Rashomon Gate – A Mystery of Ancient Japan

by Ingrid J Parker

  Kobe ignored them and strode into the shop, glanced around at the customers- staring open-mouthed at the sudden invasion of the red coats- and shouted, "Everyone out but the shopkeeper and staff!"

  The customers scrambled up and ran, practically falling over each other in their haste to leave. Only Kurata remained, along with two shop assistants and a boy who had been carrying stacks of fabric and dropped them at Kobe 's words, and a middle-aged woman who had been working with account books and an abacus in the rear. They stood or sat frozen, staring white-faced at the police.

  The reputation of the municipal police force was such that anyone who found himself the focus of their interest immediately assumed that he or she had committed, however unintentionally, some terrible offense. Thus the boy burst into noisy tears, crying, "I didn't do it!" Of the two assistants, one attempted to slip away, while the other one was trembling so much that his teeth chattered.

  Kurata, sleek in his silk robe, stood in the middle of the floor, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. Only the woman with the abacus seemed in reasonable control of herself. She stood up, brushing down the black silk of her severe gown, and checked Kobe 's rank insignia.

  "What is your business here, Captain?" she asked in a harsh voice. At that moment, one of the constables made a sudden dash and tackled the fleeing assistant, throwing him to the ground and sitting on his back. Kobe watched this expressionlessly before answering the woman's question.

  "I am investigating a murder that was committed in this neighborhood two nights ago," he said. "Everyone in this house will be interrogated. Who are you?"

  The woman bowed. "I am Mrs. Kurata, the owner." Casting a glance out to the street at the gaping crowd, she said, "Perhaps we had better talk inside," and pointed to a door in the rear wall.

  Kobe nodded. "Lead the way."

  "Someone will have to close the shutters or thieves will take the stock," she said.

  Kobe snapped, "Don't be a fool, woman. No one is going to steal anything with my men on the premises."

  She turned to lead them into the living quarters behind the shop. With the exception of two constables, who remained behind to keep the curious outside, they all followed her. Kobe seated himself on one of the cushions and invited Akitada to do the same. Kurata and his wife were going to follow suit, but Kobe snapped, "You stand!" On a sign from him, the three constables took up their positions behind the Kuratas. The shop assistants huddled together in a corner.

  Kurata finally found his voice to make a protest. "What is this all about, Captain? This is my house and I am a respected- I may even say highly respected- citizen. I do business with the palace and the best people are my valued customers. Any number of them will testify to my good character."

  Kobe looked at the sleek Kurata much like a cat studying the antics of a mouse, secure in the knowledge that there was plenty of time. His eyes went briefly to Mrs. Kurata, flicked over her bony physique, dwelt briefly on the sharp nose, the small, mean eyes, the thin lips and the gray-streaked, thinning hair before returning to Kurata. "Did you make a delivery to the Spring Garden the afternoon before the poetry contest last week?" he barked.

  Kurata opened his mouth and closed it again. The question had clearly been unexpected. Kobe had announced that he was investigating a murder in the neighborhood, and Kurata had expected to be questioned about the beggar. He hesitated, then glanced at his two assistants for a moment, before admitting that he had. Akitada silently applauded Kobe. He had made it impossible for the man to lie or prepare an evasive answer in the presence of his employees.

  "You were acquainted with the girl Omaki, a lute player who entertained in the Willow Quarter?" Kobe demanded.

  Pearls of perspiration appeared on the man's face. Mrs. Kurata was standing quite still, looking strangely at her husband.

  "I… I may have met her," Kurata stammered. "Why are you asking about… what does that have to do with-"

  "Answer the questions!" snapped Kobe. "I don't have time for chitchat. Is it true that this Omaki was your mistress and that she was expecting your child?"

  Mrs. Kurata made a hissing sound and clenched her hands in front of her stomach.

  Kurata cried, "No! Of course not! I'm a married man and I have no other women. Someone is telling slanderous tales."

  His wife asked Kobe abruptly, "This Omaki, is she the girl that was found strangled in the Spring Garden?"

