Musashi: Bushido Code (41 page)

They went into a house, and Matahachi left everything to Yasoma, who seemed to be quite experienced. He knew how to order the sake, how to deal with the girls; he was flawless. Matahachi found the experience quite entertaining.

They spent the night, and even at noon on the next day, Yasoma showed no sign of tiring. Matahachi felt recompensed to some extent for all those times he had been pushed off into a back room at the Yomogi, but he was beginning to run down.

Finally, admitting he'd had enough, he said, "I don't want any more to drink. Let's go."

Yasoma did not budge. "Stay with me until evening," he said.

"What happens then?"

"I have an appointment to see Susukida Kanesuke. It's too early to go to his house now, and anyway I won't be able to discuss your situation until I have a better idea of what you want."

"I guess I shouldn't ask for too large an allowance at first."

"There's no point in selling yourself cheap. A samurai of your caliber should be able to command any figure he names. If you say you'll settle for any old position, you'll be demeaning yourself. Why don't I tell him you want an allowance of twenty-five hundred bushels? A samurai with self-confidence is always better paid and treated. You shouldn't give the impression you'd be satisfied with just anything."

As evening approached, the streets in this area, lying as they did in the immense shadow of Osaka Castle, darkened early. Having left the brothel, Matahachi and Yasoma made their way through the town to one of the more exclusive samurai residential areas. They stood with their backs to the moat, the cold wind driving away the effects of the sake they'd been pouring into themselves all day.

"That's Susukida's house there," said Yasoma.

"The one with the bracketed roof over the gate?"

"No, the corner house next to it."

"Hmm. Big, isn't it?"

"Kanesuke's made a name for himself. Until he was thirty or so, nobody had ever heard of him, but now ..."

Matahachi pretended to pay no attention to what Yasoma was saying. Not that he did not believe it; on the contrary, he had come to trust Yasoma so thoroughly that he no longer questioned what the man said. He felt, however, that he should remain nonchalant. As he gazed at the mansions of the daimyō, which ringed the great castle, his still youthful ambition told him, "I'll live in a place like that too—one of these days."

"Now," said Yasoma, "I'll see Kanesuke and talk him into hiring you. But before that, what about the money?"

"Oh, sure," said Matahachi, aware that a bribe was in order. Taking the money pouch from his breast, he realized that it had shrunk to about a third of its original bulk. Pouring it all out in his hand, he said, "This is all I have. Is it enough?"

"Oh, sure, quite enough."

"You'll want to wrap it up in something, won't you?"

"No, no. Kanesuke's not the only man around here who takes a fee for finding somebody a position. They all do it, and very openly. There's nothing to be embarrassed about."

Matahachi kept back a little of the cash, but after handing over the rest began to feel uneasy. When Yasoma walked away, he followed for a few steps. "Do the best you can," he implored.

"Don't worry. If it looks as though he's going to be difficult, all I have to do is keep the money and return it to you. He's not the only influential man in Osaka. I could just as easily ask help from Ono or Gotō. I've got lots of contacts."

"When will I get an answer?"

"Let's see. You could wait for me, but you wouldn't want to stand here in this wind, would you? Anyway, people might suspect you were up to no good. Let's meet again tomorrow."

"Where?"

"Come to that vacant lot where they're holding sideshows."

"All right."

"The surest way would be for you to wait at that sake vendor's where we first met."

After they settled on the time, Yasoma waved his hand and walked grandly through the gate to the mansion, swinging his shoulders and showing not the slightest hesitation. Matahachi, duly impressed, felt Yasoma must indeed have known Kanesuke since his less prosperous days. Confidence swept over him, and that night he dreamed pleasant dreams of his future.

At the appointed time, Matahachi was walking through the melting frost on the open lot. As on the previous day, the wind was cold, and there were a lot of people about. He waited until sundown but saw no sign of Akakabe Yasoma.

The day after that, Matahachi went again. "Something must have detained him," he thought charitably, as he sat staring at the faces of the passing crowd. "He'll show up today." But again the sun set without Yasoma's appearing.

