The Crane Pavillion Page 13

  “You’re wrong,” said Tora. “I’m still a dutiful married man and father. But I thought I might try my luck tonight. I brought my friend Saburo. Saburo, meet the sharpest dicer in the willow quarter. Can we sit in?”

  Of course they could. Introductions were made and Tora decided that the clientele of the Bamboo Grove had declined a little. The one called Hankei looked like the sort of man they needed. But if he was a gangster, they would have to tread carefully. He hoped Saburo would not make any mistakes.

  When told about the stakes, Tora grimaced. “We’re poor, guys. Can you take it down a bit?”

  Hankei, who resembled a small monkey, objected. He already had a neat pile of winnings and claimed that any change might break his streak of luck. “If you run out of money,” he offered generously, “I’ll stake you. And the wine’s on me.”

  Tora nodded. “Well, maybe your luck will rub off.” Making loans during games was one way unscrupulous moneylenders preyed on the poor and stupid. They settled down, put their money in and awaited their turn with the dice.

  Tora watched Hankei rattle the dice in a cup and upend it on the floor, hiding the dice inside. They made their guesses, even or odd, and Hankei’s neighbor lifted the cup. Saburo had guessed correctly and received a share of the pot. Tora had lost.

  The payout being settled, and the wine cups refilled, Tora asked, “Did you hear about Nakamura’s murder?”

  They had all heard about it and expressed shock that a blind girl should go so far as to slash a man’s throat.

  “Though mind you,” said one of the players, “he was known to abuse women. Some of the houses stopped admitting him. But the girls and their aunties are pretty desperate for money, and so he still had plenty of entertainment.”

  “Yeah,” said Gengyo, “these days the whores gamble just as much as their clients. The one they call Phoenix owed Nakamura one thousand pieces of gold.”

  Shouts of derision greeted this figure. “You must be crazy. Even in silver, that’s more money than anyone in the quarter has, let alone a whore.”

  Gengyo defended himself. “The Phoenix is a choja. She makes a lot of money for her house. Her clothes alone are worth a fortune.”

  They squabbled over it until Hankei, the monkey, said impatiently, “Come on! Let’s play. I came for a good game.” He pushed the cup and the dice toward his neighbor, who obediently picked them up and rattled the cup. Bets were made. More wine was dispensed and drunk. Money was added to the diminished pile, and the game went on. Tora won a few times, but Saburo only once.

  Saburo asked, “Did this Nakamura gamble?”

  “Never,” said one of the players. “But he’d ask enough questions about big losers.” He laughed. “Always on the look-out for people needing a loan, that one. No, he was much too smart or too tight to risk his own money.”

  “He was a bastard,” one of the others commented. The monkey growled, and the game continued.

  Saburo ran out of money and dropped out. The monkey grinned and held up five pieces of silver. “Here! Just give me a piece of paper that you’re good for it.”

  Saburo refused. “I’ll watch.”

  Tora was down to his last piece of silver. The monkey proposed raising the bets to that amount. With an inward sigh, Tora submitted, placing his coin with the other bets. “Anybody here know Kanemoto?” he asked. “He’s supposed to live in the quarter.”

  Silence fell. Then Gengyo asked, “What do you want with him, Tora? He’s got a reputation for being a very unfriendly man.”

  “He’s a gangster boss, you mean,” said Tora. “I know. I’ve never met him and thought it would be useful to make his acquaintance.”

  Gengyo shook his head. “Don’t be a fool. He doesn’t want people to know him and makes sure he’s left alone. And working for Lord Sugawara isn’t going to protect you, if you make him nervous.”

  “Game!” snapped the monkey, rattling the cup. They returned to the dice, placed their bets, and watched as the next man lifted the cup. A rapid calculation, and a general moan went up. Most had opted for “even” and the result was “odd.”

  The monkey grinned and reached for the pile of coins, a clear winner.

  That was when Saburo’s hand shot forward and seized the dice. Lifting them to his good eye, he scowled. “Look! The bastard used crooked dice!”

