Текст книги "The Crane Pavilion "

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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The Crane Pavilion

An Akitada Novel

I. J. Parker

2014

I · J · P

Copyright 2014 by I. J. Parker

This book is a work of fiction. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission of the author or publisher.

Published by Ingrid J. Parker Inc. 2014; First Edition.

Cover design by I. J. Parker; Cover image by Ito Yakuchu.

Formatting: Polgarus Studio

Praise for I. J. Parker and the Akitada series

“Elegant and entertaining … Parker has created a wonderful protagonist in Akitada… . She puts us at ease in a Japan of one thousand years ago.” The Boston Globe

“You couldn’t ask for a more gracious introduction to the exotic world of Imperial Japan than the stately historical novels of I. J. Parker.” The New York Times

“Akitada is as rich a character as Robert Van Gulik’s intriguing detective, Judge Dee” The Dallas Morning News

“Readers will be enchanted by Akitada.” Publishers Weekly Starred Review

“Terrifically imaginative” The Wall Street Journal

“A brisk and well-plotted mystery with a cast of regulars who become more fully developed with every episode” Kirkus

“More than just a mystery novel, ( THE CONVICT’S SWORD ) is a superb piece of literature set against the backdrop of 11^th-cntury Kyoto.” The Japan Times

“Parker’s research is extensive and she makes great use of the complex manners and relationships of feudal Japan.” Globe and Mail

“The fast-moving, surprising plot and colorful writing will enthrall even those unfamiliar with the exotic setting.” Publishers Weekly, Starred Review

“…the author possesses both intimate knowledge of the time period and a fertile imagination as well. Combine that with an intriguing mystery and a fast-moving plot, and you’ve got a historical crime novel that anyone can love.” Chicago Sun-Times

“Parker’s series deserves a wide readership.” Historical Novel Society

“The historical research is impressive, the prose crisp, and Parker’s ability to universalize the human condition makes for a satisfying tale.” Booklist

“Parker masterfully blends action and detection while making the attitudes and customs of the period accessible.” Publishers Weekly (starred review)

“Readers looking for historical mystery with a twist will find what they’re after in Parker’s latest Sugawara Akitada mystery … An intriguing glimpse into an ancient culture.” Booklist

Pronunciation of Japanese Words

Unlike English, Japanese is pronounced phonetically. Therefore vowel sounds are approximately as follows:

“a” as in “father”

“e” as in “let”

“i” as in “kin”

“o” as in “more”

“u” as in “would”

Double consonants (“ai” or “ei”) are pronounced separately, and ō or ū are doubled or lengthened.

As for the consonants:

“g” as in “game”

“j” as in “join”

“ch” as in “chat”

Contents

Characters

“Koshiro”

“The Sadness of Spring”

“A Conspiracy”

“The Old Professor”

“The Student”

“Murder in a Bathhouse”

“The Caretaker and the Artist”

“Talk of the Town”

“The Tides of Life”

“The Moneylenders”

“Fire in a Jar”

“The Blind Girl”

“A Hopeless Case”

“Gossip in the Bath”

“In Disgrace”

“The Gamblers”

“The Nun”

“A Tiger in the Dark”

“Dance of the Cranes”

“Lady Akiko’s News”

“Arrest”

“An Old Acquaintance”

“A Good Name is Forever”

“The Search”

“Phoenix”

“Walk into Danger”

“Rising Mist”

“Twilight before Dark”

“Kobe’s Risk”

“The Quiet Sadness of Autumn Rain”

“The Bridge of Dreams”

“A Lotus Flower in the Mud”

“The Lady of the Crane Pavilion”

“Senior Secretary Soga”

Historical Note

About the Author

Contact Information

Characters

Sugawara Akitada – government official between assignments

Yasuko, Yoshitada – his daughter & son

Akiko – his sister

Tora & Hanae – his senior retainer & wife

Genba & Ohiro – another retainer & wife

Saburo – a third retainer, a former spy

Kobe – Superintendent of the Metropolitan Police

Nakatoshi – one of Akitada’s friends

Fujiwara Kaneie – Akitada’s former superior, Minister of Justice

Persons involved in the case of Lady Ogata’s suicide:

Abbot Genshin – a former friend of Akitada

Professor Suketada – a retired university professor

Yoshizane – a poor painter

Takechi Akushiro – a poor student

Koshiro – a caretaker

Seikan – a nun

Soga Ietada – Senior Secretary to the Prime Minister

Minamoto Masakane – an exiled nobleman

Maeko & Shiro – two children, sister and brother

Persons connected with the murder in the bathhouse:

Jinzaemon – owner of the bathhouse Daikoku-yu

Sachi – a blind shampoo girl

Nakamura Minobe – a moneylender

Nakamura Manjiro – his son

Yasohachi Saito – his adopted brother and partner

Kanemoto – a gangster

Hankei – a gambler

Chiyo, aka Phoenix – a courtesan

Kajiwara – a poor schoolmaster.

