by I. J. Parker
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Rashomon Gate
A Mystery of Ancient Japan
I. J. Parker
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St. Martin's Minotaur
New York
www.eBookYes.com
RASHOMON GATE. Copyright © 2002 by I. J. Parker. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N. Y. 10010.
www.minotaurbooks.com
eISBN 0-312-70746-0
For Tony
Acknowledgments
Several wonderful people have helped Akitada into the world. My most profound thanks go to my friends and fellow writers Jacqueline Falkenhan, John Rosenman, Richard Rowand, and Bob Stein, who have read and sometimes reread the draft, making suggestions and giving me moral support when I needed it. Their kindness and expertise were equally inspiring. I am also indebted to Yumiko Enyo for her help with matters pertaining to Japanese customs. Finally, I must thank two consummate professionals: my agent, Jean Naggar, and my editor, Hope Dellon.
Characters
Japanese family names precede given names.
MAIN CHARACTERS
Sugawara
Akitada ~ Clerk in the Ministry of Justice
Seimei
~ Family retainer of the Sugawaras and Akitada's secretary
Tora
~ A former highwayman, now Akitada's servant
CHARACTERS CONNECTED WITH THE CASES
Hirata
~ Professor of law
Tamako
~ His daughter
Oe
~ Professor of Chinese literature
Ono
~ Assistant to Oe
Takahashi
~ Professor of mathematics
Tanabe
~ Professor of Confucian studies
Nishioka
~ Assistant to Tanabe
Fujiwara
~ Professor of history
Sato
~ Professor of music
Sesshin
~ Buddhist monk; president of the university
Ishikawa
~ Graduate student
Lord
Minamoto ~ Student
Nagai
~ Student
Okura
~ A former student
OTHERS
Lord
Sakanoue ~ Lord Minamoto's guardian
Kobe
~ Captain of the Metropolitan Police
Omaki
~ A musician in the Willow Quarter
Mrs. Hishiya
~ Her stepmother
Auntie
~ The manageress of the Willow wine house
Madame
Sasaki ~ A talented performer
Kurata
~ A merchant and customer of the Willow
Hitomaro
~ An unemployed swordsman
Genba
~ A former wrestler
Lords
Yanagida, Abe, Ono and Shinoda ~ Prince Yoakira's friends
Kinsue
~ Prince Yoakira's servant
Umakai
~ A beggar
Preface
Rashomon Gate is the story of Sugawara Akitada, a fictional minor official in the Japanese government during the eleventh century. At this time he is almost thirty years old and, to the regret of his mother, neither married nor successful in his career in the Ministry of Justice. On the other hand, he has a knack and manifest penchant for solving crimes, a trait which has gained him the friendship of men of high and low degree.
While the characters and events are imaginary, certain historical facts about the capital city of Heian Kyo (modern Kyoto), the university system, law enforcement, and the customs and tastes of the eleventh century have been carefully incorporated into this tale, which involves Akitada in the solution of a series of puzzles during the courtship of a reluctant bride.
The story of the disappearing corpse was suggested by two tales (numbers 15/20 and 27/9) in the late-eleventh-century collection Konjaku Monogatari.
The maps of Heian Kyo and of the university are based on historical sources, and the other illustrations are intended to resemble Japanese woodcuts. A historical endnote gives additional information about pertinent aspects of life at the time.
Prologue
Rashomon
The corpse was headless. It lay huddled in a dark corner where only the faint light of the moon filtering through the wooden shutters picked out the paleness of naked skin from the prevailing gloom.
A dark shadow moved in the gray light, and an ancient voice rasped, "Look around for the head!"
"What for?" growled another voice. A second shadow joined the first. "It's no use to anybody but the rats." The speaker cackled suddenly. "Or hungry ghosts. For playing kickball."
"Fool!" The first shadowy creature turned and, for a moment the moonlight caught a wild mane of tangled white hair. It was a woman, crouching demonlike over the body, her claws quickly tucking some white, soft fabric inside her ragged robe, "I want the hair."
