SI1 Shinju (1994)

by Laura Joh Rowland

  These questions went unanswered as Cherry Eater dominated the conversation, apparently out of a reckless desire to confide.

  “… shouldn’t have asked him for more money… didn’t know how dangerous… he’ll have my head if I don’t get away fast… ”

  Cherry Eater’s voice had dropped to a fretful mutter, but Sano understood his meaning. Lord Niu had refused to tolerate more extortion. Did Cherry Eater believe-as Sano still did, despite Kikunojo’s reemergence as a suspect-that Lord Niu had killed Noriyoshi, Yukiko, and the samurai child and would not hesitate to kill again to protect himself? The shunga dealer’s fear suggested that he did. But then why had he risked blackmail? Sano felt a certain admiration for Cherry Eater’s nerve and enterprising spirit. The ugly little man was quick to seize opportunities to make money wherever he found them.

  Kikunojo mumbled something else.

  “But it did not seem like a bad idea at first!” In his agitation, Cherry Eater forgot to keep his voice low. “Do you think I am so stupid as to follow in my miserable employee’s footsteps?” He gave a shrill, hysterical laugh. “No. I merely suggested that an increase in my commission was called for. Because of that boy who died. I had to pay his family a fortune not to tell the police. How was I supposed to know that Lord-” He caught himself. “That a certain person would misunderstand my intentions and assume that I, too, am a metsuke informer who wants money in exchange for not telling the authorities about his conspiracy?”

  Sano nearly choked on a mouthful of sea bream. It didn’t surprise him that Noriyoshi had learned about the conspiracy, or that he’d attempted to use his knowledge for personal gain. But never had he guessed that Noriyoshi was an informer for the Tokugawa spies. This unexpected piece of information strengthened Lord Niu’s motive immeasurably. How much more dangerous was the knowledge in an informer’s hands than in those of a simple blackmailer! Sano conjectured that the self-serving Noriyoshi had first used the secrets he learned for his own benefit, reporting them to his employers only after he’d wrung enough money out of his victims. This time, however, it appeared that Lord Niu had made sure Noriyoshi didn’t live long enough to report the conspiracy.

  “The Conspiracy of Twenty-One… all twenty-one years old.” Increasingly hysterical, Cherry Eater released a flood of babble. “All younger sons of daimyo. Noriyoshi said they want to restore their clans to the glory of the old days. Dangerous, yes, because Lord Niu is crazy and will stop at nothing to reach his goal.” Cherry Eater paused. “Do you mind?” he asked Kikunojo, pointing to a bottle of sake on the counter.

  At Kikunojo’s nod, he picked it up, drained it, coughed, wiped his mouth. “Noriyoshi said that, impossible as it seems, they might even succeed! He said… ”

  Come on, come on, Sano urged silently. You’ve told me who they are, and I might have guessed, anyway, because of the crests, I already know what they want. Now tell me what they’re going to do!

  Cherry Eater said, “They truly intend to commit this murder- the ultimate treason!”

  The impact of his words sent a spasm of horror through Sano’s body. His hand locked convulsively around his chopsticks. If he interpreted Cherry Eater’s meaning correctly, then the Conspiracy of Twenty-One planned to assassinate the shogun! And to what terrible end? At best, to bring down the wrath of the Tokugawas upon their clans. At worst, to usher in a new era of civil war, if the great daimyo each tried to claim the vacant post of supreme military dictator. Madness! Then, before Sano could think or hear anything else, a hand clapped his shoulder.

  “Sano-san!”

  Sano dropped his chopsticks, wincing at the sound of his own name. As he turned toward the speaker, he saw Cherry Eater’s head snap around.

  “And what brings you here, master?” It was the cheerful, wizened peddler who sold fish in Sano’s parents’ neighborhood. “I thought you worked for the magistrate now. A yoriki, aren’t you?”

  “Shhh!” Sano waved his hands to silence the peddler, at the same time throwing a backward glance at Cherry Eater and Kikunojo. With dismay, he saw that the damage had been done.

  Cherry Eater and Kikunojo were both looking straight at him, alarmed recognition written on their faces. Then, simultaneously, they bolted in opposite directions. Kikunojo shot past Sano and out the front door. He threw off his cumbersome cloak as he ran, leaving it on the floor along with the cushions that had made him look fat. Cherry Eater snatched up his bundle, scurried around the counter, and disappeared beyond the curtain hanging over the kitchen door.

