The Masuda Affair sa-7 Read online

  The Masuda Affair

  ( Sugawara Akitada - 7 )

  I J Parker

  The Masuda Affair

  I. J. Parker

  CHARACTERS

  (Japanese family names precede first names)

  MAIN CHARACTERS:

  Sugawara Akitada senior secretary in the Ministry of Justice

  Tamako his wife

  Seimei an aged family retainer of the Sugawaras

  Tora another retainer – young and of a romantic disposition

  Genba a third retainer, middle-aged and with a love for food

  Kobe superintendent of police

  CHARACTERS INVOLVED IN THE CASES IN OTSU:

  Lord Masuda an old and wealthy nobleman

  Masuda Tadayori his dead son

  Lady Masuda his daughter-in-law; first lady of his late son

  Lady Kohime his other daughter-in-law; second lady of his late son two little girls

  Kohime’s daughters

  Mrs Ishikawa their nurse

  Ishikawa her son, steward to Lord Sadanori

  Peony late courtesan kept by Masuda Tadayori

  Little Abbess her maid

  Mrs Yozaemon a poor widow in Otsu

  Manjiro her teenage son

  Nakano a judge

  Takechi a warden the Mimuras a fisherman and his wife the deaf-mute boy Dr Inabe (also, a cat) the Mimuras’ alleged son a physician

  CHARACTERS INVOLVED IN THE CASE IN THE CAPITAL:

  Fujiwara Sadanori a powerful nobleman and relative of the chancellor

  Lady Saisho his mother

  Seijiro her servant

  Hanae a pretty dancer from the amusement quarter

  Ohiya her dancing master

  Mrs Hamada her nosy neighbor an elusive monk and assorted prostitutes (also, a shaggy dog)

  ONE

  The Darkness of the Heart

  He was on his homeward journey when he found the boy. At the time, caught in the depth of hopelessness and grief, he did not understand the significance of their meeting.

  Sugawara Akitada, a member of the privileged class and moderately successful in the service of the emperor, was barely in the middle of his life and already sick of it. He used to counter hardship, humiliation, and even imminent death, with courage, and he had drawn fresh zest for new obstacles from his achievements, but when his young son had died during that spring’s smallpox epidemic, he found no solace. He went through the motions of daily life as if he were no part of them, as if the man he once was had departed with the smoke from his son’s funeral pyre, leaving behind an empty shell inhabited by a stranger.

  The poets called it the ‘darkness of the heart’, this inconsolable grief a parent feels after the death of a child, a despair of life that clouds the mind and makes a torment of day-to-day existence.

  Having completed an assignment in Hikone two days earlier, Akitada rode along the southern shore of Lake Biwa in a steady drizzle. The air was saturated with moisture, his clothes clung uncomfortably, and both rider and horse were sore from the wooden saddle. This was the fifteenth day of the watery month, in the rainy season. The road had long since become a muddy track where puddles hid deep pits in which a horse could break its leg. It became clear that he could not reach his home in the capital, but would have to spend the night in Otsu.

  In Otsu, wives or parents would bid farewell, perhaps forever, to their husbands or sons when they left the capital to begin their service in distant provinces. Akitada himself had felt the uncertainty of life on such occasions. But those days seemed in a distant past now. He cared little what lay ahead, and his wife cared little about him.

  Near dusk he passed through a dense forest. Darkness closed in, falling with the misting rain from the branches above and creeping from the dank shadows of the woods. When he could no longer see the road clearly, he dismounted. Leading his tired horse, he trudged onward in squelching boots and sodden straw rain cape and thought of death.

  He was still in the forest when a child’s whimpering roused him from his grief. He stopped and called out, but there was no answer, and all was still again except for the dripping rain. He was almost certain the sound had been human, but the eeriness of a child’s pitiful weeping in this lonely, dark place on his lonely, dark journey seemed too cruel a coincidence. This was the first night of the three day O-bon festival, the night when the spirits of the dead return to their homes for a visit before departing for another year.

