The Pillow Book of Lady Wisteria (14 page)

Sano, accompanied by Detectives Fukida and Marume and some troops, again rode to the pleasure quarter, this time in pursuit of the entertainer whom Treasury Minister Nitta had implicated in the murder. Arriving in late afternoon, Sano found that Yoshiwara had undergone a striking change since his last visit.

Gone was the dismal atmosphere. The rooftops gleamed bronze in the light of the descending sun, while in through the gates swarmed hundreds of men eager for sensual delight. Some wore basket-shaped rush hats that concealed their faces. Sano recognized these as samurai, whom the law prohibited from visiting Yoshiwara. Though many samurai disregarded the law, and virtually no one cared, the most upstanding or cautious came in disguise. Along Nakanochō, the lanterns on the eaves burned brightly. Courtesans sat in the window cages of the brothels. Visitors ogled the courtesans, jammed the teahouses, and thronged shops that sold souvenirs and guidebooks to the quarter. As Sano entered Yoshiwara with his men, he imagined all the money that would change hands in the morning, when the customers paid the exorbitant fees that the brothels charged for food, drink, service, and women.

“We’ll stop in a teahouse and ask where we can find Fujio,” Sano said to his detectives. “He’s sure to be performing somewhere.” Sano wasn’t personally acquainted with Fujio, but he’d watched the
hokan
play at parties and knew his reputation as an acclaimed entertainer.

Just then, two boys marched up the avenue, beating drums. “Hear the magnificent Fujio play at the Atami Pleasure House tonight,” they called.

Spared the trouble of hunting the suspect, Sano and his men walked to the Atami, located on Edocho, a side street bordered by rows of brothels. The recessed entranceway of the Atami held a low table. On it sat three folded futon, a quilt, and a coverlet, all made of rich colored silk.

“
Tsumi-yagu no koto
,” Sano said.

This was the practice by which a courtesan showed off her patron’s wealth and devotion. The patron would supply a small fortune for the courtesan to buy elegant bedding. She would place it outside her brothel for all to admire. Even if the women would prefer to use their patrons’ money to pay their debts and shorten their term of service, Yoshiwara custom required them to display a carefree, impractical attitude. A courtesan who didn’t spend lavishly would appear stingy, become unpopular, and never free herself.

Sano glanced at the paper label attached to the quilt, which bore a date three days before the murder, and an inscription. “ ‘This bedding was presented to Lady Takane by the Honorable Nitta Monzaemon,’ ” Sano read.

“Then the treasury minister is patron to at least one other courtesan besides Lady Wisteria,” said Detective Marume. He fingered the coverlet. “Pretty expensive goods.”

“Maybe he’s not really in love with Wisteria,” Sano said. “A client devoted to a particular woman will usually confine his spending to her.”

“Maybe he dallies with other women to cover his feelings for Wisteria,” Fukida suggested.

“Or maybe Senior Elder Makino lied,” said Marume.

This was a real possibility, given Makino’s nature. “If he did, and Nitta told me the truth,” Sano said, “then Nitta had no apparent reason to abduct Wisteria or kill Lord Mitsuyoshi.” And Nitta had seemed like a promising suspect this morning. “Marume-
san
, check into Nitta’s relations with the courtesans and find out whether he does spread his attention around. The Introducing Teahouses would be a good place to start.” These establishments matched clients with courtesans, arranged appointments, and negotiated fees.

“Fukida-
san
, look for witnesses who saw Nitta on the night of the murder,” Sano said. “We want to know everything he did. I’ll handle Fujio myself.” He hoped that if his case against Nitta dissolved, the
hokan
would prove to be the culprit.

The detectives bowed and departed. Leaving his troops outside, Sano went into the pleasure house. A guard stationed in the entryway greeted him.

“Welcome, master,” the guard said. “Have you an appointment with one of our ladies?”

Sano introduced himself, then said, “I’m looking for Fujio.”

“He’s about to perform in the banquet room.”

Sano walked down the corridor toward the sound of voices and laughter. In the banquet room a party of samurai and courtesans lounged and chatted.
Kamuro
served roasted sardines, salted ferns, quail eggs, steamed clams, and sake to the men. As Sano paused in the doorway, a man strode through a curtained entrance at the far end of the room. He carried a samisen in one hand and a large folding fan in the other. He snapped the fan shut with a loud, ritualistic flourish, and all heads turned toward him.

“Thank you, everyone, for your favor,” Fujio said.

The party cheered. As Fujio knelt, positioned his samisen, and played a cascade of notes, Sano studied the
hokan
. Fujio was perhaps thirty-five years old, tall and slender, and handsome in a raffish way. He had bold, sparkling eyes, a mischievous set to his features, and sleek hair knotted at his nape. He wore the traditional
hokan’
s black coat printed with crests, over a beige kimono.

“With your kind permission, I shall perform my new song, ‘The Mysterious Flood,’ ” he announced.

The audience eagerly settled down to listen. Fujio played a gay tune and sang in a smooth, vibrant voice:

“
A big spender from Ōsaka,

Weary of the pleasures of his hometown,

Came to Yoshiwara with his entourage

To pluck some fresh blossoms
.

All eager for conquest
,

The men courted the best
tayu,

Sake flowed, and they made flattering talk, but alas!

The proud beauties scorned them
.

