She wished she had a good answer to his question.
1
I have come into this impure and evil world
To preach the ultimate truth.
Hear, and you shall be released from suffering
And attain perfect enlightenment.
—FROM THE BLACK LOTUS SUTRA
“There was lamp oil spilled along the path to the cottage and on the ground around it.” In the private audience chamber of Edo Castle, Sano Ichir addressed Shogun Tokugawa Tsunayoshi, Japan’s supreme military dictator. “The fire brigade found a ceramic jar containing a small quantity of oil hidden in some bushes nearby. And a search of the garden turned up what appeared to be a torch: a stump of pinewood with a charred rag wrapped around the end. I’ve examined the scene and the evidence. The fire was definitely the result of arson.”
“Ahh, this is most serious.” A frown crossed the shogun’s mild, aristocratic features. Dressed in an embroidered bronze satin kimono and the cylindrical black cap of his rank, he stirred uncomfortably upon the dais, where he sat with his back to a mural of blue rivers and silver clouds, facing Sano, who knelt on the tatami floor below. Attendants rearranged the silk cushions around the shogun, filled his silver tobacco pipe, and poured more sake into the cup on the low table beside him, but he waved them away and turned toward the open window, contemplating the crimson sunset descending upon the garden. From the distance came the neigh of horses, the footsteps of patrolling guards, the muted bustle of servants. “I did hope that the, ahh, suspicions of the fire brigade would prove unfounded,” the shogun continued morosely, “and that the fire was just an accident. But alas, you have confirmed my, ahh, worst fears.”
That morning, a messenger had brought word of the fire at the temple of the Black Lotus sect, along with a report from the fire brigade commander, which stated that the blaze had been set deliberately. Zj was the Tokugawa family temple, where the clan worshipped and its ancestors lay entombed, and any crime against the main temple or its subsidiaries constituted an attack against the shogun. In addition, Tsunayoshi was a devout Buddhist, a generous patron of religion, and took a strong personal interest in the Zj community. Therefore, he’d assigned Sano to investigate the fire. Sano had begun inquiries at the Black Lotus Temple and had just returned.
Now the shogun said, “I suppose you have also confirmed the, ahh, identity of the man who died in the fire?”
“I regret to say that I have,” Sano said. “It was indeed Oyama Jushin, chief police commander. When I viewed the body, I recognized him immediately.”
Prior to becoming the shogun’s ssakan-sama—Most Honorable Investigator of Events, Situations, and People—Sano had served on Edo’s police force as a yoriki, a senior police commander. He and Oyama had been colleagues, although Sano hadn’t particularly liked Oyama. As a hereditary Tokugawa vassal whose family had served the shogun’s clan for generations, Oyama had scorned Sano, who was the son of a rnin, a masterless samurai. Oyama had been promoted to his present higher rank last winter. From priests at the Black Lotus Temple, Sano had learned that Oyama had recently joined the sect. Now the death of an important official transformed the arson into a politically sensitive murder case and grave offense against the bakufu, Japan’s military dictatorship. Fate had brought Sano the responsibility of catching the killer.
“The other two victims haven’t been identified yet,” Sano said. “One was a woman and the other a small child, but they were badly burned, and at the moment, it seems that no one knows who they are. Membership in the sect has grown rapidly; there are presently four hundred twenty holy men and women living on the premises, with more arriving every day, plus ninety servants and thirty-two orphans. Nobody seems to be missing, but I got the impression that the sect has difficulty keeping its records up to date. And because of the crowds that frequent the temple, they can’t efficiently monitor who’s in the compound at any given time.”
This situation sometimes occurred as a sect grew in popularity among people in search of spiritual guidance or a new diversion. The many new followers of the Black Lotus Temple could worship or even live together while remaining virtual strangers. Two particular individuals might have easily gone unnoticed by the sect leaders.
“Ahh, there are so many Buddhist orders nowadays that it is difficult to keep them all straight,” the shogun said with a sigh. “What distinguishes the Black Lotus from the rest?”
Sano had familiarized himself with the sect while at the temple. He said, “Its central doctrine is the Black Lotus Sutra.” A sutra was a Buddhist scripture, written in prose and verse, parables and lectures, containing the teachings of the Skyamuni, the historical Buddha who had lived in India approximately a thousand years before. There were some eighty-four thousand sutras, each of which elucidated different aspects of his wisdom. Various orders structured their practices around various texts. “The sect members believe that the Black Lotus Sutra represents the final, definitive teaching of the Buddha, and contains the essential, perfect, ultimate law of human existence and cosmic totality. They also believe that worshippers who absorb the truth contained in the sutra will attain nirvana.”
Nirvana was a state of pure peace and spiritual enlightenment, the goal of Buddhists. The state could not be articulated, only experienced.
