The Concubine's Tattoo

by Laura Joh Rowland

  “Father, I’m educated, I can fight, I can take care of myself,” Reiko protested, though she knew he spoke the truth. Women did not hold government posts, run businesses, or work as anything other than servants, farm laborers, nuns, or prostitutes. These options repelled Reiko, as did the prospect of living on the charity of relatives. She bowed her head, acknowledging defeat.

  “We’ve received a new marriage proposal,” Magistrate Ueda said, “and please don’t ruin the negotiations, because we may never get another. It’s from Sano Ichiro, the shogun’s most honorable investigator.”

  Reiko’s head snapped up. She knew of Sōsakan Sano, as did everyone in Edo. She had heard rumors of Sano’s courage, and a great but secret service he’d performed for the shogun. Her interest stirred. Wanting to see this famous wonder, she consented to the miai.

  And Sano didn’t disappoint her. As she and Magistrate Ueda strolled the grounds of Kannei Temple with the go-between, Sano, and his mother, Reiko eyed Sano covertly. Tall and strong, with a proud, noble bearing, he was younger than any of her other suitors, and by far the handsomest. As formal custom dictated, they didn’t speak directly to each other, but intelligence shone in his eyes, echoed in his voice. Best of all, Reiko knew he was leading the hunt for the Bundori Killer, whose grisly murders had plunged Edo into terror. He wasn’t a lazy drunk who neglected duty for the revels of Yoshiwara. He delivered dangerous killers to justice. To Reiko, he seemed the embodiment of the warrior heroes she’d worshipped since childhood. She had a chance to share his exciting life. And when she looked at Sano, an unfamiliar, pleasurable warmth spread through her body. Marriage suddenly didn’t look so bad. As soon as they got home, Reiko told Magistrate Ueda to accept the proposal.

  When the wedding date was set, however, Reiko’s doubts about marriage resurfaced. Her female relatives counseled her to obey and serve her husband; the gifts—kitchen utensils, sewing supplies, home furnishings—symbolized the domestic role she must assume. Her books and swords remained at the Ueda mansion. Hope had flared briefly at the wedding, inspired by the sight of Sano, as handsome as she remembered; but now Reiko feared that her life would be no different from any other married woman’s. Her husband was out on an important adventure; she was home. She had no reason to believe that his treatment of her would be different from any other man’s. Panic squeezed her lungs.

  What had she done? Was it too late to escape?

  O-sugi fetched a tray, which she set upon Reiko’s dressing table. Reiko saw the short bamboo brush, mirror, and ceramic basin; the two matching bowls, one containing water, the other a dark liquid. Her heart contracted.

  “No!”

  O-sugi sighed. “Reiko-chan, you know you must dye your teeth black. It’s the custom for a married woman, proof of her fidelity to her husband. Now come.” Gently but firmly she seated Reiko before the table. “The sooner over with, the better.”

  With leaden reluctance, Reiko dipped the brush in the bowl and opened her mouth in an exaggerated grimace. When she painted the first stroke across her upper teeth, some of the black dye dripped onto her tongue. Her throat spasmed; saliva gushed into her mouth. The dye, composed of ink, iron filings, and plant extracts, was terribly bitter.

  “Ugh!” Reiko spat into the basin. “How can anyone stand this?”

  “They all do, and so will you. Twice a month, to maintain the color. Now continue, and be careful not to stain your lips or your kimono.”

  Wincing and gagging, Reiko applied layer after layer of dye to her teeth. Finally she rinsed, spat, then held the mirror before her face. She viewed her reflection with dismay. The dead, black teeth contrasted sharply with the white face powder and red lip rouge, highlighting her skin’s every imperfection. With the tip of her tongue, Reiko touched her chipped incisor, a habit in times of strong emotion. At age twenty, she looked ancient—and ugly. Her days of study and martial arts practice were over; hope of romance withered. How could her husband want her for anything besides obedient servitude now?

  Reiko choked down a sob, and saw O-sugi regarding her with sympathy. O-sugi had been married at fourteen to a middle-aged Nüionbashi shopkeeper who’d beaten her daily, until the neighbors complained that her cries disturbed them. The case had come before Magistrate Ueda, who sentenced the shopkeeper to a beating, granted O-sugi a divorce, and hired her as nurse to his infant daughter. O-sugi was the only mother Reiko had ever known. Now the bond between them strengthened with the poignant similarity in their situations: one rich, one poor, yet both prisoners of society, their fate dependent upon men.

