by I. J. Parker
Akitada stared after him in helpless fury when one of the maids, an older woman sidled over with her broom and started sweeping. She murmured, “Fukuda lives behind the temple,” and moved away.
Akitada bit his lip. Sadenari was still gone. Perhaps he should give him a bit more time and take the later boat. He walked to the small temple not far from the landing stage and found a narrow footpath leading through a bamboo grove. Within moments, the world became peaceful. A rabbit started and dove into the undergrowth, and very small birds fluttered up as he passed. The lush leaves above his head shut out the sky and were in a continuous rustling motion. From time to time, smaller footpaths crossed or led away from the one he was on until he feared he would become lost in this green world.
But the stems of bamboo thinned abruptly, and he found himself at the edge of a garden filled with vegetables and melon plants. A tiny house stood under a wide catalpa tree beyond the neat woven fencing that protected the garden from wildlife. And there an old woman was feeding a small flock of chickens and ducks.
He startled her when he called out, but she made him the most graceful bow. It would have done honor to an imperial princess, yet she was a frail white-haired creature, barefoot and in patched rags. For some obscure reason, he felt extremely flattered, and on his best behavior, he bowed also and said, “Please forgive me for startling you. I’m looking for a man called Fukuda. He is said to live nearby.”
“He lives here, my Lord,” she said, her voice still strong and quite beautiful. “May I announce you?”
Akitada glanced at the poor shack, the squawking fowl, the rows of vegetables. He felt silly, giving her his name as if he were calling on some great lord, but he did so anyway and watched her perform another flawless obeisance. She walked away from him as gracefully as a young woman, then ducked inside the hut.
It came to him that she must have been one of the courtesans at one time, perhaps even the ranking beauty. Her hair, twisted up in back, was still thick and long, though white as snow, and the wrinkled face retained some former beauty. Only the most rigorous training could have produced such perfect manners and posture.
She reappeared with two plain cushions. These she placed in the shade of the catalpa tree and invited him to sit. “It’s a pleasant morning,” she said. “Fukuda thought you would be more comfortable here than inside.”
Akitada sat and smiled up at her. “An excellent idea.”
“Please forgive this slow old woman,” she said and tripped off into the vegetable patch to select a ripe melon. This she cut up with a knife she carried tied to a string around her waist. She presented it to him on a large cabbage leaf.
Akitada said, “Thank you. You take too much trouble. Please sit down and rest.”
But Fukuda had appeared in the doorway of the hut. He was leaning on a stick and made his way painfully toward them. She went quickly to offer her arm for support and helped him down on the other cushion. Then she knelt behind him on the bare ground, much like a trained courtesan attending to her client.
Fukuda had a black eye and angry bruises on his scrawny neck. He bowed deeply to Akitada. “You’re welcome here, sir. Please forgive this poor hospitality.” Turning to the woman, he asked, “Is there no wine, my dear?”
Akitada said quickly, “Thank you, but it’s far too early for wine for me.” He reached for a slice of melon. “Your wife was kind enough to bring this fresh melon.” He took a bite. The fruit was sweet and fragrant, better than any he had ever tasted. “Wonderful!” he said.
They smiled at him. Fukuda said, “Melons grow very well here. But Harima is not my wife, though I ask her often enough.”
She raised a hand to cover her face and protested, “It would not be proper. I used to be an entertainer.”
Fukuda looked at her with loving pride. “Harima was elected choja two years in a row. She was the most desired woman in Eguchi. I don’t know why she puts up with a poor old stick like me.”
She smiled and reached forward to touch his hand.
Akitada was moved. They were clearly very much in love, even at their advanced ages. And though Fukuda was only a waiter, and she had somehow missed her chance for a good marriage or for the wealth leading courtesans accumulated from the generous gifts of past lovers, they considered themselves fortunate in each other’s affection.
He recalled his purpose.
“I was in the restaurant last night when you were treated so badly by your customers and your employer,” he said to Fukuda.
Fukuda touched his swollen eye. “I should have been more careful,” he said.
