The Concubine's Tattoo

by Laura Joh Rowland

  Then he exploded in a cataclysm of rapture. He felt the seed pumping from his body, heard his own shouts. Above him Ichiteru reigned in triumph. As he succumbed to her power, Hirata knew that the path he’d chosen was fraught with peril. Yet both duty and desire compelled him to travel it. He couldn’t ignore a possible threat against the shogun, and he must have Lady Ichiteru. Hirata had no choice but to report her statement to Sano, who would proceed with the investigation from there.

  Even at the risk of their own lives.

  29

  The vibrant, haunting tones of koto music told Reiko that she had at last found the witness she’d been seeking for two days. From the lofty hilltop behind Zojo Temple, the ancient melody drifted down through forests, over worship halls, pavilions, and pagoda, each note sharply defined in the clear air.

  “Let me out here,” Reiko commanded her palanquin bearers.

  Alighting at the foot of the hill, she hurried up a flight of stone steps that ascended through fragrant pines. Birds warbled an accompaniment to the music, which grew louder as she climbed higher. However, the tranquil beauty of the place made little impression upon Reiko. Everything—not just her personal ambitions or her marriage to Sano, but their very lives—might depend on what the witness knew about Lady Harume’s murder. Anticipation quickened her steps; her billowing cloak flapped behind her like umber wings. Gasping for breath, heart pounding, Reiko arrived at the summit.

  A vast panorama spread around her. Below, on the other side of the hill, stone bridges arched across Lotus Pond to the islet upon which stood a shrine to the goddess Sarasvati. The temple’s tile roofs gleamed in the sunlight; fiery foliage blanketed the surrounding landscape. In the north, Edo lay beneath a haze of charcoal smoke, embraced by the Sumida River’s shining curve. Reiko walked toward the many-armed statue of Kannon, goddess of mercy, and the pavilion beside it. An audience of peasants, samurai, and priests had gathered to hear the musician who knelt before the koto, under the pavilion’s thatched roof.

  He’d always seemed ancient to Reiko, and she guessed he must be over seventy now. His head was as bald and speckled as an egg. Age had stooped his shoulders and pulled down the lines of his narrow face; bent over the long, horizontal instrument, he looked like an elderly crane. But his knotty hands played the koto with undiminished strength. He twisted the tuning pegs, deftly moved the stops, and struck the thirteen strings with an ivory plectrum. Eyes shut in concentration, he coaxed forth music that seemed to hold the entire world immobile with awe. The song’s ethereal beauty brought involuntary tears to Reiko’s eyes. Abandoning haste, she waited outside the pavilion for the performance to end.

  The audience listened reverently as the music gained volume and complexity, layering improvisation upon theme. The final chord hung in the air for an endless moment. Head bowed, eyes still closed, the musician sat as if entranced. The audience faded away. Reiko approached.

  “Sensei Fukuzawa? Might I please have a word with you?” She bowed, adding, “You may not remember me. It’s been eight years since we last met.”

  The musician opened his eyes. Age hadn’t dimmed their keen, bright clarity. His face lit with immediate recognition. “Of course I remember you, Miss Reiko—or, I should say, Honorable Lady Sano.” His voice was weak and quavery; his soul spoke chiefly through the koto. “My congratulations on your marriage.” Extending his hand in a gesture of welcome, he said, “Please join me.”

  “Thank you.” Reiko climbed the steps into the pavilion and knelt opposite him. Warm sunlight streamed through the lattice walls; a folding screen provided shelter from the wind. “I’ve been looking all over for you—at your house in Ginza, and the theaters. Finally one of your colleagues told me you’d begun a pilgrimage to temples and shrines across the country. I’m so glad I caught you before you left Edo.”

  “Ah, yes. I want to visit the great holy places before I die. But what caused your sudden urge to see your old music teacher?” The old man’s eyes twinkled. “Not, I presume, the desire for more lessons.”

  Reiko smiled ruefully. During the six years in which Sensei Fukuzawa had taught her to play the koto, she’d been a reluctant pupil. When her lessons ended, she put away her instrument with great relief and never touched it again. Now she was old enough to regret the waste of her sensei’s effort and feel ashamed of the callous way she had rejected the art to which he’d devoted his life. Uncomfortably she remembered her father pointing out her naïveté and overconfidence, and Sano her headstrong contrariness. These, too, were faults she must admit and conquer.