  O-sugi embraced Reiko, saying sadly, “My poor young lady. Life will be easier if you just accept it.” Then, in an effort to be cheerful, “After all this wedding excitement, you must be starving. How about some tea and buns—the pink kind, with sweet chestnut paste inside?” This was Reiko’s favorite treat. “I’ll bring them right away.”

  The nurse limped out of the room: Her brutal husband had permanently crippled her left leg. Seeing this ignited angry determination inside Reiko. Then and there she refused to let marriage cripple her own body, or mind. She would not be imprisoned inside this house, talents and ambitions wasted. She would live!

  Reiko rose and fetched a cloak from the wardrobe. Then she hurried to the front door, where Sano’s staff was unloading the wedding gifts.

  “How may I serve you, Honorable Madam?” asked the chief manservant.

  “I don’t need anything,” Reiko said. “I’m going out.”

  The servant said haughtily, “A lady cannot just walk out of the castle alone. It’s against the law.”

  He arranged an escort of maids and soldiers. He summoned a palanquin and six bearers and installed her inside the ornate, cushioned sedan chair. He gave the escort commander the official document that allowed Reiko passage in and out of the castle, then asked her, “Where shall I tell the Sōsakan-sama you’ve gone?”

  Reiko was appalled. What could she do while hampered by a sixteen-person entourage that would undoubtedly report her every move to Sano and everyone else at Edo Castle? “To visit my father,” she said, accepting defeat.

  Trapped in the palanquin, she rode through the castle’s winding stone passages, past guard towers and patrolling soldiers. The escort commander presented her pass at the security checkpoints; soldiers opened gates and let the procession continue downhill. Mounted samurai cantered past. Windows in the covered corridors that topped the walls offered brief glimpses of Edo’s rooftops, spread out on the plain below, and the fiery red-and-gold autumn foliage along the Sumida River. Against the distant western sky, Mount Fuji’s ethereal white peak soared. Reiko saw it all through the small, narrow window of the palanquin. She sighed.

  However, once outside the castle’s main gate and past the great walled estates of the daimyo, Reiko’s spirits rose. Here, in the administrative district, located in Hibiya, south of Edo Castle, the city’s high officials lived and worked in office-mansions. Here Reiko had enjoyed the childhood whose end she now regretted so keenly. But perhaps it wasn’t entirely lost.

  At Magistrate Ueda’s estate, she alit from the palanquin. Leaving her entourage outside the wall among the strolling dignitaries and hurrying clerics, she approached the sentries stationed at the gate’s roofed portals.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Reiko,” they greeted her.

  “Is my father home?” she asked.

  “Yes, but he’s hearing a case.”

  Reiko wasn’t surprised that the conscientious magistrate had returned to work when the wedding banquet was canceled. In the courtyard she wove through a crowd of townspeople, police, and prisoners awaiting the magistrate’s attention, into the low, half-timbered building. She slipped past the administrative offices and shut herself up inside a chamber adjacent to the Court of Justice.

  The room, once a closet, was barely big enough to hold its one tatami mat. With no windows, it was dim and stuffy, yet Reiko had spent some of her happiest hours here. One wall was made of woven lattic
e. Through the chinks, Reiko had a perfect view of the court. On the other side of the wall her father occupied the dais, wearing black judicial robes, his back to her, flanked by secretaries. Lanterns lit the long hall, where the defendant, his hands tied behind him, knelt on the shirasu, an area of floor directly before the dais, covered with white sand, symbol of truth. Police, witnesses, and the defendant’s family knelt in rows in the audience section; sentries guarded the doors.

  Reiko knelt to watch the proceedings, as she’d done countless times before. Trials fascinated her. They showed a side of life that she could not experience firsthand. Magistrate Ueda had indulged her interest, letting her use this room. Reiko’s tongue touched her chipped tooth as she smiled in fond memory.

  “What have you to say in your own defense, Moneylender Igarashi?” Magistrate Ueda asked the prisoner.

