The Samurai’s Wife

26

I hope you don’t mind if I work while we talk,” Lady Jokyōden said to Sano. “No matter what misfortunes befall us, we must still observe the rites of Obon.”

“Please, go right ahead,” Sano said.

It was morning, and they were in the Buddhist chapel of Jokyōden’s residence. The rain doors were raised; the wind wafted a bitter tang of smoke into the room. On a platform in a recessed niche sat a gilded Buddha statue surrounded by gold lotus flowers. Many narrow alcoves each held a table containing a vase for flowers, an incense burner, and a butsudan-memorial shrine-in the form of a small cabinet. From the ceiling hung trappings of the Festival of the Dead: plaited white paper strips, toys once owned by deceased children, and a mask of Otafuku, a deity of fortune.

Lady Jokyōden knelt on the tatami floor amid supplies for her Obon preparations and untied the cord around a stack of straw mats. Sano, standing nearby, noted that Jokyōden seemed unperturbed by his unannounced arrival. She’d politely acquiesced to an interview and didn’t seem to mind being alone with him, but she waited for him to speak first.

“Where were you during the murder three nights ago?” Sano asked.

Serenely indifferent, Jokyōden began setting mats under the butsudan. There was no hint of mystical power about her, and Sano thought it unlikely that rigorous martial arts training would have been wasted on a woman. While still on his guard, he felt less apprehension than while interviewing Right Minister Ichijo and Emperor Tomohito.

“I can’t remember,” Jokyōden said.

Perplexed, Sano said, “Surely you have some idea.”

“I am afraid I do not.”

“The murder happened just before midnight,” Sano said. “What were you doing then?”

Busy with her task, Jokyōden gave him a demure glance from beneath lowered eyelids. “I really don’t know.”

Sano was more inclined to believe that she preferred not to say. She certainly wasn’t the fool that she sounded. Whether innocent or guilty, why didn’t she just present a plausible lie instead of such a ridiculous claim?

“Did you go near the kitchens?” Sano asked.

“Perhaps… perhaps not.”

And why not just place herself elsewhere, away from the murder scene? “Did you see or talk to anybody?” Sano persisted. “Is there anybody who might have seen you?”

“I don’t recall whether I saw or spoke with anyone.” Having finished with the mats, Jokyōden filled the alcove vases with water from a spouted jar. Her movements were precise; she didn’t spill a drop. “You will have to ask the other palace residents whether they saw me.”

Nettled by her impervious calm, Sano said, “You can’t really expect me to believe that you’ve forgotten everything about that night.”

She turned to him with a bland smile. “I expect nothing. But I beg you to excuse this humble woman for her poor memory.”

During past investigations, Sano had met suspects who’d obstructed him by pretending ignorance, but none had carried it off as smoothly as Lady Jokyōden. What a maddening woman! Still, he admired her nerve.

Then Jokyōden said, “In my opinion, the world is a better place with one less despicable Tokugawa samurai. Your treatment of the emperor was a disgrace.” Frowning, Jokyōden arranged fresh lotus flowers. “You dishonored the entire Imperial Court. It was an insult that begged revenge.”

Sano stared at Jokyōden in amazement. After refusing to tell her whereabouts at the time of the murder, she’d just handed him her motive for wanting him dead! What was she up to?

“It’s understandable that you don’t care for me,” he said, “but perhaps you found Left Minister Konoe more compatible.”

“Why do you say that?” Jokyōden said in a tone of polite curiosity.

“You knew about the house he’d secretly purchased, which indicates a more than superficial acquaintance with him.” Sano ventured a bold guess: “Were you and he lovers?”

Jokyōden gasped and dropped the vase she was holding. It broke on the floor; lotuses scattered and water splashed. With a moan of distress, she grabbed a cloth and began cleaning up the water.

“Here, let me help.” Sano gathered up the fallen blossoms, gratified to see that he’d shaken Jokyōden’s composure at last.

“Thank you,” she murmured. She inserted the flowers in a new vase and placed it carefully on an altar. Then she stood and faced Sano. “So your wife told you my secret, even though she promised me her discretion? No? But of course, you are clever enough to have guessed.” Jokyōden’s expression was strained. “Yes, the left minister and I were once lovers.”

