The Crane Pavillion

by I. J. Parker

  “Yes. Perhaps they knew each other before he took the tonsure. Did he ever visit her here?

  “That I do not know. He comes here very rarely and doesn’t spend the night. As for his past, I didn’t know him then.”

  “I see. Did you get to know her after she came to live here?”

  “No. I’m past the age of paying visits to young women.” Suketada’s lip twitched. “Not sorry, you know. Women are trouble. I have my work to occupy me and, unlike you, I’m not curious about other people/s lives. We’d meet sometimes. Fetching water from the well or leaving or returning from an errand. She seemed very pleasant.”

  “I see. What about the others who live here? Might they have been closer to her?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised. I keep my nose in my books all day and sleep at night, but I rather doubt the student studies much. At his age, he’s probably a night animal. The young are always roaming about. As for the nun, well, she’s another woman. The two of them probably had things to talk about.”

  “How long have you lived here, sir?”

  “Six years in another month. And don’t bother to ask how I came to accept charity or why it was offered, because I won’t tell you.”

  Akitada acknowledged this with a small nod. “And Lady Ogata? How long has she been here?”

  “She came a year later, I think. I couldn’t tell you exactly when. My memory’s going, and besides I wasn’t interested. One day I came across her in the garden. I asked her what she doing there, and she said she lived in the crane pavilion. Silly name. She meant the lake pavilion.”

  “Did you not wonder at her being here?”

  “Not at all. It’s none of my business.” Casting another glance at the malodorous food package, the professor added testily, “For that matter, what is your interest in her, Sugawara? I don’t believe you explained the real reason for your visit. Are you here in an official capacity?”

  Akitada thought of the Ministry of Justice. He had probably already lost his position. On an impulse, he said, “I investigate crimes.”

  The professor’s jaw dropped for a moment. Then he said in a tone of utter astonishment, “You think someone killed her?”

  “The police believe it was suicide. Were you surprised when you were told of her death?”

  After a pause, the professor said, “No.”

  “Then you must have expected it. Were you aware of something being amiss, of an event or a fact that would have driven her to take her life?”

  Professor Suketada looked away. “‘One cannot ask loneliness how and where it starts,’” he quoted, then glanced pointedly around his room. “You are a fortunate man, Sugawara. I had almost forgotten that there are people alive who do not find their lives a burden. No, I know of nothing that would have made her life harder to bear than mine.”

  The darkness settled back on Akitada. Only hours ago, he had thought his own life an unbearable burden. He had done so for every hour of the past weeks and months since the news of Tamako’s death had reached him in that far-off place. He had railed against obligations which forced him to go on living, to return to an empty home, to take on the care of two young children and a house full of dependents. Was his grief so shallow that a mere tale of an unexplained suicide should have caused him to forget? No doubt, Lady Ogata could have had her own reasons for stepping off that trunk.

  Slowly he got to his feet. “I’m sorry I troubled you, Professor. Please forgive the rude intrusion. Perhaps it is better not to ask too many questions. We may not like the answers.” He bowed. “Thank you for your candor.”

  The professor nodded. His eyes had already moved to his dumpling.

  His visitors left.

  *

  Outside again, Tora said eagerly, “What a weird fellow! If the rest are like him, we’ll find all sorts of mysteries here. What do you suppose would bring a learned man to live like beggar? The food he bought was rotten. I bet he begged for it.”

  Akitada winced. “This is not a happy place. Far from having found a peaceful hermitage, the professor suffers hunger and spends his time contemplating his misfortune.”

  “I think a man should keep active and go among other people. Sitting around in one small room, brooding over his misfortune, isn’t healthy. Maybe that’s what made the lady end her life.” He shot Akitada a sidelong glance.

  “I thought you were convinced a crime had been committed. If you’ve changed your mind, perhaps we should return home now. I wouldn’t mind some peace and quiet in my room.”

