The Pillow Book of Lady Wisteria

3

News of the murder had reached the Large Interior-the women’s quarters of Edo Castle -and interrupted an afternoon party hosted by Lady Keisho-in, mother of the shogun.

Moments ago, Keisho-in, her ladies-in-waiting, friends, some of the shogun’s concubines, and their attendants had been talking, eating, and drinking while musicians played a flute and samisen. The news had sent Keisho-in rushing from her chamber to comfort the shogun; the musicians’ instruments lay abandoned amid forgotten plates of food. Women now huddled in nervous clusters around the bright, overheated room. Servants rushed in and out, bringing rumors that incited much whispered chatter:

“The shogun is so furious about his cousin’s murder that he won’t stop ranting and cursing.”

“He’s sworn to execute the murderer with his own hands!”

Sano’s wife, Lady Reiko, listened to the talk while holding her son, Masahiro. Not quite two years old, Masahiro didn’t understand why the women had suddenly lost interest in him. He squirmed in Reiko’s arms and whimpered, “Me want to go home!”

“Shh,” Reiko said, wanting to hear more news about the murder.

Her friend Midori, a lady-in-waiting to the shogun’s mother, hurried over to kneel beside Reiko. “Everyone says that the sōsakan-sama must find the killer fast,” Midori said, breathless with excitement. At age eighteen, she was girlishly pretty, dressed in a red kimono. “If he doesn’t-” Her dramatic pause and look of distress alluded to the persistent threat of death that shadowed Sano. “Oh, Reiko-san, how frightening! Can you help him?”

“Perhaps,” said Reiko.

Around her, the buzz continued: “The enemies of Lord Mitsuyoshi had better beware.” “Everyone in the bakufu is afraid they’ll be blamed for the murder and executed.”

Cuddling her son, Reiko listened to the rumors of intrigue, thinking how much she longed to be a part of it.

When she had married Sano, she’d persuaded him to let her help on his investigations instead of staying home as most wives of her class did. Sano had at first been reluctant to defy social convention, but he’d grown to appreciate Reiko’s unusual nature. She was the only child of Magistrate Ueda-one of two officials responsible for maintaining law and order in Edo -and her father had given her the education normally accorded a son. Reiko had spent her girlhood listening to trials in the Court of Justice, learning about crime, and although her sex restricted her freedom, it conferred advantages. Reiko could move easily through the insular world of women, where clues and witnesses often abounded, but male detectives couldn’t go. Her network of women associated with powerful samurai clans had provided crucial facts to Sano, and their unique partnership had nurtured a passionate love between them for three years of marriage.

Then had come the arson and triple murder at the Black Lotus Temple. Reiko had found herself and Sano on opposite sides of the case. The investigation had turned into a battle that had almost destroyed their marriage, and the repercussions still haunted Sano and Reiko.

Although they’d vowed to do better in the future, this was easier said than accomplished. They’d not worked together in three months because Reiko had avoided taking part in any new investigations. She had always valued her instincts, but the Black Lotus case had proved they could be wrong. She’d made up for her mistakes in the end, but she couldn’t forgive them or trust herself again; and she was afraid Sano no longer trusted her, although he’d never said so.

Now Reiko and Sano lived suspended in a state of mutual caution. Their marriage reminded Reiko of a bubble, enclosing them in a surface that was shiny and perfect, yet so fragile that the slightest touch could rupture it. She longed to work with Sano again, and sensed that Sano was no happier than she, but feared upsetting their tenuous equilibrium for the worse.

“I hope the investigation won’t take long,” Midori said, her expression worried. “Hirata-san and I won’t be able to marry until it’s over.”

Midori had been in love with Sano’s chief retainer for years, but Hirata hadn’t realized that she loved him and he loved her until recently. Having since declared their feelings for each other, they’d begun the process required to arrange their wedding.

“Just be patient,” Reiko soothed her friend. Masahiro keened, and she bounced him on her lap. “There’s no need to rush. You and Hirata-san have your whole lives to be together.”

Inconsolable, Midori chewed her thumbnail; her other fingers were already bitten raw. “I can’t wait,” she fretted. “We must marry soon. But Hirata-san’s parents weren’t very pleased when he told them he wished to marry me.” Midori’s round face was thinner, its usual rosy color turned pallid; her blissful glow had faded soon after she and Hirata had pledged their love. Her eyes were bright with anxiety instead of joy. “And my father wasn’t pleased when I asked him for a miai.”

A miai was the formal first meeting between a prospective bride and groom and their families. A ritual of exchanging gifts, negotiating a dowry, and eventually a wedding, would follow-if both families consented to the marriage.

“You know my husband has already arranged the miai,” Reiko said. Sano, acting as Hirata’s go-between, had convinced both families to attend.

