The Crane Pavillion

by I. J. Parker

  On this occasion, he wandered around the pavilion to look at the small lake behind it. The lake was fed by one of the many small streams that passed through the city and made possible the network of canals and the elaborate gardens of noble houses and palaces. This lake was home to a number of ducks, and as he came closer, he caused a pair of cranes to fly up with a clatter of wings. They were large, handsome creatures with their black and white plumage and brilliant red patches on their heads. Their wingspan was impressive, and they might have risen high into the sky to make for some larger watery habitat, like Lake Biwa, or even the Inland Sea. But they flew only to the opposite side of the lake and returned to stalking the fish. The lake seemed well-stocked with them. Perhaps the cranes had made a permanent home here.

  He turned and studied the pavilion. Its curved tile roof swept out much like the wings of a large bird, overhanging verandas that must have offered the dead woman lovely views of the small lake. Here was, without a doubt, the best accommodation Abbot Genshin’s large and elegant residence had to offer. It was typically the sort of pavilion a man might reserve for a favored companion. Who had Lady Ogata been? What had she been to her host? And why had she died?

  He had no proof that her death was anything but suicide, but then there was no proof it had been suicide except the placement of the trunk underneath a beam. What kept him coming back was the strong feeling that all was not as it had appeared. He knew that he should speak to Genshin about this but could not bring himself to do so.

  He walked up to the pavilion and onto the veranda. From there he looked out over the garden. All was peaceful and serene.

  And yet.

  Pushing open a shutter, he walked again into that dim room. The few items of furniture were as they had been last time. She had been very poor but had clung to some of the clothes of a far more elegant past. A shocking event must have caused the change in her life. And yet it had not been enough for her to take her life when it had happened. So, why now?

  He saw nothing to answer his questions, and eventually turned to go back out into the garden. He saw the path that led to the caretaker’s cottage. While the man had acted somewhat strangely, he had been forthright in his description of what he had found that morning. There were, of course, also the two children who had raised the alarm. He ought to try to find them.

  Peering at the dense cover of trees that separated the pavilion from the outer wall, he thought of the city that lay beyond, and of the children who had come from there. He assumed they lived among the tenements or humble homes, for they were said to belong to a poor woman who had to work during the day, leaving them on their own.

  Another female who was alone. All she had were her children.

  But that was more than the dead woman had had.

  He thought of his own loneliness. Yes, he was blessed by fortune in that it had left him his son and daughter. He had enjoyed his morning with them. They seemed to him handsome, affectionate, and loveable. It was a pity he had never taken enough time to get to know his own children. Now, like the poor mother, he must work to provide for them, and they would again grow distant.

  As he gazed at the large garden of the rich man who had forsaken the world and its pleasures to become a monk, he wondered if Tasuku had really made a clean break from his former life.

  Akitada decided there were no answers for him here. He must begin to call on men in the emperor’s service, begging them to support him. It was all very distasteful and humiliating, but it must be done.

  He bowed his head and walked away from the mystery of Lady Ogata.

  But in his abstraction, he took the wrong path. It curved away suddenly and plunged into some dense undergrowth before suddenly emerging in a small clearing with a rustic building made from logs and covered with a roof of cypress bark.

  He stopped. This sort of thing was not unusual on large estates. Such places were used for religious observances, meditation, and perhaps childbirth when the owner feared the event would contaminate the main house. Shinto abhorred the uncleanness of death and birth equally.

  He stood there, lost in thoughts about the human lifespan when he realized that the building’s single door was open. Walking closer, he called out, and a moment later a small gray figure appeared in the doorway.

  The nun had returned.

  Akitada went to the steps leading up to the small dwelling and bowed. “Forgive me for interrupting your peaceful life. I’m Sugawara Akitada and heard you were a friend to the poor lady who took her life here recently.”

  She spoke quite sharply for such a slight person. “Sadako did not kill herself. And I know your name. I heard you were here asking questions. It’s about time someone looked into this.”

  Akitada was taken aback by this forthright speech from a Buddhist nun who had, presumably, forsworn the concerns of the world around her. “You surprise me,” he said. “Do you have reasons to suspect something else?”

  She compressed her lips. “You are here, aren’t you? Isn’t that reason enough?”

  Akitada gestured to the narrow veranda. “May I sit down and talk to you?”

  Aware of having neglected the most basic of courtesies, her pale face reddened. “Yes, of course. I’m called Seikan. Forgive me, but I’ve been distraught. Would you rather come inside?”

  “No, thank you. It’s pleasant here.” Akitada went to perch on the veranda, but she stopped him. “Your robe. Wait while I get a cushion.”

  He waited and she returned and placed a plain cushion made from woven grass for him, then sat down herself. Her gray robe apparently did not require much protection from dust.

  Akitada asked, “What really made you think that your friend’s death may not have been her own choice?”

  “Because she was content. After much suffering, she was finally at peace. She had no reason to wish for death.”

  “The others, your neighbors here, call her Lady Ogata. Was that her real name?”

  She waved a slender hand. “What are names? Since she has lived here, she has called herself the ‘lady of the crane pavilion.’ She said she had no past. Like the blessed in paradise, she lived from day to day in quiet joy.”