  “Talked to your mother yesterday,” the peddler went on, looking bewildered by Sano’s peculiar greeting. “Your father’s not feeling too good, eh? That’s too bad. I’ll bring him some whale liver next time I come… Sano-san, where are you going in such a hurry?”

  Sano flung some money on the counter to pay for his food. He hated to let Kikunojo get away; he had questions for the actor. But he had to go after Cherry Eater and learn more about Lord Niu’s plot against the shogun, to whom he owed his first duty and loyalty. He beat aside the curtain and burst into the kitchen. A woman stood at a table, gutting fish. She screamed as Sano collided with her on his way to the back door.

  “Sorry, excuse me!” he shouted.

  Outside, he found himself in a fetid alley. He saw Cherry Eater’s hurrying figure heading toward the canal.

  “Wait!” he called. “I just want to talk to you!”

  Cherry Eater kept running, hampered by his bundle. Sano quickly gained on him, but lost the advantage when some men came out of a door and blocked his way. He cleared the alley just in time to see Cherry Eater splash through the water and climb into a fishing boat.

  “Wait, Cherry Eater!” he shouted, panting as he dodged around people, stray dogs, and piles of fishing net.

  “Hurry, hurry!” Cherry Eater urged, his frantic hops and gestures almost upsetting the boat.

  With a shrug, the boatman poled his craft away from the shore and guided it east, toward the Sumida River.

  Sano waded knee-deep into the cold, filthy canal. He grabbed the boat. “Please.” he begged Cherry Eater. “You must tell me more about the conspiracy’s plans. When are they going to kill the shogun? Where? How? They must be stopped, don’t you understand? Please!”

  Cherry Eater kicked at Sano’s hands, shrieking, “Go away! Leave me alone!”

  The boat rocked, then tipped over. Cherry Eater and the boatman landed in the canal amid splashes and curses. Sano seized the thrashing shunga dealer by the collar. He dunked Cherry Eater’s head under the water again and again.

  “Tell me!” he ordered. Cherry Eater gasped and moaned each time he surfaced, but shook his head, refusing to speak. Sano pushed him underwater and held him there as long as he dared without actually drowning him. Cherry Eater’s struggles weakened. Sano pulled him up. “When? Where? How?” he demanded.

  His face red and his bug eyes filled with terror, the shunga dealer coughed and choked. He spewed water from his stained mouth. But he continued to shake his head.

  “Kill me if you must, master,” he wailed, “but it will do you no good. Because I don’t know when or where or how Lord Niu plans to assassinate the shogun!”

  Chapter 23

  O -hisa did not want to be sitting in the sewing room of the Niu mansion. She did not want to be making doll clothes for the daimyo’s daughters, under the supervision of Yasue, the head seamstress. As the appointed hour for her meeting with Sano slipped past, her mind yearned toward the swordmaker’s shop where he waited to take her to the Council of Elders. But she had no choice except to sit and sew and wish herself away.

  “When you finish that,” Yasue said, pointing to the tiny kimono that O-hisa was hemming, “there are plenty more.” She waved a hand at the brightly colored silks strewn over the floor. “The Doll Festival is but a month away, and we have two hundred dolls to dress. We must not bring bad luck upon the house by failing to have them ready on time.” Her eyes never left O-hisa.

  O-hisa
sighed. “Yes, Yasue-san.”

  Once O-hisa would have loved this task, which reminded her of home and the happiness of childhood. Her mother and grandmother were both widows; they made a meager living by sewing. But they’d always given her a Doll Festival, the annual celebration for young girls. Late at night, after their day’s work was done, they would sit around the stove in their one-room house in the poorest section of Nihonbashi and sew the dolls’ clothes by lamplight. O-hisa could picture them now. Her mother, face tired, still kindly and patiently teaching her small daughter how to cut and stitch. Her blind grandmother, smiling encouragement as her deft hands miraculously fashioned garments she couldn’t see. For all of them, O-hisa’s tenth and last festival, just before she left home to take her first job, had held a particular poignancy.

