The Emperor's woman

An Answer of Sorts

Saburo returned to the beggars the following night. He found the priest Kenko in a corner of the temple ruins that served as the beggars’ place of worship. The reason he found it was that Kenko had lit a number of candles and was dusting the altar. He had evidently salvaged odd pieces of statuary and religious objects from the rubble and set them up on a broken table covered with pieces of silk and brocade. The effect was at once flamboyant and sad, but the flickering lights lent the arrangement a certain eerie sparkle.

Saburo bowed deeply several times, first to the chipped Buddha presiding in the center of the arrangement, and then to the priest.

“Forgive me, Reverence,” he murmured.

“Ah, Saburo,” said the old man, turning. He wore a multi-colored surplice over the red silk gown and a green trouser skirt. Like his altar, he was a colorful sight, though all the garments were sadly wrinkled, stained, and even torn in places. “You’ve come back to us. Will you stay?”

“Sorry, no, Reverence. I have found work and a place to live. But I need some help.”

“All of us need help,” said Kenko, frowning. “It sounds as though you manage better than most of us. How then can I help you?”

“The man who attacked me committed a murder. My friend and his wife are now in jail because the police think they did it. I must find the real killer. Jinsai saw him, but he won’t tell me about it.”

Kenko said nothing. He stood quite still and looked away into the night, cocking his head as if he were listening. Saburo heard nothing and thought the old man might be hard of hearing or had somehow drifted off into some meditation. He said a little louder, “Reverence? Did you hear me?”

“Buddha hears all, but not all requests are answered.”

Saburo was getting angry. “That isn’t just. You must tell Jinsai to help me. Buddha cannot let the innocent suffer for the guilty. What sort of faith is that?”

Kenko looked at him. “You were a monk once; you tell me.”

Saburo hissed in frustration and flung out of the makeshift Buddha hall.

As he headed toward the street, he almost collided with Bashan. The blind masseur was entering the ruined temple compound with his medicine case strapped across his broad chest. His shaved head gleaming faintly in the light of the distant fires.

They stopped simultaneously. Then both bowed, smiled, and passed each other, Bashan tapping his way with his staff.

As Saburo headed for his lodging, he wondered if he should have thanked the man. But Bashan had seemed in a great deal of hurry. Perhaps he had been called to someone who was sick.

Back at Mrs. Komiya’s, he lay down on his bedding and fell deeply asleep.

The next morning, he woke to a realization. His failure to elicit information from the beggars and their priest could only mean one thing: they were protecting one of their own. He felt angry about this. The assassin had taken advantage of him, left him with a sore head, and was responsible for the trouble his friend Genba was in.

But he could not think of any way to get the beggars to talk.

He got up and did Mrs. Komiya’s chores. He carried in wood, fetched more water, swept outside her front door. Then he peeled some vegetables. As a reward, she gave him a bowl of gruel.

He put his good clothes back on and set out across the city to the Sugawara residence. The gate was closed, and all was quiet within. They must be strapped for servants by now. He prepared to wait for Tora. Someone-and he hoped very much it would be Tora-must soon appear to do the day’s shopping.

He was proved right. After a short time, the small gate set into the large one did indeed open, and Tora stepped out. He did not have the cook’s basket, however, and set off at a determined pace. Saburo hurried after him.

When Tora heard running steps, he swung about, an arm half raised against an attack. But seeing Saburo, he dropped it and instead flung both arms about him for a powerful hug. “Where have you been, you slippery bastard?” he scolded, grinning widely. “You’ve given me no end of trouble, brother.”

Saburo gasped for breath but smiled. Being called “brother” warmed his heart, but he asked coolly, “Oh? What did you want?”

“Don’t be so cursed proud. I wanted to make sure you were all right. The master’s already sorry he sent you away.” Tora stepped back and eyed Saburo through narrowed eyes. “You look very fine for being out-of-work and homeless. I looked for you among the beggars.”

“I heard.” Saburo sniffed. “So that’s what you think of me? No good for anything but begging in the streets? I’ll have you know I already have another job and a place to live. No, it’s not among the beggars.” In truth, Mrs., Komiya’s backroom was not a great deal better, and his job paid barely enough to keep himself alive.

Tora’s face fell. “You’ve found another place already? You don’t want to come home?” he asked.

Home?

Saburo relented. “We-ell,” he admitted, “I might be open to other offers.”

In the silence that followed, Tora eyed him suspiciously. “You’re putting me on,” he accused. “I would’ve thought you’d want to help us get Genba out.”

“I do. How is he? I’ve been trying to find the man he ran into outside the brothel. I think he’s the one who killed Tokuzo and knocked me out. The beggars told me you were asking about me.”

“They told me nothing. What did you find out?”

Saburo shook his head. “Same here. And that means they know who he is. He’s one of them, and they’re protecting him.”

Tora whistled. “So that’s it. We’ll make them talk.”

“I don’t think we can. I wish we could talk to Genba again. I don’t remember anything about my own run-in with the fellow.”

Tora brightened. “I want to see Genba, too. Come on, let’s see if we can get in. I know a guard who might swing it for us. This sort of thing used to be easier when the master and Kobe were still friends.”

Saburo muttered, “That’s my fault.”

“No, nobody’s fault. It’s just the way things are sometimes. It’s happened before. The master and Kobe, they’re both as stiff-necked as they come.” He chuckled. “If it wasn’t for low-lives like us, nothing would ever get done. In this world, you’ve got to bend with the storm, or you break.”

“That’s true enough, but you can’t build houses from bamboo. I deserved what I got.”

“Never mind arguing about it now. Let’s see what we can do at the jail.”

