Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 23, No. 12, December 1978

Inspector Saito’s Small Satori by Seiko Legru

By becoming less, the monks believed, one became more...

Inspector Saito felt a bit better when the constable had switched off the Datsun’s siren, but just a trifle better for his headache throbbed on. Once more he felt sorry about having visited the Willow Quarter the night before, and about the sixth jug of sake. He should have remembered his limit was five jugs. But it had been a good bar and there had been good people in the bar. And the difference between six jugs and five jugs is only one jug, one small jug. But the headache, which had now lasted nearly sixteen hours, showed no sign of abating.

He forced himself to walk over to the uniformed sergeant, a middle-aged man in a crisp green uniform waiting under the large ornamental gate. The sergeant bowed. Saito bowed back.

“In that direction, sir, in the alley next to the temple.”

Saito grunted. There was a corpse in the alley, a female corpse — a gaijin body, white, limp, and lifeless. This much he knew from Headquarters. It was all very unfortunate, a miserable conglomeration of circumstances, all of them bad. He shouldn’t have a hangover, he shouldn’t have been on the night shift, and he shouldn’t be trying to solve a murder case. But he had had too much to drink the night before, his colleague u>a$ ill, and there had been a murder. And the three events now met in the person of Saito, only a short distance from an alley between two temples in Daidharmaji, the most beautiful and revered of all temple complexes in the holy city of Kyoto.

Saito’s foot stumbled over a pine root that twisted over the gravel of the path. He had to swing out his arms and then sidestep to regain his balance. He was dancing quite gracefully for a moment, but the effort exhausted him and he stopped and looked around. Daidharmaji, Temple of the Great Teaching. A gong sounded in the center of the compound and its singing metal clang filled the quiet path and was caught and held by the eight-foot-thick mud-and-plaster walls shielding the temples and their peaceful gardens.

Saito’s brain cleared and he could think for a few seconds. The Great Teaching. He remembered that these temples had but one purpose: the teaching of the truth to priests, monks, and laymen. Right now monks were sitting in meditation after having chanted to the accompaniment of the bronze gongs of the main temple. In their minds insight was supposed to develop and this insight would, in time and after much effort, rise to the surface of their beings like bubbles, or flashes of light. Enlightenment, manifested in sudden outbursts of what the teachers called Satori.

He smiled unhappily. Satori indeed. He recollected what he knew about the term. Insight has to do with detachment, with the breaking of the shell in which ego hides and which it uses as a defense to hold onto its identity — to a name, to possessions, to having and being. Satori cracks the shell and explodes into freedom. By becoming less, one gains. The experience is said to be a release and leads to laughter. Monks who, through their daily discipline and meditation, manage to touch reality usually laugh or, at least, smile.

Saito sighed. All very interesting on some lofty level. Not his level, however. He was an ordinary dim-witted man, muddling about. He was muddling about now, and the sergeant was waiting, a few steps ahead. Saito nodded and limped forward.

“Did you hurt yourself, sir?”

“Just a little. I didn’t see the root.”

“It’s a bad root, sir, but it can’t be removed, it belongs to that great pine over there, a very old tree, a holy tree.”

Saito followed until the sergeant stopped and began to gesture. They had come to a narrow path with some shrubbery on each side, backed by temple walls.

The sergeant pointed and stepped back. Two uniformed constables were guarding two well-pruned cherry trees.

“In there?”

“Yes sir. Another few yards, under a bush. We haven’t touched the corpse, sir.”

Saito walked on, protecting his face with an arm that felt as if it was made out of hard plastic. He didn’t want a branch to snap against his head. One little blow and his skull would break.

He sat on his haunches and studied the corpse. It was a woman, still young, perhaps in her late twenties. She had long blonde hair and was dressed in white cotton trousers and a white jacket buttoned up to the neck, Chinese Communist style. A red scarf had been tucked into the jacket’s collar. Its color matched the stains on the jacket. Saito produced a small flashlight and shone it on her face. It was the sort of face seen on models in expensive Western-style fashion magazines — beautiful, but cold, quite devoid of expression. Cool, impersonal, and dead. He studied the slack painted mouth. Very dead.

The sergeant was hissing respectfully just behind Saito’s head. The inspector straightened up. “Yes, Sergeant. Please tell me all you know.”

