Musashi: Bushido Code (70 page)

The men looked out to see what the commotion was about and, except for Shōyū, were amused by the sight of the young attendants chattering excitedly, trying to decide whether the snow would still be on the ground in the morning. Rin'ya, her mission forgotten, rushed out into the garden to play in the snow.

Impatient, Shōyū sent one of the courtesans in search of Yoshino Dayū.

She returned and whispered into his ear, "Yoshino said she would like more than anything to join you, but her guest won't permit it."

"Won't permit it! That's ridiculous! Other women here may be forced to do their customers' bidding, but Yoshino can do as she pleases. Or is she allowing herself to be bought for money these days?"

"Oh, no. But the guest she's with tonight is particularly stubborn. Every time she says she'd like to leave, he insists more adamantly that she stay." "Urn. I suppose none of her customers ever wants her to go. Who is she with tonight?"

"Lord Karasumaru."

"Lord Karasumaru?" repeated Shōyū with an ironic smile. "Is he alone?" "No."

"He's with some of his usual cronies?"

"Yes."

Shōyū slapped his knee. "This might turn out to be interesting. The snow is good, the sake is good, and if we just had Yoshino, everything would be perfect. Kōetsu, let's write his lordship a letter. You, young lady, bring me an ink stone and brush."

When the girl placed the writing materials before Kōetsu, he said, "What shall I write?"

"A poem would be good. Prose might do, but verse would be better. Lord Karasumaru is one of our more celebrated poets."

"I'm not sure I know how to go about it. Let's see, we want the poem to persuade him to let us have Yoshino, isn't that right?"

"That's it."

"If it's not a good poem, it won't make him change his mind. Good poems are not easy to write on the spur of the moment. Why don't you write the first lines, and I'll write the rest?"

"Hmm. Let's see what we can do." Shōyū took the brush and wrote:

To our humble hut

Let there come one cherry tree, One tree from Yoshino.

"So far, so good," said Kōetsu, and wrote:

The flowers shiver from cold

In the clouds above the peaks.

Shōyū was immensely pleased. "Marvelous," he said. "That ought to take care of his lordship and his noble companions—the 'people above the clouds."' He neatly folded the paper, then handed it to Sumigiku, saying gravely, "The other girls don't seem to have the dignity you have, so I appoint you my envoy to Lord Kangan. If I'm not mistaken, that's the name he's known by in these parts." The nickname, meaning "Frigid Mountain Crag," was a reference to Lord Karasumaru's exalted status.

Sumigiku was not long in returning. "Lord Kangan's reply, if you please," she said, reverentially placing a gorgeously wrought letter box before Shōyū and Kōetsu. They looked at the box, which implied formality, then at each other. What had started as a little joke was taking on more serious overtones.

"My word," said Shōyū. "We must be more careful next time. They must have been surprised. Surely they couldn't have known we'd be here tonight."

Still hoping to get the better of the exchange, Shōyū opened the box and unfolded the answer. To his dismay, he saw nothing but a piece of cream-colored paper, devoid of writing.

Thinking he must have dropped something, he looked around for a second sheet, then glanced again into the box.

"Sumigiku, what does this mean?"

"I have no idea. Lord Kangan handed me the box and told me to give it to you.

"Is he trying to make asses of us? Or was our poem too clever for him and he's raising the white flag of surrender?" Shōyū had a way of interpreting things to suit his own convenience, but this time he appeared uncertain. He handed the paper to Kōetsu and asked, "What do you make of it?"

"I think he intends us to read it."

"Read a blank piece of paper?"

"I should think it can be construed somehow."

"Do you? What could it possibly mean?"

Kōetsu thought for a moment. "Snow ... snow covering everything." "Hmm. Maybe you're right."

"In answer to our request for a cherry tree from Yoshino, it could mean:

If you gaze at snow

And fill your cup with sake,

Even without flowers . . .

In other words, he's telling us that since it's snowing tonight, we should forget about love, open the doors and admire the snow as we drink. Or at least, that's my impression."

"How annoying!" exclaimed Shōyū with distaste. "I have no intention of drinking in such a heartless fashion. Not going to sit here and be silent either. One way or another, we'll transplant the Yoshino tree to our room and admire her blossoms." Excited now, he moistened his lips with his tongue.

