Musashi: Bushido Code (9 page)

Looking into the dimly lit interior, he called out, "Granny!"

"Who's there!" came the shrill reply. Osugi ambled out from a back room. Lit from below by the paper lantern in her hand, her gnarled face paled at the sight of her visitor.

"You!" she cried.

"I have something important to tell you," Takezō said hurriedly. "Matahachi isn't dead, he's still very much alive and healthy. He's staying with a woman. In another province. That's all I can tell you, because that's all I know. Will you please somehow break the news to Otsū for me? I couldn't do it myself."

Immensely relieved to have unburdened himself of the message, he started to leave, but the old woman called him back.

"Where do you plan to go from here?"

"I have to break into the stockade at Hinagura and rescue Ogin," he replied sadly. "After that, I'll go away somewhere. I just wanted to tell you and your family, as well as Otsū, that I didn't let Matahachi die. Other than that, I have no reason to be here."

"I see." Osugi shifted the lantern from one hand to the other, playing for time. Then she beckoned to him. "I'll bet you're hungry, aren't you?"

"I haven't had a decent meal for days."

"You poor boy! Wait! I'm in the midst of cooking right now, and I can give you a nice warm dinner in no time. As a going-away present. And wouldn't you like to take a bath while I'm getting it ready?"

Takezō was speechless.

"Don't look so shocked. Takez
^ō
, your family and ours have been together since the days of the Akamatsu clan. I don't think you should leave here at all, but I certainly won't let you go without giving you a good hearty meal!"

Again Takezō was unable to reply. He raised his arm and wiped his eyes. No one had been this kind to him for a long, long time. Having come to regard everybody with suspicion and distrust, he was suddenly remembering what it was like to be treated as a human being.

"Hurry on round to the bathhouse, now," urged Osugi in grandmotherly tones. "It's too dangerous to stand here—someone might see you. I'll bring you a washcloth, and while you're washing, I'll get out Matahachi's kimono and some underwear for you. Now take your time and have a good soak."

She handed him the lantern and disappeared into the back of the house. Almost immediately, her daughter-in-law left the house, ran through the garden and off into the night.

From the bathhouse, where the lantern swung back and forth, came the sound of splashing water.

"How is it?" Osugi called jovially. "Hot enough?"

"It's just right! I feel like a new man," Takezō called back.

"Take your time and get good and warm. The rice isn't ready yet."

"Thanks. If I'd known it'd be like this, I'd have come sooner. I was sure you'd have it in for me!" He spoke two or three more times, but his voice was drowned out by the sound of the water and Osugi didn't answer.

Before long, the daughter-in-law reappeared at the gate, all out of breath. She was followed by a band of samurai and vigilantes. Osugi came out of the house and addressed them in a whisper.

"Ah, you got him to take a bath. Very clever," said one of the men admiringly. "Yes, that's fine! We've got him for sure this time!"

Splitting into two groups, the men crouched and moved cautiously, like so many toads, toward the fire blazing brightly under the bath. Something—something indefinable—pricked Takezō's instincts, and he peeped out through a crack in the door. His hair stood on end.

"I've been trapped!" he screamed.

He was stark naked, the bathhouse was tiny, and there was no time to think. Beyond the door he'd spotted what seemed like hordes of men armed with staffs, lances and truncheons.

Still, he wasn't really afraid. Any fear he might have had was blotted out by his anger toward Osugi.

"All right, you bastards, watch this," he growled.

He was well beyond caring how many of them there were. In this situation, as in others, the only thing he knew how to do was to attack rather than be attacked. As his would-be captors made way for each other outside, he abruptly kicked open the door and jumped out and into the air, bellowing a fearsome war whoop. Still naked, his wet hair flying in every direction, he seized and wrenched loose the shaft of the first lance thrust at him, sending its owner flying into the bushes. Taking a firm grip on the weapon, he thrashed about like a whirling dervish, swinging with complete abandon and hitting anyone who came near. He'd learned at Sekigahara that this method was startlingly effective when a man was outnumbered, and that the shaft of a lance could often be used more tellingly than the blade.

The attackers, realizing too late what a blunder they'd made by not sending three or four men charging into the bathhouse in the first place, shouted encouragement to one another. It was clear, however, they'd been outmaneuvered.

