The Crane Pavillion Page 7

  “Creditors?”

  “People who owe him money.”

  She looked vague. “Maybe. I wouldn’t know.”

  Genzo said, “He did most of his business in the quarter and on the market. The shop is run by his son.”

  “What about his family? A rich man has many wives and sons. What are they like?”

  Mrs. Ozaki downed another cup of wine. “No wife. She died. At his age, he likes the harlots much better. He has a son and three daughters. The son’s married. They say the daughters are very ugly, but two have husbands. I expect that cost him dearly. The third keeps house for her father. It’s not a big job. He’s never home. In the daytime he goes about making money, and the night he spends with the whores.”

  Genzo chuckled. “What a life!”

  Mrs. Ozaki snapped, “It got him killed, didn’t it? So you’d best think again.”

  Genzo protested, “It wasn’t the money or the sex that got him killed. It was a clumsy shampoo girl. He should’ve grown a beard.” He felt his own clean-shaven chin. “Maybe I’ll grow one myself.”

  They laughed at him. Mrs. Ozaki cried, “Too late for you, unless you can grow more than hair.” This amused her so much she fell into choking giggles and had to have her back thumped by Saburo.

  Genzo raised an admonitory finger. “Don’t trust a woman, Saburo, even if she’s borne you seven children.”

  Struck by the truth of this saying as much as by the fact that his guests were getting into a drunken quarrel, Saburo paid for the wine and left.

  9

  The Tides of Life

  The next morning, Akitada felt a great yearning to go to Tamako’s room and sit there, thinking of her, talking to her, perhaps telling her about the suicide of Lady Ogata and about the strange characters he had met that day.

  Alas, it was not to be. Even this intangible bond with his wife was denied him. He went to his own room when he got home. It was blessedly empty of Saburo, but here the deepest darkness seemed to reside, a loneliness so profound that he could not bear it any longer.

  He stepped out onto his narrow veranda. The weather had turned. The sky was clouded over and the scent of rain hung in the air. The garden was still lush with foliage, a small bird darted at a worm and flew off, and a few gnats still danced above the fish pond. It was late in the year, and soon the bird would huddle on a branch, shivering in the cold. A fish jumped for the gnats, but the pond, too, would become still and dark, and the fish would burrow into the muddy bottom.

  He spotted something white on the side of the pond and went to investigate. It was a dead koi. He bent to pick it up by its tail and saw that it was a female. Laying it gently among some of the ferns, he took it as another omen that death would walk beside him from now on, that, even though at a great distance from Tamako when she died, he had become contaminated by death. His Shinto faith forbade physical closeness to death and dying, but it struck him that a physical closeness between two people in life must necessarily mean that one person’s death would touch the other. So it had been when he had lost his first son.

  He stared at the dead fish, then went to move one of the rocks behind the pond. Using his bare hands to make a shallow hole in the soft earth underneath, he laid the fish in it. Then he replaced the rock.

  He had missed Tamako’s funeral.

  The day they returned from Kyushu, his sister Akiko and her husband Toshikage had arrived before Akitada had been able to do more than greet his children and flee to his room. In the weeks of travel, he had tried to prepare himself for this homecoming. He had built a shell around his heart, impervious to the raw emotions he would encounter and feel. It had not worked. When he had stepped out onto the veranda, grief had seized him so violently that he had been forced to grasp hold of the support beam or his knees would have buckled.

  Akiko had burst in at that moment, crying out her pity for him, clasping him in her arms, looking him over, informing him that he looked dreadful, and then she had sat him down to describe in detail Tamako’s death and the subsequent decisions she had made for a proper funeral, complete with procession and cremation at Toribeno.

  He had somehow borne it, saying nothing, trying to shut out her voice, and yet hearing words that would haunted him forever. He should be grateful to his sister for performing these duties in his absence, but he could not bring himself to thank her. Toshikage had finally interrupted her steady flow of chatter, saying, “My dear, Akitada looks dreadfully tired. We must let him rest now.”