  “Don’t cry, O-hisa,” her grandmother had said. “You’ll come back for visits on New Year’s Day, when all servants are allowed to go home.”

  “Be a brave, obedient girl,” her mother had said, bowing her head to hide her own tears.

  Now O-hisa felt a stab of homesickness. She sighed, saddened by the comparison between past and present. The fabric in her hands was silk, instead of the cotton scraps her mother had saved from various sewing jobs. The dolls would be fine porcelain, not wood or straw. But they were for the daimyo’s daughters, not her. And her present companions robbed the familiar ritual of all pleasure.

  Yasue’s gnarled, arthritic fingers could no longer hold a needle. She kept her position because she had once served Lady Niu’s family and had come to Edo when her mistress married. O-hisa knew that her real job now was making sure Lady Niu knew everything that went on in the women’s quarters.

  Beside Yasue sat the maid O-aki. Stout, unsmiling, with large hands that looked strong enough to wring an ox’s neck. Shunned by the other servants as an informer who would report their mistakes, gossip, petty thefts, and bad attitudes to Lady Niu. Once she’d caught a cook’s helper stealing rice from the pantry. She’d broken the man’s arm before taking him to Lady Niu.

  “Your stitches are much, much too long.” Yasue scowled in fierce disapproval at O-hisa’s work. “Make them smaller. What a worthless girl! Did your mother teach you nothing?”

  “So sorry, Yasue-san.”

  The room where they sat was an oasis of quiet in the bustling mansion. Although Miss Yukiko’s death and the customary mourning period lent restraint to the holiday atmosphere, Setsubun preparations were well under way. O-hisa had returned from the villa to find the household in a state of subdued chaos.

  She could still hear the other servants rushing to finish the pre-New Year housecleaning. Overexcited children shouted as they chased one another up and down the corridors. Twittery laughter came from the women’s quarters, where the daimyo’s daughters and concubines, and their ladies-in-waiting, tried on the clothes they would wear to parties at the other lords’ houses tonight. Harried maids dashed about attending to their needs: heating baths, arranging hair, bringing still more clothes from storerooms, administering massages, serving tea and snacks. Good smells wafted from the kitchens as the cooks prepared enough food to feed the household tomorrow. O-hisa had thought that, in the general confusion, she could sneak out to keep her rendezvous with Sano. Now, though, it appeared that she was to have no share in the Setsubun preparations, and no chance to leave anytime soon. How long would he wait for her? How would she find him if he didn’t? If only she had spoken to him sooner!

  But when and how could she have done so? Although Lord Niu had never spoken to her or given any sign that he knew she’d witnessed the murder, a careful watch had been kept over her since Miss Yukiko’s death. Many times she’d walked down the mansion’s corridors and heard doors open and close behind her as unseen observers noted her progress. She’d gone on errands alone, only to have one of the other maids catch up with and accompany her. O-aki had moved into the room O-hisa shared with three other maids. And as soon as she’d returned from the villa, the net of surveillance had tightened. Yasue and O-aki had greeted her at the door, and they wouldn’t let her out of their sight.

  O-hisa cast a nervous glance at them. What would happen if she got up and ran? Would O-aki break her arm? Or would Yasue simply notify Lord Niu? Maybe he would have her killed. She was almost tempted to give up and let him. After all, she deserved to die. But she’d dreamed of Miss Yukiko again last night. Dark, beseeching eyes in a dead white face. Thin fingers, already nibbled by scavengers, reaching out in entreaty. Long black hair swirling in the turbulent water. If Sano thought she could lay that sorrowful ghost to rest by helping him bring young Lord Niu to justice, then she was willing to try. And he’d convinced her that this was the only way to protect her family from Lord Niu’s wrath. The part of her that wanted to live hoped Sano was right, and that she could think of some way to escape her jailers.

  “O-hisa!” Yasue’s harsh voice broke into her thoughts. “You have just sewed that sleeve shut. In the future, watch what you are doing.”

  “Yes, Yasue-san. So sorry.” O-hisa meekly bent her head to the task of ripping out the stitches. When she began to sew again, her hands trembled so badly that the needle slipped and jabbed her finger. The pain brought tears to her eyes; they spilled over as her despair increased. Sucking the blood from her fingertip, she mourned her lost childhood. She imagined Sano walking away from the swordmaker’s shop.