  Kobe looked at her. "Yes," he said. "I regret to inform you that your husband is a regular customer in a number of establishments of the Willow Quarter."

  She nodded, and her eyes, inscrutable in their expression, fixed on her husband again. "What business did you have with that beggar two nights ago?" she asked him.

  Kurata turned as white as bleached silk. "Wh… at b-beggar?" he quavered. "I saw no beggar. There was no beggar." His voice rose in panic.

  His wife turned back to Kobe. Taking a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders, brushed her black silk gown down again with her hands, and said in a toneless voice, "Someone came late in the evening. I was in my room and heard my husband let him in. Naturally I got up to see who it was. I saw an old and ragged man talking with my husband. They were in the corridor. I think the man was asking for red silk. My husband promised to give him some, and they went out the back way. A little later my husband came back. Alone."

  Kurata wailed, "Don't believe her!" He fell to his knees, sobbing with fear. "She lies! She's angry because I had other women. That's why she's making up stories."

  Kobe smiled. Again Akitada was reminded of a cat licking its whiskers in anticipation of a juicy meal. "Why the fuss?" he asked Kurata. "So you talked to a beggar. Is that any reason to start crying like a baby?"

  Kurata wiped at his wet cheeks with a sleeve. "I… I don't know. All this is very upsetting…"He staggered to his feet.

  Kobe 's smile widened. "I can see how it would be upsetting, when you are the one who strangled that beggar to keep him from talking."

  "No, I-"

  "Because that beggar," Kobe shouted suddenly, leaning forward to fix Kurata with his eyes, "was the one who saw you in the park the day you murdered the girl."

  Kurata's eyes were wide with fear. He seemed incapable of looking anywhere but at Kobe. "No, no, I didn't… he didn't…"

  "The girl Omaki. The one you gave the brocade sash to. Red figured brocade, remember! A pretty present for a pretty mistress. She wore it because you had given it to her. And you used it to strangle her."

  Kurata's knees buckled and he collapsed on the floor, wailing, "No, no, no, no."

  His wife looked down at him dispassionately. "You have dishonored the name my father gave you," she said loudly. "I shall petition the family council to rescind the adoption and expunge you from the family register. I also divorce you." Turning away from the moaning creature on the floor, she looked around the room. "You are all my witnesses."

  Akitada was familiar with the legal terms of divorce and adoption; Mrs. Kurata evidently was also. She had, at this moment and in front of witnesses, divorced her husband and taken back the family name. That she had done so without hesitation or show of emotion, without any explanations, shocked him profoundly. He had believed women to be softer, more emotional, less coldly practical. Even years of grief from a faithless husband should not end like this, with a wiping out of every bond as if it had never existed.

  Tora bent down to Akitada and whispered, "What a she-devil! I could almost pity that bastard."

  Kobe was watching Kurata, who was Kurata no more, but a nonperson at the mercy of the law, even less likely to escape its full cruelty than the beggar Umakai.

  Belatedly, the man became aware of his change in status and its implications. He raised himself to his knees and crept towards Mrs. Kurata, whimpering, "Take it back! Please, my treasure, do not do this dreadful thing! Remember our vows! Remember my years of hard work in the business! I have been unjustly accused."

  She watched him approac
h until he came to a halt before her and touched the hem of her silk gown. Then she kicked his hand away and spat in his face.

  Kurata recoiled. "My wife," he cried hoarsely, the tears running down his face mingling with her saliva, "I did it for you, for us. That girl, she was going to make trouble and come between us. I didn't want that to happen. And that old tramp, he saw me closing the shutters and started jabbering about Jizo and the park. I had to shut him up. You can see that, can't you?" He started towards her again, extending a hand pleadingly.

  Mrs. Kurata had listened, stone-faced. Now she turned to Kobe. "Captain," she said, "you have your confession. Please remove this person from the premises. The sooner I can get back to work, the better. I have customers waiting outside. As a single woman, I cannot afford to alienate them. Kurata's has a reputation to maintain."

