by I. J. Parker
“The monks have a key? But that means one of the monks could be the murderer.”
“Yes.” Akitada was surprised at his brother-in-law’s sharpness. He had not expected it from Toshikage, who had been totally helpless about his own problems. “Quite right. A monk, or someone else who knew where the key was kept. I cannot help thinking that there is more involved here than mere lust. Someone wanted her dead.”
“Her husband?”
“Perhaps.” Akitada decided to share his thoughts more often with his brother-in-law. It was helpful to have someone to listen to and comment on his theories. “Nagaoka was away from home the night of the murder. And Kobe is receptive of the idea.”
His brother-in-law smiled. “There you are, then.”
“Yoshiko won’t be much better off having her name linked with a killer’s brother. Kojiro, by the way, threatened to confess again, if we accuse Nagaoka. His affection for his brother is quite strong.” Akitada grimaced. “I have some difficulty accepting that Nagaoka could treat his own brother so cruelly.”
“My dear Akitada, our history is full of instances of fratricide.”
Seimei came in with another flask of hot wine. Clearing his throat apologetically, he said, “The ladies have asked me to tell you that they are anxious to hear what happened at the prison.”
Akitada rose. “Yes, of course. I forgot. I suppose we had better go now.” He sighed. His head still ached and he dreaded the coming interview.
Seimei followed them, carrying the wine and their cups.
At first glance the gathering of the three young women looked charming and normal. Dressed in pretty silk robes, dark because of the mourning period, but most becoming, their long, lustrous hair spread out behind them, they sat or reclined on cushions placed around a large brazier.
But the faces they turned to the men were not cheerful. Akiko looked angry, and Yoshiko was sickly pale, with bluish circles under her red-rimmed eyes and a general air of frailty.
Akitada’s eyes passed quickly from them to Tamako. His wife was sitting stiffly upright, her normally placid face tense and stern. His heart misgave him. Feeling guilty that he had delayed so long with Toshikage, he stumbled into apology. “Forgive me, but we were discussing the case against Nagaoka’s brother.” As soon as he had spoken, he felt that this excuse simply made the matter worse. Lately he always seemed to be saying the wrong thing to Tamako. Their easy, companionable relationship had changed to one of disapproval and hurt feelings. He went on hurriedly, “The news is good for Yoshiko at least. Kobe has agreed to leave her in peace for the time being.”
Tamako said quietly, “Thank heavens for that!”
Akiko was less pleased. She cried angrily, “I should hope so! Who does the man think he is?”
Only Yoshiko did not speak. She looked down at her hands, plucking at the fabric of her robe.
Akitada was aware of new irritation with his youngest sister. She clearly had no idea what danger she had been in and what it had cost him to protect her. What had she expected? That he would get her lover released and bring him home to meet the family? He suppressed an urge to shout at her and instead seated himself next to Tamako. His wife immediately rose, offering her cushion to Toshikage, who accepted.
Seimei filled their cups with wine. When he was done, he hesitated and looked at Akitada. But his master’s eyes were following Tamako, troubled that she had withdrawn from him, trying to catch her eye. Being ignored, the old man withdrew on soft feet.
“Well?” Akiko demanded impatiently. “What happened? Don’t keep us in suspense, Akitada!”
“What? Oh. I told Kobe your sister’s story. Under the circumstances, only the truth would do. He expressed shock and sympathy. Since he did not question it, the rest was easy enough. I asked to be allowed to investigate the crime in order to clear Kojiro. He agreed, provided I work under him.” No point in going into the unpleasant details of the interview.
Tamako looked at him now and he knew that she understood his humiliation. He tried a reassuring smile, but she only bit her lip, glancing away again. His sisters received the information differently. Yoshiko’s face lit up with hope, and Akiko clapped her hands. “Wonderful!” she cried. “That should take care of the problem neatly. You will prove the fellow innocent, and everyone will forget Yoshiko was ever involved in the matter.”
“Thank you for your faith in me,” Akitada said dryly. “At the moment I am not nearly as sanguine as you are.” He glanced at Yoshiko. She had paled again, and her fingers resumed plucking and pleating her gown. “Well, Yoshiko?” he asked, hoping his voice was not as harsh as it seemed to him. “What have you decided to do?”
Without looking up, she said softly, “I shall wait.”
“For what?” Akiko demanded. “Put the fellow from your mind and go on with your life. If it were not for this stupid mourning period, Toshikage and I would soon have you in the right company to meet gentlemen.”
Though Akiko expressed Akitada’s views precisely, her tactlessness irritated him. He asked again, “Yoshiko?”
She raised tear-dulled eyes to his.
“Will you remain here, in your home, for the time being?”
“Of course she will,” Akiko cut in. “All this nonsense about leaving because she brought dishonor to you! How would it look, for heaven’s sake?”
Akitada and Yoshiko were still looking at each other. He saw the helpless tears gathering in her eyes and opened his mouth to reassure her, but it was too late. The tears spilled over. “I shall stay—as I stayed with Mother,” she said in a tone of utter hopelessness, half choking on the words, then jumped up and ran from the room. Tamako, with an inscrutable look at her husband, rose to follow.
