“Was a girl named Okitsu ever one of your courtesans?” Otani was saying to Rakuami.
“Yes,” Rakuami said. Eager to please Otani, he added, “I bought her from a broker who was selling farm girls.”
Brokers traveled the country, buying daughters from impoverished peasant families to sell to pleasure houses in the city. The prettiest girls went to Yoshiwara for high prices. The others ended up in places such as Rakuami’s, or worse.
“Okitsu was a sweet little thing.” Rakuami’s lewd smile suggested that he’d partaken of her favors himself. “I hope she’s not in any trouble?”
“She’s a suspect in the crime,” Hirata said.
“You don’t say!” Rakuami glanced at Hirata, then turned back to Otani. “I can’t believe little Okitsu had anything to do with the murder.”
“She never caused problems here?” Otani said.
“None at all,” Rakuami said. “She was pleasant-natured and obedient. Everybody liked her. She was very popular with my guests.”
“That should be enough to settle whatever doubts you have about her character and clear her of suspicion,” Otani said, condescending to address Hirata.
“But of course Rakuami would speak well of her,” Hirata said angrily. “He wouldn’t want to get a reputation for employing troublesome girls.”
Otani and Rakuami exchanged a glance that deplored Hirata’s temper. Rakuami said, “Hirata-san, you take life too seriously. You need to relax.” He called to a saucy girl in a bright pink kimono: “Come entertain my young friend.”
The girl knelt behind Hirata and began massaging his shoulders. “Go away,” Hirata ordered. “Leave me alone!”
The other men chuckled at his discomfiture. Even the detectives hid smiles as the girl continued her attentions and giggled. That Rakuami was making a fool of him in front of everyone increased Hirata’s anger. His onetime friend was paying him back for that long-ago raid. Hirata put the girl firmly aside. He said to Rakuami, “Did Senior Elder Makino meet Okitsu here?”
“Yes. Makino was a regular guest here. And Okitsu was one of his favorite girls.”
Although Rakuami still twinkled with mirth at Hirata’s expense, a cautious note in his voice suggested that he would rather not discuss the relations between Makino and Okitsu. Scenting a clue, Hirata said, “Was Makino one of Okitsu’s favorite clients?”
“Yes, indeed,” Rakuami said.
Hirata looked askance at him. "Okitsu was a pretty young girl. Makino was a mean, ugly old man. But she liked him anyway?”
“Very much.” Rakuami was no longer smiling; his manner turned defensive. Otani frowned.
“He paid for her favors, so she was forced to serve him, but she enjoyed it because she liked him,” Hirata said with disdainful skepticism.
“All right, she wasn’t fond of him. But that didn’t matter. She behaved very nicely toward him.” Rakuami’s face now glistened with sweat as well as grease. “All my girls do toward their clients.”
“Can your girls and your servants confirm what you’ve told me?” Hirata said. “Go ask them,” he ordered the detectives.
“Wait.” Rakuami raised his hand, loath to disrupt the party. Hirata motioned the detectives to stay. Rakuami said reluctantly, “The first time Makino asked for Okitsu’s company, she begged me not to make her serve him. She said he frightened her. The very sight of him made her sick. She said she hated him. But I told her she’d better make him happy because he was an important client.”
“And she made him so happy that he wanted her all to himself,” Hirata deduced, glad that he’d finally gotten the upper hand. “Did he buy her from you?” When Rakuami nodded, Hirata said, “How did Okitsu like the idea of being concubine to a man who frightened and revolted her?”
Rakuami’s gaze roved the room, avoiding Hirata. “It was an advantageous opportunity for Okitsu. When my girls get too old to attract clients, I have to let them go. I can’t afford to keep them if they’re not earning money. A lot of them end up begging on the streets.” He spoke with casual indifference to their fate. “For Okitsu to latch onto a rich, powerful man like Makino would secure her future.”
“But she didn’t want to live with him,” Hirata said, perceiving the truth that Rakuami wanted to deny.
“She’s young and foolish,” Rakuami scoffed. “She didn’t know what was best for her. I told her that Makino would give her a good home. She would have to serve only one man instead of many.”
“What happened when Okitsu found out you were selling her to Makino?”
