by Susan Spann
“Everyone in the theater district knows the Yutoku-za. Anyone could have pointed out my family.” Botan wiped a tear from his eye. “I never thought he would hurt them. I truly believed he was bluffing.”
“Would you recognize this samurai if you saw him?” Father Mateo asked.
“I do not know.” Botan paused. “I doubt it.”
“Why don’t you want this samurai brought to justice?” Hiro asked.
“Forgive me,” Botan said, “but only samurai have the luxury of justice. Even if you find the man, the magistrate will let him go and punish me for paying a bribe. That’s how it works, when men of my station accuse a samurai.”
“We can help you,” Father Mateo offered.
“Please . . .” Botan sighed. “I mean no disrespect, and I know my son-in-law requested your assistance, but you will help my family best by leaving us alone.”
Father Mateo opened his mouth to speak, but Hiro caught the Jesuit’s eye and shook his head.
“We have no further questions,” Hiro said. “You may return to your business.”
“We appreciate your cooperation,” Father Mateo added.
Botan bowed and returned to the tailor’s shop, pausing in the doorway long enough to add, “Good day, gentlemen, and thank you.”
“Did he really just ask us to let his granddaughter’s killer get away?” Father Mateo shook his head in disbelief as he followed Hiro away from the tailor’s shop.
Hiro shrugged. “At times, a man must accept the unacceptable in order to avoid a greater harm. If a samurai murdered Emi, and learned about our investigation, he might return to kill Chou and Haru too.
“Or”—Hiro glanced at the priest—“Botan might want us to drop the matter because he killed his granddaughter himself.”
“Botan?” Father Mateo sounded shocked. “Why would he kill Emi?”
“A man’s first duty is keeping his family safe,” Hiro said, “and Botan’s family is the Yutoku-za. By meeting men at the river, Emi risked not only her own reputation, but that of the theater troupe as well.”
Father Mateo seemed confused. “How could she have hurt the troupe if women can’t act on the stage?”
“Groups like the Yutoku-za earn money by performing at the request of wealthy samurai,” Hiro said. “Noblemen only want to hire the troupes with the best reputations, and ‘reputation’ includes professionalism as well as skill. That’s probably why Botan disapproves of the ‘private performances’ Aki thought we wanted.”
Father Mateo blushed. “You didn’t have to bring that up again.”
Hiro gave him a sideways look. “It appears your taste in kimono doesn’t run to chrysanthemums after all.”
When they reached the Kamo River, Father Mateo paused to ask, “Do we have to stop the investigation, since Botan asked us to leave his family alone?”
“Not for a moment.” Hiro started across the bridge. “Samurai give orders to commoners, not the other way around.”
Father Mateo followed. “Where are we going?”
“Botan might not want us to find the samurai who bribed him,” Hiro said, “but hopefully Satsu knows enough to help identify a suspect.”
CHAPTER 22
“How could Satsu help us find the man who threatened Botan?” Father Mateo asked. “He wasn’t there. The samurai could be anyone in Kyoto.”
“It isn’t me,” Hiro said, “or you, or Luis. That’s three men off the suspect list already.”
“That hardly leaves a manageable number,” Father Mateo replied. “You can’t throw a stone in Kyoto without hitting a samurai.”
Hiro glanced at the priest. “Then may I suggest not throwing stones.”
Chou emerged from the Yutoku-za as Hiro and Father Mateo approached. She closed the door behind her, turned, and startled.
“Good morning,” she said as she bowed to Hiro and the priest. “I didn’t expect to see you back so soon.”
“Has your father returned?” Hiro asked.
“I am sorry, he has not.” Chou glanced at the house. “My mother returned a few minutes ago and sent Haru back to the temple. Father teaches some of my brother’s lessons there.”
“Where, precisely?” Hiro asked.
“They use an open patch of lawn, just inside the entrance to Kenninji.” Chou’s eyes grew red. “Sometimes, Emi and I would walk in the gardens while Father taught Haru. That is, before . . .”
