Rashomon Gate Read online

  It was a signal that the conversation was over. Akitada rose also and left to return to his room, where he found a bleary-eyed Tora waiting for him.

  "You look terrible," Akitada said sourly, eyeing Tora's unshaven chin, his dishevelled hair and the bloodshot eyes. "Where have you been? Have you had any sleep?"

  "None at all!" Tora grinned. "Sleep isn't everything. As you'd find out if you tried it. You know, you should sleep with a woman more often. It may not be restful, but it's a great deal better than sleeping alone. Not having a woman saps a man's vital essence after a while. I may look worse than you, but my vital essence is in top shape, thanks to the prettiest and most talented female you ever saw. Oh, what a body that girl has . . . and the things she does with it! There's a position she calls 'monkeys swinging from a branch' where she—"

  "Enough!" Akitada roared in a sudden fury. "Watch your tongue when you speak to me! And spare me the details of your sordid affairs! Seimei is quite right. I have spoiled you. Your excessive familiarity is beginning to grate. And now you are becoming insolent. Not only do you lack all respect for your betters, but you don't seem to do much work. Why did you not return to the house last night and report to your mistress for your duties this morning?"

  Tora gaped at his master speechlessly.

  "My mother complained about you," blustered Akitada, "and I did not know what to say. Be careful! If you try my patience too much, I shall abandon you to the streets."

  Looking pale, Tora scrambled to his feet. "I'll go right now, sir," he mumbled, eyes averted and his voice tight with shock.

  Immediately ashamed of his outburst, Akitada bit his lip. "Well, er, maybe you'd better wait a little before showing up at home. Er . . . do you know anything about building kites?"

  "Making kites? Of course! And flying them! When I was a kid, I was champion in my village two years running. Why?"

  "Some of the younger students are making kites in the dormitory courtyard. I think they must plan to fly them today. There is a good breeze for it. I want you to go over and talk to the Minamoto boy. He is probably still on the veranda pretending to read a book. You might see if you can get him interested in kites."

  "A boy who's not interested in kites? You must be joking!" Tora paused abruptly and said, "I beg your pardon, sir. I'll take care of that right away." He rushed out, then stuck his head back in. "Oh, I forgot. I've solved your other case for you. The dead girl's name is Omaki. She played the lute in one of the wine houses in the Willow Quarter until she was fired."

  "I know, and that hardly solves the case," Akitada said. Tora's face fell. Hanging his head, he turned to leave, when Akitada added, "All the same, it was good of you to ask around. We'll talk about it later."

  When Tora was gone, Akitada sat down heavily and stared at the spray of white hollyhocks that survived, somewhat crushed, in a wine cup full of water on Akitada's desk. Perhaps Tora had a point. A man was not meant to spend his life alone unless he was a monk or hermit, and Akitada had no interest in the contemplative or spiritual life. What was it Sato had said? He had asked if Akitada had a private life. Against his better sense, he closed his eyes and thought of Tamako in her Kamo finery. It was a revelation how enchanting her face seemed to him now, since he had really never realized it before. And she had a very graceful figure, slender, with elegant shoulders and a most enticing neck when she turned her head. The image of that white neck with a delicate rosy ear half hidden by the silky black hair was extraordinarily erotic, and he called himself to order sharply, ashamed that Tora's tussle with a common prostitute should have caused him to think with physical desire of the young woman who had been like a sister to him. He reached for the student papers.

  Professor Hirata stopped by when Akitada was halfway through the stack of essays. He complained of not being able to find Oe. "Have you spoken to Ishikawa yet?" he asked.

  "No, he left early this morning. It is a holiday, and he may be visiting friends." Akitada found it difficult to behave normally around Hirata and had to force himself to carry on a conversation. "How did the rest of the contest go?"

  "I left after the final competition. They tell me that the party went on into the night, with boat rides on the lake and impromptu poems praising the moon. Incidentally, Fujiwara won another prize in the love poetry category and was declared this year's poet laureate. Oe will be furious when he finds out. He has expected that honor for years now. For all we know he will contest the results on the grounds that he was forcibly removed by Fujiwara before he could present the rest of his work."

