Death on an Autumn River sa-9

by I. J. Parker

  It had been a juvenile bit of humor, but to Akitada’s surprise, Sadenari had not even cracked a smile. He was subdued and silent. Akitada left him to his thoughts and looked around. Not all the guests were soberly dressed and quiet men, traveling on business and not for pleasure. There were also some of those who had clearly stopped in Eguchi for the courtesans and entertainers.

  The wine arrived and was excellent. The waiter’s hands trembled like Seimei’s as he poured, and Akitada felt a pang of guilt. Seimei had become very frail. Recently, he had expressed a wish to visit his home village and worship at the family shrine. It seemed that his old friend was preparing to join his ancestors. He could not rid himself of uneasiness.

  Sadenari broke into his thoughts. “You could have insisted on an investigation, sir,” he said, looking at him fixedly. It sounded like a reproof.

  “What?”

  “That warden. He’ll keep your gold and get rid of her body.”

  Akitada was irritated. “What is it to you?”

  “I bet she was murdered. It isn’t right. And you with your reputation for looking out for poor people.” Sadenari seemed clearly upset. He gulped his wine – his second or third cup?

  Before Akitada could respond, the waiter arrived with the food. The dishes looked and smelled appetizing. The octopus balls turned out to be fried rice cakes stuffed with octopus meat. Grilled eel and a stew of sea bream and vegetables made up the rest of the meal.

  When they were alone again, Akitada said mildly, “What makes you think she was murdered?”

  “She had a bruise, just here.” Sadenari touched his hand to the left side of his face. “I have good eyes. Someone killed her and then threw her into the water.”

  Akitada sighed. “The bruise, if it was a bruise, was very recent. Most likely it happened after she was in the river.” He sampled one of the octopus balls. “Or,” he said, “it was an accident. She fell overboard and hit her head. But you heard the boat’s master and the warden. The women who work in these river towns often end their miserable lives in the river. Now eat, before the food gets cold.” Akitada served himself some of the sea bream.

  “It may be as you say, but she didn’t look like a prostitute. She looked . . . innocent.”

  Akitada laughed. “Come on, Sadenari, not even you could have fallen in love with a drowned woman you’d never met.”

  The young man jumped up, knocking over his flask of wine. “Go ahead and have your little joke, sir. That girl was murdered, and nobody cares.” To Akitada’s embarrassment, the youngster’s voice broke. “I was so proud of serving under you, but you’re just like all the rest. You can’t be bothered with a poor young woman’s death, and you think I’m a fool.”

  It got quiet in the restaurant; eyes turned their way. The old waiter hobbled over with a cloth to mop up the wine.

  “Sit down, Sadenari,” said Akitada through clenched teeth. “You’re making a scene.” Louder, he added, “Come, let’s eat this excellent food and then get a good night’s rest. Tomorrow will be a busy day.”

  Sadenari looked around, flushed, and sat. The waiter cleaned up the wine and removed the empty flask. The other guests returned to their meals.

  Akitada said, “I apologize for what I said. It was unkind and uncalled for. I don’t think you a fool. In fact, it was perceptive of you to notice the bruise and to question the warden’s verdict. You may be right, but we can’t do anything about it.”

  Sadenari raised his head. There were tears of shame in his eyes, but his voice was steady again. “I don’t understand.”

  “I suppose I owe you an explanation.” Akitada lowered his voice. “You’ve been told that we’re taking documents from the ministry to the trade office in Naniwa. What you don’t know is that I’m seeking information concerning pirate attacks on private ships traveling between the Dazaifu and the capital. These ships carried priceless treasures in tribute gifts meant for the emperor. It may be that someone either in Naniwa or at the Dazaifu has been working with the pirates. Under the circumstances, we cannot get involved in local problems. It would attract undesirable attention.”

  Sadenari gaped. “You mean an official is involved? But that’s a crime against the emperor.” He brightened. “Oh, but it is exciting, sir! Thank you for bringing me along. I swear I’ll be the soul of discretion. Just call on me for anything. I don’t care how dangerous it is. I’d really like to get my hands on that traitor. And on those pirates, too.” He flexed his hands.