About the tenth time Takezō's weapon came in contact with the ground, it broke. He then seized a large rock and threw it at the men, who were already showing signs of backing down.

"Look, he's run inside the house!" shouted one of them, as simultaneously Osugi and her daughter-in-law scrambled out into the back garden.

Making a tremendous clatter as he stormed through the house, Takezō was yelling, "Where are my clothes? Give me back my clothes!"

There were work clothes lying about, not to speak of an elaborate kimono chest, but Takezō paid them no attention. He was straining his eyes in the dim light to find his own ragged garment. Finally spotting it in the corner of the kitchen, he seized it in one hand and finding a foothold atop a large earthenware oven, crawled out of a small high window. While he made his way onto the roof, his pursuers, now totally confused, cursed and made excuses to each other for their failure to ensnare him.

Standing in the middle of the roof, Takezō unhurriedly donned his kimono. With his teeth, he tore off a strip of cloth from his sash, and gathering his damp hair behind, tied it near the roots so tightly that his eyebrows and the corners of his eyes were stretched.

The spring sky was full of stars.

The Art of War

The daily search in the mountains continued, and farm work languished; the villagers could neither cultivate their fields nor tend to their silkworms. Large signs posted in front of the village headman's house and at every crossroads announced a substantial reward for anyone who captured or killed Takezō, as well as suitable recompense for any information leading to his arrest. The notices bore the authoritative signature of Ikeda Terumasa, lord of Himeji Castle.

At the Hon'iden residence, panic prevailed. Osugi and her family, trembling in mortal dread lest Takezō come to take his revenge, bolted the main gate and barricaded all entrances. The searchers, under the direction of troops from Himeji, laid fresh plans to trap the fugitive. Thus far all their efforts had proved fruitless.

"He's killed another one!" a villager shouted.

"Where? Who was it this time?"

"Some samurai. No one's identified him yet."

The corpse had been discovered near a path on the village outskirts, its head in a clump of tall weeds and its legs raised skyward in a bafflingly contorted position. Frightened but incurably nosy, villagers milled about, babbling among themselves. The skull had been smashed, evidently with one of the wooden reward signs, which now lay across the body soaked in blood. Those gawking at the spectacle could not avoid reading the list of promised rewards. Some laughed grimly at the blatant irony.

Otsū's face was drawn and pale as she emerged from the crowd. Wishing she hadn't looked, she hurried toward the temple, trying to somehow blot out the image of the dead man's face lingering before her eyes. At the foot of the hill, she ran into the captain who was lodging at the temple and five or six of his men. They had heard of the gruesome killing and were on their way to investigate. Upon seeing the girl, the captain grinned. "Where've you been, Otsū?" he said with ingratiating familiarity.

"Shopping," she replied curtly. Without bestowing so much as a glance upon him, she hurried up the temple's stone steps. She hadn't liked the man to begin with—he had a stringy mustache which she took particular exception to—but since the night he'd tried to force himself on her, the sight of him filled her with loathing.

Takuan was sitting in front of the main hall, playing with a stray dog. She was hurrying by at some distance to avoid the mangy animal when the monk looked up and called, "Otsū, there's a letter for you."

"For me?" she asked incredulously.

"Yes, you were out when the runner came, so he left it with me." Taking the small scroll out of his kimono sleeve and handing it to her, he said, "You don't look too good. Is something wrong?"

"I feel sick. I saw a dead man lying in the grass. His eyes were still open, and there was blood—"

"You shouldn't look at things like that. But I guess the way things are now, you'd have to walk around with your eyes closed. I'm always tripping over corpses these days. Ha! And I'd heard this village was a little paradise!"

"But why is Takezō killing all these people?"

"To keep them from killing him, of course. They don't have any real reason to kill him, so why should he let them?"

"Takuan, I'm scared!" she said pleadingly. "What would we do if he came here?"

Dark cumulus clouds were drawing their cloak over the mountains. She took her mysterious letter and went to hide in the loom shed. On the loom was an unfinished strip of cloth for a man's kimono, part of the garment which, since the year before, she'd been spending every spare moment spinning silk yarn for. It was for Matahachi, and she was excited by the prospect of sewing all the pieces together into a full kimono. She had woven every strand meticulously, as if the weaving itself were drawing him closer to her. She wanted the garment to last forever.