“I believe those two men created a scene to get a free meal.”
Fukuda nodded. “Yes, I should have suspected as much and made it more difficult for them to cheat my employer. It was very good of you to come here to tell me, sir, but I knew quite well what was going on.”
Harima interjected, “I think it was cruel and unjust of Master Wakita to dismiss you. And don’t tell me he didn’t give you that very nasty bruise on your leg.”
Fukuda smiled a little. “She loves me,” he said apologetically. “It makes me sad.”
Akitada reached for another slice of melon. “Why do you say that? It should make you happy.”
The old man shook his head. “Look at me. I’m an ugly old man, and now I’ve become a burden to Harima. How shall we eat? I’ll die soon enough, but she? What will become of her?” He shuddered and put his head in his hands.
She shuffled forward on her knees and put an arm around him. Looking at Akitada, she said, “I shall not let him die. He won’t get away so easily.” She shook the old man a little. “Do you hear, Fukuda? You’re not going to leave me.”
Fukuda dropped his hands and sighed. “A long life accumulates shame. It’s best for a man to die before he reaches forty.”
By the waiter’s count, Akitada had only another five years. Already his guilt and shame had accumulated. He cleared his throat. “Allow me to leave this small token of appreciation for your service last night. I did not have time to give it to you.” He took another gold piece from his slash and placed it with a slight bow before Fukuda.
Fukuda blinked but did not touch it. Tears started down his wrinkled face. It was Harima who made Akitada a deep bow and said, “Your generosity is greatly appreciated, sir. Fukuda and I will say special prayers to the Buddha for you and yours. Happiness has returned to our poor hovel.”
Akitada was embarrassed. He looked around. “You do your place an injustice. It’s a hermitage rather than a hovel. A man, or woman, or both, may live contentedly here among the chickens and bees and tend a garden. And grow these superb melons.” He took another slice and ate it, licking juice from his fingers.
She smiled behind her hand. “Exactly what I always tell Fukuda. He loves his garden, and now he will have more time to work in it.”
Fukuda glanced toward the vegetable plot with a watery smile. “We cannot live on melons, no matter how delicious.”
Akitada had an idea. “But you could grow your fine vegetables and melons to sell to the restaurants in town. And if you had more chickens and ducks, you could sell their eggs.”
They looked at each other. Harima clapped her hands. “Of course. We could do that easily. I’m quite strong and still have good connections in town. What about it, Fukuda?”
Fukuda looked thoughtful, then nodded. “Perhaps. There’s enough land to make the garden larger. Perhaps . . .”
*
As Akitada walked back through the bamboo grove, he wondered. Fukuda was unlike any waiter he had ever known. The man had sounded educated. How had these two found each other and ended up here? Surely, there was a story in that.
But he had no time to waste on the many mysteries of Eguchi, not even on the disappearance of Sadenari. He had to catch a boat for Naniwa.
Chapter Three
Naniwa
The harbor at Naniwa was in the Yodo River delta. Here, Akitada saw many more ships, but the largest ones
were at a distance at anchor out in the bay, leaving the wharves to smaller craft.
The boat’s master, leaving the work of docking to his men, who performed the task several times each day, came to stand beside Akitada.
“It’s silted up bad,” he said, gesturing at the river delta. “The big ships go to Kawajiri on the Mikuni River. A new canal takes passengers and goods to the Yodo River and up to the capital.”
Akitada saw that the bay widened into the Inland Sea. It was midmorning, and the sun cast an almost blinding light on the expanse of water. The distance to the horizon seemed immense. Above, in a cloudless sky, gulls whirled with raucous cries. It would have been hot, except for a wonderfully cooling breeze from the sea. “Is Kawajiri far from here?” he asked.
“You get there by boat within two hours, or you can rent a horse and be there even sooner.”
Akitada studied the distant ships with their huge square sails. “And that’s where all the shipping from the Inland Sea ends up?”
“Mostly. All the tribute ships from the western provinces and foreign ships from Korea and China. All the tax shipments twice a year, and all other merchant ships trading in the capital. It’s a busy town.”
