And the plan had worked perfectly well in Akitada's case, though not for Tamako! Akitada felt a wave of nausea. Whether or not the note was real, Hirata had just admitted that he had really wanted something far more personal. Little did he know that his daughter had refused the bridegroom her father had chosen for her, the one man he could count on because of the debt he owed them. Akitada turned away.
The older man sighed deeply. "Don't be angry, dear boy," he pleaded. "I was afraid you would misunderstand. Now I wish I had bitten off my tongue before mentioning the note to you."
Akitada wished it too. He said through clenched teeth, "Never mind. I understand."
There was a lull in the performance, and a certain stillness had fallen over the park. The last light was fading in the sky. Akitada searched in his mind for the right words so that he might leave.
Then the poetry recitals began again. Akitada listened absentmindedly to some poorly scanned lines in praise of wine and emptied his cup quickly. A waiter replaced it with a full one, and Akitada emptied this also.
"About Oe and Ishikawa," said Hirata suddenly. "Last year Ishikawa began to assist Oe with minor chores. They seemed to get along well until just recently. Ishikawa's arrogance became more pronounced. He often showed a great lack of respect when he addressed Oe, who was his senior professor. But can his bad manners really be significant?"
Akitada forced himself to reply. "Uncharacteristic behavior is always suggestive. Something happened to change their relationship. Was this around the time of the examinations? Perhaps Ishikawa learned that Oe had helped a student cheat."
"Oe?" Hirata looked stunned. "Surely you are wrong. Oe is too highly thought of to do such a dangerous thing. Ishikawa is another matter. He has always been arrogant and might well engage in blackmail. But not Oe. You said yourself that Oe's blue gown could not possibly have been confused with my green one."
"Perhaps Ishikawa is colorblind."
But Akitada did not think so. He had a feeling that there was a much simpler explanation for the mistake, but his mind was growing fuzzy.
Below the first lanterns glimmered on in the blue dusk. They raised sudden flashes of jewel tones from the robes of poets and musicians and made rainbows of the painted boats. The sky still retained the faintest tinge of lilac, and a thin line of gold rimmed the dark mass of the western mountains.
The mood of the company had changed. Loud laughter and shouts accompanied verses celebrating inebriety. But all became quiet when Fujiwara stepped forward and bowed towards the dais. The crowd was expectant.
Fujiwara's voice sounded deep and compelling. Syllables rolled off his tongue like distant thunder. The poem was long and spoke of human needs beyond fame and fortune, of friendship between men which becomes most tender when wine loosens the tongue and true feelings break down the barriers of social convention. And it was far and above the most moving verse Akitada had ever heard. As he listened, his thoughts recalled lost friends, and tears rose to his eyes. The crippled giant Higekuro and his daughter Ayako, once so close to his heart and now lost forever; the handsome Tasuku who had left the world because it had become a place of sorrow; all those who had been his childhood friends and were gone, either through death or distance. Tamako, too, was quickly slipping away from him. In life there was a great need to hold on to friends.
A brief silence fell when Fujiwara finished. All that could be heard for a moment was the rustle of paper lanterns in the evening breeze and the distant voices of waterfowl on the lake. Even the servants had fallen quiet in the hush of the audience. Then the applause came, general and thunderous. Soon every man was on his feet. People were bowing to Fujiwara, shouting their approval, even walking over to embrace him.
Suddenly a single shrill voice rose over the rest. Oe was standing, waving his arms about, shouting, "Stop this vulgar display! Sit down, everybody! This rudeness must stop immediately. The rules do not permit it, and the contestant who invited this rude outburst by his unseemly subject must be disqualified. His lack of decorum is more suited to the revels of derelicts and whores!"
The crowd gasped. All eyes were on Oe and Fujiwara. Hirata jumped to his feet, muttering, "I must stop the fool," and started toward Oe. But it was already too late. Everyone, from His Imperial Highness to the lowest ranking official, had heard the insulting words. Hirata and Ono between them managed to pull Oe down on his cushion, but he continued to struggle and shout unintelligibly.
