Текст книги "The Hell Screen"

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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Текущая страница: 25 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

Lights shone from behind the high paper-covered windows of the training hall, and he heard laughter. The old doorkeeper let him in, pointing toward the end of the hall. Apparently all the oil lamps and lanterns had been gathered around Miss Plumblossom’s dais. She held court on her chair, her maid on the dais beside her and a group of actors and acrobats clustered around. Tora and Genba sat on the floor at her feet.

They had been celebrating. Cups and pitchers of wine and trays of food littered the floor, and their faces were flushed. Tora and Genba jumped up guiltily when they saw Akitada.

“We were invited for a nightcap,” Genba said.

Tora asked, “Is something wrong, sir?”

“No, but we have run into a problem. Mrs. Nagaoka claims to be her sister.”

Something clattered and there was a gasp. Surprised, they looked at the maid, who had dropped her fan and raised a hand to her mouth, staring at Akitada with wide, horrified eyes.

“Yukiyo,” said her mistress severely, “you’ve been acting very peculiar ever since we got back. What is the matter with you?”

The maid snatched up her fan and hid her face again. “Nothing, nothing.”

“Nonsense, girl! You know something. I recall you asking a lot of questions about Danjuro and his wife. Out with it!”

The maid cried out and struggled to her feet, but Miss Plumblossom’s pudgy hand clamped around her arm. “Sit, girl! I’ll not have you cause more trouble after all I’ve done for you. You’ve made enough of a mess already. Look what you did to poor Tora! Is that any way to pay me back, you ungrateful girl? I took you off the streets when you were starving and gave you a home. I’ve been a mother to you.”

Yukiyo collapsed like a straw doll and wrapped her arms around Miss Plumblossom’s knees. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “By the gods of heaven and earth, I would do anything for you.”

Akitada tensed. That strange phrase about the ancient gods again! The upper-class speech belied the maid’s present status. And that peculiar gesture. She, too, had raised her knuckles to her mouth. His heart pounding, he asked, “Who are you really?”

Miss Plumblossom frowned. “Yukiyo? Is there something you haven’t told me?”

Yukiyo mumbled something unintelligible.

“What?” she asked. “You gave your word about what?”

Akitada stepped closer. “Are you Yugao?”

More whispers. Miss Plumblossom’s painted eyebrows rose.

Akitada urged, “Miss Plumblossom, if she is Yugao and protecting her sister Nobuko, she must testify. She is our only hope in bringing the murderers of three people to justice.”

Miss Plumblossom reached down and touched the sobbing woman’s head. “He is right, child,” she said.

“Answer my question!” Akitada cried impatiently. “If you are Yugao, your sister plotted the murders of your own father and her husband. If we cannot prove her identity, the killers will go free and the dead will have no peace.”

Yukiyo clutched Miss Plumblossom tightly and wailed. Miss Plumblossom looked old and sad, her rounded cheeks and double chin sagging. “Poor child,” she murmured, patting the weeping girl’s back, “poor child. Don’t grieve! You’ll always have a home with me, no matter what happens. You shall be the daughter I never had. Now sit up proper and wipe your face. You’re among friends and you’ve nothing to be ashamed of. You’ve done your filial duty. Which is more than I can say for that evil creature.”

They all held their breath. Yukiyo laid down her fan, and raised her disfigured face to Akitada. Struggling to speak through torn lips, she said tonelessly, “Yes, you found out the truth. I’m Yugao. I don’t know how you guessed. My own sister did not recognize me.”

Akitada smiled encouragingly. “You have a grace of gesture and an old-fashioned manner of speaking in common. Both of you called on the ‘gods of heaven and earth,’ for example, when most people would invoke the Buddha.”