  If his own son’s soul was seeking its way home, Yori would not find his father there. Would he cry for him from the darkness? Akitada shivered and shook off his sick fancies. Such superstitions were for simpler, more trusting minds. How far was Otsu?

  Then he heard it again.

  ‘Who is that? Come out where I can see you!’ he bellowed angrily into the darkness. His horse twitched its ears and shook its head.

  Something pale detached itself from one of the tree trunks and crept closer. A small boy. He caught his breath and called out, ‘Yori?’

  Foolishness! This was no ghost. It was a ragged child with huge frightened eyes in a pale face, a boy nothing at all like Yori. Yori had been handsome, well-nourished, and sturdy. This boy in his filthy, torn shirt had sticks for arms and legs. He looked permanently hungry, a living ghost.

  ‘Are you lost, child?’ asked Akitada, more gently, wishing he had food in his saddlebags. The boy remained silent and kept his distance.

  ‘What is your name?’

  No answer.

  ‘Where do you live?’

  Silence.

  The child probably knew his way around these woods better than Akitada. With a farewell wave, Akitada resumed his journey. The rain stopped, and soon the trees thinned and the darkness receded slightly. Grey dusk filtered through the branches, and ahead lay a paler sliver which was the lake and – thank heaven – the many small golden points of light, like a gathering of fireflies, that were the dwellings of Otsu. He glanced back at the dark forest, and there, not ten feet behind, waited the child.

  ‘Do you want to come with me then?’ Akitada asked.

  The boy said nothing, but he edged closer until he stood beside the horse. Akitada saw that his ragged shirt was soaked and clung to the ribs of his small chest.

  A deaf-mute? Oh well, perhaps someone in Otsu would know the boy.

  Bending down, Akitada lifted him into the saddle. He weighed so little, poor sprite, that he would hardly trouble the horse. He took the bridle again and trudged on. For the rest of their journey, Akitada looked back from time to time to make sure the boy had not fallen off. Now and then he asked him a question or made a comment, but the child did not respond in any way. He sat quietly, almost expectantly, in the saddle as they approached Otsu.

  Ahead beckoned bonfires, quickly assembled after the rain to welcome the spirits of the dead. Most people believed that spirits got lost, like this child, and also that they felt hunger. In Otsu’s cemetery tiny lights blinked, marking a trail to town, and in the doorway of every home offerings of food and water awaited the returning souls, those hungry ghosts depicted in temple paintings, skeletal creatures with distended bellies, condemned to eat excrement or suffer unending hunger and thirst as punishment for their wasteful lives.

  In the market, people were shopping for the three-day festival. The doors of houses stood wide open, and inside Akitada could see spirit altars erected before the family shrines, heaped with more fine things to eat and drink. So much good food wasted on ghosts!

  They passed a rice-cake vendor with trays of fragrant white cakes. Yori had loved rice cakes filled with sweet bean jam. Akitada dug two coppers from his sash and bought one for the boy. The child received it with solemn dignity and bowed his thanks before gobbl
ing it down. As miserable and hungry as this urchin was, he had not forgotten his manners. Akitada was intrigued and decided to do his best for the child.

  He stopped people to ask if they knew the boy or his family, but eventually grew weary of the disclaimers and headed for an inn. The boy had looked around curiously, but given no sign of recognition. In the inn yard, Akitada lifted him from the saddle and, with a sigh, took the small hand in his as they entered the ‘Inn of Happy Returns’.

  ‘A room,’ Akitada told the innkeeper, slipping off the sodden straw cape and his wet boots and dropping them on the stone flags of the entrance hall. And a bath. Then some hot food and wine.’

  The host was a stocky man with a dandified mustache above fleshy lips. He was staring at the ragged child. ‘Is he with you, sir?’

  ‘Unless you know where he lives, he’s with me,’ Akitada snapped irritably. ‘Oh, I suppose you’d better send someone out for new clothes for him. He looks to be about five.’ He fished silver from his sash, ignoring the stunned look on the man’s face.

  After inspecting the room, he took the child to the bath.

