by I. J. Parker
There was a pause, during which the policeman glanced at Genba’s empty marketing basket and his round, friendly face. Then he relented. “All right. Since I know your names and where to find you, you can go, but make sure he’s available or you’ll be sorry.”
Tora and Genba departed speedily around the next corner and stopped.
“Where’s Saburo?” Tora asked, looking around. “Let’s wait to give him a chance to catch up.”
Genba was lost in thought. What about Ohiro? Would she be suspected? “What do you suppose happened to Tokuzo?” he asked. “The policeman said he was killed last night when I was there.”
“He was lying to scare you. Still, I wish we could have hung about to find out a little more.”
Saburo appeared so suddenly between them that they jumped apart. Tora said irritably, “I wish you wouldn’t do that. It’s spooky. If you have to walk silently, at least clear your throat.”
“Sorry.” Saburo took each of them by an elbow and pulled them away. “No sense in staying here. That policeman may regret letting you get away so easily. As for finding out more, Tokuzo’s had his throat slit. He’d gone to bed, because they found him in it this morning. The bedding was soaked in blood. No sign of the knife, but it must’ve been a sharp one. The doctor they called said it was a clean, deep cut. It isn’t easy cutting a throat. You need a very sharp blade.”
Genba shook his head in wonder. “Who could have done it? A woman, do you think?”
Saburo pursed his lips. “Not very likely. As I said, it isn’t easy. Not when it’s a deep cut. And he was lying down, remember? The killer must’ve been covered with blood.”
“How do you know so much about cutting throats?” Tora asked suspiciously.
Saburo gave him another of his quelling looks. “Don’t ask stupid questions, Tora.”
“Amida!” breathed Tora. “You must’ve led quite a life. Does the master know? I’m not sure we’re safe in our beds at night.”
Saburo stopped, his face working. “Tora,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion, “I’ve never killed an honest man or woman, and the master has a better opinion of me than you do. That’s because he’s a good man who still believes in the goodness of others. You, I don’t know about.”
Genba said quickly, “Tora didn’t mean it. He jokes sometimes. You’ve been with us long enough to know that.”
Saburo looked at Tora, clearly trying to decide if he should be offended. The struggle did not last.
Tora grinned. “You’ll learn in time.” He slapped the bony back of the ugly man. “Didn’t mean to offend you, Saburo. It’s just that your mysterious past makes me curious. You can understand that.”
Saburo nodded. “Maybe I’ll tell you things some day, but give me time. My memories are very bad, and I don’t like being reminded.”
Genba would have enjoyed his peace-making role—he was by nature a man who abhorred arguments and confrontations—but his mind was again on his own problem. “Do you think the police will tell the master about the murder?” he asked anxiously. “Do you think he’ll tell me to leave this time?”
Tora snorted. “You know better than that. After all these years, he’d never show so little faith in you. Besides, you didn’t kill the bastard. If things turn really bad, the master will step in and solve the crime. That’s what he’ll do.”
Genba sighed. There was still Ohiro to be considered. He was impatient to see her and to warn her about talking to the police. She needed to stay home and keep away from prying eyes. “Well, there’s no point in you tagging along with me. Why don’t you go back home. I can go to the market by myself.”
They nodded. There were chores waiting.
Genba walked on and quickly made his purchases at the market. Avoiding the lengthy contest with women bargaining shrilly for their purchases, he made no effort to find the freshest fish or the largest cabbages. He even ignored the mouth-watering smells of fried foods and the sounds of slurping and lip-smacking from the noodle soup vendor’s customers. Cook would complain about his purchases and call him a big ox, but she did so anyway. From the market, he went on to Ohiro’s tenement.
To his relief, she was still home and had heard the news.
“Oh, Genba,” she cried, flinging her arms around him. “I’ve been so worried. Shokichi’s been to the Sasaya. She said Tokuzo’s been murdered and the police think you did it.”
“They made a mistake, love. But it’s best that you stay away as long as your face looks like that. If someone asks, say you’re sick. And if someone sees you, tell them you fell in the dark.”
She nodded. “Will you come every day so I know you’re all right?”
He smiled at that. “I’ll try, love. I’m glad that animal is dead, and you don’t have to put up with him any longer. Maybe now we can wait until we’ve saved up the money.” He was not happy about it, but as long as they had no other way of raising the money, he would have to let other men touch her and make love to her.
Her face fell. She turned away. “Yes, Genba,” she said softly. “I’ll wait.”
His heart ached, but he did not know what to say. “I’ve got to go now. Cook’s waiting for this food.” He picked up the basket he had set down to embrace her. “I’ll get back as soon as I can.”
When she looked at him, her eyes were filled with tears. “Good bye, Genba. Thank you.”
As he had expected, Cook was irate at his lateness and cursed him when she inspected his purchases. Tora was out, exercising one of the horses, and Saburo sat in the master’s study, catching up on the family accounts.
“The master’s out?” Genba asked unnecessarily. The room was empty of anyone but the ugly man, who had changed back into his blue robe.
Saburo raised his eyebrows. “He never comes home before sunset when the ministry does its monthly reports. You’ve talked to your girlfriend?”
