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
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
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