Death on an Autumn River (37 page)

They sat in silence.  Akitada pondered
his own past
and thought of Seimei.  Seimei, Tora, and Tamako had helped him shed the black despair that had nearly turned to self-destruction.  He felt great pity for the two old people.

He sighed and took the amulet from his sash.  Placing it before Otomo, he said
,  “
You must have hated leaving this in my hands.  I lost a child myself and, in my grief I, too, made mistakes.  I cannot restore your grandson to you, but I can at least tell you what happened. Your grandson loved Akogi, and I believe she loved him too much to forget him.  In his rage, the governor threatened the owner of the Hananoya, and she and her husband took her young life.  They have been arrested and have confessed.”

The professor moaned and dropped his head into his hands.  His wife cried out in horror.  After a moment, Otomo looked up.  “This is horrible, but the governor cannot be responsible for it.  He would never order such a thing.  You must believe me.”

Akitada had considered this.  “They have accused him,” he said, “but that doesn’t mean much. Still, even if he gave no orders, he bears responsibility.  His love for his son drove him to separate the two young people.  Sometimes, excessive love brings death to the very person we cling to.”

The professor shook his head. 
“If so, his punishment has been terrible.
  We have all been punished.” 

Mrs. Otomo reached for the amulet and placed it in her husband’s hand.  “You and I,” she said,
“ we
forgot all others when we were thinking only of those we loved.  My dear, there must be many things you can still teach the young.  Let them be your grandchildren.”

Professor Otomo looked at the amulet.  With a sad smile, he said, “What is a man to do with a foolish wife?”  Then he put his arm around her and drew her close.

Akitada nodded to both of them.  “One should always accept a generous gift.”

The return to a house that no longer contained Seimei was unexpectedly eased by Saburo.  He was an odd addition to the Sugawara household, even given Akitada’s dislike of spies and Tora’s fear of demons.

The evening of their departure from Naniwa, Saburo had approached Akitada in his typically offhand manner.  “Well, you’re finished here,” he said, his face working quite horribly.  “I’ll say goodbye then.”  He looked down at himself and stroked his new clothes with his good hand.  “You’ll want these back, right?”

Akitada had not come to any decision about Saburo, but he certainly did not want his clothes back. 
“Of course not.”

“Oh.”  Saburo did not look at him.  He fingered the fabric of his robe and sighed.

Conscience smote Akitada.  There was hardly a creature in this land who had suffered more at the hands of his fellow man than this one.  He had even more suffering to look forward to, and neither his new clothes nor his innate intelligence would protect him from being shunned.  He said, “If you like, you can come along with us.  We can use some help for a while.  How long you stay will depend on your behavior.  My position doesn’t permit my people to behave scandalously or illegally.”  He paused.  “The decision is up to you.  What do you say?”

Saburo drew himself up.  “I’m aware of your position, sir.  As for becoming your servant, I’ll try it.  I may stay if I like it. 
Haven’t been to the capital in a while.
  It’ll make a change.”

And that was that.  No word or gesture of gratitude.  No bowing or kneeling or fervent promises of loyal service.  Saburo turned on his heel and left.

To be fair, on the journey home, he took on the humblest chores without being told, cleaning their boots, looking after the horses at the post stations, carrying saddlebags.  He managed to do a great deal of work, even with a nearly useless arm.

Saburo knew his way around horses and seemed to have other useful skills. 

Tora told him about the capital and the routine in the Sugawara hosehold.  Akitada did the same for the other family members and his own habits.  When Tora asked Saburo about being a spy, he answered briefly and with a nervous glance at Akitada.

It was only when Genba swung the gates wide that Akitada had a moment of panic.  What would his family make of the horribly disfigured creature he was about to introduce into their midst?

Genba was glad to see them until he saw Saburo.  And when Tora introduced him as a new servant, Genba’s face fell even more, though he nodded politely. 
More problems?