  Months had passed since then, and his grief had not become less.

  He dusted the dirt off his hands, rinsing them in the pond, when Tora’s voice startled him.

  “Sorry, sir, but you didn’t hear me. There’s a visitor.”

  Akitada straightened, drying his hands on the lining of his full sleeves.

  Beside Tora stood a short gentleman, who was, for such a young man, very properly and formally dressed in black robe and trousers and soft hat. Someone with a message from the ministry? Or something even worse? A summons before the board of censors?

  He was a little surprised how calm he was. There was a time when the expectation of a reprimand from his superiors would have had him in a cold sweat. Now he just looked at the young official and nodded.

  The young man bowed rather deeply for someone bringing bad news. “My name is Motonari, your Excellency. Superintendent Kobe has asked me to present myself. He said you might need a tutor for your children.”

  “Ah, yes. Yes, he did mention it. It will be temporary only. I cannot well deprive him of you permanently. Let’s go inside and sit down.” Akitada glanced at Tora, who left.

  He sat down behind his desk, and the young man took a seat opposite him. Akitada noticed for the first time the thick layer of dust covering his desk, his writing utensils, and assorted papers and books. He felt a little ashamed. The young man waited expectantly.

  “I have a daughter, Yasuko, who is eight. She writes and reads moderately well. My son, Yoshitada, is only five. I’ve been absent and don’t know how much schooling he’s had. How old are the superintendent’s children?”

  The young tutor bowed. “I only teach the boys. At present, I have five pupils. His Excellency’s oldest son is twelve, his second son is ten, his third son is also ten, his fourth son is eight, and his youngest is seven. I have taught them now for nearly a year.” He paused and added, “Ever since I graduated from the university.”

  Akitada digested this information. For all that Kobe and he had become good friends over the years—after rather stormy beginnings—he had been unaware of the superintendent’s thriving family. Like most men of rank, Kobe had several wives, which accounted for so many sons, some close in age. He had never had more than one wife. Except for once, he had not wished for more. Tamako had filled his whole world. No doubt, he would soon be pressured to take another wife, or wives. But it was best not to dwell on his situation. What interested him about Kobe’s family was the fact that apparently no girls were included in the lessons. He asked about this.

  “His Excellency believes that his daughters are better served being taught by their mothers. Only the boys need to learn to read, write, and speak Chinese.”

  Another painful reminder of Tamako. She had received an excellent education from her father, who had been a professor at the Imperial University. Their own daughter Yasuko had benefited greatly from this. Even he had been impressed by how well she wrote when he received their letters. Tamako’s death was a great loss to the children. Perhaps Yoshi was too young, but surely Yasuko must miss her terribly. He sighed.

  The tutor moved restlessly, probably wondering at the long silences in their conversation. Akitada pulled himself together. “I’d like my daughter to receive the same instruction as boys of her age,” he said. “And there will be another boy. He is Yuki, Tora’s son. He’s a year older than my daughter, but I don’t know how much instruction he has had. It will be as well if he joins the lessons.” He was aware how negligen
t he had been. Not only had he not kept up with his own children, but he had made no provisions for Tora’s son. Heaven forbid Yuki should grow up illiterate like his father.

  Motonari bowed. “As you wish, your Excellency. But as for teaching Chinese to young ladies …”

  “Why not? I believe she may already have some rudiments. She was taught by her mother who was the only child of a professor at the Imperial University.”

  “Ah, I see. My salary is paid by the superintendent, so there is no charge.”

  “Nonsense. You will receive ten pieces of silver for a month’s work. If the superintendent can spare you for two hours a day, I would be grateful.”

  The young man flushed with pleasure and bowed very deeply. “Thank you, sir. I could start now, if it’s convenient” he offered.

  Akitada rose. “Very well. After their lessons, I hope you will set them work to do until the next day. Now let me introduce you to the children.”