“Our father did not want us to refer to Buddhist gods. When Nobuko first came here with Uemon’s people, I was so happy to see her. I thought we might live together, but she didn’t want me—and she was married to Danjuro. Danjuro … well, I was in love with Danjuro once, and the way I look now, I didn’t want him to know who I was. I begged Nobuko to keep my secret, and she agreed if I would keep hers. I thought then it was because she had run away from her husband. We swore by our mother’s soul.” She stopped, hid her face in her sleeve, and wailed again. Miss Plumblossom put an arm around her.

Akitada released his breath slowly and sat down. So there had been more than one mystery. How had the temple scroll put it? A Twofold Truth. The case was solved, but at what human cost! He said gently, “I understand, Yugao. It is a difficult thing to testify against your own sister even under normal circumstances, but you must do so in this case. You see, quite apart from your duty to your dead father, there are the living to be considered. Nagaoka’s brother Kojiro is a good man who was cruelly set up for the murder of the girl Ohisa. He would never be cleared of this suspicion except for your honesty. Think of it as a gift you make to the victims, dead and alive, a debt you pay to make good your sister’s crimes.”

Clutching Miss Plumblossom’s hand, Yugao-Yukiyo nodded her head.

Akitada looked at the graceful way she sat, her pretty shape, slender neck, and glossy hair all in stark contrast to the ruined face. “Will you tell us your story?”

She nodded again.

“My father always invited actors to perform for him at the farm, and when we got older it pleased him if we dressed up and acted small parts with them. We thought it fun, and the actors liked us because we were both pretty.” She flushed. “I was pretty then. Danjuro preferred my beauty to my sister’s. He asked me, not my sister, to be his wife and to go away with him. Father was furious when I told him. He ordered Danjuro and the others to leave. I cried for days. Then Danjuro wrote to me, and I ran away to be with him.” She shivered and pulled her robe more closely about her. “Only it wasn’t what I had expected. Danjuro didn’t marry me, and after a while he had other women. I was upset and acted poorly, and one day Uemon fired me. Danjuro told me to go home. But I couldn’t because my father had declared me dead. So I roamed the city, looking for work, and found there was only prostitution. After that nothing much mattered except the next meal. Until I met the slasher.”

A dismal silence fell. “Well,” Miss Plumblossom finally said firmly, “I think your father treated you abominably for a little mistake, and then that bastard Danjuro did you wrong. Men! And your own sister, instead of opening her arms to you with love, tells you to leave her alone. Your whole family has a lot to answer for.”

Akitada looked on helplessly. Hell had little to compare with the sufferings of the living. In the face of such misery—the loss of her family, her lover, her beauty, and the hope for future happiness—he felt humbled.

Tora, characteristically unsentimental, looked at the practical side of the situation. “You know,” he pointed out, “your sister can’t inherit your father’s place, and that leaves only you. You’ll have the farm, and if you’re the girl I think you are, you’ll make a go of it.”

The thought surprised Yugao. She stared at him. “Kohata mine? Do you really think so? But who will believe me? How can they tell I’m Yugao when my own mother would not recognize me?”

Tora looked at his master in consternation.

“I think,” said Akitada, “considering your great service to the capital in identifying Noami as the slasher, and your testimony in the present case, the authorities will help you prove your identity by the details you remember of your home and past. I see no great difficulties in your claiming your inheritance.”

Yugao rose. Looking down at Miss Plumblossom, she reached for her hand. “Will you come with me?”

“Of course,” said the other woman gruffly, getting up. “You’re a brave girl. Let’s go and get it over with.”

Yugao suddenly smiled. It was startling, a horrible grimace, but it touched their hearts and they all smiled back at her. Miss Plumblossom nodded and dabbed her eyes,

When they arrived, Kobe stared in surprise at the ill-assorted group of men and women who crowded into the prison director’s office.

“What’s this?” he demanded of Akitada. “I’m dead tired and have a hard day ahead of me. As you well know.”

“You don’t have to go to Kohata. I brought Kohata to you.” Akitada pulled Yugao forward.

Kobe flinched when he saw her face. “Miss Plumblossom’s maid? The one who identified the painter?”