1

Koshiro

Koshiro finished his bowl of rice gruel and set it down beside him. With a sigh of satisfaction, he looked across his garden where the cabbage, radish, and melon plants grew daily larger. The morning sun was quite warm already. It was autumn already, a time of clear skies and chills bringing the promise of winter. Then maybe he would hate his lonely life again, but just now, in this glorious morning sun, surrounded by birdsong and the scent of the rose bush, living in this small wooden house felt like a gift from the gods.

Peace.

Refuge.

And a new life.

He closed his eyes and leaned back against the sun-warmed boards. In a moment he would get up, wash his bowl, and start his chores. They were light, though the grounds were large. The owner hired workers for repairs and heavy work. Yes, Koshiro was blessed to have found this place.

And so were the others. He smiled. The student, the most recent arrival, still shied like a rabbit whenever they met. And he still feared every new arrival. But he was the only one. The professor was deaf, and the nun never paid attention. And the lady? Sometimes when there was a knocking, she got that look of longing on her face—as if she expected a lover to come and carry her away.

Koshiro hated that look. She was very beautiful, and it was to be expected that she should have known love and still wished for it. But she was here, as they all were. None of them would ever leave.

They would find consolation.

In time. Because time was all they had.

And each other.

He imagined himself and the lady becoming reconciled to their lives and to each other and smiled. There was hope. There always was hope.

And then he heard the children’s cries.

His eyes popped open. He looked in the direction of the sound but saw nothing beyond the lush green trees and shrubs where late shrubs still bloomed in shades of red. Getting to his feet, he shaded his eyes. It was quiet again. He decided the children had been at some silly game and relaxed again. They made a nuisance of themselves, but the lady loved children. He gave a low growl of irritation.

Picking up his bowl, he decided that today he must put his foot down and tell them to stop coming into the garden. When he straightened up, he saw them. Two small figures had burst from the trees, waving their arms and shouting.

Now what? They knew better than to bother him. He had let them know they weren’t welcome. He set the bowl back down, put on his most ferocious scowl, and started toward them.

The boy and girl were nine and ten respectively, the children of a woman who lived in the poor quarter across from the Takashina mansion. She was a widow who cleaned other people’s houses all day long. Ragged, thin, and left to their own resources, the children had climbed the wall and come into the garden to play. They reminded him of his own childhood, and he had been too permissive in the beginning. But his duties here meant that he was to guard the property against undesirable visitors, and it was only a matter of time before the professor or the nun would object to the noise of children and complain to the owner.

They were shouting “Come quick!” and “The poor lady!” Koshiro began to feel queasy and started to run

When they met, the children were babbling, their eyes wide with panic, and their arms flailing, pointing, gesturing. Something was wrong, though he could not make out what it was.

Lady Ogata occupied the Lake Pavilion, a graceful building overlooking a small artificial pond with koi and water lilies. Though she was noble and in her mid-twenties, Koshiro never thought of her without feeling desire. He himself was fifty years old and already had gray hairs among the black ones. But lust did not die with age, and a man had little control over his willful thoughts.

So Koshiro ran through the trees and bounded up the veranda steps of the Lake Pavilion. All was still. The shutters were closed except for one that stood partially open. He called out, “My lady? Are you all right? It’s Koshiro.”

There was no answer.

He pushed the shutter a little wider and looked inside.

The large, elegant room lay in deep shadow after the brightness outside. At first, he thought it was empty, its bare floor gleaming softly.

Puzzled, he blinked his eyes to adjust them. The little girl had caught up and was shaking his arm. “Look!” she cried. “Please take her down! Quick!”

He raised his eyes from the floor.

Something floated in the dim space, a dusky shape. A bundle of robes hung up to air? The silk gowns almost touched the floorboards and moved softly in the breeze from the open doorway. As he stared, the shape seemed to turn slightly toward him, and he saw a pair white-stockinged feet. They did not touch the floor.