  Shocked outcries ensued. The monkey jumped up and backed away. “That’s a lie!” he shouted, but the truth was on his face, and in the dice that bore only uneven numbers of pips.

  The monkey ran, and Tora shot after him. Saburo only paused to collect Tora’s share of the money, then followed.

  Outside, the streets were still filled with drunks and merry-makers. The monkey had disappeared, but Saburo saw Tora’s tall back in its green and yellow shirt disappearing at the end of the street. He dashed after, dodging people, and turned the corner where Tora had disappeared. He was in a darker, smaller, and less crowded street and caught up with Tora in front of a plain two-story house. Only the moonlight illuminated the scene. Tora was pounding on the door.

  Saburo faded into the shadow and watched.

  After more pounding and Tora’s shouts to let him in, the door opened. A burly, bearded man wearing nothing but his loincloth glared out. “What the flaming hell and all its devils do you want?” he roared.

  “A thief just went into your house. I saw him.”

  “Nobody came in. Who are you?”

  “None of your business. I saw him with my own eyes. He must live here.”

  “Nobody lives here but me and my old mother. And I’ve been asleep.”

  “Then he must be visiting her,” Tora sneered. “I saw him and I’ll have the constables here if you don’t get him.”

  The bearded man laughed. “Go ahead and call them. See if I care.” And with that he slammed the door and shot a bolt.

  Tora gave it a kick, shouted, “I’ll be back,” and walked away. When he drew level with him, Saburo hissed. Tora jumped and cursed. “Don’t startle a man like that,” he snapped. “The little bastard’s inside that house. The guy who lives there lied about it. I didn’t think it was a good idea to push my way in.”

  “A wise decision. Go home. It’s my turn. I’ll find another way in.”

  “If you can’t get him, at least find out who the house belongs to.”

  17

  The Nun

  Akitada woke again to emptiness. He would never again find the warm body of his wife curled up against his side. Never again would he smell the fragrance of her skin or touch the silky strands of her long hair. And he would never make love to her again.

  But this time there was a difference to his sense of loss. He rolled on his back and stared up at the dark ceiling. He had not made love to a woman for well over eight months now, and he had woken with the need for Tamako. This need would not be satisfied unless he resorted to having a woman from the pleasure quarter, and that would surely dishonor his love for his dead wife. Tormented by his desire, he flung himself onto his belly and buried his face in his bedding. “Oh, Tamako!” he groaned. “What am I to do without you? Please help me.”

  Steps in the corridor outside recalled him to the need for self-control, or Saburo, with hot water for his tea, was about to find him in an embarrassing condition. He sat up with a shudder.

  The door opened, but it was Tora who peered in. “Ah, you’re awake, sir. I brought water for your tea.”

  Astonished, Akitada asked, “Where’s Saburo?”

  Tora sidled in, closed the door and busied himself with the preparation of Akitada’s tea. “Umm,” he muttered, stirring the half-dead coals in the small brazier and setting the iron kettle on it. “Not sure, sir. Where do you keep the tea? Oh, here it is, in this little box. How much do I put in the cup, sir?”

  Tora never drank tea unless it was prescribed for some illness, and he was practically never ill. Akitada got up and went to help him. “I don’t understand,” he said. “Why isn’t Saburo doing this
?”

  “Well, umm, I’m afraid something must have happened. Saburo would never stay away from his duties, not after the way you spoke to him yesterday.”

  Akitada winced. He had been too harsh once again. Brushing a hand over his face as if to wipe away the cobwebs of such memories, he remembered instead the deep and humiliating trouble he was in with his superiors. He must not take out his frustrations on his people. He said rather mildly, “Did Saburo go out last night?”

  Tora gave him a nervous look. “Yes, sir. We both did. After it got too dark to work on the roof. He was all torn up over the blind girl and some starving schoolmaster, and we thought we’d better make one more attempt before Genba and I leave with the horses today.”

  The horses! The lack of money! The dire need of his household!

  Tora had the grace to look ashamed. With Saburo gone, Akitada could not send both of his remaining retainers away. Irritation stirred again, but he restrained it. “What happened?”