  “Thank you,” Akitada said dryly. “I know I can count on you, but you mustn’t tell anyone.”

  “Of course not. And I can see now our assignment is vastly more important than a case of drowning. I’ll be more circumspect in the future.”

  “Good. Now let’s eat.”

  Sadenari obeyed and Akitada had almost regained his good humor, when Sadenari remarked, “I really think I can be useful, sir. Please allow me to carry out the more dangerous parts of the investigation. I’ve had some training in wrestling and I’m very strong.”

  Akitada nearly choked on his last octopus ball. Clearly Sadenari thought him well past his prime. He swallowed, managed a “Thank you. I’ll keep it in mind,” and was preserved from further humiliations by a squabble breaking out in another part of the room.

  Two middle-aged men in the dark robes and hats of officials were on their feet. Both shouted and one of them, with a spreading stain on the front of his robe, had the old waiter by the throat.

  The owner of the restaurant rushed from the kitchen and tried to calm the officials while delivering kicks at the quailing waiter. Akitada felt sorry for the poor old man and instinctively disliked the officials. But the matter was settled quickly, and the owner bowed the irate guests out. The old waiter limped back to the kitchen, weeping.

  “I wish they hadn’t been so cruel,” said Sadenari, and Akitada forgave him his earlier remark.

  *

  For that night, they stayed in a small monastery on the outskirts of Eguchi, away from the noise and the temptations of its brothels. Akitada fell asleep immediately, dreaming of casting his line into the water from the veranda of his river pavilion and dragging out an enormous fish. The fish changed into the shape of a dead young girl who had the features of his little daughter.

  He came awake in a cold sweat and lay for a while looking up at the rafters. It had only been a nightmare, perhaps because he had been forced to ignore the case of the drowned girl. She had been so young, too young to end her life like that.

  Something else nagged at him: the incident in the restaurant. Something had been wrong. Those officials were not what they seemed to be. Even at that distance, their robes had looked worn and the colored rank ribbons on their hats had been for the third and fourth rank respectively, far too high in the hierarchy for ordinary officials going about their business in a place like Eguchi.

  He sat up and looked over to where Sadenari slept. His bedding seemed strangely flat in the dim moonlight that came through the shutters. Getting up, he went to check and found the quilts empty. Sadenari was gone, and he had taken his clothes, shoes, and money pouch with him.

  Chapter Two

  The Old Couple

  Akitada muttered under his breath as he dressed and gathered his belongings. He was very angry. Sadenari had managed to become a thorn in his side already.

  The trick of arranging his bedding so that it would look occupied was juvenile. Common sense dictated ignoring this ruse and, if he did not make an appearance soon, continuing the journey alone. After all, the youth was nineteen and should know how to take care of himself.

  On the other hand, he felt a responsibility for someone as naive about the world as Sadenari was, and besides, the young man’s father would hold him responsible if harm came to his child.

  Sadenari had probably slipped out to sample the harlots, or possibly he had followed up on his obsession with the drowned girl. Either way, there was little to be done about it.

  Akitada stepped
outside the monastery gate and looked down the road toward Eguchi. In the east, the darkness was lifting, but the town was still asleep. The lights in the brothels had dimmed, and paper lanterns swayed ghostlike in the breeze from the river. Akitada sniffed. He could smell the open sea. The air was fresher here than in the capital, which was enclosed by mountains and tended to have stagnant summer days.

  With an impatient sigh, he turned back into the monastery compound and sought out the dining hall for his breakfast. The monks had already been up for early morning lessons and now were chatting over their gruel. He ate what they ate, millet gruel with some vegetables added, and drank water. Two young monks sat near him, their shaved heads together, and whispered. He caught the word “drowned.”

  Belatedly, it occurred to Akitada that this must be the monastery in charge of the dead girl’s funeral, and that she must have been brought here already.

