Musashi: Bushido Code (115 page)

"Umm," she replied between mouthfuls of tea-and-rice gruel. "I'd rather you tried just once to do something really worthwhile, something that would make people take notice."

Though nothing was ever said or done to discourage the idea that she was Matahachi's legal wife, she wasn't about to marry anyone who shilly-shallied the way he did. Fleeing the world of play at Sakaimachi with Matahachi had been only an expedient; he was the perch from which she intended, at the first opportunity, to fly once more into the open sky. But it did not suit her purposes for Matahachi to go off to the castle to work. She felt being left alone would be dangerous; specifically, she was afraid Hamada might find her and force her to live with him.

"Oh, I forgot," said Matahachi, as they finished their frugal meal. He then told her about his experiences that day, adjusting the details in a fashion calculated to please her. By the time he had finished, her face was ashen.

Taking a deep breath, she said, "You saw Kojirō? Did you tell him I was here? You didn't, did you?"

Matahachi took her hand and placed it on his knee. "Of course not. Do you think I'd let that bastard know where you are? He's the kind that never gives up. He'd be after you—"

He broke off with an inarticulate shout and pressed his hand to the side of his face. The green persimmon that smashed against his cheek broke and spattered its whitish meat in Akemi's face.

Outside, in the shadows of a moonlit bamboo grove, a form not unlike that of Kojirō could be seen walking nonchalantly away in the direction of town.

Eyes

"Sensei!"
called Iori, who was not yet tall enough to see over the tall grass. They were on Musashino Plain, which was said to cover ten counties.

"I'm right here," replied Musashi. "What's taking you so long?"

"I guess there's a path, but I keep losing it. How much farther do we have to go?"

"Till we find a good place to live."

"Live? We're going to stay around here?"

"Why shouldn't we?"

Iori gazed up at the sky, thought of its vastness and the emptiness of the land around him and said, "I wonder."

"Think what it'll be like in the fall. Clear, beautiful skies, fresh dew on the grass. Doesn't it make you feel cleaner just thinking about it?"

"Well, maybe, but I'm not against living in the city, like you."

"I'm not, really. In a way, it's nice to be among people, but even with my thick skin I couldn't stand being there when those signs were put up. You saw what they said."

Iori grimaced. "I get mad just thinking about it."

"Why let yourself get angry over that?"

"I couldn't help it. No matter where I went, there wasn't anybody who'd say anything good about you."

"Nothing I could do about that."

"You could have cut down the men spreading the rumors. You could have put up your own signs challenging them."

"There's no point in starting fights you can't win."

"You wouldn't have lost to that scum. You couldn't have."

"No, you're wrong. I would have."

"How?"

"Sheer numbers. If I beat ten, there'd be a hundred more. If I defeated a hundred, there'd be a thousand. There's no possibility of winning in that kind of situation."

"But does that mean you're going to be laughed at for the rest of your life?"

"Of course not. I'm as determined as the next person to have a good name. I owe it to my ancestors. And I intend to become a man who's never laughed at. That's what I came out here to learn."

"We can walk all we want, but I don't think we're going to find any houses. Shouldn't we try to find a temple to stay in again?"

"That's not a bad idea, but what I really want is to find someplace with a lot of trees and build a house of our own."

"It'll be like Hōtengahara again, won't it?"

"No. This time we're not going to farm. I think maybe I'll practice Zen meditation every day. You can read books, and I'll give you some lessons in the sword."

Entering the plain at the village of Kashiwagi, the Kōshū entrance to Edo, they had come down the long slope from Jūnisho Gongen and followed a narrow path that repeatedly threatened to disappear among the waving summer grasses. When they finally reached a pine-covered knoll, Musashi made a quick survey of the terrain and said, "This'll do fine." To him, any place could serve as home—more than that: wherever he happened to be was the universe.

They borrowed tools and hired a laborer at the nearest farmhouse. Musashi's approach to building a house was not at all sophisticated; in fact, he could have learned quite a bit from watching birds build a nest. The result, finished a few days later, was an oddity, less substantial than a hermit's mountain retreat but not so crude as to be described as a shed. The posts were logs with the bark left on, the remainder a rough alliance of boards, bark, bamboo and miscanthus.

Standing back to take a good look, Musashi remarked thoughtfully, "This must be like the houses people lived in back in the age of the gods." The only relief from the primitiveness were scraps of paper lovingly fashioned to make small shoji.

