The Crane Pavilion (21 page)

They looked Saburo over. The senior constable said, “Those look like scratches. Are you telling us that robbers use their fingernails these days?”

That brought some guffaws from the rest.

The senior constable snapped, “Stop cackling like monkeys. Chain them.”

Tora protested.

“You can tell your story to the police,” the senior constable told him.

Tora did not want to bring the Sugawara name into this yet. He exchanged a glance with Saburo.

Saburo said, “There’s a dead man under the house. And the wildcat that scratched me. The dead man’s a gambler called Hankei. The man who killed him is Kanemoto. It’s his house. I was under the house and heard them arguing. Then it was suddenly silent. The next thing I knew, Kanemoto was shoving a body under the house and nailing boards over the opening. My friend here came looking for me and just released me.”

Tora knew right away that it had been a mistake.

They goggled at this. The senior constable walked over and studied the loose boards with their bent nails, then peered into the darkness under the house. “You, Joshu! You’re the smallest. Crawl in there and check it out!”

Joshu made a face but obeyed. He disappeared under the house. Some unintelligible sounds emerged, and then he shot back out. “Amida,” he gasped. “The place is full of corpses. I’m not going down there again.” He rushed over to the well to wash his hands and rinse out his mouth.

Tora grinned.

His amusement was short-lived. When the constables had dragged out the body of Hankei, looking more than ever like a dead monkey, along with the strangled cat, they decided to charge Tora and Saburo with murder and lock them up in the local warden’s jail.

This created an unanticipated difficulty. At the city jail, they might have had a chance to identify themselves and explain, but here nobody knew them or cared.

The warden and constables did, however, know Kanemoto, who was, by the willow quarter’s standards, a respected businessman and, in any case, not home.

Tora and Saburo were locked into a small cell that stank of vomit and worse. It was also hot and airless, and the stench got worse during the long day. The one meal they were offered was inedible and the water so dirty and stale they only took a few sips.

They talked, though.

Tora said, “You could have been killed, too.”

Saburo picked at his lacerated hands. “That cat was something else.”

“I mean by Kanemoto. Are you sure he didn’t know you were down there? Why nail you in, if he didn’t know?”

“He was just covering the hole to keep people from finding the monkey.”

“Dead bodies stink after a while.”

“I don’t know, Tora. Maybe he planned to come tonight and take the body elsewhere.”

“Maybe. I wish we could arrange for a reception committee.”

They fell silent.

Saburo said suddenly, “There was a woman there. Kanemoto’s mistress. She saw what happened.”

“Then I expect she’s run away, too. Did Kanemoto call her by name?”

“No. Just ‘sweetheart’ and ‘my love.’ It was disgusting. I’d expected better from a gangster boss.”

Tora chuckled.

“It’s not funny. What can we do? What about the master?”

“Oh, well, he sent me to look for you. I expect he’ll tell Kobe about it.”

“He sent you to look for me?”

“Of course. What did you expect?”

“But he was angry?”

“A little. Not too much.”

Saburo gave a sob. “I’m sorry,” he said miserably.

“Stop that. It’s not manly.”

Saburo sniffled. “It’s just … I didn’t expect him to care what happens to me.”

“I told you you were wrong about that.”

Another silence fell.

After nightfall, there finally was some activity in the front room of the jail. They could hear the warden’s voice and some sharp commands. Then the sound of feet came their way, and the cell door was opened. The faces of several red-coated policemen peered in at them.

Tora stood. “About time, fellows,” he said. “We’ve been stewing here since daybreak.”

The man in front wore the insignia of a sergeant. He wrinkled his nose. “What a sty!” he said, then asked, “Are you the men arrested for a murder last night?”

They nodded.

“We’re here to take you to the city jail,” the sergeant announced.

“To the jail?” yelped Tora. “We’re not guilty. These yokels got it all wrong.”

The sergeant chuckled. “I wish I had a copper for every criminal who said that. I could retire and live at my ease in my country house.”

Tora protested, “Look here, I’m Lieutenant Sashima and served the governor of Chikuzen province.”