  When he asked the two monks, they flushed furiously. They were young and perhaps new to their vows, but it troubled him that, instead of sadness for a life lost so young, this death should cause prurient thoughts. Sadenari had also flushed because the nameless girl had aroused desire in him.

  After his breakfast, he sought out the abbot, introduced himself, and asked if the warden had paid for the funeral.

  “Oh, no,” the elderly abbot said quickly. “We don’t require payment. The poor young girl has no family and no money. But late last night a young woman from the town left some silver to have prayers read. They are very protective of each other.”

  Akitada did not mention the gold piece he had given the warden. Though he could not really afford it, he took out another one, saying, “Allow me to make a small contribution also.” He asked for the name of the other donor – hoping that the girl had had a family after all-but the abbot did not know.

  When he left the monastery, the sun was up, and still there was no sign of Sadenari.

  He walked the entire length of Eguchi, passing several drunks sleeping in doorways, but none was Sadenari. At the wharf, the boats swayed gently in the river current, making soft bumping sounds. Here, too, he saw no one. The deep blue of the sky promised another fine day. Until the body of the girl had been discovered, the river journey had been very pleasant. Akitada decided to continue the short distance to Naniwa by water. He looked at the sun. There was time for a stroll before the first boat would leave.

  Touching the drowned girl’s amulet in his sash, he felt obscurely guilty for abandoning her to a crooked warden and a quick cremation by the monks. She had been too young to be in this profession, perhaps as young as twelve or thirteen.

  It was a pity what happened to poor children-for the pleasure houses also provided boys to their customers. Their parents frequently were too poor to feed them. What a shocking life the dead girl must have found here. He thought of his little daughter and shuddered.

  He saw the first signs of life in the streets. A woman opened shutters on one of the houses, a drunk staggered homeward holding his head, and the owner of the restaurant where they had eaten the night before was shouting at two maids who swept last night’s dirt out into the street. Akitada remembered the old waiter.

  “Good morning,” he called out to the owner. “My clerk and I happened to eat here last night.” The man hurried over and bowed. “You had an unpleasant incident,” Akitada added.

  “My deepest apologies. I assure you, sir, that the worthless waiter has been dismissed. We take pride in giving only the best service.”

  “I watched the incident. Your waiter was most likely innocent. The two men who complained were not who they pretended to be. I suspect they created the incident to get a free meal.”

  To his surprise, the man nodded. “That is so, sir.”

  “You suspected them?”

  “It’s happened before. In my business you have to keep your eyes and ears open.”

  “But in that case, why blame the waiter?”

  “He was getting too old anyway. I lost the payment for two meals and wine, but my customers think I got rid of a careless waiter.”

  Outraged, Akitada snapped, “What you did was unjust and heartless. You should go and apologize to that old man and ask him to come back.”

  The restaurant owner started a laugh, turned it into a cough, and bowed. “Your pardon, sir, but my business waits.” He disappeared into his establishment.

  Akitada stared after him in helpless fury when one of the maids, an older woman sidled over with her broom and started sweeping. She murmured, “Fukuda lives behind the temple,” and moved away.

  Akitada bit his lip. Sadenari was still gone. Perhaps he should give him a bit more time and take the later boat. He walked to the small temple not far from the landing stage and found a narrow footpath leading through a bamboo grove. Within moments, the world became peaceful. A rabbit started and dove into the undergrowth, and very small birds fluttered up as he passed. The lush leaves above his head shut out the sky and were in a continuous rustling motion. From time to time, smaller footpaths crossed or led away from the one he was on until he feared he would become lost in this green world.

  But the stems of bamboo thinned abruptly, and he found himself at the edge of a garden filled with vegetables and melon plants. A tiny house stood under a wide catalpa tree beyond the neat woven fencing that protected the garden from wildlife. And there an old woman was feeding a small flock of chickens and ducks.