  “We chased a suspect, a crooked gambler, to a private house in the willow quarter. Saburo suggested I return home while he’d find out whose house it was and then follow. He never got back, sir.”

  “A gambler? The willow quarter? Are you both mad? How can you be thinking of expensive amusements at this time?”

  Saburo might have shrunk from this flash of anger, but Tora knew Akitada better and merely said, “We didn’t go to be amused, sir. We were trying to help people. You always told us to help the poor.”

  Akitada bit his lip. “Yes, you did mention something about a blind woman. But I told Saburo to leave that to the police.”

  “You did, but the police aren’t going to be much help. We just had the one night and decided to make one more effort. We’d heard that a gambling boss might be involved. I think Saburo got too close. The man’s a gangster called Kanemoto. Kanemoto controls gambling and prostitution in the willow quarter. I think the man we chased went into his house.”

  With a sigh, Akitada said, “Well, you and Saburo have managed to foil my efforts to reduce family expenses while wait to hear from the court. The horses will have to remain here until Saburo’s back. Tell Genba to have some more fodder delivered.” He opened the box which held the pitifully small heap of silver coins and two remaining gold bars and took out a silver coin. “Give this to Genba. Then go look for Saburo. If you cannot get any answers at this gangster’s house without putting yourself into danger, go ask Kobe’s help.”

  Chastened, Tora nodded. “Thank you, sir, for understanding. Saburo’s always had a soft spot for poor children, and that schoolmaster has a number of them. By any chance, could the man be useful here?”

  Akitada shook his head. “I cannot take on another person, Tora. Feeling pity for the poor is all very well, but there are children in this household who may also soon stare at empty bowls.”

  Tora nodded again and left.

  Akitada sat, glumly contemplating the money box. He could not recall when it last had been so empty, and in the past he had not had so many mouths to feed. Yes, there could well be empty bowls, and that would mean that his people would have to leave to try and earn a living elsewhere. He could not bear the thought.

  Getting up, he walked into his garden. It was fall. The chrysanthemums were fading and the maple had turned red. The cold weather of the past week had brought winter closer. Tamako had planted those chrysanthemums, a rare and wonderful dark copper color that looked magnificent with the maple’s brilliant red leaves. In her hands, his world had turned to beauty in so many ways. What gifts she had given him!

  The children!

  He had nearly forgotten them again. Ashamed, he decided to walk over to Tamako’s pavilion. It had become Yasuko’s pavilion now, but her brother and Tora’s son also spent most of their day there. Even though Yoshitada took such pride in having his own room in the main house, he always ended up there.

  On an impulse, Akitada went to look into his son’s room. He found the boy still tangled in his quilts and softly sobbing.

  “Yoshi?” he said alarmed, kneeling beside the weeping child. “What’s the matter? What has happened? Are you ill?”

  The boy gave a cry and flung himself in his father’s arms, clinging to him with arms and legs. “I want Mother,” he wailed.

  Akitada did not know what to say. He had marveled that the children had taken their mother’s death so calmly and both admired and resented their restraint. It had not occurred to him that they would suffer alone and in silence at night. He held Yoshi, rocking him in his arms.

  “I do, too,” he said softly. “It’s always worst when I wake up. I miss her very much. She has gone to live in paradise where we hope to meet her again someday.”

  The boy nodded against his chest and gulped.

  “I’m sorry, Yoshi. What can I do to help?”

  “N-nothing!” The arms clung a bit more tightly. “I’m sorry, too, Father.”

  “I’m sure Yasuko will be missing her also. Shall we go to see her?”

  Yoshi released him and got up. His clothing consisted of a rumpled shirt, but his father found a pair short pants and a jacket to put on over it. He was awkward about dressing his son, but Yoshi did not seem to mind the odd costume, and Akitada was in his old house robe. Both were barefoot, unwashed, and with their hair disordered. Akitada smiled at his son and wiped away his tears with his sleeve.

  “This is no way to dress when visiting a young lady, but this once it will do.”

