Musashi: Bushido Code (18 page)

"Hmm. You may very well be right."

"Seeing those stains infuriated me. My blood boiled to think that my ancestors, who once ruled over this whole region, ended up being annihilated, their souls just blown about in the autumn winds. They died violently, but it was a powerful clan and they can be roused.

"That same blood flows in my veins," he went on, an intense look in his eyes. "Unworthy though I am, I am a member of the same clan, and if I stay in this castle, the ghosts may rouse themselves and try to reach me. In a sense, they already have, by making it clear to me in that room just who I am. But they could cause chaos, perhaps rebel and even set off another bloodbath. We are not in an era of peace. I owe it to the people of this whole region not to tempt the vengeance of my ancestors."

Terumasa nodded. "I see what you mean. It's better if you leave this castle, but where will you go? Do you plan to return to Miyamoto? Live out your life there?"

Takezō smiled silently. "I want to wander about on my own for a while." "I see," the lord replied, turning to Takuan. "See that he receives money and suitable clothing," he commanded.

Takuan bowed. "Let me thank you for your kindness to the boy." "Takuan!" Ikeda laughed. "This is the first time you've ever thanked me twice for anything!"

"I suppose that's true." Takuan grinned. "It won't happen again."

"It's all right for him to roam about while he's still young," said Terumasa. "But now that he's going out on his own—reborn, as you put it—he should have a new name. Let it be Miyamoto, so that he never forgets his birthplace. From now on, Takezō, call yourself Miyamoto."

Takezō's hands went automatically to the floor. Palms down, he bowed deep and long. "Yes, sir, I will do that."

"You should change your first name too," Takuan interjected. "Why not read the Chinese characters of your name as 'Musashi' instead of 'Takezō'? You can keep writing your name the same as before. It's only fitting that everything should begin anew on this day of your rebirth."

Terumasa, who was by this time in a very good mood, nodded his approval enthusiastically. "Miyamoto Musashi! It's a good name, a very good name. We should drink to it."

They moved into another room, sake was served, and Takezō and Takuan kept his lordship company far into the night. They were joined by several of Terumasa's retainers, and eventually Takuan got to his feet and performed an ancient dance. He was expert, his vivid movements creating an imaginary world of delight. Takezō, now Musashi, watched with admiration, respect and enjoyment as the drinking went on and on.

The following day they both left the castle. Musashi was taking his first steps into a new life, a life of discipline and training in the martial arts. During his three-year incarceration, he had resolved to master the Art of War.

Takuan had his own plans. He had decided to travel about the countryside, and the time had come, he said, to part again.

When they reached the town outside the castle walls, Musashi made as if to take his leave, but the monk grabbed his sleeve and said, "Isn't there someone you'd like to see?"

"Who?"

"Ogin?"

"Is she still alive?" he asked in bewilderment. Even in his sleep, he'd never forgotten the gentle sister who'd been a mother to him so long.

Takuan told him that when he'd attacked the stockade at Hinagura three years earlier, Ogin had indeed already been taken away. Although no charges were pressed against her, she had been reluctant to return home and so went instead to stay with a relative in a village in the Sayo district. She was now living comfortably there.

"Wouldn't you like to see her?" asked Takuan. "She's very eager to see you. I told her three years ago that she should consider you dead, since in one sense, you were. I also told her, however, that after three years I'd bring her a new brother, different from the old Takezō."

Musashi pressed his palms together and raised them in front of his head, as he would have done in prayer before a statue of the Buddha. "Not only have you taken care of me," he said with deep emotion, "but you've seen to Ogin's well-being too. Takuan, you are truly a compassionate man. I don't think I'll ever be able to thank you for what you've done."

"One way to thank me would be to let me take you to your sister."

"No . . . No, I don't think I should go. Hearing about her from you has been as good as meeting her."

"Surely you want to see her yourself, if only for a few minutes."