"Are you blind? That's a man!" protested her male companion. "There's not going to be enough hair on it to get a good grip." He leaned to peer at the body. "Besides, he's an old one."
"He's been well-fed." She tweaked the corpse's belly and slapped his buttocks. "Feel his skin! Soft as silk, eh?"
"So? Much good that's gonna do him. Poor beggar's dead."
"Beggar?" the woman shrieked with derision. "Touch his feet! You think that one walked? Not likely. Rode in coaches and palanquins, I bet. Now go find that head! He'll have long hair all twisted up neatly on top. That's worth ten coppers at least. The good people don't cut it off like you 'n me. Their women have hair so long they can walk on it. I wish we'd get one o' them!"
The man snickered. "Me, too. I'd know what I'd do to her!" he said and smacked his lips suggestively.
The old woman gave him a kick.
"Ouch!" He cursed, then backhanded her viciously. In a moment they were fighting like a pair of hungry alley cats. He gave up first and retreated a few steps.
She rearranged her robe, making sure she still had her booty, then snapped, "We gotta get out o' here before the patrol comes. Go look for that head! It's gotta be somewheres. Maybe it rolled behind that bunch o' rags back there."
"Them's not rags!" muttered the old man, poking the bundle with his foot. "It's another one."
"What? Let's see!" She scurried over, peered and straightened up disappointedly. "Just an old crone. Nothing worth taking on her. Starved to death from the looks o' her, and cut her own hair off long ago. Where's that head?"
"I tell you, it's not here," whined the man, poking around in all the corners.
"Well," she said in a tone of outrage, "I don't know what the place is coming to. Now they're not even in one piece. You suppose the patrol will call the police?"
"Naw," said her companion. "Too much trouble for the lazy bastards. You done?"
"Guess so." She looked about. "Two tonight?"
"Yeah. You get anything?"
"A loincloth and socks," she muttered, secretly touching the fine silk of the dead man's undergown which nestled between her sagging breasts. "Bet some bastard made off with the head and the rest o' his clothes. Let's go!" She shuffled towards the doorway.
"Wonder who the old guy was," he said as he followed her down the stairs.
"What do you care?" she snapped. On the ground floor, she peered cautiously into the street from behind one of the huge pillars. "When that one was alive he'd not waste a thought on you 'n' me! Well, now he's dead and his socks'll pay for our supper an
d that loincloth'll buy some cheap wine. It all comes out even in the end."
One
The Wisteria Arbor
Akitada straightened up and stretched his tall, lanky frame wearily. He had spent the best part of this beautiful spring day bent over dusty dossiers in his office in the Ministry of Justice. With a sigh he rinsed out his brush and reached for his seal.
Across the room, his secretary Seimei rose to his feet. "Shall I bring the case of the Ise shrine versus Lord Tomo next?" he asked eagerly.
Seimei was over sixty and deceptively frail-looking with his nearly white hair and a thin mustache and goatee. Akitada marvelled, not for the first time, that his old friend seemed to be positively thriving on this tedious work. Seimei was the only one left of the family retainers of the Sugawara family. He had risen in the household, by his own effort and Akitada's father's encouragement, to become steward and clerk. When his master had died, leaving behind a sadly diminished estate, a widow, two daughters and a minor son, Seimei had looked after all of them devotedly until Akitada had finished his education and gained his first government position. Recently, after Akitada's promotion to senior judicial clerk in the ministry, his young master had chosen him as his personal secretary.
"Must you?" Akitada sighed. "I have been cooped up with these documents for upward of too long and don't think I can bear another minute of it."
"The path of duty is near, but man seeks it in what is remote," Seimei remarked primly. He was much given to sententious sayings. "Even the ocean has grown a drop at a time. As Master Kung says, serving His Majesty must be your first duty." But seeing Akitada's drawn face, he relented. "A brief rest is what you need. I shall brew some tea."
