The Old Men of Omi

Chapter Twenty

As they were dressing in their hunting clothes the following morning, Kosehira observed, “You know, this business about favors owed and commitments bringing about mutual advantages, reminds me that there are better bonds, such as friendship and ties by marriage. You and I, we shall always rely on each other, I hope.”

Akitada looked up from tying his trousers. “Well said. I’m very fond of you, Kosehira. That will never change. You have always supported me, even when doing so was very unpopular. But more than that, your cheerfulness lifts my dark spirits amazingly. Thank you, brother.”

Kosehira looked embarrassed. “Not at all, brother. And didn’t you come to my aid when I was accused of high treason?”

Akitada laughed. “Let’s just say we try to look out for each other, which is as it should be.”

“Yes,” said Kosehira and reached for his boots. “And that will always be true even without family ties.”

Akitada pondered this exchange all day, returning to it again and again. There had been something about Kosehira’s remarks that had not been entirely casual. Why had Kosehira raised the subject of their friendship? They had never needed to mention it before.

The hunt was a much smaller version of the elaborate imperial celebrations memorable in the past. The current emperor was not interested in falconry, but his predecessors had enjoyed it and often participated themselves.

It was before dawn when the light was pale silver and wisps of fog lay over the dew-heavy fields of new grass. Sukemichi and his guests rode, Sukemichi with a bow slung over his shoulder. The falconers and dog handlers walked, carrying or leading their animals.

The air was particularly fresh and fragrant with green, growing things at this time of day. The hazy mountains, themselves draped in layers of white mists, rose against a faintly pearlescent morning sky, their crests already ringed with the gold of the rising sun. The sun would clear away the mists, and they would have another fine spring day.

Neither Akitada nor Kosehira had accepted the offer of a falcon. They said they preferred to watch. Sukemichi planned to use his favorite, a white hawk called “Snow Dragon,” while Nakahara had chosen a gray that was known for his aerial acrobatics and had the name “Storm Wing.” The takajo carried a third hawk that was a little smaller than the other two.

“Ah,” said Sukemichi, “the beaters are in place.” He pointed across the plain of young grasses toward a belt of shrubs and small trees. Akitada saw nothing. They dismounted and Sukemichi and Nakahara each took one of the falcons.

“Let’s start,” Nakahara said. A shrill whistle sounded. Akitada saw some movement among the distant trees. A moment later, a pheasant flew up and Nakahara cried, “Get him!” tossing his falcon into the air. The bird caught itself and darted away, rising on powerful wings to intercept the pheasant which had stayed close to the ground. In a moment it was over. The hawk went in for the kill and both birds disappeared in the grasses. The whistle sounded again, and the hawk reappeared, without its prey, to return obediently to Nakahara’s gloved hand, where he was fed a reward from a pouch Nakahara wore attached to his belt. One of the dogs, released, dashed off and returned a moment later with the dead pheasant

Before anyone could comment, more pheasants flew up, and both Sukemichi and the takajo released their birds. The white falcon was a beautiful sight as it rose into a blue sky and the rising sun caught it in flight, turning its wings to gold.

The hunt was a great success. They bagged sixteen pheasants and returned, accompanied by their attendants carrying the pheasants tied to poles. The beaters and falcon handlers sang, the dogs pranced, and their masters smiled contentedly.

A formal ceremony followed. Ten of the pheasants, suitably decorated with crimson ribbons and green branches, were dispatched to the retired emperor. A handsome Taira retainer carried them, dangling from his shoulder as he sat astride his horse.

Later a celebratory meal and plenty of sake awaited the hunters.

It was during this meal, served on the wide rear veranda of Sukemichi’s house, that Nakahara turned to Kosehira and said, “Is it true what I hear, Governor? You are about to give your daughter in marriage to the eldest son of the chancellor?”

Akitada’s eyes flew to Kosehira’s face. Kosehira caught his glance, flushed, and looked away. “You’re premature, Nakahara,” he said. “The possibility has been mentioned, but you know how those things go. The chancellor and I are both considering our options. It’s true that the young people know and like each other, being second cousins and spending time together as children, but no decision has been made. As for me, I confess I’m fond of Yukiko and shall not force her into a marriage she dislikes.”

“Very wise,” said Sukemichi, “though young people rarely know what’s best for them. I recall being madly in love with our betto’s daughter when I was eighteen. My father wouldn’t have it, of course. Later, she came to serve in our house and I enjoyed her without the obligations of marriage. My father was a wise man.” He chuckled and raised his cup! “To our children’s happiness!”

They drank.

The wine, very fine sake, tasted like bitter medicine on Akitada’s tongue. The news was a painful cure for his foolish love. Yukiko, favorite daughter of Fujiwara Kosehira, was meant to be the wife of a future chancellor.

He hardly knew how he got though the rest of the meal. He drank too much and, when called upon, recited some very bad poetry on hunting. It did not matter. Everyone else was also drunk.

Somehow he and Kosehira got back to their room and fell asleep.

Akitada awoke at sunrise to Kosehira’s snoring. His head felt like a hive full of angry bees. He staggered up and went outside, suppressing the urge to vomit and instead drank a lot of cold water from the well. A servant came to ask if he needed anything, but Akitada waved him off.

When the memory of Yukiko’s marriage to the chancellor’s son surfaced from the muddle of his brain, he felt like getting drunk all over again. Instead he took a walk in Sukemichi’s garden, which was not nearly as beautiful as Kosehira’s and did not have a koi pond. It served to sober him, however, and in the end he went inside again to get dressed.

?

The headman in Okuni village was called Masaie. He turned out to be quite young for this position of trust. As is customary in small villages, he was also a tax collector and farmer, working his father’s land.