  Akitada raised his brows at this. Nobody lived that way, particularly not someone who had exchanged a worldly life for this lonely existence. He said, “We cannot forget the past and must prepare for the future. That is our karma. For some, this is a heavy burden; for others it’s easier to bear; but none of us are without pain.”

  She said nothing.

  “What happened to the lady in her past life?”

  Silence.

  “What was her relationship with Abbot Genshin? Was she his lover?”

  To his surprise, she turned to him with a little laugh. “You are a very silly man. Why is it that people always assume there must be a man in the case when a woman turns her back on the world?”

  This startled him. Women who turned their backs on the world as a rule became nuns. And Seikan was a nun, but the dead woman had not chosen such a way. Irritated by her words, he said, “Because in many cases women do turn to the religious life because a lover deserted them or they suffered rejection by the men they fell in love with. Men, especially young men, are not considerate of the feelings of the females they bed. And Abbot Genshin was, to my personal knowledge, a rake in his younger years.”

  She surprised him again by chuckling. “Quite right. Forgive me. But the answer to your question is no. Sadako never knew His Reverence until she came here to live and she was not his lover.”

  “But why did she come here? What caused him to offer her refuge here? And what was she running away from?”

  She shook her head. “I will not talk about her past, and know little enough as it is.”

  “But you think someone killed her?”

  “I don’t want to think so. It could have been an accident.”

  Akitada thought of the scene that had been described to him and shook his head. “Hardly.”

  The
nun shuddered. “Then it was an evil act.”

  “Evil acts are committed for a reason. The motive for murder often lies in a person’s past. If you want the murderer found, you should tell all you know.”

  “What I know will not help you,” she said, looking away. “I may grieve my friend’s passing, but that does not mean I want to stir up things that are best forgotten. The past is past. Leave it undisturbed.”

  Akitada gritted his teeth. “You knew who I was when I came here this morning. You knew quite well that I would not leave a murderer to go free. Why did you agree to talk to me if you have no intention of helping?”

  She moved restlessly, then got to her feet. “You will find the truth yourself. I cannot help you. It is time for my devotions. Forgive me.” And she walked back into her hermitage, closing the door behind her.

  18

  A Tiger in the Dark

  Saburo watched Tora melt into the darkness, then crept around the house where the gambler had taken refuge. He felt certain that people were watching because Tora had made such a racket pounding on their door.

  The houses in the amusement quarter were built close together. Many were two stories tall. Unlike the shops and homes of merchants, they had few storage yards behind them. What there was opened to alleys where refuse was collected. At this hour, the brothels and wine shops were still busy. Many lights shone from upper and lower windows and doorways.

  But the house that interested Saburo remained dark. It was a home, not a business. That did not mean that there were no watchers inside, peering out through chinks in the shutters. Saburo regretted that he was not wearing his black clothes, so much more suitable for surreptitious excursions. He moved cautiously from shadow to shadow, with the unconscious grace of a cat on the prowl, sliding around objects, dimly seen in the inadequate moonlight. When he reached the area behind the house, it lay in utter darkness and silence. The indistinct noise he heard came from the rest of the quarter.

  Once he reached the back wall of the house, Saburo crawled along it, bent low beneath the few windows on this side. Behind one of the windows he suddenly saw a faint strip of light appear, and knew he had been right. People had been watching from the dark house and had decided that the troublemakers had finally left.

  Unfortunately Saburo could not see inside. But the house was raised a few feet above ground level, and he found a gaping hole in the boards that allowed access to the space beneath. Crawling in, he got on his hands and knees and made his way cautiously through the dark in the general direction of the room where he had seen the light. It was dirty and smelled unpleasant, but it was warmer than it had been outside.

  He soon heard indistinct voices and wriggled forward until he was directly beneath the room where the men were talking.

  He recognized the voice of the monkey. The other voice was soft and silky but something about it sent a shiver down Saburo’s spine.

  The monkey was making excuses. He sounded desperate.

  The silky voice told him, “This is not the first time,” adding, “You’re useless scum!” The monkey tried again, his voice becoming shrill. The silky voice asked, “Why should I care?” The monkey pleaded. The silky voice lost some of its softness: “Enough. I’m at the end of my patience with you.”

  It sounded very much as though the monkey had been working for the silky voice. Saburo began to suspect that the silly bastard had made the mistake of leading them straight to the home of his boss, Kanemoto. If so, he had every reason to be afraid.

  As if to confirm this, the silky voice suddenly snapped, “Shut up, you dog! It’s not enough that you’re so bad at your game that a complete amateur caught you. You then allow yourself to be chased, and come straight here. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have opened my door to you. Do you know what will happen if anyone saw you come in?”

  The monkey could be heard mumbling frantic apologies.

  Saburo was beginning to enjoy himself. Any moment now, the monkey would say the other man’s name, confirming that silky voice was indeed Kanemoto. Tora could take this information to the police.

  There was a loud crash above, and then the weasel screamed shrilly. This was followed by more crashes and the sound of blows. The screams went on, interspersed with “Shut up, you piece of dung. You’re not going to forget this.”

