Laura Joh Rowland - Sano Ichiro 06 - Black Lotus

by Black Lotus(lit)

  "I like taking care of the children in the orphanage," Haru said softly. "Children are so sweet."

  "Yes, I know," Reiko said. "I have a little boy."

  "The nuns and priests are so kind," Haru said, "especially High Priest Anraku. He took me in when I was lost and alone. He gave me hope for the future." Faith shone in Haru's eyes. "He brought joy and meaning to my miserable life."

  New sects attracted members by dispensing charity and spiritual guidance to impoverished or otherwise troubled citizens, Reiko knew. The novelty of new rituals, conducted by charismatic priests eager to gain a following, could bring these sects a wild popularity that faded when a different sect caught the public fancy. However, the minor Black Lotus sect, established nine years ago, had an unusually wide appeal. Many Edo Castle servants had joined, but the Black Lotus also boasted followers among merchants, bakufu officials, daimyo clans, and numerous samurai women of Reiko's acquaintance. Reiko, whose family belonged to the main temple of Zojo, shared the prevailing view of upstart sects as diversions that posed little threat to society, because even if they exploited human weakness for material gain, their subjects received benefits in return, as Haru had.

  "Anraku is the Bodhisattva of Infinite Power," Haru said reverently. A bodhisattva was a holy man who possessed the wisdom necessary to attain nirvana, but instead devoted himself to helping other people achieve spiritual enlightenment and release from suffering. Some religious leaders earned the title through doing good works or performing miracles; others merely proclaimed themselves bodhisattvas to attract followers. Reiko wondered which type the Black Lotus high priest was.

  Now sadness veiled Haru's pretty features, and she clasped her arms around herself. "Anraku and the Black Lotus are the only family I have, now that my parents are gone," she said.

  Even as Reiko experienced a pang of sympathy for the girl, her instincts quickened. "Would you like to tell me about your parents?" Reiko said gently. Perhaps one confidence would lead to others more relevant to the investigation.

  Eagerness and worry mingled in Haru's expression. She gazed out the window. Below the convent, an old nun led a group of novices along a path. The novices giggled as one by one they scampered ahead of their elder while she remained serenely oblivious. Haru said, "Oh, but I couldn't impose on you."

  "I want to hear," Reiko coaxed.

  Haru bit her lip, then nodded and spoke in a voice soft with nostalgia: "My father owned a noodle shop in Kojimachi, near Yamasakana." This was a popular restaurant. "I was an only child. My mother and I helped my father cook and serve the food. We lived in rooms behind the shop. We worked very hard, and we never had much money, but we were happy. My future prospects were good. Someday, after I married, my husband and I would inherit the shop. But then..." Haru's voice broke. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

  "That's all right," Reiko soothed.

  Blinking away tears, Haru continued, "My parents took ill with a fever. There was no money for a doctor, or medicine. I nursed them as best I could, but they died. The day after the funeral, a moneylender seized the shop as payment for my father's debts. My home was gone. I was old enough to marry, but no one wants a bride without a dowry. I had no relatives to take care of me." Sobs wracked Haru's body. "I was so alone, so scared. I didn't know what to do or where to turn."

  Overcome with pity, Reiko murmured, "Shh, it's all right," as she did when comforting Masahiro. Haru seemed a mere child, arousing Reiko's maternal instincts and her outrage against a cruel world. The girl's woeful story made her ashamed of her own good fortune. At the same time Reiko felt a glow of achievement because Haru trusted her enough to confide in her. "Don't cry. You're safe now."

  "But I'm not!" The impassioned exclamation burst from Haru as she wept. "When the Black Lotus Temple took me in, I thought my problems were solved. I was going to be a nun someday and have a home forever." In Buddhist nunneries and monasteries, the faithful enjoyed freedom from worldly concerns and pursued spiritual enlightenment while supported by alms from the lay community. "Now I've been taken away from the people I love. I'm all alone again."

  "Because of what happened at the temple yesterday?" Reiko said, circumspectly referring to the fire to avoid frightening Haru back into silence.