On the third day, Matahachi said to the sake vendor, somewhat timidly, "I'm here again."

"Are you waiting for someone?"

"Yes, I'm supposed to meet a man named Akakabe Yasoma. I met him here the other day." Matahachi went on to explain the situation in detail.

"That scoundrel?" gasped the sake vendor. "Do you mean he told you he'd find you a good position and then stole your money?"

"He didn't steal it. I gave him some money to give to a man named Susukida Kanesuke. I'm waiting here to find out what happened."

"You poor man! You can wait a hundred years, but I daresay you won't see him again."

"Wh-what? Why do you say that?"

"Why, he's a notorious crook! This area's full of parasites like him. If they see anybody who looks a little innocent, they pounce on him. I thought of warning you, but I didn't want to interfere. I thought you'd know from the way he looked and acted what sort of character he was. Now you've gone and lost your money. Too bad!"

The man was all sympathy. He tried to assure Matahachi that it was no disgrace to be taken in by the thieves operating here. But it wasn't embarrassment that troubled Matahachi; it was finding his money gone, and with it his high hopes, that made his blood boil. He stared helplessly at the crowd moving about them.

"I doubt it'll do any good," said the sake vendor, "but you might try asking over there at the magician's stall. The local vermin often gather behind there to gamble. If Yasoma came by some money, he may be trying to build it into something bigger."

"Thanks," said Matahachi, jumping up excitedly. "Which is the magician's stall?"

The enclosure to which the man pointed was surrounded by a fence of pointed bamboo stakes. Out in front, barkers were drumming up trade, and flags suspended near the wooden gate announced the names of several famous sleight-of-hand artists. From within the curtains and strips of straw matting lining the fence came the sound of strange music, mingled with the loud, rapid patter of the performers and the applause of the audience.

Going around to the rear, Matahachi found another gate. When he glanced in, a lookout asked, "You here to gamble?"

He nodded and the man let him in. He found himself in a space surrounded by tenting but open to the sky. About twenty men, all unsavory types, sat in a circle playing a game. All eyes turned toward Matahachi and one man silently made room for him to sit down.

"Is Akakabe Yasoma here?" Matahachi asked.

"Yasoma?" repeated one gambler in a puzzled tone. "Come to think of it, he hasn't been around lately. Why?"

"Do you think he'll come later?"

"How should I know? Sit down and play."

"I didn't come to play."

"What're you doing here if you don't want to play?"

"I'm looking for Yasoma. Sorry to bother you."

"Well, why don't you go look somewhere else!"

"I said I'm sorry," said Matahachi, exiting hastily.

"Hold on there!" commanded one of the gamblers, getting up and following him. "You can't get away with just saying you're sorry. Even if you don't play, you'll pay for your seat!"

"I don't have any money."

"No money! I see. Just waiting for a chance to swipe some cash, huh? Damned thief, that's what you are."

"I'm no thief! You can't call me that!" Matahachi pushed the hilt of his sword forward, but this merely amused the gambler.

"Idiot!" he barked. "If threats from the likes of you scared me, I wouldn't be able to stay alive in Osaka for one day. Use your sword, if you dare!"

"I warn you, I mean it!"

"Oh, you do, do you?"

"Do you know who I am?"

"Why should I?"

"I'm Sasaki Kojirō, successor of Toda Seigen of Jōkyōji Village in Echizen. He created the Tomita Style," Matahachi declared proudly, thinking this pronouncement alone would put the man to flight. It didn't. The gambler spat and turned back into the enclosure.

"Hey, come on, all of you! This guy's just called himself some fancy name; seems to want to pull his sword on us. Let's have a look at his swordsmanship. It ought to be fun."

Matahachi, seeing that the man was off guard, suddenly drew his sword and sliced across his backside.

The man jumped straight up in the air. "You son of a bitch!" he screamed.

Matahachi dived into the crowd. By sneaking from one cluster of people to the next, he managed to stay hidden, but every face he saw looked like one of the gamblers. Deciding he couldn't hide that way forever, he looked around for more substantial shelter.