The sergeant checked his watch. “Ten fifteen p.m. now, sir. Young Tanaka reported the death at nine fifty-four. Young Tanaka lives nearby and he goes to drawing classes in the temple at the end of this alley on the left. He said he was going home and saw something white in the bushes. He investigated, saw the dead person, and came to tell us at the station.”

“Person?”

“Yes, sir. He told us he had found a dead person.”

“But this is a woman.”

“Yes, sir. I came here with him, ran back and told my constables where the corpse was and ordered them to guard it, then I telephoned Headquarters.”

Saito bent down and straightened up again, painfully. “The blood seems fresh. Sergeant. I hope the doctor is on his way. Do you know the lady?”

“Yes, sir. She studied meditation in the temple at the end of the alley, on the right, opposite the temple where young Tanaka learns how to draw. She is an American. Her name is Miss Davis and she stayed at the Kyoto Hotel. She came here most evenings, walked through this alley on her way in and out of the compound, and hailed a taxi from the main gate, opposite our station.”

“Ah. And the priest who teaches her meditation?”

“The Reverend Ohno. He has several gaijin as disciples. They come every weekday, in the evening, and sit in meditation from seven to nine.”

“Nine o’clock,” Saito said, “and then they go home?”

“Yes, sir. But the others — there are two elderly ladies and a gentleman, also old — walk another way. They take a taxi from the west gate. They don’t live in such an expensive hotel as the Kyoto Hotel. Miss Davis always walked by herself. It’s only a short distance to the main gate and the compound is reputed to be safe.”

Saito glanced down at the sprawling corpse. “Yes. Very safe. That’s a knife wound, Sergeant. Do you know of anybody walking around here at night, anybody who carries a knife?”

At least two sirens tore at the quiet cool evening and Saito’s hands came up and rubbed his temples. The sirens increased in volume and stopped. The sergeant barked at one of the constables and the young man saluted and jumped away.

“Anybody with a knife, Sergeant?”

The sergeant bowed and looked sad. “Yes, sir. There are street robbers, it is true. The compound is not safe any more. It used to be, and Miss Davis believed it to be. But...”

“But?”

“But there are young men, young men in tight trousers and leather jackets. They robbed an old man last week. The victim described the young men and I found the suspects and confronted them with the old man. He recognized the robbers but the suspects went free. There was only one witness, sir. To charge a suspect I need two witnesses.”

“Were these robbers around tonight?”

“Probably, sir. When they aren’t drinking or smoking the drug they roam about. They live close by. This is their territory. I will have them brought in for questioning.”

“Good. And what about young Tanaka, where is he now?”

“At home, sir. I know his parents. I can call him to the station.”

“Is he a good boy?”

The sergeant smiled his apology.

“Is he?”

“No, sir, and yes. We arrested him last year, and the year before. He is still young — sixteen years old. Indecent exposure, sir. But he is much better now. The priest who teaches him drawing says he has been behaving very well lately.”

The constable had come back, leading a small party of men in dark suits, carrying suitcases. The men bowed at Saito and Saito returned the greeting, adjusting the depth, or lack of depth, of each bow to the colleague he was facing. The doctor grunted and asked for light. Several powerful torches lit up the grisly scene. A camera began to click. A light fed by a heavy battery was set up on a tripod.

Saito touched the sergeant’s sleeve and they stepped back together. “Where is the hotel where these other Westerners stay?”

“The old gaijin, sir? They stay at the Mainichi.”

Saito nodded. “I will go there now. And then I will come back to the station. Later on I will speak with the Reverend Ohno. Bring the young men and the boy Tanaka to the station so I can question them. Your information has been very clear. Thank you, Sergeant.”

The sergeant bowed twice, deeply.

“I have served in this neighborhood for many years now, sir. I try to know what goes on.”

“Yes,” Saito said and closed his eyes. The sergeant had spoken loudly and he had a high voice.

“I see,” the old gentleman in the bathrobe said. He had knelt down on the tatami-covered floor of the hotel’s reception room and seemed quite at ease on the thick straw mat. Saito sat opposite the old gentleman, with the two elderly ladies on his right in low cane chairs. They were both dressed in kimonos printed with flowers. They weren’t the right sort of kimonos for old ladies to wear. Flower patterns are reserved for young girls, preferably attractive girls.

“My name is McGraw,” the old gentleman said, “and my friends here are called Miss Cunningham and Mrs. Ingram. They are spending a year in Japan and I have lived here for several years now. We are studying with the good priests of Daidharmaji.”

