Rashomon Gate – A Mystery of Ancient Japan

by Ingrid J Parker

  The truth within!

  Shaking his head, he pulled the dooor open. It creaked on ancien hinges. The hall inside was dim after the morning sunlight outside. Towards the rear wall stood a smallish Buddha figure carved from wood and painted in bright colors. It was seated on a raised lotus blossom, also carved from wood, and three small tables holding religious objects and ornaments were lined up before it. On either side, a tall iron candle stand, inlaid with gold and silver, held a thick candle. Akitada went to light both of them. The flames flickered in the draft from the open door, and weird shadows moved across the image and the simple prayer mat in front of it. Momentarily he felt again the touch of something ghostly- a sudden icy breath in the warm, stagnant air, raising the short hairs on his neck and leaving him dizzy. The sensation was not as palpable as it had been in the Yoakira mansion, but he shuddered nevertheless.

  The walls appeared to be made from heavy posts and planks fitted without openings, and the roof, its thick rafters draped with cobwebs, rose steeply towards the massive ridgepole. The air smelled unpleasantly of incense and decay. Without windows, there was no circulation and the air felt heavy, warm and cloying.

  Seen up close, the tables before the Buddha image were quite beautiful, gracefully constructed from some very dark wood and inlaid with mother-of-pearl. The trays and sacred vessels, their significance unknown to Akitada, were lacquered and gilded, and some of the bowls held flowers made from semiprecious stones and gold. A red plaque, inscribed with gilded characters, rested among these objects. Akitada read it and immediately bowed deeply. The inscription was by His August Majesty himself and commemorated the miracle.

  Akitada felt anything but inspired. The atmosphere seemed to him almost repulsive, tainted and noxious somehow, and the darkness of the walls and roof gave the hall an oppressive feeling. Even the image seemed subtly evil. Akitada turned around to look for Tora and saw him at the open door, peering in. "What are you waiting for?" Akitada asked. "Come in! I need you."

  "You think he was killed here, don't you?" Tora asked from outside.

  "According to all accounts."

  Tora's eyes searched the room. "Do you suppose his spirit is hanging about?"

  "No. If it is anywhere, it's in his mansion in the capital. I have his old servant's word for it."

  "Then maybe he was killed there." Tora walked in, wrinkling his nose. "They ought to leave the door open more often," he said.

  Akitada gave Tora an irritated look. "It would certainly make my job easier if we did not have to investigate a disappearance from this hall," he said testily. "Never mind the smell. A lot of incense has been burnt here. Let's check the walls and floor for a hidden door." They started on either side of the door and moved along the walls, tapping the boards and checking the seams, until they met in the shadowy area behind the image. The walls were solid.

  "Nothing!" said Tora, wrinkling his face again. "It really smells back here."

  "It's either the incense or some small animal has died under the floorboards. I suppose there is little point in checking the floor. There is not enough space under the hall for a human being."

  As Tora moved towards the door, Akitada cast one more glance around. When he turned to leave, he accidentally kicked the prayer mat out of place. It was an old one, but very beautifully woven and bound with embroidered silk around the edges. He bent to lift it and found the floor was solid underneath. "Well," he said with a sigh, "I did not expect to find anything. After all, they must have checked the building carefully. Come back here, Tora, and help me put the mat back."

  Tora returned reluctantly and picked up one end. "Let's turn it," he said. "It looks better on the other side."

  It was quite true. The mat was less faded, and the colors in the embroidery shone brighter. But it was slightly stained. Akitada knelt and looked at the stain closely. It was a small brown smudge, on the surface of the fibers only. He moistened a finger with his tongue and rubbed at it. A faint trace of brown appeared on his skin, and he smelled it.

  "What's the matter?" asked Tora.

  "Blood," said Akitada grimly.

  "Hah!" Tora backed away. "So he died here."

  "Perhaps. It is interesting, but there isn't very much of it. And it may not be Yoakira's."

  "I bet it is." Tora glanced at the image and shivered. "What if something supernatural got him?" he asked.