The sergeant laughed. “You can tell it to the judge.”, but

Saburo tugged at Tora’s sleeve. “Let it go,” he muttered. “We’ll explain to Kobe.”

But this was not to be, or at least not until much later. Their protestations of innocence fell on deaf ears at the jail. It was late by then, and the day shift was getting ready to go home. Neither the constables who delivered them, nor the guards who locked them into a somewhat cleaner cell wanted to delay their departure by a lengthy investigation.

When the night shift arrived, Tora attracted their attention by shouting, This met with a stern admonition that he was to sleep and let others also get their rest. The alternative, he was told, was a bad whipping with the bamboo rod.

The following morning, Tora and Saburo had calmed down considerably. Kobe was unlikely to be available until later, and when the guard brought some unappetizing stew of beans and vegetables, Tora not only asked politely to have the superintendent notified but also asked about Sachi.

“The blind girl?” The guard shook his head. “She’s pretty low. Her trial starts tomorrow.

“Tomorrow?” Tora yelped.

Saburo joined him. “How can this be? Her case hasn’t been investigated. It’s only been a few days.”

The guard shrugged. “They’ve got enough on her and someone’s pushing for a quick trial.”

Tora cursed. How could this have happened? It was unheard of. Usually, prisoners waited for months before a judge could be found and witnesses rounded up. “Who wants her to be tried tomorrow?” he asked.

The guard shook his head. “Don’t ask me. I haven’t been consulted.”

“What will happen to her?” Saburo asked.

“The judge is Hirokane. He doesn’t like women, and he especially doesn’t like those who work in bath houses and the amusement quarter. She’ll get a hard whipping and deportation.” He paused and made face. “If she survives the whipping, she’ll be sent to the swamps. A woman like that, and blind on top of it, won’t last long.” He eyed Tora and Saburo. “You two are made of tougher stuff. You might last a few years anyway.” He laughed and walked away.

22
An Old Acquaintance

Much as he disliked it, Akitada knew he had put off for too long speaking with his former friend Tasuku or, as he was now known, the Reverent Abbot Genshin. He wished he had kept up better with the abbot’s religious career. All he knew was that he had great influence at court—not much surprise there, given his youth spent in idle seduction of court ladies—and was considered a holy man and brilliant teacher. This last, Akitada found hard to swallow, but given his low opinion of the views of men and women at court, he could well believe it.

Nakatoshi had told him Genshin’s monastery was at the foot of Mount Hiei and called Daiunji. Akitada decided he would inform himself of its exact location and then ride into the mountains north of the capital. It was lucky that he had not yet sent the horses into the country.

As it turned out, Daiun-ji was a mere six miles from his house. It would be an easy journey through a mountain scenery in all its autumn glory. The temple had been founded by a Fujiwara almost a hundred years ago and was a favorite with the court because it allowed visits by women and was much easier to reach than the temples on the steep sides of Mount Hiei. None of this surprised Akitada. He had expected Tasuku to choose a retreat close to the capital and the court. Of course, this convenience also made possible frequent visits to his former home and a kept mistress there.

The weather had been sunny again, and the air was fresh without being cold. Akitada had been cooped up inside for much too long.

After making arrangements for his absence and putting aside worries over Saburo and Tora as premature, he set out early the day after his sister’s astonishing revelations. He hoped to find out the truth about the dead woman once and for all. In the back of his mind lurked the suspicion that Tasuku had had a hand in this woman’s death also.

The road was well kept and smooth, no doubt to make travel by ox carriage more comfortable for ladies or pampered courtiers. It wound pleasantly through foothills covered with stands of pine and cryptomeria. Here and there, touches of brilliant red marked the season when maples suddenly burst into flame.

In the valley that the road followed as it wound its way into more mountainous regions, the rice had been harvested, leaving only yellow stubbles behind. Akitada was vaguely aware that it had been a good year. Much of what had happened in the world around him he had noted only as if through a mist or heard as indistinct noise from far away. He had built a cocoon about himself to keep life out while he dwelled inside with his thoughts of death.