Seating herself before the loom, she gazed intently at the letter. "Whoever could have sent it?" she whispered to herself, sure that the letter must have really been meant for someone else. She read the address over and over, searching for a flaw.

The letter had obviously made a long journey to reach her. The torn and crumpled wrapper was smudged all over with fingerprints and raindrops. She broke the seal, whereupon not one but two letters fell into her lap. The first was in an unfamiliar woman's hand, a somewhat older woman, she quickly guessed.

I am writing merely to confirm what is written in the other letter, and will therefore not go into details.

I am marrying Matahachi and adopting him into my family. However, he still seems concerned about you. I think it would be a mistake to let matters stand as they are. Matahachi is therefore sending you an explanation, the truth of which I hereby witness.

Please forget Matahachi.

Respectfully, Okō

The other letter was in Matahachi's scrawl and explained at tiresome length all the reasons why it was impossible for him to return home. The gist of it, of course, was that Otsū should forget about her betrothal to him and find another husband. Matahachi added that since it was "difficult" for him to write directly to his mother of these matters, he would appreciate her help. If Otsū happened to see the old woman, she was to tell her Matahachi was alive and well and living in another province.

Otsū felt the marrow of her spine turn to ice. She sat stricken, too shocked to cry or even to blink. The nails of the fingers holding the letter turned the same color as the skin of the dead man she had seen less than an hour before.

The hours passed. Everyone in the kitchen began wondering where she'd gone. The captain in charge of the search was content to let his exhausted men sleep in the woods, but when he himself returned to the temple at dusk, he demanded comforts befitting his status. The bath had to be heated just so; fresh fish from the river had to be prepared to his specifications and someone had to fetch sake of the highest quality from one of the village homes. A great deal of work was entailed in keeping the man happy, and much of it naturally fell to Otsū. Since she was nowhere to be found, the captain's dinner was late.

Takuan went out to search for her. He had no concern whatsoever for the captain, but he was beginning to worry about Otsū herself. It just wasn't like her to go off without a word. Calling her name, the monk crossed the temple grounds, passing by the loom shed several times. Since the door was shut, he didn't bother to look inside.

Several times the temple priest stepped out onto the raised passageway and shouted to Takuan, "Have you found her yet? She's got to be around here somewhere." As time went on, he grew frantic, calling out, "Hurry up and find her! Our guest says he can't drink his sake without her here to pour it for him."

The temple's manservant was dispatched down the hill to search for her, lantern in hand. At almost the same moment he took off, Takuan finally opened the loom shed door.

What he saw inside gave him a start. Otsū was drooped over the loom in a state of obvious desolation. Not wanting to pry, he remained silent, staring at the two twisted and torn letters on the ground. They had been trampled on like a couple of straw effigies.

Takuan picked them up. "Aren't these what the runner brought today?" he asked gently. "Why don't you put them away somewhere?"

Otsū shook her head feebly.

"Everyone's half-crazy with worry about you. I've been looking all over. Come, Otsū, let's go back. I know you don't want to, but you really do have work to do. You've got to serve the captain, for one thing. That old priest is nearly beside himself."

"My . . . my head hurts," she whispered. "Takuan, couldn't they let me off tonight—just this once?"

Takuan sighed. "Otsū, I personally think you shouldn't have to serve the captain's sake tonight or any night. The priest, however, is of a different mind. He is a man of this world. He's not the type who can gain the daimyō's respect or support for the temple through high-mindedness alone. He believes he has to wine and dine the captain—keep him happy every minute." He patted Otsū on the back. "And after all, he did take you in and raise you, so you do owe him something. You won't have to stay long."

She consented reluctantly. While Takuan was helping her up, she raised her tear-stained face to him and said, "I'll go, but only if you promise to stay with me."

"I have no objection to that, but old Scraggly Beard doesn't like me, and every time I see that silly mustache I have an irresistible urge to tell him how ridiculous it looks. It's childish, I know, but some people just affect me that way."

"But I don't want to go alone!"

"The priest is there, isn't he?"

"Yes, but he always leaves when I arrive."

"Hmm. That's not so good. All right, I'll go with you. Now stop thinking about it, and go wash your face."

When Otsū finally appeared at the priest's quarters, the captain, already slouching drunkenly, immediately perked up. Straightening his cap, which had been listing noticeably, he became quite jovial and called for refill after refill. Soon his face glowed scarlet and the corners of his bulging eyes began to sag.