Genba blushed. “How did you know I was going to see her?”
“You’re not a stupid person, Genba. You may look slow and move like a turtle, but you’ve got a good head. Of course, you went to see her. That’s why you wanted to get rid of us. What did she say?”
“She’d heard the news. I told her to stay home. Her face looks terrible.”
Saburo nodded. “Did she have any idea who might have killed her master?”
“No. I wish I could find out. I know our master could do it, but I really don’t want him to know about my troubles. Now that Tokuzo’s dead, we have a bit more time to save the money we need.”
“You told her that?” When Genba nodded, Saburo said dryly, “I bet that made her happy.”
Genba recalled the tears in Ohiro’s eyes and hung his head. “What else can I do?”
“Talk to the master. You can ask to borrow the money and let him take it out of your wages.”
“Saburo, she’s a prostitute. He won’t want her in his household.” Genba sat down abruptly and buried his face in his hands. “There’s no hope for us,” he mumbled indistinctly.
“Look at me!” snapped Saburo.
Genba did and saw the fierce look in Saburo’s good eye. “What?”
“Look at my face, you dolt. If there was hope for someone like me, what reason do you have to sit there whining about your hardships? Even a starving warrior will hold his toothpick high.”
Genba smiled at that. “Sorry, Saburo. You’re a good man. I’ll think about it.”
“Tell the master what’s happened. As for Tokuzo, I’ve got a good mind to do a little snooping there.”
“Thank you.” Genba hesitated, then said in a rush, “I’m glad you’re one of us,” and left quickly before he got maudlin.
Scattered Blossoms
Prince Atsuhira resided with his family in the Tsuchimikado Palace, the property having been given to him by his father, the ex-emperor when there was still a hope that he would become crown prince and succeed to the throne. But the late chancellor Michinaga and his sons had other plans and shifted the succession t
o one of Michinaga’s grandsons instead.
Atsuhira had submitted with very good grace. To his credit, he only wished for a peaceful life and was not adept at court politics. Still, he had his supporters, men who liked him as a friend as well as men who hoped to advance themselves by throwing in their lot with him.
Of late, the prince had withdrawn from social life and even from appearances at court, much to the regret of many ladies. He had the sort of good looks and elegant manners that had caused them to call him “Shining Prince” after Genji, that famous romantic hero in Lady Murakami’s book.
When Akitada was finally admitted to his presence, there was little left of the brilliant aura that once surrounded him.
Their meeting was possible only after some planning. Akitada had prepared for it by going back to the ministry where he dispatched one of the junior clerks to the archives for documents relating to the prince’s property holdings. The young man dashed off eagerly and returned somewhat dusty, with a huge stack of bound maps and rolled scrolls.
Akitada selected a reasonable number of these and sent the rest back. The young man then accompanied Akitada, carrying the documents and a small writing box.
They arrived at the Tsuchimikado Palace with a proper air of importance and demanded to speak to the prince. A guard at the gate denied them access. The prince was apparently under house arrest.
“I’m here on official orders from the Ministry of Justice,” snapped Akitada. “Send for your superior this instant.”
After a short wait, a senior officer, wearing the uniform of the outer palace guard, appeared, a captain by his insignia, and a member of a family in power at court. He frowned and drawled, “What is all this? I have not been informed. You’re Sugawara, are you? What business does the Ministry of Justice have with His Highness?”
Akitada made the man a slight bow—received with a mere nod—and said stiffly, “It has been thought proper at this time to confirm the extent of His Highness’s holdings, since they are likely to play a part in the legal proceedings.”
The captain’s face cleared. In fact, he looked positively eager. “Ah! Is that the case? My apologies. They must be moving more quickly than we thought. Still, rules are rules. May I check the documents?”
Akitada waved the clerk forward, and the captain investigated each scroll and volume before nodding.
“Yes. Quite correct,” he said cheerfully. “Well, I have no objection, of course, but I don’t think he’ll see you. He won’t talk to anyone. A bit mad, if you ask me. There have been outbursts. Even his ladies are afraid to go near him.”
“I see. Please tell him that I must see him urgently. Umm, perhaps you should say it is in his best interest.”
The captain smirked at this and showed them to a very elegant reception room. Akitada paced nervously. Much depended on his seeing the prince, and seeing him alone. He became aware of soft sounds—silken rustlings and whispers. Behind the dais a series of screens with painted scenes of mountain landscapes hid an adjoining room. No doubt, eyes were glued to the narrow gaps between the panels. The prince’s household was curious about his purpose here. He could not blame them. Their own lives and fates were tied to those of their husband and master.
To his relief, it was not the captain who returned, but an elderly man in a sober brown silk robe. He introduced himself as the prince’s majordomo and led the way to an inner apartment past several courtyards where cherry trees bloomed. True to their poetic meaning of impermanence, they had scattered their petals like snow across the gravel.
Happiness had indeed been short-lived for Prince Atsuhira.
There were no guards at the door to the prince’s room. This, too, made things easier. Apparently, the prince was allowed a certain amount of privacy out of respect for his person.
“Wait here,” Akitada said to the young clerk, taking the documents but leaving the writing utensils with him. “I’ll call when I need you.”