  “I want to apologize for my poor attitude,” Reiko said, though humility didn’t come easily to her. “And I’ve missed you,” she added, realizing for the first time how much she had. Unlike her relatives, Sensei Fukuzawa had neither scolded nor punished her for misbehaving. Unlike other teachers, who raged, threatened, and even hit students when they made mistakes, he’d always inspired through patient kindness rather than fear. Thus he had coaxed Reiko’s meager talent to its full potential, while providing a haven from the criticism she got from everyone else. Didn’t the fact that she could now appreciate the value of such a rare person mean her character was improving?

  “No apology is necessary; it is enough to see that your character has matured,” thé old man said, echoing her thoughts. “But I suspect that there is a serious reason for the honor of your attention?” He smiled gently.

  “Yes,” Reiko admitted, recalling his ability to see through people, as if studying music had given him special insight into the human spirit. “I’m investigating the murder of Lady Harume. I heard that you spent the past month in the castle, giving lessons to the women of the Large Interior.” His age and reputation made him one of the few men allowed there. “I want to know whether you saw or heard anything that might help me figure out who killed her.”

  “Ah.” Sensei Fukuzawa ran his gnarled fingers over the koto strings, contemplating Reiko. From the instrument came a wandering, abstract melody in a minor key. Though neither his expression nor his tone indicated anything except benign interest, Reiko read disapproval in the music. She hurried to justify herself to the old teacher because she craved his good opinion. After explaining why she wanted to investigate the murder, she delivered the news that had increased her determination to solve the case.

  “My cousin Eri told me this morning about a rumor that’s circulating around the castle. Apparently the shogun’s mother had an affair with Harume that ended badly. Everyone says she wrote a letter to Harume, threatening to kill her, and therefore, Lady Keisho-in is the murderer. I don’t know if there really is such a letter, or if it means she’s guilty. But my husband’s other prime suspect—Lieutenant Kushida—has disappeared. He’s under a lot of pressure to solve the case. If he hears the rumor and finds the letter, he may decide to charge Lady Keisho-in with poisoning Harume. But what if he’s wrong, and she’s innocent?

  “He’ll be executed for treason. And I, as his wife, will die with him.” Clenching her hands in her lap, Reiko tried to subdue her fear. “I can’t depend on my husband to find the real killer, or to protect me. Haven’t I the right to save my own life?”

  The koto music took a brighter turn, and Sensei Fukuzawa nodded. “Knowing that a former pupil is in danger, I would gladly help. Let me see …” As he played, he contemplated a pleasure boat drifting on Lotus Pond. Then he sighed and shook his head.

  “It is no use. When one is my age, recent events blur in one’s memory, while those of thirty years ago are as clear as water. I could re-create every note of my first performance, but as for the month I spent at Edo Castle—” He shrugged in sad resignation. “The ladies and I had many conversations during their lessons. Quarrels often arose between them, and women do gossip constantly; however, I can’t think of anything they said or did that seemed out of the ordinary. Nor do I recall meeting Lady Harume. Certainly I had no premonition of her death.”

  He added, “I am sorry. It seems you’ve gone to much tr
ouble for nothing. Please forgive me.”

  “That’s all right, it’s not your fault,” Reiko said, hiding her disappointment and knowing that she herself was to blame for it. In her youthful arrogance, she’d formed an exaggerated notion of her detective abilities and the value of her contacts. Now reality stripped her of delusion.

  She’d used her last lead, to no avail. She would neither solve the murder case nor save her life. True, she’d discovered Lady Ichiteru’s quarrel with Harume, and that Lieutenant Kushida had been in Harume’s room shortly before the murder. Yet this evidence hadn’t led to a conviction. Reiko’s unhappiness turned to anger at herself and her sex. She was nothing but a worthless female who might as well go home and sew until the soldiers came to take her to the execution ground!

  And beneath the anger seethed a disturbing mixture of contrary emotions. Though Reiko regretted that she couldn’t prove her superiority to Sano by beating him at his own game, she realized that she’d also wanted to please him by finding Lady Harume’s killer. She wanted him to like and respect her. Even as defeat shamed her, she rued the lost hope of love.