He was not enjoying himself to the full, however, and the reason was a singularly unwanted presence in the room. On the other side of the lamp sat Takuan, bent over like a blind beggar, absorbed in reading the book open on his knees.

Mistaking the monk for an acolyte, the captain pointed at him, bellowing, "Hey, you there!"

Takuan continued reading until Otsū gave him a nudge. He raised his eyes absently, and looking all around, said, "You mean me?"

The captain spoke gruffly. "Yes, you! I have no business with you. Leave!" "Oh, I don't mind staying," Takuan replied innocently.

"Oh, you don't, do you?"

"No, not at all," Takuan said, returning to his book.

"Well, I mind," the captain blustered. "It spoils the taste of good sake to have someone around reading."

"Oh, I'm sorry," responded Takuan with mock solicitude. "How rude of me. I'll just close the book."

"The very sight annoys me."

"All right, then. I'll have Otsū- put it away."

"Not the book, you idiot! I'm talking about you! You spoil the setting."

Takuan's expression became grave. "Now, that is a problem, isn't it? It's not as though I were the sacred Wu-k'ung and could change myself into a puff of smoke, or become an insect and perch on your tray."

The captain's red neck swelled and his eyes bulged. He looked like a blowfish. "Get out, you fool! Out of my sight!"

"Very well," said Takuan quietly, bowing. Taking Otsū's hand, he addressed her. "The guest says he prefers to be alone. To love solitude is the mark of the sage. We mustn't bother him further. Come."

"Why . . . why, you . . . you . . ."

"Is something wrong?"

"Who said anything about taking Otsū with you, you ugly moron!"

Takuan folded his arms. "I've observed over the years that not many priests or monks are particularly handsome. Not many samurai either, for that matter. Take you, for example."

The captain's eyes nearly leapt from their sockets. "What!"

"Have you considered your mustache? I mean, have you ever really taken the time to look at it, to evaluate it objectively?"

"You crazy bastard," shouted the captain as he reached for his sword, which was leaning against the wall. "Watch yourself!"

As he got to his feet, Takuan, keeping one eye on him, asked placidly, "Hmm. How do I go about watching myself?"

The captain, who was by now screaming, had his sheathed sword in hand. "I've taken all I can take. Now you're going to get what's coming to you!"

Takuan burst out laughing. "Does that mean you plan to cut off my head? If so, forget it. It would be a terrible bore."

"Huh?"

"A bore. I can't think of anything more boring than cutting off a monk's head. It would just fall to the floor and lie there laughing up at you. Not a very grand accomplishment, and what good could it possibly do you?"

"Well," growled the captain, let's just say I'd have the satisfaction of shutting you up. It'd be pretty hard for you to keep up your insolent chatter!" Filled with the courage such people derive from having a weapon in hand, he laughed a mean belly laugh and moved forward threateningly.

"But, captain!"

Takuan's offhand manner had so enraged him that the hand in which he held his scabbard was shaking violently. Otsū slipped between the two men in an effort to protect Takuan.

"What are you saying, Takuan?" she said, hoping to lighten the mood and slow the action. "People don't talk like that to warriors. Now, just say you're sorry," she entreated. "Come on, apologize to the captain."

Takuan, however, was anything but finished.

"Get out of the way, Otsū. I'm all right. Do you really think I'd let myself be beheaded by a dolt like this, who though commanding scores of able, armed men has wasted twenty days trying to locate one exhausted, half-starved fugitive? If he hasn't enough sense to find Takezō, it would indeed be amazing if he could outwit me!"

"Don't move!" commanded the captain. His bloated face turned purple as he moved to draw his sword. "Stand aside, Otsū! I'm going to cut this big-mouthed acolyte in two!"

Otsū fell at the captain's feet and pleaded, "You have every reason to be angry, but please be patient. He's not quite right in the head. He talks to everybody this way. He doesn't mean anything by it, really!" Tears began gushing from her eyes.

"What are you saying, Otsū?" objected Takuan. "There's nothing wrong with my mind, and I'm not joking. I'm only telling the truth, which no one seems to like to hear. He's a dolt, so I called him a dolt. You want me to lie?"

"You'd better not say that again," thundered the samurai.