Musashi: Bushido Code (89 page)

The breeze would begin as a whisper, mushroom into a violent gust, then roar through the trees and raise havoc with the smaller plants.

During a lull that left only the ominous silence of the stars above, Gonnosuke held the torch high and waited for Musashi to catch up with him.

"Sorry," he said, "but nobody seems to know anything about them. There's just one more house between here and the pond. It's behind those woods over there. The owner farms part of the time and hunts the rest. If he can't help us, there's nowhere else to look."

"Thanks for going to all this trouble. We've already been to more than ten houses, so I suppose there's not much hope of their being around here. If we don't find out anything at this next house, let's give up and go back."

It was past midnight. Musashi had expected they would at least find some trace of Jōtarō, but no one had seen him. Descriptions of Otsū had brought nothing but blank looks and long country pauses.

"If it's the walking you're thinking about, that's nothing to me. I could walk all night. Are the woman and boy servants of yours? Brother? Sister?" "They're the people closest to me."

Each would have liked to ask the other more about himself, but Gonnosuke lapsed into silence, moved a pace or two ahead and guided Musashi along a narrow path toward Nobu Pond.

Musashi was curious about Gonnosuke's skill with the staff and how he had acquired it, but his sense of propriety kept him from asking about it. Musing that his meeting the man was due to a mishap—and his own rashness—he nevertheless felt extremely grateful. What a misfortune it would have been to miss seeing this great fighter's dazzling technique!

Gonnosuke stopped and said, "You'd better wait here. Those people are probably asleep, and we don't want to frighten them. I'll go alone and see if I can find out anything."

He pointed out the house, whose thatched roof seemed nearly buried in the trees. A rustling of bamboo accompanied his running footsteps. Presently Musashi heard him knocking loudly on the door.

He returned a few minutes later with a story that seemed to give Musashi his first real lead. It had taken him a while to make the man and his wife understand what he was asking about, but finally the wife told him of something that had happened to her that afternoon.

A little before sundown, on her way home from shopping, the woman had seen a boy running toward Yabuhara, hands and face covered with mud and a long wooden sword in his obi. When she stopped him and asked what was wrong, he responded by asking her where the office of the shōgun's deputy was. He went on to tell her that a bad man had carried off the person he was traveling with. She advised him that he was wasting his time; the shōgun's officers would never on their own organize a search for a person of no consequence. If it was somebody great or important, or if they had orders from above, they would turn every dollop of horse manure, every grain of sand, but they had no use for common folk. Anyway, for a woman to be kidnapped or a traveler to be stripped clean by highwaymen was nothing unusual. Things like that happened morning, noon and night.

She had told the boy to go past Yabuhara to a place called Narai. There, at an intersection it was easy to see, he would find a wholesale house dealing in herbs. It was owned by a man named Daizō, who would listen to his story and in all likelihood offer to help him. Unlike the officials, Daizō not only sympathized with the weak but would go to great lengths to help them if he thought their cause was worthy.

Gonnosuke ended by saying, "It sounded to me as though the boy was Jōtarō. What do you think?"

"I'm sure of it," said Musashi. "I suppose the best thing to do would be to go to Narai as quickly as possible and look up this man Daizō. Thanks to you, I at least have an idea what to do."

"Why not spend the rest of the night at my house? You can start out in the morning, after you've had some breakfast."

"May I do that?"

"Sure. If we cross Nobu Pond, we can get home in less than half the time it took us to get here. I asked the man and he said we could use his boat."

The pond, at the end of a short downhill walk, looked like a gigantic drumhead. Encircled by purple willow trees, it must have been twelve or thirteen hundred yards in diameter. The dark shadow of Mount Koma was reflected in the water, along with a skyful of stars.

With Musashi holding the torch and Gonnosuke poling, they slid silently across the middle of the pond. Far redder than the torch itself was its reflection in the smooth water.

Poisonous Fangs

From a distance, the torch and its reflection suggested a pair of firebirds swimming across the serene surface of Nobu Pond.

