by I. J. Parker
"Good morning, uncle," Akitada called out to him.
The old man started and peered towards him uncertainly. After a moment, he bowed deeply, saying in a cracked voice, "Good morning, Your Honor. I'm afraid you have come at the wrong time. There's no one at home. The family lives in the country now."
The old-timer was bent with age, but strong and sturdy still, his sad face deeply tanned and wrinkled, like old wood cracked by time, his hair and beard nearly white. Akitada said, "My name is Sugawara and I come from the young lord, who is my pupil. He has expressed concern for his people, and so I thought to ask for news."
The old man's face broke into a smile of great sweetness. "The young lord?" he cried. "Oh, how is the young lord, sir?" Tears rose to his eyes and spilled over. "Oh, the sad change! Oh!" he murmured, shaking his head in sorrow.
"The boy is well enough, and a very good student. Come, let us sit down over there and talk. What is your name, by the way?"
"I'm Kinsue, Your Honor." The greybeard carefully leaned his bamboo rake against the trunk of the old tree and followed Akitada to the veranda steps. "The old woman and me, we stayed behind to take care of the place." He stopped uncertainly. "But won't you come inside?"
"No, no." Akitada sat down on a step. "It is a beautiful day and I would much rather be in the fresh air. Young Lord Minamoto is concerned about the well-being of his sister and of the servants. Can you tell me about them?"
Kinsue remained standing respectfully. "Not much, Your Honor," he said. "You see when I came back from the mountains, the wagons were all packed to go. The young lady and all the other servants left soon after. There was to be no mourning, because the master had been transported to Nirvana, you see. Lord Sakanoue said it was a matter for rejoicing." He looked down at his hempen outfit, traditionally worn by a dead man's servants, and brushed the fabric awkwardly. "It seemed disrespectful." Gazing across the courtyard, towards the tree, he wiped his eyes. "Forgive me, sir, but I'm an old man," he said brokenly, "and I cannot help weeping. To me it was dreadful, the day we lost our master. Lord Sakanoue took the young lord away and when he came back, he told me and my wife to stay behind. We were not wanted. He took the last wagon to the country himself."
"But he is back in the capital. Does he not reside here?"
"No. He went to see everyone settled and then came back alone. But he doesn't live here. There's talk of ghosts, you see. It's only me and the old woman who live here and look after the master's home." The old man sighed. "You can't blame Lord Sakanoue. The soothsayer warned us. He said evil would befall this house. But the master had him whipped from the gate. Now the master's dead and the halls are without life. Even this tree is dying. My wife and I, we say our prayers for the master's spirit every day. The forty-nine days will be up in another week. Maybe then he will have rest. May the Buddha grant it." He bowed his head and let the tears drip unchecked into the gravel.
Akitada did not know what to say in the face of such grief and superstition. His eyes went to the pile of yellow leaves under the tree. It was early summer still. Why was the tree losing its leaves? He looked up at the dense crown above. There was an astonishing number of yellowing leaves amongst the green. It must be the hot, dry weather. Soon the summer rains would come. Surely the old tree would recover then.
As if he had shared his thought, the old man before him began to talk again. "We try to keep his place the way he would like it," he said. "Every day I put fresh flowers in his room and offerings of fruit and rice. When I am there I talk to him a little. Nothing much. About the weather and what part of the house we are going to clean next. I shall tell him what you said about his grandson being such a fine scholar. He will be so pleased; he loved the young lord. He was a very good master." Again Kinsue brushed awkwardly at his wet face with a gnarled hand. "Would Your Honor like to see the master's room?" he asked timidly.
Akitada accepted and found that he had been sitting on the steps leading to the prince's pavilion. Kinsue climbed the steps and opened a finely carved door leading into a large, bright space divided by means of painted screens into three smaller areas. One of these, the old man explained, had been where the prince had slept. It was now bare of mats and bedding. A fine low writing desk and shelves with a few books occupied the next space. Here, in a niche with a hanging calligraphy scroll, Kinsue had placed his offerings: a sheaf of purple irises in a porcelain vase, and two bowls of food, one of oranges and another of rice. Set carefully beside these traditional offerings to buddhas and spirits of the dead were a pair of new straw sandals and a small pile of copper coins.