“But it’s scheduled for tomorrow. What if Hirata-san is so busy with the murder investigation that he can’t go?” Midori wailed. “What if his family doesn’t want me, and mine doesn’t want him?”

These were distinct possibilities, given the circumstances, but Reiko said, “Just hope for the best. Don’t worry so much.” Though preoccupied with her own troubles, she tried to comfort Midori, and wondered why her friend was so upset.

The exterior door slid open, letting in a rush of cold air. A somber, elderly maid entered. She announced, “I present the Honorable Lady Yanagisawa and her daughter, Kikuko.”

Conversations died as everyone turned toward the newcomers who stepped hesitantly into their midst: a woman in her mid-thirties, and a little girl of perhaps eight years.

“The chamberlain’s wife and child?” Midori whispered.

“Yes.” Curiosity leavened Reiko’s spirits. “But why are they here? They’ve never attended these parties.”

Lady Yanagisawa was utterly plain, with legs so bowed that they curved the skirt of her black brocade kimono, and a dour face so flat that all her features seemed to lie on the same plane. Her eyes were horizontal slits, her nostrils wide, her lips broad. In striking contrast, her daughter was a beauty, resplendent in a lavish pink kimono embroidered with silver birds. Kikuko had inherited her father’s tall, slender body., luminous black eyes, and sculpted features. She gazed at the assembly, her face oddly vacant.

Womien hurried forward to welcome the pair. They seated Lady Yanagisawa and Kikuko in front of the alcove, where maids served them tea and snacks. As the women went up one by one to meet the exalted guests, Reiko eyed Lady Yanagisawa with covert fascination, because she’d always wondered about the wife of the man who had often schemed against Sano. When her turn came, Reiko took Masahiro by the handl and led him to the alcove. They knelt and bowed; an attendant introduced them.

Lady Yanagisawa barely looked in their general direction. “It is an honor to meet you, Lady Reiko.” Her soft voice was rusty as if from disuse, her expression downcast.

“The honor is mine,” Reiko said, noticing that Lady Yanagisawa wore no makeup, except for the brows drawn upon her shaven forehead, perhaps to show off her one good trait-smooth, flawless, moon-white skin.

Masahiro gazed at Lady Yanagisawa with solemn childish scrutiny, and a fleeting smile rippled her somber aspect. He then thrust his chubby little hands toward Kikuko. “Hello,” he said.

She giggled. Turning to her mother, she said in a high, sweet voice, “Mama, see boy. Nice boy. Funny boy.” Saliva welled in the corners of her lovely smile. Kikuko acted and sounded much younger than her years, and Reiko realized with a shock that Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s child was feebleminded. There was an uncomfortable silence until Reiko lit upon a topic for conversation.

“Your daughter is very beautiful,” she said.

“A thousand thanks for your kind compliment.” Lady Yanagisawa sighed as she watched Kikuko and Masahiro begin happily chasing each other around the room. “But alas, I fear Kikuko will never grow up.”

Reiko felt a stab of pity for the woman, and ashamed of her own good fortune to have a normal child. “Masahiro is so glad to have Kikuko for a playmate,” she said.

“… Yes.” Lady Yanagisawa’s gaze followed Kikuko. “I am glad to have her, too.” A fierce maternal love intensified her quiet voice. “Kikuko is a good, affectionate, obedient girl… in spite of everything.”

Could she mean, in spite of having Chamberlain Yanagisawa for a father? The chamberlain usurped the shogun’s authority; he’d slandered, persecuted, and assassinated his rivals. Did Lady Yanagisawa know? Did she wonder, as Reiko did, if his evils had damaged his child?

Courtesy forbade Reiko to ask these personal questions. “Kikuko-chan is the image of her father,” she said, hoping that mentioning him would prompt revelations.

“… Her father. Yes.”

Lady Yanagisawa’s expression was ambiguous, her tone neutral. Reiko supposed that the marriage between Chamberlain and Lady Yanagisawa had been arranged for the same social, political, and economic reasons as most marriages, yet she wondered whether the woman loved her husband. Despite the chamberlain’s bad character, many women found him attractive, though it was no secret that he preferred men, and his status as the shogun’s longtime lover had elevated him to power. Certainly Lady Yanagisawa must know about his affair with Police Commissioner Hoshina, who lived with him. Yet she must share some intimacy with him, for the marriage had produced a child. The couple’s private life did indeed interest Reiko.

Masahiro had picked up a chopstick, and he wielded it like a sword, darting about on his short legs while Kikuko giggled and applauded.

Lady Yanagisawa said, “Your son is the image of his father.” An inflection in her voice suggested to Reiko that Lady Yanagisawa was interested in her life, too. “I hope the sōsakan-sama is well?”