“I am sorry about your sister,” Father Mateo said.
“No,” Chou replied with another bow. “I am sorry. Earlier . . . I did not tell the entire truth.”
Before the men could react, she continued, “Please forgive me. The truth is, Father hadn’t found a husband for Emi because she refused to marry. She didn’t want to be a wife or a mother. She planned to become an entertainer in one of the high-class houses. Not the ones in Pontochō—the expensive ones on this side of the river.
“Father refused to allow it. I don’t know why. Actors are entertainers, too, even if girls can’t act on the stage, and a talented girl can make a lot of money in a teahouse.”
“Was Emi talented?” Hiro asked.
Chou nodded. “She sang beautifully. Everyone said so. When Father refused to help her find a place, Emi visited some of the houses on her own. She told the owners she was an orphan and asked to become an apprentice, but no one would take her. They told her she was too old for training. One of them suggested she check with the brothels in Pontochō.”
“But she didn’t,” Father Mateo said.
“Of course not.” Chou sounded offended on Emi’s behalf. “She was furious with the teahouse women for even suggesting such a thing. She said she would find another way—even buy her own house, if she had to.”
“Buy her own teahouse?” Hiro asked.
“That’s what she said.” Chou nodded. “Impossible, I know, but that’s what she said.”
“Impossible?” Father Mateo repeated. “Why?”
“The cost is unthinkable,” Hiro said. “Kimono for the entertainers cost even more than the house itself, and when you add all the other expenses of running a high-end house . . . most women ‘purchase’ their teahouses from retiring mentors, paying only a fraction of their value. A girl like Emi wouldn’t stand a chance of raising the funds required, even if she found a house for sale.”
“I told her that too,” Chou said, “but she wouldn’t listen. Girls like us . . . the best we can do is marry well and raise successful sons. Dreams of anything more lead only to sorrow.”
A woman walked past with a toddler in tow. The child stopped to stare at Father Mateo’s foreign face. His mother took his wrist and pulled him away, while keeping her own face toward the ground, as if doing so made her invisible.
Chou watched the woman and her child continue up the street.
“How did your sister intend to raise the money for her teahouse?” Hiro asked.
Chou shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I’m sorry, sir, I do not know.”
“I think you do,” Hiro said, “and you can either tell us now, or explain in front of your parents. I suspect they would want to hear how much you knew about your sister’s plans.”
Chou clasped her hands together and straightened her back as if steeling herself to tell the truth. To her credit, she did not flinch or beg. “Emi said she had found a man to help her. She wouldn’t tell me who he was, or where they met, or why he offered to do it—though anyone can guess that part. Men only spend money on girls like us for one reason.”
“Did she tell you his name?” Hiro asked.
“No, sir.” Chou shook her head. “She refused to tell me. I tried to persuade her not to sell herself for a man’s assistance, but she wouldn’t listen. She told me it was her life, not mine and not Father’s, and that if I tried to stop her she would tell them I was lying.”
Chou sniffled as her eyes turned red. “I didn’t tell my parents. They would not have believed me anyway.”
“Why do you thi
nk your parents wouldn’t believe you?” Father Mateo asked.
“Emi never did anything wrong.” Chou started to cry. “She was always the perfect daughter. Father never knew she talked with teahouse owners behind his back. She told him she had changed her mind, decided to become a nun. That’s why she spent her evenings at the shrine.
“Besides”—Chou sniffed again, more loudly—“Emi was my closest friend. I didn’t want to get her in trouble. I know it was wrong, but if she really had found a man with the money to buy her a teahouse, or even a place in one . . . I’m getting my dream, with Yuji. He’s everything I ever wanted. Why shouldn’t my sister have the chance to see her dream come true?”
“Can you remember anything more about this man?” Father Mateo asked. “Anything at all might help us find him.”
Chou wiped her eyes as she shook her head. “I’m sorry, Emi wouldn’t tell me anything. At the time, I was glad she refused. I didn’t want to know enough to get in trouble too, if she got caught.”