  They took the east gallery to Tamako’s pavilion. It was still a very difficult journey for Akitada. The knowledge that she would never again be found in her room or garden twisted his stomach.

  Oyuki was inside with some sewing. Perhaps it was another gown for Yasuko. Akitada tried not to look at the fabric. If it was one of Tamako’s gowns, it would bring back memories. The children were outside, kicking a kemari ball around. He called them in. Yuki had grown remarkably tall in the past months. Akitada explained about the lessons and made the introductions.

  The children looked aghast. Yuki said quickly, “Well, that leaves me out. Bye.” He was almost out the door, when Akitada said, “No, Yuki. You, too. It’s time you stopped wasting your days with play.”

  Yuki looked offended. “I help in the stables, sir.”

  “Yes, I know, but I also want you to learn to read and write. So come back here. Master Motonari has kindly offered to start teaching all of you. He also teaches the sons of Superintendent Kobe so you must work really hard to make a good impression. Will you do this?”

  The children nodded. Yoshi stared at the tutor. He had evidently become speechless at the notion of lessons, but Yasuko smiled and made a little bow to the young man. “Welcome, Master Motonari,” she said. “Will you teach me also?”

  The tutor smiled. “Yes, Lady Yasuko. Your father wishes it.”

  Reassured, she glanced up at her father. “I will work extra hard, Father. For Mother’s sake.” Her eyes filled with tears.

  Akitada choked on his own grief, briefly touched her head, and turned to flee. His escape was preempted by the arrival of his sister, who had three of her children with her.

  Akitada’s irritation served to stifle the sickness that had seized him. He took a deep breath. “Akiko,” he said sharply, “You must let me know your plans in the future. This is Master Motonari who has come to start the children’s lessons. As they are here, your brood may benefit by joining them. You and I will go to my room.”

  Akiko opened her mouth to protest, then changed her mind. She greeted the tutor politely, instructed her three, two boys and a girl, to behave themselves and be quiet, and then left with Akitada.

  “Well,” she said as they walked along the gallery, “that was a very rude greeting when I’m doing my best to help your children cope. And I find you making things worse for them. The loss of their mother is much too recent to start their lessons again. You have always been too strict in that regard. I hope you aren’t making another mistake.”

  Akitada stopped. His sister’s lackadaisical attitude toward her own brood inspired no confidence in him. On the other hand, she had touched a very painful memory. Just before his firstborn, Yori, fell ill with smallpox, he and Tamako had had a serious disagreement over his excessive strictness with the boy’s studies. This had added to his guilt after the child died. Now it also added to his grief of having lost the boy’s mother.

  Akiko’s eyes widened when she saw his face.

  He said in an unsteady voice, “You’ve been very kind to look after the children so far. I am grateful. Now I’m trying to do my best to take over. Perhaps it’s too soon, but Kobe didn’t think so. You must let me do the best I can, Akiko. Believe me, I’d much rather leave all of this—he gestured vaguely around—to you and others.”

  His sister reached for his hand. “I know,” she said, her voice soft. “I’ve been worried about you. You must not give in.” She squeezed his hand. “Never give in, Akitada. She would not have wished it.”

  He felt the tears well up and turned away to walk to his room, her hand still in his.

  It had started to rain. In the courtyard below, a woman passed, Genba’s wife Ohiro, with one hand resting protectively on her belly while the other pulled her skirt over her head. He had noticed that she was pregnant, but neither Genba nor Ohiro had come to tell him. They were probably afraid to share their happiness while he was grieving for Tamako.

  The tides of life, he thought. Death and birth, an end and a new beginning. It went on and on. He was so weary of the struggle.

  And outside the rain fell as if the heavens grieved the coming death of the year.

  10

  The Moneylenders

  The next day, Saburo found the Nakamura house easily. It shared a street with similar merchants’ houses, ample in size and well-kept, with shops in front and living quarters in back and above. In this case, the shop was closed. No wonder, since the family had just been informed of the owner’s murder.