Saito acknowledged McGraw’s opening by bowing briefly.

Miss Cunningham coughed and made her thin body lean forward.

“Are you a follower of the way too, Inspector?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Do you meditate?”

“No, Miss Cunningham, I do not practice. My family belongs to a temple in another part of the city. I go there with my parents on special days and the priests visit our home. That is all.”

“What a pity,” said Mrs. Ingram. “Meditation is such a marvelous exercise. It has done wonders for us. But you are very busy, of course. Perhaps later, when you retire?”

“Yes, Mrs. Ingram.” He felt proud that he could remember the difficult names and that he was speaking English. He had studied English because he had wanted to be a police officer in Tokyo. There were many foreigners in the capital and English-speaking police detectives were rapidly promoted. But so far he had been confined within the limits of his home city, Kyoto, the city of temples.

He cleared his throat and addressed himself to McGraw. “Please, sir, what do you know about Miss Davis?”

McGraw’s heavy-lidded pale-blue eyes rested on the neat impassive form of the inspector.

“May I ask, Saito-san, what sort of trouble Miss Davis is into?”

“She is dead.”

While the two ladies shrieked, McGraw’s eyes didn’t change. They remained gentle and precise. “I see. And how did she die?”

“We are not sure yet. I would think she had been knifed.”

The two ladies shrieked again, much louder. Saito closed his eyes with desperate determination.

When he left the small hotel a little while later Saito carried some information. Miss Davis had spent only two months in Japan. She was rich. Her father manufactured most of the shoe polish used in the United States. She could have lived a life of leisure, but she had not; she had been very diligent, never missing an evening’s meditation at the priest Ohno’s temple. She had managed to master the full lotus position, wherein both legs are crossed and the feet rest upside down on the opposite thighs. She had been in pain but she had never moved during the half-hour periods in which the two-hour sessions were divided. She had been very good indeed.

McGraw was most positive about the young woman’s efforts. He himself, Miss Cunningham, and Mrs. Ingram couldn’t be compared to Miss Davis. The three older students had some experience in the discipline, but even they still moved when the pain became too severe and they still fell asleep sometimes when they happened not to be in pain and Ohno-san often had to shout at them to make them wake up. Miss Davis never fell asleep. She had been an ideal student, yes, absolutely.

But McGraw knew little about Miss Davis’s personal life. He didn’t know how she spent her days. He had asked her to lunch once and she had accepted the invitation but never returned it. They had conversed politely but nothing of consequence. All he had learned was that she had lived in New York, held a degree in philosophy, and had experimented with drugs.

And tonight? Had he noticed anything in particular?

No. It had been an evening like the other evenings. They had sat together in Ohno’s magnificent temple room. When the two hours were up and the sound of Ohno’s heavy bell floated away toward the garden, they had bowed and left. McGraw had walked Miss Cunningham and Mrs. Ingram home and Miss Davis had left by herself, as usual.

Saito sat in the back of the small Datsun and asked the young constable to drive slowly. When he spied a bar, Saito asked him to stop. He got out and drank two glasses of grape juice and one glass of orange juice and swallowed two aspirin provided by the attractive hostess, who snuggled against his shoulder and smiled invitingly. But Saito thanked her for the aspirin and hurried back to the car.

The Datsun stopped under a blue sign with the neat characters that make up the imported word “police.” Saito marched into the station. The sergeant pointed to a door in the rear and led the way. Saito sat at the desk. “I’ll be with you in a few minutes. After a phone call.”

The doctor’s hoarse voice described what Saito wanted to know. “Yes, she died of a knife wound. A downward thrust, with considerable force. The blade hit a rib but pushed on and reached the heart. Death must have been almost immediate. The knife’s blade was quite long, at least three-and-a-half inches. I can’t say how wide for it was moved about when it was pulled free.”

“Sexual intercourse?” Saito asked.

“Not recently, no.”

“Thank you. Can you connect me with whoever went through her pockets? I noticed she had no handbag.”

Another voice greeted the inspector politely. “No, Inspector, there was no handbag, but the lady carried her things in the side pockets of her jacket. We found a wallet with some money, almost ten thousand yen, and a credit card. Also a key, cigarettes, a lighter, and a notebook — excuse me, sir, I have a list here. Yes, that’s right, and a lipstick. That was all, sir.”