  Helping a small boy with his bath again was unexpectedly painful, and tears filled Akitada’s eyes. He blinked them away, blaming such emotion on fatigue and pity for the child. The shirt had done little to conceal his thinness, but naked he was a far more shocking sight. Not only was every bone clearly visible under the sun-darkened skin, but the protruding belly spoke of malnutrition, and there were bruises from beatings.

  Judging by the state of his long, matted hair and his filthy feet and hands, the bath was a novel experience for him. Akitada borrowed scissors and a comb from the bath attendant and tended to his hair and nails, trying to be as gentle as he could. The boy submitted bravely to these ministrations and to a subsequent cleansing of his body with a bucket of warm water and a small bag filled with buckwheat hulls. Afterwards, while they were soaking in the large tub, as he had done so many times with Yori, Akitada fought tears again.

  They returned to the room in short robes provided by the inn. The child’s was much too large for him and dragged behind as he walked, clutching Akitada’s hand. Their bedding had been spread out, and a hot meal of rice and vegetables awaited them. At the sight of the food, the boy smiled for the first time. They ate, and when the boy’s eyes began to close and the bowl slipped from his hands, Akitada tucked him into the bedding and went to sleep himself.

  He awoke to the boy’s earnest scrutiny. In daylight and after the bath and night’s rest, the child looked almost handsome. His hair was soft, he had thick, straight brows, a well-shaped nose and good chin, and his eyes were almost as large and luminous as Yori’s. Akitada smiled and said, ‘Good morning.’

  Stretching out a small hand, the boy tweaked Akitada’s nose gently and gave a little gurgle of laughter.

  But there were no miracles. The boy did not find his speech or hearing, and his poor body had not filled out overnight. He still looked more like a hungry ghost than a child.

  And he was not Yori.

  Yet in that moment of intimacy Akitada decided that, for however long they would have each other’s company, he would surrender to emotions he had buried with the ashes of his first-born. He would be a father again.

  Someone had brought in Akitada’s saddlebags and the boy’s new clothes. They dressed and went for a walk about town. Because of the holiday, the vendors were setting out their wares early in the market.

  Near the Temple of the War God they breakfasted on noodles. Then Akitada had himself shaved by a barber, while the boy sat on the temple steps and watched an old storyteller, who was regaling a small group of children and their mothers with the tale of how the rabbit got into the moon. His face was expressionless. Akitada’s heart contracted with pity, and he looked away.

  Beyond the busy market street, roofs of houses stretched towards the green hills: brown thatched roofs, grey wooden roofs weighted down with large stones, blue-tiled roofs of temples, and black-gabled pitched roofs of shrines. But, on the hillside behind the temple, a complex of elegantly curving tiled roofs rose above the trees and overlooked the town below and the lake and distant mountains beyond. Akitada idly asked the barber about its owner.

  ‘Oh, that would be the Masudas. Very rich, but cursed.’

  ‘Cursed?’

  ‘All the men die mysteriously.’ The barber finished and wiped Akitada’s face with a hot towel. ‘There’s only the old lord left now, and he’s mad. That family’s ruled by women. Pshaw!’ He spat in disgust.

  Even without curses, there was no shortage of death in the world.

  Akitada paid and they strolled on. The way the boy clung to his hand as they passed among the stands and vendors filled Akitada’s heart with half-forgotten gentleness. He watched the boy’s delight in the sights of the market and wondered where his parents were and if they were in despair by now. Perhaps they lived far away and had become separated from their son while traveling along the highway.

  Or – a dreadful but reasonable thought – perhaps they had abandoned him in the forest because he was not perfect and a burden to them. The irony that this living child might have been discarded like so much garbage, while Yori, beloved and treasured by his parents, had been snatched away by death was not lost on Akitada, and he spoiled the silent boy with treats – a pair of red slippers for his bare feet, a carved horse to play with, and sweets.

  No one recognized the child; neither did the boy show interest in anyone. Not even the odd figure of a mendicant monk, his entire head swallowed by a large basket hat made from straw, got more that a casual glance. The monk was playing a vertical flute with great skill, and Akitada, who played the horizontal flute, would have liked to linger a little, but the boy pulled him away to watch some acrobats tumbling in the street.

