Black Lotus

2

Zōjō Temple, located just off the Tōkaido-the highway that linked Edo with the imperial capital, Miyako-attracted a ceaseless flow of travelers, pilgrims, and mendicant monks. The approach to the temple comprised one of Edo ’s busiest marketplaces, where merchants sold refreshments, Buddhist relics, medicinal herbs, dishware, and many other goods. Today the market bustled in the warm weather. Beneath a sunny aquamarine sky that arched over hills green from the recent rainy season, samurai on horseback and strolling peasants browsed the stalls; nuns and priests begged alms. The crowd parted for a procession of mounted samurai escorting a black palanquin emblazoned with a flying-crane crest.

Inside the enclosed sedan chair, Reiko rode through Zōjō’s main gate, an imposing structure with red lacquer woodwork and a double-tiered roof, whose three portals represented the three stages in the passage to nirvana. Anxiety undermined Reiko’s pleasure in the trip.

The morning had begun badly. When she’d tried to leave the house, Masahiro had clung to her, crying and screaming. Reiko promised him that she would be back soon, nearly in tears herself from the pain of their first separation. She’d debated staying home and trying again tomorrow, but the interview couldn’t be postponed. Finally the maids held Masahiro while Reiko ran out the door. All during the journey through Edo, she’d worried about her son.

Ahead loomed Zōjō Temple ’s white walls. Beyond them rose peaked rooftops, multiple pagodas, and a wooded slope. The procession crossed the bridge over the Sakuragawa Canal. Sano’s detectives dismounted, then escorted the palanquin through the gate and up a steep flight of stone steps to the main temple precinct, past the sutra repository, worship halls, and the huge bronze bell in its wooden cage. Wrought-iron fences shielded Tokugawa family tombs. Crowds flowed in and out of a massive main hall with carved columns and doors and an undulating roof supported by complex bracketry. As she neared her destination, a new fear seized Reiko.

After her long hiatus from detective work, would she still be able to coax information from the orphan girl? Although she’d spent most of the night mentally rehearsing the interview, she felt unprepared, but it was too late for misgivings. The procession ascended more steps to the temple refectory, abbot’s residence, and quarters for the priests, novices, and servants. The bearers set down the palanquin outside the convent, a two-story wooden building with covered balconies, sheltered by a pine grove.

Shaky with nerves, Reiko picked up the package she’d brought, a round box wrapped in floral paper. She climbed out of the palanquin. The detectives went on to the Black Lotus Temple to continue investigating the fire. At the door of the convent, a nun greeted Reiko with a silent bow. Reiko introduced herself and explained the purpose of her visit. The nun led her inside, along corridors with bare rafters and plank floors. Open doors revealed the nuns’ quarters, which featured barred windows, simple cabinets, and wooden sleeping pallets. Reiko heard low feminine voices, but saw no one.

“How is Haru today?” Reiko asked.

The nun’s only reply was a vague half-smile. Reiko’s nervousness increased. They mounted the stairs to another corridor. The nun slid open a door, gestured for Reiko to enter, then bowed and departed.

Hesitating at the threshold, Reiko saw a cell furnished with a futon on a wooden pallet, washbasin, cupboard, and charcoal brazier. A table held bowls of dried leaves that looked to be herbal medicine. By the open window knelt a small, thin girl dressed in an indigo cotton kimono printed with white ivy vines. Her long, glossy hair was loose, her back to the door. Rocking gently back and forth, she seemed transfixed by the view of bright sky through pine boughs, or lost in thought.

“Haru-san?” Reiko said quietly.

The girl gave a violent start. She turned toward Reiko a face whose wide brow; tilted eyes, and pointed chin gave her the appearance of a pretty kitten. When her delicate lips parted, Reiko imagined hearing a tiny mew of fright.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” Reiko said, approaching with cautious steps. Sympathy for the girl eased Reiko’s apprehension. In a soothing voice she said, “Don’t be afraid. My name is Reiko, and I’ve come for a visit with you.”

She knelt near Haru. The girl didn’t speak, but her wary gaze betrayed a flicker of interest. Encouraged, Reiko said, “You met my husband yesterday. He’s the shogun’s sōsakan-sama, and he’s investigating the fire at the Black Lotus Temple -”

Haru recoiled, huddling low to the floor. She cast a terrified glance toward the door, as if simultaneously seeking escape and anticipating danger.

Reiko belatedly realized that she shouldn’t have mentioned Sano, whom she knew Haru feared, or introduced the subject of the fire so soon. In her anxiety and her eagerness for information, she’d forgotten common sense, a detective’s most important tool. Yet Haru’s reaction demonstrated that she had the wits to understand words, if not the ability to speak. Hastily Reiko said, “The sōsakan-sama isn’t here. I promise he won’t bother you again.”