"Somebody coming!" whispered Matahachi. "All right, we'll go this way," he said, tugging at the rope he had tied Otsū with. "Come on!"

"I'm not going anywhere," protested Otsū, digging in her heels. "Stand up!"

With the end of the rope, he lashed her across the back, then lashed and lashed again. But every stroke reinforced her resistance.

Matahachi lost heart. "Come on now," he implored. "Please walk."

When she still refused to stand, his anger flared again and he seized her by the collar. "You'll come whether you like it or not."

Otsū tried to turn toward the pond and scream, but he quickly gagged her with a hand towel. Eventually he managed to drag her to a tiny shrine hidden among the willows.

Otsū, yearning to have her hands free to attack her abductor, thought how wonderful it would be to be transformed into a snake, like the one she could see painted on a plaque. It was coiled around a willow, hissing at a man who was putting a curse on it.

"That was lucky." Sighing with relief, he pushed her into the shrine and leaned heavily against the outside of the grille door, intently watching the little boat coast into an inlet some four hundred yards away.

His day had been totally exhausting. When he'd tried to use brute force to take her, she'd made it clear she'd rather die than submit. She'd even threatened to bite off her tongue, and Matahachi knew her well enough to know it was no empty threat. His frustration brought him to the verge of committing murder, but the very notion sapped his strength and cooled his lust.

He couldn't fathom why she loved Musashi instead of him, when it had, for so long, been the other way around. Didn't women prefer him to his old friend? Hadn't they always? Hadn't Okō been immediately drawn to Matahachi when they'd first met her? Of course she had. Only one explanation was possible: Musashi was slandering him behind his back. Pondering his betrayal, Matahachi worked himself into a fury.

"What a stupid, gullible ass I am! How could I have let him make such a fool of me? To think I was in tears listening to him talk about undying friendship, about how he treasured it! Ha!"

He upbraided himself for ignoring Sasaki Kojirō's warning, which resounded in his ears. "Trust that scoundrel Musashi and you'll live to regret it."

Until today he'd wavered between liking and disliking his childhood friend, but now he loathed him. And although he couldn't bring himself to voice it, a solemn prayer for Musashi's eternal damnation took form in his heart.

He had become convinced that Musashi was his enemy, born to thwart him at every turn and eventually destroy him. "The lousy hypocrite," he thought. "He sees me after such a long time and starts preaching about being a real human being, tells me to buck up, that we'll go on from here hand in hand, friends for life. I remember every word—can see him saying it all so sincerely. It makes me sick just to think about it. He was probably laughing to himself the whole time.

"The so-called good people of this world are all phonies like Musashi," he reassured himself. "Well, I see through them now. They can't fool me anymore. Studying a lot of silly books and putting up with all sorts of hardship just to become another hypocrite is nonsense. From now on, they can tell me whatever they please. If I have to be a villain to do it, one way or another I'll stop that bastard from making a name for himself. For the rest of his life, I'll stand in his way!"

He turned around and kicked the grille door in. Then he untied her gag and said coldly, "Still crying, are you?"

She did not answer.

"Answer me! Answer the question I asked you before."

Enraged by her silence, he kicked her dark form on the floor. She moved out of range and said, "I have nothing to say to you. If you're going to kill me, do it like a man."

"Don't talk like a fool! I've made up my mind. You and Musashi have ruined my life, and I'm going to get even no matter how long it takes."

"That's nonsense. Nobody led you astray but you yourself. Of course, you may have had a little help from that Okō woman."

"Watch what you're saying!"

"Oh, you and your mother! What is it about your family? Why do you always have to go around hating somebody?"

"You talk too much! What I want to know is, are you going to marry me or not?"

"I can answer that question easily."

"Well, answer then."

"Throughout this lifetime and the eternal future, my heart is bound to one man, Miyamoto Musashi. How can I possibly care for anyone else, let alone a weakling like you. I hate you!"