Then Reiko had known, Sano thought; yet instead of telling him, she’d kept silent. Sano was furious at Reiko, but he welcomed the news of her duplicity, as if it somehow excused his own behavior with Kozeri.

Jokyōden said sadly, “My husband is not the most stimulating companion, and his nature requires me to perform many of his duties. My work brought me into close contact with Left Minister Konoe. He was attractive and unmarried. We had many interests in common. I was lonely. Eventually, friendship led to romance. But the romance did not last.”

“Why not?” Sano said, making an effort to forget his personal problems and concentrate on Jokyōden.

“In the beginning, the left minister seemed wonderful. He praised me, brought me gifts, made me feel cherished and important. I fell in love with him. But soon he changed. He lost his temper if I disagreed with him on court policy. He pressured me to put my husband’s official seal on documents that would give him more authority. When I refused…”Jokyōden blinked, swallowed, then said, “He had other women. And he was always busy with Tomohito, talking to him, supervising his lessons, rehearsing him for ceremonies, and playing games with him, while ignoring me.

“Finally I told the left minister that I wanted to end our liaison. I expected him to object, apologize, and ask for another chance, but he just said he’d never really wanted me; he’d used me to gain more influence over the court. And he didn’t need me any longer because he’d won Tomohito’s confidence. His affection had been a pure sham. I was terribly hurt and made a hysterical scene.”

Abruptly Lady Jokyōden knelt by a tray of covered dishes. She lifted the lids, revealing traditional Obon foods: noodles, rice cooked with lotus petals, dumplings, sweet cakes, pickled eggplant, and fruit. With extreme care, she picked up a pair of chopsticks and divided the food onto small platters made of unglazed red earthenware. Sano thought he saw tears gleam in her eyes.

“So although I once cared very much for the left minister, it would be hypocritical for me to say that I regret his death. After our romance ended, I still had to work with him as usual. His presence was a constant reminder of my own foolishness. I wanted never to see him again.” Arranging noodles on a platter, she drew a tremulous breath. “His death granted my wish.”

Revenge on a cruel lover was a powerful motive for murder, yet something about Jokyōden’s confession bothered Sano. Convincing as it sounded, he couldn’t quite imagine her falling for such a transparent scheme, and once again, she’d volunteered information too readily. Dropping the vase had seemed too melodramatic for a woman as poised as Jokyōden. Now Sano wondered whether she and Konoe ever had been lovers, or quarreled. But if not, then why lie and incriminate herself further?

Sano said, “I understand that you manage the affairs of the imperial family. You must have a remarkable talent for business.”

“You’re too generous. My poor efforts hardly deserve praise.” An air of waiting stillness came over Jokyōden, although her hands continued filling dishes.

“So it would be humiliating to fall under the domination of someone less worthy or capable than yourself.”

“Humiliation was the ultimate result of my affair with the left minister, yes.” Rising, Jokyōden began setting food platters on each altar as offerings to the spirits of the dead. She gave Sano an oblique glance, as if not sure what he was getting at, but sensing a trap.

“And now, with Left Minister Konoe gone, you’re free from his interference,” Sano said, walking beside Jokyōden. “But how free can you really be, while the Imperial Court is ruled by the bakufu? Do you ever resent its domination?”

“Why resent a circumstance that is beyond my control?” A note of puzzlement crept into Jokyōden’s voice. “That would be a waste of energy.”

“Not if you thought you could change your circumstances,” Sano said, handing plates of fruit to Jokyōden. “Do you ever imagine ruling Japan? An entire country would offer a much wider scope for your talent than the small world of the court. Do you ever think you could govern better than the bakufu does?”

Jokyōden turned an acid glare on him and said, “Your mockery of this poor woman shows deplorable manners.” Then, as she bent over an altar and set down the plates Sano had handed her, a glimmer of a smile lit her profile. “But perhaps a shift of power is overdue. In less than a century, many problems have plagued Japan: famines, a bad earthquake, the flood that washed away the Sanjo Bridge and drowned hundreds of people, the Great Fire of Meireki that destroyed most of Edo, and two major fires here in Miyako. Such calamities are signs that the government is out of harmony with the cosmos. Only by transferring leadership to a worthier ruler can we avoid future disasters. Who better than a wise, capable member of the Imperial Court?”