  The girl nodded. "I'm so afraid that everyone thinks I set the fire and killed those people. My friends will turn against me. I'll be expelled from the Black Lotus. The police will arrest me. I'll be tied to a stake and burned to death!"

  This was the penalty for arson, whether or not anyone died as a result. Even a small fire could spread, destroy the entire city, and take thousands of lives, as the Great Fire of Meireki had thirty-five years ago; therefore, the bakufu harshly punished arsonists. Fear for Haru overshadowed Reiko's triumph at getting her to talk about the fire. So far, Haru was the only suspect and thus an easy target for public outrage and official censure, whether she was guilty or innocent. Reiko experienced an increasing urgency to determine what had happened and perhaps prevent a terrible injustice. She didn't want to break her tenuous rapport with Haru, but she needed to establish one fact before proceeding.

  "Did you set the fire?" Reiko asked.

  Haru stared at her, aghast. "I would never do such an awful thing."

  Tears streamed from her eyes onto her trembling mouth. "I could never hurt anybody."

  Sincerity echoed in the girl's voice, but Reiko cautioned herself against premature belief. "I'm sorry to upset you by asking that," she said, "but you can see why people might be suspicious, can't you? After all, you wouldn't talk when you were questioned about the fire yesterday. Why is that?"

  "I could tell that those detectives didn't like me, that they thought I'd done something wrong. And the nuns and priests acted as if they didn't trust me anymore. I knew nobody would believe anything I said." The words tumbled from Haru in an agitated rush, and she began to breathe in rapid wheezes. Rising, she backed away from Reiko, leveling upon her a wounded gaze. "You say you want to be my friend, but you don't believe me either!"

  "I didn't say that," Reiko protested. "I just want to understand-"

  The girl fell to the floor, sobbing with hysterical abandon. "There's no one to help me. I'm going to die!"

  Watching, Reiko experienced the unease of contradictory feelings. Criminals often claimed to be innocent and put on convincing acts to gain credibility, but a person wrongly suspected would also behave as Haru did.

  "If you're innocent, then you have nothing to fear." Reiko moved over to kneel beside Haru, patting her back until the weeping subsided, then said, "I want to tell you a story." Although Haru lay curled on her side, her face hidden by her hair, alertness stilled her. "When I was very young, I loved legends about samurai heroes," Reiko said. "I often imagined myself as one of them, riding into battle with my armor and swords. But my favorite daydreams were about protecting peasants from marauding bandits and defeating evil villains in duels." Reiko smiled, recalling her childhood fantasies. "My father is Magistrate Ueda, and I used to listen to trials in his court. I convinced him that some of the people accused of crimes were really innocent. I saved them from jail, beatings, exile, or death. Since I married the sosakan-sama, I've worked with him to avenge innocent victims. The great joy of my life is righting wrongs and helping people-especially women."

  She didn't mention that she'd also helped her father extract confessions from criminals and Sano to deliver the guilty to justice. Instead Reiko said, "I'd really like to help you, Haru-san. But first you must tell me everything you know about the fire."

  For a long moment Haru lay motionless, sniffling. Then she sat up and lifted a blotchy, tearstained face to Reiko. A gleam of hope brightened her eyes; doubt furrowed her brow. Shaking her head, she whispered, "But I don't know anything. I can't remember."

  Reiko knew that criminals sometimes tried to hide their guilt behind pleas of ignorance and lost memory, but she concealed her instinctive skepticism. "How can that be? You were at scene while the house burned. At
least you can tell me what you were doing there."

  "But I can't." Fresh panic infused Haru's voice, and her face crumpled, as though she might burst into tears again. "The night before the fire, I went to bed in the orphanage dormitory, as usual. The next thing I knew, it was morning, and I was outside the burning cottage. I don't know how I got there."

  The story sounded outlandish to Reiko, but she withheld objection for the moment. "Did you see anyone around the cottage before the fire brigade came?" she asked.

  Haru frowned, pressing both palms against her temples in an apparent effort to recall. "No."

