Текст книги "The Crane Pavilion "

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

18

A Tiger in the Dark

Saburo watched Tora melt into the darkness, then crept around the house where the gambler had taken refuge. He felt certain that people were watching because Tora had made such a racket pounding on their door.

The houses in the amusement quarter were built close together. Many were two stories tall. Unlike the shops and homes of merchants, they had few storage yards behind them. What there was opened to alleys where refuse was collected. At this hour, the brothels and wine shops were still busy. Many lights shone from upper and lower windows and doorways.

But the house that interested Saburo remained dark. It was a home, not a business. That did not mean that there were no watchers inside, peering out through chinks in the shutters. Saburo regretted that he was not wearing his black clothes, so much more suitable for surreptitious excursions. He moved cautiously from shadow to shadow, with the unconscious grace of a cat on the prowl, sliding around objects, dimly seen in the inadequate moonlight. When he reached the area behind the house, it lay in utter darkness and silence. The indistinct noise he heard came from the rest of the quarter.

Once he reached the back wall of the house, Saburo crawled along it, bent low beneath the few windows on this side. Behind one of the windows he suddenly saw a faint strip of light appear, and knew he had been right. People had been watching from the dark house and had decided that the troublemakers had finally left.

Unfortunately Saburo could not see inside. But the house was raised a few feet above ground level, and he found a gaping hole in the boards that allowed access to the space beneath. Crawling in, he got on his hands and knees and made his way cautiously through the dark in the general direction of the room where he had seen the light. It was dirty and smelled unpleasant, but it was warmer than it had been outside.

He soon heard indistinct voices and wriggled forward until he was directly beneath the room where the men were talking.

He recognized the voice of the monkey. The other voice was soft and silky but something about it sent a shiver down Saburo’s spine.

The monkey was making excuses. He sounded desperate.

The silky voice told him, “This is not the first time,” adding, “You’re useless scum!” The monkey tried again, his voice becoming shrill. The silky voice asked, “Why should I care?” The monkey pleaded. The silky voice lost some of its softness: “Enough. I’m at the end of my patience with you.”

It sounded very much as though the monkey had been working for the silky voice. Saburo began to suspect that the silly bastard had made the mistake of leading them straight to the home of his boss, Kanemoto. If so, he had every reason to be afraid.

As if to confirm this, the silky voice suddenly snapped, “Shut up, you dog! It’s not enough that you’re so bad at your game that a complete amateur caught you. You then allow yourself to be chased, and come straight here. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have opened my door to you. Do you know what will happen if anyone saw you come in?”

The monkey could be heard mumbling frantic apologies.

Saburo was beginning to enjoy himself. Any moment now, the monkey would say the other man’s name, confirming that silky voice was indeed Kanemoto. Tora could take this information to the police.

There was a loud crash above, and then the weasel screamed shrilly. This was followed by more crashes and the sound of blows. The screams went on, interspersed with “Shut up, you piece of dung. You’re not going to forget this.”

Saburo’s pleasure faded. Listening to another human being beaten to a pulp brought back bad memories. He was tempted to cover his ears but did not want to miss some crucial information.

The monkey shrieked, “Stop hitting me or I’ll …”

The blows ceased.

“You’ll do what?”

The monkey sobbed, “Nothing. I meant nothing, Kanemoto-sama.”

“Are you threatening me with the police? And what would happen to you then, scum?” asked the voice, silky once again.

Sounding desperate now, the monkey said, “I’ll go to jail rather than be beaten to death by you.”

Saburo almost applauded.

He did not hear the gangster’s response, because a woman’s voice called out, “What’s going on, Kanemoto? What’s all the screaming?”

Her refined nasal, singsong intonation marked her as a courtesan, one of the women in the quarter who had climbed to the top of their trade.

Kanemoto, finally identified, said, “It’s nothing, my love. Go back to bed. Just some business I have to take care of.”

He sounded different now. His voice was soft and the tone almost pleading. Saburo was not surprised when the woman did not obey. He heard the sound of a door sliding open and an exclamation of disgust. “Ugh! Who’s that? He’s been bleeding all over your gown and the floor.”