Father Mateo retrieved the golden coin from his purse. “Did he give her this?”
“I do not know,” Chou said. “I told you the truth about that. I never saw it before she died.”
“Is it possible she had it and concealed it from you?” Hiro asked.
“No.” Chou sounded adamant. “If Emi had a golden coin, she would have shown me.”
“One last question,” Hiro said. “If you didn’t want to cause trouble for Emi, why did you tell Yuji about the man—or was it men —she met by the river?”
The bluff worked. Chou’s eyes grew wide.
“Answer me!” Hiro demanded. “And tell the truth. I have no patience for your lies.”
“I-it was only one man, that I knew of, and I-I had to tell Yuji,” Chou stammered. “He saw them—Emi and the man—by the river, about a week ago. He asked me why my parents let her meet him all alone. I had to tell. I begged him to keep it a secret, but he threatened to get my father involved. He didn’t want Emi hurting his reputation—the troupe’s reputation—with bad behavior.”
The story didn’t match Rika’s. One—or both—of the women was telling lies.
“You lied to us earlier.” Hiro glared. “Why should we believe you now?”
Chou looked at her hands, which started trembling. “I’m sorry, sir, I was afraid. I thought you would think that Yuji killed Emi, to stop her from shaming the Yutoku-za. But he didn’t. Yuji would never hurt my sister.”
“Do not lie to us again.” Hiro laid a hand on the hilt of his sword, though he had no intention of harming the girl. “No father should lose a second daughter before he finishes mourning for the first.”
Chou bowed. “I beg you, please forgive me.”
“Of course we forgive you,” Father Mateo said quickly with a warning look at Hiro. “You showed great courage, telling the truth. Now, if you will excuse us, we have business to attend to.”
She bowed again, and Father Mateo started up the road toward Kenninji.
A frustrated Hiro followed in his wake.
CHAPTER 23
“In Japan, a man does not excuse himself to a woman of common birth,” Hiro said when they had left the house behind them.
“A man of honor never demeans one, either,” Father Mateo said. “Interrogating a samurai woman is one thing. Chou is only a common girl, who recently suffered a tragedy. You have no cause to treat her like a criminal.”
“She is a liar,” Hiro said.
“She is a child—and your cousin, even though she does not know it.” Father Mateo’s tone conveyed his disapproval. “Of course she lied—she’s terrified of you.”
“And of you also,” Hiro said. “However, I will minimize my threats in the future, if you will remember to treat her as a commoner, not an equal.”
“All people are equal in the eyes of God,” the Jesuit said, “but I will try to respect the Japanese way.”
Hiro nodded. He could ask no more.
“Do you intend to tell Satsu what Chou revealed to us just now?” Father Mateo asked. “I worry that he might hurt her if we do.”
“I’m not the one who usually reveals the damaging facts to suspects.”
“Then we agree,” the Jesuit said, completely missing Hiro’s point.
At the entrance to Kenninji, the samurai on guard returned Hiro’s nod, but didn’t speak.
“How do you plan to find Satsu?” Father Mateo asked as they passed through the massive gate and onto the temple grounds.
Hiro nodded toward a pair of teenage monks who stood a little way down the path. They had their backs to the entrance, watching something on the grassy lawn beyond. “If you want to find an actor, follow the crowd.”
Satsu stood on the grass just past the monks. Nearby, Haru walked around on the lawn with his feet in the air and his hands where his feet should be. The boy seemed thoroughly comfortable upside down.
“Over and up, like a monkey,” Satsu said.
Haru flipped himself upright with a single fluid motion and instantly squatted on his haunches, hands drawn close to his chest like a resting monkey. He glanced at his father, ignoring the monks’ appreciative noises.
Satsu nodded approval. “That was better.” He noticed Hiro. “All right, enough for today.”
The monks followed Satsu’s gaze. At the sight of Father Mateo, they scurried away with guilty expressions on their blushing faces.
Father Mateo watched them go. “Did they leave because of me?”
