Текст книги "The Masuda Affair "

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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The Fishing Village

Akitada slept better than he had expected, and this time dreamlessly, but the moment he opened his eyes the memory of the boy was back with him. He got up and opened the shutters. Sunshine and bird-song cheered him, and suddenly he knew what he must do. His spirits lifted. He was going back for the child. He would have no peace otherwise and would imagine, in lurid detail, the boy’s suffering for every moment of his waking hours. His Hikone report to the ministry could wait another day. The minister would assume that negotiations had taken longer.

As he dressed, he thought about his wife. In all justice, he must let her know of his decision to bring a new member into their household. Besides, she needed to make preparations for the child. The conversation would be painful to both of them, however.

Akitada was pacing when Seimei came in with tea and rice gruel. He returned an absent-minded, ‘Good morning,’ and then said, ‘thank you.’

Perhaps he should suggest to his wife that they needed a youngster to help her in the garden? But the boy was too young to be much use, even if he had learned to mend nets and gut fish. Could he appeal to Tamako’s pity for his condition? That would have worked in normal times, but a woman who had recently lost her only child could hardly be asked to devote herself to someone else’s – and the boy would need a great deal of care and teaching. Perhaps the best thing to do was simply to inform her of his decision and let her choose her own way. Once the child was here, Tamako would either open her arms to him, or ignore him. If the latter, Akitada would make up for her neglect. Her opinion of him could hardly get any worse, but he had no wish to cause her unnecessary pain or make unreasonable demands.

Seimei came in again and cleared his throat.

‘Eh?’

‘Your rice gruel and tea are getting cold.’

‘Oh. Yes.’ Akitada looked at the food absent-mindedly.

‘Cook has complained about Tora. She says he spends his nights in the city with some female. And he is very rude to her.’

Akitada grimaced. Tora’s love affairs were legion, though to give him credit, he did not have to pay for his pleasure. ‘Cook is an ill-tempered female,’ he said. ‘What do you think?’

Seimei sighed. ‘He has been getting very unreliable, right when we need his help badly. The roof leaks in several places. Both house and garden have been neglected for too long.’

Part of that responsibility lay with Akitada, but he did not care to discuss it. He said irritably, ‘Very well, I’ll put a stop to whatever Tora is doing.’

Seimei bowed and withdrew.

Abandoning his morning meal, Akitada went to look for his wife. He found her in her room, sewing with her maid. The floor was strewn with piles of fabric, mostly ordinary cheap stuff, and Tamako was again wearing a plain cloth gown herself.

He stared at the scene in puzzlement. Surely they had not become so poor that they had to dress like common people. It occurred to him that grief had caused her to make some religious vow of simplicity. The Buddhist priests occasionally preached such doctrines, no doubt so their congregation would donate their wealth to the temples. He had always thought that their expensive stoles belied their vows of austerity. Heaven forbid that his wife should decide to become a nun.

He blurted out, ‘What are you doing?’

Tamako flushed at his tone. ‘We’re sewing new robes, trousers, and shirts for Tora and Genba, and a few everyday clothes for Cook, Oyuki, and me. Did you wish me to do something else?’

He wanted to pursue the subject of his wife’s working like a servant, dressed in servant’s clothes, but decided against it. ‘I have something to discuss with you.’

The maid, a dainty and very neat woman who had been with Tamako since both were young girls, pushed the needle into the fabric she was working on, bowed, and left the room. Akitada looked after her, wondering why Tora had never seemed interested in her. She was still quite pretty, even after an ill-conceived marriage had ended in widowhood.

Bringing his attention back to his errand, he said, ‘I am leaving for Otsu this morning.’

‘Again?’

‘Yes. There’s something I left undone.’

‘I see.’

‘Er … it concerns a child.’

‘A child?’

‘Yes. There’s a child, a boy. He’s about five years old.’

‘I don’t understand.’

Why was it so difficult to speak to one’s wife? Akitada fidgeted, then burst out, ‘I have decided to raise him.’

Tamako gave a small gasp and rose, the fabric on her lap falling to the floor, along with thread and needle. ‘What boy?’ Her voice was tight with shock. ‘Five years old? In Otsu? You never mentioned …’ She had turned quite pale.