In wonder, he stepped inside and went closer. That was when he realized that a woman was inside the robes. She was weightless, floating above the ground like one of the fairies in the western paradise.

He looked up, saw her face, and recoiled. It was Lady Ogata, but all of her beauty was gone. She looked shocking, her tongue protruding from her mouth like some huge slug, and her eyes rolled back so only the whites showed. Purple silk was looped around her neck and passed behind her head. It was tied around one of the rafters above. He muttered a prayer and reached for his amulet.

Lady Ogata hung, swaying and turning gently, while the little girl cried something and pulled at him. Swallowing down his nausea, Koshiro went to touch the limp hand. It was cold as ice.

“Too late,” he croaked, then turned away to run outside and vomit up his rice gruel.

So quickly can a man’s fortune turn from happiness to despair. All was lost. Nothing would ever be well again.

At that moment, Koshiro hated Lady Ogata as he had never hated anyone before.

2

The Sadness of Autumn

Less than a mile from the site of Lady Ogata’s death, Tora also sat in the sunshine on his small veranda. He, too, had eaten his morning gruel and contemplated the day ahead. Behind him, he could hear the voices of his wife Hanae and son Yuki. He, too, felt a sense of contentment.

But unlike Koshiro, Tora was fully aware that not all was well. It was autumn again, and they were home, and there were the shouts and laughter of children again, but the gloom of death hung heavy over this house.

The master had returned, a shadow of his former self, to his motherless children.

Lady Tamako had died in childbirth in the spring while her husband served as governor in distant Kyushu. Tora and Saburo had been with him, and they had feared for his sanity when he learned what had happened, knowing that his lady had been dead and buried weeks before he got the news and that it would be more weeks before he would set foot in his house again.

Tora got up and went inside where Hanae was putting away the bedding and tidying their main room. She was small and agile, his pretty Hanae, a former dancer and still as graceful and desirable as when they had first met. These days there was a new fear in his heart that he might give her a child again and she might die like Lady Tamako. After his return, he had hesitated to take her in his arms and make love to her, and she had wept until he explained. Now, they lay together again, but still he was afraid. All their lives had changed.

Yuki put his head in. “I put the firewood next to the fireplace, Mother,” he announced. When he saw his father, his eyes lit up. “Will you give me another stick fighting lesson today, Father?”

Tora was proud of his sturdy son, but the mention of stick fighting reminded him of his master. He had taught Lord Sugawara the moves and strategies of combat with a fighting stick many years ago when they had both been young and full of energy and laughter. Oh, how sadly things had changed!

“Another day perhaps,” he said vaguely and saw Yuki’s face fall. “Perhaps you and I can exercise the horses later,” he added.

Yuki clapped his hands. “I’ll go brush them now, Father,” he cried and disappeared.

Tora and Hanae looked at each other.

“I feel ashamed,” he said. “I have so much, and the master …” His voice trailed off.

She nodded. “He hardly eats and spends all his time sitting in his dark room. And the children have become so quiet. It’s bad for all of them. What should we do?”

He sighed. “I don’t know. We have all tried. His family and his friends. We’re still trying. I’d better look in on him, but the gods know I hate seeing him like this.”

She nodded. “Stay with him. Talk to him. Mention the children. It may help.”

“I’ll try, but he always sends me away when I remind him of them.”

*

Saburo had spent the night with Shokichi, a prostitute he had met a year ago while investigating the murder of a brothel owner. He was very fond of Shokichi, the first and only woman to treat him as a normal man. The disfigurement of his face that made him look like a goblin had frightened both children and adults.

These days he no longer looked quite so terrifying. He had grown a mustache and beard that hid most of the worst scars and deformities, and he used a paste concocted by Lady Tamako to conceal the rest. Except for one eye that he had trouble controlling he looked almost normal. But Shokichi had liked him even when he was a monster. She almost had not recognized him when he returned from Kyushu and went to visit her.

In the beginning, he had been shy and very careful not to expect anything beyond friendship. In fact, he had kept his distance, merely taking her to a restaurant now and then, or to a temple fair, or for a walk by the river under the late-flowering cherry trees. And there she had finally burst into tears.

Dismayed, he had begged her forgiveness for whatever he had done.

“It’s what you haven’t done,” sobbed Shokichi.

