The Masuda Affair (6 page)

Tamako was not waiting for him. He went to his study and shed his traveling robe, slipping instead into the comfortable old blue one he wore around the house. Then he went looking for his wife. The house seemed to be empty. In the kitchen, he finally found the frowzy cook. He disliked the woman intensely. Not only was she ill-tempered and lazy, but she had deserted them when Yori had become ill. She had returned later and wept with contrition, claiming that she would starve in the streets if he did not take her back. And he had done so. Now she looked up from chopping vegetables and scowled. ‘So you’re back. I’d better get a fish from the market then.’

The woman was impossible, but being in a softened mood after Genba and Tora, Akitada simply nodded and asked, ‘Where is everybody?’

‘Your lady and the old man are in the garden. Don’t know where the silly girl is.’

The ‘silly girl’ was Tamako’s maid. Akitada went outside. The service yard was neat, thanks to his two stalwart retainers. He could hear their voices from the stable, where they were tending to the horses. He entered the main garden through a narrow gate of woven bamboo.

The trees and shrubs must have put on a burst of new growth over the summer. He looked in dismay at a massive tangle of greenery that reminded him of the courtesan’s garden. It was high time something was done or the garden would swallow the house. Hearing voices, he made his way along the narrow path, its flat stones barely visible any longer, and came on Tamako and Seimei. They had not heard him.

Seimei sat on the veranda steps, huddled in a quilted robe. Akitada frowned. Even after sunset, it was too warm to wear such heavy clothes. He saw how frail the old man had become and remembered with a twinge of guilt how, in his raving grief over the loss of his son, he had questioned the justice of a fate that snatched the youngest and let the old survive.

Tamako wore an old blue-and-white patterned cloth robe. She had turned up its sleeves and tucked the skirt into her sash so that he could see her trousers underneath. Her long hair was twisted up under a blue scarf. She was cutting dead wood from the wisteria vine. A large pile lay beside her.

It was a day for uncomfortable memories. Akitada had fallen in love with Tamako when she had worn a similar blue cloth gown. They had been sitting under a wisteria-covered trellis in her father’s garden. Under the ancestor of this very same wisteria. And the poem Tora had carried to her the morning after their first night together had been tied to a wisteria bloom from that plant.

‘Why don’t you let Genba and Tora do that?’ he asked sharply.

They both jumped. Seimei rose shakily to his feet and bowed, crying, ‘Welcome home, sir. We were worried.’

Tamako said nothing. She gave him a searching, earnest look, then turned away.

He stared at her back. ‘There is no need for you to do such heavy work,’ he said. ‘I can still afford to hire people.’

‘It is dying,’ she murmured vaguely, touching the shriveled twigs that remained on the plant. ‘I have tried, but it keeps dying. A little more each day.’

‘Nonsense. It just needs water. Or something.’

‘There has been a lot of rain.’

Seimei sighed. ‘Too much rain. It causes rot, and healthy things shrivel up and die.’

Tamako turned. They both looked at Seimei and then at each other and wondered if the old man was talking about the wisteria.

I
n the stable, Tora and Genba unsaddled the horses. ‘How’s the master doing?’ Genba asked, reaching for a rag to rub down Akitada’s mount.

‘The same, I think.’ Tora leaned against his horse for a rest. He felt very tired all of a sudden. So many problems. He sighed. ‘He did talk a little about some mystery in Otsu, so maybe he’s taking an interest again.’

Genba brightened. ‘That’s good. So, did you tell him?’

‘No.’ Tora led his horse to his stall and tied him up. ‘It’s too soon. He’s still brooding.’

Genba glanced at him as he scooped some grain into two leather buckets. ‘Time’s passing,’ he said, taking the buckets to the horses. ‘You’ve got to do something soon.’

Tora sagged down on some straw and did not reply.

‘Besides, there’s work to be done here. The place is falling apart. I can’t do it all by myself. This can’t go on, Tora. It’s not fair to her or to our master.’

Tora was saved by the stable door creaking open. The cook came in. Tora groaned.

She put her hands on her wide hips and glared at him. ‘So you finally show your face again. What’s the matter? Are the girls fed up?’

Tora said, ‘I hope you haven’t been looking into the stew pot again, Turnip Nose. I hate curdled stew.’

‘I hope it gives you a bellyache.’

Tora made a face at her. ‘It will. You’ll kill us all one of these days.’