He knelt and bowed deeply to Akitada.

“Please get up, Masaie,” Akitada said. “My name is Sugawara Akitada. I’m a guest of Lord Taira and came to ask you a few questions.” He looked around the small room which held little beyond a stand for paperwork. “Where do you put the people you arrest?” he asked curiously.

“There aren’t many arrests,” the headman said getting to his feet. “It’s drinking and fighting mostly, and we just take them home to their family. They pay a fine the next day.”

“Well, I heard a strange story in Otsu recently. You’ve had two murders here.”

The headman scratched his head. “One murder, your Honor. An old man. Wakiya. The other fell to his death. I really didn’t have anything to do with it. The prefect sent his own men down to investigate.”

“Are you certain the second man fell?”

“Certain? No, but he was at the bottom of the gorge. I suppose he could’ve been pushed. But who would push an old man down the mountain? He was drunk. It’s more likely he fell. May I ask why your Honor is asking these questions?”

“In Otsu two other old men died. These two were knocked down and then suffocated.”

Masaie frowned. “Old men die. Some are even killed. Otsu is nothing to do with us.”

“That remains to be seen. I understand you found a small carving near the first victim?”

“Yes, a small figure of Jizo. They’re selling them at all the fairs. Wakiya didn’t buy it, but the road is well traveled, and anybody coming back from the fair could’ve dropped it. The prefect’s office didn’t think it had anything to do with the murder, but we reported it when someone from the governor’s office asked.”

“I see. Hmm. The same little figurines were also found with the Otsu victims.”

The headman’s eyes widened. “The same? Are you sure, your Honor?” He flushed. “ Begging your pardon.”

Akitada smiled. “I know. It seems strange. And I’m not sure, no. As you say, they are common, and Otsu also had its share of fairs. It’s spring after all. But it did seem puzzling.”

“There’s a lot of drinking going on during those spring fairs. The dead men in Otsu, had they also been celebrating?”

“No. One was a judge. He died in his home. The other was a street sweeper. He also died at home. Both were knocked out and suffocated. The judge’s death looked natural at first, but Otsu has a good coroner. He found sign of suffocation.”

“Even so, begging your pardon, your Honor, I don’t see the connection between old Wakiya and your two victims.”

“Only that there was a Jizo with each body. It seems likely the murderer left them. And that murderer may be going about killing old people.”

A silence fell, then the headman said, “If it’s true, it’s terrible. What can I do?”

“Anything you can tell me about Wakiya and Juro may help.”

Masaie scratched his head. “Well, Wakiya was almost eighty and Juro seventy-five. Both were born and raised here. They were farmers, though they used to work for the Taira family until they got too old for it. Both liked to drink, though Wakiya was worse. Or at least his daughter-in-law claimed he was. She didn’t get along with the old man. I thought maybe she did it when we found him with his head bashed in. He was close to the house, and she has a bad temper. In the end it came to nothing, but some people still think she did it.”

Akitada, recalling the two in Otsu had been a brutal jailer and a corrupt judge, asked, “Were Wakiya and Juro well liked in the village?”

“Not really, but we honor the old.” He paused and chuckled. “Well, we tolerate them because they’re old, if you know what I mean.”

Akitada nodded. “What did they do that irritated people?”

“Wakiya quarreled with his neighbors, and Juro tried to cheat at dice. He was always caught. It wasn’t bad enough to make people want to kill them.”

“No. What about when they were younger?”

“That was before my time. Hiromasa may know. He was headman before my father.”

Akitada had hoped for a connection between the four old men. “Did they ever visit Otsu?”

Masaie looked surprised. “Probably. Everybody does. People visit the great temples and have a good time.”

“Yes, of course. Would either or both have been involved in a crime?”

“Lord Taira wouldn’t have employed them if they had broken the law. He gave them both a small piece of land for a farm when they left his service.”

“It’s not unusual to settle some land on aging servants,” Akitada commented.

“Well, it was for Lord Taira. He wasn’t known for his kindness around here.”

“I see. Well, I suppose I’ll have to settle for what you told me. Thank you, Masaie. Now I’d better have a talk with Hiromasa before I go back to Otsu.”

The headman took him to Hiromasa’s house. They found a whitebeard feeding his chickens. He turned out to be hard of hearing and spoke the local dialect so strongly that Masaie had to translate.

“This is Lord Sugawara,” Masaie shouted in the old man’s ear. Hiromasa turned his head and nodded to Akitada. Masaie shouted, “He’s come about Wakiya and Juro. Wants to know all about them.”

The old man grinned toothlessly, and said quite clearly, “They’re dead.”

Akitada nodded. “Do you know who would kill them?”

Masaie had to repeat this, and the old man started to speak at length and unintelligibly. Masaie kept nodding, interjecting questions from time to time: “What happened then?” “Why?” “Are you sure?”

Akitada waited impatiently.

In the end, Masaie nodded and turned to Akitada. “Interesting story, sir. He says they were lazy good-for-nothings but their karma was good. One day old Lord Sukenori gave them both some land and dismissed them from his service. It was a great good fortune for them. Wakiya was from a poor family and Juro had no home at all. Both started farming but, being lazy, they were always in trouble at tax time. Lord Sukenori forgave them their debts, but people disliked them for it.” Masaie paused. “But I don’t see anybody killing them now after twenty years.”

“No, that’s true enough. Ask him if he suspects anyone.”

Masaie shouted “Who would kill them?”

The old man made a face and spread his hands in the universal gesture of not knowing the answer. Then he said something and cackled.

Masaie translated. “He says the Taira will be glad to get their land back.”

Akitada sighed inwardly. Sukemichi might have got two parcels of rice land back, but he owned so much that this would hardly constitute a motive for killing two old peasants.