Rashomon Gate (50 page)

This time the boy blushed. "I beg your pardon," he murmured. Reaching for a small, beautifully decorated lacquer box which rested beside him, he pushed it across to Akitada. "It is the reward you have earned," he said and then glanced at Sesshin, who gave an encouraging nod. Sitting up a bit straighter, Sadamu looked earnestly at Akitada and announced, "Your loyalty to me and my family in our distress and your cleverness in seeing through Lord Sakanoue's plot have put me and my family deeply into your debt. I wish to make formal acknowledgment of the great service you have done. The Minamotos will be forever in your debt, and I shall see to it that the fact is recorded for posterity." He bowed with great dignity.

Akitada did not know what to say, so he also bowed deeply. "Thank you, my lord. I am deeply honored by your words, and shall treasure your gift."

The boy gave a sigh of relief and smiled. Then he reached into his sleeve and pulled out a small narrow object, wrapped lopsidedly but with great care in a square of brocade and tied with a gold cord. This he handed to Akitada, saying, "Please accept this worthless trifle on my own behalf."

Akitada was deeply touched. He said with a smile, "There was no need whatsoever for all this, Sadamu. I was merely lucky." He looked down at the small package dubiously.

"Well, open it!" the boy cried.

Akitada undid the many knots with some difficulty and unrolled the beautiful piece of fabric to reveal a flute. It was a lovely instrument, old and clearly made by a fine craftsman, though it was quite plain. He looked up in delighted astonishment. "A flute?"

The boy's face was alight with pleasure. "Do you like it? Is it the right thing? You told me once that you wished you could learn to play the flute, do you remember? Well, now you can!"

"Oh, my dear young friend, it is the most perfect present," cried Akitada, fingering the instrument and wishing he could try it out. "I had forgotten, but you are quite right. It will give me enormous pleasure. Thank you very much." He was tempted to raise it to his lips then and there, but confined himself to admiring its workmanship. Finally he put it back into its wrapping and placed it aside. "I trust you are comfortably settled by now?" he asked.

"Oh, yes." The boy exchanged a glance with the bishop, and explained, "My great-uncle is to be my guardian until I come of age. He has taken up his residence in our mansion to be near me and supervise my studies. But His Majesty has graciously confirmed me as head of my clan, so I have a great deal of work to do every day before I can get to my books."

"Ah," said Akitada, bowing deeply to him, "then I am indeed honored by your visit, my lord." This boy had suddenly become a very rich and powerful man. He recalled the youngster's sense of responsibility for his people and was glad.

Sesshin chuckled. "He is young, but he shows promise," he said, deflating the boy's pride a little. Then his face abruptly turned serious. "We have also some other news and a confidence to share with you. I followed your suggestions about Rashomon and, finding by good fortune a poor woman who had some information, was able to locate my brother's remains. They have been put to rest very quietly on his ancestral estate in the country."

Akitada glanced at the boy who met his eyes calmly. "I am very sorry for what happened to your grandfather," he told him. "It must be just about time for the forty-nine days to be up. I hope his spirit is at rest now."

The young lord nodded. "Yesterday," he said, his voice catching a little, "we held a service in the mansion. It was just for the family and a few servants. I was afraid that you were still too ill to attend. Kinsue and his wife, you know, were terribly worried about grandfather's spirit not finding a path into the next life when the waiting period was up. They seemed much relieved. Afterwards Kinsue took me to the old tree in grandfather's courtyard and showed me that it had put forth new leaves. He said it was a sign that grandfather has entered his new life."

Akitada thought that it was more likely that the rain had saved the old tree, but he felt again that slight shiver at the back of his neck, as if a cold finger had barely brushed his skin.

Sesshin cleared his throat. "We wish to take you into our confidence on the matter of the miracle," he said. "When I informed His Majesty about our suspicions, he immediately consulted with the chancellor and his closest advisers, and it was considered best not to destroy the people's faith in the Buddha or the reputation of the temple. Sadamu and I concur completely with His Majesty's decision."

Akitada bowed. "The wisdom of our august ruler is inspiring. You honor me with this confidence."