So much for breaking the news gently. ‘I’m sorry, Tamako. I should have told you right away, but I didn’t want to upset you further. I have thought and thought how to tell you about him.’ He pleaded, ‘The child needs a loving home and someone to teach him and raise him properly. He’s a very nice little boy.’ Seeing her face contract with pain, his heart sank and he muttered again, ‘I’m sorry.’

At least she did not burst into angry speech, as he had expected. She said tonelessly, ‘Of course you must bring the child here. He will be welcome.’

‘You won’t be troubled,’ he promised anxiously. ‘I can look after him myself.’

She gave him a searching look and seemed to want to say or ask something else, but in the end she merely nodded.

‘Thank you,’ said Akitada. ‘I hoped you would understand.’

Tora had to be woken to saddle his master’s horse.

Akitada, for once conscious of his surroundings, eyed him with a frown. ‘Another late night?’

Tora blinked. ‘Not really, sir. Long day yesterday.’

Akitada, who thought he had had an equally long day, had no pity. ‘You might as well saddle yours, too,’ he said. ‘We’re going back.’

‘Back?’ Tora stared at him in dismay. ‘To Hikone?’

‘No. A place called Awazu, a fishing village on the lake just beyond Otsu.’

Tora had promised to take Hanae to Uji today. ‘Will we be gone long?’ he asked, a futile question, for they would certainly not be back in time, even if they turned right around. Tora’s face grew longer.

In a deceptively calm voice, Akitada asked, ‘Am I interfering with some personal plans of yours?’

‘In a way.’ Tora was too preoccupied to notice his master’s growing anger. ‘I had promised to take … a young lady to Uji today. I was going to put her on a horse behind me.’ In an afterthought, he added, ‘It’ll give the horse some exercise.’

Akitada exploded. ‘Don’t make up lame tales about exercising the horses when you want to take one of your doxies on an outing. I regret to interfere in your plans -’ Akitada’s voice dripped icy sarcasm – ‘but I must insist.’

Tora flushed. ‘That’s all right, sir,’ he muttered and glumly finished saddling the horses.

‘Take a sword. I’m carrying gold on this trip.’

Akitada led his horse into the courtyard and mounted. Tora remained in whispered conversation with Genba, who kept shaking his head.

‘What is it now?’ Akitada snapped.

‘Just asking Genba if he can get a message to Hanae … that’s the young woman’s—’

‘Genba has better things to do than to carry messages to your women. Hurry up. I’m waiting.’

Tora obeyed, but he maintained a hurt silence all the way out of town. Akitada ignored him and kept up a good pace. They crossed the Kamo River against a stream of farmers who brought their produce in heavily laden ox carts or in huge baskets slung on their bent backs and headed for the mountains, still shrouded in morning mist.

Akitada had brought a large amount of gold because he suspected that he would not get out of the transaction cheaply. The gold was the reason Tora was with him and why they were both armed. The highways were not safe these days.

They reached the pass before Akitada awoke to his surroundings. He recalled stopping here the day before and turned back to make some comment to Tora. The words remained unsaid when he saw Tora’s face.

‘What’s wrong with you?’ he demanded. The scene at home came back to him, along with Seimei’s report on Tora’s absences.

‘Nothing, sir.’

‘You’re angry with me when I should be angry with you.’

‘And why is that, sir?’ Tora asked bitterly. ‘Yesterday I came to find you as ordered by Her Ladyship. Today I follow you back, as ordered by you. In what way have I offended?’

This was not the sort of answer Akitada had expected. Happy-go-lucky to a fault, Tora always shrugged off minor reproofs with a smile and an apology. It was this cheerfulness that Akitada had always liked about him. Their very different personalities complemented each other, and this morose Tora was unrecognizable. Akitada reined in his horse and said, ‘Cook complains that you are rarely at home any more. Why is that?’

Tora did not like his master’s tone, and his worries about Hanae got the best of him. He snapped, ‘I hope that goblinfaced female goes to the hell where they cut out your tongue before they throw you into the flames.’

‘Answer my question.’ Akitada was getting angry again.

Tora glowered. ‘I had private business. Since you never have any instructions for me or Genba, I thought I was free to take an evening off now and then.’

Being reminded of his own shortcomings did not improve Akitada’s temper. ‘Evenings, nights, and whole days. Apparently, you hardly ever sleep at home any more. And you’re never there when you’re needed.’

Tora’s face froze. ‘Oh, am I to be Cook’s errand boy now? I don’t believe you made that very clear, sir, when you took me on.’

