Текст книги "The Fires of the Gods"

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

DISMISSED

Akitada’s day did not improve at work. Munefusa, an unpleasant and ignorant junior secretary, had made several mistakes in a legal document. Akitada did not relish discussing the matter with him. He missed Nakatoshi, that bright and eager young man who had worked with him a year ago during that dreadful summer. But Nakatoshi had moved on and now served as junior secretary in the Ranks Office of the Ministry of Ceremonial.

He made the corrections and was debating how to present the matter most diplomatically when a clerk appeared with a summons from the minister.

Since the minister seldom appeared at work, Akitada decided to have a word with him about Munefusa. Fujiwara Kaneie was approachable and seemed to like Akitada. Today, however, he greeted Akitada stiffly and would not meet his eyes. After Akitada was seated, he said, ‘You may be aware that His Excellency, the new chancellor, has been reviewing the positions in the various ministries?’

Akitada’s first thought was that Kaneie, a pleasant and harmless young man, had lost his position to another stupid purge of anyone connected to the previous crown prince. A number of high-ranking noblemen had resigned lately or accepted reassignments. He said cautiously, ‘I hope there is no bad news, sir.’

Fujiwara Kaneie was younger than Akitada by nearly ten years. He had the sort of smooth skin that flushes easily and he flushed now. His eyes briefly met Akitada’s, then he looked down at the sheaf of papers studded with official seals on the desk before him. ‘I am afraid you will think it so,’ he said in a voice so low that Akitada leaned forward. ‘You are to be demoted to the rank of junior secretary.’ He heaved a sigh and raised his head. ‘Believe me, Sugawara, this was none of my doing. I was told that one of the controllers, Kiyowara Kane, questioned your qualifications. Kiyowara has the chancellor’s ear. I tried to tell them about the good work you have done for me, but you probably know that my voice has no weight these days.’ He sighed again unhappily.

Akitada had difficulty digesting this news. ‘Junior secretary? But we already have a junior secretary. Not that he is qualified. I had my hands full this very morning with the mistakes he’s been making. Still, the position is filled.’

‘Hmm, er, not exactly.’ The minister shifted on his cushion and bit his lip. ‘Er, Munefusa will trade places with you.’

‘What?’ Akitada was shocked. ‘The man knows nothing of the law, let alone of the duties of a senior secretary. You know very well that you have always relied on me to see that things are done properly.’

The minister flushed more deeply. ‘I wish you would not imply that I am also unqualified for my duties,’ he said testily.

Akitada was only dimly aware that he had overstepped his bounds. He was still wrestling with the unfairness the decision. Of course, Fujiwara Kaneie was unqualified to run the Ministry of Justice. Most of the high-ranking nobles were merely figure-heads. Only a year ago Kaneie had taken the place of the villainous Soga, who had died in the epidemic. At the time, Kaneie had admitted to Akitada that the work was beyond him. Akitada had covered for him. What would happen now if the inexperienced minister had to depend on an incompetent secretary to carry out the duties normally assigned to this office? More to the point, what of all the hard work Akitada had done to make sure that no one realized the minister was unfamiliar with all but the social and ceremonial functions of the office? Meanwhile, Akitada’s reward for his loyalty and effort would be a drastic loss of income just when they needed the money most. And to be replaced by the incompetent Munefusa was an insult.

Clenching his fists, Akitada snapped, ‘Don’t pretend you tried to defend me. I don’t believe it. I think there’s some political advantage to you. You know very well that you were unqualified for your duties the day you arrived. In my view you’ve made little effort since to grasp the basic aspects of our work here. I have covered for you, and the thanks I get is a demotion. No, worse than that. You’re putting an idiot in my place.’ Seeing the minister begin to bluster, Akitada raised his voice a little. ‘Don’t bother to deny it. You’ve buckled down to the new chancellor’s demands. And that was not only ungrateful, but also cowardly, sir.’

He regretted his outburst the moment the words left his mouth, but it was too late. Kaneie shot to his feet, his face an alarming shade of scarlet. ‘I believe,’ he said in a shaking voice, ‘it will be best if you take a leave of absence. Immediately. Clearly, the news has deranged your mind. You will be told when – or if – to report back.’

Akitada stood also, his face hot with anger and embarrassment. He considered resigning or apologizing, but in the end he just bowed and left.

Breathing hard, he stalked back to his office, thinking to sit down to gather his thoughts and calm the rage that had caused him to lash out at Kaneie. The minister was the last man he should have attacked, and he had acted with little foundation, too. He had no proof that Fujiwara had not made an attempt to defend him. In fact, the minister himself was on shaky ground with the present administration. Besides, Kaneie had always been fair with him, had even been a friend in the past.

