Rashomon Gate Read online

  The following day, Akitada emerged from his room, haggard and unshaven, to tend to the most urgent business and to go to Hirata's funeral.

  Hirata's colleagues and his students were there, in addition to many people Akitada did not recognize. Their obvious grief added to his burden of guilt, and he shrank more and more into himself. He was intensely aware of a heavily veiled Tamako, seated behind the screens which also hid his mother and sisters. What must she think of him, who had betrayed his sacred duty to the man who had been a father to him, the "elder brother" who had forsaken them in their need, who had ignored her cry for help?

  The journey to the cremation grounds, to finish what the fire had started, passed like a dream, as insubstantial as the black smoke which rose from the pyre of the man who had been more of a father to him than his own father. Afterwards he spoke to no one and returned home to disappear again into his room, where he remained for another day and night, his mind caught either in memories of the past or images of the disaster, eating nothing and drinking only water.

  On the fourth day after the fire, still in the midst of his paralyzing despair, a messenger arrived from the university. He delivered a note from Bishop Sesshin, which Akitada unfolded with fingers still painful from the burns.

  It said simply, "You are needed."

  Outraged, Akitada tore it up and reached for a sheet of paper to write his formal resignation from the university. But something, duty perhaps or the remembered faces of his students, or the sheer pain of holding a brush, nagged at him to go in person. He called Seimei and, with his help, washed, shaved and changed into a clean gray robe.

  "Please eat some of this rice gruel," Seimei said, his voice low, as if he were addressing an invalid.

  Akitada ignored him and left.

  When he walked into the main hall of the school of law, he found it filled with students, Hirata's and his own. Only young Lord Minamoto, still residing at Akitada's house for the sake of his safety, was absent. The students sat gathered in a semicircle around the large figure of Sesshin. The bishop wore a gray robe with a black and white stole to signify his mourning. The students were in their usual dark gowns, but their faces were sad and many eyes were red from weeping.

  "Welcome, my young friend," Sesshin greeted him, his voice rumbling. "We have been waiting for you. The students have talked to me about their memories of Professor Hirata, and I have told them that you were one of his special students once. Perhaps you will share some of your memories with us?"

  Akitada glared at him. It was a dreadful request!

  Cursing Sesshin in his heart, Akitada turned to the students. Ushimatsu was leaning forward slightly, his plain face filled with pity. Akitada looked at the others, wondering if his grief was so transparent to them all. There was Nagai, poor ugly Nagai, his eyes swollen with weeping and his mouth blubbering— at his age! He had not been this distraught in prison with a murder charge hanging over his head! But then Hirata had loved Nagai— like a son almost. Perhaps, not having had a son of his own, he had let his students fill that void. A new wave of misery washed over him. Hirata had loved them all, Akitada included! Tears dimmed the faces before him. He swallowed and tried to speak, but his throat closed up, leaving him mute. He made a helpless gesture to Sesshin, but the fat monk placidly nodded encouragement, pointing to a cushion by his side.

  Akitada sat and somehow he found his voice, though later he could not recall what he had told the students. In a way, he had carried on a dialogue with himself about his life with Hirata. It had been a strangely purging experience, and he had wept. But he had found a measure of peace.

  When he stopped, there was a long period of silence. Then Sesshin began to recite the soothing words of the Pure Land sutra. He closed by saying, "There is a difficult meditation practice in our religion, in which we submerge ourselves completely in nothingness. Only a few achieve success. But when we are successful, the mind is calm as the sea. Passion, hatred, delusion and sorrow fall away. False thoughts vanish completely. There are no pressures. We issue forth from our bonds and separate ourselves from all hindrances and cut off the foundations of our suffering. This is called entering Nirvana. It is a state of blessedness which can be achieved completely only through death. And it is where our dear friend now dwells forever."

  There was the sound of soft sighs from the students, and then Sesshin arose, nodded to the students and to Akitada and walked out.

  Akitada got up dazedly and followed. The old monk was waiting on the veranda, his hands on the railings and his eyes fixed on the roofs of the distant city. He did not turn as Akitada joined him.