“Now what?” said Akiko in an annoyed tone, staring after them. She started to get up also, clumsily, because of her pregnancy, and muttered, “Heavens! The stubbornness of that girl! She must be made to see reason!”
“No.” Akitada was up. “Don’t strain yourself. Stay here with your husband. You have done enough.” He headed out the door, pleased for a moment with the ambiguity of his words, but tension, and with it the throbbing behind his eyes, returned. He was not sure whether he was more frustrated by Yoshiko or her insensitive sister. At the moment he felt like blaming both for the strain between himself and his wife.
He heard Yoshiko before he reached her room. Her voice was desperate, high with passion, and carried quite clearly. “No! You are wrong!” she cried. “My brother has made up his mind against it. He’s the kind of person who despises men who are not as nobly born as he and thinks them no better than animals.”
Akitada stopped abruptly. His mind rebelled at her opinion of his character. He fought his anger. It was not true, of course. She did not know him, could not know how fond he was of Tora and Genba, neither of whom would dream of aspiring to marry his sister.
There was a pause, presumably for Tamako to respond, but she spoke so softly he could not hear her. Yoshiko cut back in with, “Honor? It is he who is dishonored by forcing me to break my word to Kojiro.”
Akitada bit his lip, then knocked.
Tamako opened, her eyes widening at the anger in his face. Akitada said stiffly, “Leave us alone.” Tamako flinched, then her eyes narrowed. She compressed her lips and left.
Yoshiko stood in the middle of her room, a very pleasant one as her brother saw, his glance sweeping over screens and painted clothes boxes, lacquered sewing kits and writing utensils, a bamboo shelf with narrative scrolls and collections of poems, and paper-covered doors to the outside. That she should be so unappreciative of the comforts provided for her angered him more. He glared at her flushed, tear-stained face and said coldly, “I shall not force you to remain under my roof against your will. However, in this matter both Toshikage and Akiko support me. I cannot imagine that your stay with them would be much more pleasant than putting up with me.”
Yoshiko stared at him. Slowly the tears started again. Her voice was unsteady. “I know.
Thank you, Akitada.”
He looked away and glanced around the room again, searching for words. He finally said stiffly, “It appears that I cannot make you see that I have only your best interests at heart, and this naturally pains me. But if you decide to remain, there will be a condition. I will not tolerate your putting your affairs between myself and Tamako. Do you understand!”
She gasped and made an imploring gesture with her hands. “I... I didn’t intend ... I am sorry.” Then she began to sob in earnest. Her words were so muffled that he could barely hear her. “I am sorry and shall obey you in the future.” She bowed, weeping silently. He could imagine what such a promise had cost her, and felt a little ashamed, sickened at having reduced his sister to this pitiful weeping thing—no matter that he had done so with words instead of blows; it had been just as effective.
He returned to his guests in a bitter mood. Toshikage was standing before the scroll of the boy and the puppies. He glanced at Akitada, but with great tact he did not ask about Yoshiko. Instead he said, “This is by Noami, Akiko says. What did you think of him?”
Covering his distress, Akitada became almost voluble. “A remarkable artist, but I did not like him. For one thing, he is insufferably rude. For another, there is something unpleasant about him. Did I tell you that he is painting a gruesome hell screen for the temple where Nagaoka’s wife was killed?”
“You don’t say! What a coincidence! Well, he is becoming very popular. I suppose his patrons think it’s artistic eccentricity. Will he paint a screen for you?”
Akitada wanted Tamako to have the finest screen in the capital, even if it meant paying an exorbitant amount to a man he instinctively detested, but he hesitated. “I don’t know. The thought of visiting his studio again appalls me. I am not superstitious, but I had the strangest sense of evil while I was there.”
Toshikage chuckled. “I have met him. He would make a fine demon, I think.”
Akiko yawned noisily and shivered. “How you men chatter! It is cold in here.”
Toshikage rushed to help his wife into her quilted jacket. “It is getting late and Akiko is worn out,” he said apologetically. “If things are settled, we will go home.”
Akiko was either too tired or had the good sense to say no more on the subject of Yoshiko’s lover. Leaning heavily on her husband’s arm, she waved a languid good-bye to her brother.
Akitada saw them off and then returned to his own room. The charcoal in the brazier had turned to ashes, and it was chilly. His head still ached, and he wondered if he was getting sick. He did not have the energy to call Seimei. Besides, the old man had been doing enough. Throwing an extra robe around his shoulders, he sat down behind his desk and tried to think. The meeting with his wife and sister had gone about as badly as he had feared. Although he considered his anger justified after Tamako had taken Yoshiko’s side against him, he dreaded facing her.
A scratching at the door interrupted his morose imaginings of what his wife would do or say to him after he had ordered her from his sister’s room.
“Come in,” he called, wishing whoever it was to the devil.