This explanation seemed to satisfy Tsunayoshi. “Will you keep trying to identify the dead woman and child?” he ventured timidly. A dictator with little talent for leadership and less self-confidence, he hesitated to make suggestions that he feared might sound stupid.
“I certainly will,” Sano reassured his lord. Who the unknown victims had been might prove critical to the investigation. For reasons involving Tokugawa law, Sano forbore to mention that he’d sent all three bodies to Edo Morgue for examination by his friend and adviser Dr. Ito.
“This is a sorry state of affairs,” lamented the shogun, fumbling with his pipe. A manservant lit it for him and placed the stem between his lips. “Ahh, I wish the Honorable Chamberlain Yanagisawa were here to offer his opinion!”
Yanagisawa, the shogun’s second-in-command, had gone to Echigo Province on a tour of inspection with his lover and chief retainer, Hoshina; they wouldn’t be back for two months. Although Sano couldn’t share Tsunayoshi’s wish, neither did he welcome the chamberlain’s absence with the joy he might have once felt.
From Sano’s early days at Edo Castle, Yanagisawa had viewed him as a rival for the shogun’s favor, for power over the weak lord and thus the entire nation. He’d repeatedly tried to sabotage Sano’s investigations, destroy his reputation, and assassinate him. But two years ago, a case involving the mysterious death of a court noble in the ancient imperial capital had fostered an unexpected comradeship between Sano and Yanagisawa. Since then, they’d coexisted in a truce. Sano didn’t expect this harmony to continue forever, but he meant to enjoy it while it lasted. Today his life seemed replete with wonderful blessings and challenges: He had a family that he loved, the favor of the shogun, and an interesting new case.
“Have you any idea who committed this terrible crime?” asked the shogun.
“Not yet,” Sano said. “My detectives and I have begun interviewing the residents of the Black Lotus Temple, but so far we’ve found neither witnesses nor suspects…with one possible exception. The fire brigade found a girl near the scene. Her name is Haru; she’s fifteen years old and an orphan who lives in the temple orphanage. Apparently she tried to run away, then fainted.”
Tsunayoshi gulped sake; his brow furrowed in thought. “So you think that this girl, ahh, saw something? Or did she set the fire?”
“Either alternative is possible,” Sano said, “but I haven’t been able to get any information from her.”
By the time he’d arrived at the Black Lotus Temple, the nuns had put Haru to bed in the orphanage dormitory, a long, narrow room where the children slept on straw mattresses atop wooden pallets. Haru had regained consciousness, but when Sano approached her, the small, slender g
irl shrieked in terror and dived under the quilts. When two nuns pulled her out, she clung to them, sobbing hysterically.
“I won’t hurt you,” Sano said gently, kneeling beside the pallet where the nuns held Haru. “I just want to ask you some questions.”
She only sobbed harder, hiding her face behind her tangled, waist-length hair. Sano ordered a soothing herb tea brought to her, but she refused to drink. After an hour of failed attempts to calm and question Haru, Sano told his chief retainer, Hirata, to try. Hirata was young, personable, and popular with girls, but he fared no better than Sano. Haru cried herself into a fit of choking, then vomited. Finally Sano and Hirata gave up.
As they left the dormitory, Sano asked the nuns, “Has Haru told anyone what she was doing outside the cottage, or what she saw there?”
“She hasn’t uttered a word since she was found,” answered a nun. “When the fire brigade and the priests questioned her, she behaved as you just saw. With us nuns she’s calmer, but she still won’t talk.”
Now Sano explained the situation to Tsunayoshi, who shook his head and said, “Perhaps a demon has, ahh, stolen the poor girl’s voice. Ahh, how unfortunate that your only witness cannot speak!”
But Sano had a different theory about Haru’s behavior, and a possible solution to the problem. “Tomorrow I’ll try another way of breaking her silence,” he said.
The Concubine’s Tattoo
LAURA JOH ROWLAND
Sano Ichir, the Shogun’s most honorable investigator of events, situations, and people, is summoned to the imperial palace to find the murderer of Harume, a young concubine poisoned while applying a lover’s tattoo. Sano’s wedding celebrations are disrupted, and his bride, Reiko, insists on helping him with the case. Reiko’s samurai blood and warrior’s skill alarm her new husband, who expected a docile wife. But Reiko is only the first of many surprises….
“[Rowland] expertly invokes an exotic world—in
its difference and brooding darkness—that can
be confused with no other.”
—The Times-Picayune, New Orleans
“Rowland has a painter’s eye for the minutiae of
court life, as well as a politician’s ear for intrigue,
so the sleuthing is conducted amid sumptuous
scenes of imperial excess and under the watch
of imperious villains.”
—The New York Times Book Review
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The Samurai's Wife Page 37