He was considering the situation more rationally until he walked in on Munefusa rearranging the furnishings in his office.

‘What are you doing?’ Akitada snapped, seeing his desk pushed against the opposite wall.

‘Oh,’ said Munefusa with a silly grin, ‘I got the news before you and thought I might have a look at my new office. You’re to take mine, I believe.’ He turned to eye the array of books and scrolls on the shelves and went to take down a large tome.

‘Those are mine,’ said Akitada quickly. ‘Aren’t you rushing things a bit?’

Munefusa put the book back and turned, smiling more widely. ‘Not at all, Sugawara. You’ve always said yourself we shouldn’t waste time. Do you want some help moving these things?’

Disarmed by the offer, Akitada nodded sourly. Munefusa was not to blame for the vagaries of fate.

Munefusa clapped his hands and told the man who appeared, ‘You will assist the junior secretary by taking a few things to my old office.’ Then he looked around one more time and said, ‘I’ll leave you to it, Sugawara. Make sure to take the inventories in the Tomonori case with you. I’d like to see them finished and on my desk by this afternoon.’

Akitada glared at him, then said coldly, ‘I am to take a leave of absence. You’ll have to find someone else to do your work.’

Munefusa raised his brows. ‘Dear me, it’s worse than I thought. What did you do?’

Akitada turned away. By now completely demoralized, he made no attempt to settle into Munefusa’s small office, but took only a few of the most valuable books and his father’s writing box before leaving the ministry. In better days, he could have summoned one of the ministry’s servants to carry his things, but seeing the secret smirks and blank stares, he did not have the courage to ask. He had thought he was well liked, but in this world a man’s value was judged by his influence.

The smoke had been dispersed by a hot wind. Walking from the ministry in his official robe, while carrying a heavy and awkward armful of objects, caused him to perspire. He thought of Tamako and the bad news he was bringing, thought of her condition and the discomfort she must feel in this heat. They could ill afford it, especially now, but he would go later and purchase some lengths of hemp. Oyuki and Hanae could soak the panels in water and hang them around Tamako’s room. Then fanning the air might bring her some relief. He envied the wealthy, who were accustomed to large vessels of ice cooling their houses. The ice was brought into the capital in winter by their servants and slaves and stored in cellars or earthen pits until it was needed during the summer heat. But the Sugawaras could not afford such luxuries. And now, after the way he had insulted the minister, he would surely be dismissed, and times would get much harder.

He expected his early return with his books and writing box would cause instant consternation among his people, but only an astonished Seimei greeted him.

‘Back already, sir?’

Akitada said, ‘I shall want to speak to you about our expenses.’

Seimei stared at the box full of books. ‘But we discussed the accounts only this morning, sir. Is anything wrong?’

‘Later,’ Akitada said brusquely and went to Tamako’s pavilion, clearing his throat outside to give her warning and steeling himself for the sight of his grossly pregnant wife. It was strange that he had not felt either fear or this shameful reluctance to be near Tamako during her first pregnancy. But they had both been younger then and full of life and hope. Tamako had been rosy and healthy and happy. When they had lost that child, his beloved Yori, a few short years later, they had both changed.

Tamako called out, and he opened the door. The room was nearly dark with the shutters closed against the heat. Tamako sat alone, enveloped in a loose gown of stiff rose-colored silk, and moved her fan listlessly to stir the stagnant air.

‘How are you?’ Akitada asked, scanning her pale face and the dark-ringed eyes. As he came closer, he sniffed the air. It smelled vaguely still of smoke, but also of sweat and illness.

‘Well. Thank you,’ she said and looked away. ‘I’m sorry this is taking so long. You must be tired of waiting.’

‘No, not at all,’ he said quickly, but he knew she was right. Instead of a wife and companion – a lover, even, in happier moments – she was an invalid and, frighteningly, a reminder of death waiting just beyond the closed shutters. Would he be trading her life for that of another son? Men everywhere faced that fear and bore the guilt of having caused their wives’ deaths.

He sat down beside her, taking the hand that rested on the swollen belly. ‘I’m afraid, Tamako,’ he said more honestly, bowing his head. ‘You’re not as strong as last time. I blame myself.’

She squeezed his hand and, for a moment, her eyes twinkled. It occurred to him that he had not heard her laugh for weeks now.

‘No, no,’ she said. ‘You mustn’t worry. I wanted this child as much as you. Besides, I’m quite strong. I’m just tired, and it has been so hot. It won’t be long now. I can feel it. Be just a little patient with me.’

That almost brought tears to his eyes. He said nothing and raised her hand to his cheek and lips.

