by I. J. Parker
The others nodded their agreement.
Saburo hung his head again. “I said I’d take her with me. It’s my problem.”
Ohiro, who had been occupied with amusing the baby, now asked, “If you’ll forgive me, Saburo, what has she done to you and your sister that you hate her so much?”
Saburo flicked a glance at her. “You wouldn’t understand. And my sister doesn’t hate her. I imagine mother has spent every waking hour telling her that she’s a bad wife and a bad mother and doesn’t keep the house clean enough or cook the right food. That can make even the strongest person break down after a while. And besides there’s my brother-in-law.” He sighed. “No, it’s better she’s with me. I don’t have a wife and children.”
“Then it’s settled,” said Hanae. “She stays.”
Saburo looked at her. “You’ll be sorry when she starts in on you.”
“Oh, she has already. I don’t mind. I smile and thank her for her concern and go about my business. Of course, there’s cook.” She frowned.
Tora asked, “What about cook?”
“Cook is leaving.”
Saburo said, “I told Mother not to meddle, but she will go to the kitchen and criticize. And she’s started cooking for me.”
“I’ll speak to cook.” Tora rose.
This was the signal for them all to return to their duties. Tora reached for Hanae again.
Chapter Eleven
The Shrine Fair
Akitada was unhappy and worried about Tora’s tale. The incident had been shocking, especially when carried out by sohei, and those members of the Enryaku-ji monastery. He considered the custom of great temples to train some of their younger monks to defend their community against marauding robbers deplorable. Yet while he disliked it intensely, he could understand such a move when the government was apparently unable to control criminal gangs.
What was unforgiveable, however, was the use of soldier monks against another temple. It was this sort of warfare which had led Enryaku-ji and Onjo-ji to strengthen their forces by hiring mercenaries, declaring them lay monks, and providing shelter, food, and pay for them. Both local temples had standing armies of sohei, and clearly their mercenaries were criminals who had begun to prey on the local population.
In fact, his own assignment was intended to settle a dangerous disagreement between the two temples in order to avoid another war and bloodshed. Yet his knowledge of the hostilities between presumably peaceful disciples of the Buddha made him increasingly afraid that a mere legal judgment would not prevent such a disaster.
He had been short with Tora, but the situation was too delicate to cloud the issues with charges against the four sohei. No doubt these would be rejected anyway, the rapes denied, and the kidnapping explained as the legitimate capture of a run-away peasant.
But even more upsetting had been Tora’s manner. Akitada feared that Tora was thinking of doing something foolish.
He pondered the situation most of that night and rose the next morning without having found a solution. For the time being, Tora was safely at home in the arms of his wife. It might remind him that he had responsibilities these days. At least he hoped so. The four sohei were another matter. The incident troubled him enough that he sought out the peace of Kosehira’s garden in an attempt to settle his mind.
His feet carried him to the koi pond, and there he came across Lady Yukiko again. Like last time she was kneeling on the mossy ground, feeding grains of rice to the fish. She wore pale green silk, like the earliest leaves of spring, and the sheen of her long hair made him want to touch it. He stopped and turned to leave, but she had already heard him and was rising to her feet.
Embarrassment caused her to flush. She said softly, “Oh! It’s you.”
And he said, “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to intrude.”
For a long moment they just looked at each other. Akitada was aware of a powerful desire to capture her image as she stood there, sun-dappled in the morning light, a perfect image of the world’s beauty in spring.
He caught himself eventually, feeling strangely sad that this beauty was no part of him. Not for him such freshness or a new beginning. He was middle-aged, her father’s age to be precise, and a father himself. He controlled his heart and said, “And how are Black Dragon and Setting Sun today?”
She smiled and set his heart racing again. “Very well. Come and see, my lord.”
The formality of “my lord” put him in his place. He wished she had used his name and yet was glad she did not. He came closer and inspected the koi. “I’m afraid I said something to offend you last time,” he said. “Will you please forgive me?” He dared a sideways glance and saw the delicious color on her cheeks again.