In the days following, the sound of Iori's voice, floating from behind a reed blind as he recited his lessons, rose above the buzz of the cicadas. His training had become very strict in every respect.

With Jōtarō, Musashi had not insisted on discipline, thinking at the time that it was best to let growing boys grow naturally. But with the passage of time, he had observed that, if anything, bad traits tended to develop and good ones to be repressed. Similarly, he had noticed that trees and plants he wanted to grow would not grow, while weeds and brush flourished no matter how often he cut them down.

During the hundred years after the Onin War, the nation had been like a tangled mass of overgrown hemp plants. Then Nobunaga had cut the plants down, Hideyoshi had bundled them up, and Ieyasu had broken and smoothed the ground to build a new world. As Musashi saw it, warriors who placed a high value only on martial practices and whose most noticeable characteristic was unbounded ambition were no longer the dominant element in society. Sekigahara had put an end to that.

He had come to believe that whether the nation remained in the hands of the Tokugawas or reverted to the Toyotomis, people in general already knew the direction they wanted to move in: from chaos toward order, from destruction toward construction.

At times, he'd had the feeling he had been born too late. No sooner had Hideyoshi's glory penetrated into remote rural areas and fired the hearts of boys like Musashi than the possibility of following in Hideyoshi's footsteps evaporated.

So it was his own experience that led to his decision to emphasize discipline in Iori's upbringing. If he was going to create a samurai, he should create one for the coming era, not for the past.

"Iori."

"Yes, sir." The boy was kneeling before Musashi almost before the words were out.

"It's almost sunset. Time for our practice. Bring the swords."

"Yes, sir." When he placed them in front of Musashi, he knelt and formally requested a lesson.

Musashi's sword was long, Iori's short, both wooden practice weapons. Teacher and pupil faced each other in tense silence, swords held at eye level. A rim of sunlight hovered on the horizon. The cryptomeria grove behind the cabin was already sunk in gloom, but if one looked toward the voices of the cicadas, a sliver of moon was visible through the branches.

"Eyes," said Musashi.

Iori opened his eyes wide.

"My eyes. Look at them."

Iori did his best, but his eyes seemed to literally bounce away from Musashi's. Instead of glaring, he was being defeated by his opponent's eyes. When he tried again, he was seized by giddiness. His head began to feel as if it were no longer his own. His hands, his feet, his whole body felt wobbly.

"Look at my eyes!" Musashi commanded with great sternness. Iori's look had strayed again. Then, concentrating on his master's eyes, he forgot the sword in his hand. The short length of curved wood seemed to become as heavy as a bar of steel.

"Eyes, eyes!" said Musashi, advancing slightly.

Iori checked the urge to fall back, for which he had been scolded dozens of times. But when he attempted to follow his opponent's lead and move forward, his feet were nailed to the ground. Unable either to advance or to retreat, he could feel his body temperature rise. "What's the matter with me?" The thought exploded like fireworks inside him.

Sensing this burst of mental energy, Musashi yelled, "Charge!" At the same time he lowered his shoulders, dropped back and dodged with the agility of a fish.

With a gasp, Iori sprang forward, spun around—and saw Musashi standing where he himself had been.

Then the confrontation began again, just as before, both teacher and pupil maintaining strict silence.

Before long the grass was soaked with dew, and the eyebrow of a moon hung above the cryptomerias. Each time the wind gusted, the insects stopped singing momentarily. Autumn had come, and the wild flowers, though not spectacular in the daytime, now quivered gracefully, like the feathered robe of a dancing deity.

"Enough," said Musashi, lowering his sword.

As he handed it to Iori, they became conscious of a voice coming from the direction of the grove.

"I wonder who that is," said Musashi.

"Probably a lost traveler wanting to put up for the night."

"Run and see."

As Iori sped around to the other side of the building, Musashi seated himself on the bamboo veranda and gazed out over the plain. The eulalias were tall, their tops fluffy; the light bathing the grass had a peculiar autumn sheen.

When Iori returned, Musashi asked, "A traveler?"

"No, a guest."

"Guest? Here?"

"It's Hōjō Shinzō. He tied his horse up and he's waiting for you in back." "This house doesn't really have any back or front, but I think it'd be better to receive him here."

Iori ran round the side of the cabin, shouting, "Please come this way." "This is a pleasure," said Musashi, his eyes expressing his delight at seeing Shinzō completely recovered.

"Sorry to have been out of touch so long. I suppose you live out here to get away from people. I hope you'll forgive me for dropping in unexpectedly like this."