They were stopped in the middle of the roadway, glaring at each other. Two pilgrims in white robes and straw hats gave them a wide berth.

Eight years ago they had met on another highway, where Tora had saved Akitada and Seimei from bandits. Akitada had taken him on as his servant, in spite of Tora’s expressed hatred for titled officials. He had put aside his own sense of correctness to tolerate Tora’s improper familiarity and ramshackle ways for the sake of his good nature and friendship. Perhaps he had gone too far in letting him have his way.

Akitada said coldly, ‘I hired a servant, and I pay a servant to serve. When I saw my house yesterday it was clear that you had not done any work for months. I found my wife in the garden, hacking away at overgrown trees and shrubs like a common laborer, while you spend your days and nights in the amusement quarter. I should beat you.

Tora’s eyes widened. For a moment he said nothing. Then he nodded. ‘Fair enough. You can beat me, but to be clear, it wasn’t Genba’s fault. He wanted to mend the roof and fix the wall, but it takes two to do it, and I wasn’t there. You needn’t pay me for the rest of the year, and I’ll do my best to get the work done.’

‘Another empty promise,’ grumbled Akitada, his happy anticipation of bringing the boy home spoiled by Tora’s unaccountable behavior. Tora knew very well that Akitada would never beat him and took advantage of this. They continued their journey in disgruntled silence.

This time they bypassed Otsu and made straight for the fishing village. On this bright and sunny day, the forest where Akitada had met the boy was neither ghostly nor threatening. Sunlight filtered through the pine trees and spilled green patches of light on bracken and moss. Instead of an impenetrable dark crouching like a monster under the trees, the distant lake shimmered through the pines. Akitada had not noticed the dirt track to Awazu in the rain.

They took the twisting path to the lake and found a scattering of poor wooden houses covered with boards. Nine or ten of these weather-blackened dwellings clung to a narrow strip of land between lake and forest. The lake was a silver mirror reflecting the midday sun, and along the shore weathered boat docks extended into the fierce brightness. Broken dinghies, masts, torn sails, oars and rudders lay about, and fishing nets, floats, and baskets dried against brush fences. Gulls swooped and shrieked hoarsely while children played among the reeds, and two women were drying small silvery fish on grass mats.

The boy had not strayed very far at all. Akitada could see the warden’s point. Children will roam from their homes without their parents’ knowledge. And the poor are often malnourished. But he had not been mistaken about the bruises on the child’s body.

Most of the men were probably out on the lake. The surface of the water was dotted with white sails and rowboats as far as the eye could see, almost to the blue mountains in the distance.

They passed an old woman sitting in the doorway of the first house. Like a piece of driftwood, her black clothing was bleached a dirty grey that blended into the weathered wood behind her. She was weaving bamboo strips into fish traps, but had stopped to stare at them.

Akitada said, ‘Go ask her where the Mimuras live.’

Tora dismounted without a word and walked over to the old woman. A conversation ensued. The old one shook her head and talked, her toothless mouth like a knothole in an ancient tree. She scowled, gestured, and spat. Tora returned. The old woman got up and limped to the fence to look after him.

‘She didn’t seem very friendly,’ Akitada commented.

‘Hates Mimura,’ Tora said. ‘A devil, she calls him. I wouldn’t trust a man that his own neighbors curse. Anyway, it’s the third house from the end, and he’s not home.’

Tora was evidently still angry. ‘We’ll have to manage without him then,’ said Akitada, trying to reestablish working relations. ‘It does seem strange that he should have made such bitter enemies in his own village.’

‘I wouldn’t know.’

Akitada realized that he had not yet told Tora about the boy, but they had reached their destination and there was no time, so he merely said, ‘I’m trying to buy a boy from them. They starved and abused him.’

That got Tora’s attention. ‘A boy? You’re buying a boy?’ His expression suggested that Akitada must have lost his mind. ‘But … there are plenty of starving boys in the capital. Why come here?’

Akitada dismounted. ‘Later. First let’s make sure the child is here and safe.’

There was a strong smell of fish in the air. The walls of the decrepit wooden house, built on stilts like the others, were so weather-stained that they were nearly black. The small porch and steps leaned precariously, and the roof was covered with ancient, ragged boards, which had grass growing from them. Nearby stood a smaller, but much newer, storehouse.