  "So many deaths," he said with a sigh, "in the midst of so much life." He gestured at the teeming city before them and back towards the lecture hall filled with quietly talking students. "I am forever reminded of the eight unavoidable sufferings: birth, old age, pain, one's own death, the death of a loved one, evil people, frustrated desire and lust. Sometimes I think I have had more than my share of all but one of them. Why are you so angry with me, my friend?"

  "Your Reverence," Akitada said awkwardly, "I apologize for my unpardonable rudeness to you."

  Sesshin's dark, liquid eyes passed over Akitada's face. "Never mind! I have been more foolish than you, and it is I who am in your debt. You opened your heart and home to a lonely child. Tell him from me to keep up with his studies."

  Akitada stammered, "You know?"

  Sesshin nodded. "I have had the boy watched since you came to warn me. My men reported that you took Sadamu away. They lost you briefly, but found your residence and verified that the boy was there." He added with a smile, "I hope he is not making a nuisance of himself?"

  Akitada tried to control his amazement. "Not at all, but I wish we had known. We took him away secretly because Sadamu complained of two suspicious characters outside his dormitory. The one I saw was a vicious-looking brute, and Tora said the other fellow was smaller but the same type. We took them for Sakanoue's thugs."

  Sesshin chuckled. "They have both been in my service for many years and, for all their looks, are quite gentle fellows. There was also a third man at the lecture hall to watch the boy during his classes. I should have told you."

  Akitada felt foolish. "You could not have known that I would go to such lengths to meddle in your family affairs," he said contritely.

  Sesshin sighed. "You did because I was negligent. I am grateful to you, you know."

  Akitada hesitated, then said, "There are some new facts concerning your brother's death."

  The bishop's face saddened again. "Not here and now," he said. "Come to me later." He bowed lightly and walked down the steps and across the courtyard.

  Akitada returned to the students, realizing that he had changed his mind about resigning. Until new appointments were made, he would remain and cope with Hirata's pupils and his own. It would make up, in a small way, for his neglect of his old friend and mentor.

  The students were subdued and grateful for his instruction. The concentration on the work took Akitada's mind off his grief until the bell sounded for their noon rice, and he was reminded to go home to check on his family, which was increased now by Tamako, her little maid and old Saburo, Hirata's servant.

  Genba opened the gate to him. He was laughing at something and had a mouth full of food. His face fell and he swallowed when he saw Akitada, who caught a glimpse of rice cake in Genba's hand as it disappeared behind his back. Akitada gave him a nod and walked into the courtyard.

  Tora and Hitomaro were sitting in the shade of the paulownia tree. When they saw him, they jumped to their feet. Both were dripping with sweat, and two long bamboo staves lay nearby. They had been practicing stick-fighting. Apparently Hitomaro had consented after all.

  So! Life went on as usual for his staff. Akitada's resentment was mixed with a twinge of envy. He glowered, feeling an outsider in his own home, and it occurred to him that the services of Tora's new friends could now be dispensed with. He opened his mouth to tell them, wh
en he saw Genba surreptitiously swallowing the rest of his cake and licking his fingers. He remembered then their desperate need and how Genba had offered to work for food, and he decided they could stay on for a few days and make themselves useful in his newly enlarged household. Though how he was to pay for the added expenses, he had no idea.

  Feeling lonely and dejected, he walked past them towards the house.

  "Sir," cried Tora.

  Akitada turned. Tora trotted up, brandishing a large, brightly painted umbrella.

  "What do you want?" Akitada asked impatiently. "I am busy."

  Tora's face fell. He stood, awkwardly opening and closing the umbrella. "I'm sorry. It's just . . . I thought I had better give you the message."

  "Put that silly thing down! What message?"

  Tora handed him the opened umbrella with a bow. "For you, sir."

  Akitada kept his hands in his sleeves. "Don't be ridiculous! I could not use such a flamboyant piece of trumpery. Give it to your girl!" He turned away.