Akitada turned to look at Naniwa. It had once been an imperial capital and the main port, but centuries had passed since then. There was little left of former splendor. Beyond the fishing boats tied up at the quay, gray-roofed wooden buildings on stilts stretched along the waterfront. The land was flat for half a mile or so, then began to rise slightly toward green hills. There, among the trees, he saw a few blue-tiled, curved roofs of more substantial buildings — temples, mansions, and administrative offices probably. A straight road led from the harbor.
He took a deep breath of the air filled with smells of saltwater and fish. The gulls swooped for fish entrails dropped overboard by fishermen who were readying their catch for market. On his left was a building flying the flags of an official post station. He left his and Sadenari’s bags there and took the road into the city.
It took him past the housing of the poor and open fields and eventually brought him eventually to the tree-shaded compounds of the well-to-do. He paused at a gate with flags and signs marking it as the district prefecture. The complex was well-maintained and included a number of large buildings, probably the jail and guards barrack. Across the street was the Foreign Trade Office. It was smaller in size but the compound also included several buildings.
The gatekeeper directed him to a hall that looked like a venerable building perhaps dating back to a time when Naniwa was an imperial capital. It was now in rather poor repair with the lacquer peeling from its columns. Akitada climbed the wide stone steps and walked through open double doors. The building appeared to be empty. He gave a shout, and after a moment, footsteps approached. A pale and serious young man in a black robe approached with a deep bow.
“Welcome, sir,” he said, checking Akitada’s rank ribbon with a glance. “His Lordship is in his office. May I announce you?”
“Secretary Sugawara from the Ministry of Justice.I left my baggage at the post station.”
The young man looked momentarily startled, as well he might. Ranking imperial officials did not arrive on foot and alone. But he caught himself and bowed again. “You are expected, my Lord. Someone will bring your things. Please follow me.”
He showed Akitada into a large room, containing numerous boxes, crates, and piles of bundles. The bundles were tied with ropes, and the wooden chests bound with metal and secured with enormous locks. An amazing assortment of loose odds and ends — casks, lacquer ware, scrolls, porcelain, piles of silk fabrics, and leather goods— was piled so high and wide that, at first, he thought he was in a large and poorly organized treasure house. He cleared his throat. That raised a grumble from beyond the pile.
A deep voice growled, “More interruptions! How many times do I have to tell you fools that I’m busy. What is it this time? Who’s there?”
“Sugawara. From the Ministry of Justice,” Akitada snapped back, irritated by the tone.
“What?”
A clatter, an “ouch,” then quick steps. Given the voice, a surprisingly small man shot around the corner of the pile and peered at him. “Amida,” he said, flapping his hands apologetically. “I thought those rascals were playing another joke on me. You really are Sugawara. At least, I take it that you are, because you said so. It must be so. Unless those rascals have hired one of those good-for-nothing actors.” He laughed nervously. “You aren’t an actor, are you?”
It was hardly a proper reception, but Akitada was amused. “No. And who are you?” he asked, suppressing a smile. This little man with the voice of a giant wore a green silk robe, somewhat stained across the chest. His head was nearly bald except for a thin braid twisted on top and tied with a large amount of silk ribbon, perhaps to give the few gray hairs more substance.
“Nakahara, at your service.” The short man peered more closely at Akitada’s face and said, “Hmm. Can’t be too careful, you know. Everybody and his dog walks in here. So, you’re here, Sugawara, and what d’you think of the place? Ever been to Naniwa before? Know any of the local luminaries? Got connections?” He paused and moved quickly to look past Akitada. “You’re alone? Tsk, tsk. Should’ve brought your people. You’ll have to do your own work then or use my people. Well, let’s not stand here. Come in, come in.” Nakahara dashed back behind the pile of goods.
Akitada followed more slowly. This did not promise well. He had been told that Nakahara probably could be trusted, but this official seemed an oddly careless person and lacking in good sense.