"No, I don't think so. I did die, Takuan, and I do feel reborn. I don't think that now is the time to return to the past. What I have to do is take a resolute step forward, into the future. I've barely found the way along which I'll have to travel. When I've made some progress toward the knowledge and self-perfection I'm seeking, perhaps I'll take the time to relax and look back. Not now."

"I see."

"I find it hard to put into words, but I hope you'll understand anyway."

"I do. I'm glad to see you're as serious about your goal as you are. Keep following your own judgment."

"I'll say good-bye now, but someday, if I don't get myself killed along the way, we'll meet again."

"Yes, yes. If we have a chance to meet, let's by all means do so." Takuan turned, took a step, and then halted. "Oh, yes. I suppose I should warn you that Osugi and Uncle Gon left Miyamoto in search of you and Otsū three years ago. They resolved never to return until they've taken their revenge, and old as they are, they're still trying to track you down. They may cause you some inconvenience, but I don't think they can make any real trouble. Don't take them too seriously.

"Oh, yes, and then there's Aoki Tanzaemon. I don't suppose you ever knew his name, but he was in charge of the search for you. Perhaps it had nothing to do with anything you or I said or did, but that splendid samurai managed to disgrace himself, with the result that he's been dismissed permanently from Lord Ikeda's service. He's no doubt wandering about too." Takuan grew grave. "Musashi, your path won't be an easy one. Be careful as you make your way along it."

"I'll do my best." Musashi smiled.

"Well, I guess that's everything. I'll be on my way." Takuan turned and walked westward. He didn't look back.

"Keep well," Musashi called after him. He stood at the crossroads watching the monk's form recede until it was out of sight. Then, once again alone, he started to walk toward the east.

"Now there's only this sword," he thought. "The only thing in the world I have to rely on." He rested his hand on the weapon's handle and vowed to himself, "I will live by its rule. I will regard it as my soul, and by learning to master it, strive to improve myself, to become a better and wiser human being. Takuan follows the Way of Zen, I will follow the Way of the Sword. I must make of myself an even better man than he is."

After all, he reflected, he was still young. It was not too late.

His footsteps were steady and strong, his eyes full of youth and hope. From time to time he raised the brim of his basket hat, and stared down the long road into the future, the unknown path all humans must tread.

He hadn't gone far—in fact, he was just on the outskirts of Himeji—when a woman came running toward him from the other side of Hanada Bridge. He squinted into the sunlight.

"It's you!" Otsū cried, clutching his sleeve.

Musashi gasped in surprise.

Otsū's tone was reproachful. "Takezō, surely you haven't forgotten? Don't you remember the name of this bridge? Did it slip your mind that I promised to wait here for you, no matter how long it took?"

"You've been waiting here for the last three years?" He was astounded.

"Yes. Osugi and Uncle Gon caught up with me right after I left you. I was sick and had to take a rest. And I almost got myself killed. But I got away. I've been waiting here since about twenty days after we said good-bye at Nakayama Pass."

Pointing to a basket-weaving shop at the end of the bridge, a typical little highroad stall selling souvenirs to travelers, she continued: "I told the people there my story, and they were kind enough to take me on as a sort of helper. So I could stay and wait for you. Today is the nine hundred and seventieth day, and I've kept my promise faithfully." She peered into his face, trying to fathom his thoughts. "You will take me with you, won't you?"

The truth, of course, was that Musashi had no intention of taking her or anyone else with him. At this very moment, he was hurrying away to avoid thinking about his sister, whom he wanted to see so badly and felt so strongly drawn toward.

The questions raced through his agitated mind: "What can I do? How can I embark on my quest for truth and knowledge with a woman, with anyone, interfering all the time? And this particular girl is, after all, still betrothed to Matahachi." Musashi couldn't keep his thoughts from showing on his face.

"Take you with me? Take you where?" he demanded bluntly.

"Wherever you go."

"I'm setting out on a long, hard journey, not a sightseeing trip!"

"I won't get in your way. And I'm prepared to endure some hardships." "Some? Only some?"

"As many as I have to."