The bishop nodded. "I have also had some news of Lord Sakanoue. His Majesty has seen fit to appoint him 'Subduing Rebels Official' and has dispatched him to the northern frontier. There has been some particularly fierce fighting there lately. Lord Sakanoue has expressed his gratitude for being allowed to die for his country."

"Pah," said the boy. "He's a coward."

Sesshin frowned and moved smoothly to a discussion of general conditions in the north country. Akitada listened politely, wondering how long the bishop would dwell on the subject.

"The chancellor was mentioning to me just the other day that it is nearly impossible to keep good officials for any length in provinces like Noto, Echigo, Iwashiro and Uzen," he said, looking earnestly at Akitada. "The distance from the capital, the cold, the troubles with the local aristocracy all seem to drive the appointed governors and other officials to absent themselves from their headquarters for long periods of time."

More puzzled than ever, Akitada tried to look interested.

"Echigo, for example, has been without a resident governor for a number of years. Can you imagine? No senior official at all to represent the government?"

"None at all?" Akitada's real concern was stirred. He recalled vividly the problems which even a good governor had encountered in Kazusa, a province which was not nearly as far from the capital as Echigo. "Could not His Majesty replace inadequate administrators with more suitable persons? Echigo is a rich province. To leave such a significant source of income for the nation to the mercies of local interests seems a dangerous policy." He gulped. "I beg your pardon. I did not mean to criticize His Majesty, of course. Only there must be any number of good people who would gladly undertake such an assignment. The challenge alone must outweigh the lack of comforts, and the distance from the capital is easily balanced by seeing new places and learning new things. I remember when I was sent to Kazusa some of my friends thought this a punitive assignment, but I was jubilant . . . ." Akitada broke off in some confusion. When no one commented, he flushed with embarrassment. "I beg your pardon, Your Reverence," he murmured.

He risked a glance at Sesshin's face. The old monk was smiling benignly and nodding his head. "I am very glad to hear you say so. It is understandable that His Majesty's august rule should not always be understood by the people in distant places where the civilizing forces of the capital can only be transmitted by His Majesty's appointed representatives. Sadly, unlike you, too few of our young men are willing to accept such assignments, even if they have a more enlightened idea of the conditions there than their elders."

Akitada's heart had started beating more rapidly. Surely Sesshin was speaking in a very pointed manner. He glanced at the boy and saw that he was watching him expectantly. Looking back at Sesshin, Akitada said, "I am certain the emperor can find many able persons eager to exchange the stodgy routine of their duties in one of the bureaus and ministries for the excitement of travel and the freedom to improve conditions in one of our provinces."

"Ah," said Sesshin, smiling more widely and nodding. "Perhaps one or two. At any rate, that is what I told the chancellor when he expressed his worries about affairs in Echigo." He glanced out at the cloudy sky. "But the rain is letting up and we must not keep you any longer. It was a very pleasant visit. Please compliment your servant on the excellent tea and cakes."

His heart still pounding exultantly, Akitada expressed his gratitude for the visit, the box and the flute and, inwardly, the glorious new hope he hardly dared to acknowledge to himself. He accompanied his illustrious visitors to their carriage and watched them leave in a bemused trance.

Back in his room, he bent to pick up the box and flute to place them on a shelf. The box seemed astonishingly heavy. He opened it and saw with consternation that it was filled with gold bars. His reward, the boy had said. There must be more than three years worth of salary here, enough to mend the roof and pay the wages and costs of his newly increased household, and still leave something in reserve.

Filled with the joy of it, he went to tell his wife. But the little maid informed him that her mistress had gone to her former home as soon as the rain had eased a little. Akitada felt a sudden concern for her safety and peace of mind and decided to follow her.

The sky was clearing partially, and he risked going without his straw raincoat. Walking as quickly as the many steaming puddles permitted, he crossed the town, worried how he would find her on this, her first visit to the place of the tragedy which had taken both her father and her childhood home from her.