“I’ll do it,” he cried. “Right away. Just tell me what it is.”

That had made her chuckle through her tears. “Oh, Saburo, How could you be so dense? I want you to make love to me.”

He had gaped at her.

“I want you to lie with me,” she had said more insistently. “A man should want to lie with a woman if he likes her. Don’t you want to? Ever?”

He had been speechless with delighted surprise. “Yes, of course, but … but—.” How to explain that he did not want her “services” but rather her love?

Her face fell. “Oh, Saburo. I’m sorry. I didn’t think. Is it that you cannot? Is it some wound? Something else those monsters did to you?”

Grinning foolishly, he had shaken his head. His arms had reached for her. And then he had kissed her so passionately that she had gasped, “Come, let’s go to my room now.”

And so Saburo had allowed himself to be seduced under the cherry trees and had made love to Shokichi ever since, as often as he could manage, to make up for years of near-celibacy.

His mind being thus occupied with love and being frequently away from home, he had been less affected than the others by the sadness which hung over the Sugawara compound. But he too had seen what his master had become. Most mornings, Saburo worked at estate matters by himself. On the few occasions when Akitada wandered into his study, he had merely stood for a moment, murmuring “Good Morning,” and then wandered out again. Saburo began to realize that his presence was what drove his master away. So he hurried with his work and left the place to the man who spent most of his time sitting there or on the veranda, brooding.

It was all very upsetting, and Saburo knew that Tora and Genba and the women were becoming frantic with worry. He felt guilty for escaping into the arms of Shokichi. And when he remembered Lady Tamako’s kindness to him and how she had mixed her pastes and paints until she achieved just the right shade for his skin, how she had understood his embarrassment, yet had been firm about teaching him her skill, then he felt most deeply ashamed. He had wept when the news had come to Kyushu. It pained him that they were probably thinking he did not care, that he, the most recent to join the Sugawara family, had not formed the bonds of loyalty and family they had. And so he fled whenever he could.

*

Genba’s wife was expecting a child. She had been afraid to hope. Her life as a prostitute had meant so many forced abortions that she had been certain she could no longer bear children. Or, what was even worse, she feared she might bear a deformed child. She watched him as he played with the master’s children, and tears rose to her eyes to think that she might disappoint him, this gentle mountain of a man who doted on children and animals and all things weak.

She pitied the master’s children, as did Genba. He spent too much time with them while chores were left undone. They should be more with their father, but he was so changed that he frightened them, and they much preferred Genba or Tora to keep them company.

Yasuko was getting to be a handful these days. She was seven now and lorded it over her little brother Yoshitada, Yoshi for short. Yoshi was five and timid. Tora frequently shook his head when Yoshi was fearful of the rough games his son Yuki played with Yasuko. To Ohiro’s mind, this was all backwards. Yasuko should be calm and ladylike, and her brother should be the one to play boys’ games. She had pointed this out to her husband, but he had simply laughed and said, “Children have their own ways. Just so long as they’re happy.”

But the master’s children were not really happy. They had cried and cried after their mother and their new brother had died. They had cried again when their father returned and had barely smiled at them. And now they stayed away from him, and he from them.

*

Akitada was unaware of the concern he caused his household. He was unaware of life around him in general. He ate what they brought him, answered their questions vaguely, stared at his children when they came to make their morning bows to him and murmured a greeting and the admonition to be good children and run along.

He was preoccupied with thoughts about the emptiness of his world. Not about the emptiness the Buddhist priests talked about when they meant the various human pursuits like lust, ambition, greed, desire, jealousy, and anger, but rather a very specific state affecting him alone, a man suddenly bereft of all that made his efforts meaningful. He no longer took pleasure in the beauty of the garden, the graceful movements of the koi in his pond, the challenge of tricky legal cases, or the discovery of a killer, and even—may the gods forgive him—the laughter of his children.

The swallows had returned to his house and had nested as before under the eaves outside his study. This had pained him, because the continuance of life was only a few steps from death. And there had been another death: the wisteria outside Tamako’s pavilion had died during the summer.

He read doom in this. Doom for himself and the rest of his life, which seemed to him to have begun with his marriage to Tamako, marked by his presenting her with a flowering branch from this very plant. The wisteria had been near death once before. That time they had drifted apart in mutual recriminations over Yori’s death. It had revived, as had their love. They had both become stronger. And now there was no more hope. What was he to do with himself?