  Akitada smiled thinly. "Surely he has been embarrassed too thoroughly to show his face in public for a while."

  Hirata nodded. "Besides there is the matter of the last examination. We can exert a certain amount of control over him in the future. I have thought about that. It will surely be enough if we confront Oe and Ishikawa with our knowledge. We will insist that Ishikawa stop his blackmail demands and that Oe remove himself from judging future examinations. I admit it hardly punishes their behavior, but there is nothing we can do to rectify what happened in the spring. The damage is done, and we cannot bring back that poor young man who killed himself. Besides, reversing the results at this time will permanently damage the reputation of the university." Hirata looked at Akitada anxiously.

  Blackmail begets blackmail, thought Akitada. But he said, "Certainly. As you wish."

  There was a pause. Hirata bit his lip. His face betrayed surprise and worry at Akitada's lack of interest. He was about to pursue the subject, when Tora burst into the room.

  "You'll never guess what just happened!" he cried. "The police arrested one of the students for the murder."

  "No!" cried Hirata. "Who is it?"

  "It's Rabbit." Tora looked at Akitada. "You know, the fellow I told you about. The one who got into a fight with another student in the kitchen that day." Tora fumbled in his sash and produced a crumpled piece of paper. "Here!" he said, extending it to his master, "he wrote you this note."

  Akitada unfolded it. It was short, stating simply that the author was innocent of the crime, implored Akitada's help, and offered to pay for it. It was signed Nagai Hiroshi. He passed the note to Hirata.

  "Poor boy!" cried Hirata, looking shocked. "That nice, awkward youngster. Who could possibly believe him capable of murder? There must be some mistake."

  Akitada recalled the brief encounter at the gate the afternoon before, and had the sinking feeling that there was no mistake. "What about this fight you saw, Tora?" he asked.

  "I think the other fellow had been making fun of his crush on a woman. But I'll lay you a bet, sir. If Rabbit was that girl's lover, I'll give up women for good!"

  Amused in spite of himself, Akitada murmured, "I don't want to create difficulties for the young man, but I am tempted to hope you would lose."

  Tora looked hurt. "I know I'm right. She was a good-looking skirt, and he looks like a cross between a mangy rabbit and a crane. He walks like some long-legged bird that's stepping on broken reeds, and his big ears are flapping in the breeze while his teeth are looking for his chin. Believe me, no pretty girl in her right mind would be seen with something like that!"

  "You exaggerate," said Akitada, but he recalled Sato's words about Omaki's unlikely boyfriend. "I met the young man at the gate yesterday. He looked very ill."

  "Hah!" cried Tora. "Maybe he did fall for her! Anyway, the police searched his room and found a bunch of stuff he had written. They took it all away with them." A thought struck him. "That just goes to show the trouble you get into with an education. It's his writing poems about the girl that got the fellow arrested."

  Akitada's eyes met Hirata's. They smiled. "What do you think I should do?" Akitada asked the older man. "I hate to meddle in Captain Kobe's business again so soon after we had words over the beggar he arrested."

  "What about the beggar?" Tora interrupted.

  Akitada frowned at him and continued, "Besides there is our own problem. You know I want to get th
at matter settled as soon as possible. Getting involved with this student may keep me here indefinitely."

  Hirata avoided his eyes. "Your fame as a righter of wrongs seems to have spread to the students," he said lightly. "Of course you must try to help Hiroshi. A young man's life and his family's honor are at stake. Even the reputation of this university is less important than that." He paused. "I recall meeting Hiroshi's father when he brought the youngster. Mr. Nagai is a poor schoolmaster in Omi province. The boy is the only son of five children, and I am sure the family is making many sacrifices to pay for his studies."

  A scenario not so different from that of the student who had committed suicide. But there was little point in resenting Hirata's hypocrisy or his relief that Akitada would be trapped into staying on after all. He could not refuse the student's appeal. Akitada sighed. "Very well. I shall go to see him."