On the other side of the pile of goods was a reasonably large area with Nakahara’s desk and several smaller desks. Doors stood open to a courtyard. Nakahara grabbed one of the new silk cushions from the pile and dropped it on the floor beside his desk. The desk was large but barely visible underneath mounds of loose papers and open document boxes. An abacus balanced precariously on top.
Nakahara waved at the cushion. “Make yourself comfortable. It’s a little cluttered here, but for all that, it’s handy. Well, mostly. I think, I misplaced the lists of tribute goods from Chikuzen.” He sat down and began to rummage. The abacus slipped and would have struck his head if Akitada had not caught it.
“Oh, Morito?” a youthful male voice called from beyond the pile of goods. A smiling young face looked around the boxes. “Dear me, you’ve got company. Hello, there. Morito, we’re sending out for food. We thought Uzura’s Crabhouse would be nice. Can we order something for you and your friend?”
Akitada’s jaw nearly dropped at this young man’s casual manner. Nakahara seemed to see nothing wrong with it. He smiled. “No, thank you, Yuki. This is Lord Sugawara. Just arrived from the ministry in the capital. You might tell Tameaki to find a room for him in my house. I expect we’ll walk into town for a while. He’ll want to have a look around.” To Akitada, he added, “You never said if you’ve been here before.”
Akitada shook his head, still speechless.
“Good,” said Nakahara, rubbing his hands briskly. “That’s what we’ll do. But it was very good of you to ask, Yuki, and the crab rolls at Uzura’s are very fine. Very fine.” He licked his lips. “ Perhaps we’ll . . . but never mind, I’ll leave it up to our guest. So run along, Yuki.”
The youth grinned. “Well, if you’re headed there, stay away from the sake. Uzura spikes it with something that’ll curl your hair. You know what happened last time.” His chuckle turned into a peal of laughter and he vanished.
Akitada found his voice. “Who was that?”
Nakahara looked a little shamefaced. “Oh, that’s my senior clerk, Nariyuki. We call him Yuki. A very funny fellow. Likes to tease. You’ll like him.” He lowered his booming voice to a whisper, “Nothing like that stiff and proper black crow Tameaki. That one has no sense of humor or friendliness.”
Akitada took it that Tameaki was the very serious young man who had shown him in. His opinion of Nakahara
plummeted further. He took his papers and the documents from his sleeve and passed them across. “The Minister of the Right has asked me to deliver these letters and to assist you in any way I can. He has signed my credentials himself, as you will see.”
Nakahara stared at the batch. “Did he now? You must be important, then.” He flipped through them. “Where is it? Oh, never mind. I’ll read it all later.” He shuffled Akitada’s documents together, found a loose piece of silk cord and tied them up. “Now, what do you say? Shall we walk into town?” Not waiting for an answer, he hopped up and headed past Akitada to the door.
Being accustomed to the bone-chilling formality of the court, Akitada was stunned. Far from reading the minister’s missive after raising it reverently to his forehead, Nakahara had pushed it and the other papers under his piles of unfinished work. And now he was off, no doubt having crab rolls and sake on his mind. The man was not just eccentric; he must be demented. And what was more worrying, apparently any number of people had access to his documents. Even pirates might learn all about the richest shipments.
With a sigh, he got up again and followed Nakahara. Nakahara passed through the hall and out into the entrance courtyard, waving gaily to the guards and shouting that he would be gone for the rest of the afternoon.
Making things easy for spies, thought Akitada.
As they left his compound, Nakahara pointed to a building near the prefecture. “Look, over there is the government lodging house for couriers and those on official business. Of course, I hope you’ll be my guest while you’re here.”
The government quarters looked adequate, and Akitada could have stayed there. There was much to be said for maintaining a neutral distance, but in this case it seemed better to meet the people around Nakahara. He accepted the invitation.
They walked back down to the harbor. Nakahara talked about the river and canal silting up and making shipping difficult, but the fate of the Naniwa harbor was of little interest to Akitada. The theft of imperial goods had taken place on the high seas, not here.