  Even Kobe looked stunned at her words, but he nodded and clapped his hands. The constables surrounded Kurata and jerked him to his feet. "Chain him and take him away!" Kobe ordered.

  Kurata started screaming. He was bound and dragged away, still screaming, and the sound receded slowly in the distance.

  They waited silently. Then Kobe turned to look at Akitada. "Unpleasant," he said, "but I thought you should see how it's done by us. Shall we go?"

  Eighteen

  The Prince's Friends

  On their way home, Akitada and Tora stopped by the university to pick up some student papers Akitada had forgotten.

  It was getting dark, though not noticeably cooler. Tora glanced at the sky and remarked, "We need rain. I haven't seen it this dry in years. It's a wonder there haven't been more fires."

  Akitada nodded. The streets and courtyards of the university lay deserted, grass and weeds browned and dusty. The students were either in their dormitories or had left for visits with friends and relatives in the city. Guiltily Akitada remembered the little lord.

  When he had gathered up the papers in his office he told Tora, "Let us pay a visit to Lord Minamoto. If he is not doing anything tomorrow, he might like to come for a visit."

  They found the boy in his room, reading a book. He looked small and forlorn, but cheered up when he saw them. Bowing to Akitada, he said, "You are most welcome, sir. Have you come to report some news?"

  Akitada smiled and sat down. "In a manner of speaking. We have solved the case of the murdered girl. It was mostly due to Tora's work. A silk merchant named Kurata was the culprit."

  Lord Minamoto clapped his hands. "Oh, good for you, Tora!" he cried. Turning back to Akitada, he said, "So it was not poor Rabbit! I am glad you took an interest, sir. Is there no news about my case?"

  "No. Not yet." Akitada looked around the small room. He thought again of the boy's great-uncle. Could the man not have done something for this child? Aloud he asked, "And you? Any plans for tomorrow?"

  The boy's face darkened. "No, sir."

  "Well then, perhaps you might like to visit us?"

  The young face lit up. "Oh, could I? Thank you. Will you be there, Tora?"

  Akitada answered for Tora. "Probably. Also my mother, my two sisters, and I."

  Blushing, Lord Minamoto apologized, saying politely, "Please forgive my rudeness, sir. I am looking forward to meeting your family and having an opportunity to converse with you."

  Akitada rose. "Good. Tora will come to pick you up right after your morning rice."

  The boy stood also. "I shall be very happy to get away for a while," he confided. "There have been some new men working outside. They keep staring into my room and they give me the shivers. I think they look more like rough types, bandits or pirates, than servants. One of them was sweeping the veranda, but he does not know how to use a broom."

  Akitada exchanged a glance with Tora. "How long have they been here?" he asked the boy.

  "Since yesterday."

  The thought that Sakanoue had sent thugs to watch the boy, or worse, crossed Akitada's mind instantly. Sesshin must have warned Sakanoue about Akitada's visit. Once again Akitada was reminded that only this child stood between Sakanoue and total control of the Minamoto fortune. It had been a terrible mistake to tell that old fake of a priest about his suspicions!

  "Take a look outside, Tora," he said.

  Tora disappeared and returned shortly. "A big rascal with an ugly face is out front. There's nobody out back."

  "Sadamu," said Akitada to the boy, lowering his voice, "I don't like the idea of leaving you here until we have checked out the new help. I think we will take you home with us tonight."

  The boy was on his feet in an instant, his face bright with excitement. Tossing a few books and clothes into a large square of silk, he knotted it and handed the bundle to Tora. Then he took up his sword and said, "I am ready, sir."

  "Perhaps," said Akitada softly, "it would be better if you left quietly the back way. Tora and I are going out by the front. Tora will then double back and meet you at the back door."

  The young lord's eyes flashed with the thrill of danger. He slung the strap of his sword over his shoulder, tested its readiness, and then took the bundle back from Tora, whispering, "I shall be waiting."

  The maneuver was carried out with great success. Akitada and the boy walked quickly out of the dormitory enclosure and down the deserted street to the gate, while Tora lingered behind, making sure they were not being followed.