Although he had sent workers to clear away the large debris, the grounds looked dismal after the rain. There was bare black mud where the house had once stood, and charred trees clawed with naked, twisted fingers towards the skies. All the lush flowers and shrubs had shrivelled into sodden clumps of brown decay. Tamako's garden had died as surely as had her father and her past life.

She stood, huddled in a straw cloak, near the wisteria vine, looking up at its bare twisted remnants clinging to the old trellis. It was leafless now, but miraculously he had found there that single bloom he had sent her after their first night together. That she should have come to this spot cheered him. He called out to her.

She turned, hiding muddy hands under the rain cape, and he saw that the dark silk gown she still wore in mourning for her father was streaked with dirt along the hem and there was a smudge of mud near her nose where she had brushed back an errant tress of hair. But she smiled at him, and his heart melted with tenderness.

"What brought you here?" she asked, coming quickly to him.

"I was worried about you." He gestured at the desolate garden. "It still looks very sad, but in time it will be better."

"Oh? Will you keep it then?" she asked, her eyes growing wide with excitement.

"Of course. It is your home and your garden. I thought we might just rebuild a small summer house to start with, and perhaps quarters for a gardener to take care of the place."

"Oh, not a gardener," she cried. "I'll do that. Oh, thank you, Akitada!" Her face fell. "But the money? Can we afford it?"

He was secretly pleased about that "we." "Of course," he said. "Let me tell you my news. I had several visitors this morning. Captain Kobe stopped by first, and then we were honored by the bishop and young Lord Minamoto— who is now head of his clan so I must learn to address him as 'my lord' again."

She smiled. "He is a very nice boy. What news did the captain bring?"

"Okura hanged himself."

She looked down at her hands, which had crept from the folds of her gown and were now tightly clenched. "I am glad he killed himself," she said slowly. "Father would not have wished to be responsible for another human being's execution." Then she looked back up with a smile. "I suppose Bishop Sesshin and the young lord came to thank you for your help?"

"Yes, most generously. I had really not taken the boy seriously." He told her about the gold, happy in her delight in the sudden wealth. "Of course, they also expressed their best wishes on our marriage," he continued. Pausing, he added, more diffidently, "There was some other, rather puzzling talk about the lack of able administrators in the far north. It made me wonder."

Tamako's eyes widened. "What did the bishop say?"

Akitada told her what he could recall, watching her face as he spoke. She was still smiling, but with a certain fixity that dismayed him.

"Oh," she cried, "so much good news! I think you will receive a very grand assignment. Perhaps even a governorship!" She clapped her hands. "Heavens, what a signal honor at your age!" Biting her lip, she added quickly, "It is, of course, a well-deserved honor and a fine and wise choice. How very pleased your mother will be!"

Akitada asked softly, "And you? Are you pleased?"

She blushed and lowered her eyes. "Of course. It is a very great thing for you, for all of us." Then she asked breathlessly, with a slight catch in her voice, "How soon would you be leaving? There are so many things to be got ready. If you receive the appointment, you will be gone a long time . . . four years at least." She hung her head.

"There is no point in worrying about the preparations. It may all just be so much wishful thinking on my part. No doubt I was reading too much into a chance remark. And it is hoping for too much! I am only a clerk, a mere eighth grade in rank." He stretched out his hand to raise her face to his. Her eyes were filled with tears, but she smiled bravely. "Tamako," he asked, "I really wanted to know how you would feel about accompanying me to such an outpost of civilization."

"Oh!" Her whole face lit up. "You would take me with you then?" As he nodded, the tears spilled over and coursed down her cheeks, mingling with the streaks of dirt. She fell to her knees on the muddy ground and bowed. "Thank you, my husband. You have made this insignificant person very happy."

"Tamako!" he scolded, reaching for her. "Get up! There is no one about and no need at all for this cursed formality. And you have spoiled your gown."

She rose, chuckling tearfully and brushing at the black stains on her skirt. He took a tissue from his sleeve and wiped away the traces of muddy tears.

"I was so afraid you would not come," he confessed. "Most of the ladies I know would consider such an assignment one of the more agonizing torments of hell. There are none of the refinements of city life there, and I am told the winters last for eight long months."