‘You’re home early,’ she said. ‘Is it because of me or has the ministry run out of interesting cases?’

He lowered her hand, cradling it in both of his, and looked away. ‘Neither,’ he said bleakly. ‘I’ve been given a leave of absence.’

‘Oh, how nice!’ she said brightly.

For a moment he considered hiding the truth from her, but he knew she would guess, perhaps had guessed already. Yes, she was searching his face. He heaved a sigh. ‘It may well be a mistake, but someone close to the new chancellor decided that my promotion to senior secretary was premature.’

‘What? How stupid! You’re the best man they have.’

He liked the fierceness in her voice and squeezed her hand. ‘Thank you, but I’m not as wise as you think. I lost my temper with the minister and that is why he told me to take a leave of absence. I expect it will be permanent unless I can convince them to reconsider.’

Tamako was silent. She just looked at him and curled her fingers around his. He had not really intended to beg for reinstatement, but seeing Tamako’s eyes full of faith and loyalty, her free hand on the unborn child, he suddenly felt a powerful bond between the three of them. Yes, of course he would humble himself for Tamako and his unborn son.

He smiled at her. ‘I still have friends and must see what can be done. Don’t lose faith, my dear.’

‘Never,’ she said.

He returned to his study, pondering his options. His friend Kosehira, who had once briefly filled the post of minister of justice, had long since been dispatched to the desirable assignment of governor of Yamato province. It was not too far from the capital, but Akitada did not want to make the journey when Tamako was so close to her time. He must, of course, apologize to the current minister. That was only just, even if it would be shameful and likely be interpreted as an attempt to reverse the demotion. He imagined the detestable Munefusa’s sneering comments. Then a dim memory surfaced. The minister had mentioned the name of the man who had spoken against him.

He cursed his inattention. The name had not registered because he had not recognized it, but it must be someone important to have the chancellor’s ear. The family name escaped him, except that it was not Fujiwara.

Seimei waited, his face anxious.

Akitada sighed. ‘I’m afraid there’s bad news, old friend. I expect to be dismissed from the ministry.’

Seimei’s eyes widened. ‘What happened? You’ve been promoted, and you’ve always been hard-working. Whatever you are charged with, sir, it must be a mistake.’

Akitada winced. People would quite naturally assume that he must have committed a serious offense – or at least a stupidity – to be treated as he had been.

‘I don’t know what happened,’ Akitada said, ‘but I suppose I shall find out. Only, don’t expect that the matter will be righted. In my experience, that never happens to men in my position.’

THE ANGRY GODS

When she saw Tora’s face, Hanae stopped bouncing little Yuki on her knees and asked, ‘Are you in pain again?’

Tora shook his head and winced. ‘No, I’m fine,’ he lied. ‘I’m going out. Don’t know when I’ll be back.’ He looked for his boots.

Putting the baby on the floor, Hanae jumped up. ‘Don’t go. You aren’t well.’ She shook his arm when he ignored her. ‘Surely the master wouldn’t make you run errands after what’s happened to you.’

The abandoned baby started crying, and Tora went to scoop up his son, wincing again. ‘Where are my boots? The master doesn’t know. And don’t tell him. This is my business.’

Hanae stood in front of the door, her arms folded. ‘You’re not leaving,’ she said. ‘It could be your death to walk around with that big swelling on your head. We need you alive.’

Tora’s face softened. He kissed the baby and handed him to Hanae. Retrieving his boots, he sat to put them on. ‘I just want to look in on the man whose father died last night.’

Hanae looked uncertain. ‘Is that all you’ll do? You’ll come right back afterwards? You won’t get into any more fights?’

He nodded, kissed her and, moving his wife and son out of his way, left the house.

The street that had seemed a living inferno the night before looked merely depressing by daylight. He recalled the urgency and excitement of the flames, sparks, moving shadows, and screams. Now there was only the wet, smoking pile of rubble. The houses on either side were scarred by the heat, and a few neighbors moved about, making repairs. No one bothered with the ruin.

The Kaneharus had made and sold tatami floor mats. The grass mats, of course, were a great fire hazard, and so the disaster might be blamed on carelessness with open flames and cooking fires, but Tora recalled the old woman’s calling to the gods. He shuddered. That fire had seemed unnatural. Could the gods really be so angry that they would kill an old man?

He walked up to a man on a ladder who was ripping charred boards from the wall of his house and asked what had happened to his neighbor.

The man glanced down. ‘He’s dead,’ he said and returned to his work.

The curt finality sickened Tora. It wasn’t right that people cared so little about each other. Maybe life was just a matter of accepting tragedy and making repairs. ‘What?’ he persisted. ‘Both the father and his son have crossed that bridge?’

