The Crane Pavillion

5

The pavilion, for all its distance from the main house and its location in an untamed jungle of plants and vines, was a far more elegant abode than the professor’s room off one of the galleries. Akitada wondered what this might suggest for Lady Ogata’s importance or her closeness to the abbot. Tasuku was his own age, and the lady had been in her twenties. It was an age well past the time when women were courted, but she was younger than Tasuku. She could well have been his lover, for apparently she had been beautiful.

And what better place to stash away a lover than this hidden pavilion on his own estate? The abbot could visit any time he wished without exciting comment, yet hardly anyone would know about the woman waiting for him here.

Tora voiced the same thought. “Nice place for an occasional cuddle,” he said, grinning.

They climbed the steps to the door. Perhaps the interior would offer more clues to the lady’s character and her relationship to the saintly abbot.

When Akitada pushed open the door, he thought he heard a sound inside, but the room was empty when he stepped inside, Tora at his heels.

“She didn’t have much,” Tora commented, looking around at the bare floor and the two clothes chests pushed against one wall. There was also an empty clothes rack and a small bare writing desk.

Akitada said nothing. Tamako had owned four trunks for her clothing, one for each season of the year, and her pavilion had contained many more things for her comfort. Thick tatami mats had covered her floor, and there were cushions to sit on. For her enjoyment, she had had several finely painted screens, book cases filled with books, writing desks and utensils, scrolls of paintings and all the more useful items such as candle sticks, braziers both for heating the room and for heating water for tea, water containers, mirrors and cosmetics boxes and so forth. All of these comforts were lacking here. He wondered how Lady Ogata had eaten and where her meals had come from. Had she gone out like the professor to buy a small prepared meal from a stand or a peddler? Who had supported her? The abbot? Where were her servants? Had there been at least a maid?

Tora went to fling open the shutters and let in more light. The dark floor was badly scuffed and dusty. Both Akitada and Tora raised their eyes to the beams overhead.

“The police report said she’d climbed on one of the trunks to reach the rafter,” Tora said. “I guess someone put it back.”

The floor was scratched and showed where the trunk on the left had been dragged to the center of the room and then back again. Akitada eyed the scratches, then walked across to inspect the trunk. He started back with a cry when a tall figure suddenly rose from behind it and confronted them.

“What are you doing here?” demanded a pale-faced youth with glaring eyes. “This is private property. You have no permission to be here. Get out! Get out this instant!” His voice rose hysterically on the last words.

Akitada caught his breath. “And you? What is your business here?” he demanded. “I believe you were hiding.”

Tora moved to block the young man’s escape.

Cornered, the youngster looked from one to the other and tried to bluster. “I live here. And I don’t know you, so you’ve no right to be here.”

Akitada flung open the lid of the trunk. It was filled with clothes. He held up a red Chinese jacket embroidered with butterflies. “And on what occasion do you wear this?” he asked.

Tora guffawed and mimed fanning himself. “He must be one of those man-women,” he said in a high voice, “who dress up in girly finery in private.”

The student’s face flushed with fury, and he went for Tora, fists flying. Tora stopped him by catching one hand and twisting his arm. With a choking cry, the student fell to one knee.

“Let him go, Tora.” Akitada folded the jacket carefully and replaced it, closing the lid of the trunk. “You must be the student Takechi Akushiro. My name is Sugawara. This is Tora, my retainer. We are here to look into Lady Ogata’s sudden death. I know these are her quarters and her clothes.”

The student rose and rubbed his wrist. He was suddenly subdued and looked frightened. “I’ve heard of you,” he said. “You’re the one who investigates crimes. She … she took her own life.” His voice shook over the last words.

Akitada had taken note of the young man’s red-rimmed eyes and guessed that there had been a romantic attachment. The question was how far this had gone. Had it been merely a young man’s infatuation with an older woman or had they been lovers? He said, “I take it you live in the mansion at the invitation of Abbot Genshin, just like the others?”

The student nodded without lifting his eyes.

“How did this come about?”

