Rashomon Gate – A Mystery of Ancient Japan

by Ingrid J Parker

  At fifteen he had done the unforgivable. He had turned on the man he was duty-bound to honor and respect, had snatched the bamboo cane out of his father's raised hand, and had threatened him with it. They had been in his father's study, a room which held such terror for him that he refused to use it to this day. The towering form of his father had loomed over him in the light of flickering candles, the handsome, cold features distorted by a rage caused by no more than an innocent remark by Akitada about his father's lack of military service, and he had experienced the sudden, overwhelming conviction that he could no longer bear the vicious beating he was about to receive. He had raised his hand and twisted the bamboo cane from his father's grip, shouting furiously about the intolerable injustice. When his father had backed away in total surprise, he had followed with the raised cane and stated his ultimatum. If his father ever touched him again, he would return the punishment tenfold. Then he had broken the cane and tossed it at Lord Sugawara's feet.

  The outcome was predictable, though Akitada had not really thought about it at the time. His father had called in his wife and daughters, as well as the senior servants as witnesses, and had informed them that, since Akitada had raised his hand and his voice against him, he would henceforth no longer be a member of the family.

  Dazed with despair, Akitada had walked out of his home and to the university, the only other world he had known. There Professor Hirata had found him, sitting on the steps of the law school, and had listened to his tale and taken him into his own household.

  The memory of that time was still a wrenching pain in Akitada's belly, and it reminded him of the little Lord Minamoto. The Minamoto boy was younger and orphaned but, whatever the cause of the suffering, their experiences were similar. They had been abandoned to strangers, lost and friendless. Young as the Minamoto boy was, he had received an excellent education and could hold his own with the older students, but his mind was not on his work, and his eyes were red-rimmed. Probably he also grieved deeply for his grandfather. Why was there no other family member to care for him? What of this uncle, this Lord Sakanoue, who apparently could not even wait a decent time before getting rid of the boy? To judge by his name, the man must be related by marriage. Where was the rest of the Minamoto clan?

  The boy had imperial blood in his veins, and it was clear from his reserve that he had been raised in the imperial tradition. Such an upbringing forbade familiarity and had made it impossible for Akitada to approach the youngster. His every effort at sympathy had been rejected courteously but firmly, yet still Akitada's heart went out to the lonely child. He wished he could be another Hirata to the young lord.

  At that moment, Hirata himself came in to announce that Oe had called a special meeting. While he busied himself adjusting his cap before the mirror, Akitada asked casually about the results of the last examination. When there was no reply, he turned. Hirata had turned pale and was looking at him helplessly. Akitada asked, "Are you quite well, sir?

  Slowly the older man nodded. "Yes, I… I see you have heard." He sighed. "Oh, dear! I am afraid it is quite true. A very mediocre student placed first. The young man who was expected to win had to accept second place."

  "Were you not suspicious?" Akitada asked, surprised.

  Hirata turned away. "Of course I was suspicious, but my hands were tied."

  Akitada's disbelief turned to righteous shock. "Your hands were tied? How so?"

  Hirata faced him. "You are young. You cannot understand." His voice was shaking.

  Akitada steeled himself. He would have the truth now, even if it meant a breach in their relationship. "Since the matter touches on the blackmail, I think you owe me an explanation, sir," he said.

  Hirata ran a shaking hand over his face, then nodded slowly. "Yes. Of course. I owe you that and an apology. I should have told you. Could we sit down?"

  Akitada flushed a little at the humble request and gestured to a cushion. When they were seated, he said, "I need to know the extent of your involvement. Did you read the winner's composition and sit in on his orals?"

  "I read his paper. It was superb. But, no, I was not invited to attend his orals. They were conducted by a mixed panel of senior professors and four high-ranking nobles appointed by the emperor. Oe, Fujiwara, and Tanabe represented the university."

  "There must have been an outcry when the results were published. What about the young man who was passed over? What was his reaction?"