“Yes,” the maid said, her voice trembling a little. “But I am also Yugao, Yasaburo’s younger daughter. I have come to identify my sister Nobuko so she can atone for what she has done.”

Kobe stared at her. Slowly a broad grin replaced his scowl. He shouted for a guard and ordered both prisoners brought back.

Danjuro tottered in first. A doctor had tended to his broken rib, but he looked ill and hopeless. Nobuko entered with her head held high. She saw her sister immediately and looked away. Except for small beads of perspiration on her face and a slight trembling of her hands, she gave no sign of recognition. Glancing at the others, she sneered, “I see you’ve brought this has-been of an acrobat and a parcel of untalented actors to speak against me. It won’t do you any good.”

Yugao stepped forward. “It’s no use, Nobuko,” she said. “I told them. Our father was not always kind, but you should not have let Danjuro kill him. It was a terrible crime against the mandate of heaven.”

The beauty raised her chin. “Who is this deformed freak? Are you scouring the gutters to trump up your charges, Superintendent?”

Akitada said, “Your sister has proven her identity. Do not waste time on pointless denials.”

Danjuro had been staring at the scarred sister. “Yugao? You’re Yugao?” He took a step toward her. Kobe signaled the guard to release him. Danjuro’s eyes roamed over Yugao’s face and figure. She stood still, flushing painfully, but bearing it. Moving behind her, he lifted her heavy hair.

Nobuko cried out, “Danjuro, don’t touch her! She’s dirty scum!

Too late. Everyone in the room had seen the small birthmark at the nape of Yugao’s neck. Danjuro dropped Yugao’s hair and looked at Nobuko. “It’s no use. It’s Yugao, all right. It’s all over.”

For a moment, Nobuko stood staring at him stonily. Then she spat at him. “I take pleasure in the knowledge that you will die, coward.” She turned to Kobe. “Well, you have what you wanted. I wish to go to my cell now.”

Kobe was complacent. “Very well.” He nodded to the officer of the guard. “We shall begin the interrogation tomorrow. I expect she’ll confess but, just in case, have the green bamboo whips ready.” The guards marched both prisoners out.

Akitada was sickened by Kobe’s order. Green bamboo was thin and pliant and could shred a prisoner’s skin. “I suppose we had all better go home,” he muttered. “I cannot say I shall remember this day with any pleasure.”

Yugao was weeping softly. Miss Plumblossom put an arm around her, and they turned to go.

Kobe was about to say something when there was a muffled noise outside. He looked toward the door. They all heard it now: a high, thin screaming and male shouts. Running steps approached, the door was flung open, and a breathless constable appeared. The screams were horribly clear now.

The man cried, “Sir, the prisoner tried to escape—”

A second figure appeared behind him. One of Nobuko’s guards, his pale face rigid. He raised his right hand, which held the two-pronged jitte. Both his arm and the jitte were covered in gore. Outside, the screaming stopped.

Kobe asked, “What happened?”

The guard choked on his words. “When we got to the courtyard, she ran. We gave chase. Someone cornered her, but she slipped past them. She didn’t see me. I stepped in her way and… and just raised the jitte… so … to stop her.” The man turned faintly green and gulped. “She ran into it… with her face, sir.” He gulped again. “It went into her eye and mouth, sir. All the way. She’s dying.” He turned his head to listen to the silence outside. “Dead,” he amended.

Epilogue

Superintendent Kobe did not, after all, spend the holiday riding all over the countryside in the chilly winter air. Instead he was invited to the Sugawara-house, where an enormous dinner was laid on, with mountains of moon cakes, fish stews and game soups, pickled eggs, rice cakes filled with vegetables, rice gruel with red beans, salted chestnuts, sliced sea bream, boiled taro, marinated radish, and any number of other delicacies.