  From the corridor came the voices of two passing maids:

  “Did you clean the north garden pavilion?”

  “No. I thought you were going to.”

  “Well, we’d better do it now. Lady Niu will be angry otherwise.

  The north garden wasn’t far from the back gate. “Maybe I should go and help,” O-hisa suggested timidly.

  Yasue frowned. “You will stay here.”

  Catching O-aki’s smug nod, O-hisa felt her spirits plummet. Then a brilliant idea came to her. Standing, she bowed and arranged her face in an innocent, apologetic smile.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Yasue demanded.

  “To the place of relief, please,” O-hisa said, referring to the privy with the polite term used by the household.

  Yasue pursed her lips, obviously annoyed and not wanting to disobey orders, but unable to deny such a request. “Well, see that you do not take longer than necessary. O-aki, go with her.”

  Shadowed by her grim escort, O-hisa walked to the maids’ privy, a tiny building set tastefully apart from the rest of the house, reached by way of a narrow corridor and a flight of steps. Once inside the windowless room, she shut the door and offered a brief, silent prayer. Then, her stomach churning with disgust at what she must do, she hiked up her skirts and tied them around her waist so they wouldn’t get in her way. If only she had her shoes! But it was better to escape barefoot than not at all. Steeling herself, she knelt before the privy slot.

  Despite frequent cleaning and the liberal use of fragrant herbs, the wide slot emitted a strong odor of feces and urine. O-hisa, peering into the dim compartment below the privy’s raised floor, could see the partially full catch basin. She fought nausea as she sat down and gingerly lowered her legs into the slot.

  The space between the slot and the floor of the compartment was less than her own height. Arms braced against the rim of the slot, O-hisa held her breath as she felt with her toe for the basin. She found it, then swung backward as she dropped, to avoid stepping in it. But she misjudged. When she landed, her foot struck and tipped the basin. Warm, slimy filth splattered her legs and drenched her socks. At the same time, her need for air forced her to breathe. The stench assailed her, and she retched. Crouching in the cramped, fetid compartment, she clapped a hand over her mouth, praying that O-aki hadn’t heard and wouldn’t open the door. The darkness disoriented her. Where was the hatch that the servants used to remove and clean the basin?

  Her groping hands found the small trap door and pushed it open. Sickness and panic overcame caution, and she squeezed through it without remembe
ring to make sure no one was watching. Free! She lay on the ground for a moment and gulped the clean, fresh air with relief. Then she struggled to her feet, letting down her kimono as she ran. Fear weakened her muscles and made her heart flutter in her chest. But O-hisa found strength and courage in the thought of her mother and grandmother. After she and Sano had seen the Council of Elders, she would go home for good. She would never return to the Nius.

  Each of the mansion’s many wings held potential dangers. O-hisa avoided the busy women’s quarters and kitchens. Instead she scurried through the gate leading to the vacant men’s apartments, where the daimyo, his elder sons, and their closest advisers lived when they were in Edo. There she would be safe from young Lord Niu, who had rooms in a separate wing, and from the watchful eyes of the servants.

  She paused to get her bearings. She’d never been in this part of the yashiki before, and the unfamiliar complex of shuttered buildings and deserted gardens confused her. Which way to the back gate?

  O-hisa struck off in a likely direction. She had no time to lose. At any moment O-aki would open the privy door, find her missing, and tell Yasue. They would send out a party to search the estate for her.

  As she hurried down a narrow path between two buildings, O-hisa heard a raspy sound. A door opening? She let out a shriek before she could stop herself. She spun around, then her panic receded a little when she identified the source of the sound: a branch scraping against a wall. O-hisa almost longed to be caught and released from fear and uncertainty, but the memory of her family fueled her determination. In just a few hours, she would be home. She imagined her mother’s and grandmother’s pleased surprise at her arrival, a day early, for her New Year visit. She would bury her face against her mother’s bosom and forget the murder she’d seen, and the terror she’d experienced since. She would not think beyond that moment of exquisite relief and joy. She would not think of how alarmed and unhappy they would be when they learned why she’d given up her post, or how the Nius might punish them all.