A scratching at the door brought Tora. Akitada wished him away and did not greet him.

Tora glanced at the untouched bowl of rice and vegetables. “You must eat, sir,” he said.

“Leave me alone if you have nothing better to offer,” snarled Akitada.

“I can go to the market.” Tora tried a grin.

Akitada merely glared. “What do you want?”

“They’ve sent again from the ministry. The minister wonders if you’re ill.”

“Then tell him I am. Maybe then they’ll leave me alone.”

Tora sat down uninvited. “I doubt it. I think the minister would hurry over with his personal physician.”

“Send them to the devil if they come. I don’t want to see anyone.”

A heavy silence fell.

“There are the children,” Tora said after a while.

“What about them?”

“You are their father. You owe them something. Her ladyship would be appalled.”

Akitada jumped up. “How dare you? Get out!”

Tora paled, got up, and walked out like a beaten dog.

An hour later he came back to open the door with the words, “Superintendent Kobe, sir.”

Kobe walked in with a smile on his face, but before he could say anything, Akitada cursed.

Kobe stopped in his tracks. “What’s this?” he demanded. “I don’t recall you using such language before. What’s twisted your tail in a knot? And what have I done to get such a greeting?”

Akitada barely glanced at him. “Not you. Tora. I told him I didn’t want to see anyone only a moment ago.”

Kobe glanced at the congealed food and sat down. “Any chance of getting a cup of wine? I had a hot walk over here.

For a moment it looked as though Akitada would get up and leave, but he relaxed again and clapped his hands.

Tora’s face appeared in the door opening.

“Get these dishes out of here and bring some wine,” Akitada snapped, giving him an evil look.

Tora grinned, gathered up the tray with the uneaten food, and murmured, “Right away, sir.”

“He’s grown intolerable,” grumbled Akitada as soon as the door had closed behind him.

“You’re the one who’s grown intolerant. Tora loves you, as does the rest of your household. And your friends as well. It isn’t right to treat us like enemies.”

Akitada looked away. “I have not treated anyone as an enemy,” he protested feebly.

“And your children suffer. Your wife would be shocked, could she see it.”

Akitada clenched his hands. Then he got to his feet, and without a look or word, he left the room and went outside into the garden. It was unforgivably rude, but he could bear no more of this. Kobe had visited regularly, but never had he spoken as harshly as this. He felt tears rise to his eyes, hot and burning, and he bit his lip hard to gain control. He could not bear the thought of Tamako’s anger from beyond the grave, yet, he also could not find the strength to speak to his children. He had tried many times and each time he had run out of words and felt close to tears. He did not want them to see him weep and burst into tears themselves. Better they should play with Genba and Tora or be coddled by the women. They were too young to grieve.

A step crunched on the gravel behind him and Kobe put a hand on his shoulder. “Forgive me,” he said. “I’ve run out of ideas how to help you, and lost my patience.”

Akitada choked back the lump in his throat. “Your patience? You surprise me. I didn’t know you had any,” he said. The smile which was to accompany the comment failed.

But Kobe grip on his shoulder tightened briefly before he took his hand away. “Would you like me to send my children’s tutor over? Or could the children come to my house? My children would like that very much.” Kobe was pleading.

Emotion gripped Akitada again. “Thank you,” he choked out. “Yes, perhaps something like that … I suppose I should have … Time has a way of slipping past.”

“Good. I’ll send the man over. You’ll like him. He did very well at the university but unlike you he failed miserably as a young official and is now forced to earn his living teaching children.”

Akitada thought about his own career. Had he done well? He doubted it. And now? It was probably over. He had left his post in Kyushu without permission, had not reported when he reached the capital, and had not returned to his former position at the ministry. He had done nothing.

Fujiwara Kaneie had sent for him and later called in person, but Akitada had claimed illness so as not to have to deal with him. Would he end up teaching other people’s children? It was ridiculous when he could not even manage to teach his own. For the first time, it struck him that he had no income and that hunger and homelessness might be more unbearable than grief.

Or perhaps not. His grief was his own private world, but its effects were felt by his household. He had no right to it. A wave of self-pity washed over him. He had nothing; not even the right to grieve for Tamako’s death.

Kobe cleared his throat. “Don’t look so dismal. It will get better. I know. For a while you think nothing will ever be right again and then one day you find yourself laughing, and a bit later you will feel happy about something, and in the end the person you’ve lost will be a treasured memory of your youth.”

