Bundori

by Laura Joh Rowland

  However, the shogun apparently decided that it was time for business. “We shall have an enjoyable discussion about the classics someday soon.” He sat upright and assumed a stern expression. “Now. What progress have you made in your, ahh, investigation of Kaibara Tōju’s murder?”

  Just then, footsteps sounded in the corridor. At a command from someone outside, the guards opened the door. Sano turned and saw Chamberlain Yanagisawa enter the room. With him came a young samurai about fourteen years of age. He wore his hair in a style that signified that he hadn’t yet had his manhood ceremony: the crown shaven, but with a long, dangling forelock tied back from his brow. His face was as delicate and lovely as a girl’s.

  “Please forgive my interruption, Your Excellency.” Yanagisawa knelt beside the dais and bowed. The boy did the same, but kept his forehead to the floor and his arms extended while the chamberlain sat up and continued speaking. “But I took the liberty of assuming you wanted to see Shichisaburō tonight.” He gestured toward the boy, adding, “I believe you once expressed an interest in him.”

  Sano had heard of Shichisaburō, current star of the Tokugawa No theater troupe. He came from a distinguished stage family, had great talent, and specialized in samurai roles, which explained his hairstyle. The shogun, an enthusiastic arts patron, would naturally want to meet him—but now? Surprised and disturbed by Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s ill-timed intrusion, Sano looked toward the dais.

  The shogun was gazing at Shichisaburō as if entranced, eyes aglow, lips parted. Even before he’d come to the castle, Sano had heard stories about Tsunayoshi’s fondness for young men and boys, his harem of beautiful actors, peasants, and samurai. Now he saw the truth in those rumors. He felt a spasm of disgust, though not at the shogun’s sexual preference. Manly love was practiced by many samurai, who considered it an expression of Bushido. Rather, he was disturbed to learn that another rumor was also true: Tsunayoshi allowed erotic pursuits to distract him from official business. Sano fought his unfilial emotions as his father’s voice spoke from the past:

  “A good samurai does not criticize his lord, even silently.”

  Tsunayoshi seemed to have forgotten all about the murder investigation. “Rise, Shichisaburō,” he ordered huskily.

  The boy stood, and the shogun looked him up and down. Prodded by a sharp glance from Yanagisawa, the young actor smiled tremulously. Tsunayoshi’s breathing quickened, and his throat contracted as he swallowed. Sano looked at the floor, embarrassed to witness this naked display of lust. Then, to his relief, Yanagisawa beckoned a guard.

  “Take Shichisaburō to His Excellency’s chambers to wait until he finishes his business with Sōsakan Sano.” This casual mention of his name was Yanagisawa’s only acknowledgement of Sano’s presence.

  As the door closed behind Shichisaburō and the guard, disappointment creased Tsunayoshi’s face. Sano squirmed inwardly until Yanagisawa’s smooth voice filled the awkward silence.

  “Are you discussing Kaibara’s murder?”

  “Murder? Ahh, yes.” Tsunayoshi blinked, and his eyes refocused on Sano, but a wistful sigh betrayed his lingering regret over Shichisaburō’s departure. “Sōsakan Sano was just about to report on his progress. Won’t you join us? I am sure we will both benefit from your, ahh, insight.”

  Yanagisawa and Tsunayoshi exchanged a glance that Sano couldn’t read. He detected an emotional bond between them, but he couldn’t grasp the nature of their relationship. Were they really lovers? They didn’t touch, or appear to desire physical contact; Yanagisawa remained seated below the dais to Tsunayoshi’s right, turning sideways so he could see both the shogun and Sano. Beneath their formal manner, Sano sensed fond admiration on Tsunayoshi’s part; on Yanagisawa’s, something more intense and ambivalent. He must pay close attention to their every move, to the inflections of their speech when they addressed each other. If, as he’d begun to suspect, he must always deal with his two superiors as a team, then he wanted to understand the dynamics between them.

  What he saw so far disturbed him. Did Yanagisawa deliberately encourage the shogun’s overindulgence in pleasure?

  Sano shut his mind against this disrespectful thought. “I’m honored by your presence, Chamberlain Yanagisawa,” he said.

  Yanagisawa nodded in bland acknowledgement. “Then inform us, Sōsakan Sano, of what you have learned today,” he said, assuming the role of interrogator. “Have you found the killer yet?”