“It wasn’t you. It was my forwardness. I had no right to pry into your life. I’m ashamed.”
That moved him, and he reached out a hand. “Never be ashamed of a kindness,” he said. “I was flattered. You see, I’m not much used to admiration and it took my words away.”
She put her hand in his. The smile returned. “You needn’t tell me. It’s enough to have met you in person.”
Her hand was small and warm. Holding it reminded him of cradling a young bird. He felt a great affection for her, a protective, fatherly affection. “We’ve met before, you know. You were about six or seven, I think.”
She took her hand from his and turned away. “Oh. Did we? I don’t recall. I was a mere child then.”
The loss of that hand was strangely painful and that realization made him push both of his hands deep into his sleeves. “You were a charming child even then,” he said lightly. And then added, “All of you children impressed me as delightful.”
“I don’t believe you,” she said, kneeling again to look at the fish. “My brothers and sisters strike me as pretty wild. My whole family is rather odd, you see. I have wondered why this should be. The best explanation I can come up with is that our parents are happy because my father is happy. We laugh a lot. I’m old enough to have learned that this is a very rare and perhaps improper thing in families.”
Here it was again, this wonderful capacity to see past the obvious to gain a deeper understanding. He said, “It is a rare and wonderful thing and one that I envy. But how can someone as young as you know such things?”
She looked up at him. “Do you think me a child? Or is it that I am a woman and therefore should not have much understanding?”
Taken aback, he said, “No, of course not.”
She got to her feet to study his face. “I wish …” she said in a rush. “I wish you would trust me. I wish you would feel that you could talk to me without thinking me too young or too much a woman.”
This made him smile. “My dear Yukiko,” he said, “You do have a mirror, don’t you? It is impossible to look at you without thinking those things.”
She blushed again, and he enjoyed the play of rosy color on that smooth skin. “I do trust you,” he said, becoming serious. “Or at least, it’s not a matter of trust. You should not worry your pretty head about tales of past adventures by someone my age. And in any case, it wasn’t a matter of courage or heroism, as you and perhaps your father think. I had no choice. I was horribly afraid. And if I escaped in the end, it was by luck rather than ingenuity.”
She cocked her head. “You might leave it to me to decide.”
He gave a snort. “My dear young lady, the truth is these tales would shock and upset you. They are full of blood and death and suffering, so let it be.”
“Now you’re angry again. I should be angry that you have such a low opinion of me, but I shall wait. Some day you’ll tell me your past. I have great patience. Perhaps you’ll make me wait until I’m old, so old that you no longer think of me as a woman.”
He knew that would never happen. For a moment longer he let himself look at her for the sheer joy of it. Then he said, “I must speak to your father.”
She gasped.
“Tora reported an incident at the harbor. It troubles me
and I’d like to get your father’s view of it.”
“Oh.” She sounded disappointed. “He’s in his room, I think. Will you come back tomorrow?”
“You mean here?” She nodded. He said rather stiffly, “I don’t know. We are getting rather busy. But I thank you for a charming conversation.”
∞
It was almost as bad as their last parting. He saw the hurt in her eyes and wanted to tell her how very much he had enjoyed her company. But he bit his lip, and she inclined her head and walked away. At least she did not run like before.
Akitada was cast into confusion. What was the matter with him? Was he so starved for female companionship that he was attracted to a mere child? A part of him corrected the “child” immediately. Yukiko had a woman’s body under the layers of pretty silks she wore. He had watched her movements, seen the swell of her breasts, the soft curve from hip to slender waist, the slim, tapering thighs and had felt uncomfortably hot under the collar. Even now …
He turned abruptly and headed back to his room. A pity Tora was not here. A spirited bout of swords or bo would get rid of the irrational and shameful desires he felt for his best friend’s daughter. Meanwhile, he had best avoid being alone with her.