“What’s in the notebook?”

“Names and phone numbers.”

“Japanese?”

“No, sir, American names. And the phone numbers begin with 212, 516, and 914.”

Saito nodded at the telephone. “New York area codes. I have been there once. Very good, thank you.”

The sergeant was waiting at the door and led Saito to a small room where two surly young men sat slumped on a wooden bench in the back. A chair had been placed opposite the bench. The sergeant closed the door and leaned against it. “The fellow on the left is called Yoshida, and the other one is Kato.”

Saito was thirsty again and wondered whether he should ask the sergeant for a pot of green tea but instead he plunged right in. “O.K., you two, where were you tonight? You first — Kato, is it?”

The two young men were hard to tell apart in their identical trousers, jackets, and shirts. They even wore the same hairstyle, very short on top, very long on the sides.

“We were around.”

“Where were you between nine and ten?”

They looked at each other and shrugged. “Around.”

“That’s bad,” Saito said cheerfully. “Real bad. If no one saw you between nine and ten, you are in trouble. You may have to spend the night here, and many other nights besides. This is a nasty place, eh, Sergeant?”

Yes, sir.

“Small cells, bad food, nothing to smoke. Do you fellows smoke?”

They nodded.

“You’ll have to give it up for a while.” He took out a cigarette. “But I’ll smoke for you. Did you go through their pockets, Sergeant?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Any knives?”

The sergeant stepped out of the room and came back carrying two yellow plastic trays, neatly labeled. There was a pack of cigarettes in each tray, plus a dirty handkerchief, a wallet, and a long knife sheathed in leather.

“Good. Please have one of your men have the knives checked for blood.”

“Blood?” the young man called Yoshida asked. “What blood?”

“A lady’s blood, a gaijin lady. Did you see her in the compound tonight?”

Kato answered, “An old lady or a young lady?”

“A young lady with long blonde hair, wearing white clothes.”

“Not tonight, but we know her. She came every evening to Ohno-san’s temple. She was a holy woman.” He sniggered and nudged his friend.

Saito jumped up, leaped across the room, and grabbed Kato by the shoulders, shaking him vigorously. “What do you mean, you punk! What do you mean?” He pushed Kato back on the bench and stood over him, one hand balled up.

“Nothing.”

“You meant something. Tell me, or...” He could feel the artificial rage turning into real rage. He would have to watch himself.

“I just mean that maybe the lady liked the priest. Me and Yoshida saw them together in the garden one afternoon last week, in the temple’s garden.”

“What were they doing?”

“Laughing, talking.”

“That’s all?”

“They weren’t kissing,” Yoshida said gruffly, “just enjoying a good conversation.”

Saito turned to the sergeant, who had returned. “Would you ask somebody to make me a pot of tea, Sergeant? And bring a chopstick, just one.”

The sergeant raised his eyebrows but bowed and left the room. He came back with the chopstick.

“Here,” Saito said. “You, Kato. You are a knife fighter, eh? Here is a knife. Now attack me.”

Kato hesitated and Saito waited. Kato got up and took the chopstick.

“Come on, attack me. Here I am, and you hold a knife. Show me that you can handle it.”

Kato got up and the sergeant’s hand dropped down and touched the revolver on his belt. The atmosphere in the room became tense. Kato spread his legs and hefted the chopstick. Saito waited, motionless. Then Kato yelled loudly and jumped. The hand holding the chopstick shot up. But Saito was no longer there — he had fallen sideways and his foot was against Kato’s shin. Kato fell too. The chopstick broke on the floor. Saito helped the young man back on his feet. “Fine. Sergeant, may we have another chopstick?”

Yoshida’s attack was more artful and took more time. He approached Saito, holding the chopstick low, but seemed to change his mind and feinted at the sergeant. The sergeant pulled his gun as the chopstick went for Saito’s stomach, but Saito’s arm effectively blocked it with a blow to Yoshida’s arm, knocking it aside.

A constable brought a pot of tea. Saito poured himself a steaming cup of tea and sat sipping it, eyeing his opponents. Kato was rubbing his shin and Yoshida was massaging his wrist. “Did I hurt you?”

Both shook their heads and tried to smile.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. But carrying knives with blades longer than three inches is illegal. The sergeant will charge you and you will be kept here for the night. Perhaps I’ll see you tomorrow. If you want to see me you can tell the sergeant. Good night.”