Smoke came from an opening in the roof of the house, and the door stood open, so somebody was at home. Down on the shore, the children paused in their play to stare at the visitors, but the boy was not among them.

‘Mrs Mimura?’ Akitada called.

The frowzy female from their last meeting appeared in the doorway. She wore a new, boldly patterned robe tied around her thick middle with a bright-orange sash. Squinting into the sun, she recognized Akitada when he walked towards her. She was not at all pleased to see him.

‘Mrs Mimura,’ said Akitada, looking up at her, ‘I came to speak to you and your husband about the boy.’ Her eyes flicked towards the storehouse. Akitada was certain now that she was afraid of him.

‘My husband’s out fishing,’ she said. ‘He’s taken the boy with him. What did you want to talk about?’

Akitada did not answer right away. The children, two boys and a smaller girl, joined them. They were sturdy, tough-looking children with flat round faces and looked nothing at all like the deaf-mute boy. ‘Are these your other children?’ Akitada asked.

‘Yes.’

It seemed a very short answer for a mother to give. She was anxious to get rid of him, and he was beginning to be uneasy. ‘You say your husband has taken the little boy. Surely he’s younger than these children.’

‘He was begging so, my husband took pity.’

Neither her tone nor her smile was convincing. Akitada frowned. ‘I thought he was deaf-mute. Surely he’s not much help on a boat.’

The oldest boy guffawed. ‘Moron,’ he said.

‘Shut up.’ His mother glared at him. ‘It’s true he isn’t much help, poor cripple,’ she said, turning back to Akitada. ‘My husband lets him ride along for a treat.’

‘Ah.’

She flushed. ‘We’re taking good care of him, sir. We give him only the best, thanks to your kindness, only the best. He eats like a prince. The other children are jealous. Aren’t you, my pets?’

The children ignored her. Akitada was undecided. He looked out over the lake, wishing Mimura’s boat would return. Overhead swooped white gulls with raucous cries; higher up, two black kites performed their slow circles silently. Several gulls had taken up position on the roof of the storehouse, where they were walking back and forth with watchful eyes.

And then Akitada heard the sound of sweeping from somewhere beyond the storehouse.

Mrs Mimura heard it too and said quickly, ‘We always tell them it’s to make up for his being deaf and dumb. We all look after him like a little treasure, don’t we?’

The children looked at their mother in surprise. The oldest said, ‘Huh?’

Akitada looked at the storehouse. It was solidly constructed on sturdy timber supports. The sweeping sounds continued. ‘Tora,’ he called.

Tora dismounted, tied up the horses, and strolled over.

Mrs Mimura raised her voice a little and started down the steps. ‘I’m sorry that my husband isn’t home. Or the boy either. You’ve wasted a trip. How about coming back another day? Or maybe we could bring him to you in Otsu. Say tomorrow?’

Akitada bent to peer under the storehouse. It was raised several feet above ground on its supports, perhaps in case of flooding from the lake. In the shelter under the building, Mimura stored tools of his trade: spare oars, parts of a boat, three-pronged spears, and bamboo fishing rods and lines. Fishing traps, like the one the old woman had been making, and baskets hung from nails, and a large net was strung between the supports. But Akitada saw movement behind all of these objects, on the far side of the storehouse.

‘Go see what’s behind the storehouse,’ he told Tora.

Tora walked off, and the woman went flying after him to grab his sleeve. ‘Wait,’ she cried. ‘We keep a vicious dog back there.’

Tora flung off her hand. ‘Don’t touch me, woman!’ he snapped. ‘I’ve dealt with dogs before. And with troublesome females.’ He disappeared around the storehouse in two or three great strides, the woman on his heels. The children followed.

‘Oh no, you don’t,’ she cried. ‘You’ve got no right …’

For a moment there was silence. Then Tora’s voice, strangely tight, shouted, ‘Sir? Would you come back here a moment?’

Akitada ran around the storehouse and came to an abrupt halt.

It was a weedy area where Mimura cleaned his fish and dumped unsold wares and other garbage. The rotting fish was piled in a stinking mound beside an old basket. Flies buzzed everywhere.

And there was the boy. He held a broken broom in his small hands and was once again dressed in a filthy rag. New bruises, including a black eye and a swollen lip, had joined the old ones. His eyes were wide with fear.