Before Kanemoto could react, the pathetic monkey made his next move. He wailed, “Lady Suzaku, dearest, kindest lady, most beautiful lady of the willow quarter! Please help me. I’ve done nothing.”

She squealed, “Don’t touch me, you filthy animal.”

There was the sound of another blow, followed by a groan, and Kanemoto snapped, “Stay away from her, you hear?” Then he added to the woman, “The bastard let himself be caught cheating at dice. Someone chased him, and the stupid fool led them straight to my house.”

The woman sucked in her breath sharply. “He’ll go to the warden, or even the police. They’ll come here. I’m leaving. I should never have come. You’re poison, Kanemoto.”

Kanemoto cried, “Don’t go, dearest. Nobody will come, and if they do, they’ll find nothing. Sweetheart, I’ll pay your debts.”

Below, in the darkness, Saburo shook his head. Even gangsters were fools about women.

She said, “I can’t come here again, but if I had a little place of my own, you could come to me. Away from the quarter. Someplace we can be together safely.”

Kanemoto pleaded, “I’ll find it. Only don’t leave me.”

“You must make sure he doesn’t talk. If he talks …”

They fell silent, but suddenly the monkey started sobbing and pleading again, his voice indistinct with panic.

Then Saburo heard a gurgling sound and the wild tapping of feet on the floor above, then a heavy thud and silence.

For a moment, he was unsure what had happened.

The woman said, “Pah! He pissed all over the floor. It’s disgusting. You could have waited until I’d gone.”

Kanemoto, panting slightly, replied, “Come, my dear. Surely you’re used to watching men die in your arms. Love and death, it’s all much the same.”

Saburo felt nausea rising. They’d killed the poor bastard! He heard the rustling of a gown, a door slid open above, and she was gone. Kanemoto muttered. A scraping, sliding noise followed. The gangster was moving the monkey’s body.

Saburo was still sickened by what he had heard, but he waited, curious to see how a gangster disposed of inconvenient corpses.

When the sounds above faded, Saburo crept back to the opening. It showed as a paler rectangle in the darkness and he hurried. Halfway there, he touched something warm and lashed out. Some creature spat, hissed, and attacked. Suddenly claws were imbedded in his face. The shock and pain almost made him cry out, but if Kanemoto found him, he would surely get rid of him also. So he fought silently, grasping the furry beast and pulling it from his head. It resisted viciously. In his distress and in the dark, it seemed to be a tiger. Eventually, he got his hands around the animal’s throat and squeezed. Before it went limp, its four claws tore at his face and arms. He flung the body aside and found that he was bleeding from his face, scalp, and both hands and arms.

Worse was about to come!

The paler square of the opening disappeared. For a moment, Saburo was disoriented and moved frantically this way and that in the darkness. Reason returned and, feeling about above himself, he managed to guess from the direction of the overhead beams where he was and started crawling again. On his way, he encountered the corpse of the animal and decided it was only a cat after all, though a rather large one.

But then a new noise reached his ears. Someone was hammering. He followed the sound, and when he reached the outer wall, he felt along it. The hammering stopped.

Alas, the opening was gone. Something soft and yielding blocked it. He felt it, touched clothing and hair, and realized he had been joined by the corpse of the gambler.

With some difficulty in the confined space he moved the gambler aside. The hole through which he had entered, and through which Kanemoto had shoved the body, was now closed off. He was trapped under the gangster chief’s house with the body of a murdered man.

19

The Dance of the Cranes

His visit with the nun Seikan left Akitada frustrated and irritable. Why is it that those who choose a religious life assume they are above the law and can make their own judgments? Perhaps they have stripped their souls of all capacity to feel anything by avoiding the troubles of those who lead normal lives, fall in love, have children, work hard to provide for them, and in consequence suffer the unbearable pain that comes with the loss of loved ones.

But Seikan had mourned the passing of her friend, though he still thought her feelings had not been engaged to a degree where she would fight for justice. Had the erstwhile Tasuku put aside his emotions when he became a monk?

Pondering these questions, Akitada stopped and looked around. What to do next?