  "In that case," said Tora, his voice stiff with hurt, "I think Mr. Hishiya was wise to leave before you got back. He was very proud of this umbrella. He stayed up all night and painted the pictures himself. Look! You can see every petal on the peonies and every feather in the phoenix's tail."

  Akitada stopped and turned. "Hishiya? Oh, the dead girl's father! Let me see that again!" This time he took the umbrella, wincing a little as the rough handle scraped his barely healing palms, and studied the design and workmanship. "You are right. It is very fine. You will take Mr. Hishiya a gift in return. Seimei will have it ready in an hour. What did Mr. Hishiya say?"

  "The police told him that you found Omaki's killer, and he wanted to thank you in person," Tora said accusingly. "But when he heard about the fire and the professor's death, he did not want to take up your time."

  Akitada was ashamed. "He is a man of great courtesy," he said. "I am very sorry for my remarks about this umbrella." Akitada turned it dubiously in his hands. "It is indeed very . . . detailed. But it strikes me that it was you, Tora, who did all the hard work on the case. In fact, it was your case, not mine. And so the umbrella must rightfully be yours also." He returned it to Tora with a slight bow.

  "Well . . ." Tora took the umbrella. "It is true that you did very little. As you say, I found all the clues." A slow smile spread over his face. "Right! This is just the thing for Michiko. I've been wracking my brains for something to give her for a present."

  Akitada said, "Are you still seeing that little entertainer? Better watch your step. She may be no better than poor Hishiya's wife."

  "Oh, Michiko is nothing like that one. And Hishiya got rid of his wife. Divorced her the day I told him I'd seen a customer waiting at his house." Tora added with a sly wink, "Imagine, the customer turned out to be one of Mrs. Hishiya's country cousins, and Mr. Hishiya objected to the generous way his wife was entertaining her relative!"

  "You don't say!" Akitada exclaimed with a straight face. "All the more reason for you to accept the umbrella then. Mr. Hishiya is deeply in your debt."

  The exchange with Tora had lifted Akitada's spirits a little. He felt able to deal with the many problems awaiting him. After giving instructions to Seimei about wrapping up a length of silk for Mr. Hishiya, he went to see his mother.

  Lady Sugawara greeted him with outstretched arms. "My dear Akitada," she cried, "how are you feeling? And how are your hands?"

  Akitada looked at her, surprised. "I am fine. I came to ask about Tamako, Mother."

  His mother gave him a searching look. "She is calm. Seimei gave her some more of his tea to make her sleep last night and she looked much better this morning. I should have done the same with you. Come, sit down! You must have something to eat." Ignoring Akitada's protests, she clapped for Kumoi and told her to bring hot tea and some rice and vegetables.

  Akitada sampled the food reluctantly, still awkward with the chopsticks, but after the first bite it tasted surprisingly good. His mother waited until he had finished before saying, "She plans to cut her hair and become a nun, you know."

  Akitada stared, aghast, and stumbled to his feet. "Where is she?"

  Lady Sugawara studied her fingernails. "She has your younger sister's room."

  Akitada found Tamako alone, seated on the small veranda outside. She was dressed in the white robes of mourning, her hair very dark against the silk and her pale skin. He had expected dejection, violent tears, anger— he knew not what— but he found instead utter calm and composure.

  "Akitada!" she said in her light voice, smiling a little. "I am so glad you came. Please sit down for a minute. I have to thank you for so many things. It was very kind of you to take care of the funeral and offer me shelter."

  He remained standing. "My mother tells me you wish to renounce the world." His voice was harsh with emotion. "Is this true?"

  She looked up at him calmly. "Yes, of course. It is the wisest thing to do under the circumstances. One of my father's cousins is a nun in Nara. I shall go to her."

  "You are too young and beautiful to shut yourself away like that," Akitada cried angrily. "I won't permit it!" He corrected himself. "I mean, your father would not have approved."

  "I think he would understand."

  "No. You should marry. You could be my wife. That is what he wished."