A trembling swept over his body. With a cruel laugh, he said, "So you hate me, do you? Well, that's too bad, because whether you like me or not, from this night on, your body is mine!"

Otsū shook with anger.

"You still want to be difficult about it?"

"I was brought up in a temple. I never saw my father or mother. Death doesn't frighten me in the least."

"Are you joking?" he growled, as he dropped to the floor beside her and pressed his face toward hers. "Who said anything about death? Killing you wouldn't give me any satisfaction. This is what I'm going to do!" Seizing her shoulder and her left wrist, he sank his teeth right through her sleeve and into her upper arm.

Screaming and writhing about, she tried to free herself but only tightened the hold of his teeth on her arm. He did not release her even when blood dribbled down to the wrist he was holding.

Face stark white, she fainted from the pain. Feeling her body grow limp, he let go and hastily forced open her mouth to make sure she hadn't actually bitten off her tongue. Her face was bathed in sweat.

"Otsū," he wailed. "Forgive me!" He shook her until she came to.

The moment she was able to speak, she stretched out full length and groaned hysterically. "Oh, it hurts! It hurts so! Jōtarō, Jōtarō, help me!"

Matahachi, pale and gasping for breath, said, "Does it hurt? Too bad! Even after it heals, the mark of my teeth will be there for a long time. What'll people say when they see that? What'll Musashi think? I put that there as a brand, so everyone'll know that one of these days you'll belong to me. If you want to run away, run, but you'll never stop being reminded of me."

In the dark shrine, slightly hazy with dust, the silence was broken only by Otsū’s sobbing.

"Stop blubbering. It gets on my nerves. I'm not going to touch you, so just be quiet. Do you want me to bring you some water?" He took an earthen bowl from the altar and started to go out.

He was surprised to see a man standing outside, looking in. When the man took to his heels, Matahachi bounded through the door and grabbed him.

The man, a farmer on his way to the wholesale market in Shiojiri with several sacks of grain packed on his horse's back, fell at Matahachi's feet, quaking with terror. "I wasn't going to do anything. I just heard a woman crying and looked in to see what happened."

"Is that so? Are you sure?" His manner was as stern as a local magistrate's. "Yes; I swear it is."

"If that's the case, I'll let you off alive. Take those sacks off the horse's back and tie the woman on it. Then you'll stay with us until I'm through with you." His fingers played menacingly with his sword hilt.

The farmer, too frightened to disobey, did as he was told, and the three of them started off.

Matahachi picked up a bamboo stick to use as a whip. "We're going to Edo and we don't want any company, so stay away from the main road," he ordered. "Take a road where we won't run into anybody."

"That's very difficult."

"I don't care how difficult it is! Take a back road. We'll go to Ina and from there to Kōshū without using the main highway."

"But that means climbing a very bad mountain path from Ubagami to Gombei Pass."

"All right, start climbing! And don't try any tricks, or I'll split your skull open. I don't particularly need you. All I want is the horse. You should be thankful I'm taking you along."

The dark path seemed to get steeper with every step. By the time they reached Ubagami, about halfway up, both men and horse were ready to drop. Beneath their feet, clouds billowed like waves. A faint trace of light tinged the eastern sky.

Otsū had ridden all night without uttering a word, but when she saw the rays of the sun, she said quietly, "Matahachi, please let the man go. Give him back his horse. I promise not to run away."

Matahachi was reluctant, but she repeated her plea a third and fourth time, and he gave in. As the farmer went away, Matahachi said to Otsū, "Now, you just come along quietly, and don't try to escape."

She placed her hand over the injured arm, and biting her lip, said, "I won't. You don't think I want anyone to see the marks of your venomous fangs on me, do you?"

A Maternal Warning

"Mother," said Gonnosuke, "you're going too far. Can't you see I'm upset too?" He was weeping, and the words came in spurts.