  He startled her when he called out, but she made him the most graceful bow. It would have done honor to an imperial princess, yet she was a frail white-haired creature, barefoot and in patched rags. For some obscure reason, he felt extremely flattered, and on his best behavior, he bowed also and said, “Please forgive me for startling you. I’m looking for a man called Fukuda. He is said to live nearby.”

  “He lives here, my Lord,” she said, her voice still strong and quite beautiful. “May I announce you?”

  Akitada glanced at the poor shack, the squawking fowl, the rows of vegetables. He felt silly, giving her his name as if he were calling on some great lord, but he did so anyway and watched her perform another flawless obeisance. She walked away from him as gracefully as a young woman, then ducked inside the hut.

  It came to him that she must have been one of the courtesans at one time, perhaps even the ranking beauty. Her hair, twisted up in back, was still thick and long, though white as snow, and the wrinkled face retained some former beauty. Only the most rigorous training could have produced such perfect manners and posture.

  She reappeared with two plain cushions. These she placed in the shade of the catalpa tree and invited him to sit. “It’s a pleasant morning,” she said. “Fukuda thought you would be more comfortable here than inside.”

  Akitada sat and smiled up at her. “An excellent idea.”

  “Please forgive this slow old woman,” she said and tripped off into the vegetable patch to select a ripe melon. This she cut up with a knife she carried tied to a string around her waist. She presented it to him on a large cabbage leaf.

  Akitada said, “Thank you. You take too much trouble. Please sit down and rest.”

  But Fukuda had appeared in the doorway of the hut. He was leaning on a stick and made his way painfully toward them. She went quickly to offer her arm for support and helped him down on the other cushion. Then she knelt behind him on the bare ground, much like a trained courtesan attending to her client.

  Fukuda had a black eye and angry bruises on his scrawny neck. He bowed deeply to Akitada. “You’re welcome here, sir. Please forgive this poor hospitality.” Turning to the woman, he asked, “Is there no wine, my dear?”

  Akitada said quickly, “Thank you, but it’s far too early for wine for me.” He reached for a slice of melon. “Your wife was kind enough to bring this fresh melon.” He took a bite. The fruit was sweet and fragrant, better than any he had ever tasted. “Wonderful!” he said.

  They smiled at him. Fukuda said, “Melons grow very well here. But Harima is not my wife,
though I ask her often enough.”

  She raised a hand to cover her face and protested, “It would not be proper. I used to be an entertainer.”

  Fukuda looked at her with loving pride. “Harima was elected choja two years in a row. She was the most desired woman in Eguchi. I don’t know why she puts up with a poor old stick like me.”

  She smiled and reached forward to touch his hand.

  Akitada was moved. They were clearly very much in love, even at their advanced ages. And though Fukuda was only a waiter, and she had somehow missed her chance for a good marriage or for the wealth leading courtesans accumulated from the generous gifts of past lovers, they considered themselves fortunate in each other’s affection.

  He recalled his purpose.

  “I was in the restaurant last night when you were treated so badly by your customers and your employer,” he said to Fukuda.

  Fukuda touched his swollen eye. “I should have been more careful,” he said.

  “I believe those two men created a scene to get a free meal.”

  Fukuda nodded. “Yes, I should have suspected as much and made it more difficult for them to cheat my employer. It was very good of you to come here to tell me, sir, but I knew quite well what was going on.”

  Harima interjected, “I think it was cruel and unjust of Master Wakita to dismiss you. And don’t tell me he didn’t give you that very nasty bruise on your leg.”

  Fukuda smiled a little. “She loves me,” he said apologetically. “It makes me sad.”

  Akitada reached for another slice of melon. “Why do you say that? It should make you happy.”

  The old man shook his head. “Look at me. I’m an ugly old man, and now I’ve become a burden to Harima. How shall we eat? I’ll die soon enough, but she? What will become of her?” He shuddered and put his head in his hands.

  She shuffled forward on her knees and put an arm around him. Looking at Akitada, she said, “I shall not let him die. He won’t get away so easily.” She shook the old man a little. “Do you hear, Fukuda? You’re not going to leave me.”