It was Yoshiko. She bowed very humbly. “Please forgive the interruption,” she said, creeping in on tentative feet, her voice toneless, her eyes lowered. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she raised her eyes to Akitada and burst into speech. “I regret deeply having caused trouble for you and Tamako. Thinking of you as only my elder brother, I am afraid I forgot my duty to you as the head of my family. Akiko and Tamako have both reminded me that since I am unmarried, my first allegiance must always be to my family. I promise to accept your decisions for my future and to remain here as long as it pleases you.” She took another deep breath and reached into her sleeve. With trembling fingers she extended a letter to him. “If you please, this is for Kojiro. You can read it. It explains why I cannot marry him. Will you give it to him?”
Akitada stared at the oblong of elegant paper as if it were red-hot. He had triumphed over her willfulness, had forced her to break her word to Kojiro, but victory tasted as bitter as the ashes in the cold brazier. Yet he could not reverse his judgment. The man in prison was simply not an acceptable husband for his sister. He hesitated so long that Yoshiko’s extended hand began to shake and the letter slipped from her fingers. He caught it before it fell and put it in his sleeve.
“Yes. Of course,” he said thickly. “I... I am very sorry, Yoshiko. He knows already, for I told him. I wish things were different. You must see—”
She bowed without a word and left his room.
Akitada took the letter from his sleeve. It was not sealed. The thin mulberry paper showed the brush strokes on the inside. Yoshiko’s brush strokes were elegant and fluid, the hand of a woman of grace and culture. How little he really knew about his sister! A memory came into his head, of how he had offered to help her marry the man her mother had rejected! A foolish promise made out of love for the little sister who had years earlier brought him and Tamako together. Sickened, he laid the letter on his desk and rose to pace the floor.
Suddenly the room felt too close. It seemed to be pressing in on him, worsening his headache. He opened the shutters and walked down into the garden. The snow had melted, and he could see the shapes of the fish moving sluggishly beneath the surface of the small pond. As he leaned down to scoop a handful of dead leaves from the surface, the carp rose to his hand. Sorry that he had no food for them, he let them probe his fingers with gentle inquisitive mouths. Their touch resembled caresses. Had his father ever stood like this, alone and alienated from those around him?
When he returned to his study, his head still aching, he found Tora and Genba waiting. Caught up in his private thoughts, he did not notice right away that they sat as far away from each other as possible.
“We came to report, sir,” announced Tora stiffly.
“Oh, yes, the actors. Did you find them?”
“Yes, sir,” they answered in unison. Genba added, “They use a riverside training hall to practice. I was lucky enough to meet the lady proprietor in one of the restaurants.”
Tora made an impolite noise. “Never mind that obnoxious moon cake of a female! She knows nothing, but one of Uemon’s girls has promised to meet me tonight.”Tora smiled, stroking his mustache. “I’ll try to get the goods on their lead actor Danjuro. He’s a very suspicious character.”
Akitada’s eyes had moved from one to the other, trying to make sense of their words. Slowly he realized that something was wrong. They pointedly avoided looking at each other. Tora and Genba had always been on the easiest, friendliest terms with each other. What could have happened? He saw Tora looking at him expectantly and tried to recall his words. “Er, what do you mean, ‘suspicious’?”
Tora gave a succinct account of events as they led up to and followed his clash with Danjuro, skipping only over his stick-fighting ordeal and the cuddle in the alley. “So you see,” he summed up, “they all turned into clams when I tried to ask questions. And all because he thought I was a constable. Which naturally made me think he’s got something to hide.”
Akitada stared at him. “He thought you were a constable? Whatever gave him that idea?”
Tora reddened. “Can’t imagine. Must’ve been something I said.”
“What?” Akitada persisted.
“Well, he was giving himself airs about being the great Danjuro and told me that I was some lowlife who had insulted his lady wife.”
Genba muttered, “Which naturally he had.”
“Shut up, you,” snarled Tora. “You weren’t there. You were too busy ogling that fat cow to keep your mind on work.”
Genba glared. “I found the place first. And I get results without getting into fights and quarrels and abusing every poor girl in sight.”
Akitada had enough. “Stop this ridiculous bickering this instant! You can settle your differences later. What facts have either of you found out that links these people to the murder of Mrs. Nagaoka?”
They shook
their heads.
“Nothing at all?”
“Well,” said Tora, “they were at the temple, and Danjuro is afraid of the police. Surely that—”
Akitada snapped, “You wasted my time for that? Actors do not have to be involved in a murder to fear the police.”
“Hah,” cried Tora triumphantly. “That’s exactly what I told the fellow! With my experience as an investigator, I told him, I know better than to believe actors and acrobats are law-abiding citizens. Nine out of ten times they’re nothing but thieves and harlots.”
Genba growled, “That’s a lie! And you’re a fool to give yourself away like that! Of course they wouldn’t talk to you after that. I’ve lived longer than you and met more entertainers. They don’t like the police because they’re harassed by them. Most of them are as decent as you and me. No, more decent than you, for most of them would never look down on a man just because he’s only a peasant or a sandal maker. Miss Plumblossom didn’t look down on you for being a deserter. She knew that the minute you opened your big mouth and told her you used to be a soldier like that fellow who sent you there. Only a low-class person mocks his fellow beings, and Miss Plumblossom is not a low-class person.”