Akitada turned his head away. “You mean well, Kobe. I thank you for it, but telling me that the pain will pass will not speed up my recovery. Your reminder that I have obligations forces me to face the world when I lack the strength to do so.”

Kobe gave him a searching look. “You have always lived for your obligations, Akitada. Even at times when it was foolish to do so. I think you will do so again, and soon.” He touched Akitada’s arm. “I must go now, but you only have to send for me if there’s something I can do.”

Akitada remained in the garden a while longer. Then he went in search of the children. He found them outside Tamako’s pavilion and had to steel himself to go closer. Yoshi sat on the veranda, dangling his feet and watching his sister. His daughter had wrapped one of her mother’s gowns about her and paraded back and forth on the veranda, waving a fan and reciting something.

Akitada recognized the gown and felt a stab of pain. He was furious with his daughter. “Yasuko, take that off immediately,” he shouted. “How dare you dirty up your mother’s things in your silly games?”

Yasuko spun around and froze when she saw her father. Her eyes grew large and her chin trembled. Then, with a sob, she ran inside.

Yoshi was pleased. He jumped up and ran to embrace his father’s knees. “I told her not to do it, Father,” he cried. “She’s a bad girl.”

Akitada detached him. He stared at the pavilion in the summer sunshine. There on the veranda they had sat together, watching the children at play, looking at the garden, talking. It had been a regular occurrence every time he had spent the night with his wife.

No more. Not ever again.

He would not weep before his children. He would be strong and walk up the veranda steps. He would go inside, into the room where they had been together, and he would speak to his daughter calmly, explaining to her that her mother deserved respect even after her death.

But before he could do so, a woman appeared in the doorway. Tamako’s maid Oyuki. Yasuko’s tear-stained face peered out from behind her with frightened eyes.

“Sir? Is it you?” the maid said, bowing to him. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

The fact that they had apparently made themselves at home in Tamako’s pavilion angered him again. “Why should you be informed about my plans?” he snapped. “And what are you and the children doing here?”

“We live here.”

“You live here? By whose permission?” Akitada started toward them with a face like thunder.

The maid fell to her knees. “I’m sorry, sir. I only did as I was told. We’ll leave this moment. Please forgive the mistake.” She started knocking her forehead against the boards of the veranda floor. Yasuko burst into a wail, and behind him Yoshi began to cry as well.

Akitada stopped. He should not make his children cry. No matter how he felt himself, they were innocent of wrong doing. “Please get up, Oyuki,” he said more calmly. “Nobody told me. Who suggested that you and the children live here?”

Yoshi cried, “I don’t live here, Father. I have my own room.”

“Good,” said his father. “You must show me later.”

Oyuki, who was also weeping by now, got to her feet. “Lady Akiko thought it was best if Lady Yasuko took her mother’s room. Lady Akiko said I was to be Lady Yasuko’s maid now.”

Lady Akiko! His sister. Meddlesome as always. “Well,” he said, “I’m sorry if I spoke harshly to you. I didn’t know. I suppose this is a practical arrangement. Only my daughter seems rather young to take possession of my wife’s things.”

“We asked permission of Lady Akiko because Hanae said you weren’t to be bothered. Lady Akiko and I looked through Lady Tamako’s things and chose two gowns that could be shortened for Lady Yasuko. Lady Yasuko was trying on the gown, sir.”

And so he had been put in the wrong. He always seemed to become the ogre in his children’s eyes. A flash of another memory crossed his mind: Yori looking up at him with frightened eyes after a reprimand. Yori, who had died shortly afterward of smallpox. And his father had spent the years that had passed wishing he could take back his harshness, wishing he had instead held his son and told him that he loved him.

He raised his hands to his face and groaned. Then he lowered them, turned to his son and held out his hand, and said, “Come, Yoshi. Let us go up to your mother’s pavilion and see your sister’s room.”

Yoshi came reluctantly. “You will come and see mine also? I have a picture of a very fierce tiger.”

“I will come and see it.”

They climbed the steps together. Oyuki stepped aside, and Akitada looked down at his daughter’s tear-stained face. “I’m very sorry, Yasuko,” he said. “It’s been a very hard time for me. I miss your mother very much, you see.”

She burst into new tears and flung herself into his arms. He ended up kneeling on the veranda and holding his weeping children.

And weeping with them.

Oyuki sniffled and withdrew.