  "What about me?" asked Tora. "You will need me to investigate, but the young lord is waiting to go buy paper and bamboo sticks for our kites."

  Akitada turned to Tora with amazement. "You mean you have already won the boy's confidence?" he asked.

  "Oh, it was easy enough. For all he's a lord, he was dying for someone to talk to. When I told him about the kite I won my first district contest with, he couldn't wait to try to build one like it."

  Akitada clapped Tora on the shoulder. "Excellent!" he cried. "You did better than any of us! I have been trying for many days now to talk to the boy and failed miserably. You must have a special touch with children." Tora preened a little. "Under the circumstances," continued Akitada, "you must keep your promise to Lord Minamoto. But later today, when you are done with the kites, go to see the girl's family. Professor Sato tells me that Omaki was the daughter of an umbrella maker called Hishiya. They live in the sixth ward. She was unmarried and pregnant, as you know, but apparently not particularly worried about her future. Perhaps you can find out something about the men in her life."

  • • •

  When Akitada got to the municipal police headquarters, he discovered to his relief that Kobe was out. Even better, one of Kobe's men recognized him and took him to see the student Nagai.

  He found him sitting on the dirt floor of a small, damp cell, lit by a single slit of a window near the ceiling. When the door opened with a rattle of locks and keys, Nagai raised red-rimmed eyes. Akitada was startled anew by the pathetic ugliness of the boy's features, wet and swollen with weeping. Akitada, ashamed of his reaction, greeted the boy with a smile.

  The young man stumbled to his feet, but the chains which bound his wrists and ankles made this difficult.

  "Please sit down!" Akitada said quickly and seated himself on the bare floor. "I received your note. Exactly what sort of trouble are you in?"

  "I am accused of having killed Omaki." The youngster swallowed hard, a prominent Adam's apple bobbing disconcertingly in his long neck. "As if I could!" he cried. "I worshipped her! But things look very bad for me. Only you can help me, sir! They say you have solved many difficult cases. Please, for the sake of my family, clear my name! I don't care anything about myself, but my poor parents and sisters . . ."Tears started down his cheeks. He sniffled, and wiped ineffectually at a running nose with a sleeve already wet with tears.

  Akitada regarded him with pity. Tora's estimation had been cruel but correct. The homely face, now red-splotched, the dripping nose and lax mouth made him a most unlikely romantic hero. Such a young man must feel deeply the hurt of rejection by the one person he idolizes. And a girl like Omaki, pretty, pert, ambitious, would have considered the adoration of this youngster, with neither looks nor fortune, a tedious joke. Had she taunted him, tried his patience and devotion too far until he had killed her? Was he the student she had been in the habit of meeting in the park? Or had he followed her and, finding her with another student, lashed out in anger at her betrayal?

  "What made the police fix on you as a suspect?" Akitada asked.

  "They talked to some of the students and my name came up." Nagai hung his head again. "One of them found a poem of mine and told the others. I was angry at the time, but perhaps it was very foolish of me to think that such a pretty girl could like me. When we first met, she was really nice to me. And she seemed to enjoy going for walks in the park. She told me all about her music, and I told her about my family."

  Akitada's heart went out to the poor infatuated youngster. But pity would not clear Nagai of the charges against him. He said, "Your name being mentioned by the other students explains why the police talked to you, but it does not account for your arrest. What else happened?"

  Nagai sighed and gave Akitada an imploring look. "We quarrelled, Omaki and I. The day she . . . before she was found. Someone overheard us. And then, when the police searched my room, they found the poems and my diary." He hung his head, twisting his red, bony hands.

  "You quarrelled in the park?"

  Nagai looked up. "Oh, no!" he cried. "We did not go to the park that day. We talked in the university, just inside the dormitory enclosure. She had finished her lute lesson. I usually waited for her there."

  "What did you quarrel about?"