‘You think you’re so smart. Here -’ she held out a stained basket – ‘run to the market and get a good-sized bream for your master’s dinner. And be quick about it. He’ll want his food as soon as he’s had a bath.’

‘For Buddha’s sake, woman,’ Tora cried. ‘I just got back from riding all the way to Otsu and beyond.’

‘Then it’s time you made yourself useful around here.’ She pushed the basket at him.

‘Aiih!’ Tora jumped back in mock horror.

‘It’s the fish basket, stupid!’

‘I know. I meant
you.
’ He gave a bellow of laughter, and she threw the basket at him with a curse and ran out, slamming the door behind her.

‘You shouldn’t tease her,’ said Genba.

‘That one brings nothing but joy,’ Tora grumbled, bending for the basket, ‘when she leaves.’

‘She’s a good cook. Give me the basket. I’ll go. You look dead on your feet.’

Tora relinquished the basket. ‘She’s short, fat, stupid, ugly, lazy, and mean. A woman like that is spitting into the wind of fate. And her bad karma is ruining our lives.’

‘Get some rest, brother. You’ll feel better.’

Tora collapsed on a pile of straw. ‘You’re right. Thanks.’

Genba swept up the basket with one hand and trotted out.

Akitada retreated from the scene in the garden to his study, and Tamako turned back to her work. Seimei watched her for a moment, then got up from his seat on the veranda and shuffled after his master into the house. He found Akitada seated behind his desk, drumming his fingers on the lacquered surface and scowling.

‘Will you have some tea now, sir?’ Seimei asked.

‘Yes. Thank you.’

Akitada continued drumming, while the old man lit the coals in a brazier under the water pot and selected a twist of paper with powdered tea leaves and orange peel.

‘Was your journey successful?’ Seimei asked.

‘Hmm. What? Oh, that. Quite successful.’

Seimei eyed his master. ‘I was afraid there were problems when you were gone longer than expected.’

Akitada sighed. ‘I found a small boy, Seimei. And I lost him again. Don’t mention the matter to your mistress because it might upset her, but I’m worried about that child.’

‘Ah.’ Seimei cocked his head at the kettle, gauging the moment when the steam would whistle from the spout. Not yet. He poured a little of the powder into a cup and glanced at Akitada. ‘You are worried, sir?’

‘Apparently, he belongs to a fisherman and his wife. He has been beaten and starved, Seimei. I saw his poor body. It was covered with bruises, and he was just skin and bone. And he’s such a nice little boy. Do you think I should buy him?’

‘Buy him?’ Seimei’s jaw dropped. ‘To do what?’ The water came to a sudden rolling boil, sending a hissing thread of steam from the narrow spout. Seimei snatched the kettle up and poured. Stirring the tea with a bamboo brush, he brought the cup to Akitada. ‘What did you have in mind for the child, sir?’

The question was uncomfortable. ‘I don’t know. I suppose I thought he would be company. That I could teach him. He’s deaf-mute, you know. Or perhaps just mute. I’m not sure.’

Though he had not been invited to do so, Seimei sat down on a cushion. ‘You miss Yori,’ he said firmly. ‘It is quite natural to feel such a loss.’

‘You think I’m acting like a fool,’ objected Akitada. ‘I felt sorry for the child. He needed help. Is that so hard to grasp?’ He saw the pity in the old man’s face and threw up his hands. ‘Oh, very well. Have it your way. All I know is that for the day and night I had the boy I felt whole again. And now that he is gone, I … have nothing – except a dreadful fear of having abandoned him to the brutality of his parents.’ He stared bleakly into the cup of tea.

‘You cannot replace a child the way you would a dog,’ Seimei said.

That made Akitada angry. ‘Forget it. You don’t understand. How could you?’

Seimei bit his lip. ‘Drink your tea.’

Akitada drank. They looked at each other. Akitada felt demoralized. He groaned. ‘Everything I touch breaks in my hands. My life is cursed. What am I to do, Seimei?’

‘Her Ladyship—’ began Seimei.

Getting up abruptly, Akitada said, ‘Never mind. Thank
you for the tea. After a bath, I shall work on the household accounts for the rest of the day.’

Seimei sighed and left.

Tora was too worried to rest long. He decided to forego the evening rice. Since Akitada was bathing, he told Seimei he was going into the city. The old man was arranging the household accounts on Akitada’s desk and seemed preoccupied. He barely looked up.