“He is, thank you,” Reiko said. How much did Lady Yanagisawa know about her husband’s relationship with Sano? This was another subject not easily broached. Kikuko and Masahiro began wrestling together, rolling on the floor and laughing. To fill the awkward silence, Reiko said, “Look at them-they’re friends.”

“As I hope we can be,” Lady Yanagisawa murmured, and gave Reiko a look of cautious appeal. “In spite of everything.”

Reiko realized that the woman did know about Sano and her husband, and had a sudden flash of insight. Lady Yanagisawa obviously had no charm to attract friends, and she must be quite lonely if she welcomed an association with the wife of a man who had a history of conflict with the chamberlain. Reiko’s heart wait out to her, and to Kikuko.

“I hope so, too,” Reiko said.

A timid smile and a flush of pleasure illuminated Lady Yanagisawa’ s plain face. “May I call upon you someday?”

“I would be honored. And Masahiro would love to see Kikuko again,” Reiko said. But although she welcomed a chance to satisfy her curiosity about the woman, misgivings tempered her enthusiasm.

Lady Yanagisawa inclined her head, signaling her dismissal of Reiko, who politely withdrew. After the introductions concluded, the musicians began playing again, and the party resumed; but Lady Yanagisawa’s presence inhibited festivity. The women made stilted small talk instead of discussing the murder, because everyone feared the powerful chamberlain and didn’t want to say anything about a controversial subject that might get them in trouble if his wife reported it to him. Lady Yanagisawa maintained her dour countenance, only spoke when directly addressed, and showed no interest in anyone. She sat isolated in the crowd.

“Why did she come, if she thinks she’s so superior to us?” Midori whispered to Reiko.

“I think she wants company, but is too shy to join in the party,” Reiko said.

Presently, Lady Yanagisawa rose to leave and called to her daughter. As soon as they’d gone, the women burst into eager conversation about them. Masahiro, bereft of his playmate, hurled himself into Reiko’s lap and pouted.

“Lady Yanagisawa is rather dull,” Midori said. “Do you really want to see her again?”

“It might be better not to,” Reiko said.

“Why?” Midori asked.

Reiko hesitated to speak of delicate matters in public, but the other women were talking loudly and paying no attention to her and Midori. “Even though my husband and hers are at peace for the moment, I don’t trust anyone associated with the chamberlain,” Reiko said. “And my husband might not approve of my befriending Lady Yanagisawa.”

The Black Lotus case had taught her that an unwise attachment could wreak havoc upon a marriage.

“I hope Hirata-san’s family approves of me, and mine approve of him,” Midori said, her attention focused on her own problems. “But what harm could the friendship do to you?”

“Maybe the war between my husband and Chamberlain Yanagisawa is about to begin again. Lady Yanagisawa could be a spy for her husband, and trying to get close to me, as part of a new plot against my husband.”

“Maybe my family and Hirata-san’s will become friends at the miai tomorrow.” While pursuing her own train of thought, Midori said, “But I didn’t notice any sign that Lady Yanagisawa is mean enough to hurt you.”

Nor had Reiko. But the Black Lotus had conditioned her to disbelieve what her own eyes, ears, and intuition told her. She’d begun to perceive threats everywhere, and hidden malice in everyone. Now Reiko experienced a stab of fear. How could she ever be a detective again, if she couldn’t distinguish between imagination and reality?

The room around her suddenly seemed too small and full of noisy women. Was this trivial, petty, feminine world to be her whole life from now on? Fear turned to panic in Reiko; she involuntarily clutched Masahiro, until he yelped in protest. The craving for adventure remained in her blood, even after she’d faced her death at the Black Lotus Temple. She almost thought she would rather face death anew, in a thousand different ways, than resign herself to her present uneventful, suffocating existence.

“I must ask my husband if I can work with him again,” she decided.

“I’ll be happy for you if he says yes, because I know how badly you want that.” Sighing, Midori contemplated the blood that welled from her bitten cuticles. “And you can be happy for me if my miai goes well.”

Yet even as Reiko had spoken, opposing concerns agitated her. She yearned to resume her partnership with Sano, and she couldn’t bear to sit by while a difficult case threatened their lives. She had useful talents that might help him, as they had in the past. She wanted excitement instead of boredom, action instead of idleness, renewed passion with Sano instead of cautious restraint. But the terror of making mistakes, and shattering what remained of their marriage, hollowed out a dark, ominous void in her heart.

“I hope Hirata-san and I can marry soon,” Midori said.

Still, her samurai spirit wouldn’t let Reiko bow to fear, nor accept defeat without a struggle. She said, “I hope I can join the investigation into the murder of the shogun’s heir.”