The Dragon Scroll (20 page)

Seimei bristled, but Akitada laid a restraining hand on the old man’s arm. He felt a sharp pang of envy for this stranger who had won Tora’s loyalty while he had failed to, but said only, “I understand. Perhaps we can find Hidesato together and explain to him.”

“You would do that?”

“Certainly. I consider you my friend.”

Tora flushed and hung his head. “Your kind of people don’t have friends among my kind of people.”

“Why not? I look forward to meeting Hidesato and hope you will introduce me to the crippled wrestler and his daughters.”

Tora’s face lit up. “Higekuro? How about right now? He should be finished with his last students.”

Akitada smiled. “Why not?”

♦

They found Higekuro and Otomi playing a game of
go
while Ayako was mending one of the bows.

Tora made the introductions. Akitada was astonished at the crippled man’s size and muscular build. Even more impressive was the natural manner with which he received Akitada. There was nothing servile in his courteous bow or in the unaffected way in which he directed his daughters to bring some wine for his noble guest. He made no apologies for the poor offerings, and his speech was that of an educated man.

Akitada looked about the simple room with pleasure. It was clean and seemed to have everything a man might need in a home: a comfortable dais on which to rest and play a game, warmth from the cooking stoves on which simmered a savory meal, a few boxes for his belongings, and children who honored and served him.

The two young women wore the plainest of cotton gowns, but they were slender and graceful, one very pretty and shy, the other quick in her movements and openly curious about him. When Akitada gave her a smile, she tossed her head a little. The gesture was unexpectedly charming.

Higekuro stroked his thick black beard and asked about wrestling in the capital. Akitada told him what he knew, and they fell into an easy conversation about various sports and how they were played in the capital and in the provincial towns. Akitada recalled his own pastimes: football games, horse races around the imperial guard barracks, a brief but enjoyable set of lessons from a wrestling champion, and the continuous and exacting training in swordsmanship. Higekuro countered with similar childhood memories until Akitada asked in great surprise, “Do I take it that you, too, were raised in the capital?”

“Yes, but I was exiled as a young man.” Higekuro smiled at Akitada’s astonishment. “Come, the story is not unusual. I was raised in one of the ‘good’ families and trained for a military career. When one of my uncles was convicted of treason, all the members of our family were sentenced to exile, their property confiscated, their honors revoked. I was a married man with a young family, and my only skill was wrestling. Fortunately, that profession allowed me to support my parents till they died. I lost my wife soon after but raised my daughters to adulthood before I had the accident that crippled me.”

Throughout this tragic tale, the smile did not leave his face, and Akitada was deeply moved by such courage. “You have had a very difficult life,” he said awkwardly.

“Not at all. I’m a fortunate man. Ayako helps me run the school, and Otomi is earning more every day with her paintings.” He smiled with great pride and affection at his daughters.

Akitada met the serious eyes of Ayako, who had seated herself near them to listen to their talk. Her hands lay idly in her lap, but he saw their finely drawn strength and the long, capable fingers with their blunt nails and guessed at their strength.

Her sister had convinced Tora to play a game with her. Otomi was smiling up at him. He smiled back in a besotted fashion as she placed a game piece on the board with a softly rounded feminine hand. Into Akitada’s mind flashed the memory of the small cold hand of the widowed child in the Tachibana mansion, and he was struck by the differences between the three young women.

With an effort he returned to his conversation with Higekuro. “The governor mentioned your daughter’s fine reputation as a painter. May I see some of her work?”

“The governor, you say?” Higekuro clapped his hands sharply. But Otomi and Tora were bent over their game and oblivious to the others. When her sister put a hand on Otomi’s shoulder, she turned. A series of quick hand and lip movements passed between father and daughter, then Otomi bowed and smiled at Akitada. She rose and went up the steps to the loft, returning with an armful of scrolls. She placed them on the dais before returning to Tora and the go board.

Akitada unrolled the paintings one by one, while Higekuro looked on and Ayako came to stand beside him. Otomi’s talent was remarkable. As a classical scholar, Akitada preferred the subdued landscapes to the more colorful, but to his mind gaudy, saints and
mandalas,
although the latter were painted with great skill and a fine eye for detail and effect. He had seen enough religious paintings to know that Otomi’s rivaled anything in the capital.

Ayako made herself useful unrolling and holding up the scrolls. When Akitada remarked on a rocky landscape hidden in mist, she said eagerly, “We, too, prefer the landscapes. But the Buddhist paintings bring in money from the pilgrims and from local people, too. Otomi is very careful about accuracy. She visits famous temples to copy their paintings and to receive instruction in their significance.”

Akitada smiled at her. “I would like to buy a landscape painting. Do you think there is one of beautiful Sagami Bay? When I’m back in the capital, it would remind me of my journey.”

Ayako looked uneasy. “There is one, but you will hardly consider it a landscape. It’s a ship in a storm.”

“That sounds interesting.”

“Actually, it’s a storm dragon picture. You know the one, Father?”

Higekuro also looked unhappy, but he nodded. “Show the gentleman the scroll,” he said after a glance at the two
go
players.

Ayako went to one of the stacked chests and took out a scroll. She unrolled it for Akitada, saying, “Otomi painted it on her last journey, but it upsets her, so we keep it locked away.”