"That's not the point. Otsū, how can a man master the Way of the Samurai with a woman tagging along? Wouldn't that be funny. People'd say, 'Look at Musashi, he needs a wet nurse to take care of him."' She pulled harder at his kimono, clinging like a child. "Let go of my sleeve," he ordered.

"No, I won't! You lied to me, didn't you?"

"When did I lie to you?"

"At the pass. You promised to take me with you."

"That was ages ago. I wasn't really thinking then either, and I didn't have time to explain. What's more, it wasn't my idea, it was yours. I was in a hurry to get moving, and you wouldn't let me go until I promised. I went along with what you said because I had no choice."

"No, no, no! You can't mean what you're saying, you can't," she cried, pinning him against the bridge railing.

"Let go of me! People are watching."

"Let them! When you were tied up in the tree, I asked you if you wanted my help. You were so happy you told me twice to cut the rope. You don't deny that, do you?"

She was trying to be logical in her argument, but her tears betrayed her. First abandoned as an infant, then jilted by her betrothed and now this. Musashi, knowing how alone she was in the world and caring for her deeply, was tongue-tied, though outwardly more composed.

"Let go!" he said with finality. "It's broad daylight and people are staring at us. Do you want us to be a sideshow for these busybodies?"

She released his sleeve and fell sobbing against the railing, her shiny hair falling over her face.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I shouldn't have said all that. Please forget it. You don't owe me anything."

Leaning over and pushing her hair from her face with both hands, he looked into her eyes. "Otsū," he said tenderly. "During all that time you were waiting, until this very day, I've been shut up in the castle donjon. For three years I haven't even seen the sun."

"Yes, I heard."

"You knew?"

"Takuan told me."

"Takuan? He told you everything?"

"I guess so. I fainted at the bottom of a ravine near the Mikazuki Teahouse. I was running away from Osugi and Uncle Gon. Takuan rescued me. He also helped me make arrangements to work here, at the souvenir shop. That was three years ago. And he's stopped in several times. Only yesterday, he came and had some tea. I wasn't sure what he meant, but he said, 'It's got to do with a man and a woman, so who can say how it'll turn out?"

Musashi dropped his hands and looked down the road leading west. He wondered if he'd ever again meet the man who'd saved his life. And again he was struck by Takuan's concern for his fellow man, which seemed all-encompassing and completely devoid of selfishness. Musashi realized how narrow-minded he himself had been, how petty, to suppose that the monk felt a special compassion for him alone; his generosity encompassed Ogin, Otsū, anyone in need whom he thought he could help.

"It has to do with a man and a woman. . . ." Takuan's words to Otsū sat heavily on Musashi's mind. It was a burden for which he was ill prepared, since in all the mountains of books he'd pored over those three years, there wasn't one word about the situation he was in now. Even Takuan had shrunk from becoming involved in this matter between him and Otsū. Had Takuan meant that relationships between men and women had to be worked out alone by the people involved? Did he mean that no rules applied, as they did in the Art of War? That there was no foolproof strategy, no way to win? Or was this meant as a test for Musashi, a problem only Musashi would be able to solve for himself?

Lost in thought, he stared down at the water flowing under the bridge.

Otsū gazed up into his face, now distant and calm. "I can come, can't I?" she pleaded. "The shopkeeper's promised to let me quit whenever I wish. I'll just go and explain everything and then pack my things. I'll be back in a minute."

Musashi covered her small white hand, which was resting on the railing, with his own. "Listen," he said plaintively. "I beg of you, just stop and think."

"What's there to think about?"

"I told you. I've just become a new man. I stayed in that musty hole for three years. I read books. I thought. I screamed and cried. Then suddenly the light dawned. I understood what it means to be human. I have a new name, Miyamoto Musashi. I want to dedicate myself to training and discipline. I want to spend every moment of every day working to improve myself. I know now how far I have to go. If you chose to bind your life to mine, you'd never be happy. There will be nothing but hardship, and it won't get easier as it goes along. It'll get more and more difficult."

"When you talk like that, I feel closer to you than ever. Now I'm convinced I was right. I've found the best man I could ever find, even if I searched for the rest of my life."