Rakuami hesitated, licking his moist lips.
“I’m sure there’s someone else here who will tell me.” Hirata started to rise; the detectives followed suit.
Rakuami grimaced in annoyed resignation. “Okitsu tried to commit suicide,” he said in a flat, low voice that his guests wouldn’t hear.
“How?” Hirata said as he and the detectives resettled themselves.
“She jumped into the canal behind the house and tried to drown herself,” Rakuami said. “But some boatmen rescued her. I sent her to Makino’s house the next day.”
Otani broke into the conversation: “This is irrelevant. The girl tried to hurt herself, not Makino. We’ve heard nothing to suggest that she murdered him.”
“Maybe Makino treated her badly while they lived together,” Hirata said. “Maybe Okitsu was desperate to be rid of him, and she decided she would rather kill Makino than herself.”
“Maybe you’re making up stories that you want to believe,” Otani mocked Hirata. Then he said to Rakuami, “Thank you for your assistance. We won’t trouble you any longer.”
He and his men stood, as did Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s watchdogs. Rakuami jumped to his feet, bowed, and smiled, relieved to end Hirata’s interrogation. “To serve you is my pleasure,” he told Otani. “Perhaps you’ll do me the honor of visiting me again some other time?” His expansive gesture offered Otani his girls, food, drink, and music.
“I will,” Otani said.
Hirata and his detectives also rose, but Hirata said, “We’re not leaving yet. First, we’ll see what everyone else here has to say about Okitsu.”
He began separating girls and servants from the clients, who hastily absconded rather than get involved. Rakuami watched in helpless outrage. Hirata took a malicious, shameful pleasure in causing Rakuami trouble while forcing Otani and the other watchdogs to observe a tedious round of interviews. And although the interviews produced nothing more than Rakuami had told him, Hirata felt relieved that despite Otani’s hindrance, he’d discovered that Okitsu had a motive for the murder. He would have something to report to Sano.
At last, he and his party left the house. When they went outside to reclaim their horses, Otani drew Hirata aside and spoke in a confidential tone: “There’s something I must tell you, for your own good.”
Hirata eyed him warily.
“The sōsakan-sama is making a big mistake by conducting the investigation in this way,” Otani said. “If you follow his lead, you’ll go down with him. Do yourself a favor. Cooperate with me. Protect your own future.”
“Are you saying I should defy my master’s wish for the truth about the murder and conspire with you to incriminate the chamberlain so that Lord Matsudaira will reward me?” Hirata stared in disbelief at Otani’s puffy face.
“You needn’t put it so bluntly,” Otani said.
That Otani should try to suborn his loyalty to Sano! Enraged, Hirata wanted to lash out at Otani for insulting him and criticizing Sano’s judgment. But he mustn’t offend Otani and risk bringing Sano more trouble.
“Thank you for your offer, but I must decline,” he said with all the control he could manage.
Otani shrugged. “The offer stands, in case you come to your senses.”
Hirata was suddenly overwhelmed by fear that unless he could be free to carry out his inquiries without constant pressure, he would ultimately fail. Turning his back on Otani, he climbed on his horse and joined t
he detectives, who already sat astride their mounts, and whispered orders to them. As everybody rode away from Rakuami’s house, one detective suddenly bolted ahead. Another cantered his horse in the opposite direction. Another turned left at the intersection, while the last turned right.
“Where are they going?” demanded Otani.
“To follow some leads for me,” Hirata said.
Otani shouted at his men to go after the detectives. Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s men joined the pursuit. In the general confusion, Hirata slapped the reins and galloped away.
“Hey! Come back here!” Otani yelled.
As Hirata rode, he heard hooves pounding behind him as Otani gave chase. But he knew Nihonbashi better than Otani did. He veered down alleys, cut across marketplaces, and soon lost his watchdog. An exhilarating sense of freedom filled him as he raced alone through the wind and sunshine, bound for Asakusa Jinja Shrine, to investigate Senior Elder Makino’s wife.