Greetings having been exchanged, Musashi invited Shinzō to join him on the veranda. "How did you find me? I haven't told anyone where I am." "Zushino Kōsuke. He said you'd finished the Kannon you promised him and sent Iori to deliver it."

"Ha, ha. I suppose Iori let the secret out. It doesn't matter. I'm not old enough to abandon the world and retire. I did think, though, that if I left the scene for a couple of months, the malicious gossip would quiet down. Then there'd be less danger of reprisals against Kōsuke and my other friends."

Shinzō lowered his head. "I owe you an apology—all this trouble because of me."

"Not really. That was a minor thing. The real root of the matter has to do with the relationship between Kojirō and me."

"Did you know he killed Obata Yogorō?"

"No."

"Yogorō, when he heard about me, decided to take revenge himself. He was no match for Kojirō."

"I warned him...." The image of the youthful Yogorō standing in the entrance of his father's house was still vivid in Musashi's mind. "What a pity," he thought to himself.

"I can understand how he felt," continued Shinzō. "The students had all left, and his father had died. He must have thought he was the only one who could do it. In any case, he appears to have gone to Kojirō's house. Still, no one saw them together; there's no real proof."

"Mm. Maybe my warning had the opposite effect from what I intended—stirred up his pride so he felt he had to fight. It's a shame."

"It is. Yogorō was
Sensei's
only blood relation. With his death the House of Obata ceased to exist. However, my father discussed the matter with Lord Munenori, who somehow managed to institute adoption proceedings. I'm to become Kagenori's heir and successor and carry on the Obata name.... I'm not sure I'm mature enough yet. I'm afraid I may end up bringing further disgrace to the man. After all, he was the greatest proponent of the Kōshū military tradition."

"Your father's the Lord of Awa. Isn't the Hōjō military tradition considered to be on a par with the Kōshū School? And your father as great a master as Kagenori?"

"That's what they say. Our ancestors came from Tōtōmi Province. My grandfather served Hōjō Ujitsuna and Hōjō Ujiyasu of Odawara, and my father was selected by Ieyasu himself to succeed them as head of the family."

"Coming from a famous military family, isn't it unusual for you to have become a disciple of Kagenori's?"

"My father has his disciples, and he's given lectures before the shōgun on military science. But instead of teaching me anything, he told me to go out and learn from somebody else. Find out the hard way! That's the kind of man he is."

Musashi sensed an element of intrinsic decency, even nobility, in Shinzō's demeanor. And it was probably natural, he thought, for his father, Ujikatsu, was an outstanding general, and his mother was the daughter of Hōjō Ujiyasu.

"I'm afraid I've been talking too much," said Shinzō. "Actually, my father sent me out here. Of course, it would have been only proper for him to come and express his gratitude to you in person, but just now he has a guest, who's quite eager to see you. My father told me to bring you back with me. Will you come?" He peered inquiringly into Musashi's face.

"A guest of your father's wants to see me?"

"That's right."

"Who could it be? I know almost no one in Edo."

"A person you've known since you were a boy."

Musashi couldn't imagine who it might be. Matahachi, perhaps? A samurai from Takeyama Castle? A friend of his father's?

Maybe even Otsū ... But Shinzō refused to divulge his secret. "I was instructed not to tell you who it is. The guest said it would be better to surprise you. Will you come?"

Musashi's curiosity was piqued. He told himself it couldn't be Otsū, but in his heart hoped it was.

"Let's go," he said, rising to his feet. "Iori, don't wait up for me."

Shinzō, pleased that his mission was successful, went behind the house and brought his horse. Saddle and stirrups were dripping with dew. Holding the bit, he offered the horse to Musashi, who proceeded without further ado to mount it.

As they left, Musashi said to Iori, "Take care of yourself. I may not be back until tomorrow." It was not long before he was swallowed up by the evening mist.

Iori sat quietly on the veranda, lost in thought.

"Eyes," he thought. "Eyes." Innumerable times he had been ordered to keep his eyes on his opponent's, but as yet he could neither understand the import of the instruction nor get the idea out of his mind. He gazed vacantly up at the River of Heaven.

What was wrong with him? Why was it that when Musashi stared at him, he couldn't stare straight back? More vexed by his failure than an adult would have been, he was trying very hard to find the explanation when he became conscious of a pair of eyes. They were aimed at him from the branches of a wild grapevine, which twined around a tree in front of the cabin.