Even now, he felt guilty for taking pleasure in the beauty of the day, the slow and elegant gliding of a hawk in the blue sky, the smooth movement of his favorite horse beneath him.

He reached the village of Iwakura before noon and got directions to Daiun-ji. The Great Cloud Temple was not precisely in the clouds; Mount Hiei loomed high above it. It was, however in a high valley of the foot hills and hidden from view. The location was quite beautiful and peaceful. Having been well-endowed by the Fujiwara family, it had become the favorite temple and monastery of imperial princes. A charming pagoda and many elegant halls nestled in the idyllic landscape.

Akitada handed over his horse to one of the monks, then announced himself to the gate keeper by name with the request to see abbot Genshin.

The gatekeeper, used to more impressive visitors, said, “His Reverence regretfully does not receive visitors. He is in seclusion.”

Akitada was irritated, but there was no point in taking his resentment out on this monk. He asked for paper and ink and wrote a short note: “I came to see the morning glories. Alas, I find them long gone, and only the sound of the waterfall is in my ears.”

The woman whose death had sent his former friend to take his vows had been called Asagao, the morning glory flower. It was perhaps unkind to remind the revered abbot of his past, but Akitada thought it would get him an interview. He was after all the only man who knew that shameful story.

He gave the monk the note, asking that it be delivered, and then strolled into the temple grounds. The main halls were quite large and beautifully made, with their green tile roofs curving elegantly above the white plaster, black beams, and brilliantly red railings. It looks like the great halls of the
Daidairi,
the imperial city in the capital below, he thought. He had no interest in seeing the inside of any of them but noted smaller buildings, some richly tiled, others with dark bark-covered roofs, tucked away here and there among the trees of the hillside. All of them were, no doubt, residences for monks of imperial blood or semi-retired royals. It was a peaceful and comfortable life here, far distant from the political and social struggles and stresses of the capital below. He wondered which of the buildings served as the abbot’s quarters, and thought that the former Tasuku had been greatly honored to have been named abbot of a monastery where so many of much higher rank had sought refuge.

These thoughts still preoccupied him when a slender young monk in a rather fine silk stole called out to him. The young monk looked at him curiously as he offered to take him to see Genshin.

“His Reverence normally does not see visitors during his meditations,” he told Akitada, hoping for an explanation.

“I was not aware of the abbot’s schedule,” Akitada said with a smile.

This cast the monk into a shocked silence.

The abbot’s quarters turned out to be only a short distance from the
zendo
, the meditation hall. Akitada’s guide pointed this out.

“I’m glad he didn’t have far to go in that case,” Akitada commented dryly.

Another silence ensued and lasted until they had climbed the wide steps with finely lacquered railings to a veranda where the monk called out, “Lord Sugawara, Reverence” and threw wide a pair of double doors.

Akitada walked into a spacious room, dimly lit through latticed windows. The floor was highly polished black wood, and a raised platform ran along the back wall. It was covered with thick
tatami
mats. In its center, stood the abbot’s chair, and in it sat Tasuku, dressed in dark gray silk with a rich, multi-colored stole draped across his left shoulder.

For a moment, Akitada thought he was expected to kneel on the floor below and bow to this man. He stopped abruptly and scowled.

Abbot Genshin smiled and rose smoothly. Stepping down from the raised dais, he came toward Akitada with outstretched hands.

“My dear Akitada,” he said in the familiar warm voice. “I had almost given up hope. But what a joyous day it is! You look well, but thinner than I recall. Come sit with me in the garden-viewing room.” He gestured toward a door.

They walked into the next, much smaller room which contained little beyond the thick
tatami
mats on the floor and a cushion or two. But here the screened doors had been opened wide to a narrow veranda and beyond it, to the most beautiful small garden Akitada had ever seen. Perfectly clean white gravel separated the building from lush mossy ground where ferns and small, clipped azalea bushes gave way to pine, willow, eucalyptus, and maple. There were no flowers, but the willow had turned a brilliant yellow, and the maple a deep red. Willow leaves spread like gold across the dark green moss and a small stone lantern. It was exquisite.