Directly in front of him, draped on a bamboo fence, was a curtain with a large tiger painted on it. There was also a banner on the gate bearing a design of a forked spear and a snake-eye crest, and a barker standing on an empty box, shouting hoarsely, "See the tiger! Come in and see the tiger! Take a trip of a thousand miles! This enormous tiger, my friends, was captured personally by the great general Katō Kiyomasa in Korea. Don't miss the tiger!" His spiel was frenetic and rhythmical.

Matahachi threw down a coin and darted through the entrance. Feeling relatively safe, he looked around for the beast. At the far end of the tent a large tiger skin lay stretched out like laundry drying on a wooden panel. The spectators were staring at it with great curiosity, seemingly unperturbed by the fact that the creature was neither whole nor alive.

"So that's what a tiger looks like," said one man.

"Big, isn't it?" marveled another.

Matahachi stood a little to one side of the tiger skin, until suddenly he spotted an old man and woman, and his ears perked up in disbelief as he listened to their voices.

"Uncle Gon," said the woman, "that tiger there is dead, isn't it?"

The old samurai, stretching his hand over the bamboo railing and feeling the skin, replied gravely, "Of course it's dead. This is only the hide." "But that man outside was talking as though it was alive."

"Well, maybe that's what they mean by a fast talker," he said with a little laugh.

Osugi didn't take it so lightly. Pursing her lips, she protested, "Don't be silly! If it's not real, the sign outside should say so. If all I was going to see was a tiger's skin, I'd just as soon see a picture. Let's go and get our money back."

"Don't make a fuss, Granny. People will laugh at you."

"That's all right. I'm not too proud. If you don't want to go, I'll go myself." As she started pushing her way back through the spectators, Matahachi ducked, but too late. Uncle Gon had already seen him.

"Hey, there, Matahachi! Is that you?" he shouted.

Osugi, whose eyes were none too good, stammered, "Wh-what's that you said, Uncle Gon?"

"Didn't you see? Matahachi was standing there, just behind you." "Impossible!"

"He was there, but he ran away."

"Where? Which way?"

The two scampered out the wooden gate into the crowd, already veiled in the hues of evening. Matahachi kept bumping into people but disentangled himself and ran on.

"Wait, son, wait!" cried Osugi.

Matahachi glanced behind him and saw his mother chasing him like a madwoman. Uncle Gon, too, was waving his hands frantically.

"Matahachi!" he cried. "Why are you running away? What's wrong with you? Matahachi! Matahachi!"

Seeing she was not going to be able to catch him, Osugi stuck her wrinkled neck forward and, at the top of her lungs, screamed, "Stop, thief! Robber! Catch him!"

Immediately a throng of bystanders took up the chase, and those in the forefront soon fell upon Matahachi with bamboo poles.

"Keep him there!"

"The scoundrel!"

"Give him a good beating!"

The mob had Matahachi cornered, and some even spat on him. Arriving with Uncle Gon, Osugi quickly took in the scene and turned furiously on Matahachi's attackers. Pushing them away, she seized the hilt of her short sword and bared her teeth.

"What are you doing?" she cried. "Why are you attacking this man?" "He's a thief!"

"He is not! He's my son."

"Your son?"

"Yes, he's my son, the son of a samurai, and you have no business beating him. You're nothing but common townspeople. If you touch him again I'll ... I'll take you all on!"

"Are you joking? Who shouted 'thief' a minute ago?"

"That was me, all right, I don't deny it. I'm a devoted mother, and I thought if I cried 'thief,' my son would stop running. But who asked you stupid oafs to hit him? It's outrageous!"

Startled by her volte-face, yet admiring her mettle, the crowd slowly dispersed. Osugi seized her wayward son by the collar and dragged him to the grounds of a nearby shrine.

After standing and looking on from the shrine gate for a few minutes, Uncle Gon came forward and said, "Granny, you don't have to treat Matahachi like that. He's not a child." He tried to pull her hand away from Matahachi's collar, but the old woman elbowed him roughly out of the way.