They had acquired the taste for tea only recently and the herb was prohibitively expensive, but Akitada found it more refreshing than wine and Seimei swore by its medicinal properties.
When the older man returned with two cups and a steaming pot, Akitada was pacing the floor. Outside a bird was singing. "I wonder," Akitada said, listening wistfully, "if we could not find the time to ride out into the mountains." He accepted a cup of tea and drank thirstily. "I thought we might visit the Ninna temple."
"Ah! A strange story, that one," Seimei said with a nod. "It's been several weeks now, and people haven't stopped talking about it yet. I am told the emperor himself went to visit the place and inscribed a plaque with his august sentiments. It is said that Prince Yoakira was instantly transported into Buddhahood through the fervency of his prayers. Now people are streaming to the temple praying for miracles."
"And of course the temple has benefited from their contributions," Akitada remarked dryly.
Seimei gave his master a sharp look. "Of course," he said. "But there is also some talk about demons devouring his body. They say he had many warnings from the soothsayers lately."
"Miracles! Demons! Ridiculous. There should have been a thorough investigation."
"There was. The prince arrived with a small party of friends and retainers, and entered the shrine alone by its only door; he chanted for an hour while his companions sat outside, waiting and watching the door. When he finished his devotions but did not come out, his closest friends went in together. They found nothing but his robe. The monks were called, and later the police and the imperial guards. All of them searched the temple and its surroundings for days without finding a trace of the prince. Finally the monks petitioned that the emperor acknowledge a miracle, and so he did."
"Nevertheless I don't believe it!" Akitada pulled his earlobe, frowning. "There must be an explanation. I wonder if . . ."
Suddenly a shouting match erupted outside the ministry.
"That sounds like Tora!" Akitada was at the door to the veranda in a few strides, Seimei right behind him.
In the courtyard two men were facing each other threateningly. One was small, still in his twenties, with a weak face not markedly improved by a mustache, and dressed in the shimmering silk and the formal lacquered headgear of a court official. The other was not much older, tall and muscular, handsome, but dressed in a plain cotton shirt and trousers.
The courtier was advancing, his wooden baton raised to strike, when the other said in a dangerously low voice, "If you touch me with that toothpick, puppy, I'll shove it down your throat and stop that nasty mouth of yours for good!"
The official paused uncertainly. Flushed, he sputtered with rage, "You . . . you . . . would not dare!"
The tall man bared a handsome set of teeth and took a step toward him. The courtier retreated several feet and looked about for help. His eyes fell on Akitada and Seimei who had stepped up to the balustrade of the veranda.
"What is the matter, Tora?" Akitada asked the former highwayman who was now his houseman.
The tall young man turned. "Oh, there you are." He waved to them with a grin. "We sort of collided at the corner, me being in a hurry, and him not looking where he was going. I said I was sorry, but the pretty boy threw a temper tantrum, called me names, and wanted to hit me with his toy."
"Is that uncouth savage your servant?" the stranger demanded in a voice trembling with fury.
"Yes. Were you injured in the encounter?"
"It is a miracle I was not. I demand that you punish this person immediately and forbid him to enter the imperial enclosure in the future. He is clearly unable to recognize his betters."
"Did he not apologize?" Akitada asked.
"What does that signify? If you do not do as I ask, I shall have to call the guard from the gate."
"Perhaps we should discuss the matter further. By the way, my name is Sugawara Akitada. May I know yours?"
The little man drew himself up importantly and recited, "Okura Yoshifuro. Secretary in the Bureau of Ranks, Ministry of Ceremonial. Junior seventh rank, lower grade. I am on my way to speak to the minister and have no time to waste with minor officials."
Akitada raised his heavy brows. His normally pleasant, narrow, aristocratic face assumed a haughty expression. "In that case you may wish to discuss the matter with Counsellor Fujiwara Motosuke, a member of the council of state. He is by way of being a special friend to Tora and myself and will vouch for us."