Takechi Akushiro glanced at him. “How do you mean? I needed a place to stay. He offered.”

“But why? Are you paying for your room?”

“No.” A slow flush crept up the student’s neck. “It was a kindness,” he said. “My parents were too poor to send me to the university. He convinced them to let me come. He also pays my fees and for my books, and paper and ink. I work evenings and earn the money for my food.”

“Good for you,” Akitada said. “And how are your studies coming along?”

“All right.” Akushiro avoided Akitada’s eyes and fidgeted.

“I see. But none of this explains what you are doing here in the lady’s room.”

The flush returned to the youth’s slightly pimply face. “I … I come here sometimes. To remember her.” He shuddered. “It was terrible.”

“Were you lovers?”

The student jerked upright and stared at him. “No. Never. She wouldn’t have me,” He nearly sobbed. “I wouldn’t have dared. Oh, dear heaven!” And now he broke down. Turning away, he hid his face in his hands. Akitada could see his shoulders shaking as he wept. “Let me go!” he pleaded. “I can’t bear it.” He started for the door.

Tora moved to stop him, but Akitada said, “No. Let him go.”

The student having disappeared at a run, they looked at each other.

“Did you believe him?” Tora asked. “I mean that there was nothing between them?”

“I think he was in love with her. At that age, love is a very powerful emotion. Perhaps she rejected his advances, or else she was unaware of them.” He looked around the room. “Not very luxurious,” he commented. “Hardly the accommodations one provides for a mistress. I may have misjudged Tasuku.” He opened the trunk again and looked at the Chinese jacket. Tamako had one like it. Hers was a rose color and had been a fairly costly present he had given her some years ago. In time it had become worn. This looked hardly worn and had been folded most carefully on top of the other clothes. He laid it aside and unpacked the trunk. It was filled with sumptuous gowns and undergowns, with shimmering trouser skirts, and embroidered slippers, with exquisitely painted fans and embroidered sashes. All of it seemed new, or nearly so, and each piece was deeply creased in the folds as if the clothes had rested in the trunk for a long time. He replaced everything, not as neatly as he wished, then opened the second trunk. This one held very different clothes. Only two gowns were silk, and they were badly worn. The rest of the clothes were as ordinary as what a shopkeeper’s wife might wear. And there were not many of them: two gowns for summer and two quilted ones for winter, plus some ordinary ramie undergowns and a few much mended white socks. The final garment was a white nun’s robe and shawl, the kind worn by women on pilgrimages. On top of these clothes, lay a small silk bag containing a few coins, hardly enough to buy food for a month.

The very bottom of the trunk was taken up by two books of scrolls and some writing paper. Akitada unrolled the books and found they were tales from Genji, the famous novel about the imperial prince with the many love affairs and his one true love for his Lady Murasaki. Lady Ogata, or someone else, had annotated the novel here and there. The handwriting was elegant. Replacing the contents of the second trunk, Akitada sighed.

She had once led an elegant life, perhaps at court or else as wife or daughter of a powerful nobleman. The expensive clothing proved this much. Her education had made her a woman with refined tastes in reading. But something had happened, and she had found refuge here, no longer protected by wealth, but so poor that she wore ordinary clothes and mended her socks. What had brought her to this?

Tora called from a dark corner under the far eaves. “Come look at this.”

Akitada joined him and saw a rough wooden board that held a plain brazier with some remnants of ashes, an iron pot, two bowls, a basket with half a turnip and a bundle of wilted greens, a small sack of rice, and another of beans. On a shriveled leaf rested two dried-out slices of yokan, a sweet made from bean paste, honey, and chestnuts. “Surely she didn’t cook her own meals,” he said, shocked by the poor fare and equipment.

Tora was unmoved. “Oh, it’s easy enough to boil a bit of rice gruel and add some radish and greens. Quite tasty, I’d say.”

“Hmm. Perhaps. But for a wellborn lady this spells abject poverty. If the good abbot was a truly charitable man, he would not have let her live like this. Let’s go find this caretaker. He should know more about the owner, the people he has taken in, and their stories.