  Suddenly the koto music ended on a dissonant chord. “Wait a moment,” Sensei Fukuzawa said. “I do remember something after all. It was so peculiar; how could I have forgotten?” He clucked in irritation at his bad memory, and Reiko’s spirits rose anew. “I saw someone in the Large Interior who shouldn’t have been there. It happened…let me see…I believe it was two days ago.”

  “But Lady Harume was already dead by then,” Reiko said. Again her hopes plummeted. “You couldn’t have seen the murderer come to poison the ink. Unless—are you absolutely sure of the time?”

  “For once I am, because it was a memorable occasion. I was finishing my last lesson before leaving Edo Castle and embarking on my pilgrimage, when I felt an attack of diarrhea and cramps coming on. I rushed to the privy. It was when I went back to the music room that I saw him in the corridor. Even if he had nothing to do with the murder, there is definitely something strange going on at the castle. I should have reported the incident, but didn’t. Perhaps if I tell you what happened, and you think it’s important, you could inform your husband so he can take appropriate action.”

  “Who was it that you saw?” Reiko said. Perhaps the killer had revisited the crime scene.

  “The No actor Shichisaburo.”

  Reiko was disconcerted. “Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s lover? But he is not a suspect. And how did he get inside the Large Interior? Even if he managed to slip past the sentries, wouldn’t the palace guards have thrown him out?”

  “I doubt whether anyone recognized him besides me,” said the old musician, “because he was disguised as a young woman, wearing a lady’s kimono and a long wig. Shichisaburo often plays females on stage—he’s adept at imitating their manners. He looked like he belonged in the Large Interior. The corridors are dim, and he was careful to keep his face averted.”

  “Then how did you know it was him?”

  Sensei Fukuzawa chuckled. “I have spent many years performing musical accompaniments for the theater. I’ve watched hundreds of actors. A man impersonating a woman always betrays his true sex in some small way that goes unnoticed by audiences. But my eye is sharp. Not even the best onnagata can fool me. In Shichisaburo’s case, it was his stride. Because a male’s body is denser than a female’s, his steps were a bit too heavy for a woman of his size. I immediately said to myself, ‘That’s a boy, not a girl!’”

  Alarm flared in Reiko as she glimpsed a possible explanation for this subterfuge. If what she suspected was true, then how fortunate that she’d found such an astute observer as Sensei Fukuzawa! Perhaps she could prove her worth as a detective and save her life at the same time. Through her excitement, she got a firm grip on her objectivity, wanting to make sure she was right before drawing conclusions.

  “How can you be positive it was Shichisaburo and not some other man, if you didn’t see his face?” she asked.

  “Shichisaburo’s family is an ancient, venerable clan of actors,” Sensei Fukuzawa said. “Over generations, they’ve developed signature techniques for the stage—unobtrusive gestures and inflections that are recognized only by experts on No drama. I’ve watched Shichisaburo perform. When he turned the corner ahead of me, I saw him lift the hem of the robe off the floor in the manner invented by his grandfather, for whom I often played musical scores.”

  Sensei Fukuzawa demonstrated, gathering the skirt of his own kimono between thumb and two fingers, with the others curled into the palm. “It was definitely Shichisaburo.”

  “What did he do?” Reiko forced the words through the anxiety that compressed her lungs.

  “I was curious, so I followed him at a distance. He looked around to check if anyone was watching, but he didn’t notice me—bad eyesight runs in his family, though they’re all trained to act as if they can see just fine. He walked straight to Lady Keisho-in’s chambers. There were no guards stationed outside, as there have been on occasions when I’ve played for the shogun’s mother. No one else was around, either. Shichisaburo went inside without knocking, and stayed for some moments. I waited around the corner/When he came out again, he was hiding something inside his sleeve. I heard the rustle of paper.”

  Reiko thought of Shichisaburo’s connection with Chamberlain Yañagisawa, her husband’s enemy. She recalled Yanagisawa’s rumored attempts to assassinate Sano, to destroy his reputation and undermine his influence with the shogun. Her suspicions gained substance. Had Yanagisawa bribed Lady Keisho-in’s guards to desert their posts? In a turmoil of fear and anticipation, she said, “And then what?”

  “Shichisaburo hurried through the women’s quarters. I barely managed to keep up with him. He slipped into a chamber at the end of a passage.”

  Lady Harume’s room, Reiko thought. Dread and elation dizzied her as she considered the political climate surrounding the murder: the imperiled succession; the jealousies and power struggles; the rumors about Lady Keisho-in. Shichisaburo’s clandestine visit linked these elements of the case in a pattern that signaled catastrophe.