  Only one odd thing happened later in the day. After having clung to Akitada’s hand all morning and afternoon, the boy suddenly tore himself loose and dashed into the crowd just as Akitada was thinking of taking him to a nice dinner in one of the restaurants.

  He felt a sharp panic that he had lost him forever.

  But the boy had not gone far. Akitada glimpsed his bright-red shoes between the legs of passers-by, and there he was, sitting in a doorway, clutching a filthy brown-and-white cat in his arms. Akitada’s relief was as instant as his irritation. The animal was thin, covered with dirt and scars, and looked half wild. When Akitada reached for it, it hissed and jumped from the boy’s arms.

  The child gave a choking cry, too garbled to be called speech. He struggled in Akitada’s arms, sobbing and repeating the strangled sounds, his hands stretching after the cat. Akitada felt the wild heartbeat in the small chest against his own and soothed the sobs by murmuring softly to him. After a long time, the boy calmed down, but even after Akitada bought him a toy drum, he kept looking about for the stray cat.

  They had a fine dinner of sea bream, melon pickle, rice, and sweet millet cakes with honey, and Akitada was happy that the boy ate well and with pleasure. When night fell, they followed the crowd back to the temple, where a stage had been set up for the O-bon dancers. The dancers, both men and women, wore brightly colored robes and gyrated in the light of colored lanterns to the music of a small orchestra of drums, lutes, and flutes. Akitada lifted the boy to his shoulders so he could see. His eyes were wide with wonder at the sight of the fearful masks and brilliant silk costumes. Once, when a great lion-headed creature came close, its glaring eyes and lolling tongue swinging their way, he gave a small cry and clasped Akitada’s neck.

  For a moment the colorful scene blurred as Akitada felt the small arms and hands against his skin. It was shameful for a grown man to weep in public, and he brushed the tears away, knowing that he could not part with this child.

  He lost the boy almost immediately.

  While thinking how to introduce this foundling to his wife, he became aware of shouting. The boy’s arms tightened convulsively around Akitada’s neck, and a sharp-faced, poorl
y-dressed woman pushed to his side.

  ‘It is you, Jiro!’ She glared at Akitada and demanded shrilly, ‘What are you doing with our boy? Give him back.’

  Akitada could not answer immediately because the child’s thin arms had wrapped around his neck with a stranglehold.

  A rough character in the shirt and loincloth of a peasant joined the woman. ‘Hey,’ he cried, ‘let go of him. He’s ours.’ When Akitada did not react, he bellowed at the bystanders, ‘Here. He’s stolen our boy. Someone call the constables.’

  Akitada loosened the boy’s grip and saw the sheer terror on his face.

  It was over quickly. Two constables pushed through the crowd. The couple burst into angry speech, confusing the two guardians of the peace and distracting the audience from the dance performance as a more exciting entertainment played out in their midst.

  Akitada listened to the storm of accusations and demands, holding the trembling child against him, murmuring that it would be all right. But it was not all right.

  The man’s name was Mimura. The boy was his son. He was a fisherman on the lake and lived with his wife about a mile from Otsu, near the forest where Akitada had found the boy.

  The constables turned their attention to Akitada.

  ‘Do you know this boy, sir?’ the first constable asked politely.

  ‘No. I found him yesterday, abandoned in the forest. In the rain. I brought him to Otsu to find his family.’

  The constables looked at each other, nodded, and the first constable said contentedly, ‘Well, you’ve found them, sir. Just give the boy to these people. I’m sure they’re much obliged to you.’

  Akitada looked at the Mimuras and frowned. ‘He doesn’t seem to want to go with them,’ he said. The child’s fear of the couple was palpable and obvious to anyone. Moreover, they did not act like loving parents. The man’s low brow, mean eyes, and angry expression did not promise well, and nobody could find any maternal love in the coarse-featured female’s manner. They did not look relieved to have their child back, safe and sound; they looked furious – and greedy. The crowd muttered.