There was much more to celebrate than even Akitada had anticipated. When he woke on New Year’s morning to the excited shouts of Yori and a large pitcher of spiced New Year’s wine, Seimei made an unexpected appearance. He never intruded when Akitada spent the night in his wife’s room. On this occasion, he entered only after being invited, his eyes strangely bright and with an air of suppressed excitement. He blushed and averted his eyes from the pile of bedding where Yori was tumbling about with his parents.

“Sir,” he murmured, “my apologies to both of you, but I just found that a document was delivered from the palace. A messenger must have brought it while we were out last night, and that fool of a boy forgot to mention it.” He bowed and scuttled out of the room quickly.

Akitada had a reasonably clear conscience for once and proceeded to his study after calmly completing his toilet. Seimei and Harada were there, kneeling on either side of his desk as if in prayer to the imperial missive. The document, a tightly rolled tube of thick paper, tied with purple silk ribbons, rested on a black-lacquer tray in the center of his desk. He recognized what it was at once and stopped. Many years ago he had seen something like it. It had been addressed to another man and occupied the place of honor on his ancestral altar. It was official notice of rank promotion, traditionally handed with due ceremony to the recipient by his superior shortly before the official posting on the public board outside the palace gate on New Year’s Day. The fact that he had just returned and was between assignments apparently had made this normal procedure impossible.

His heart suddenly pounding, he bowed toward the imperial letter, then approached his desk reverently and took it up with both hands.

After his last assignment as provisional governor of the northern province of Echigo, he had hoped at most for a confirmation of the honorary rank he had held along with the temporary title. But this promised more.

He unrolled the scroll with trembling fingers and skimmed over the formal greeting, looking for the news. There it was: Junior Sixth Rank, Upper Grade!

This was not merely a confirmation of the honorary Junior Sixth, Lower Grade, but a whole step beyond that. He finally held administrative rank. Not only did this provide considerable protection against his enemies in the administration, but it promised another challenging assignment.

Akitada let the document fall back on the desk—whence Seimei took it tenderly—and walked out into his garden. It was still chilly, but the sun was rising, its first rays gilding the rocks and warming his shoulders through the silk gown. In the pond, golden shapes moved about the muddy bottom, no longer winter-sluggish. When Akitada’s shadow fell across the water, one—a large, spotted carp—rose to the surface to greet him.

Akitada regarded it sadly. His satisfaction was tempered by guilt. What would Tamako say if he was dispatched again to some distant province? They had just returned, and she had expressed her deep happiness about being home only a short while ago as they drank to each other’s health on the New Year. Was it fair to his family to drag them away again to some uncertain or dangerous place? Was it fair to himself to leave them behind?

He stood in his garden and turned slowly to look about him. He would miss his home, the fish in his pond, the twisted cherry in the corner of the garden. The sharp pang of anticipated loss reminded him that only a short time had passed since he had taken possession of this, his patrimony. Much had happened, much had changed, he himself most of all. The woman he had thought his mother was gone forever, but he had somehow regained his father, a shadowy but benevolent presence.

What was it the old abbot of the Eastern Mountain Temple had said to him? That which seems real in the world of men is but a dream and a deception. There was certainly truth in that. He had discovered that his mother was not his real mother and that she had deceived him all his life about his father’s love. And the words applied as well to the murder cases he had finally solved. The corpse at the temple had not been Mrs. Nagaoka but the girl Ohisa. And on that deception had hung a series of others. Kojiro was not as he had seemed, and neither were Yasaburo and Yugao. And the slasher Noami had seemed a mere talented painter, one who was thought his neighbors’ benefactor.

The old abbot himself had seemed senile, irrational, and his words mere gibberish, but Akitada was no longer sure of that, either. Had Genshin not made certain that Akitada would be shown Noami’s hell screen? What was it Genshin had said after the line about deception? The reverse is also true. So as truth is deception, deception may be truth. The hell screen, of course.

The painted suffering was real. Each picture showed a human being, tortured and wounded by a man who had become a monster in the service of his art.