Tora’s destination was a quarter near the Eastern Temple, a far distance for a tired man, but he walked quickly. This southernmost corner of the capital was almost rural. A few great estates mingled with a large number of very modest homes and small farms. The small houses clustered around and between the large, tree-shaded and walled compounds and belonged mostly to the owners’ retainers and servants. Children played in the street, and laundry dried on bamboo fencing.

The rain had left puddles in the streets, and some ducks scattered as Tora passed. Doves cooed on the wooden eaves, and behind one of the mansion walls someone played a lute. Tora’s spirits lifted and he started to whistle.

Near the southern embankment of the city he turned into the yard of a tiny house and carefully closed the bamboo gate behind him. As always, he stopped to gaze at his home. The new roof was thatched and set the wooden house, little more than a one-room shack, apart from its flat-roofed neighbors. New steps led to a small porch at the front door, and a morning glory vine covered with deep-blue flowers and buzzing bees twined around its railing. Tora thought about adding a beehive next year, and then turned his attention to the little vegetable garden. His cabbages and radishes, planted in neat rows, looked well. The soil was good here, and the recent rain had caused a spurt of growth. He smiled as he walked along the path to the house. On the new step sat a fat white cat cleaning one front paw and barely pausing to purr when Tora bent to scratch its head.

He straightened and called, ‘Hanae? I’m back.’

Immediately, a loud yelping sounded from behind the
house. It changed to excited barks, and then a cloud of squawking and fluttering chickens erupted around the corner, followed by a large grey creature making the sharp turn on scrabbling paws. The creature transformed itself into a shaggy dog, who flung himself on Tora in a paroxysm of joy. Tora staggered back and stepped on the cat’s tail. The cat yowled, spat, and jumped on to the railing, where it clung, hissing and twitching its tail.

Tora fended off the flying paws and lapping tongue. ‘Down, Trouble. Down, you big useless monster. Down. You broke your rope again. Where’s your mistress?’

The dog sat, the remnants of a straw rope still attached to his neck, his tail beating a drum roll on the wooden boards. He pricked up pointed ears and looked attentive.

‘Hanae?’ Tora called again.

The dog’s ears twitched, and he looked around expectantly.

‘Stupid dog,’ said Tora. ‘That’s what I bought you for. To watch your mistress. Don’t you remember where she went?’

The tail thumped apologetically.

Next door, a middle-aged woman came out on her porch. ‘That you, Tora? Hanae’s gone to the market. She should be back soon. Is that big brute loose again? I don’t want him after my chickens.’

‘Hello, Mrs Hamada. I’ll tie him up. He doesn’t mean any harm. Just has too much energy.’

She sniffed. ‘That dog’s a fiend. Better get rid of him. You here to stay?’

‘Not yet.’ This was a sore subject, and Tora hoped the nosy biddy would go back into her house.

But she slipped her bare feet into wooden clogs and waddled to the fence between their houses. The dog, recognizing an arch enemy, growled. Mrs Hamada fixed Tora with an accusing look and said, ‘Hanae’s talking about taking a job. In her condition! You know she’s not very strong. How about asking that grand master of yours to take her in? Hanae works hard, and she’s good with children.’

Tora shook his head. ‘Can’t. The master has no children.’

‘No children?’ She gaped at him. ‘In a noble house? How
can that be? Your master isn’t … you know?’ She waved a limp hand.

‘No, he isn’t,’ Tora snapped. ‘They had a boy, but he died from the smallpox in the spring.’

‘Oh.’ She relented, as Tora knew she would, having lost her husband and one of her own children in the epidemic. So many had died. It was the reason the small house next to her had become available. She gave him a shrewd look. ‘You aren’t afraid to tell them, are you?’

Tora stuck out his chin. Of course not. We’ll manage. I’ll find a way.’

‘That’s what you men always say. In the end it’s us who have the babies and then have to scrimp and save to put food in their mouths. And nine times out of ten, we end up feeding their father while he squanders his money on wine and loose women.’

Tora was getting angry, all the more so because he could not antagonize Hanae’s neighbor. ‘I’m not like that,’ he growled.

Encouraged by Tora’s tone, the dog burst into furious barking.

Someone called from the street, ‘Tora?’

They turned and saw a young woman with a large market basket over her arm. She was slight and very pretty, with a tiny waist and such fragile wrists that the basket seemed much too large and heavy for her.