  Tora looked guilty. “Well, now that we’re here, let’s see what the others have to say first. Better get the job done properly or Secretary Nakatoshi will be disappointed.”

  Akitada sighed, but he turned to look across the gardens. Seeing part of a tiled roof beyond the dense mass of trees, he said, “If I’m not mistaken that’s the lake pavilion over there. Let’s have a look at Lady Ogata’s quarters.”

  5

  The Student

  The pavilion, for all its distance from the main house and its location in an untamed jungle of plants and vines, was a far more elegant abode than the professor’s room off one of the galleries. Akitada wondered what this might suggest for Lady Ogata’s importance or her closeness to the abbot. Tasuku was his own age, and the lady had been in her twenties. It was an age well past the time when women were courted, but she was younger than Tasuku. She could well have been his lover, for apparently she had been beautiful.

  And what better place to stash away a lover than this hidden pavilion on his own estate? The abbot could visit any time he wished without exciting comment, yet hardly anyone would know about the woman waiting for him here.

  Tora voiced the same thought. “Nice place for an occasional cuddle,” he said, grinning.

  They climbed the steps to the door. Perhaps the interior would offer more clues to the lady’s character and her relationship to the saintly abbot.

  When Akitada pushed open the door, he thought he heard a sound inside, but the room was empty when he stepped inside, Tora at his heels.

  “She didn’t have much,” Tora commented, looking around at the bare floor and the two clothes chests pushed against one wall. There was also an empty clothes rack and a small bare writing desk.

  Akitada said nothing. Tamako had owned four trunks for her clothing, one for each season of the year, and her pavilion had contained many more things for her comfort. Thick tatami mats had covered her floor, and there were cushions to sit on. For her enjoyment, she had had several finely painted screens, book cases filled with books, writing desks and utensils, scrolls of paintings and all the more useful items such as candle sticks, braziers both for heating the room and for heating water for tea, water containers, mirrors and cosmetics boxes and so forth. All of these comforts were lacking here. He wondered how Lady Ogata had eaten and where her meals had come from. Had she gone out like the professor to buy a small prepared meal from a stand or a peddler? Who had supported her? The abbot? Where were her servants? Had there been at least a maid?

  Tora went to fling open the shutters and let in more light. The dark floor was badly scuffed and dusty. Both Akitada and Tora raised their eyes to the beams overhead.

  “The police report said she’d climbed on one of the trunks to reach the rafter,” Tora said. “I guess someone put it back.”

  The floor was scratched and showed where the trunk on the left had been dragged to the center of the room and then back again. Akitada eyed the scratches, then walked across to inspect the trunk. He started back with a cry when a tall figure suddenly rose from behind it and confronted them.

  “What are you doing here?” demanded a pale-faced youth with glaring eyes. “This is private property. You have no permission to be here. Get out! Get out this instant!” His voice rose hysterically on the last words.

  Akitada caught his breath. “And you? What is your business here?” he demanded. “I believe you were hiding.”

  Tora moved to block the young man�
��s escape.

  Cornered, the youngster looked from one to the other and tried to bluster. “I live here. And I don’t know you, so you’ve no right to be here.”

  Akitada flung open the lid of the trunk. It was filled with clothes. He held up a red Chinese jacket embroidered with butterflies. “And on what occasion do you wear this?” he asked.

  Tora guffawed and mimed fanning himself. “He must be one of those man-women,” he said in a high voice, “who dress up in girly finery in private.”

  The student’s face flushed with fury, and he went for Tora, fists flying. Tora stopped him by catching one hand and twisting his arm. With a choking cry, the student fell to one knee.

  “Let him go, Tora.” Akitada folded the jacket carefully and replaced it, closing the lid of the trunk. “You must be the student Takechi Akushiro. My name is Sugawara. This is Tora, my retainer. We are here to look into Lady Ogata’s sudden death. I know these are her quarters and her clothes.”

  The student rose and rubbed his wrist. He was suddenly subdued and looked frightened. “I’ve heard of you,” he said. “You’re the one who investigates crimes. She … she took her own life.” His voice shook over the last words.