Akitada shivered. What chance had brought him to the Eastern Mountain Temple on that night? What tasks lay still ahead? And in the general scheme of things, was not everything arranged for a purpose?

Deeply moved, he turned toward the eastern mountains and bowed to the rising sun.

Historical Note

In the eleventh century, Heian Kyo (Kyoto) was the capital of Japan and its largest city. Patterned after the capital of China, it was laid out in a rectangle of two and a half by three and a half miles, with an even grid of avenues and streets which ran due north and south and east and west. Its population was about two hundred thousand. The Imperial Palace, a separate walled and gated city encompassing the emperor’s residence and the ministries and bureaus of the government, occupied the northernmost center. From it the broad, willow-lined Suzaku Avenue led south, bisecting Heian Kyo into a western and eastern half and ending at the famous gate called Rashomon. The city was said to have been quite beautiful, with its broad avenues, parks, canals, rivers, palaces, and temples. (For details on the city and its buildings during the Heian period, see R. A. B. Ponsonby-Fane, Kyoto: The Old Capital of Japan.)

Law enforcement in eleventh-century Japan followed the Chinese pattern to some extent, in that each of more than sixty-eight city quarters had its own warden who was responsible for keeping peace. The government offices and the palace were protected by divisions of the Imperial Guard. In addition, a separate police force, the kebiishi, investigated crimes and made arrests and judges pronounced sentence. The most serious crimes, as defined by the Taiho code a.d. 701) were (I) rebellion against the emperor, (2) damage to the Imperial Palace or royal tombs, (3) treason, (4) murder of one’s kin, (5) murder of one’s wife or of more than three members of a family, (6) theft or damage of imperial or religious property, (7) unfilial acts toward parents or senior relatives, and (8) murder of a superior or teacher. There were two prisons in the capital, but imperial pardons were common and sweeping. Convictions required confession by the accused, but these could be encouraged by the interrogating officers. The death penalty was rare because the Buddhist faith opposed the taking of life, but exile under severe and often fatal conditions was often substituted.

The two state religions, Shinto and Buddhism, coexisted peacefully, sometimes in the same temple complex and during the same religious festival. Shinto, the native faith, is tied to Japanese gods and agricultural observances. Buddhism, which entered Japan from China via Korea, exerted enormous influence over the aristocracy and the government through numerous monasteries. Most emperors and many powerful nobles ended their careers by taking the tonsure. The Buddhist hell inflicts on sinners a variety of physical sufferings: in addition to the fiery torment associated with the Christian hell, it offers slashing with swords and knives, freezing, starvation, and other unpleasant fates. Paintings of such scenes were common in Buddhist monasteries in China and Japan. The story of the demented artist of the hell screen in the present novel was inspired by Akutagawa’s short story “The Hell Screen,” in which a painter immolates his own daughter in order to achieve verisimilitude.

Japanese customs in connection with death partook of both faiths. Taboos prohibiting contact with the dead were based on Shinto beliefs, while funeral ceremonies (cremations) were in the hands of Buddhist monks. It was thought that the spirit of the deceased resided for forty-nine days in its home and that angry spirits could haunt the living.

As far as eleventh-century popular entertainment (later known as the “floating world”) is concerned, historical evidence is skimpy. Prostitution was certainly known, but as far as we know Kyoto’s two famous pleasure quarters did not exist until two centuries later. However, in the centuries before the shoguns, there was no prohibition against female entertainers who earned a living by dancing, singing, and playing instruments. The great age of Noh and Kabuki theater came later, but the precursors were the bards who recited famous tales, the sacred dances of bugaku which mimed stories, short farces called kyogen, and acrobatics. All of these are well attested to before and during the eleventh century.

Finally, the plot of the Nagaoka case is based on case 64A of the twelfth-century Chinese collection of criminal cases Tang~ yin~pi~ski (translated by Robert Van Gulik), a text which was imported to Japan during the Ming dynasty.

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