  Hirata's face looked strained. "He was poor and without family connections, as, indeed, are most of the faculty. Necessity often makes us suppress our views. He made no protest, and I convinced myself that nothing was wrong, that the other student had suddenly revealed hidden genius. One could not argue about the excellence of his paper."

  Frustrated by Hirata's attempt to justify himself, Akitada lashed out. "But you knew better," he cried. "I have never known you to go against your principles. This is not what you used to teach your students. I thought better of you."

  Hirata flinched. Regarding Akitada sadly, he said, "You are very young. Only young men think the greatest tragedy in life is suffering an injustice. There are worse things, but they happen to the old." He raised a hand to cover his eyes. When he had himself under control again, he continued, "Unfortunately, in this student's case, there was not even the consolation of a lesser assignment in the capital. He was assigned to one of the northern provinces as a teacher."

  "Good heavens! That amounts to exile. And he accepted that?"

  Hirata clenched his fists. "No," he said in a choking voice. "He committed suicide the day he was given the news."

  Akitada sat speechless. The heavy silence hung between them like a wall.

  After a long time, Hirata mastered his emotion and spoke again. "Now you know why I did not tell you the truth. This blackmail business has destroyed my precarious peace. For nearly a year I have tried to convince myself that the young man killed himself for other reasons, perhaps an unhappy love affair or money problems. I thought that no mere disappointment in the examination result could cause him to take his life when he had the talent and the youth to rise in the world inspite of it. I even blamed him for being too unstable to be worthy of first place honors, as if his suicide justified the examination results. I am deeply ashamed and beg your forgiveness for not telling you of this sooner."

  Hirata's humility shook Akitada. "Er, of course," he stuttered, twisting his hands in his lap. "There is nothing to forgive, sir. Indeed, I… am very sorry for my rash words. I had no right." He paused, looking at the gray head bowed before him, and felt ashamed of his suspicions. He asked, "But how…?"

  Hirata's head snapped up. His face was haggard, his eyes hard. "How do I live with myself? Not well, I assure you. But I go on because I still have two obligations to meet."

  Akitada sat aghast. He had not meant to cause such pain, had had no thought beyond his own self-righteous outrage. He cried, "Oh, I beg your pardon, sir. That is not what I meant at all. I wondered how it was done. How did the mediocre student write the winning composition? Did someone else take his place on the day of the examination?"

  Hirata relaxed a little. His mouth quirked slightly. "Ah, Akitada! I should have known that you would look on the practical side. The answer is no; it would have been impossible. We know all of our students by sight and interview the few candidates who come from the provinces. The winner was one of ours. I saw him on the day of the examination, and I read his paper. It was in his handwriting."

  "Could you have misjudged his earlier performances?"

  Hirata grimaced. "No, though I certainly tried to think so. The winning essay was beyond anything he had ever done before. His approach to the complex question was original, his argument completely logical, his citations from the Chinese sources were abundant, accurate, and brilliantly appropriate, and his style was remarkable." After a pause, he added, "And this from a student who was not yet fluent in the Chinese language, had shown deplorable ignorance of the five classics on previous o
ccasions, and could hardly make a great deal of sense when discussing current issues in his native tongue." Hirata ran a hand over his brow and shook his head. "Talking about it makes me ill. I should have demanded an investigation."

  "Perhaps he memorized someone else's text, or a draft of the paper was smuggled in?" Akitada suggested.

  "Neither. Memorizing would not have helped since he had no prior knowledge of the topic. Besides I doubt his knowledge of Chinese was good enough. As to passing him a draft, security, as you know, is very tight. The candidates are searched, led to their cubicles, and handed the examination topic and the sheets of blank paper by a faculty proctor."

  "Then the proctor must have passed him the paper."

  "Yes." Hirata's voice sounded dismal, but some color had returned to his face.

  "I think the time has come for names."

  Hirata sighed. "You would find out in any case. The student's name was Okura. I am thankful to say that he received a government appointment to a department where he can do no damage. There were four of us assigned as proctors, Takahashi, Fujiwara, Ono and myself. I was not the one who administered the question to Okura. Oe directed the whole affair, and it may be possible to find out from him who was assigned to Okura."

