanks for last night.” He was embarrassed.
From the tray she took a jar that looked like an incense burner and placed on it a pipe with a ceramic mouthpiece and bowl.
“Would you like a smoke?” she asked politely.
“I thought tobacco was recently banned.”
“It was, but everybody still smokes anyway.”
“All right, I’ll have some.”
“I’ll light it for you.”
She took a pinch of tobacco from a pretty little mother-of-pearl box and stuffed it into the tiny bowl with her dainty fingers. Then she put the pipe to his mouth. Seijūrō, not being in the habit of smoking, handled it rather awkwardly.
“Hmm, bitter, isn