But Akitada had no time to worry about Genba’s feelings.  The main doors flew open, and the children rushed down the stairs, shouting and laughing.  Behind them, came Tamako, looking deceptively pale and fragile in her dark robe because they were still in mourning for Seimei.  But there was no time for grief either:  His daughter Yasuko flung herself into his arms, and Yuki did the same for Tora.

To see his wife again and hold his child was almost more than Akitada could bear.  He hugged Yasuko tightly and murmured an endearment into her ear.  It was a moment of pure happiness.

Then Yasuko’s eyes fell on Saburo and widened.  “Who’s that man, Papa?”

Saburo hung back, holding the horses, and was now drifting off in the direction of the stables.  Akitada called after him, “Come and meet my family, Saburo.”

He came, his head bowed until his chin touched his chest.  He bowed to Tamako first. 
“My Lady.”

Akitada said, “Saburo has agreed to stay with us and help out wherever he’s needed.  He has had an interesting life.” 

He saw that Tamako understood.  Her face warmed. “You’re very welcome in our house, Saburo,” she said, giving the ugly man a smile.

Yasuko asked, “What’s the matter with your face, Saburo?”

Her parents tried to speak at the same time, Akitada to explain, and his wife to remind her daughter of her manners.  Both broke off, embarrassed.

Saburo raised his good hand to his disfigured cheek.  “It got cut, Lady Yasuko.  I hope it doesn’t frighten you.”

“No.  I’m not frightened.”  She studied him with a solemn expression—Saburo bore it patiently—then she smiled at him.
“Poor Saburo.
  I’m sorry you got hurt.”

Saburo’s face worked for a moment. “Thank you, little lady,” he said.  “Perhaps, if your honored parents permit it, I’ll tell you some good stories some time.  I know lots of stories.”

“Me, too,” cried Yuki, running over.
  “I like stories, too.”

*

With his household thus adjusting to change, Akitada went early the next morning to present his reports at the Second Minister’s office in the Dajokan-cho, the building housing the offices of the great council of state. 

He had spared Munata and Oga as much as he could and stressed Munata’s help in quelling Watamaro’s aspirations.  He felt certain they had been dangerous aspirations and urged that the government deal firmly with the fugitive Watamaro and his pirates.  Otomo he did not mention at all.  He had suffered enough.  Oga was another matter because of his involvement in the murder of Akogi, but that crime did not concern the council of state, and Akitada hoped that the loss of his only son was punishment enough for Oga’s ruthless handling of the love affair. 

In the Second Minister’s office, he was not asked to make his report in person.  He was neither surprised nor offended by this.  His rank was far too low for him to be consulted by a man who stood at the top of the government.

From the Dajokan-cho, he walked to the Ministry of Justice.  As he entered and walked down the corridor, the familiar surroundings cheered him until he heard boisterous voices coming from the archives.  He put his head in and saw Sadenari, perched on a ladder and surrounded by six or eight of the youngest clerks.  He seemed to be regaling his spellbound audience with a highly colored account of his exploits among pirates and courtesans.  Sadenari was too engrossed to see him right away, and Akitada took a step inside. 

“Hard at work, Sadenari?” he asked.

The other youngsters scattered, and Sadenari slid down, flushing crimson.  Akitada merely looked at him, then turned and left.

Fujiwara Kaneie was in his office and received him happily. 
“My dear Akitada, welcome.
  Sit down.  You’ve been missed.  All sorts of things are in arrears, and I cannot get any work out of the young clerks.  Are you all done with that irritating piracy business?”

Akitada bowed, sat, and indicated he was.

“Well, that’s good.  You’re to have some leave, what with the recent death of your old retainer, but if you would just have a peek at a few matters before you take it, I’d be very grateful.”

“Of course, sir.
  You are well, I trust?”

“Yes, yes.  Thank the gods.  I’ll be on my way into the country to have a look at my family estate now that you’re back. 
Getting in a little hunting perhaps.
  Do you hunt?”