  “Yasuko’s no lady,” said Yoshi dismissively and seized his father’s hand to pull him away.

  They found Yasuko putting away the bedding with Tamako’s maid. The maid, herself still in her sleeping clothes, gave a little cry of embarrassment and ran out. This made Yoshi laugh and Yasuko scold.

  “We aren’t dressed yet.” she told her brother. “You are not to enter a lady’s chamber without making sure she’s dressed. It’s improper.” Yasuko only wore a silk undergown over her skinny little body. This she had slept in, but it also served as her underclothes. Her gown was draped over a clothes stand. Akitada was amused that his children should already have adopted the manners of adults. Yoshi had wanted his own room even though he probably felt alone there, and Yasuko insisted on the respect due to her as a female.

  “I’m sorry we are early. We came to see how you are,” he said, searching her face for tears. He saw none; perhaps sharing the room with the maid kept her from weeping. Letting go of Yoshi’s hand, he went to pull Yasuko close. How frail and fine-boned she was! Fear for his children’s future rose again. He must find a way to feed them, to raise them into strong, healthy adults.

  He reached for her gown and offered to help her. She was quite adept at this process and giggled at her father’s ignorance.

  Akitada watched her and thought that a daughter needed a family with money or influence who could secure her a good husband who would respect her and take care of her. And his son would need the same to make his way in the world, to get a good education and a government position so that he could support his own family some day.

  Akitada’s own father, for all his harshness, had found a way to get Akitada into the imperial university and later into the ministry of justice. Such things came with fatherhood.

  He reached again for his daughter, but Yasuko struggled in his arms. He released her quickly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said.

  She reached for his hand. “You didn’t, but my gown will get wrinkled. Thank you for coming, Father. We have missed you.”

  He was ashamed. “I’ll come every day if you like,” he said, adding with a teasing smile, “so be sure to be ready to receive me next time.”

  She laughed.

  “How are the lessons going?”

  Yasuko and her brother exchanged glances. Yoshi said, “Sensei is not much fun. I get sleepy.”

  His father said, “You must try harder. Lessons aren’t supposed to be fun.”

  “We’ll try harder, Father, Yasuko said. “I
’ll sit next to Yoshi and pinch him when he dozes off.”

  The maid reappeared, having managed to get dressed and tie up her hair. She blushed and bowed. “Shall I bring the children’s gruel, sir?”

  “Yes, and bring an extra bowl for me.”

  As Akitada took his morning meal with the children, listening to their chatter, he made up his mind to do so as often as it might be managed. Of course, if he should be able to return to government service again, he would already have left the house by dawn.

  And this reminded him of his responsibilities. He took his leave from the children and went back to his room, trying to think of men of influence who might be able to help him. In the end, he came up with no one but Kosehira and wrote his friend a letter. Kosehira had lost most of his influence at court since he had supported Prince Atsuhira recently and been suspected of treasonable activities.

  When the letter was done, he could not face sitting in his room any longer to wait for news from court. Getting up, he got dressed, then went to speak to Genba, who had returned with feed for the horses.

  “Genba,” he said, “I’m going back to Abbot Genshin’s mansion. If anyone comes from the Daidairi, send the boy to fetch me.”

  He wasn’t at all sure what he hoped to do there. Perhaps, if Genshin had an interest in finding out what had caused the lady’s death, the abbot might thank him by using his influence at court, but the very thought of asking such a favor sickened him.

  No, he was going back on a whim, with a notion that there was a secret to be uncovered, and because it was an excuse to leave his house and forget his troubles and his grief for a little while.

  This time he did not bother to knock at the small gate set into the large, imposing one but merely pushed it open and walked in. Like last time, the forecourt lay empty, weeds growing here and there, and the autumn chill had touched the trees beyond the main house with golden and auburn colors.

  Akitada had no plan and no more questions to ask the inhabitants, but he wanted to look again at the dead woman’s pavilion. He felt strongly that the secret lay there, and while her room had revealed little, he wanted to see it again in hopes that he might learn something.