  "Concentrate on the night before. Try to remember waking up, and if you saw or heard anything unusual."

  A dazed look misted Haru's gaze. "Sometimes I think I remember things. A light. Noises. Struggling. Being afraid... But maybe I was dreaming." Then Haru's eyes focused and widened. She exclaimed, "Maybe the person who set the fire brought me to the cottage so everyone would think I did it!"

  Reiko's skepticism increased: Criminals often swore they'd been framed. "Who would do that to you?"

  The girl said sadly, "I don't know. I love everyone at the temple, and I thought they loved me, too."

  That she didn't try to divert suspicion by incriminating someone else argued in favor of Haru's innocence, Reiko noted. "Did you know Police Commander Oyama? Or the woman and child who died in the fire?"

  Lips pursed, Haru shook her head. Then she suggested, "Maybe someone from outside the temple burned down the cottage."

  Criminals often blamed mysterious strangers for their deeds, too. Reiko contemplated Haru with growing distrust. She wanted to believe the girl, but many signs pointed toward her guilt.

  Haru must have perceived Reiko's doubts, because her posture slumped and she bowed her head. "I knew you wouldn't believe me. But I really can't remember anything... except that someone hurt me that night."

  "Hurt you?" Startled, Reiko said, "How do you mean?"

  Haru took off her socks, stood, and lifted the skirt of her kimono. She turned, anxiously watching Reiko over her shoulder as she displayed raw scrapes on her heels and calves.

  Although Reiko winced inwardly, she tried to maintain her objectivity. "That could have happened when you were trying to get away from the fire brigade."

  "But there's more. See?" Facing Reiko, the girl tugged open the neckline of her kimono. Fresh, dark bruises smudged the flesh around the base of her throat. "And look!"

  Quickly Haru untied her sash, shed her garments, and stood naked. More bruises, large and small, in shades of reddish purple, discolored her thighs, upper arms, and chest. "They weren't there when I went to bed. I don't know how I got them."

  Reiko stared in horror. At the same time she noticed that despite her slender build and childish manner, Haru had the body of a woman. Her breasts were round and full, her armpits and pubic mound covered with coarse hair. This incongruity reminded Reiko of the danger of making assumptions based on initial appearances, but a new scenario occupied her mind.

  "And my head hurts," Haru said, kneeling and parting her hair to show Reiko a red lump on the back of her scalp.

  Perhaps the arsonist had abducted Haru from the orphanage, beaten her, and dragged her across the temple grounds-which would account for the scrapes and bruises-and put her in the cottage. Then Haru had somehow managed to escape the burning building, Reiko theorized. The head wound could explain her memory loss. Reiko's doubts began to crumble. Maybe Haru hadn't set the fire. Her injuries were evidence that she could have been an intended victim of it.

  Haru wrapped herself in her kimono. She huddled on the floor, fretting, "I'm so afraid someone will hurt me again. I'm so afraid of dying!"

  Her plight moved Reiko to tears. Unless facts later proved that Haru was guilty, Reiko must give her the benefit of the doubt. Impulsively, Reiko embraced Haru.

  "You're not going to die, if I can prove that you're innocent and find the real arsonist," Reiko said.

  3

  Honor and uphold the correct Law,

  Seek universal knowledge,

  Behave with perfect clarity of conduct.

  -FROM THE BLACK LOTUS SUTRA

  Edo Jail loomed above a filthy canal amid the slums of Kodemmacho, in the northeast sector of the Nihonbashi merchant district. Watchtowers topped its crumbling stone walls. Inside, dilapidated offices and barracks surrounded the fortified dungeon where jailers tortured confessions out of prisoners and criminals awaited execution. The morgue received the bodies of citizens who perished in natural disasters or from unnatural causes. Yet hidden within this realm of death, a small green oasis flourished. In a fenced courtyard, a garden grew in neat rows marked by bamboo stakes; butterflies and bees flitted. Here Sano found his friend Dr. Ito tending his medicinal herbs. Sano walked along the garden's border, enjoying its fresh aromas. He could almost imagine himself in the countryside, rather than in a place shunned by society.