The color receded from the other man's face. "Naturally I would not dream of troubling a man of the counsellor's standing," he said quickly. "Perhaps I have been rather hasty. The young man has apologized, as you rightly reminded me. It behooves people of rank to be understanding of the feelings of the common man. Did you say your name is Sugawara? A pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir. Hope to meet again." With a polite bow, he turned and rushed off so quickly that his lacquered headgear slipped over one ear.
Tora opened his mouth to shout with laughter, but Akitada cleared his throat warningly and waved him inside.
"Well, I guess you showed him who's in charge!" grinned Tora as soon as the door closed behind them.
"What possessed you to pick a fight with an official?" Seimei cried. "You will surely cause your master trouble!"
Tora bristled. "Maybe you think I should've let him hit me?" he demanded.
"Yes." Seimei wagged his finger at him. "You should indeed. How can you give yourself such airs? Remember that it is always the biggest dew drop that falls first from the leaf."
"What was so urgent?" Akitada interrupted.
"Oh."Tora pulled a folded paper from his shirt and handed it over. "There's this letter from Professor Hirata. A boy brought it to your house just when the carpenters got there to start work on the south veranda. They look like a proper bunch of louts, so I need to get back."
Akitada unfolded the letter. "Well, you can go back now," he said when he had read it. "Heaven forbid the louts should do violence to my mother's favorite veranda. But this time walk!"
When Tora had gone, he said to Seimei, "I am invited to dinner. I know I should have visited them before, but . . ."He let his voice trail off uncertainly. As usual, his conscience smote him.
"A very kind gentleman, the professor," Seimei nodded.
"I well remember the time when you went to live with him. How is the young lady? She must be quite grown up."
"Yes." Akitada pondered. "Tamako must be about twenty-two by now. I have not seen her since my father died and I moved back into our home." Akitada's mother disapproved strongly of any ties with the Hiratas, but he could not honestly blame his reluctance to see Tamako on Lady Sugawara's snobbery. Too much time had passed, and he was afraid that they would not have anything to say to each other any longer. He said, "The professor writes that he needs my advice. He sounds worried. I hope nothing is wrong." Sighing, he said, "Well, Seimei, old friend, back to work!"
Two hours later Akitada carefully dried the ink on the last sheet of commentary on the legal intricacies of the case and remarked, "Apart from the exalted status of the litigants, this is a simple suit. May I take it that we have whittled down the backlog of cases under review?"
"Yes. There are only another twenty dossiers, all of them minor matters."
"In that case, Seimei, we are entitled to make an early evening of it. Let us go home!"
• • •
The sun was already slanting across the green-glazed roofs of the government buildings, when Akitada, on his way to the Hiratas, walked along Nijo Avenue, past the red pillars of the gate leading into the Imperial City. He squinted into the bright light, dodging the steady stream of clerks and scribes flowing through the gate on the way to their homes in the city.
From this gate, called Suzakumon, Suzaku Avenue stretched south to Rashomon, the great two-storied southern gate of the capital city. Along its entire length, Suzaku Avenue, more than two hundred feet wide and bisected by a wide canal, was lined with willow trees. A multitude of people, native and foreign, of high and low degree, pedestrians, ox carts and horsemen moved along this main thoroughfare all day long. Akitada thought it the most beautiful street in the world.
To the west, ahead of him, the pale greens of many trees in their spring foliage screened one of the residential quarters. From this vantage point the area looked like a vast beautiful park, but Akitada knew better. The northwestern quadrant of the city had, like its eastern counterpart, been planned for the palaces, mansions and villas of the "good people," the great noble families, the high-ranking court officials, and members of the imperial clan, while the southern two thirds of the city were occupied by the common people, and by the markets and amusement quarters. For no apparent reason, people had begun to abandon the western city and crowded into the eastern half or moved to the countryside.