The man now paused to look at Tora more closely. He took in his bruised face and the blistered hands. ‘You were here last night, weren’t you? You’re the one that tried to get Old Kaneharu out.’ When Tora nodded glumly, he climbed down and said, ‘The old man walks that path alone, but Young Kaneharu’s very bad. He’s staying with a cousin.’ He gave Tora directions, then added with a bow, ‘We’re grateful that you told us what to do to save ourselves and our houses. May the Buddha smile on you.’

Tora waved that away. ‘Buddha sent the rain, and you did the rest yourselves.’ He glanced once more at the steaming pile of blackened timbers that had been a shop and a house and was now unrecognizable. The smell was acrid, but he knew it would have been much worse if it had not rained. The whole street would have gone up in flames. Other people would have died in the fires. Perhaps the rain, too, had been the gods’ doing.

The neighbor looked at his damaged wall. ‘Old Kaneharu was cheap. A regular miser. Look at what his fire did to my place and the others.’

This astonished Tora. ‘What do you mean?’

The neighbor shook his head and started back up the ladder. Tora looked after him and reflected that neighbors were like family. You had no choice in the matter. And this man was clearly unhappy about the damage to his house. Then he had a thought and shouted up, ‘You have much trouble with thieving kids around here?’

The man looked down and shook his head. ‘Not lately.’

The search for Kaneharu’s cousin proved frustrating. After trying several streets in vain, Tora passed a large house of a rice dealer. A sign read ‘Watanabe – Best Rice for Eating or Seeding’. Bales of new rice were stacked near the door, and from the back came the sound of pounding: someone was grinding rice into a fine meal. A fat man stood in the doorway, filling it with a broad belly covered in gray silk. He was counting the bales and shouting numbers to a clerk, who was making entries in an account ledger. The fat man’s round, shiny face rested on several chins, and the bulging eyes and thick lips suggested that his body could barely contain so much good living.

When the merchant had finished counting, Tora greeted him and asked about the umbrella maker who was married to Kaneharu’s cousin.

The merchant pursed his thick lips. His face reminded Tora of a large koi. The man compressed his lips and said, ‘Two streets back. Number sixteen. Is it about the fire? The gods’ anger is a terrible thing.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s criminal to let this go on. Now a man has died, and they say the son’s not going to make it.’

The umbrella maker’s shop was one of the poorest in this quarter. He was not as well off as the Kaneharus. The owner sat cross-legged in his small shop, splicing bamboo. When Tora asked for Kaneharu, he made a face and shouted for his wife, then went on with his work of splicing and cutting umbrella ribs. His pale, thin wife took Tora to the back room, where her cousin lay on a pallet. He was shivering continuously and his teeth chattered. His chest, arms, and legs were covered with stained bandages, and his swollen, crimson face shone with oozing burns and the ointment the cousin had applied.

‘He’s bad,’ the cousin whispered. ‘The fire’s eating him up from inside. He says he’s got nothing to live for now. His business is gone, and so is Uncle.’

Tora nodded and squatted beside the injured man. ‘Kaneharu,’ he said, ‘can you hear me?’ The eyes flickered open, rested on Tora for a moment, then closed. Tora tried again. ‘Do you remember me? I tried to get your father out last night. It grieves me that I failed.’

This time the eyes flickered and stayed open longer. The blistered lips moved and sounds emerged, but Tora could not make out what Kaneharu was saying and bent closer. ‘What?’

His cousin offered a translation. ‘There’s no shame in that. You were very kind.’

Tora doubted that the shaking and shivering patient had said all of that, but he accepted it, asking, ‘Did your cousin say what happened? How the fire started?’

Kaneharu moaned loudly and said something.

The cousin gave a little cry and put a hand over Kaneharu’s lips.

‘What? What did he say?’ Tora asked.

The cousin shook her head. ‘He blames the gods, but it was an accident.’

The dying man – Tora no longer doubted that Kaneharu was dying – rolled his head about from side to side and said quite clearly, ‘Father paid the money. He paid.’ Then the shaking got worse, and he started to wail.

His cousin reached into a basin for a moist cloth and laid it on his head, making soothing noises as if to a whimpering child. She gave Tora a pleading look. ‘He’s not in his right mind,’ she muttered.

Tora nodded. He bent to Kaneharu. ‘Please forgive me for troubling you. I’ll pray for you.’

Kaneharu said nothing.

Tora let himself out. Perhaps the cousin was right and he was out of his mind with pain. Tora wondered if he should go back and talk to the neighbors again, but he did not feel up to it. His breathing was still shallow and painful and both his head and his hands hurt. It would have to wait.

More importantly, he had given his word to Hanae.