The answer came immediately. He would go to speak to the children who used to visit Lady Ogata. But to find them, he must visit the caretaker Koshiro again.

He passed quickly through the gardens, skirting the lake where the two cranes were fishing again, and knocked on the caretaker’s door.

It opened quickly, and Akitada saw that his presence came as a shock to the man. He said reassuringly, “I won’t keep you, but it occurred to me to speak to the two children who visited Lady Ogata. Could you tell me where they live?”

Koshiro looked past him as if he pondered the question. It had been a simple question, and Akitada turned his head to see if someone was coming, but the path was empty.

Finally Koshiro said, “I don’t know. They’re poor children. Who knows what those are up to? They were a nuisance. I didn’t like them, but I ignored them because the lady enjoyed their visits.”

“Ah. You said a boy and a girl? About how old?”

Again the strange hesitation. “Yes, a boy and a girl. The girl was maybe nine and boy was younger. I’m not good at guessing ages.”

“Thank you. I must try my best to find them.” Akitada gave him a smile and left, wondering why Koshiro had been so unhelpful.

Back outside the compound, he circled around the block that was Genshin’s property and arrived at a quarter of very modest homes. Workers and artisans, scribes and low-ranking officials lived in these houses. The wall that protected the noble compound from the lower classes had a small gate on this side. He tested it and found it locked. Apparently, this had not been so before the lady’s death, but Koshiro had wasted no time keeping the children away in the future.

He glanced across the street and saw a group of children playing under a large catalpa tree. They were all younger than ten, he guessed, and both boys and girls. When he had walked across, he noticed an old woman sitting under the tree and was relieved that the children had not been left without some sort of supervision.

Seeing a formally dressed nobleman approaching, the old woman struggled to her feet and bowed deeply.

“I see you look after all these children,” Akitada said, smiling. “It must be difficult. They seem very energetic.”

She returned a toothless smile and bobbed another bow. “So they are, your Honor, so they are. Regular mice, they are so quick. But they’re mostly good children, and I really only look after my own.” She giggled and raised a hand to her mouth to stifle the merriment. “I mean my daughter’s children, of course. That’s them over there.” She pointed to a cluster of four boys engaged in kicking a small stone about.

“Sturdy boys,” Akitada complimented her. “I’m looking for two particular children, a girl and her smaller brother. I believe they live in this neighborhood and used to visit a lady in the big house over there.” He pointed across the street.

“Oh,” she said. “The poor lady who hanged herself?” Again the hand covered her mouth. “Sorry, sir. I shouldn’t talk about such things.”

“It’s all right,” he reassured her. “I wonder, are those children here, by chance?”

She nodded and pointed to a pair who sat nearby, looking forlorn as they watched the other children. “The girl’s called Maeko and the boy Shiro. Their mother’s a widow who works as a cleaning woman. They’re alone during the day.” She shook her head. “That’s not a good way for children to grow up. Look at them. They just mope around. Are they in trouble for going over there?”

Akitada got the impression that she would have welcomed some trouble for them to prove the point that families had a duty to watch over their children. He thought of his own two who were close in age. But unlike the poor widow’s children, they had servants to look after them. Who knew what dire straits the mother was in? He said firmly, “No, no trouble at all. They seem to be good children and they were invited by the lady.”

“Not to start with,” corrected the old woman. “They went over there to look around because they were bored. I know they did. They came back talking about how beautiful the garden is and how there’s a lake with ducks and cranes and beautiful buildings. I had my hands full to keep the rest of the kids from running off to see.”

That explained her resentment. Akitada thanked her and walked over to the two children. They got to their feet, looking nervous, but making him a bow. The girl was thin but neat in her faded blue and white dress with her braid hanging down her back. The boy, in short pants and a simple shirt, was less tidy, and his short hair stood up in small uneven tufts. Both were barefoot. The weather was already too cold for such inadequate attire, but they did not seem to feel it.

Akitada smiled at them. “I think you must be Lady Ogata’s young friends.”