This plan did not work out too well after all. Akitada accompanied Kosehira to Otsu headquarters as usual. And as usual, he spent the morning hours working on temple documents. The problem was that Kosehira begged him to accompany his children to a small shrine fair in the city during the afternoon.
The outing had been discussed for a few days and Kosehira himself had planned to look after his brood, but more pressing business had cropped up. The children would arrive by carriage, accompanied by a maid. Both of his older sons had gone off hunting, and so Yukiko was in charge, but Kosehira approached Akitada, saying he would feel better if a man was with the group. All sorts of riffraff frequented fairs.
Of course Akitada agreed. It was little enough, and he enjoyed a fair. Memories intruded again: The O-bon festival and the lost child who could not speak. That year he had lost his own son to smallpox and had been filled with a deep longing for another child. How very long ago it seemed!
He convinced himself that Yukiko would have her hands full restraining the younger children, and they would have no time for private conversation. In truth, he rather looked forward to seeing the children’s faces and watching their delight at the antics of the acrobats.
The carriage arrived just before the noon rice. When Akitada met it, Yukiko had already herded her charges out. They were waiting on the veranda of the headquarters building, eager to set out for the fair.
They walked the short distance, the boys close to Akitada, while Yukiko followed with the girls. They resembled other groups, small families of father, mother and children, on their way to an afternoon’s entertainment. Akitada had provided himself with several strings of coppers. He intended to enjoy himself and treat the children.
The shrine beckoned with brilliant red torii, entrance arches that marked the threshold between the human world and the realm of the god or gods residing there. Akitada was not familiar with this particular divinity but suggested that they pay their respects before plunging into the festivities. And so they filed in under the torii, paused to rinse their mouths at a water basin, and then approached the sanctuary, decorated with the customary ropes of rice straw and chains of folded paper. Akitada bowed and clapped his hands to greet the god, and beside him, the boys did the same. A short prayer later, they made room for the girls.
Akitada watched Yukiko’s graceful figure. She wore a pale rose-colored gown with an embroidered Chinese jacket over it because the days were still cool. The smaller girls were also in white, rose, and pale green spring colors. They reminded him of the cherry blossoms that were just coming into bloom—perhaps the reason for the traditional colors of spring clothing.
Akitada caught a glimpse of happiness. It was spring again, and beauty and joy were still in his world and in his heart.
The children were not interested in immaterial things. Their joys were firmly vested in food and entertainment. They wished to sample as many treats sold by food vendors as possible. As they joined the crowds passing among the gaily decorated stalls, Akitada began dispensing his coppers. They had not eaten since their morning gruel and fell upon rice buns, grilled fish on wooden sticks, pancakes with octopus centers, fried noodles, roasted chestnuts, and sweet bean pastries with an appetite that was amazing. Akitada laughed, paid, sipped some very good noodle soup himself, then tasted a bite of sticky honey cake offered him by Arimitsu, and peeled some chestnuts for one of the little girls.
In between there were the sights and games. Colorful paper lanterns swayed from the corners of stands, vendors sold kites decorated with fierce dragons and tigers (here Akitada indulged both of Kosehira’s sons), amulets, bead necklaces (the little girls took great delight in selecting theirs), carved bears and birds and (interestingly) a large number of Jizo carvings just like the one he had found on Judge Nakano’s desk.
All of the youngsters competed in a game that required them to catch small koi in a large wooden tub by using a scoop made from paper. The trick was to be quick because the spoon soon became sodden and drooped. Arimitsu proved to be the only one who succeeded. Generously, he returned the little fish he won to the water.
Now and then costumed dancers passed through the crowd, pausing to put on a show and gathering coppers from the onlookers. A group of young men dressed like the magical tengu birds appeared suddenly, darting at children with shrill cries and fleeing only if bombarded with dried beans. And everywhere there was music. Musicians played flutes, zithers, and lutes, as women sang and men recited heroic tales.