The majordomo opened the door, announced, “Lord Sugawara,” let Akitada walk in, and then closed the door behind him.
The room was dim. The green reed shades to the outside had been lowered, and the bright sunlight outside left only faint golden patterns on the polished wood floor. The prince sat hunched over a scattering of books and papers. Akitada was shocked to see how much he had changed from the cheerful young man he used to know. They were nearly the same age, but Atsuhira’s sagging figure had nothing in common with the athletic young man who had liked riding, sports, and hunting in the mountains.
Atsuhira’s face was pale and drawn. He raised listless eyes to Akitada.
“I remember you,” he said in a flat voice. “You used to be at Kosehira’s parties.”
“Yes, Highness.” Akitada looked around the room and back at the solid door. They seemed to be alone, and the apartment was self-contained, without those screens and temporary walls that could be erected in large spaces to divide them into many smaller rooms. Still, he lowered his voice when he said, “Kosehira has told me of your difficulties.”
The prince frowned. He looked at the documents under Akitada’s arm. “I’m confused. Are you here because Kosehira sent you, or because my enemies are already dividing up my lands?”
“The former.” Akitada set the documents down and bowed. “I’d like to be of service if you will allow me.” Seeing the prince hesitate, he added, “You may recall that I was once able to intercede in the matter of a stolen letter.”
The prince flushed, then gestured to a cushion, and Akitada sat.
“Very good of you to come,” the prince said, sounding listless again, “but I need no help this time.”
“Surely, Highness, you must defend yourself against the false charges of insurrection and treason.”
“My enemies are posturing. They have no case. They want to frighten me into flight. As it is, they have nothing to fear from me. I shall take the tonsure soon, and if they try to prevent me, I shall make an end of my miserable life. You may tell Kosehira of my decision.” He took up one of his scrolls and began to read, a signal that he considered the conversation over.
Akitada sought for words to reach the prince, who now seemed to be reciting a sutra. Finally, he said the only thing that came to his mind.
“Your Highness, the Lady Masako may have been murdered.”
He regretted his words instantly, because he had no proof. In truth, all he really had was a vague suspicion—and a fervent wish that the young woman had not stepped off the cliff that snowy night four months ago.
The prince dropped the sutra scroll. “What? Are you serious?”
“Yes, there are aspects to the case that look suspicious. I came to ask you about them.”
The prince’s brows contracted. “Kosehira had no right.” He looked angry.
“Kosehira is your friend, as he is mine.”
“Do you have anything to support your extraordinary charge?”
Atsuhira was nothing if not intelligent. That distinguished him from most of the imperial offspring and perhaps accounted for the fact that his enemies had started their ugly campaign against him again. They preferred sovereigns who were easily led and took no interest in government. The current emperor, the prince’s first cousin, was still very young and, from all accounts, totally engrossed in his women and games. It was Atsuhira’s bad luck that he was much admired by the people who wanted him to be reinstated as crown prince.
Akitada said cautiously, “I have spoken with Superintendent Kobe. He described the injuries on the body. They have raised some questions.”
The prince buried his face in his hands. “I found her,” he said hoarsely. “She lay at the bottom of the cliff, covered with snow. There was blood in the snow. Kobe said it proved she was alive and died from the fall.” He raised his head to look at Akitada with bleak eyes. “Is that what you came to hear?”
“No. I knew it already.” Akitada hesitated, seeing the pain-racked face of the prince. “You see, her skull was badly damaged,�
� he ventured as gently as he could, “but there was little damage to her legs. I would have expected the opposite if she had stepped off the cliff.”
The prince slowly shook his head from side to side. “What does it matter? She’s dead.”
“Someone may have pushed her and caused her to fall head first. If Lady Masako was murdered, don’t you want the guilty person punished?”
“No!” The word was an agonized shout. The prince was very upset. His eyes flashed. “Why do you force your way into my solitude to talk to me of things that churn up my insides and bring back the nightmares that are with me day and night? Are you so unfeeling and lacking in understanding that you cannot see that nothing matters now? She is gone! Nothing will bring her back. How much better to accept that she took the fatal step because she wanted to than to imagine her in the hands of a brutal killer, unable to save herself?” He gave a small sob and clenched his hands. “She was alone! Alone because I was not there to protect her. How do you think that makes me feel? I was passing the time in idle chatter with your friend Kosehira instead. If you came here to help me, I don’t want your help. And if you’re here to help your friend, you’ve come to the wrong man. I have cursed Kosehira for delaying me that night. I don’t care what happens to him … or me … or you. Go!”
With that final shout, the prince turned his back on Akitada.
Akitada sat frozen. How could he have been so stupid? He should have considered the prince’s feelings. He had wasted his time and made things worse. The anger at Kosehira for delaying the prince on that fateful night had probably lain dormant until this moment.
After a long time, he said humbly, “Forgive me, your Highness. I was truly insensitive and should have spared you this. I hope you will believe that my first thoughts were for Lady Masako. I have seen many crimes in my life, and always my thoughts have been for the victims. But I also think about preventing more grief and death among the living by apprehending the murderer.”