  "No."

  "The blood! There are demons that tear people to pieces and eat them. Let's get out of here!" He started towards the door again.

  But Akitada was staring at some white dust on the floor. "That was not here before," he said, pointing. "It must have fallen from the mat when we turned it."

  Tora glanced back over his shoulder. "Some dirt. Monks are not good housekeepers, I guess."

  Akitada crouched to investigate the dust. It was white and powdery. He rubbed it between his fingers and tasted it. "Rice flour," he said, straightening up.

  "Maybe some of the monks brought it in," Tora called from the safety of the veranda.

  "Hmm." Akitada wiped his hands on his robe and cast a last glance at the Buddha figure. He realized that it represented Amitabha. The carved face was painted in brilliant colors, the eyes a clear brown and the lips a deep red. Bright jewels encircled his neck and arms. Suddenly one of the jewels around his neck moved. Akitada stepped closer and saw that a very large fly, an iridescent bluebottle, sluggish in the stale warmth, was slowly rubbing its wings. No doubt the fresh air coming from the open door had roused it from its stupor. He waved at it with his hand, and watched it rise with an angry buzz. For a few moments, it droned around the image with bumbling, disoriented flight before settling again somewhere in the murky darkness. Shaking his head, Akitada blew out the candles and left.

  Together they went down the steps into the small courtyard, but here Akitada paused to look back at the hall. "I wonder," he said, "what is behind the building. Let's go look."

  Dense underbrush and trees grew up against the walls of the old hall. They fought their way through and found a narrow path that angled off from the hall towards the main temple complex. They followed this along the wall of the building until it reached the back and a deep gully which separated the hall from the hillside behind it. Here the path ended on a rocky ledge.

  "What do you suppose that is for?" Akitada muttered.

  "I don't know, but someone's been here recently." Tora pointed to broken branches on a shrub.

  They looked out across the gully to the mountainside which rose like a green wall, covered with vines, ferns and many small trees that clung precariously to small cracks in the rock. A lizard had been sunning itself on the ledge and disappeared into a hole with a sinuous curling of its tail.

  "It's weird. There's nothing here but that funny flat slab of rock," said Tora. "Why would anybody beat a path to it?"

  The slab was about the size of half a tatami mat and covered with moss and lichen. Akitada bent and touched a dark spot, rubbing the residue between his fingers. "Oil," he said, smelling his fingers, and added, "Cheap oil. We use a better quality in our lanterns. Someone has been here in the dark with an oil lamp." Akitada straightened up and scanned the ravine. Suddenly a strange idea occurred to him. It was so startling that he felt his stomach lurch, and for a moment he refused to believe it. "Tora," he asked, "can you make out that odd-shaped gray rock over there on the other side?"

  "Looks like some kind of statue carved out of the stone. A Buddha, I think."

  "Yes. The monks come here to worship, and at least once someone was here in the dark. Go back to the courtyard for a moment and listen."

  "What for?"

  "Never mind! Just go!"

  Tora left, shaking his head, and Akitada wracked his brains for some lines from a sutra. His religious education left much to be desired at times. Well, anything would serve. Raising his voice a little, he recited the first poem that came to his mind: "The fires lit by the guards at the Imperial Palace gates, / Blazing bright by ni
ght, are damped down at daybreak: / So smolder my heart's thoughts…" He broke off, realizing that he had inadvertently quoted from a poem of unrequited love. It was a particularly apt description of pain, he thought bitterly.

  Tora burst from the shrubbery, looking around. "What fire? Is there a fire?"

  "No fire. I just wanted to know if you could hear me."

  "Oh, I heard you. If I hadn't known better, I'd have sworn it was someone inside the hall."

  "I hoped so," said Akitada. "Think about the miraculous disappearance for a moment. The only proof we have that the prince was here one moment and gone the next is that five witnesses, not counting Sakanoue, testified to his chanting the sutra inside the hall."

  Tora's eyes grew round. "You think someone else was back here doing the sutra chanting because the prince was already dead? What did they do with his body?"