  At home, Akitada installed his guest in his own room and went to inform his mother about their visitor. He was nervous about her reaction to the unannounced guest. It would be very awkward if she retaliated by refusing to receive Lord Minamoto.

  But he should have known his mother better. As soon as he mentioned the boy's name, her eyes sparkled with interest.

  "Prince Yoakira's little grandson? How charming! Finally you are cultivating the proper connections. You never mentioned that the poor fatherless child is your student. Nothing could be better! I shall ask him to consider this his home from now on. It is absolutely incomprehensible to me how his family could allow a boy of his background to mingle with unsuitable companions in a common dormitory." She made it sound as if young Sadamu had been condemned to live in an outcast village.

  "It is a temporary arrangement only," said Akitada, "as is his visit here. I am merely giving the boy an outing, since tomorrow is a holiday."

  "Don't be foolish!" snapped his mother. "This is your chance to become his private tutor. Then, as he rises in the world, so will you." She clapped her hands.

  An elderly maid appeared and fell to her knees, waiting for her mistress's instructions with her head bowed to the floor. Akitada cringed inwardly. The woman, Kumoi, had been his nurse and his mother's before him. She was getting old and frail. His mother's insistence on proper respect struck him as unnecessarily cruel.

  "Ah, Kumoi," Lady Sugawara said briskly. "Make haste to ready the large chamber next to my son's room for our noble guest. Have the maid scrub the floor and then move in several of the best grass mats from other rooms. Then you may go to the storehouse and select suitable furnishings. The best of everything- screens, scroll paintings, braziers, clothes boxes, lamp stands- you know what is necessary. And look for some games suitable for a boy of eleven as well. The bedding is to be of quilted silk only. Arrange everything tastefully and then return. Now hurry! I will inspect his room personally."

  Kumoi wordlessly knocked her head against the floorboards and scuttled from the room.

  "There was no need to burden the poor woman this way," said Akitada. "She is getting too old- and besides, young Minamoto is merely a child."

  His mother fixed him with a cold eye. "Clearly you do not know what is owed to someone of that child's standing," she snapped. "Treat him well, and he may reward you some day. Treat him shabbily, and you have made an enemy for life. To people of his background, nothing is more disagreeable than low surroundings."

  Akitada remembered the student dormitories and suppressed a smile. "Oh, I don't know," he said insidiously. "His lordship has become very fond of Tora since they f
lew kites together. He looks forward to spending most of his time with our servant."

  His mother was taken aback. Then she snorted, "You should never have permitted that association! The boy's family will be shocked to the core. You will think up something to distract the child from Tora. Teach him football or something!"

  Akitada smiled. "I hope to spend a little time with the boy," he said, adding as an afterthought, "In fact, the situation is a little like my own first stay with the Hiratas. I was not much older than he."

  His year in the Hirata family was a sore subject between them, and his mother stiffened. With a frown she said, "That reminds me. Someone brought a letter for you from Tamako. She very properly enclosed it in a cover note to me. Here." She fished a slim, folded sheet from her sash and passed it to Akitada.

  His heart skipped. The old pain, the many unanswered questions, were back in an instant. Struggling to maintain his composure, he said, "Thank you, Mother." The note he tucked, unread, in his sleeve, adding, "I had better go now and see to our guest." Bowing, he withdrew quickly.

  Out in the corridor, he unfolded Tamako's letter with trembling hands. Whatever he had expected- and should not have expected in a letter meant to be read by his mother- he was disappointed. The note was extremely short and the form of address clearly put him in his place:

  "Dear Honorable Elder Brother. Forgive this importunity, but could you look in on Father? His health is poor and we fear the worst. Your obedient younger sister."

  Akitada refolded the paper in a state of confused unhappiness. He recalled guiltily the drawn face of Hirata and his repeated attempts to speak to Akitada. Could he be truly ill? Akitada blamed himself for the cold distance he had put between them the last few days. What if the older man's collapse had been more than indigestion? He really should have taken him home and explained matters to Tamako.