He got up and went outside, beckoning the sergeant to follow him. “Now the other one, Tanaka, the boy who found the corpse.”

“He is waiting in the other room, sir.”

Saito smiled when he saw the boy. Young Tanaka was a good-looking young man, with a childish open face but wide shoulders and narrow hips. He wore his school uniform, and his cap was on the floor under his chair. He got up when Saito entered and he bowed.

“Thank you for reporting to us tonight, Tanaka-san,” Saito said, “that was very good of you. I am sorry to have you called in so late, but we have to work quickly. Did you know the gaijin lady at all?”

“Yes, sir, I have seen her many times. She studied at Ohno-san’s temple. But I never spoke to her. And I didn’t know the corpse was the gaijin lady’s body. I was frightened, sir. I saw a body and there was nobody else around and I just ran to the police station.”

“So that’s why you said you saw a person.”

“Yes, sir. I just saw the legs and a hand.”

Saito tried to remember the corpse. There had been no polish on the nails, no colored polish anyway. He lowered his voice. “Now tell me, Tanaka-san, tell me and be honest. I know you have been in trouble with the police before. You know what I am referring to, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir. But I don’t do that any more. I used to, but that has gone.”

“What has gone?”

“The need to do that, sir.”

“You are sure, are you? You were in the alley, and the lady was in the alley. You were facing her and she was coming closer...”

“No, sir. The body was in the bushes.”

Saito turned to the sergeant. “May I have a chopstick, Sergeant?”

When the sergeant returned with the chopstick Saito gave it to the boy. “Imagine this is a knife. Can you do that?”

The boy held the chopstick. “Yes, sir. It is a knife.”

“And I am your enemy. I am a burglar sneaking into your room. I am going to attack you and you must kill me. Stick the knife into me. It is very important. Please do it for me.”

“Like this, sir?”

The boy raised his arm high, pointing the chopstick at Saito’s chest.

“Yes, you are very angry, very frightened. All you know is that you have to kill me.”

The chopstick hit Saito’s chest with force and broke.

“Thank you. You can go home now. Sleep well...”

When Saito left the police station, his driver came to attention and opened the rear door. The inspector shook his head. “No. I am going into the temple compound. I may be a while. You can wait in the station if you like. The tea isn’t bad.”

He walked until he found Ohno’s temple and stopped and looked about. He could feel the quietness of hundreds of years of solitude, of silent effort. The aspirin had dulled his headache, and his thoughts connected more easily.

The gate of the temple hadn’t been locked and he walked through it.

“Good evening.” The voice came from the shadows of the building.

“Good evening. My name is Saito. I am a police inspector. I have come to see the priest Ohno.”

“I am Ohno. Walk up the steps and come and sit next to me.”

Saito took off his shoes and walked across the polished boards of the porch. His eyes adjusted to the darkness and he could see the shape of a man sitting upright with his legs folded. Saito bowed and a cushion slid toward him. He took the cushion and sat down.

“Do you know that Miss Davis died tonight?”

“I heard.”

“Who told you?”

“The old woman who cleans the temple. She heard a commotion in the alley and found out what had happened.”

“The death of the gaijin lady is unfortunate. She was killed with a knife. We are holding several suspects.”

He could see the priest’s face now. Ohno was still a young man — thirty years old perhaps, or a little older. The priest wore a simple brown robe. The faint light of a half moon reflected on his shaven skull.

“Who did you arrest?”

“Two young toughs, Yoshida and Kato. They have robbed in the Daidharmaji compound before but nothing could be proved. They couldn’t explain their movements at the time of Miss Davis’s death. They both carried knives. We are also holding a boy called Tanaka, who reported the crime. Excuse me, do you have a telephone?”

Ohno got to his feet and led his guest inside the temple. Saito dialed. A man in the laboratory answered.

“The knives? They both fit the wound but so would a million other knives. And they are both clean, no traces of blood.”

“Whoever did it could have cleaned the knife afterward.”

“He could. If he did, he did a good job.”

“Thank you.”

The priest invited Saito into his study and an old woman made them tea. Saito sipped slowly, enjoying the rich bitter taste.

“Very good tea.”

“A present from Mrs. Ingram. I couldn’t afford it myself.”

“You have only foreign disciples?”