"Shh! You'll wake him." His mother's voice was soft but stern. She might have been scolding a three-year-old. "If you feel so bad, the only thing to do is get a firm grip on yourself and follow the Way with all your heart. Crying won't do any good. Besides, it's unbecoming. Wipe your face."

"First promise you'll forgive me for that shameful performance yesterday."

"Well, I couldn't help scolding you, but I suppose after all it's a matter of skill. They say the longer a man goes without facing a challenge, the weaker he becomes. It's only natural you lost."

"Hearing that from you makes it all the worse. After all your encouragement, I still lost. I see now I don't have the talent or spirit to be a real warrior. I'll have to give up the martial arts and be content with being a farmer. I can do more for you with my hoe than I can with my staff."

Musashi was already awake. He sat straight up, amazed that the young man and his mother had taken the skirmish so seriously. He himself had already brushed it off as a mistake on his part as well as Gonnosuke's. "What a sense of honor," he mumbled as he crept quietly into the next room. He went to the far side and put his eye to the crack between the shoji panels.

Faintly lit by the rising sun, Gonnosuke's mother was seated with her back to the Buddhist altar. Gonnosuke was kneeling meekly before her, his eyes downcast and his face streaked with tears.

Grabbing the back of his collar, she said with vehemence, "What did you say? What's this about spending your life as a farmer?" Pulling him closer, until his head rested on her knees, she continued in an outraged tone. "Only one thing's kept me going all these years—the hope that I could make a samurai of you and restore our family's good name. So I had you read all those books and learn the martial arts. And that's why I’ve managed to live all these years on so little. And now ... now you say you're going throw it all away!"

She, too, began to weep. "Since you let him get the best of you, you have to think of vindicating yourself. He's still here. When he wakes up, challenge him to another bout. That's the only way you can regain your self-confidence."

Gonnosuke, lifting his head, said sadly, "If I could do that, Mother, I wouldn't feel the way I do now."

"What's the matter with you? You're not acting like yourself. Where's your spirit?"

"Last night, when I went with him to the pond, I kept my eye open for a chance to attack him, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I kept telling myself he was only a nameless rōnin. Still, when I took a good look at him, my arm refused to move."

"That's because you're thinking like a coward."

"What of it? Look, I know I've got the blood of a Kiso samurai in me. I haven't forgotten how I prayed before the god of Ontake for twenty-one days."

"Didn't you swear before the god of Ontake that you'd use your staff to create your own school?"

"Yes, but I guess I've been too complacent. I haven't considered that other men know how to fight too. If I'm as immature as I showed myself to be yesterday, how could I ever establish a school of my own? Rather than live in poverty and see you hungry, it'd be better to break my staff in half and forget about it."

"You've never lost before, and you've had a number of matches. Maybe the god of Ontake intended yesterday's defeat as a lesson to you. Maybe you're being punished for being overconfident. Giving up the staff to take better care of me isn't the way to make me happy. When that rōnin wakes up, challenge him. If you lose again, then's the time to break your staff and forget your ambitions."

Musashi went back to his room to give the matter some thought. If Gonnosuke challenged him, he'd have to fight. And if he fought, he knew he'd win. Gonnosuke would be crushed, his mother heartbroken.

"There's nothing to do but avoid it," he concluded.

Noiselessly sliding open the door to the veranda, he went out. The morning sun spilled a whitish light through the trees. In the corner of the yard near a storehouse stood the cow, grateful for another day and for the grass growing at her feet. Bidding the animal a silent farewell, Musashi went through the windbreak and strode off on a path winding through the fields.

Mount Koma today was visible from top to bottom. The clouds were countless, small and cottony, each of a different shape, all playing freely in the breeze.

"Jōtarō's young, Otsū frail," he told himself. "But there're people who have the goodness of heart to take care of the young and the frail. Some power in the universe will decide whether I find them or not." His spirit, in turmoil since that day at the waterfall, had seemed in danger of losing its way. Now it returned to the path it was meant to follow. On a morning like this, thinking solely of Otsū and Jōtarō seemed shortsighted, no matter how important they were to him. He must keep his mind on the Way he had sworn to follow throughout this life and into the next.