Looking searchingly at the old man, Akitada pointed to these and asked, "Do you not believe the story of the miracle? If your master is with the Buddha now, he will not need such things."
Kinsue shrunk into himself. "I don't know about such things," he muttered miserably. "Here it's like he speaks to me, and he's . . . not happy."
Akitada shivered involuntarily. The atmosphere in the room was certainly more intensely unsettling than it had been outside. "Did you say you went to the mountain temple with him that day?"
"Yes, Your Honor. I was his driver and I saw it all, everything that happened."
Akitada narrowed his eyes. "Everything? You saw your master get into the carriage here and you saw him get out at the Ninna temple?"
The old man nodded. "That I did. And he was a splendid sight in that fine purple robe. His train was so long it was dragging up the steps to the temple hall."
Akitada pursued that thought. "Did he have problems getting in and out of the carriage?"
Kinsue frowned. "The ox was acting up, and I wasn't looking, but I don't think so. My master was wonderfully well for a man of his age, almost like a young man sometimes. I remember thinking so when he ran up the steps to the temple. So eager to worship the Buddha!"
"Then he was in a good mood? Smiling, talking to his friends?"
"Oh no. They were with the horses both times. I was the only one there, holding the ox when he got in the carriage and again when he got out later."
Akitada sighed. It was becoming clear that the old man prided himself on his powers of observation and attention to his master, but had been prevented by his duties and the darkness from seeing everything that was going on. "And Lord Sakanoue? Did he ride with the prince in the carriage?"
"Oh, no. Lord Sakanoue rode a horse."
"In front of the carriage?"
Kinsue shook his head. "The ox is slow. Sometimes the gentlemen passed us, and sometimes they were behind. But I know that, coming back, he was out in front." He scratched his head and frowned, but said no more.
"I see." Akitada turned to look through the open doorway, picturing the nighttime bustle of departure, the carriage drawn up at the foot of the steps, the waiting riders. Again he had an eerie sense of something intangible, of an unseen presence listening, waiting. "How many went with the prince that night?" he asked.
The old man thought. "Let's see. There was me and Noro. Noro's the boy that rode on the ox. Then there was Lord Abe and General Soga, and Lord Yanagida and Lord Shinoda in front. Yes, that's all. The others had to stay to pack for the trip to the country."
Four witnesses besides the driver and the boy! Akitada shook his head and said, "It seems strange that your master should suddenly have decided to remove the whole family to the country on the very day of his annual visit to the Ninna temple."
Kinsue shook his head sadly. "Who can say? The soothsayer cursed us," he muttered. "It was an evil day when the master had him whipped from the gate. That's what I told my old woman, when there was the trouble with the young lady we weren't supposed to know about."
That confirmed the boy's account. Akitada returned to the events at the temple. "You say you saw everything that happened at the temple. Were you not tending to your ox?"
"No. That's what the boy was there for. I was sitting down by the wall, watching the gentlemen on the veranda and listening to the master praying."
"Are
you sure you could hear and see?" Akitada asked in disbelief. "It was surely dark, and you were across the courtyard if you were sitting by the wall."
"It's only a small courtyard, and the sky was getting light."
"Very well. Go on. Tell me everything you saw and heard from the moment you arrived."
Kinsue got a faraway look in his eyes. "After His Highness got out," he said, "I untied the ox and told Noro to take it to the next courtyard and feed it. Then I sat down to wait. His Highness had already gone in and I could hear him chanting. The gentlemen were sitting on the veranda outside the door. After a time the sun started coming up over the mountain. Then the monks rang the great bell of the temple, and the master stopped chanting. Lord Sakanoue got up and walked to the balustrade to tell me to bring the ox, which I did. I remember Noro and I were talking about being back in town in time for a good breakfast. We hitched the ox to the carriage, and then we all waited. The gentlemen were still standing on the veranda. They were talking, but I couldn't hear what they said. Some of them came down to get their horses. Then Lord Sakanoue went to the door and knocked, crying, 'Your Highness! Everything is ready!' But my master did not come out. One of the gentlemen and Lord Sakanoue talked and then they went in. Me and Noro stood staring up, wondering what was wrong. The other gentlemen came to look, too. Then Lord Sakanoue came back out, and he was carrying the master's purple robe and he was weeping. He said the master was gone."