Fujiwara surprised everyone. In his booming voice he made a clever joke about the potency of wine and poetry. It set everyone laughing and calling for refills.
With peace thus reestablished, another contestant took his turn, and Fujiwara walked over to the small group gathered about Oe, which by now included Nishioka. The tall, broad-shouldered Fujiwara leaned down, put his arm around Oe's shoulders, and lifted him to his feet. Ono took the other side, and between them they walked the babbling Oe away from the gathering, Hirata going ahead to make way and Nishioka following behind with Oe's belongings. When the group had disappeared around the corner of the pavilion, Akitada saw Ishikawa rising to follow.
As the last contestant finished his verse, Fujiwara returned to his seat, dabbing at his cheek with the sleeve of his robe. He was bleeding from a large scratch.
Unfortunately the bloodied cheek could not be glossed over, for when the prince called the name of the winner, Fujiwara had to rise. Prince Atsuakira himself walked over to congratulate him and present him with a fine silk robe. As Fujiwara knelt and bowed, blood dripped into his beard. The prince murmured something, but Fujiwara smiled, saying, "Just a clumsy collision with a branch, Your Highness."
After another dance interlude, the boats were launched into the lake, their lanterns sparkling on the dark water like the stars in the sky above. Other lights blinked on along the lakeshore, among the trees, and even on the island. It was a magical scene, in its own way more splendid than the brilliant colors of the afternoon.
Now the servants passed along the veranda with lighted lanterns and attached them to the eaves with long poles. Across the way, where the nobles sat, the lantern bearers had not yet begun, and the darkness had turned the colorful cushions of the nobles, abandoned for boat rides or strolls in the park, a uniform black. Akitada remembered how the stacked cushions had all seemed the same color to him the evening before. They had been in the shadow of the veranda. He had assumed they were all blue, because one blue cushion had caught some light. Of course! The same thing must have happened the night the blackmailer delivered his note. Blue and green would have been indistinguishable, and both Oe's and Hirata's robes had had white designs around the sleeves. That must have been how Ishikawa had made his mistake.
Already completely out of tune with the beauty of the evening, Akitada had no desire to hear the next segment of the competition. He felt too heartsore to listen to love poems, and was on the point of leaving when Hirata returned, looking upset.
"What happened?" Akitada asked him.
"A terrible scene. Oe attacked Fujiwara with his bare hands and would have hurt him seriously if we had not all thrown ourselves on him." Hirata shook his head. "I never realized how strong a man can be when he is out of his mind. It was a serious insult to Fujiwara who was only trying to help. We finally calmed Oe down enough for Ono and Ishikawa to take him home, but I fear he is completely unbalanced. He was weeping when I left. I never imagined wine could do this to a man."
"Not wine, but guilt- and the knowledge that he is in the power of an unscrupulous man who plans to ruin him."
"What?"
"The note was intended for Oe. In the dark there is little difference between green and blue."
"Are you sure?" cried Hirata. He thought it over. "If that is the case, what shall we do?"
"We will confront them both as soon as possible. Once their guilt is established, you can take whatever action you please."
"Oh, let us wait and think about this first."
Akitada rose. "No. I am anxi
ous to be done with the whole affair. After tomorrow I shall consider the matter closed as far as I am concerned. Now, if you will excuse me, I am going home. Good night."
Akitada walked away, leaving Hirata to stare blindly at the gaily lit scene on the lake.
Nine. Tear-Drenched Sleeves
The next day was also a holiday because it was the day when the Kamo virgin returned from the shrine to her palace. Akitada called on his mother, as he did most mornings. He found her at breakfast with his sisters and asked how they had enjoyed their outing the previous day.
"Tamako is a most charming person," cried his younger sister Yoshiko. Remembering her brother's ill-fated courtship, she blushed a little and added, "She stayed quite late with us and promised to return soon. We were delighted to have her company."
Akitada's heart sank. He had no wish to face any more embarrassing encounters with Tamako. "I am glad you had a pleasant day," he said and glanced at his mother.