Haru relaxed, but watched Reiko doubtfully.

“And we won’t talk about the fire if you don’t want to. We can just get acquainted. I’d like to be your friend.” Reiko smiled, offering the package to Haru. “Here, I’ve brought you a present.”

A shy smile curved Haru’s lips. She seemed younger than her fifteen years, and she accepted the package with the eager curiosity of a child. Carefully she removed the cord and wrapping and opened the box, revealing small round cakes dusted with pink sugar. She gave a little gasp of happy surprise.

“They’re filled with sweet chestnut paste,” Reiko said.

Haru looked up at Reiko, a question in her eyes.

“Go ahead, try one.”

Daintily picking up a cake, Haru took a bite and chewed. Delight lit up her face.

“You like it?” Reiko said.

Haru bobbed her head enthusiastically.

Knowing how girls liked sweets and guessing that orphans seldom received them, Reiko had reasoned that her own favorite treat would win Haru’s appreciation. Now she congratulated herself on the success of her gift. She waited until Haru had eaten several more cakes, licked the sugar off her fingers, bowed in thanks, and set aside the box. Then she said, “Are the nuns treating you well?”

Ducking her head, Haru nodded.

“How are you feeling today?”

The girl remained silent, eyes downcast, biting her thumbnail. Reiko suppressed her impatience. Time passed; from downstairs came the scrape of a door sliding open or closed. Then Haru whispered, “Much better, thank you, Honorable Lady.”

A thrill of glee ran through Reiko: She’d gotten Haru to talk! “I’m glad to hear that. And please call me Reiko.”

“Reiko-san.” Haru spoke louder this time, her voice clear and sweet.

Easing toward her subject of interest, Reiko said, “How long have you lived at the Black Lotus Temple?”

As though rendered mute again by the effort of producing her previous words, Haru raised two fingers instead of answering. Reiko interpreted, “Two years?” At a nod from Haru, she said, “Are you happy there?”

“Oh, yes.” Now Haru lifted her eyes, appraising Reiko. What she saw evidently reassured her, because she flashed Reiko a timid smile.

“That’s good,” Reiko said, charmed by Haru and pleased at the growing harmony between them. Not wanting to intimidate the girl or accentuate their class differences, she’d worn a modest dark green kimono printed with pine cones and dressed her hair in a simple knot. Now Reiko felt a renewed confidence in her judgment. “What do you like about the temple?”

“I like taking care of the children in the orphanage,” Haru said softly. “Children are so sweet.”

“Yes, I know,” Reiko said. “I have a little boy.”

“The nuns and priests are so kind,” Haru said, “especially High Priest Anraku. He took me in when I was lost and alone. He gave me hope for the future.” Faith shone in Haru’s eyes. “He brought joy and meaning to my miserable life.”

New sects attracted members by dispensing charity and spiritual guidance to impoverished or otherwise troubled citizens, Reiko knew. The novelty of new rituals, conducted by charismatic priests eager to gain a following, could bring these sects a wild popularity that faded when a different sect caught the public fancy. However, the minor Black Lotus sect, established nine years ago, had an unusually wide appeal. Many Edo Castle servants had joined, but the Black Lotus also boasted followers among merchants, bakufu officials, daimyo clans, and numerous samurai women of Reiko’s acquaintance. Reiko, whose family belonged to the main temple of Zōjō, shared the prevailing view of upstart sects as diversions that posed little threat to society, because even if they exploited human weakness for material gain, their subjects received benefits in return, as Haru had.

“Anraku is the Bodhisattva of Infinite Power,” Haru said reverently. A bodhisattva was a holy man who possessed the wisdom necessary to attain nirvana, but instead devoted himself to helping other people achieve spiritual enlightenment and release from suffering. Some religious leaders earned the title through doing good works or performing miracles; others merely proclaimed themselves bodhisattvas to attract followers. Reiko wondered which type the Black Lotus high priest was.

Now sadness veiled Haru’s pretty features, and she clasped her arms around herself. “Anraku and the Black Lotus are the only family I have, now that my parents are gone,” she said.

Even as Reiko experienced a pang of sympathy for the girl, her instincts quickened. “Would you like to tell me about your parents?” Reiko said gently. Perhaps one confidence would lead to others more relevant to the investigation.

Eagerness and worry mingled in Haru’s expression. She gazed out the window. Below the convent, an old nun led a group of novices along a path. The novices giggled as one by one they scampered ahead of their elder while she remained serenely oblivious. Haru said, “Oh, but I couldn’t impose on you.”