  At this moment the door flew open, and Nishioka bounded in.

  "There you are!" His bright eyes took in the scene and his nose quivered excitedly. "Important business? Or have you forgotten the meeting? The others are all there already."

  "Thank you for reminding us," said Hirata dryly, getting to his feet.

  They followed Nishioka to the Nando-in the central hall of the school of Chinese classics. As Nishioka had said, most of the others were already assembled, clustered about in small groups or sitting in their places studying sheets of paper. Oe stood apart with Ono, apparently giving his junior last minute instructions. Near them hovered Takahashi with a murderous expression on his face.

  Akitada made the rounds, bowing and exchanging pleasantries, without meeting anyone of interest until he recognized a familiar face. By now the most senior of the professors, the Confucian scholar, Tanabe, had seen him and was coming his way with a broad smile of welcome. He looked a little more frail and much grayer. Tanabe must be in his sixties by now, a small-boned man with pale, ascetic features and the bowed shoulders of the perpetual scholar.

  "My dear Sugawara," he cried, acknowledging Akitada's respectful bow, "I am so very glad to see you again. Nishioka told me that you have joined our faculty. I have been following your career with great interest. You are to be commended on your connection with the Lords Motosuke and Kosehira. You have made a very promising beginning."

  Momentarily taken aback that Tanabe should know about his friendship with the Fujiwara cousins, Akitada recalled that the old gentleman had a childlike admiration for the aristocracy and was well informed about all the important members of the ruling Fujiwara clan. The thought suddenly crossed his mind that such veneration could lead even a scholar of Tanabe's repute to compromise his principles if he were asked to do so as a favor to a high-ranking person.

  But seeing the pure joy on the wrinkled face of his former teacher, he was ashamed and explained that his work rarely allowed him leisure to see his friends.

  Tanabe looked disappointed. "Well," he said, "that is a pity, but here's another Fujiwara for you to meet." He waved over a tall, bearded man in a wrinkled green silk gown held together by an unmatched sash. The bearded giant approached and responded cheerfully to the introductions.

  "The new man, eh?" he boomed. "Heard about you. Helped one of my namesakes out of a very sticky situation in Kazusa province." His eyes twinkled. "Not engaged in a similar mission here, are you?"

  It probably was a joke, but Akitada gaped for a moment, much to Fujiwara's amusement. "My former mentor, Professor Hirata, has asked me to fill in temporarily for his assistant," Akitada said stiffly. He wondered if the big man's lumbering physique masked a very nimble mind. Then he remembered that Fujiwara had been one of the proctors during the spring examination, and, suddenly curious, he asked, "Are you related to Lord Motosuke?"

  "Ho, ho, ho!" roared this Fujiwara. "Related? Me? No more than China and Japan, or winter and summer. Different branches of the family altogether. We are the southern Fujiwaras, mostly small land-holders in the provinces. Wouldn't the Fujiwara ministers, chancellors, counsellors and lords just love me for a cousin? Look at me, man! I'm a disgrace!"

  "Surely not, sir," protested Akitada, embarrassed.

  "Of course I am. I drink, I carouse, and I tell dirty jokes! I associate with disreputable characters and courtesans. My only saving grace is that I know a lot of interesting things about the history of China and about our own past, and the students seem to like to listen to me."

  There was great charm in such honesty and modesty. Putting aside his suspicions, Akitada said warmly, "That is surely what matters most." On an impulse, he added, "Since you have a good rapport with students, perhaps you have some advice for me. I am very concerned about one of my charges, young Minamoto. He is withdrawn and seems troubled, but I don't seem to be able to talk to him."

  Fujiwara became instantly serious. "Ah, yes. Poor boy!" He sighed. "Lost his grandfather recently. Weird story- you heard? Yes, of course." Again the shrewd eyes measured Akitada. "Since his parents and two uncles died during the last smallpox epidemic, his grandfather was raising him and his sister. The boy's too proud to show his hurt, of course. Thinks having imperial blood means being strong. Foolish but quite admirable in its way! Afraid I can't help you, though, Sugawara, having failed myself so far. But good luck!"