Narai, which he reached a little after noon, was a thriving community. One shop displayed a variety of pelts outside. Another specialized in Kiso combs.

With the intention of asking his way, Musashi stuck his head into a shop that sold medicine made from bear's gall. There was a sign reading "The Big Bear," and by the entrance a large bear in a cage.

The proprietor, his back turned, finished pouring himself a cup of tea and said, "Can I help you?"

"Could you tell me how to find the store belonging to a man named Daizō?"

"Daizō? He's down at the next crossroads." The man came out, holding his cup of tea, and pointed down the road. Catching sight of his apprentice returning from an errand, he called, "Here. This gentleman wants to go to Daizō's place. He might not recognize it, so you'd better take him there."

The apprentice, whose head was shaved so as to leave one shock of hair in front and another in back but none on top, marched off with Musashi in tow. The latter, grateful for the kindness, reflected that Daizō must enjoy the respect of his fellow townsmen.

"Over there," said the boy. He pointed at the establishment on the left and immediately took his leave.

Musashi, having expected a shop like the ones catering to travelers, was surprised. The grilled display window was eighteen feet long, and behind the shop there were two storehouses. The house, which was large and appeared to extend quite a way back from the high wall enclosing the rest of the compound, had an imposing entranceway, now closed.

With a certain hesitancy, Musashi opened the door and called, "Good day!" The large, dim interior reminded him of the inside of a sake brewery. Because of the dirt floor, the air was pleasantly cool.

A man stood in front of a bookkeeper's cabinet in the office, a room with a raised floor covered with tatami.

Shutting the door behind him, Musashi explained what he wanted. Before he finished, the clerk nodded and said, "Well, well, so you've come for the boy." He bowed and offered Musashi a cushion. "I'm sorry to say, you've just missed him. He showed up around midnight, while we were preparing for the master's trip. Seems the woman he was traveling with was kidnapped, and he wanted the master to help find her. The master told him he'd be glad to try, but he couldn't guarantee anything. If she'd been taken by a freebooter or bandit from around here, there'd be no problem. Apparently, though, it was another traveler, and he'd be sure to stay off the main roads.

"This morning, the master sent people out to look, but they didn't find any clues. The boy broke down when he heard that, so the master suggested he come along with him. Then they could look for her on the way, or they might even run into you. The boy seemed eager to go, and they left shortly after that. I guess it's been about four hours now. What a shame you missed them!"

Musashi was disappointed, though he wouldn't have been in time even if he had started earlier and traveled faster. He consoled himself with the thought that there was always tomorrow.

"Where's Daizō going?" he asked.

"It's hard to say. We don't run a shop in the ordinary sense. The herbs are prepared in the mountains and brought here. Twice a year, spring and fall, the salesmen stock up here and go out on the road. Since the master doesn't have much to keep him busy, he often takes trips, sometimes to temples or shrines, sometimes to hot-spring resorts, other times to places famous for their scenery. This time I suspect he'll go to the Zenkōji, travel around Echigo awhile and then go on to Edo. That's only a hunch, though. He never mentioned where he was going.... Wouldn't you like some tea?"

Musashi waited impatiently, ill at ease in such surroundings, while fresh tea was fetched from the kitchen. When the tea arrived, he asked what Daizō looked like.

"Oh, if you see him, you'll recognize him right off. He's fifty-two years old, quite robust—looks strong too—squarish, ruddy face with a few pockmarks. There's a balding spot on his right temple."

"How tall is he?"

"About average, I'd say."

"How does he dress?"

"Now that you ask, I imagine that's the easiest way to recognize him. He's wearing a striped Chinese cotton kimono he ordered from Sakai especially for this trip. It's a very unusual fabric. I doubt anybody else is wearing it yet."