“Yes. When gaijin come to Daidharmaji, the chief abbot usually sends them to me. I am the only priest who speaks reasonably good English. I spent several years in a temple in Los Angeles as the assistant to the teacher there.”

“I see. Did you get to know Miss Davis well?”

“A little. She was a dedicated woman, very eager to learn.”

“Did she learn anything?”

Ohno smiled. “There is nothing to learn. There is only to unlearn.”

Saito shook his head.

“You don’t agree?”

“I have no wisdom,” Saito said. “I am a policeman; my level of investigation is shallow. I have small questions and need small answers. Yoshida and Kato weren’t helpful. The boy Tanaka tried, but he couldn’t tell me much. Mr. McGraw and the old ladies who study with you tried to clarify my confusion. But I am still confused and now I have come to see you.”

“I know the two young men, Yoshida and Kato,” Ohno said. “I know their parents too — they often come to these temples. The boys have lost their way, but only for the time being. They will find the way again. They may have robbed people but they have never killed anyone. They watch movies and try to imitate images of what they think is admirable.”

“In the movies many images get killed. Yoshida and Kato carry knives, killing knives with slits in the sides so that the blood will drain easily.”

“They didn’t kill tonight.”

“And the boy Tanaka, do you know him too?”

“Very well. When his mind was sick, his parents came to see me. They live close by and they often bring gifts to this temple. They knew the priest who lived here before and now they come and visit me. The boy was mad, they said, but I didn’t think so. The boy came too sometimes — he liked to help me in the garden. He placed the rocks and we planted moss.”

“He would show himself when he met women, right here, in this holy compound.”

“I know.”

“You don’t think that is a bad thing to do?”

“It is embarrassing, for the women and for the boy himself. But he had a need to reveal himself to that which he loved. I wanted to help him but I didn’t know what to do and I spoke to the old priest in the temple next door. Young Tanaka likes to paint and draw, and the old priest is an accomplished artist. So we agreed that he would try to lead Tanaka away from his compulsion. Since then the boy’s trouble has faded away. There have been no more complaints.”

Saito got up. He wanted to say something noncommittal before he left. He looked around and saw several cameras on a shelf and another on the floor. “Do you like photography, Ohno-san?”

“Yes, it is my hobby.” The priest picked up the camera. “I use a new method now. I make instant photographs and if I succeed in obtaining a well-balanced picture I try again with a conventional camera that can be adjusted to a fine degree of perception. One day when you have time you should come and see some of my photographs — if you are interested, that is.”

“I would very much like to. Thank you.”

Saito looked at his watch. It was past one o’clock but he might as well go on. He was very close now, but there were still important questions.

The temple next door was dark and the gate had been locked, but he found a side door and made his way into the courtyard, using his flashlight. He took off his shoes and climbed the steps and knocked on the door of the main building. Within seconds a light came on inside and shuffling steps approached. The priest was old and bent — and sleepy.

“Yes?”

Saito showed his identification. “Inspector Saito, Criminal Investigation Department. I am sorry, sir, but I have to bother you for a few minutes. May I come in?”

“Of course. I heard about the lady’s death. Most regrettable. Please come in, Inspector-san.”

In view of the late hour, Saito decided that it would be impolite to be polite. He came to the point.

“You are teaching a boy called Tanaka?”

“That is correct.”

“He draws and paints. Please tell me what his favorite subjects are.”

“Women. He only draws women. I don’t allow him to paint yet. He sketches. I showed him copies of famous paintings and he seemed most interested in portraits of Kwannon, the goddess of compassion. He has been drawing her for months now and doesn’t tire.”

Saito smiled. “Tanaka-san is in love with the goddess?”

The priest looked serious. “Very much so. And that is good for the time being. I want him to continue, to approach perfection. Later he will see that her real shape is truly perfect and then perhaps he will meet and know her. But first he must do this. He is talented. I am grateful he was brought to me.”

“May I see the drawings?”

“Surely. Follow me, please.”

The sketches were all in the same vein, although the postures and moods of the divine model were different. The boy clearly had only one type of woman in mind, and the woman was Japanese, with a long narrow face, thick black hair, a small nose, and enormous slanting eyes.

“Thank you.”

“Not at all.”

“One last question, sir. Do you know Ohno-san well?”

The old priest nodded.

“Does Ohno-san engage in any of the martial sports? Judo? Sword fighting? Bowshooting, perhaps?”