“No, sir.
 
Not lately anyway.”

“I’m going to try falcons. 
The sport of emperors.”
  He laughed.  “Very clever birds, I’m told.  You just toss one into the air and it chases down your duck or rabbit or whatever and brings it back.  Imagine that.”

“Very impressive.
  May I ask what you have decided to do about Sadenari, sir?”

The minister’s face fell.  “Ah, yes.  Silly boy!  Sorry he gave you a hard time.  I’ve put him in the archives.  Surely that’ll teach him a lesson.”

Akitada sighed inwardly.  The young man was a liability, and Akitada had little hope that he would become a useful member of the ministry, but his exploits in Eguchi had mostly been due to youthful foolishness and an excess of libido.  He recalled the young man’s humble family and thought it best to leave matters alone, provided he was never saddled with him again.

“By the way,” the minister said, “the governor of Settsu . . . man by the name of Oga.  You must’ve met him.”

“Yes, I did.  What about him?”

“Resigned his office.
  Says he decided to take the tonsure.  Why is everybody in such a hurry to enter a monastery these days?”

“I have no idea, sir.”

“Exactly.
  It’s a mystery.”  The minister pushed a stack of document boxes toward Akitada.  “Here are some of the cases you need to have a look at.  Handle them any way you see fit.  I have the utmost confidence in you.  Well, I think that’s all.  I should be back in another week.” 

Akitada carried the boxes to his office where his elderly clerk greeted him with a smile and the words, “Oh, dear. 
More documents?
  There’s no room.  His Excellency has been sending everything here for the past two weeks.”

Akitada looked around his small room.  Every surface was covered with boxes and scrolls, some with small tags attached that proclaimed them to be urgent.  He put the boxes in his arms on the floor, and went to sit behind his desk, staring at the stacks that rose before him and threatened to topple in his lap.  It reminded him of Nakahara’s desk.

The clerk offered, “Shall I clear the desk a little?  I can put all those on the floor with the new ones.”

Life was back to normal.

*

The next morning, Akitada rose early and stepped from his wife’s room out onto her veranda.  It was dawn of another fine day.  Their wisteria was not blooming so late in the year, but it looked particularly healthy and lush, with many seedpods dangling among the leaves.  Already the small maple had turned completely red, and Tamako’s chrysanthemums bloomed lavishly white and golden yellow.

He sat down and thought about his marriage.  He had felt shame while making love to his wife last night, shame because he had wanted to bed the choja Nakagimi.  Even this morning in his peaceful domesticity, his feelings were still ambivalent.  He knew he would have taken Nakagimi that night if not for Sadenari’s appearance.  He had lacked both the strength of character and the wish to resist.  As for Nakagimi, she was very beautiful, but there had been
a hardness
about her that he found repellent.  Had he been angry with her because of his own failure?

He pondered this for a while.  A bird began to sing somewhere close by. 

He had been unfair, he decided.  More than likely, she, like Akogi, had suffered a “presentation” when she was still a very young girl.  But she had not fallen in love with a handsome and dashing young nobleman.  No doubt she had been taken by an older man who had been both unattractive and inconsiderate.  She had learned early to look out for herself because no one else would. 

He sighed.  He must learn not to judge people too harshly.  Even Watamaro had gone into his violent and mercenary business with a wish to improve the lot of poor sailors and fishermen.

A rustling of the bed clothes in the room behind him reminded him of the eager and passionate lovemaking he and Tamako had shared.  No courtesan could improve on that.  With a smile, he rose to get his flute and play for his wife.  He walked quickly from her garden to his and into his study.  Taking the flute from its box, he returned.

To his delight, the sun had risen over the trees and struck the top of the maple, making the crimson foliage blaze more brilliantly than the most costly dyed silk robe fit for an empress.  He put the flute to his lips and played.