Kōetsu humored him, hoping he would calm down, but Shōyū kept after the girls to bring Yoshino and refused to allow the subject to be changed for very long. Though his persistence did not secure his wish, it eventually became comical, and the girls rolled on the floor with laughter.

Musashi quietly left his seat. He had chosen the right time. No one noticed his departure.

Reverberations in the Snow

Musashi wandered about the many hallways, avoiding the brightly lit front parlors. He came upon one dark room where bedding was kept and another full of tools and implements. The walls seemed to exude the warmish odor of food being prepared, but still he could not find the kitchen.

An attendant came out of one room and held out her arms to block his way.

"Sir, guests aren't supposed to come back here," she said firmly, with none of the childish cuteness she might have affected in the guest rooms. "Oh! Shouldn't I be here?"

"Certainly not!" She gave him a shove toward the front and walked in the same direction herself.

"Aren't you the girl who fell in the snow a while ago? Rin'ya, isn't it?" "Yes, I'm Rin'ya. I suppose you got lost trying to find the toilet. I'll show you where it is." She took his hand and pulled.

"That's not it. I'm not drunk. I'd like you to do me a favor. Take me to an empty room and bring me some food."

"Food? If that's what you want, I'll take it to your parlor."

"No, not there. Everybody's having a good time. They don't want to be reminded of dinner yet."

Rin'ya cocked her head. "I suppose you're right. I'll bring you something here. What would you like?"

"Nothing special; two large rice balls will do."

She returned in a few minutes with the rice balls and served them to him in an unlit room.

When he had finished, he said, "I guess I can get out of the house through the inner garden there." Without waiting for a reply, he stood up and walked to the veranda.

"Where are you going, sir?"

"Don't worry, I'll be back soon."

"Why are you leaving by the back way?"

"People would make a fuss if I went out the front way. And if my hosts saw me, it would upset them and spoil their fun."

"I'll open the gate for you, but be sure to come back right away. If you don't, they'll blame me."

"I understand. If Mr. Mizuochi should ask about me, tell him I went to the neighborhood of the Rengeōin to see a man I know. I intend to return shortly."

"You must come back soon. Your companion for the evening is to be Yoshino Dayū." She opened the snow-laden folding wooden gate and let him out.

Directly opposite the main entrance to the gay quarter was a tea shop called the Amigasa-jaya. Musashi stopped and asked for a pair of straw sandals, but they had none. As the name implied, their chief business was selling basket hats to men who wished to conceal their identity when entering the quarter.

After sending the shopgirl to buy sandals, he sat down on the edge of a stool and tightened his obi and the cord under it. Removing his loose-fitting coat and folding it neatly, he borrowed paper and brush and wrote a brief note, folded it and slipped it into the sleeve of the coat. He then called to the old man crouched beside the hearth in the room behind the shop, whom he took to be the proprietor. "Would you keep this coat for me? If I don't return by eleven o'clock, please take it to the Ōgiya and give it to a man called Kōetsu. There's a letter for him inside the sleeve."

The man said he'd be glad to help, and on being asked, informed Musashi it was only about seven o'clock, the watchman having just passed and announced the hour.

When the girl returned with the sandals, Musashi examined the thongs to make sure the plait was not too tight, then tied them on over his leather socks. Handing the shopkeeper more money than was necessary, he picked up a new basket hat and went outside. Instead of tying the hat on, he held it over his head to keep off the snow, which fell in flakes softer than cherry blossoms.

Lights were visible along the riverbank at Shijō Avenue, but to the east, in the Gion woods, it was pitch black, except for widely scattered patches of light from stone lanterns. The deathly stillness was broken only sporadically, by the noise of snow sliding off a branch.

In front of a shrine gate about twenty men knelt in prayer, facing the deserted buildings. The temple bells in the nearby hills had just pealed five times, marking the hour of eight. On this particular night the loud, clear sound of the bells seemed to penetrate to the pit of the stomach.

"That's enough praying," said Denshichirō. "Let's be on our way."