The old man let his head drop to his chest and he wiped his eyes again. "I never saw my master again," he muttered. "The monks came then, and the abbot, and they all searched and searched. Then they brought an exorcist and a medium. The medium went inside and when she came out, she said that the master had been reborn in paradise because of his devotion in reading the sutra and in wishing to be with his son. I suppose it must be so." Kinsue stopped, exhausted.
Akitada gave him time to recover. Then he said, "You must have wondered what happened. Did you not think your master might have just walked away? Or that someone might have abducted him or even killed him and hidden his body?"
Kinsue shook his head. "It was impossible," he said stubbornly. "I watched. The gentlemen watched. Lord Sakanoue made all of us come up and see that there was no one in the hall, and there was no way the master could have left. It must have been as the medium said."
"Kinsue," cried a faint, quavering voice outside. The interruption was so startling that both men jumped a little.
"My wife," explained Kinsue.
"I would like to meet her."
Akitada followed Kinsue out. Under the paulownia tree stood a short, fat old woman who was staring at the rake and the pile of leaves as if her husband might suddenly materialize. When Kinsue called out to her, her face lit up until she saw Akitada. Her husband made the introductions. Getting awkwardly down on her knees, she bowed rapidly several times.
Akitada said, "Please get up. I wondered if you might have some message for Sadamu from his sister. He is worried."
The old woman began to cry. "Oh, my poor little lady," she sobbed. "All alone now. May Amida protect her!" She fell to praying, eyes closed and lips moving soundlessly.
"Hush, old woman!" cried her husband, scandalized. "Do you want to frighten the young lord?" He turned to Akitada to explain. "My wife took the young lady her morning rice before she left for the country. The young lady's maids were busy loading the carts, and so she was allowed into the young lady's quarters. The young lady was weeping terribly, but it was a bad time, what with the sad news. I am sure the young lady is quite well by now. Being married to Lord Sakanoue, she is now number one lady of the household. That is something, isn't it, when she is but fifteen years old?"
Fifteen? She was a mere child then. "Was there really a marriage?" asked Akitada, looking at Kinsue's wife. She nodded, her eyes unhappy.
"But I thought Prince Yoakira had refused to give his consent," Akitada said.
The two old people looked at each other, puzzled. "But they must be married," said the old woman. "His lordship spent the night with her three nights running, and I baked the wedding dumplings myself on the third day." Her face crumpled again. "It was the day before the master went away to heaven."
Kinsue shook his head in wonder. "What a day! So many things happening!"
"Yes," said Akitada. "It must have been. Thank you both. I shall tell Lord Minamoto what you said."
The old woman scrambled up to whisper something in her husband's ear, then wobbled off at a half-run. Kinsue said, "My wife went to fetch something for the young lord."
Akitada nodded and turned to look up at the prince's quarters. Here the quarrel had taken place after Yoakira had discovered to his shock that his granddaughter had, willingly or otherwise, become Sakanoue's wife. No wonder he had been furious! What had passed between the old nobleman and his new grandson-in-law? Had he acknowledged the marriage, or refused to countenance it? Akitada thought he knew the answer to that. It was the motive for the murder of the prince. Poor children, both at the mercy of an unscrupulous man. He tried to imagine what the girl must have felt, must be feeling now.