  A bobbing and bowing Nishioka interrupted. "Very sorry to break in. Please forgive the intrusion! I had no time to pay my respects earlier, Sugawara. How do you find teaching?"

  "I am beginning to find my way."

  "Did I hear you mention the name Minamoto just now? Yes. I wonder if you found out what the boy is doing here?"

  "He is a student," said Akitada curtly.

  "Ha, ha. Yes. Of course. Everybody knows that. Ah, I see. You are not familiar with his story. You see, he is the grandson of the same Prince Yoakira who vanished into thin air under supernatural circumstances. The family claims it was a miracle, and His Majesty has graciously given them his support. But why is the boy here? His family has left town. Lord Sakanoue, who is said to have married the boy's sister, brought him here the very night after the grandfather's disappearance. A strange thing to do, don't you think?"

  Fujiwara made a rude noise. "As usual," he boomed, "our own news-hound Nishioka has smelled a story. Trust him to sniff around until he gets to the bottom of it."

  Nishioka reddened, but defended himself gamely. "You like to joke, sir, but I make human behavior my special study. All of the sacred writings of Confucius and his disciples and commentators are based on nothing more than their profound understanding of personal relationships, and personal relationships can best be studied by observing people's actions and finding out the reasons for them."

  Akitada looked at the nosy Nishioka with new respect. "I must confess," he said with a slight smile, "that I share your interest in people's behavior and am equally guilty of curiosity about the boy."

  Nishioka clapped his hands. "There, you see!" he cried. "I knew we were kindred souls. We must put our heads together! I shall tell you everything I find out, and you shall do the same." At that moment his eye was caught by something across the room. He said hastily, "Please excuse me now. I must find out what Oe and Takahashi are snarling about."

  Across the room, the two senior professors were engaged in some bitter argument as Ono stood by wringing his hands helplessly.

  "Hmm," said Fujiwara, thoughtfully. "There is one difference between you and Nishioka, though. I think you ask questions because you care about people, while Nishioka only cares about a good story." He shook his head. "To most people he seems harmless enough, but the truth is, when that little fellow is about, nobody's secret is safe. Look at
him! We'll have all the facts about that tiff between Oe and Takahashi in the twinkling of an eye."

  As it turned out, it was to take longer than that, because Ono suddenly stepped on the dais and called everyone to order. Oe and Takahashi parted, and people took their seats, assigned by rank, department and seniority. Akitada found his own place behind Hirata, who was himself several seats removed from Oe who occupied the center of the semicircle facing the dais.

  When Ono introduced Oe, he rose and ascended the dais majestically. His handsome face still flushed from the altercation, he looked resplendent in his blue silk gown, with every silver hair in place. He let his compelling eyes move across the assembly. "My friends and colleagues," he said, "allow me to take a little of your time to share good news."

  "As little time as possible," muttered Fujiwara audibly.

  But Oe was not to be rushed. His mellifluous voice weighed out the words like gold. "In our glorious past," he intoned, "our ancestors were accustomed to follow in the footsteps of the ancients."

  Akitada found his interest wandering as Oe droned on and on about ancient rites and virtues, those long lost happy days when poets were venerated and rewarded. Instead he let his eyes roam among the faces of those men who might have altered the examination results.

  Hirata, slightly in front of him, he saw only in profile. Deep lines edged his features and his chin rested on his chest. Only the hands moved restlessly, twisting and kneading the fabric of his robe.

  Tanabe seemed to doze, a happy smile on his face, as innocent-looking an old man as Akitada had ever seen. By contrast, Takahashi, who sat next to him, was biting his lip, simmering with a fury that was about to explode. All of this fury was focused on Oe. He, however, was unaware of his audience as he lost himself in his own eloquence. Only Fujiwara listened, and he was clearly impatient.