  Saburo went closer and peered through the shutters at a dim interior. He made out shelves with assorted objects, many of them ceramics and wooden boxes. He decided to pound on the shop door. Nothing happened, and he pounded again.

  Finally, he heard a voice. “Go away! We’re closed.”

  He shouted, “I take it, the police have informed you. I have some additional information about Nakamura-san’s death.”

  After a moment, he heard a rattle, and then the door opened a crack. A young man with somewhat bulbous eyes and a mustache peered out. “Who are you?”

  “Saburo. I’m an investigator and work for Secretary Sugawara of the Ministry of Justice. I was in the Daikoku-yu after your father’s murder and questioned people. You can’t always take the word of a constable for what happened.”

  The bulbous eyes narrowed, and the door opened far enough to admit him.

  “It was a terrible shock,” the young man said mournfully. “You cannot imagine. Come back with me. My sister and my father’s partner are at wits’ ends.”

  They passed through the dim shop. Saburo glanced at it. It struck him that the shelves held only a small selection of objects, though these might, of course, be very rare and expensive. Still, it confirmed his impression that the curio shop was merely a front for a thriving money-lending business, which Nakamura had carried out not here but on his daily visits to the business and amusement quarters.

  The main room behind the shop was hardly luxurious. Perhaps the son and daughter lived elsewhere. As it turned out, this was the case.

  Nakamura’s daughter was a hard-featured, silent woman with the same protruding eyes as her brother. She barely nodded to Saburo. He was more interested in the partner who turned out to be a grossly fat man with the name Yasohachi Saito.

  After explaining Saburo’s presence and asking him to sit down, the son said, “My uncle has met us here because we’re trying to go through my father’s accounts. It has all been very upsetting, as you may guess.”

  “Your uncle?” Saburo asked, eyeing the fat man.

  “My grandfather adopted him. He prefers to use his own name. What is it exactly that you can tell us?”

  “As I said, I’m an investigator and happened to be in the Daikoku-yu just after Nakamura-san was found dead. Perhaps you have been told that your father was killed by a blind shampoo girl?”

  They all nodded, looking at him intently.

  “Well, there’s quite a bit of doubt about that. Nobody saw what happened, and the blind woman says she found him dead. It str
uck me that in such a case the victim’s family might be anxious to make certain that the real killer isn’t still free. Of course, I have no idea what your involvement in Nakamura-san’s business may have been, but if someone had a grudge against him …”

  He let this sink in. Their expressions ranged from looking startled to becoming positively alarmed.

  “Well,” he went on, “you see my reasoning. It occurred to me that you might like to have someone take a closer look to make sure that you are quite safe.”

  The word “safe” caused some additional panic.

  “What do you mean?” cried the daughter.

  “What are you talking about?” growled the fat Saito. “Why should we worry? The woman has been arrested.”

  Saburo pursed his lips. “The money-lending business is difficult. People are your friend when they want you to lend them your gold, but when you ask for its return along with your fees, they suddenly hate you. Isn’t that right?”

  They looked at each other. The son spoke first. “You think that someone hated my father enough to kill him and may do the same to us?” His sister cried out in alarm and clutched his arm.

  Saito snapped, “That’s nonsense. This is a business like any other.”

  “I assume you know your creditors and whether any among them are desperate enough to cancel a debt by murder?” Saburo asked him.

  Saito fixed Saburo with a cold eye. “I’m not directly involved in my brother’s business. Manjiro handles the books. But I think what you say is ridiculous. In my opinion, you just want to make money from our loss. Seeing that my brother’s children are still dealing with their grief, I consider that despicable. If this were my house, I’d throw you out.”

  The son gasped and got to his feet. “Is that right?” he asked Saburo. “Are you selling us some sort of service?”

  “No. You haven’t been listening. I work for Lord Sugawara. You don’t owe me anything. But I see that you don’t want my help.” He sighed and got to his feet. “Sooner or later the police will come and check your books to find out who could have killed your father.”