As they started off, one of the men asked Denshichirō if the thongs of his sandals were all right. "On a freezing night like this, if they're too tight, they'll break."

"They're fine. When it's this cold, the only thing to do is use cloth thongs. You'd better remember that."

At the shrine, Denshichirō had completed his battle preparations, down to the headband and the leather sleeve thong. Surrounded by his grim-faced retinue, he strode across the snow, taking long deep breaths and emitting puffs of white vapor.

The challenge delivered to Musashi had specified the area behind the Rengeōin at nine o'clock. Fearing, or professing to fear, that if they gave Musashi any extra time he might flee, never to return, the Yoshiokas had decided to act quickly. Hyōsuke had remained in the vicinity of Shōyū's house, but had sent his two comrades to report on the situation.

Approaching the Rengeōin, they saw a bonfire near the back of the temple. "Who's that?" asked Denshichirō.

"It's probably Ryōhei and Jūrōzaemon."

"They're here too?" said Denshichirō with a trace of annoyance. "There are too many of our men present. I don't want people saying Musashi lost only because he was attacked by a large force."

"When the time comes, we'll go away."

The main temple building, the Sanjūsangendō, extended through thirty-three column spans. Behind it was a large open space ideal for practicing archery and long used for that purpose. This association with one of the martial arts was what had induced Denshichirō to choose the Rengeōin for his encounter with Musashi. Denshichirō and his men were satisfied with the choice. There were some pine trees, enough to keep the landscape from being barren, but no weeds or rushes to get in the way during the course of the fight.

Ryōhei and Jūrōzaemon rose to greet Denshichirō, Ryōhei saying, "You've had a cold walk, I imagine. There's still plenty of time. Sit down and warm yourself."

Silently, Denshichirō seated himself in the place Ryōhei had vacated. He stretched his hands out over the flames and cracked his knuckles, one finger at a time. "I guess I'm too early," he said. His face, warmed by the fire, had already taken on a bloodthirsty look. Frowning, he asked, "Didn't we pass a teahouse on the way?"

"Yes, but it was closed."

"One of you go and get some sake. If you knock long enough, they'll answer."

"Sake, now?"

"Yes, now. I'm cold." Moving closer to the fire, Denshichirō squatted, almost hugging it.

Since no one could remember a time, morning, noon or night, when he had appeared at the dōjō not smelling of alcohol, his drinking had come to be accepted as a matter of course. Though the fate of the whole Yoshioka School was at stake, one man wondered fuzzily if it wouldn't be better for him to warm his body with a little sake than to try to wield the sword with freezing arms and legs. Another quietly pointed out that it would be risky to disobey him, even for his own good, and a couple of the men ran off to the teahouse. The sake they brought was piping hot.

"Good!" said Denshichirō. "My very best friend and ally."

They watched nervously as he imbibed, praying he wouldn't consume as much as usual. Denshichirō, however, stopped well short of his normal quota. Despite his show of nonchalance, he well knew that his life was in the balance.

"Listen! Could that be Musashi?"

Ears pricked up.

As the men around the fire rapidly got to their feet, a dark figure appeared around the corner of the building. He waved his hand and shouted, "Don't worry; it's only me."

Though gallantly attired, with his
hakama
tucked up for running, he could not disguise his age. His back was bent into the shape of a bow. When the men could see him more clearly, they informed each other that it was only the "old man from Mibu," and the excitement died down. The old man was Yoshioka Genzaemon, Kempō's brother and Denshichirō's uncle.

"Why, if it isn't Uncle Gen! What brings you here?" exclaimed Denshichirō. It had not occurred to him that his uncle might consider his assistance needed tonight.

"Ah, Denshichirō," said Genzaemon, "you're really going through with it. I'm relieved to find you here."

"I meant to go and discuss the matter with you first, but—"

"Discuss? What is there to discuss? The Yoshioka name has been dragged through the mud, your brother's been made a cripple! If you'd taken no action, you'd have had me to answer to!"

"There's nothing to worry about. I'm not weak-kneed like my brother."

"I'll take your word for that. And I know you'll win, but I thought I'd better come and give you some encouragement. I ran all the way from Mibu. Denshichirō, let me warn you, you shouldn't take this opponent too lightly, from what I hear."