* * *
14
Reiko alit from her palanquin in the Hibiya administrative district south of Edo Castle, in front of a mansion that belonged to her father, one of two magistrates who maintained law and order in Edo. She sent home the palanquin and her escorts, then carried a cloth-wrapped bundle to the gate. The sentries opened it for her, and she hurried through the courtyard, where police officers guarded shackled prisoners awaiting trial by the magistrate. Inside the mansion, she bypassed the public chambers that housed the Court of Justice. She went to the private quarters and closed herself inside the room that had been hers during her childhood. Ensconced amid the familiar teak cabinets, lacquer furniture, raised study niche, and painted murals of blossoming plum trees, she knelt on the tatami floor and opened her bundle.
It contained two plain indigo cotton kimonos with matching sashes, two white cotton under-robes, coarse white socks, a padded cotton cloak, and straw sandals—typical clothing for servants. Wrapped inside the clothing were a rice bowl and chopsticks, a comb, hairpins, a head kerchief, a Buddhist rosary, and a few copper coins. The only item not normally owned by a maid was a dagger in a leather sheath. Reiko changed her silk robes for the rough cotton clothes, then sat at the dressing table and studied her reflection in the mirror.
She picked up a cloth and wiped the rouge and white powder from her face and mouth. Her teeth, dyed gleaming black in the fashionable custom for married women, betrayed her rank. Reiko scrubbed them with a brush until they faded to a drab gray. She hoped no one would notice her shaved eyebrows—another mark of class and fashion. She unpinned her shiny, black waist-length hair, then opened a charcoal brazier and scooped out a handful of ash, which she worked into her hair until it was streaked a dull, sooty gray. Then she pinned her hair into a simple knot and smiled at her reflection. The gray streaks dimmed her natural beauty and aged her twenty years. Satisfaction with her disguise almost eclipsed her fear of leaving safe territory.
Reiko strapped the dagger to her thigh under her skirts, put on the cloak, and repacked her bundle, which she carried as she left the room. She hunched down the passage, imitating an old woman. When she turned a corner, she saw her father walking toward her, clad in his black judicial robes. Alarm jolted Reiko. She’d hoped not to see him because she didn’t want him to know what she was doing. But she couldn’t avoid him—he’d seen her. Reiko cringed as he approached…
. . . and passed her without a second glance. He hadn’t recognized her! He’d thought she was one of his maids. Reiko suppressed a giggle of delight that her disguise had passed the first test, then hastened from the mansion.
In the street she spied two peasant men carrying an empty kago—a basketlike chair for hire. She waved them down, climbed into the kago, and told them to take her to Edo Castle. As they trotted her past the walled estates, she felt vulnerable without her usual attendants. She shivered in the cold wind, missing the enclosed security of her palanquin. Mounted samurai towered over her. Stripped of the trappings of rank, she attracted little notice from the men, but invisibility was a mixed blessing. If one of Edo’s many thieves or marauders should attack her, no one would come to her aid. Now Reiko’s doubts returned in full force. She had the strange, disturbing sense that she’d lost her talents as well as her identity. How would she ever learn anything useful about Senior Elder Makino’s wife or concubine? How would she protect herself, even with the dagger she carried?
Reiko fought the insidious panic that waited to ensnare her. She prayed that a bad spell wouldn’t overtake her now, as the kago bore her onto the promenade outside Edo Castle. Its walls, towers, and roofs, looming on the hill above her, no longer represented home or safety. Instead, the castle proclaimed the might of the Tokugawa regime and signaled danger to outsiders—such as herself. Now the kago men stopped near the gate.
“Get out!” they ordered her. “Pay up!”
She reluctantly climbed out of the chair amid the soldiers and officials who thronged the promenade. As she paid the kago men, she saw a florid, thickset samurai standing outside the castle gate, scanning the crowds. Reiko recognized him as Nomura, a palace guard captain and the friend whom Sano had asked to meet her here and get her inside Senior Elder Makino’s estate. He saw her and approached.
“Are you Emi?” he said, calling her by the alias that Sano had given her.
“Yes, honorable master.”
Reiko bowed, noting that he didn’t recognize her, although he’d seen her when she’d accompanied the palace ladies on outings and he’d escorted them. Sano had told Nomura that Emi was his cast-off mistress who needed work. Nomura owed Sano a favor because Sano had recommended him for a promotion, and he’d willingly agreed to help her, even if he didn’t understand why she must work in Senior Elder Makino’s house. Honor demanded that he fulfill his obligation without asking questions.