  “Well, no,” Sano faltered. There was no escaping the truth, but Yanagisawa’s direct query made it hard for him to emphasize the progress he’d made. He glanced at the shogun. Surely Tsunayoshi didn’t expect miracles after a single day’s work?

  But Tsunayoshi frowned in disappointment. “Ahh, how unfortunate.” He seemed content to let Yanagisawa take over the meeting. Again his gaze wandered toward the door, and he shifted restlessly on his cushions.

  “But I’ve interviewed the people who found Kaibara’s remains,” Sano said, hurrying to head off more leading questions from Yanagisawa. He wished the chamberlain would leave, and that he hadn’t brought Shichisaburō. The rapport between himself and Tsunayoshi had weakened, and, with the shogun preoccupied, he saw little chance to restore it. “The old couple who run a pharmacy, and the gate sentry who—”

  “You received a description of the killer from them?” Yanagisawa interrupted.

  “No, Honorable Chamberlain, I didn’t.” Once again forced to answer in the negative, Sano forgot what he’d planned to say next. His nervousness increased.

  “Hmm.” Yanagisawa’s monosyllable conveyed disapproval, scorn, and satisfaction.

  Suddenly Sano remembered the look Yanagisawa had given him that morning. Now it appeared as though the chamberlain was acting upon his inexplicable hostility. That Sano still couldn’t fathom how he’d earned it put him at an extreme disadvantage. Since protocol prevented him from requesting an explanation which Yanagisawa was under no obligation to give, how could he make amends?

  “I’ve learned that Kaibara frequented the pharmacists’ district,” Sano said, striving to sound confident and capable. “It’s possible that the killer is an enemy of his, who knew his habits and lay in wait for him.”

  “Perhaps,” Yanagisawa conceded grudgingly. Tsunayoshi looked up from his private reverie. Sano’s spirits lifted. Then Yanagisawa said, “I suppose you have evidence to substantiate this … scenario?” Fantasy, his tone implied.

  This time Sano didn’t intend to let the chamberlain make him say the damning word “no.” “Tomorrow, when I call on Kaibara’s family—”

  “Do you mean to say that you have not yet done so?” Yanagisawa’s voice rose in surprise; his mouth quirked in a malevolent smile. “Really, sōsakan, I fear that you are formulating a theory without facts to support it.”

  Sano fought back a rising tide of anger and confusion. Why was Yanagisawa undermining him? He felt even worse when he saw Yanagisawa and Tsunayoshi exchange another glance, this time with perfect comprehension. This man is a fool, said Yanagisawa’s headshake. I guess you’re right, said Tsunayoshi’s rueful shrug and smile.

  Knowing he must act fast to salvage the shogun’s good opinion of him, Sano blurted, “When I went to Edo Morgue to examine Kaibara’s remains, I discovered that—”

  “The morgue!” Yanagisawa’s horrified exclamation stopped him. “To go to that place of death—and to mention it in His Excellency’s presence, yet.” He turned to the shogun. “Please forgive this man’s offense. His birth and upbringing, and not he himself, are undoubtedly responsible for his deplorable lack of judgment.”

  He capped this sincere plea on Sano’s behalf with a quick, icy glare that proved he didn’t want Sano forgiven, and had deliberately insulted his family. Helpless anger incensed Sano. He hated Yanagisawa for putting him in the wrong.

  “My apologies, Your Excellency.” He forced the words out of his constricted throat.

  Tsunayoshi roused himself. “Accepted,” he muttered.

  C
hoosing his words carefully, Sano said, “I only meant to say that I’ve discovered that Kaibara was not the Bundori Killer’s first victim. Ten days ago, another man was murdered in exactly the same manner.”

  Relief filled him when the shogun sat up and stared. And Yanagisawa’s nostrils quivered; his finely shaped mouth tightened in displeasure.

  “Your Excellency, I believe that this earlier murder will provide clues to the killer’s motive and identity,” Sano said, pressing his point while he still held Tsunayoshi’s attention.

  “An astute, ahh, deduction.” Tsunayoshi stroked his chin thoughtfully.

  But Sano’s triumph was short-lived. “Another murder,” Yanagisawa said, his dark, liquid eyes alight with mischief. “Well, Sōsakan Sano, does this not invalidate your theory that the killer is an enemy of Kaibara’s?” Unerringly he’d spotted the weakness in Sano’s logic. “And it is amazing how, in just one day, you have managed to complicate a simple murder case so enormously.” His scornful laugh sent a chill down Sano’s spine. “Yes?”