The picture showed a ship in the coils of the storm dragon. Mountainous waves, black clouds, and jagged lightning surrounded a scene of imminent death and destruction for the people aboard. The detail was as fine as in the other paintings, but the brushstrokes here were rapid, almost violent, and the painting managed to convey a sense of chaos.

Akitada bent closer. There were soldiers on the ship, perhaps a military transport of sorts. They were armed with the halberds called
naginata
and accompanied by a solitary seated monk. Strangely, they appeared completely detached in the face of impending disaster. Perhaps, Akitada thought, the scroll told a religious tale. He studied the monk’s figure, trying to guess at its significance, and got the uneasy feeling that he had seen him somewhere.

“Will you ask your sister where she saw this scene?” he asked Ayako.

The girl hesitated, then went to Otomi to communicate Akitada’s question. The younger girl looked up and became agitated, shaking her head and gesturing wildly.

“She doesn’t want to talk about it,” Ayako translated.

Akitada looked from the girls to their father. “I don’t wish to distress your daughter, but I have the strangest feeling that there is something significant about this picture.”

“Do you?” Higekuro’s eyes lit up. “I agree. About a month ago, just after the festival of the dead, Otomi joined a local group for a pilgrimage to the Temple of Infinite Light in Shimosa province. She went there for research. The storm dragon was one of the pictures she painted on that journey. When she returned, we noticed that she was changed. She brooded a lot and had terrible nightmares. I’ve always thought that something happened to her on the pilgrimage and that the scroll is part of the mystery. You think that it might be connected with the tax matter? The time is right. If there is a connection, you give me hope that we may help her.”

Akitada said, “You’re right. The time and place of your daughter’s pilgrimage roughly fit the date and route of the last tax convoy. Did your daughter take passage in a ship, or is this temple near the coastal highway?”

Higekuro stared at Akitada, then turned to Otomi and questioned her with sign language. She closed her eyes briefly and shook her head violently. He persisted, using his hands to make her look at him. Eventually she nodded. Taking a piece of charred wood from the kitchen stove, she scribbled on the hard dirt floor while gesturing to her father. Higekuro translated, “She stayed in the guest quarters of the monastery. The highway passes just below the monastery walls, and the guest quarters overlook Sagami Bay.”

“Ask her if she saw a pack train passing by.”

But this time, when her father communicated the question, Otomi turned pale and trembled. Clutching the piece of charred wood, she scrawled an illegible series of characters, then threw away the wood and staggered to her feet.

“Enough!” cried Ayako, jumping up and catching the shaking, weeping girl in her arms. Her eyes flashed angrily at Akitada. “You are tormenting her.”

Akitada instantly revised his opinion about the sisters. Ayako was far more beautiful than the sweetly pretty Otomi. How could Tora be so blind? “I am very sorry,” he said, “but surely you must see that your sister will have no peace until she shares her memory.”

“My sister is an artist,” flashed Ayako, “not a rough person like myself. I believe she was attacked and violated. She cannot face the brutality of that without breaking. Believe me, if I were not afraid of hurting her, I would have found out who did this to her.” She took a deep breath and added fiercely, “I would have killed him!”

Otomi tore herself from her sister’s arms and fled to Tora, who was hovering near them and received her eagerly in his embrace.

Akitada could not take his eyes off Ayako. “I believe you are wrong. What makes you think she was raped?” he asked.

“What else?” she spat. “Look at her! She’s beautiful and men lust after her. Have you forgotten the monks who attacked her?” She glared at Tora. “No doubt your servant has similar designs.”

“I do not!” cried an outraged Tora.

“Ayako!” thundered Higekuro.

She flushed and bowed to Tora. “Forgive my words,” she said gruffly. “But not even in our unconventional family is it proper for you to embrace my sister.”

Tora immediately released Otomi, who sniffled a little, then scurried up to the loft.

Higekuro sighed. “You must think us very strange,” he said to Akitada, “but remember our background and our present life together. My daughters are everything to me. Perhaps I have been too indulgent with them, but the proprieties observed in the past have lost all meaning for the three of us.”

Akitada nodded. “It’s curious,” he said, pointing to the scroll, “that monks should appear in both of your daughter’s recent adventures. I am very interested in the Temple of Fourfold Wisdom and its abbot, Master Joto. Has Otomi visited there?”

“Yes, often.” Higekuro pondered the question a moment. “She goes there to sell her pictures to the pilgrims. But surely there is no connection? Master Joto’s monks have always been very helpful to her. The ones asking questions earlier today were probably just trying to send her customers.”

Akitada looked at Ayako. “What do you think?” he asked softly.

She lifted her chin and met his eyes squarely. “I think you are right about the monks and Father is wrong,” she said. “If you will leave my sister in peace, I’ll help you investigate the monks.”

Akitada laughed and bowed. “I admire your spirit. If your father permits it, it’s a bargain.” Turning to Higekuro, he asked, “Will you trust me with your daughter?”

Higekuro stroked his beard and looked from Akitada to Ayako and back again. “Ayako does not need my permission for anything she chooses to do. You may trust her. She knows her way about and is as useful as any man in a tight spot. Tora told us that you take an interest in stick fighting. Why not let Ayako give you a bout?”