“Let’s go, then,” Nomura said.
He walked to the castle gate. Reiko trailed behind him. Sentries let her in the gate because Nomura vouched for her. His authority got her past the guards at the checkpoints along the passages. Reiko’s heart thudded as they walked the familiar streets of the official quarter. Soon they arrived at Senior Elder Makino’s estate. Black mourning drapery sagged from the portals. The mansion looked as ominous as a dungeon.
Nomura said his name and rank to the sentries in the guard booth. “I want to see the estate manager,” he told them.
They sent word inside, and presently a samurai appeared. He bore a strong resemblance to Nomura. “Greetings, Honorable Cousin,” he said. “What brings you here?”
“I’m seeking employment for this woman.” Nomura indicated Reiko. “Her name is Emi. I want you to hire her as a ladies’ maid.”
“Very well,” the estate manager said, automatically granting the favor that his high-ranking cousin asked. “Come with me,” he ordered Reiko.
She followed him through the gate. The guards closed it behind them. An awful sense of imprisonment undermined Reiko’s triumph at gaining entry to the estate. She recalled visits she’d made to friends at similar places, when she’d been shown every courtesy due the wife of the shogun’s sōsakan-sama. But now the estate manager led her around the mansion to the servants’ quarters, a plain, two-story wooden building. Here he turned her over to the housekeeper, whom he introduced as Yasue. She was an old woman with white hair, sallow skin, and a hunched back. She carried a thick, blunt stick under the sash of her gray kimono.
“This is Emi, a new maid I’ve just hired for the ladies,” he said to Yasue. “Put her to work.”
He departed, and Reiko felt as though she’d lost her last link with her ordinary world. She knew she wasn’t alone, because Sano had stationed two detectives inside the estate in case she needed help, but she had no idea where they were. She belatedly realized how little she knew about the lives of maids. The recollection that not all employers treated their servants as well as she and Sano did increased her terror.
“Don’t look so frightened,” Yasue said. Amusement glittered in her
sharp eyes, which had yellowish whites. Her mouth, filled with large, protruding yellow teeth, grinned at Reiko. “I won’t bite you.”
She took Reiko to a cold, dank room in the servants’ quarters. On the bare earth floor lay rows of wooden pallets topped by straw-filled mattresses. Yasue opened a cupboard and said, “Leave your things here.”
Reiko stowed her bundle and cloak in one of many compartments that held clothes and other personal items belonging to the maids. She smelled the pungent reek of urine and feces from privies outside. The thought of sleeping in such crowded, squalid conditions made her physically ill.
Yasue led her through various buildings, named their functions, and laid out the household rules: “Maids should be as invisible and quiet as possible. Don’t go near Senior Elder Makino’s family, retainers, or guests unless you’re ordered to serve them. Don’t speak to them unless they speak to you.”
There went her hope of initiating conversations with the suspects and attempting to establish their guilt or innocence, Reiko thought. She and Yasue followed a path to a garden of rocks, white sand, and shrubs. In it stood a half-timbered building with wooden shutters and a broad veranda.
“Those are the private chambers,” Yasue said.
As Reiko gazed with interest at the scene of the murder, a woman glided across a covered walkway toward the building. Slim, elegant, and in her forties, she fit Sano’s description of Agemaki, widow of Senior Elder Makino. Then came a young, pretty girl accompanied by a strikingly handsome young man. Reiko surmised that they must be the concubine Okitsu and the actor Koheiji. She craned her neck, avid for a closer look at the murder suspects she’d come to observe. But they quickly disappeared into the private chambers.
“You’re not to go in there without permission,” Yasue said. “Come along now.”
Reiko had no choice but to let the woman hurry her away. They went to the kitchen, a vast den where hearths blazed and smoke and steam filled the air. Male cooks labored over boiling pots and sliced raw fish. They shouted orders to boys who stoked the fires and maids who flung dishes onto trays and ladled food into the dishes.
Sano Ichiro 9 The Perfumed Sleeve (2004) Page 13