“I want to hear,” Reiko coaxed.

Haru bit her lip, then nodded and spoke in a voice soft with nostalgia: “My father owned a noodle shop in Kojimachi, near Yamasakana.” This was a popular restaurant. “I was an only child. My mother and I helped my father cook and serve the food. We lived in rooms behind the shop. We worked very hard, and we never had much money, but we were happy. My future prospects were good. Someday, after I married, my husband and I would inherit the shop. But then…” Haru’s voice broke. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“That’s all right,” Reiko soothed.

Blinking away tears, Haru continued, “My parents took ill with a fever. There was no money for a doctor, or medicine. I nursed them as best I could, but they died. The day after the funeral, a moneylender seized the shop as payment for my father’s debts. My home was gone. I was old enough to marry, but no one wants a bride without a dowry. I had no relatives to take care of me.” Sobs wracked Haru’s body. “I was so alone, so scared. I didn’t know what to do or where to turn.”

Overcome with pity, Reiko murmured, “Shh, it’s all right,” as she did when comforting Masahiro. Haru seemed a mere child, arousing Reiko’s maternal instincts and her outrage against a cruel world. The girl’s woeful story made her ashamed of her own good fortune. At the same time Reiko felt a glow of achievement because Haru trusted her enough to confide in her. “Don’t cry. You’re safe now.”

“But I’m not!” The impassioned exclamation burst from Haru as she wept. “When the Black Lotus Temple took me in, I thought my problems were solved. I was going to be a nun someday and have a home forever.” In Buddhist nunneries and monasteries, the faithful enjoyed freedom from worldly concerns and pursued spiritual enlightenment while supported by alms from the lay community. “Now I’ve been taken away from the people I love. I’m all alone again.”

“Because of what happened at the temple yesterday?” Reiko said, circumspectly referring to the fire to avoid frightening Haru back into silence.

The girl nodded. “I’m so afraid that everyone thinks I set the fire and killed those people. My friends will turn against me. I’ll be expelled from the Black Lotus. The police will arrest me. I’ll be tied to a stake and burned to death!”

This was the penalty for arson, whether or not anyone died as a result. Even a small fire could spread, destroy the entire city, and take thousands of lives, as the Great Fire of Meireki had thirty-five years ago; therefore, the bakufu harshly punished arsonists. Fear for Haru overshadowed Reiko’s triumph at getting her to talk about the fire. So far, Haru was the only suspect and thus an easy target for public outrage and official censure, whether she was guilty or innocent. Reiko experienced an increasing urgency to determine what had happened and perhaps prevent a terrible injustice. She didn’t want to break her tenuous rapport with Haru, but she needed to establish one fact before proceeding.

“Did you set the fire?” Reiko asked.

Haru stared at her, aghast. “I would never do such an awful thing.”

Tears streamed from her eyes onto her trembling mouth. “I could never hurt anybody.”

Sincerity echoed in the girl’s voice, but Reiko cautioned herself against premature belief. “I’m sorry to upset you by asking that,” she said, “but you can see why people might be suspicious, can’t you? After all, you wouldn’t talk when you were questioned about the fire yesterday. Why is that?”

“I could tell that those detectives didn’t like me, that they thought I’d done something wrong. And the nuns and priests acted as if they didn’t trust me anymore. I knew nobody would believe anything I said.” The words tumbled from Haru in an agitated rush, and she began to breathe in rapid wheezes. Rising, she backed away from Reiko, leveling upon her a wounded gaze. “You say you want to be my friend, but you don’t believe me either!”

“I didn’t say that,” Reiko protested. “I just want to understand-”

The girl fell to the floor, sobbing with hysterical abandon. “There’s no one to help me. I’m going to die!”

Watching, Reiko experienced the unease of contradictory feelings. Criminals often claimed to be innocent and put on convincing acts to gain credibility, but a person wrongly suspected would also behave as Haru did.

“If you’re innocent, then you have nothing to fear.” Reiko moved over to kneel beside Haru, patting her back until the weeping subsided, then said, “I want to tell you a story.” Although Haru lay curled on her side, her face hidden by her hair, alertness stilled her. “When I was very young, I loved legends about samurai heroes,” Reiko said. “I often imagined myself as one of them, riding into battle with my armor and swords. But my favorite daydreams were about protecting peasants from marauding bandits and defeating evil villains in duels.” Reiko smiled, recalling her childhood fantasies. “My father is Magistrate Ueda, and I used to listen to trials in his court. I convinced him that some of the people accused of crimes were really innocent. I saved them from jail, beatings, exile, or death. Since I married the sōsakan-sama, I’ve worked with him to avenge innocent victims. The great joy of my life is righting wrongs and helping people-especially women.”