  Saburo’s pleasure faded. Listening to another human being beaten to a pulp brought back bad memories. He was tempted to cover his ears but did not want to miss some crucial information.

  The monkey shrieked, “Stop hitting me or I’ll …”

  The blows ceased.

  “You’ll do what?”

  The monkey sobbed, “Nothing. I meant nothing, Kanemoto-sama.”

  “Are you threatening me with the police? And what would happen to you then, scum?” asked the voice, silky once again.

  Sounding desperate now, the monkey said, “I’ll go to jail rather than be beaten to death by you.”

  Saburo almost applauded.

  He did not hear the gangster’s response, because a woman’s voice called out, “What’s going on, Kanemoto? What’s all the screaming?”

  Her refined nasal, singsong intonation marked her as a courtesan, one of the women in the quarter who had climbed to the top of their trade.

  Kanemoto, finally identified, said, “It’s nothing, my love. Go back to bed. Just some business I have to take care of.”

  He sounded different now. His voice was soft and the tone almost pleading. Saburo was not surprised when the woman did not obey. He heard the sound of a door sliding open and an exclamation of disgust. “Ugh! Who’s that? He’s been bleeding all over your gown and the floor.”

  Before Kanemoto could react, the pathetic monkey made his next move. He wailed, “Lady Suzaku, dearest, kindest lady, most beautiful lady of the willow quarter! Please help me. I’ve done nothing.”

  She squealed, “Don’t touch me, you filthy animal.”

  There was the sound of another blow, followed by a groan, and Kanemoto snapped, “Stay away from her, you hear?” Then he added to the woman, “The bastard let himself be caught cheating at dice. Someone chased him, and the stupid fool led them straight to my house.”

  The woman sucked in her breath sharply. “He’ll go to the warden, or even the police. They’ll come here. I’m leaving. I should never have come. You’re poison, Kanemoto.”

  Kanemoto cried, “Don’t go, dearest. Nobody will come, and if they do, they’ll find nothing. Sweetheart, I’ll pay your debts.”

  Below, in the darkness, Saburo shook his head. Even gangsters were fools about women.

  She said, “I can’t come here again, but if I had a little place of my own, you could come to me. Away from the quarter. Someplace we can be together safely.”

  Kanemoto pleaded, “I’ll find it. Only don’t leave me.”

  “You must make sure he doesn’t talk. If he talks …”

  They fell silent, but suddenly the monkey started sobbing and pleading again, his voice indistinct with panic.

  Then Saburo heard a gurgling sound and the wild tapping of feet on the floor above, then a heavy thud and silence.

  For a moment, he was unsure what had happened.

  The woman said, “Pah! He pissed all over the floor. It’s disgusting. You could have waited until I’d gone.”

  Kanemoto, panting slightly, replied, “Come, my dear. Surely you’re used to watching men die in your arms. Love and death, it’s all much the same.”

  Saburo felt nausea rising. They’d killed the poor bastard! He heard the rustling of a gown, a door slid open above, and she was gone. Kanemoto muttered. A scraping, sliding noise followed. The gangster was moving the monkey’s body.

  Saburo was still sickened by what he had heard, but he waited, curious to see how a gangster disposed of inconvenient corpses.

  When the sounds above faded, Saburo crept back to the opening. It showed as a paler rectangle in the darkness and he hurried. Halfway there, he touched something warm and
lashed out. Some creature spat, hissed, and attacked. Suddenly claws were imbedded in his face. The shock and pain almost made him cry out, but if Kanemoto found him, he would surely get rid of him also. So he fought silently, grasping the furry beast and pulling it from his head. It resisted viciously. In his distress and in the dark, it seemed to be a tiger. Eventually, he got his hands around the animal’s throat and squeezed. Before it went limp, its four claws tore at his face and arms. He flung the body aside and found that he was bleeding from his face, scalp, and both hands and arms.

  Worse was about to come!

  The paler square of the opening disappeared. For a moment, Saburo was disoriented and moved frantically this way and that in the darkness. Reason returned and, feeling about above himself, he managed to guess from the direction of the overhead beams where he was and started crawling again. On his way, he encountered the corpse of the animal and decided it was only a cat after all, though a rather large one.

  But then a new noise reached his ears. Someone was hammering. He followed the sound, and when he reached the outer wall, he felt along it. The hammering stopped.

  Alas, the opening was gone. Something soft and yielding blocked it. He felt it, touched clothing and hair, and realized he had been joined by the corpse of the gambler.

  With some difficulty in the confined space he moved the gambler aside. The hole through which he had entered, and through which Kanemoto had shoved the body, was now closed off. He was trapped under the gangster chief’s house with the body of a murdered man.

  19

  The Dance of the Cranes

  His visit with the nun Seikan left Akitada frustrated and irritable. Why is it that those who choose a religious life assume they are above the law and can make their own judgments? Perhaps they have stripped their souls of all capacity to feel anything by avoiding the troubles of those who lead normal lives, fall in love, have children, work hard to provide for them, and in consequence suffer the unbearable pain that comes with the loss of loved ones.