  "I suspect the prince never came here. The murderer impersonated him."

  "Sakanoue? How could he? The driver saw the prince get in the carriage and then get out again here."

  "It was dark until the sun came up. Remember, we could not see the faces of those we passed on the way here. Sakanoue could have worn the prince's ceremonial robe and ridden in the carriage with no one being the wiser." Akitada paused, then muttered, "Except for the prince's white hair. That might have been seen even in the dark." Suddenly he slapped a fist into his hand. "Of course! That is what he used the rice flour for! Tora, I tell you, that is the way it was done. The prince was killed in his rooms in the capital." Akitada nodded vigorously and then took Tora's arm. "Come on! All we have to do now is solve a few minor difficulties."

  They burst through the shrubbery into the courtyard, startling a young, red-cheeked monk, who had been looking around as if he had lost something.

  "Oh, there you are," he cried when he saw them. "I saw the horses and wondered what had become of you."

  Akitada said, "My friend and I were passing and decided to visit the famous site. It was most instructive. We have just been admiring the sacred figure behind the hall. Is it true that special benefits accrue from its worship?" He untied the reins of his horse.

  "Oh, yes indeed, sir. You mean the image of Yakushi, the Healing Buddha, I think," cried the young monk eagerly. Taking note of Akitada's silk clothes and his servant, he suggested, "If you like, you can arrange to have sutra readings performed in your absence. May I show you the way to the recorder's office?"

  Akitada accepted. The monk led the way, chattering about the wonders of the temple and the power of prayers said there. They followed, leading their horses, passing rows of monks' cells, where four or five young novices, stripped naked, splashed noisily in a large tub of water. Their guide proudly pointed out several halls of impressive size, the Great Buddha Hall and a beautifully detailed small sutra depository. Their destination was near the main gate and, to reach it, they had to pass by stables, noisy at this hour with the sounds of horses and grooms.

  Akitada stopped. "Your stables are quite large. Do you by any chance supply horses to travellers here?" he asked the young monk.

  "Oh, yes, sir. The stable is really a small post station. Horses may be hired as well as left. Such a service is very useful to pilgrims who wish to spend a week or more without having to provide for their own horses and grooms."

  "How convenient," murmured Akitada thoughtfully.

  Inside the administrative office they found the assistant recorder, an elderly monk with ink-stained fingers, bent over a large ledger.

  "This gentleman is interested in sutra readings to the Healing Buddha," the young monk announced as proudly as if he were presenting a particularly large and juicy radish he had grown personally.

  The old monk gave him a sour look and peered up at Akitada near-sightedly. "The Healing Buddha? Tshk!" he mumbled.

  For a moment Akitada mistook this for a disparaging comment, but then he realized that the old man was toothless and had a disconcerting habit of sucking in his cheeks with a little smacking sound.

  "What is the honorable ailment, tshk?" the recorder asked.

  "What? Oh, er, it concerns a family member, not myself. It's a matter of, er, dizziness."

  "Ah! That explains it, tshk. Young people rarely trouble with the Healing Buddha, tshk, tshk. May I ask the honored gentleman's name, the name of the ailing person, tshk, as well as the specific details?" He leafed through the pages of his ledger, mumbling and tshking. "Ah, here we are. Yes, tshk, I need the day, time and the reading. We recommend a chapter from the Sutra of the Golden Light as being most appropriate for Yakushi, but for a small extra charge we can include specific incantations for a case of lightheadedness. Tshk, tshk."

  "It is for my mother, Lady Sugawara." Tora's jaw slackened, and Akitada bit his lip to keep from smiling. He told the monk, "I really don't know any details, but she said that the same reading was requested about a month ago."

  The old monk looked astonished. "Sugawara? I don't recall any Sugawaras. Are you sure?" He scanned the entries and shook his head. "No, tshk. No one by that name. Is it really the Healing Buddha you want?"

  "Yes. Mother sent someone else last time. Perhaps she gave another name. She does not want people to know she is ill."