  “No!” Driven to his own defense, Sano threw caution aside. “This other murder has opened up a promising line of inquiry.” He started to outline tomorrow’s plans, but his voice trailed off when he saw Tsunayoshi contemplating the door. Yanagisawa laughed again, sealing his defeat.

  Beneath his anger, Sano felt the frightening, lost-at-sea sensation that had plagued him since his arrival at Edo Castle. This meeting had strange undercurrents that threatened to pull him down, or at least carry him in the wrong direction. The chamberlain obviously didn’t want him to succeed in catching the Bundori Killer. But why not? And Yanagisawa must have deliberately timed his interruption of the meeting, bringing the young actor in order to distract Tsunayoshi. Now Sano experienced a sudden stab of dread.

  “Your Excellency, in regards to the police,” he began.

  “Ah, yes,” Yanagisawa said, frowning. “In view of all the assistance you are receiving, it is strange that you have achieved nothing.” The wicked gleam in his eyes belied his simulated concern. “But I see no reason to discuss the police. I have personally given orders to ensure that their efforts will continue to be as satisfactory as they have been up until now.”

  Even as Sano’s stomach contracted in dismay, he had to admire Yanagisawa’s finesse. The chamberlain had prevented him from telling the shogun that the police hadn’t received orders to help him, and had not done so. He’d also confirmed Sano’s suspicion that it was he who had made sure they wouldn’t. Sano’s drowning sensation worsened when he saw the position in which Yanagisawa had put him.

  To secure the police assistance he needed to solve the case, he must expose Yanagisawa’s sabotage and ask Tsunayoshi to rectify it. But Bushido forbade him to do either. Again he heard his father’s voice:

  “Any criticism of a lord’s senior official also implies criticism of the lord himself—blasphemy! And a samurai has no right to make demands upon his lord.”

  To practice the Way of the Warrior could mean sacrificing not only his immediate success, but ultimately his entire career. Sano was caught between the two promises to his father, which he’d never expected to conflict. How he longed for his father’s counsel!

  Yanagisawa’s triumphant smile reflected his knowledge and enjoyment of Sano’s dilemma. “Since you have so many new avenues of inquiry to pursue, you had better waste no more time on conversation,” he said smoothly, then turned to the shogun. “Your Excellency?”

  “What? Oh, yes.” Tsunayoshi refocused dazed eyes on Sano. “I shall hold audience with the Council of Elders the day after tomorrow. At that time, you will report to us the latest results of your, ahh, investigation. Make sure you’ve made better progress by then.” He waved his hand. “Dismissed.”

  Feeling terribly and unfairly disgraced, Sano had no choice but to make his farewell bows and rise. As he walked away from Tsunayoshi and Yanagisawa, the path to the door seemed the beginning of a road leading to certain failure. Still, he must walk it as he tried to fulfill both promises to his father—exemplifying Bushido and performing a heroic deed—virtually alone, in the face of obstacles that now included a new and powerful enemy.

  Before the door closed behind him, Sano heard the shogun say to Yanagisawa, “I shall be in my, ahh, chambers for the rest of the night. See that I am not disturbed until tomorrow.”

  8

  The Momijiyama—the Tokugawa ancestral shrine—formed Edo Castle’s sacred, most private heart. There, high on the hilltop, shrouded in pine and cypress and surrounded by high stone walls, reposed the relics of the past Tokugawa shoguns: Ieyasu, Hidetada, Iemitsu, Ietsuna. Their spirits protected the castle to ensure that their line might continue into the infinite future.

  Sano hesitated outside the shrine. On either side of the soaring torii gate, flames leapt inside huge stone lanterns. A pair of snarling Korean temple dogs flanked the flagstone path just inside the gate, warning off evil spirits and earthly intruders. Beyond them, the path led between rows of pines and ended at a steep stairway that climbed to the shrine’s main precinct. Smaller lanterns lit the way, their flames winking bravely against the immense, star-studded night.

  A primitive disquiet stirred in Sano as he entered the shrine. Here on the dark, deserted hill, in the cold, restless wind that rustled the pines and smelled faintly of incense, the spirit realm seemed very near. Sano imagined ghostly presences lurking in the trees, inhabiting the rocks, buildings, and land. Only his determination to keep his appointment with Aoi propelled him up the steps.