The girl’s eyes widened and she grasped her brother’s hand as if she were about to run away, taking him with her. Akitada crouched to bring his face to their level. He meant to reassure them when the boy burst into tears.

“I didn’t do it,” he cried. “I didn’t touch her. Please don’t hit me. I didn’t mean to.”

The girl put an arm around him. “Hush, Shiro. The honorable gentleman isn’t asking about that.”

The boy gulped and fell silent, but Akitada wondered. He stood up again and said gently, “Nobody is going to beat you. I won’t allow it. I just stopped by to tell you how grateful everybody is that you were so brave the morning you found her dead.”

The girl looked uncertain, but the boy brightened immediately. “I was brave. Did you hear, Maeko?” he told his sister. “The honorable gentleman just said so.” He wiped away his tears and smiled at Akitada, who smiled back and nodded.

Akitada asked the girl. “You must have been very sad that the lady died.”

She nodded. “We miss her a lot,” she said simply. “She was very good to us.”

Shiro said, “She gave us sweets.”

In spite of the lady’s great poverty, she had saved sweets for the children. She had expected them that day. Akitada said, “Yes, she was very kind. Many people must miss her like you do, but they don’t know that she has died. You see, we don’t know who she was, where her family lives.”

The girl looked puzzled. “Her name was Lady Ogata, but we call her the lady of the crane pavilion.”

Her brother explained, “’Cause there’s cranes there. Two of ‘em, and sometimes three. The lady owns the cranes. She said her house is called the crane pavilion because of the cranes.”

“A pretty name,” Akitada said. “But I wondered about her parents. Or perhaps she had brothers and sisters. They should be told, so they can pray for the lady’s soul. Did she ever talk about them?”

They looked at each other and shook their heads. “The lady was alone,” said the girl. “She never talked about anyone. We didn’t think she had a family. She liked us to come because she was lonely and we were alone, too. She told us stories, and sometimes she sang songs and we danced. She danced beautifully. She was going to teach me.” Her eyes filled with tears at the memory.

It was not much, but the singing and dancing raised a new idea in Akitada’s mind. What if this “Lady Ogata” had really been an entertainer? Some of those talented young women made names for themselves and even married into good families. They often ended up being kept by noblemen in separate establishments where they could be visited without the wives being any the wiser.

And that, of course, again made him think of Tasuku, or rather Abbot Genshin. Though, if she had indeed been the abbot’s mistress, he had hardly provided her with the luxuries such women expected. No. There must be another mystery here.

“If it doesn’t trouble you too much,” he asked, “could you tell me about your last visit?”

They looked at each other. The boy’s lower lip started to tremble, and Akitada was sorry he had asked. But Maeko nodded and gave her account about how they had come as usual, only to find Lady Ogata hanging by the neck from one of the rafters. They had thought to run away, but Maeko had decided to call for help and headed toward Koshiro’s house. She had had a vague idea that Koshiro, being tall and strong, could untie the scarf and lift her down, and all would be well. They knew better now and were very sad.

A brief silence fell when she finished. Into this, the boy said again, “I really didn’t mean to do it. Honestly!” Tears threatened to spill again.

Akitada crouched again. “Don’t cry, Shiro,” he said. “You’re a brave boy and brave boys don’t cry.”

Shiro sniffled and nodded.

“What did you do that worries you so? I promise you won’t be in trouble.”

The boy looked up at his sister first, then said, “I touched her. Just a little. She moved. Like she was floating.” He hung his head.

His sister said, “He really only barely touched her foot. He didn’t know any better.”

“Well, it was natural enough,” Akitada said, patting the boy’s shoulder. But he rose to his feet, puzzled by something. “The lady isn’t there any longer. The pavilion is empty. Would you mind very much going there with me?”

Again they consulted by looking at each other. Then the girl said, “We wouldn’t mind.”

“Thank you.”

Akitada went back to the old woman. “I’m taking the children across to the lady’s pavilion for just a little while. My name is Sugawara. I am from the Ministry of Justice.”

She stared at him. “Are you investigating? Has she been murdered then? They said she hanged herself.”