  Akitada had taken note of the young man’s red-rimmed eyes and guessed that there had been a romantic attachment. The question was how far this had gone. Had it been merely a young man’s infatuation with an older woman or had they been lovers? He said, “I take it you live in the mansion at the invitation of Abbot Genshin, just like the others?”

  The student nodded without lifting his eyes.

  “How did this come about?”

  Takechi Akushiro glanced at him. “How do you mean? I needed a place to stay. He offered.”

  “But why? Are you paying for your room?”

  “No.” A slow flush crept up the student’s neck. “It was a kindness,” he said. “My parents were too poor to send me to the university. He convinced them to let me come. He also pays my fees and for my books, and paper and ink. I work evenings and earn the money for my food.”

  “Good for you,” Akitada said. “And how are your studies coming along?”

  “All right.” Akushiro avoided Akitada’s eyes and fidgeted.

  “I see. But none of this explains what you are doing here in the lady’s room.”

  The flush returned to the youth’s slightly pimply face. “I … I come here sometimes. To remember her.” He shuddered. “It was terrible.”

  “Were you lovers?”

  The student jerked upright and stared at him. “No. Never. She wouldn’t have me,” He nearly sobbed. “I wouldn’t have dared. Oh, dear heaven!” And now he broke down. Turning away, he hid his face in his hands. Akitada could see his shoulders shaking as he wept. “Let me go!” he pleaded. “I can’t bear it.” He started for the door.

  Tora moved to stop him, but Akitada said, “No. Let him go.”

  The student having disappeared at a run, they looked at each other.

  “Did you believe him?” Tora asked. “I mean that there was nothing between them?”

  “I think he was in love with her. At that age, love is a very powerful emotion. Perhaps she rejected his advances, or else she was unaware of them.” He looked around the room. “Not very luxurious,” he commented. “Hardly the accommodations one provides for a mistress. I may have misjudged Tasuku.” He opened the trunk again and looked at the Chinese jacket. Tamako had one like it. Hers was a rose color and had been a fairly costly present he had given her some years ago. In time it had become worn. This looked hardly worn and had been folded most carefully on top of the other clothes. He laid it aside and unpacked the trunk. It was filled with sumptuous gowns and undergowns, with shimmering trouser skirts, and embroidered slippers, with exquisitely painted fans and embroidered sashes. All of it seemed new, or nearly so, and each piece was deeply creased in the folds as if the clothes had rested in the trunk for a long time. He replaced everything, not as neatly as he wished, then opened the second trunk. This one held very different clothes. Only two gowns were silk, and they were badly worn. The rest of the clothes were as ordinary as what a shopkeeper’s wife might wear. And there were not many of them: two gowns for summer and two quilted ones for winter, plus some ordinary ramie undergowns and a few much mended white socks. The final garment was a white nun’s robe and shawl, the kind worn by women on pilgrimages. On top of these clothes, lay a small silk bag containing a few coins, hardly enough to buy food for a month.

  The very bottom of the trunk was taken up by two books of scrolls and some writing paper. Akitada unrolled the books and found they were tales from Genji, the famous novel about the imperial prince with the many love affairs and his one true love for his Lady Murasaki. Lady Ogata, or someone else, had annotated the novel here and there. The handwriting was elegant. Replacing the contents of the second trunk, Akitada sighed.

  She had once led an elegant life, perhaps at court or else as wife or daughter of a powerful nobleman. The expensive clothing proved this much. Her education had made her a woman with refined tastes in reading. But something had happened, and she had found refuge here, no longer protected by wealth, but so poor that she wore ordinary clothes and mended her socks. What had brought her to this?

  Tora called from a dark corner under the far eaves. “Come look at this.”