At the jail’s main gate, Tora asked for Gonjuro and was pointed in the direction of the jail’s kitchen. Gonjuro, a short man with a round belly, was slurping down a bowl of soup. When he saw Tora, he held up the bowl. “Hey, Tora. Get you fellows some soup? It’s had a bream dipped into it and is pretty tasty.”

Tora laughed. “No, thanks, Gonjuro. Too early for the midday meal, and you look like you should skip a few.”

Gonjuro finished his soup and patted his belly. Then he caught a better look at Saburo, and his jaw dropped. “Great heaven,” he gasped. “What did you do to your brother?”

Both Tora and Gonjuro thought this hilarious and bent over in paroxysms of laughter. Saburo glowered.

“He’s my friend Saburo,” Tora managed after a moment. “As smart a fellow as you’d want to meet even if he isn’t pretty. We both work for the Sugawara family. We came to see Genba. How’s he doing?”

“Fine. I guess it’s all right for you to see him. Lord Kobe won’t let your master in any longer.”

Saburo looked stricken and muttered again, “It’s all my fault.”

The guard looked interested but Tora said quickly, “We’re just buddies. You know how it is. I’d be much obliged.” He passed the guard a coin and added, “Drink to our health tonight and that things will turn out well for us.”

The guard grinned, tucked the money away, dropped his empty bowl in a basket of other dirty utensils, and led the way. Inside the jail building, he took a key from a hook, told the guard, “Visitors,” and proceeded down a long row of cell doors. He stopped halfway to a chorus of shouts from other cells and let them in. “I’ll be just outside,” he assured them and locked them in.

Genba staggered to his feet, his face breaking into a slow smile. “Tora, Saburo! How good to see you. I thought the whole world had forgotten me. How’s everything? How’s the master? And the little ones?”

“All well,” said Tora. “And you and your lady love?”

Genba’s face fell. “I haven’t heard about Ohiro. It worries me. What if they’re beating her? Can you find out something, Tora? Can you help her? She’s such a little thing. She can’t take it.” Tears began to roll down his face. He sniffed, wiped at them, and turned away, ashamed.

Tora muttered a curse under his breath. “They won’t let the master in. He tried. I’ll have a talk with one of the guards. Don’t worry. Ohiro’s stronger than you think.” They all knew the beatings well enough. Tora had tasted the bamboo himself.

Saburo shrank into himself. “It’s all my fault,” he said again. “Forgive me, Genba.”

Genba turned and embraced him. The chain rattled softly as he moved; they had allowed him enough length to take the few steps. “No, no,” he said patting Saburo’s back. You tried to help and lost your place. And that’s my fault, not yours. You have to forgive me.”

Tora snapped, “Stop it. It’s nobody’s fault, but maybe Kobe’s for not trusting any of us after all those years. What good is a man who has no faith in his friends?”

They all stood silent for a few moments, pondering events and shaking their heads.

“Let’s sit,” said Tora.

They sat on the dirt floor, Saburo carefully lifting his robe first.

“We’ve been looking for the killer,” Tora informed Genba. “Separately. Saburo thinks he belongs to the beggars’ guild. Trouble is, the bastard knocked Saburo out before he could see him. We think the man you ran into in the alley across from the brothel was the same man. What did he look like?”

Genba looked from one to the other. “You’re very kind,” he said, “but what will the master say if you waste time on me?”

Tora cut him off. “The master told me to find the killer. He wants you and your girl released. And Kobe won’t listen unless we give him another suspect.”

“And you, too,” Genba said to Saburo. “When you should hate me. I lost you your place.”

“Don’t start that again.” Tora was getting impatient. “Genba, what do you remember?”

“Oh. I’m sorry. It was night and very dark in that alley. I couldn’t see his face. I think he’d tucked his chin into his collar. I saw his eyes once or twice, just sort of gleaming. He had a cloth tied around his head, like a laborer. But then he attacked me and I wrapped my arms around him and squeezed.” He paused to explain, “It’s a wrestling move. Takes the opponent’s breath away, and without breath he loses his strength. Anyway, at that point I didn’t look at him. He was shorter than me. And skinny, though he put up a good fight. Not an old man. Young and strong, but not very tall or big. No idea what his clothes looked like, except they must’ve been dark. Sorry. It isn’t much use.”

It was not much use. Saburo and Tora looked at each other and sighed.

Genba said anxiously, “The only other thing… he had a smell.”

“A smell? What sort of smell,” Tora asked quickly.

“I don’t know. I’ve been trying to think. It reminded me of something.”

“A bad smell?” asked Saburo? “Or a food smell?”

“No. Not bad at all, and not like food.”

“How about sake?” asked Tora hopefully. He had once found a killer because he worked with an ingredient used in brewing rice wine.

“No, but I’d recognize it again.”

Tora and Saburo did not find this helpful and sighed again.

Silence fell.

Well,” said Tora getting to his feet. “We’d better be on our way. I’m supposed to go Yasaka village. That’s where the girl Ozuru that died is from.”

Genba frowned. “Yes, terrible story, but what has she got to do with anything?”

“Maybe revenge. Maybe nothing. The master and I thought if we could find someone who really hated Tokuzo, we could tell Kobe about it.”

“The master is very kind, seeing he has his own troubles.”

“You’re family, Genba.”

Genba hung his head and muttered something.

“What? You did what?”

Genba sighed.

“You told the master you’re leaving him? You can’t be serious. You can never leave him. You’ve sworn to protect him and his family.”

“I’m no good anymore,” said Genba, his voice breaking.

Tora shook his head. He looked from Saburo to Genba. “So. Both of you have turned your backs on him. For shame!” He strode to the cell door and pounded on it. “We’re going,” he shouted.

Saburo got up. “He told me to leave.”

Tora just gave him a look.

The door creaked open. Behind them, Genba had gotten to his feet. “I think, “ he said, “he smelled like he’d just come from the bath house.”