Sano had begun to think that nothing Jokyōden said could surprise him anymore, but her declaration stunned him. She’d not only implied that she blamed the Tokugawa for Japan’s bad luck, but that she considered herself qualified to take over the government! Was she responsible for the restoration conspiracy? Had she quarreled with Konoe over a love affair gone bad, or because he’d discovered the plot and meant to report her to the metsuke?

Or was this another move in some bizarre game of which she alone knew the objectives?

More baffled than ever, Sano said, “Have you already taken steps toward restoring harmony to the cosmos?”

“Perhaps… perhaps not.”

Either she realized she was on dangerous ground, or she sought to confuse him further. Losing patience, Sano ventured a countermove: “It might interest you to know that a certain house in the cloth dyers’ district was raided yesterday.”

“Why should that concern me?” Jokyōden asked.

Sano couldn’t tell whether his news disturbed her, or if she knew what it meant, but the atmosphere in the chapel seethed with Jokyōden’s unspoken thoughts. He said, “Would you happen to know what’s become of the weapons that were in that house two days ago?”

Jokyōden set the last dish on an altar. Standing, she faced Sano with an enigmatic smile. “Weapons are not always necessary for the overthrow of a regime. The murders in the palace prove that there is a force stronger than any army. You samurai call it kiai and think that you invented it, but the power to take life by an act of will developed before the Way of the Warrior. When your ancestors were primitive tribal chieftains squabbling in the dirt, the Imperial Court had an advanced culture handed down to us by the gods. We command the magic of the universe, and within the palace walls, ancient traditions continue.”

A strange intensity lit Jokyōden’s narrow eyes. As she glided out through the open doors, her layered silk robes fluttered in the wind. Curious, Sano followed, not knowing what to expect. An eerie disquiet infused the air. Above the garden, clouds and smoke drifted across the sky. Tiny waves rippled the pond; irises swayed; distant thunder boomed in the hills.

Jokyōden stood perfectly still on the veranda. She closed her eyes; her lips parted.

Moments passed. Sano waited, watching Jokyōden. Suddenly the boughs of a nearby pine tree rustled. From them dropped a small gray object, which landed on the gravel path with a soft thud. It was a squirrel with curled claws and a furry tail. For an instant the animal lay motionless. Jokyōden released her breath. The squirrel scrambled up and ran across the garden.

“Never underestimate your adversary’s power, sōsakan-sama,” Lady Jokyōden said.

Sano stared at her. Arms folded, she gave him a triumphant smile. Thoughts jumbled in his mind. Had the force of Jokyōden’s will really felled the squirrel? Nature is full of small dramas; wait long enough, and something inevitably happens. Jokyōden’s performance reminded Sano of magic tricks that depend on the belief of the audience. But the palace harbored an ancient evil. Suddenly Sano was afraid of Jokyōden. If she did have the power of kiai, she’d already murdered two men. She could kill him in an instant.

Backing into the chapel, away from her, Sano said, “Well, thank you for your time.” His instincts warned against staying with Jokyōden a moment longer.

He thought he saw a flicker of relief in her tranquil gaze. As with Right Minister Ichijo, he had the sense of hidden secrets. Once more he wondered whether Chamberlain Yanagisawa had been entirely frank with him.

“Honorable Lady Jokyōden, you’ve given me a lot of evidence against yourself,” Sano said, pausing at the door. “1 could charge you with murder-and treason-on the strength of it.”

She just smiled. “But you won’t, will you?”

Now Sano understood that she’d accurately read his character, while hers remained a mystery to him. She knew she could play her bizarre, dangerous game with him because he wouldn’t make another arrest without solid proof. He’d lost control over the interview at the start.

Exasperated, Sano burst out, “Why are you doing this? To make me think that your candor means you must be innocent? Do you want me to believe that you’re guilty and you deliberately helped my wife find evidence against you? Or are you encouraging my suspicion to protect someone else?”

Jokyōden laughed; her humor further mystified Sano. “You are the detective. It is up to you to answer those questions.”