This was awkward. Akitada said quickly, “The police are satisfied it was suicide. But the lady’s relatives are eager to know what may have caused her to take this tragic step. The children may be helpful.”

The avid interest disappeared. She nodded, slightly deflated. “Yes, of course. I’m sure they’re safe enough with you, my Lord.”

*

He hated taking the children back to the place where the woman had died. The boy seemed eager enough, now that he knew he was not in trouble for having touched Lady Ogata’s dangling feet. His sister, however, had become very quiet.

When they neared the pavilion and looked out over the lake, he saw that the cranes had returned. Turning to Maeko, he asked, “Are those cranes always there?”

She nodded.

“And that is why you called this place the crane pavilion?”

“She called it that. She loved the ducks and cranes, but the cranes especially. She said they reminded her of when she was young.”

“How so?”

“There was a dance she used to do. It was called ‘Cranes Dancing at the Shore.’”

There it was again, the hint that the dead woman had been an entertainer.

As they stood watching the peculiar slow movements of the cranes, Maeko slipped her hand into his and looked up at him. “She taught me a little bit of it. Would you like to see?”

“Oh, I would be delighted.”

“No, let’s go,” Shiro said, pulling his hand free. In a moment he had scrambled up the incline to the pavilion.

“Shiro!” cried his sister. “Come back here.”

“Never mind,” said Akitada. “Let him go. I would very much like to see you dance.”

She blushed a little, but stepped away a few feet. And there on the mossy ground she began a slow and charming dance, moving fluidly, lifting her arms as if she were shaking out her wings, bending toward the ground as if searching for fish in the water. With some slow steps, the girl-bird spread its wings, raised itself upward and then dipped low, only to raise its head again. Maeko stopped suddenly. “That’s all I know how to do. There’s more. It’s better with music. The lady used to hum along.”

“It was beautiful. Thank you. Did the lady talk much about her youth?”

“Not really. Only about how she was chosen to dance for the emperor.”

Akitada’s eyebrows rose. So! Not an entertainer in the willow quarter then. The word “chosen” suggested a special court festivity. Girls or very young women belonging to good families appeared for certain annual events involving performances. They marked their entrance into the world of eligible brides. This was becoming interesting.

“Are you sure she never talked about other things in her life?”

Maeko shook her head. “No. Never. She got sad when we asked her questions.”

“Well, let’s go and see what your brother is doing.”

Shiro was standing on the veranda railing, investigating a bird’s nest under the eaves.

Maeko cried, “Get down, Shiro. You might fall and tear your new shirt. Mother would be very unhappy.”

“I’ll be careful,” replied the boy, trying to climb the veranda column.

Akitada plucked him down. “Come, Shiro,” he said. “I need you to take a look at the room and show me exactly what you did that morning. You don’t have to go inside, just look in from the door.”

The door was unlocked. The children stayed outside while Akitada walked in and opened the shutters; sunlight streamed in. The place looked untouched from his last visit. Maeko looked frightened, but Shiro pointed to the center of the room, his eyes fixed on the beam that had supported the body of Lady Ogata.

“I went just there,” he said. “Her feet were in front of my face.” He gestured to his chin. “But she wasn’t standing on them. She was floating. Like a fairy. I went up to her and gave her a little push, and she started swinging.” He looked at Akitada. “I didn’t mean to,” he said again defensively.

“I know. I can see that you wanted to know how she could float in the air.”

The boy nodded.

“Did you see anything else nearby? Her fan maybe, or the clothes rack? Or one of the trunks?”

The boy shook his head. “No.”

With a profound sense of satisfaction, Akitada turned to Maeko. “And you didn’t see anything either?

She shook her head.

“Was everything the same as now?”

She looked again, then pointed to one of the trunks. “I think that was a little closer to the other trunk.”

He and Tora had inspected the trunks, but he knew they had not moved them. He nodded. “Thank you, my dears. You have been a big help and shall have a present. Let’s go back now before your mother starts to worry.”

He delivered the children into the hands of the old woman, having given each a piece of silver. He could not afford it, but they were poorer than he was, and they had been good children.

And they had given him proof that Lady Ogata had been murdered.