“Indirectly,” Hiro said. “They must have mistaken you for a senior monk, at least at first, and suddenly remembered they have duties—which do not include an hour wasted watching actors’ lessons.”
“May I go home?” Haru asked.
“Only if you promise not to interrupt the actors,” Satsu said.
Haru frowned. “But they make mistakes—”
“—and correcting them is Botan’s job, not yours.” Satsu’s voice held a warning edge.
“It will be mine,” Haru said, “when I’m the master.”
“Until which time, you learn by silent observation.” Satsu nodded. “Very well, you may watch the lessons if Botan permits, but do not interrupt.”
Haru bowed. “Yes, Father.”
Satsu made a gesture of dismissal, and Haru ran off toward the temple gate.
The actor turned and bowed to the other men. “Haru mentioned you wanted to see me. I planned to look for you when his lesson finished.”
“Your son is a talented acrobat,” Father Mateo said. “I didn’t realize nō performances featured acrobatics.”
“They don’t,” Satsu replied, “but some of the kyogen interludes, between the plays, have roles for acrobats. I started training Haru for kyogen several years ago, in case he lacked the skills to act in nō. I needn’t have worried. Botan has decided that Haru has the skills to be shite.”
“We heard about his upcoming debut,” Father Mateo said.
“The role is small and played by a child to keep the focus on the adult actors,” Satsu said. “But even simple roles help children learn the rules of nō.”
“Why continue to train him in acrobatics?” Hiro asked.
“You are thinking that handsprings and balancing skills would serve a shinobi’s needs as well as an actor’s.” Satsu didn’t wait for affirmation. “These lessons provide a diversion for Haru, something else to absorb his time. Otherwise, he spends every waking moment watching actors and correcting their mistakes. He has memorized all the plays in our current repertoire, and has a flawless memory. Unfortunately, he is not good at holding his tongue when others err.”
“Do actors’ children have more freedom to speak than samurai boys?” the Jesuit asked.
“Noble children learn etiquette before they learn to walk, but actors avoid restricting children before they reach the age for formal training,” Satsu said. “However, I do expect my son to demonstrate self-control.”
“Do you expect the same from your daughters?” Hiro aske
d.
Satsu frowned. “What makes you ask?”
Hiro saw no point in subtlety. Satsu was trained to recognize subterfuge. “Did you know your daughter was meeting a man by the river before she died?”
“Emi?” Satsu shook his head. “No, though when you mentioned a ‘friend’ had told you about her death, I suspected something of the kind. The river is the only place she could have met him without being noticed.”
“We have reason to believe she met him regularly,” Hiro said, “including the night she died. We also suspect there may have been more than one man.”
Emotion flickered through Satsu’s features, but disappeared before Hiro could identify it.
“I did not know this,” the actor said, “but I will not deny it could have happened.”
Hiro waited for him to continue.
“I’m not a fool,” Satsu said. “My daughter wanted independence. Specifically, she dreamed of entertaining in a teahouse. She was too old to enter a high-end establishment, and I wouldn’t allow her to go to a house where patrons expect a girl to do more than sing. She didn’t understand why I refused, and disagreed with me, but children often fail to appreciate the reasons why their parents make decisions.
“She and I had reached an impasse. Emi refused to bend her will to conform to mine, or anyone else’s. She threatened to run away, and I believed her.
“Then, about a week ago, she told me she had changed her mind and wanted to become a nun instead. I found that surprising, and also strange. I wondered what caused the decision, but in my relief I didn’t demand a reason. I realize, now, I did not know my daughter nearly as well as I believed.”
“You don’t seem very surprised to learn that Emi met with a man without you knowing,” Father Mateo said.
“My daughter is dead,” Satsu replied. “Not much can surprise me about her anymore. Emi often went to the temple at night, to Chugenji or, sometimes, Kenninji. She told us she prayed and came directly home. I wish I had not trusted her at her word.”
“When did you learn she wanted to become an entertainer?” Hiro asked.