But the men would not accept disappointment,

For thirty nights they engaged the same courtesans
,

Attempting to win favor
,

For thirty nights they failed, their desire thwarted.

At last they decided to return to Ōsaka
,

But so aroused were they
,

That they paused by the Dike of Japan
,

And each caressed his own manhood, spurting a mighty fountain of seed
.

The torrent overflowed the dike
,

The peasants in neighboring villages beat the flood-warning drums
,

For many years they wondered
,

What caused a flood on that rainless night
?”

The samurai in the audience guffawed; their female companions tittered; Sano smiled. Lewd songs were Fujio’s specialty, and he performed with sly humor. The
hokan
bowed to enthusiastic applause. Then he caught sight of Sano. Recognition and stark fear erased his smile.

“Please excuse me,” he said to the audience.

Dropping his samisen, he fled out the curtained exit, amid protests from the samurai. Sano hurried after Fujio, but so did the courtesans, who clustered at the exit, crying, “Come back!”

By the time Sano pushed past them into the corridor, Fujio was gone. A door stood open to the night. Sano sped outside and found himself in a shadowed alley that ran along Yoshiwara’s eastern wall. He saw the
hokan
running past stinking privy sheds, toward the back of the quarter. Sano took off in pursuit, his feet skidding on the damp, slimy paving stones.

A small crowd of women gathered in the distance. They surrounded Fujio, crying, “Come with me, master, and I’ll make you happy!”

This area of Yoshiwara was known as Nichome—“Wicked Creek”—a name derived from a legend about a warrior attacked by an ogre. Here, low-class courtesans, desperate for customers, would accost men, pull them into squalid brothels, and service them in rooms shared by many couples. Now they clutched at Fujio, who shouted, “Let go!”

Sano caught up with the
hokan
, grabbed him by the front of his coat, yanked him away from the women, and shoved him against the wall. The women scattered in fright. Fujio flung up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

“No need to hurt me,
Sōsakan-sama,
” he said, flashing the smile that had charmed many female admirers. “Whatever business you have with me, we can settle it without a fight.”

Sano released Fujio, but stood ready to catch him should he flee again. “Why did you run when you saw me?”

“I was afraid,” Fujio confessed sheepishly.

“Afraid that you were wanted for the murder of Lord Mitsuyoshi?”

“Well, yes.” Fujio laughed, making a joke of his predicament, though Sano perceived how much he wished he’d gotten away. “If you’re looking for the killer, you’ve got the wrong fellow.” His mobile face assumed a humble, sincere expression. “But I’ll be glad to help in any way I can.”

There was something irresistibly likable about Fujio, and Sano couldn’t be angry at his obvious attempt to beguile his way out of trouble. “In that case,” Sano said, “you can tell me what were your relations with Lord Mitsuyoshi.”

“He was a patron of mine. I performed for him and his friends here, and in town.” A
hokan
lived on money from his patrons and depended on them to recommend him to new customers. “So you see that Lord Mitsuyoshi was worth more to me alive than dead,” Fujio said, turning his palms up as he smiled. “I wouldn’t kill him, and I didn’t.”

His nimble, eloquent hands pantomimed innocence, and Sano remembered hearing that Fujio had once been a Kabuki actor. “But you hated Lord Mitsuyoshi because he was your rival for the affections of Lady Wisteria,” Sano said.

“That would have been true once, when I was madly in love with Wisteria. She made me jealous by carrying on with samurai in front of me. But someone is telling you ancient history.” Condescension tinged Fujio’s smile. “I ended that affair last year, when I married the daughter of the proprietor of the Great Miura. Now I couldn’t care less about Wisteria.”

He leaned nonchalantly against the wall. “But it’s interesting that she should disappear on the same night when her lover was murdered in her bed. Do you know where she’s gone?”

“I was hoping you could tell me,” Sano said.

“Sorry. I’ve no idea.”

“Then you won’t mind if I search your home?”

Fujio’s eyebrows shot up. “Not at all.”

When asked where his home was, the
hokan
readily said he lived in Imado, a nearby village. But Sano had a distinct feeling that Fujio was hiding something, even if it wasn’t the missing courtesan.

“Where were you and what did you do on the night Lord Mitsuyoshi died?” Sano said.

“I performed at a party. But you’ve already found out that I was in the house where Lord Mitsuyoshi died, haven’t you? That’s why you came for me. Nothing stays a secret for long in this place.” Fujio slumped in gloomy resignation; then he brightened, raising a finger. “But I was entertaining the guests from the time dinner was served at the hour of the dog, until after midnight, when we learned that Lord Mitsuyoshi was dead.”

“Did you leave the room at any time?”

“No, master.”

Though his position as the focus of people’s attention provided him a good alibi, Sano again sensed that Fujio was dodging. “Are you sure you never took a break?”

A peculiar look came into the
hokan
’s eyes, as if he’d just realized something that simultaneously disconcerted and gratified him. He said, “I went to use the privy in the back alley. But you needn’t take my word for it. Treasury Minister Nitta saw me. He was standing in the alley outside the back door of the Owariya.”

Surprise jolted Sano. Before he could respond, Fujio said, “Nitta put you onto me, didn’t he? He’s the one who told you the old gossip to get me in trouble. Aha, I thought so. But I bet he didn’t say he saw me in the alley, because he would have had to admit he was there, too. He must have just killed Lord Mitsuyoshi when I saw him.” Fujio grinned in triumph.