The old priest tittered. “Oh, no. Ohno-san likes to fuss in his garden, to make photographs, and to meditate, in that order. He once came to help me chop some wood for my bathhouse. He broke two axe handles in one hour. I had no more axes so we had tea instead. No, Ohno-san is, shall we say, a little clumsy?”

Nearly five minutes passed before Saito could bring himself to walk through Ohno’s gate again. He found the priest where he had found him before, on the porch. Saito didn’t say anything but sat down.

“Yes?”

“I am sorry, I have come to arrest you.”

Ohno didn’t reply. Saito sat quietly.

Several minutes passed.

“Please come with me, Ohno-san.”

The priest turned and faced the inspector. “No. I will have to ask you a favor. Let me go inside and please wait half an hour. I will leave a confession and you can close your case.”

Saito smiled, but the smile was neither positive nor negative. It was very quiet on the porch.

Ohno cleared his throat. “Would you mind explaining why you chose me?”

“Because you killed her. She was killed by an amateur, by someone who doesn’t know how to handle a knife. A knife fighter will hold his weapon low and thrust upward, so that the knife pierces the soft skin of the belly and so its point will travel upward, behind the ribs. To stab downward is silly — the ribs protect the heart. Much unnecessary force is needed. And the attacker who holds his knife high has no defense, his own body is left open.”

“Many people walk through this compound. Most of them do not know how to handle a knife.”

“That is not true. There are very few people about after nine o’clock. Even when we found the dead woman a crowd didn’t gather. And whoever killed Miss Davis either hated her or was frightened of her. To hate or to fear takes time. The feeling isn’t born overnight. Miss Davis only spent a few months in Japan and kept herself apart. The only person she involved herself with was you. You were her teacher. She came here every night. But she also came during the day. Did you sleep with her, Ohno-san?”

The priest’s head jerked forward briefly. “I did.”

“She seduced you?”

The head jerked again.

“She was in love with you?”

Ohno’s even white teeth sparkled briefly in the soft moonlight.

“No. To love means to be prepared to give. She wanted to have. And she wanted me to give to her. The way has many secrets, many powers. Our training, when practiced properly, is complete. It is also slow, unbearably slow. Miss Davis comes from a country that believes in quick results. Americans are capable of great effort, but they want rewards. She suspected that I knew something and she wanted what I knew.”

“You were teaching her meditation. You were giving.”

“Yes. But meditation takes forever, or so she began to believe. She wanted to be initiated, to be given powers. I told her my rank was too low, my development too minute. Only a true teacher can pass a student. This temple is a little school for beginners, for toddlers. The abbot knows I have disciples and he watches them. He will take over when he feels that the disciples are ready. Mr. McGraw is sometimes allowed to see the abbot. He has learned much — he has learned to be modest. Miss Davis had learned to be the opposite.”

“She tried to force you?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I am a weak man, a silly man. She began to visit me during the day. I have lived in America and I am very proud of my experience with foreigners. We flirted. Then we slept together.”

“In the room where we were earlier on tonight?”

“Yes.”

“The room where you have your cameras?”

“Yes. The camera can be set so that it goes off after several seconds. I showed her how. She laughed and set it and pressed herself against me. We had no clothes on. The camera clicked. She took the photograph with her. I didn’t understand what she meant to do. I thought it was a joke.”

“She threatened to show the photograph to the abbot?”

“Yes. Today. She came to see me this morning. She said she was prepared to continue her meditation practice for another year, but she wanted something right now. Some power. That was all she wanted — not insight, just power. She said I knew about the secret initiations and that I must make her break through. I told her we have no secret initiations. I told her that perhaps in Tibet they do, but not here.”

“She planned to visit the abbot tonight?”

“Tomorrow. I had to stop her.”

Saito waited. “And the abbot, what would he have done?”

“He would have sent me away. And rightly so, for I have failed. I am only a low-ranking priest. My training has hardly begun. That I am allowed to teach meditation to beginners is a great honor. I am not worthy of the honor.”

Ohno’s voice dropped and Saito had to strain his ears to hear the priest’s words through the chirping of the cicadas.