  "Good morning, Ito-san," he said, bowing.

  A tall, thin man in his seventies, Dr. Ito bowed and smiled. His short white hair gleamed in the sunlight; perspiration filmed his lined, ascetic face. "Welcome, Sano-san. I have been awaiting your arrival."

  Dr. Ito, once a respected physician to the imperial family, had been caught practicing forbidden foreign science, which he'd learned through illicit channels from Dutch traders. Usually the Tokugawa punished scholars of Dutch learning with exile, but the bakufu instead condemned Dr. Ito to permanent custodianship of Edo Morgue. There he continued his scientific experiments, ignored by the authorities. He also administered medical treatment to the staff and prisoners, and his expertise had often benefited Sano's investigations.

  Wiping his hands on his dark blue coat, Dr. Ito rose with the stiff movements of old age. "How is Masahiro-chan?"

  "Many thanks for inquiring about my miserable, inferior child," Sano said, observing the polite custom of deprecating one's offspring. "His size, his voice, and his demands grow daily."

  A twinkle in Dr. Ito's shrewd eyes acknowledged the paternal pride behind Sano's modesty. "I am glad to hear that. And I hope the Honorable Lady Reiko is well?"

  "She is," Sano said, but the mention of Reiko unsettled his thoughts.

  During the trip from Edo Castle, he'd begun to have misgivings about asking her to help with the investigation. Might her over eagerness frighten Haru and ruin their chances of getting the truth from this important witness and possible suspect? Sano valued Reiko's excellent intuition, but he needed an impartial judge to question Haru, and he belatedly understood how Reiko's personal biases might interfere with her objectivity. Sano wished he'd asked Reiko to wait until they could go to Zojo Temple together, so he could listen in on the interview with Haru. Although Reiko had never yet failed him, he feared what might happen with this investigation.

  Dr. Ito said, "Is something wrong, Sano-san?"

  "No, nothing," Sano said, not wanting to burden his friend with his troubles. He turned the conversation to the purpose of his visit. "Have you received the bodies from the fire at the Black Lotus Temple yet?"

  Dr. Ito's expression turned serious. "Yes. And I regret to say that my examination has revealed some discoveries that may complicate your work."

  He led Sano to the morgue, a low building with peeling plaster walls and an unkempt thatched roof. Inside, a single large room held stone troughs used for washing the dead, cabinets containing tools, and a podium heaped with books and papers. Dr. Ito's assistant Mura, a man in his fifties with gray hair and a square, intelligent face, was cleaning knives. He bowed to Sano and his master. Three waist-high tables each held a human figure covered with a white shroud. Dr. Ito walked to the largest body.

  "Commander Oyama," he said, then beckoned his assistant.

  Mura stepped forward. He was an eta, one of the outcast class that staffed the jail as wardens, torturers, corpse handlers, and executioners. The eta's hereditary link with death-related occupations such as butchering and leather tanning rendered th
em spiritually contaminated and barred them from contact with other citizens. Mura, who performed all the physical work associated with Dr. Ito's studies, removed the shroud from Police Commander Oyama.

  Although Sano had learned to control his aversion to the dead during past examinations, he felt a sense of pollution as he beheld the pale, naked corpse with its thick torso and limbs. Oyama's glazed eyes and gaping mouth gave him an imbecilic expression that belied the wits of a man recently responsible for enforcing the law in a city of one million people.

  "Turn him over, Mura," said Dr. Ito.

  The eta complied. Dr. Ito pointed to the back of Oyama's head. The hair had been shaved away, revealing a hollow in the scalp behind the left ear, with reddened, broken flesh in the center. "A blow cracked his skull," Dr. Ito said.

  Because the examination of corpses and any other procedures that smacked of foreign science were illegal, Sano had forgone a detailed scrutiny of Oyama while at the Black Lotus Temple; he'd looked just long enough to identify the commander's face and hadn't noticed the injury. Now he said, "Could it have happened after Oyama died?"