  Apparently Yakushi had no problem with pseudonyms, for the recorder merely asked, "And what name would that be?"

  "Oh," cried Akitada in a tone of irritation, "how should I know? She never consults me! This is too frustrating! Let's just forget it if you cannot look it up!" He turned to leave.

  "Just a moment, sir," the recorder said quickly. "There are not many requests for the Healing Buddha nowadays. Did you say a month ago? Tshk." He scanned the entries. "Here it is, the only entry in several months. The name was Kato! The Golden Light Sutra from the moment of sunrise. Tshk, tshk. Does the name ring a bell?"

  "Kato," mused Akitada. "She has a cousin by that name. What day was it?"

  The monk looked it up. "The ninth day of the third month."

  Tora sucked in his breath, and Akitada shot him a warning glance. To the monk he said in a dubious tone, "It sounds right. What did this fellow look like?"

  "Tshk. I really couldn't say, sir. Someone else made the entry."

  "Well, how much did it cost last time?" Akitada asked, still frowning.

  The recorder shuddered at this crude question, but said, "A generous donation of four silver bars was entered."

  "Four silver bars!" cried Akitada, who did not have to pretend shock. "That does not sound right at all. My mother would never spend four bars of silver! No, I'm afraid I must have made a mistake. I shall have to consult with her before I make the arrangements. Thank you for your trouble."

  The recorder sniffed and said, "Hmph, tshk. You are welcome, sir. Please hurry back!"

  The young monk followed them out, looking disappointed. "Can I show the gentlemen anything else?" he asked. "Perhaps the gentleman's honorable mother might benefit from the sutra reading performed on the occasion of the archbishop's performance of the sacred rites. A very small gift to the temple would assure your mother's name would be included in the prayers."

  The temple depended on such gifts for its livelihood, and the boy looked so hopeful that Akitada dug a handful of silver coins from his sash. "Will this be enough?" he asked.

  The young man received the money with a smile and many bows, crying, "Oh yes, sir. Just a moment." He dashed back into the recorder's office and reappeared after a moment, carrying a receipt and announcing happily, "All is arranged, sir."

  Akitada hoped that his mother would never find out. Then he remembered the fugitive Ishikawa, and asked, "Do you get many postulants your age here?"

  The young monk looked surprised. "Not really, sir. Most of us come as children."

  "I have an acquaintance, a very handsome and clever young man about twenty years old, who may have entered a monastery this past week. I wonder if he might have come here."

  "Not this past week, sir. We have had no applicants of that age for many mo
nths now."

  After they parted from their guide and got on their horses, Tora said with a grin, "You're getting pretty good at lying, sir. But who is this strange fellow? If he ordered sutra readings the same day the prince disappeared, he must be part of the plot."

  Akitada decided to ignore the compliment. "Our friend Sakanoue has a weakness for impersonation. He paid four bars of silver, a considerable sum, to have the sutra chanted by a monk behind the hall at the time the prince always recited it inside." He added grimly, "It means that Sakanoue plotted the murder days before it happened. What I still do not understand is why Yoakira's friends assumed the prince was dead. How could they have known?" Suddenly he reined in his horse. "Tora," he cried, "the flies! There were flies near the image of the Buddha. Let's go back!"

  With a groan, Tora followed. They returned at a canter to the shrine. Akitada rushed up the steps two at a time. When Tora caught up with him in front of the Buddha figure, his master was holding up one of the candles and tapping the carving with his fingers.

  "Should you do that?" Tora asked nervously.

  A fly buzzed lazily up from behind the figure's head, circled the flame, and then settled down on Buddha's nose. Akitada walked around to the back of the statue. "Come here!" he called to Tora.

  Tora found him staring down at the floor. One of the dark boards had a small pale gash in it. Akitada squatted and probed with his fingers. "Give me your knife," he said.

  When the blade was inserted into a crack, a section of flooring about a foot square came up, releasing a strong stench and several flies. They peered down into the dark space under the floor. It was not deep. Within arm's reach lay a box slightly smaller than the opening. Beside it was a pile of incense sticks.