“Tonight,” Ohno said, “I watched her walk through the gate. I ran through the garden and climbed the wall so that I would be waiting for her when she turned the corner of the temple wall and the alley. I had taken a knife from the kitchen. I put myself in her way and showed her the knife. I asked her to give me the photograph. She laughed and tried to push me aside. I became very angry. I don’t think I intended to kill her, I only meant to threaten. But her laugh infuriated me.”

“Do you have the photograph?”

“Yes. I don’t remember how I got it. I must have taken it from the pocket of her jacket.”

“And now you plan to kill yourself,” Saito said pleasantly.

“Yes.”

“But how can you continue your training when you are dead? Isn’t this life supposed to be the ideal training ground and isn’t whatever comes afterward a period of rest in which nothing can be achieved? You may have to wait a long time before you are given another chance. Is this not so?”

The dark shape next to Saito moved. “Yes.”

“I don’t know anything,” Saito said. “But priests sometimes come to our house to burn incense in front of the family altar and to chant the holy sermons. I have listened. Isn’t that what they say? What you say?”

“Yes.”

“And if you come with me, if you allow yourself to be arrested and to face the court and be convicted and spend time in jail, doesn’t that mean that your training will continue? That you can go on with your practice? And won’t the abbot, who is a master and your teacher, come and visit you or send messages, and help you along?”

“Yes.”

“And isn’t it true that we all fail? And that failure is never definite? That we can always correct our situation, no matter how bad it seems to be?”

“Yes.”

Saito thought he had said enough. He was tired of listening to his own voice. He brought out a cigarette and lit it. Ohno’s hand reached out and Saito gave him the cigarette and lit another. They smoked together. The two stubs left the porch at the same moment and sparked away as they hit the wet moss of the garden.

They walked to the gate slowly, two men strolling through the peaceful night.

“I was worried when you said you suspected Tanaka,” Ohno said. “He is a nice boy.”

“Yes,” Saito said. “He was the most likely suspect, but something didn’t fit. Indecent exposure is an act of surrender, not of aggression. I would have arrested him if he had drawn the face or body of Miss Davis. But his fantasies are centered on the beauty of our own women.

I checked just now at your neighbor’s temple. Miss Davis was beautiful, but not to young Tanaka. I don’t think she was even female in his eyes.”

“She was in mine.”

Saito didn’t answer. They had passed through the main gate and reached the car. Saito leaned inside and touched the horn. The driver appeared immediately from the station.

“Headquarters, please. This venerable priest is coming with us.”

“Sir.” The driver bowed to Ohno. Ohno bowed back.

Saito felt pleased. He had solved the case quickly, discreetly. This could be the credit that would get him transferred to the capital. He grinned but the grin froze halfway. He tried to analyze his state of mind but he was bewildered. The more he probed, the emptier his mind seemed.

He felt the priest’s presence and then his own hand reached out and touched the wide sleeve of Ohno’s robe.

“Yes,” Ohno said, “you were right, Inspector-san. It was silly of me to consider my shame and to respond to that shame. I am what I am and I will continue from the point where I find myself. The point happens to be bad, that is all. There will be good points later on, and they won’t matter so much either. Ha!”

Saito grinned. The priest’s words had helped to make the grin break through, the priest’s words and the strange power of quietness he had felt seeping into his being while he wandered among the temples of Daidharmaji. And he realized that he didn’t care about his successful investigation or about the forthcoming praise of his superiors or about the possibility of a transfer to the capital. The priest’s shame was as much of an illusion as his own fame. He felt much relieved, lightheaded. The grin spread over his face. “Ha!” The laugh was as carefree as Ohno’s laugh had been.

“So...” Ohno said.

“So nothing!” Saito replied.

The car took a sharp turn and they fell into each other’s arms. They laughed together while the embrace lasted.

At Headquarters, the priest was taken to a cell and Saito accompanied him. He waited while the constable locked the heavy door. Ohno bowed, Saito bowed. They straightened up and studied each other’s smile through the bars of the cell door.

“You understood something, didn’t you, Inspector-san?”

“Oh, yes,” Saito said softly. “Yes, I think I did.”

“Oh, yes,” Ohno whispered. “And it had nothing to do with you or me or even poor Miss Davis.”

“No, it didn’t.” Saito nodded and gazed at Ohno before turning and following the constable out of the cell block. He felt very tired, so tired that he was hallucinating. He wasn’t walking through a dimly lit concrete corridor but floating in a lake of light. The light began to fade as he approached his house and he found that he was shaking his head and talking to himself.