Lost in thought, he walked up the steps again and stood in the doorway looking in. It must be a marriage as empty and desolate as this room. He thought of his parents, their formality with each other, the absence of any signs of fondness, of physical familiarity. But his mother had always been a strong character, well able to cope with an autocratic husband. Was this what had frightened Tamako? Had she been afraid that he would be a distant husband, leaving her to the cold demands of her mother-in-law? He sighed unhappily. That mystery would never be solved, but the strange disappearance of the man who used to occupy these rooms would be, if he could help it.
As he thought this, Akitada felt his hair bristle. It was as if something spoke to him with a terrible urgency.
He looked around. Not so much as a clothes chest remained, only the outline where one had stood, obliquely, near the door. Packed and ready for transport to the country? Why had they removed the prince's things? he wondered. He had been gone by then and would hardly need his clothes.
Someone had inexpertly scoured the wooden floor after the chest had been removed. The marks had dulled the deep gloss of the floor-boards. Kinsue, no doubt, in his fervent desire to keep the master's room spotless.
The calligraphy scroll caught Akitada's eye. Idly, he deciphered the Chinese ideograms, feeling strangely as if he were hearing the words in his head. "Seek the truth and thou shalt find it! Neglect the truth and it shall be lost forever! The seeking is within thy power, but the finding is in the hands of heaven. Thou must search the truth within, for thou shalt not find it without." The words were attributed to Meng Tse.
With a sigh Akitada turned away and went out into the courtyard. Kinsue and his wife awaited him.
"Tell me," he asked them, "what has become of the prince's clothes and other things?"
"Oh, they've been taken to the country," the old man said. "Lord Sakanoue took them himself in the last cart."
"I see. Well, I see your wife has returned, and I must be on my way. Thank you for telling me your story. Lord Minamoto will be glad to know that you and your wife are taking such good care of his home and are thinking of him."
Kinsue's wife shuffled up. With a toothless smile splitting a round face that resembled a dried yam, she bowed and extended the small box tied with a bit of hempen string towards Akitada.
"It's sweet dumplings," Kinsue explained for her. "The young lord is partial to them."
"Thank you," said Akitada, accepting the parcel, "and thank you also for your explanations. Should either of you remember anything else, even if it seems unimportant, send for me. It may help the young lord to understand."
Kinsue nodded. "There's nothing else, sir," he said, "except the horse, but how can that matter?"
"Horse?"
"Lord Sakanoue's horse, the one he took to the mountains. It wasn't his and it wasn't one of ours. I know all of our animals, sir."
Sixteen
Roasted Walnuts
In spite of the brutal murder of its most famous scholar, the university was open as usual. Akitada arrived just in time for his first class. He was relieved, because that meant that he need not exchange pleasantries with Hirata. Their relationship had become unbearably strained, not only because Akitada still resented the way Hirata had trapped him into a marriage proposal— one which had turned out to be unwelcome to Tamako— but also because even the briefest encounter with the father reminded Akitada painfully of the daughter. Striding quickly through the main hall, he went directly to his own classroom.
His students sat waiting, their faces turned eagerly towards the door as he entered, their smiles welcoming him before the fifteen blue-robed backs and the fifteen black-capped heads bowed low before their master. His heart warmed with gratitude. He considered for the first time that a teacher had a blessed life. Encouraged by his reception, he spent the morning expounding the laws governing provincial administrations and was pleased with their patience.
In fact, Mr. Ushimatsu, the middle-aged student, outdid himself, having not only memorized the names of all the provinces, but volunteering to point them out on the map. He also supplied fairly accurate information about crops, industries, towns and temples, until even his peers looked impressed. When Akitada praised him, Ushimatsu's eyes sparkled with pleasure. He murmured shyly that he dreamed of being sent to one of the provinces as a recorder or junior clerk on the staff of one of the governors. Therefore he had thought it wise to prepare himself by studying all the possible assignments ahead of time.
One of the young nobles snorted. "You want to leave the capital for some godforsaken place?" he cried. "And as a mere clerk? I have more ambition than that, I hope. Why bother to attend the university if that is all you want, Ushimatsu?" A chorus of supporters joined him, and it looked for a moment as though poor Ushimatsu would once again be cowed by his sneering comrades.