  “Honorable Magistrate, I swear I did not kill my partner,” the defendant said with earnest sincerity. “We fought over the favors of the courtesan Hyacinth because we were drunk, but we settled our differences.” Tears ran down the defendant’s face. “I loved my partner like a brother. I don’t know who stabbed him.”

  During discussions of cases, Reiko had impressed Magistrate Ueda with her insight; he’d come to value her judgment. Now she whispered through the lattice, “The moneylender is lying, Father. He’s still jealous of his partner. And now their whole fortune is his. Push him hard—he’ll break and confess.”

  She’d often given her advice during trials this way, and Magistrate Ueda had often followed it, with good results, but now his shoulders stiffened; his head turned slightly. Instead of interrogating the defendant, Magistrate Ueda said, “This session will adjourn for a moment.” Rising, he left the courtroom.

  Then the door to Reiko’s chamber opened. There in the corridor stood her father, regarding her with consternation. “Daughter.” Taking Reiko’s arm, he led her down the hall, into his private office. “Your first visit home shouldn’t take place until tomorrow, and your husband must accompany you. You know the custom. What are you doing here, alone, now? Is something wrong?”

  “Father, I—”

  Suddenly Reiko’s brave defiance crumbled. Sobbing, she poured out her misgivings about marriage; the dreams she could not forsake. Magistrate Ueda listened sympathetically, but when she’d finished and calmed down, he shook his head and said, “I should not have raised you to expect more from life than is possible for a woman. It was an act of foolish love and poor judgment on my part, which I deeply regret. But what’s done is done. We cannot go back, but only forward. You must not watch any more trials, or assist with my work as I’ve mistakenly allowed you to do in the past. Your place is with your husband.”

  Even as Reiko saw the door to her youth close forever, a gleam of hope brightened the dark horizon of her future. Magistrate Ueda’s last sentence recalled her fantasy of sharing Sōsakan Sano’s adventures. In ancient times, samurai women had ridden into battle beside their men. Reiko remembered the incident that had ended the wedding festivities. Earlier, preoccupied with her own problems, she’d given hardly a thought to Sano’s new case; now, her interest stirred.

  “Maybe I could help investigate Lady Harume’s death,” she said thoughtfully.

  Concern shadowed Magistrate Ueda’s face. “Reiko-chan” His voice was kind, but stern. “You’re smarter than many men, but you are young, naïve, and far too confident of your own limited abilities. Any affair involving the shogun’s court is fraught with danger. Sōsakan Sano will not welcome your interference. And what could you, a woman, do anyway?”

  Rising, the magistrate led Reiko out of the mansion to the gate, where her entourage waited. “Go home, daughter. Be thankful you needn’t work to earn your rice, like other, less fortunate women. Obey your husband; he is a good man.” Then, echoing O-sugi’s advice, he said, “Accept your fate, or it will only grow harder to bear.”

  Reluctantly Reiko climbed into the palanquin. Tasting the bitterness of the dye on her teeth, she shook her head in sad acknowledgment of her father’s wisdom.

  Yet she possessed the same intelligence, drive, and courage that had made him magistrate of Edo—the post she would have inherited if she’d been born male! As the palanquin carried her briskly up the street, Reiko called to the bearers: “Stop! Go back!”

  The bearers obeyed. Disembarking, Reiko hurried into her father’s house, to her childhood room. From the cabinet she took her two swords, long and short, with matching gold-inlaid hilts and scabbards. Then she returned to the palanquin and settled herself for the trip back to Edo Castle, hugging the precious weapons—symbols of honor and adventure, of everything she was and wanted to be.

  Somehow she would make a purposeful, satisfying life for herself. And she would begin by investigating the strange death of the shogun’s concubine.

  4

  In the slums of Kodemmacho, near the river in the northeast sector of the Nihonbashi merchant district, Edo Jail’s complex of high stone walls, watchtowers, and gabled roofs hulked over its surrounding canals like a malignant growth. Sano rode his horse across the bridge toward the iron-banded gate. Sentries manned the guardhouse; doshin herded miserable, shackled criminals into the jail to await trial, or out of it toward the execution ground. As always when approaching the prison, Sano imagined that he felt the air grow colder, as if Edo Jail repelled sunlight and exuded a miasma of death and decay. Yet Sano willingly braved the danger of spiritual pollution that other high-ranking samurai avoided. In the city morgue, housed inside the peeling plaster walls, he hoped to learn the truth about the death of Lady Harume.