  She turned away then. Her slender hands twisted in her lap. "It is impossible."

  "Why?" he cried, "Why can't you marry me, Tamako?"

  She did not answer and kept her face turned from him. All the fears about his own inadequacy returned, and they were worse than before. How much she must detest him, if she could not even now accept the refuge he offered her from destitution and distress! "It is not impossible," he shouted. "It is you who are impossible!" With an incoherent cry, he turned and stormed away.

  All the way to the university, he searched again for a rational explanation of Tamako's rejection of his offer. And as before, he found no answer other than that she must dislike him or his family. He set the students to reading a chapter in the Book of Documents and went to Hirata's room to sort through his belongings, working with feverish concentration to banish his despair.

  Setting aside such personal things as his daughter might wish to have, he went on to sifting through Hirata's papers. There was much, the work of a lifetime. Not only had Hirata kept copious notes on legal matters, but he had preserved many of his students' papers. Akitada even came across one of his own efforts. Throughout the years of his teaching, Hirata had taken enormous and loving pains with his students. Often he had written appreciative comments on their papers. It seemed wrong to discard all that, but there was no point in saving any of them.

  He turned to the books next, and it was here that he found the diary. It spanned the past year and contained small memos Hirata had written to himself about things he planned to do that day. Akitada turned to the final entry, made the last time Akitada had seen Hirata, the day he had decided to go with Nishioka instead of speaking to his old friend.

  Hirata had written, "I think A. is still angry with me over the matter of the examination. Poor Tamako. My conscience will give me no peace until I make one more effort to set things right. An announcement that a mistake has been made and that the poor dead boy should have won would at least please his family."

  Akitada laid the journal down with a shaking hand. It confirmed his dreadful suspicion. He wondered if Hirata had wanted to consult him before taking a dangerous step. What if he had, in fact, started to "set things right"?

  Tucking the journal into his sleeve, Akitada went to dismiss the students early. Then he walked to the ruins of the Hirata house.

  There was nothing left but charred timbers. A single fireman was raking apart the debris of the main house. Akitada picked his way to where Hirata's study had been.

  "What are you looking for, sir?" the fireman asked, walking up.

  "I was trying to see where the fire started."

  The man pointed. "Righ
t there. Started outside. On the veranda."

  Akitada looked at a pile of ashes, then at the man. He had an intelligent face and bright, curious eyes. "How do you know that?" he asked.

  "Oh, I've seen plenty of fires. You get to where you can tell. It was hottest on the veranda. See, there's nothing left of it. The room burned up later, and the supports are still there. Fire burns up, not down."

  "But how could a fire start outside?"

  "Oh, any number of ways. Careless maid drops a brazier full of coals or spills a lantern full of oil and is too scared to tell. This one must've been oil. You can still smell it a bit. I expect it dripped down between the boards."

  Akitada could not smell anything but the acrid odor of burnt wood that hung over the whole compound, but he knew the man was right. He also knew that the oil had not been spilled accidentally.

  He asked the fireman's name and walked to police headquarters.

  Kobe was in and still in a friendly mood. "Come in, come in!" he cried. "I have good news." He took a closer look at Akitada's drawn face and said, "You look terrible. Have you been ill?"

  "No. Are you aware that Professor Hirata died in a fire in his home five nights ago?"

  Kobe's face lengthened. "Yes. I saw the report. Forgive me for not expressing my sympathy. You were close, weren't you?"

  "Yes. I came to tell you that the fire was arson. The professor was murdered by the same man who killed Oe."

  Kobe sighed. "Now, now," he said soothingly. "I can see that you've been under a lot of strain and are upset about this. But I read the report, you know, and there's nothing in it about arson. And Oe's killer wasn't anywhere near Hirata's place that night."

  Akitada raised a distracted hand to his face and sat down. So much had been happening that he found it hard to concentrate. He felt the outline of Hirata's diary through his gown. "It is a long and complicated story," he said, pulling the diary from his sleeve and sliding it across the desk towards Kobe. "Turn to the last page and read the entry."