Musashi formed an impression of the man's character, as well as his appearance. Out of politeness, he lingered long enough to finish the tea. He could not catch up with them before sundown, but he reckoned that if he traveled during the night, he'd be at Shiojiri Pass by dawn and could wait for them there.

By the time he came to the foot of the pass, the sun had disappeared, and an evening mist was descending softly over the highroad. It was late spring; lights in the houses along the road emphasized the loneliness of the mountains. It was still five miles to the top of the pass. Musashi climbed on, not stopping to relax until he reached Inojigahara, a high, level place hard by the pass. There he lay down among the stars and allowed his mind to wander. It was not long before he was sleeping soundly.

The diminutive Sengen Shrine marked the pinnacle of the rocky eminence that stood out like a carbuncle on the plateau. This was the highest point in the Shiojiri area.

Musashi's sleep was interrupted by the sound of voices. "Come up here," shouted one man. "You can see Mount Fuji." Musashi sat up and looked around without seeing anyone.

The morning light was dazzling. And there, floating on a sea of clouds, was the red cone of Mount Fuji, still wearing its winter mantle of snow. The sight brought a childish cry of delight to his lips. He had seen paintings of the famous mountain and had a mental image of it, but this was the first time he had actually seen it. It was nearly a hundred miles away but seemed to be on the same level as he was.

"Magnificent," he sighed, making no effort to wipe the tears from his unblinking eyes.

He felt awed by his own tininess, saddened by the thought of his insignificance in the vastness of the universe. Since his victory at the spreading pine, he had secretly dared to think there were few, if any, men as well qualified as he was to be called great swordsmen. His own life on earth was short, limited; the beauty and splendor of Mount Fuji eternal. Annoyed and a little depressed, he asked himself how he could possibly attach any importance to his accomplishments with the sword.

There was an inevitability in the way nature rose majestically and sternly above him; it was in the order of things that he was doomed to remain beneath it. He fell on his knees before the mountain, hoping his presumptuousness would be forgiven, and clasped his hands in prayer—for his mother's eternal rest and for the safety of Otsū and Jōtarō. He expressed his thanks to his country and begged to be allowed to become great, even if he could not share nature's greatness.

But even as he knelt, different thoughts came rushing into his mind. What had made him think man was small? Wasn't nature itself big only when it was reflected in human eyes? Didn't the gods themselves come into existence only when they communicated with the hearts of mortals? Men—living spirits, not dead rock—performed the greatest actions of all.

"As a man," he told himself, "I am not so distant from the gods and the universe. I can touch them with the three-foot sword I carry. But not so long as I feel there is a distinction between nature and humankind. Not so long as I remain distant from the realm of the true expert, the fully developed man."

His contemplation was interrupted by the chattering of some merchants who had climbed up near where he was and were gazing at the peak.

"They were right. You can see it."

"But it's not often you can bow before the sacred mountain from here."

Travelers moved in antlike streams in both directions, laden with a kaleidoscopic array of luggage. Sooner or later Daizō and Jōtarō would come up the hill. If by chance he failed to pick them out from among the other travelers, surely they would see the sign he had left at the foot of the cliff: "To Daizō of Narai. I wish to see you when you pass through. I shall wait at the shrine up above. Musashi, Jōtarō's teacher."

The sun was well above the horizon now. Musashi had been watching the road like a hawk, but there was no sign of Daizō. On the other side of the pass, the road divided into three. One went through Kōshū straight to Edo. Another, the main route, crossed Usui Pass and entered Edo from the north. The third veered off to the northern provinces. Whether Daizō was going north to the Zenkōji or east to Edo, he would have to use this pass. Still, as Musashi realized, people did not always move as one might expect. The wholesaler could have gone somewhere well off the beaten path, or he could be spending an extra night at the foot of the mountain. Musashi decided it might not be a bad idea to go back there and ask about Daizō.

As he started down the path cut into the cliffside, he heard a familiar raucous voice say, "There he is, up there!" It brought to mind instantly the staff that had grazed his body two nights before.