  At the top, the wind was stronger, the darkness relieved only by the starlight that filtered through the trees. Sano paused at the ritual basin, a huge stone font sheltered under a thatched roof. The icy water chilled his hands as he washed them.

  “Aoi?” he called.

  The wind whipped his words away. He followed a path that zigzagged through the trees and between structures he couldn’t identify in the darkness: drum house, bell tower, sutra repositories? He passed a pagoda whose intricate spire pierced the sky, then emerged into a large open courtyard. At its far end, lanterns burned before the main worship hall, where Aoi waited, a still, silent figure dressed in black, holding a small, glowing paper lantern.

  Sano raised a tentative hand in greeting, reluctant to speak again. Everything about this meeting—the late hour, isolated location, and eerie atmosphere—suggested a clandestine rendezvous. As he crossed the courtyard toward Aoi, the shrine’s monuments loomed around him: treasuries, ceremonial stage, mausoleums. His footsteps made a forlorn, lonely tapping on the flagstones; the wind pressed at his back, urging him forward.

  Aoi gracefully descended the steps to meet him. The wind swirled her dark garments around her. Wordlessly she bowed, then waited for him to speak.

  “I’ve brought the things you asked for,” Sano said. “A pouch that belonged to Kaibara Tōju. A lock of hair from another murdered man. And the label from the trophy.”

  His words sounded flat and banal in this strange setting. Beyond them, the worship hall was a glittering architectural fantasy of gilt pillars and lattices, carved wood and stone, undulating gabled roofs, and brilliantly colored ornamentation. Floral and geometric paintings decorated the walls. Fierce demons climbed the pillars; dragons writhed over the door; Chinese lions glared from the eaves; phoenixes poised, wings spread for flight, on the roof’s pinnacle. The Tokugawa had exercised no restraint in honoring their ancestors. In contrast, Aoi, with her dark hair and clothes and pale skin, had the stark drama of a black and white painting.

  “Come with me,” she said.

  Her husky voice sent a shivery warmth vibrating through Sano. Intrigued, he followed Aoi out of the courtyard and into the woods. There her lantern barely pierced the darkness. Sano groped his way past trees, stumbling over stones as he hurried to match her swift, sure pace.

  They stopped at a place where overhanging boughs made a natural shelter from the wind, but the night seemed even colder, as if the pines exuded a resi
nous chill. The sudden silence made Sano’s ears ring. Aoi raised her lantern, and in its glow, Sano saw that they were in a sort of woodland shrine—a circular clearing carpeted with pine needles, with an altar in the middle and, at one edge, the moss-covered statue of a deity he couldn’t identify.

  Aoi knelt before the altar and used her lantern to light the candles and incense burners arranged in a circle there. Sano knelt opposite her. His curiosity about this enigmatic woman increased.

  “Have you always lived at the castle?” he asked.

  “Not always, master.” In the candlelight, Aoi’s skin glowed; he had an urge to feel its smoothness. The smoke from the incense, sweet and musky, veiled her in its thin tendrils.

  Sano tried again. “How long have you tended the shrine?”

  “Six years, master. Before that, I was a palace servant.”

  Was she trying to discourage his interest by reminding him of her low status? “Where are you from?” Sano persisted, guessing from the slow tempo of her speech that she was not an Edo native.

  Having finished preparing the altar, Aoi folded her hands in her lap. “Iga Province, master.” An unyielding quality in her polite manner brooked no further questions. “If you would please place the relics there.”

  Sano removed the pouch, the paper-wrapped hair, and the label from under his sash and laid them in the center of the circle as she’d indicated. The murder investigation was first priority now. Breaking through her reserve was a challenge he looked forward to meeting later.

  Gazing down at the relics, Aoi sat motionless except for the deep breaths that expanded and contracted her chest. Her eyes focused inward, and her respiration gradually slowed until it seemed to cease altogether. She was apparently entering a trance state, similar to one of deep meditation. Time passed. Sano waited, himself entranced by the flickering candles, smoking incense, and Aoi’s deathlike immobility. On the edge of his awareness, he heard the wind whistling outside the shrine, and the barking of a dog somewhere down the hill. The cold permeated his bones. A current of apprehension shot through him, and he felt an almost irresistible impulse to touch Aoi and make sure she was still alive.