"I'm aware of that."

"Don't be in too much of a hurry to win. Be calm, leave it to the gods. If by any chance you get killed, I'll take care of your body."

"Ha, ha, ha, ha! Come, Uncle Gen, warm yourself by the fire."

The old man silently drank a cup of sake, then addressed the others reproachfully. "What are you doing here? Certainly you don't intend to back him up with your swords, do you? This match is between one swordsman and another, and it looks cowardly to have a lot of supporters around. It's almost time now. Come with me, all of you. We'll go far enough away so it doesn't look as though we were planning a mass attack."

The men did as they were commanded, leaving Denshichirō alone. He sat close to the fire, thinking: "When I heard the bells, it was eight o'clock. It must be nine by now. Musashi's late."

The only trace of his disciples was their black footprints in the snow; the only sound, the crack of icicles breaking off the eaves of the temple. Once, the branch of a tree snapped under the weight of the snow. Each time the silence was disturbed, Denshichirō's eyes darted about like a falcon's.

And like a falcon, a man came kicking through the snow.

Nervous and panting, Hyōsuke said between breaths, "He's coming."

Denshichirō knew the message before he heard it and was already on his feet. "He's coming?" he asked parrotlike, but his feet were automatically stamping out the last embers of the fire.

Hyōsuke reported that Musashi had taken his time after leaving the Ōgiya, as if oblivious of the heavy snowfall. "Just a few minutes ago he climbed the stone steps of the Gion Shrine. I took a back street and came as fast as I could, but even dawdling the way he was, he couldn't be far behind me. I hope you're ready."

"Hmm, this is it.... Hyōsuke, get away from here."

"Where are the others?"

"I don't know, but I don't want you here. You make me nervous."

"Yes, sir." Hyōsuke's tone was obedient, but he did not want to leave and made up his mind not to. After Denshichirō had trampled the fire into the slush and turned with a tremor of excitement toward the courtyard, Hyōsuke ducked under the floor of the temple and squatted in the darkness. Though he had not particularly noticed the wind out in the open, here underneath the building it whipped frigidly. Chilled to the bone, he hugged his knees and tried to deceive himself into thinking that the chattering of his teeth and the painful shiver running up and down his spine came from the cold alone and had nothing to do with his fear.

Denshichirō walked about a hundred paces from the temple and took a solid stance, bracing one foot against the root of a tall pine tree and waiting with palpable impatience. The warmth of the sake had worn off rapidly, and Denshichirō felt the cold biting into his flesh. That his temper was growing shorter was evident even to Hyōsuke, who could see the courtyard as clearly as if it were daylight.

A pile of snow cascaded off the branch of a tree. Denshichirō started nervously.

Still Musashi did not appear.

Finally, unable to sit still any longer, Hyōsuke came out of his hiding place and shouted, "What happened to Musashi?"

"Are you still here?" Denshichirō asked angrily, but he was as irritated as Hyōsuke and did not order him away. By tacit mutual consent, the two walked toward each other. They stood there, looking around in all directions, time and again one or the other saying, "I can't see him." Each time the tone grew both angrier and more suspicious.

"That bastard—he's run away!" exclaimed Denshichirō.

"He couldn't have," insisted Hyōsuke, launching into an earnest recapitulation of all he had seen and why he was sure Musashi would eventually come.

Denshichirō interrupted him. "What's that?" he asked, looking quickly at one end of the temple.

A candle was emerging shakily from the kitchen building behind the long hall. It was in the hands of a priest, that much was clear, but they could not make out the dim figure behind him.

Two shadows and the speck of light, passing through the gate between the kitchen and the main building, ascended the long veranda of the Sanjūsangendō.

The priest was saying in a subdued voice, "Everything here is shut up at night, so I can't say. This evening there were some samurai warming themselves in the courtyard. They may have been the people you're asking about, but they're gone now, as you can see."

The other man spoke quietly. "I'm sorry to have intruded while you were asleep. Ah, aren't there two men over there under that tree? They may be the ones who sent word they'd wait for me here."

"Well, it wouldn't do any harm to ask them and see."

"I'll do that. I can find my way by myself now, so please feel free to go back to your room."