It was all wonderful, and Akitada forgot about his troubles when he saw the delight of Kosehira’s children. He thought of his own, feeling guilty that they weren’t with him, but they would soon see their own fair, and one that was much bigger than this one. At any rate, the outing was a complete success until Akitada missed the youngest boy. Arimitsu seemed to have disappeared into the crowds during the tengu performance. Both Akitada and his brother had seen him when the bird men first appeared. In fact, Akitada had bought both boys small bags of beans to throw at them.
A frantic search ensued. The events of the Masuda affair surfaced again in Akitada’s memory. He had visions of the governor’s son being kidnapped. There were always evil and greedy people about who thought they could enrich themselves by taking the children of the wealthy. How would he explain to Kosehira that he had failed him in the worst way?
It was Yukiko who kept her head. She said, “The little rascal got interested in something and forgot his promise.” They had all promised solemnly to stay close to Akitada and Yukiko or their visit would be cut short and they would be sent home in disgrace.
Akitada was not reassured. “He was just here,” he said. “What if someone snatched him?”
“He would have screamed and kicked. Why don’t I stay here with the children while you take a look around?”
Sensible Yukiko!
He found Arimitsu quickly. The boy had joined a small crowd of children and adults watching the performance of a puppeteer. In his relief, Akitada gave silent thanks to the gods of the shrine, whoever they were. He was about to seize the child and lecture him about keeping promises, when the puppeteer caught his attention. He was one of those men who walk about with a large box slung around their necks. Inside the box were puppets, and the top of the box was the stage where the puppets performed. This man was good at his craft, and the story the puppets enacted was an exciting tale of betrayal and revenge. The man had reached the point where the hero confronts the villain and they battle it out with their swords.
Arimitsu was spellbound and had not noticed Akitada slipping through the crowd to stand beside him. The tale ended with the death of the villain, speared through the chest by the hero’s sword, and the puppeteer put away the dolls and instead brought out a wooden bowl he pass
ed around for donations.
Akitada added a few coppers and said to Arimitsu, “It was a fine performance, but should you not have told us where you were going?”
The boy was startled. “Oh. I thought you knew? I thought you were looking my way when I came here. Wasn’t it grand? Wasn’t it the best thing you ever saw? And that sword fight was almost as good as watching you and Tora the other morning.”
“You were watching?” Akitada was surprised. “We didn’t see you.”
“Oh, we were peering through the fence.”
An awful thought struck Akitada. “Who is we?”
“Arihira and me.”
Akitada breathed a little easier.
“And Yukiko came and looked also.”
So much for that young woman’s manners. Akitada was embarrassed and angry. How dare she spy on him? What next? Would she pop in when he was taking his bath?
The day was spoiled for him. He returned Arimitsu to his siblings and ended the excursion in a bad mood. The children, aware of his irritation, were subdued, and Yukiko shot questioning glances his way that he ignored. When they climbed back into their carriage for the trip home, she confronted him.
“It was very good of you to come with us,” she said. “I’m sorry that Arimitsu was disobedient.”
He looked at her coldly. “It doesn’t matter. He’s only a child.”
She hesitated for a moment, then said, “Yes,” and got in the carriage.
Chapter Twelve
Enryaku-ji
The arrival of Saburo’s formidable mother had caused considerable trouble. Cook had packed her things and planned to leave the next day. She was outraged at the newcomer’s interference in the kitchen and her criticism of her meals. The maid had similar complaints concerning housekeeping chores and objected to Mrs. Kuruda’s meddling in Lady Yasuko’s attire. The children objected to being told they could not play any noisy games. This extended with special prohibitions to Yasuko, whose participation in the boys’ activities had shocked Mrs. Kuruda. Hanae and Ohiro said little, not wanting to offend Saburo, but it was clear that they tried to stay out of his mother’s way as much as possible.