  There was a pause. Then Nagai said, "I asked her to marry me. I know I should not have asked her without my father's permission. My family counts on me to do well in the examination. But I was afraid they would forbid it, and I couldn't wait. Well, I thought Omaki needed someone . . . and I thought if I could take the next examination instead of waiting my turn, I might pass. Even if I did not do very well, I could still become a schoolmaster back home. And Omaki and I could live with my parents. She could help my mother, while my father and I could run the school." He shook his head sadly. "I should have known I was being foolish."

  Akitada said dryly, "I take it she was not overjoyed by your offer."

  An expression of acute pain passed over the young man's face. "She laughed at me! She wanted to know how we would live until I passed the examination. When I suggested that she might give lute lessons or play for guests just a little while longer, she got angry and called me names. She called me r . . . rabbit because of my ears and teeth, and . . . ugly toad and worse things." He flushed and looked at Akitada earnestly. "She was not herself. You see, she was expecting a child. I am told women become very high-strung in that condition."

  "Was it your child?"

  Nagai hesitated, then shook his head. "No. We didn't . . . it must have happened before we met. I never asked. Some unprincipled person must have taken advantage of her and then deserted her. When she first confided in me, I got the idea that she might consider being married to someone like me."

  He looked so completely humiliated that Akitada's heart contracted with pity and he felt increasingly angry with the dead girl. Finding herself pregnant, she meant to marry the infatuated student, but later decided he was not good enough. This change of heart, if you could call it that, confirmed Sato's impression that she had seemed untroubled by her pregnancy and even pleasantly excited. Something had happened to make Hiroshi Nagai dispensable, so that she had felt free to mock and revile his unselfish and sincere devotion before sending him on his way. Her behavior gave him a strong motive to kill her. But Akitada wondered what had happened to change her expectations so drastically.

  He told Nagai, "I will try to help you, but you must tell me all you know about her private life, her friends and her family."

  The student bowed deeply and expressed his gratitude. Then he said, "I am afraid I don't know much." Looking a little uneasy, he confessed, "I met Omaki in the Willow Quarter. I know it is against the rules for students to visit there, but some of the others took me along one night. We climbed the wall. I was very nervous."

  Akitada nodded understandingly. No doubt the lonely, unpopular youngster had accepted the invitation eagerly, even against his better judgment.

  "Omaki had a job playing the lute in one of the wine houses we went to. She played as beautifully as she looked." He smiled a little at the memory. "I kept going back the
re as much as I could, and one day she noticed me and smiled. After her performance I got up the nerve to talk to her. We took a walk by the river. I thought she was wonderful. She talked about herself, how poor her family was and how very unhappy she was. Her stepmother beat her and made her rise before dawn to do all the work, even when she didn't get home from her job in the wine house until very late. She told me many times she wanted to run away or kill herself." Nagai sighed deeply.

  "What about the people where she worked? Did she tell you about them?"

  "Not much. The auntie at the Willow was always wanting her to sell herself, but Omaki wanted to be an entertainer. I know some people have said bad things about her, but that proves she was a decent girl, doesn't it, sir?"

  Akitada did not share this conviction, but nodded. "Who said what about her?" he asked.

  "Oh, some of the fellows I went out with. But they were lying. They were always making fun of me." With a bashful glance at Akitada, he said, "I thought maybe they were jealous of me."

  "I see. Was there anyone else who knew her well?"

  "She was taking lute lessons from Professor Sato. Professor Fujiwara and Professor Sato often go to the Willow. The first time I saw them I was frightened, thinking they would turn us in, but the others told me that I had nothing to worry about. Anyway, Professor Sato being an instructor of the lute, I pointed him out to Omaki. She managed to get him to take her as a private student. That was wonderful, because then I got to see her during the day. We'd always meet after her lesson and sometimes we'd stroll over to the park. Until that last day." He sighed and wiped his eyes again.

  "What about other people? Friends, coworkers, regular patrons?"

  "There is another lute player at the Willow, but they did not get along. Omaki said the woman was too proud. And the girls were silly and common."