But what made Akitada’s blood boil was that he had a heavy leather collar around his thin neck. From the collar, a rusty chain about ten feet in length led to one of the supports of the storehouse, where it was fastened to an iron ring.

The child had stopped sweeping the malodorous mess of fish entrails; his eyes were on Mrs Mimura.

Tora cursed softly.

Barely controlling his rage, Akitada turned to the woman. ‘Is this your vicious dog?’

She cringed away from his face. ‘He will run away, sir,’ she wailed. ‘It’s for his own good. You know he runs away.’

‘So you tie him up like a dog? Worse, for I see neither food nor water bowls.’

‘He eats in the house. He’s only been here a little while. I’ve got work to do and can’t watch him all the time. It was just for a little while until I got supper started.’

Akitada gave her another look that made her quail and went to the boy. The child whimpered and backed away. Akitada spoke to him, soothing meaningless phrases: ‘Don’t be afraid. It’s only me again. You remember me, don’t you? We met in the forest. It was raining then, but you rode to Otsu with me. I bought you a rice cake and we stayed at the inn. Do you remember?’ The boy gave no sign that he understood. His eyes shifted to Tora, who had come up beside him, and he jerked away in fear.

‘Hold still, little one,’ Tora said gently. ‘Let me take that collar off. You’ve done enough sweeping.’ But the boy ran.

Mrs Mimura, perhaps trying to be helpful, snatched at his chain and jerked it sharply. The boy flipped backward with a strangled cry and hit the dirt hard. Almost at the same instant Tora backhanded Mrs Mimura so viciously that she screamed and tumbled to the ground, holding her face with both hands.

Neither Tora nor Akitada paid attention to the blood spurting from her nose. They knelt on either side of child – who lay curled into a ball, clutching at his throat – and got in each other’s way trying to undo the collar.

‘That she-devil,’ Tora grunted. When the collar finally parted, they saw bloody welts on the boy’s slender neck.

Ignoring the stench and filth that clung to him, Akitada took the boy in his arms and held him, murmuring endearments, while Tora stood by. Behind them, Mrs Mimura got to her feet and ran back to the house. Her children ignored her and remained to watch.

When the boy stopped whimpering and relaxed against him, Akitada rose. Carrying the child, he said in a shaking voice, ‘Come, Tora. We’re taking him with us now. I’ll be damned if I’m going to pay those monsters a single copper for him.’

When they got on their horses, the woman ran from the house, holding a rag to her face. ‘Where are you taking him?’ she cried. ‘You can’t have him. Not without pay.’

Akitada glared. ‘Count yourself lucky if I don’t have you and your husband arrested.’

She screamed, ‘Help! Help! Thieves. They’re stealing our child.’

The Mimura children shouted, ‘Thieves,’ and, ‘Help,’ and laughed at the excitement.

A small group of people from the village stood near the old crone’s house. They watched with detached interest. No one made a move to come to Mrs Mimura’s aid or stop them. The old one gave them a toothless smile and a wave as they passed.

Akitada held the trembling child and spurred his horse. He wanted to get away from this place of horror as fast and far as possible. They reached the road and turned into the forest.

There was no one else about, but after the rains the road surface was too treacherous for their current speed, especially as Akitada was distracted by the child and did not guide his horse as carefully as he should have. His mount stepped in a deep rut and stumbled. Akitada reined in. He was fond of his horse, a fine grey stallion he had brought back from the North Country, and realized with dismay that he was limping badly. Tora dismounted to inspect the damage.

‘A sprain,’ he said, feeling the animal’s right front leg. ‘Don’t know how bad.’

‘It was my fault,’ muttered Akitada, stroking the animal’s neck.

‘Take my horse, and I’ll walk yours to Otsu,’ Tora offered, even though he knew this meant he would not get back to Hanae tonight.

Akitada looked at the boy and saw that he clung to him and was watching the woods as if he expected monsters to emerge at any moment. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘We’ll go on to Otsu, spend the night at the inn there, and continue in the morning. If necessary, we can rent a horse.’

Tora reached up, intending to lift the boy down, but the child panicked and fell into the mud. He got up immediately and clutched at Akitada’s boot.

Akitada’s heart contracted with pity and love. He got down and lifted the boy, a muddy, malodorous bundle, into Tora’s saddle before mounting behind him. They continued their journey at a slower pace.