  “I put my ear to the wall,” Sensei Fukuzawa continued. “I heard Shichisaburo rummaging around inside. When he came out, he was empty-handed. I meant to confront him, but unfortunately, I felt the diarrhea coming on again. Shichisaburo vanished. My illness prevented me from immediately reporting what I’d seen, and later I was so busy finishing my lessons and bidding farewell to the ladies that I forgot all about it.”

  The last piece of the puzzle brought the whole pattern into deadly focus. Reiko leapt to her feet.

  “Is something wrong, child?” The old music teacher’s forehead wrinkled with confusion. “Where are you going?”

  “I’m sorry, Sensei Fukuzawa, but I must leave at once. This is a matter of extreme urgency!”

  Bowing, Reiko hastily made her farewell. She fled down the hill and jumped into the waiting palanquin. “Take me back to Edo Castle,” she ordered the bearers. “And hurry!”

  There was no doubt in her mind that Sano would investigate the rumors about Lady Keisho-in, and find supporting evidence. Honor and duty would compel him to charge her with murder, regardless of the consequences. Reiko alone knew that Sano was in grave danger. Only she could save him—and herself—from disgrace and death. She must warn him before he stepped into the trap. Yet as Reiko sat forward in the palanquin, willing it to move faster, a new fear penetrated her consciousness.

  If she succeeded, would Sano appreciate what she’d done? Or would her defiance destroy any chance of love between them?

  30

  “With Lady Ichiteru’s testimony, the letter, the diary, and Harume’s father’s statement, there’s too much evidence against Lady Keisho-in to ignore,” Sano told Hirata. “We can’t delay interrogating her any longer. And Priest Ryuko is the right size and shape to match the description of the man who stabbed Choyei.”

  Sano had already described discovering the drug peddler and the unsuccessful sea
rch for his killer. He’d also told Hirata about taking the materials from Choyei’s room to Dr. Ito, who had found the poison there. They walked through the twilight streets of Edo Castle’s Official Quarter, bound for the palace. Roofs were peaked black silhouettes against a sky that deepened from fading blue overhead to salmon above the western hills. Wispy red clouds smeared the heavens like streaks of blood. The cold breathed from stone walls and settled into the bones. Sano carried Harume’s diary, with Lady Keisho-in’s letter folded inside.

  He said, “This is just an interview, to get Keisho-in and Ryuko’s side of the story. It’s not a formal accusation of murder.”

  Yet they both knew that Keisho-in and Ryuko might interpret the confrontation as a murder charge and take offense, then countercharge Sano and Hirata with treason. It would be the couple’s word against theirs—with the shogun the ultimate judge. What were the chances of Tokugawa Tsunayoshi siding with them instead of with his beloved mother?

  Sano imagined the cold shadow of the executioner falling over him, the long blade outlined against the barren ground where traitors died. And Reiko would see it with him…. Nausea gripped his stomach. Hirata didn’t appear to feel any better. His skin had an unhealthy pallor, and he kept blinking. Oddly, he’d been in bed asleep when Sano arrived home. Though groggy and disoriented when roused, Hirata had insisted he was fine. After relaying what he’d learned from Lady Ichiteru, he hadn’t said a word, and tried to avoid Sano’s gaze. Sano pitied Hirata; the concubine’s news had been a bad shock, and he probably blamed himself for the evidence that had forced their hand.

  “Everything will be all right,” Sano said, as much to reassure himself as Hirata.

  Upon entering Lady Keisho-in’s chamber, Sano and Hirata found the shogun’s mother and her priest settled on cushions in the lantern-lit parlor. They wore matching purple satin dressing gowns stamped with gold chrysanthemums. Both color and flower were normally reserved for the use of the imperial family. The empress and emperor of Japan, Sano thought, recalling what Lady Ichiteru had said about the couple’s ambitions. A quilt covered their legs and the square frame of a charcoal brazier. Around them were spread dishes of soup, pickles, vegetables, quail eggs, fried prawns, dried fruit, and a whole steamed fish, a sake decanter, and a tea urn. Lady Keisho-in was munching a prawn. Ryuko had just dealt out a game of cards. He set down the pack as Sano and Hirata knelt and bowed, his eyes wary.