  Akitada joined him and saw a rough wooden board that held a plain brazier with some remnants of ashes, an iron pot, two bowls, a basket with half a turnip and a bundle of wilted greens, a small sack of rice, and another of beans. On a shriveled leaf rested two dried-out slices of yokan, a sweet made from bean paste, honey, and chestnuts. “Surely she didn’t cook her own meals,” he said, shocked by the poor fare and equipment.

  Tora was unmoved. “Oh, it’s easy enough to boil a bit of rice gruel and add some radish and greens. Quite tasty, I’d say.”

  “Hmm. Perhaps. But for a wellborn lady this spells abject poverty. If the good abbot was a truly charitable man, he would not have let her live like this. Let’s go find this caretaker. He should know more about the owner, the people he has taken in, and their stories.

  6

  Murder in a Bathhouse

  After hurrying to finish with the Sugawara accounts, Saburo left the main house and went to the kitchen. The cook, a new member of the household, hired by Lady Sugawara while they had been in Kyushu, was a round, short country woman who was missing some of her front teeth. Unlike her predecessor, she was cheerful and did not mind work.

  Saburo had asked her what had happened to her teeth. It appeared that her husband had knocked them out one night when he had come home drunk and she made the mistake of telling him he shouldn’t have spent their last coppers on wine.

  Saburo had pitied her, but she just laughed. “It was a good thing, Saburo,” she explained. “It made me leave the bastard before he got me with child. I’m done with men now. No offense.”

  Ever since, Saburo had treated her with the greatest respect.

  Today he found her starting the fire under the rice cooker. “Do you need anything from the market, Masumi?” he asked.

  “No, thanks. I’ve already been. Went early.” She straightened up and gave him a smile. “Go see your girl. Nobody’ll miss you. Not much happening since our lady died and her babe with her.”

  Saburo nodded. The sadness was creeping back, and he hurried off into town. Shokichi would drive the demons of darkness from his mind.

  Shokichi had given up prostitution and was earning some money by applying the make-up for entertainers and courtesans. Recently she had also begun to arrange their hair and select their costumes. She had always had a knack with this sort of thing, helping her friends get ready for their customers. Now she worked for a number of “aunties” who sent for her when they were rushed and needed to get a number of women ready for a party. Shokichi’s income was very small compared to what she could earn as a prostitute, but it was getting better and Saburo augmented it. She rented a room near the am
usement quarter.

  Saburo was glad she had given up her trade. Quite apart from the fact that he did not want to share her with other men, Shokichi was thirty. She was younger than he by fifteen years but becoming too old for her former occupation. On the other hand, her changed circumstances and their changed relationship presented new problems. Lately he had noticed a certain possessiveness in her. He loved Shokichi, but he did not want to get married. For one thing, he could not very well bring another ex-prostitute into his master’s house, expecting him to support an additional family, and for another … well, he really was not the marrying type. The present situation was what he liked: knowing she was there for him whenever he needed a woman’s touch.

  When he turned down her street, he saw Shokichi come flying out of her door and taking off at a run.

  “Shokichi,” he shouted, hurrying to catch up.

  She turned, flushed with excitement. “Saburo, I’m so glad you’re early. You must come quickly.”

  First things first. Saburo took Shokichi in his arms and swung her around. “I’m happy to see you, too,” he murmured into her ear.

  She struggled free. “No time for that now. A terrible thing has happened. They’re going to arrest Sachi. They say she killed a customer.”

  Saburo searched his memory. Ah! Sachi was one of Shokichi’s friends. She was the blind girl. He asked, “Why did she kill him or her?”

  Shokichi stamped her foot impatiently. “She didn’t. And it was a man, a horrid man. His name’s Nakamura. They say she slit his throat with the razor. Come on. You must stop them.”

  The blind Sachi earned a living by shampooing and shaving customers. Blind people frequently took such jobs because they could perform them by touch. Sachi was supposed to be popular with her customers for her gentle hands, and possibly also because she was pretty.

  “Could it have been an accident?” he asked. “Maybe her hand slipped?”

  “I don’t think so. Let’s go.” Shokichi pulled at his arm.