"It appears the young woman gardens," Lady Sugawara informed him. "She had a number of helpful suggestions for us. As you can see," she waved a careless hand towards the lush growth surrounding her new terrace, "this place is overgrown like an abandoned ruin. It is too bad that I must rely on chance encounters to get things done."
"I thought you liked the garden this way," said Akitada, hurt in spite of the fact that he knew his mother was still angry with him for other reasons. "All you have to do is ask, and I will have Tora see to some trimming and replanting."
"Hmph! That fellow is gone more than he is here," grumbled his mother.
"Last night he did not come home at all," volunteered his sister Akiko.
Akitada's mother cast her eyes to heaven and sighed deeply. "No doubt he is in jail at this very moment," she said. "To think what I have come to. A dilapidated home and a bandit for a servant! This was once a great house, bustling with well-trained servants. Now we exist like exiles condemned to the wilderness of a distant province."
"I am sorry you are so downcast today, Mother." Akitada rose and bowed. I shall visit again when you are feeling more cheerful."
Lady Sugawara did not bother to reply.
***
The university was nearly deserted today because there were no classes or lectures. Akitada stopped by Hirata's room, but found it empty. The holiday was causing problems. He was anxious to get their meeting with Oe and Ishikawa over with, but could do nothing without Hirata.
In his own room a stack of student papers lay on his desk. He wondered whether he was obligated to read them before leaving, or if he should spend his last day gathering up his belongings. Postponing the decision, he took a stroll over to the students' dormitories with the vague idea of asking Ishikawa a few questions.
Things were a bit livelier here. Some of the youngest boys were gathered in a grove of pine trees where they were noisily occupied with large sheets of colored paper. Akitada approached curiously and realized that they were building kites.
He glanced up at the clear sky. Fluffy clouds travelled quickly on the breeze. It was perfect kite flying weather. Watching the boys, he saw the first trial kite rising from the line of a madly dashing youngster. It soared briefly, then made a sudden plunge, and became entangled in the top of one of the pines.
Akitada walked over. The pine looked like a good climbing tree. On an impulse, he took off his robe and fastened the legs of his full trousers around his knees. Pulling himself up to the lowest branch, he began to climb. But the kite was too far up. The weaker branches near the top would not hold his weight. As he paused to ponder the situation, something plucked at his trousers.
"Excuse me, sir," said one of the boys, peering up at him. "Would you mind if I passed you? My kite is stuck up there."
Akitada moved aside and watched as the agile little monkey reached the kite, plucked it loose, and let it down to his waiting comrades.
"Excuse me, sir," said the boy again, passing him on the way down.
Feeling foolish, Akitada watched him scramble quickly back to the ground. Had the boys not realized that he had been trying to get the kite? What had gone through the child's mind when he saw one of the masters climbing a tree? Humbled, Akitada descended more slowly and put his robe back on. Climbing trees after kites was clearly no longer proper at his age.
At one of the dormitories he found an older student sitting on the steps, mending his shoes. Akitada asked him, "Can you tell me where I might find Ishikawa?"
The young man stood politely and bowed. "He is not here today, sir. I saw him leave before dawn. He was carrying a bundle, so I assumed he was going on a short trip."
More delays! Ishikawa would not be back till late. Akitada strolled back towards the boys with their kites. Suddenly his eyes fell on the small figure of young Minamoto, sitting quietly on the veranda outside his dormitory room. He appeared engrossed in a book, but stole surreptitious glances at the other boys. For a moment Akitada wondered why he was not with them; then he remembered that rank and recent bereavement probably prevented him from joining in games that should have been a natural part of his young life. The young lord's continued isolation from the other children pained Akitada.
Shaking his head helplessly, he left the enclosure by its north gate and crossed the street to the school of music. Sato must be in, for he could hear the sounds of his lute. This time the melody was even more lilting than on the last occasion. As Akitada walked towards the music, a second lute joined in. Another student? No. From the delightful harmony which ensued, it was clear that two master musicians had met.