She didn’t mention that she’d also helped her father extract confessions from criminals and Sano to deliver the guilty to justice. Instead Reiko said, “I’d really like to help you, Haru-san. But first you must tell me everything you know about the fire.”

For a long moment Haru lay motionless, sniffling. Then she sat up and lifted a blotchy, tearstained face to Reiko. A gleam of hope brightened her eyes; doubt furrowed her brow. Shaking her head, she whispered, “But I don’t know anything. I can’t remember.”

Reiko knew that criminals sometimes tried to hide their guilt behind pleas of ignorance and lost memory, but she concealed her instinctive skepticism. “How can that be? You were at scene while the house burned. At least you can tell me what you were doing there.”

“But I can’t.” Fresh panic infused Haru’s voice, and her face crumpled, as though she might burst into tears again. “The night before the fire, I went to bed in the orphanage dormitory, as usual. The next thing I knew, it was morning, and I was outside the burning cottage. I don’t know how I got there.”

The story sounded outlandish to Reiko, but she withheld objection for the moment. “Did you see anyone around the cottage before the fire brigade came?” she asked.

Haru frowned, pressing both palms against her temples in an apparent effort to recall. “No.”

“Concentrate on the night before. Try to remember waking up, and if you saw or heard anything unusual.”

A dazed look misted Haru’s gaze. “Sometimes I think I remember things. A light. Noises. Struggling. Being afraid… But maybe I was dreaming.” Then Haru’s eyes focused and widened. She exclaimed, “Maybe the person who set the fire brought me to the cottage so everyone would think I did it!”

Reiko’s skepticism increased: Criminals often swore they’d been framed. “Who would do that to you?”

The girl said sadly, “I don’t know. I love everyone at the temple, and I thought they loved me, too.”

That she didn’t try to divert suspicion by incriminating someone else argued in favor of Haru’s innocence, Reiko noted. “Did you know Police Commander Oyama? Or the woman and child who died in the fire?”

Lips pursed, Haru shook her head. Then she suggested, “Maybe someone from outside the temple burned down the cottage.”

Criminals often blamed mysterious strangers for their deeds, too. Reiko contemplated Haru with growing distrust. She wanted to believe the girl, but many signs pointed toward her guilt.

Haru must have perceived Reiko’s doubts, because her posture slumped and she bowed her head. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me. But I really can’t remember anything… except that someone hurt me that night.”

“Hurt you?” Startled, Reiko said, “How do you mean?”

Haru took off her socks, stood, and lifted the skirt of her kimono. She turned, anxiously watching Reiko over her shoulder as she displayed raw scrapes on her heels and calves.

Although Reiko winced inwardly, she tried to maintain her objectivity. “That could have happened when you were trying to get away from the fire brigade.”

“But there’s more. See?” Facing Reiko, the girl tugged open the neckline of her kimono. Fresh, dark bruises smudged the flesh around the base of her throat. “And look!”

Quickly Haru untied her sash, shed her garments, and stood naked. More bruises, large and small, in shades of reddish purple, discolored her thighs, upper arms, and chest. “They weren’t there when I went to bed. I don’t know how I got them.”

Reiko stared in horror. At the same time she noticed that despite her slender build and childish manner, Haru had the body of a woman. Her breasts were round and full, her armpits and pubic mound covered with coarse hair. This incongruity reminded Reiko of the danger of making assumptions based on initial appearances, but a new scenario occupied her mind.

“And my head hurts,” Haru said, kneeling and parting her hair to show Reiko a red lump on the back of her scalp.

Perhaps the arsonist had abducted Haru from the orphanage, beaten her, and dragged her across the temple grounds-which would account for the scrapes and bruises-and put her in the cottage. Then Haru had somehow managed to escape the burning building, Reiko theorized. The head wound could explain her memory loss. Reiko’s doubts began to crumble. Maybe Haru hadn’t set the fire. Her injuries were evidence that she could have been an intended victim of it.

Haru wrapped herself in her kimono. She huddled on the floor, fretting, “I’m so afraid someone will hurt me again. I’m so afraid of dying!”

Her plight moved Reiko to tears. Unless facts later proved that Haru was guilty, Reiko must give her the benefit of the doubt. Impulsively, Reiko embraced Haru.

“You’re not going to die, if I can prove that you’re innocent and find the real arsonist,” Reiko said.