  The sentries opened the gate for Sano. He dismounted and led his horse through the compound of guards’ barracks, courtyards, and administrative offices, past the jail proper, where the howls of prisoners drifted from barred windows.

  In a courtyard near the rear of the jail, Sano secured his horse outside the morgue, a low building with scabrous plaster walls and a shaggy thatched roof. He took the bundled evidence from Lady Harume’s room out of his saddlebag. Crossing the threshold, he braced himself for the sight and smell of Dr. Ito’s gruesome work.

  The room held stone troughs used to wash the dead; cabinets containing the doctor’s tools; a podium in the corner, piled with books and notes. At one of the three waist-high tables, Dr. Ito assembled a collection of human bones in their relative positions. His assistant, Mura, cleaned a pan of vertebrae. Both men looked up from their work and bowed when Sano entered.

  “Ah, Sano-san. Welcome!” Dr. Ito’s narrow, ascetic face brightened with glad surprise. “I did not expect to see you. Is this not the day of your wedding?”

  Dr. Ito Genboku, Edo Morgue custodian, whose scientific expertise had aided Sano in many investigations, was also a true friend—rare in the politically treacherous To-kugawa regime.

  Shrewd of gaze and keen of mind at age seventy, Dr. Ito had short, abundant white hair that receded at the temples. His long, dark blue coat covered a tall, spare frame. Once esteemed physician to the imperial family, Dr. Ito had been caught practicing forbidden foreign science, which he’d learned through illicit channels from Dutch traders in Nagasaki. Unlike other rangakusha—scholars of Dutch learning—he’d been punished not by exile, but by being sentenced to permanent custodianship of Edo Morgue. Here, though the living conditions were squalid, he could experiment in peace, ignored by the authorities.

  “I was married this morning, but the wedding banquet and my holiday were canceled,” Sano said, laying his bundle on an empty table. “And once again, I need your help.” He explained about Lady Harume’s mysterious death, the shogun’s orders for him to investigate, and his suspicion of murder.

  “Most intriguing,” Dr. Ito said. “Of course I shall assist in any way I can. But first, my congratulations on your marriage. Allow me to present you with a small gift. Mura, will you please fetch it?”

  Mura, a short man with gray hair and a square, intelligent face, set aside his pan of bones. He was
an eta, one of society’s outcast class who staffed the jail, acting as corpse handlers, jailers, torturers, and executioners. Eta also performed such dirty work as emptying cesspools, collecting garbage, and clearing away dead bodies after floods, fires, and earthquakes. Their hereditary link with such death-related occupations as butchering and leather tanning rendered them spiritually contaminated, unfit for contact with other citizens. But shared adversity forged strange bonds; Mura was Dr. Ito’s servant and companion. Now the eta bowed to his master and Sano and left the room. He returned with a small package wrapped in a scrap of blue cotton, which Dr. Ito handed to Sano.

  “My gift in honor of your marriage.”

  “Arigato, Ito-san” Bowing, Sano accepted the package and unfolded the wrapping. Inside the cloth lay a flat, palm-size circle of black wrought iron: a guard meant to fit between the blade and hilt of a samurai’s sword. The filigree design was a variation on Sano’s family crest, with a crane’s elegant, long-beaked head in profile, a slit for the blade cut through its body, and elaborately feathered, upswept wings. Caressing the smooth metal, Sano admired the gift.

  “It’s just a poor, humble thing,” Dr. Ito said. “Mura gathered scrap iron in the city. One of the janitors was a metalsmith before being convicted of thievery and sentenced to work here. He helped me make the sword guard at night. It’s not really good enough for—”

  “It’s beautiful,” Sano said, “and I’ll treasure it always.” Carefully he rewrapped the sword guard and tucked the package in his drawstring pouch, more moved by Ito’s thoughtful gesture than by any of the lavish presents he’d received from strangers currying favor. Then, to fill the awkward silence that ensued, he opened his bundle and explained the circumstances of Lady Harume’s death. “Her corpse won’t arrive for examination until later. But there’s a strong possibility that she was poisoned.” Sano set out the lamps, incense burners, sake decanter, razor, knife, and ink jar. “I want to know whether one of these things is the source of the poison.”