Akitada approached quietly and seated himself on the veranda outside Sato's room to listen. He wished, not for the first time, that he could play like that. It was wonderful to become lost in music. All one's cares seemed to drop away. As a youngster he had briefly practiced the flute, and he had had some lessons as a student, but then more important matters had taken up his time and he had neglected his practice and given up.
After a little, the music ended and there was some subdued talk. Embarrassed, Akitada rose, cleared his throat and went to greet the music teacher.
Sato was again with a woman, this one older and more elegant than the murdered girl. They had not heard him, and this time surely there was no doubt that the teacher and his visitor were lovers. Both were seated cross-legged, their lutes resting in their laps, and their heads inclined towards each other. But it was more than their physical proximity to each other. They exchanged soft glances and the woman reached out to caress Sato's cheek.
Taken aback, Akitada retreated, but he had already been seen. The couple jerked apart, staring at him. Making a bow, Akitada apologized for his intrusion. The woman blushed and assumed a more decorous kneeling posture. Her beauty, though mature, was poignant. Akitada explained lamely, "I heard the music and could not resist it."
"It's a holiday," snapped Sato angrily. "Don't you have a private life?"
The woman got up with her lute and slipped out without a word or gesture to either of them.
"I am sorry," Akitada said again, looking after her. "Believe me, if you are worried about my complaining about your private lessons, your secret is safe with me. But this lady played so well that she can hardly be your pupil." He flushed, thinking how this must sound to Sato.
Sato looked at him without expression. "She is a fellow musician and acquaintance who dropped by for a chat," he said. When Akitada made a move to leave also, Sato became hospitable. "Will you take some wine?"
Somewhat surprised, Akitada accepted readily. Sato was an interesting enigma. Akitada sipped his wine and said, "I assume the police captain has talked to you about the girl who was murdered in the park. Could you provide him with a name?"
"Yes. Her name's Omaki. I had to go and identify her body. Poor little wench!" Sato took a big gulp of his wine. "I suppose I've got you to thank for the police interest?"
Akitada met his eyes calmly. "I am afraid it was unavoidable. My servant and I found her, and I remembered meeting her
with you."
Sato looked away. "Yes, I see. I suppose it couldn't be helped. She was a silly girl, but she didn't deserve to die so young." He grimaced. "It was a bit embarrassing, though. I met her in the Willow Quarter."
"She was a prostitute?"
"Not everybody in the Willow Quarter is a prostitute," snapped Sato angrily. But he calmed down quickly and sighed. "Poor Omaki. She was training to become an entertainer. If you ask me, she was on her way to becoming a prostitute when she died. It was her karma. Her father's a poor man, an umbrella maker called Hishiya. They live in the sixth ward. The mother had died and he remarried. It's the usual story: the second wife did not get along with the grown daughter. The girl threatened to sell herself to a brothel rather than stay home as a servant to the new wife. The father, who's a decent man, came to me one evening. Told me the girl played the lute and asked if I could get her a job. I listened to her play. She was untrained but not bad. The long and the short of it was that we made an arrangement by which I got her a job in a place I know, and she paid me for a few lessons. She learned quickly. Anyone else would have succeeded. But for her? All wasted! Poor silly chit!"
He filled his cup again, drank deeply, and stared out the door. Akitada sipped his wine slowly. He did not believe either the sentiments or explanations. Sato had become positively chatty. The man's behavior, his reputation, the fleshy, sensuous lips and soulful eyes- all were at odds with the detachment he pretended. No, Sato was a womanizer, perhaps a murderer, not a humanitarian.
"Did you know of anything that might help the police find her killer?" Akitada asked.
Sato shook his head. "I doubt it. I knew she was with child, foolish girl. That meant the end of her career just as it was starting. But she didn't seem to care. When I asked her about the child's father and her plans, she closed up. Actually, if anything, she seemed more cheerful, or excited, than before." He paused and thought. "There was one thing I told that captain. I saw her with one of the students here. Maybe that young rascal was the father of her child. He used to moon about the place where she worked. Damned youngsters ought to keep their heads in their books! Though this particular one was hardly a dashing figure. Can't imagine what she saw in him!"
Rashomon Gate – A Mystery of Ancient Japan Page 13
