Ingrid Parker - Rashomon Gate – A Mystery of Ancient Japan

They looked out across the gully to the mountainside which rose like a green wall, covered with vines, ferns and many small trees that clung precariously to small cracks in the rock. A lizard had been sunning itself on the ledge and disappeared into a hole with a sinuous curling of its tail.

"It's weird. There's nothing here but that funny flat slab of rock," said Tora. "Why would anybody beat a path to it?"

The slab was about the size of half a tatami mat and covered with moss and lichen. Akitada bent and touched a dark spot, rubbing the residue between his fingers. "Oil," he said, smelling his fingers, and added, "Cheap oil. We use a better quality in our lanterns. Someone has been here in the dark with an oil lamp." Akitada straightened up and scanned the ravine. Suddenly a strange idea occurred to him. It was so startling that he felt his stomach lurch, and for a moment he refused to believe it. "Tora," he asked, "can you make out that odd-shaped gray rock over there on the other side?"

"Looks like some kind of statue carved out of the stone. A Buddha, I think."

"Yes. The monks come here to worship, and at least once someone was here in the dark. Go back to the courtyard for a moment and listen."

"What for?"

"Never mind! Just go!"

Tora left, shaking his head, and Akitada wracked his brains for some lines from a sutra. His religious education left much to be desired at times. Well, anything would serve. Raising his voice a little, he recited the first poem that came to his mind: "The fires lit by the guards at the Imperial Palace gates, / Blazing bright by night, are damped down at daybreak: / So smolder my heart's thoughts…" He broke off, realizing that he had inadvertently quoted from a poem of unrequited love. It was a particularly apt description of pain, he thought bitterly.

Tora burst from the shrubbery, looking around. "What fire? Is there a fire?"

"No fire. I just wanted to know if you could hear me."

"Oh, I heard you. If I hadn't known better, I'd have sworn it was someone inside the hall."

"I hoped so," said Akitada. "Think about the miraculous disappearance for a moment. The only proof we have that the prince was here one moment and gone the next is that five witnesses, not counting Sakanoue, testified to his chanting the sutra inside the hall."

Tora's eyes grew round. "You think someone else was back here doing the sutra chanting because the prince was already dead? What did they do with his body?"

"I suspect the prince never came here. The murderer impersonated him."

"Sakanoue? How could he? The driver saw the prince get in the carriage and then get out again here."

"It was dark until the sun came up. Remember, we could not see the faces of those we passed on the way here. Sakanoue could have worn the prince's ceremonial robe and ridden in the carriage with no one being the wiser." Akitada paused, then muttered, "Except for the prince's white hair. That might have been seen even in the dark." Suddenly he slapped a fist into his hand. "Of course! That is what he used the rice flour for! Tora, I tell you, that is the way it was done. The prince was killed in his rooms in the capital." Akitada nodded vigorously and then took Tora's arm. "Come on! All we have to do now is solve a few minor difficulties."

They burst through the shrubbery into the courtyard, startling a young, red-cheeked monk, who had been looking around as if he had lost something.

"Oh, there you are," he cried when he saw them. "I saw the horses and wondered what had become of you."

Akitada said, "My friend and I were passing and decided to visit the famous site. It was most instructive. We have just been admiring the sacred figure behind the hall. Is it true that special benefits accrue from its worship?" He untied the reins of his horse.

"Oh, yes indeed, sir. You mean the image of Yakushi, the Healing Buddha, I think," cried the young monk eagerly. Taking note of Akitada's silk clothes and his servant, he suggested, "If you like, you can arrange to have sutra readings performed in your absence. May I show you the way to the recorder's office?"

Akitada accepted. The monk led the way, chattering about the wonders of the temple and the power of prayers said there. They followed, leading their horses, passing rows of monks' cells, where four or five young novices, stripped naked, splashed noisily in a large tub of water. Their guide proudly pointed out several halls of impressive size, the Great Buddha Hall and a beautifully detailed small sutra depository. Their destination was near the main gate and, to reach it, they had to pass by stables, noisy at this hour with the sounds of horses and grooms.

Akitada stopped. "Your stables are quite large. Do you by any chance supply horses to travellers here?" he asked the young monk.

"Oh, yes, sir. The stable is really a small post station. Horses may be hired as well as left. Such a service is very useful to pilgrims who wish to spend a week or more without having to provide for their own horses and grooms."

"How convenient," murmured Akitada thoughtfully.

Inside the administrative office they found the assistant recorder, an elderly monk with ink-stained fingers, bent over a large ledger.

"This gentleman is interested in sutra readings to the Healing Buddha," the young monk announced as proudly as if he were presenting a particularly large and juicy radish he had grown personally.

The old monk gave him a sour look and peered up at Akitada near-sightedly. "The Healing Buddha? Tshk!" he mumbled.

For a moment Akitada mistook this for a disparaging comment, but then he realized that the old man was toothless and had a disconcerting habit of sucking in his cheeks with a little smacking sound.

"What is the honorable ailment, tshk?" the recorder asked.

"What? Oh, er, it concerns a family member, not myself. It's a matter of, er, dizziness."

"Ah! That explains it, tshk. Young people rarely trouble with the Healing Buddha, tshk, tshk. May I ask the honored gentleman's name, the name of the ailing person, tshk, as well as the specific details?" He leafed through the pages of his ledger, mumbling and tshking. "Ah, here we are. Yes, tshk, I need the day, time and the reading. We recommend a chapter from the Sutra of the Golden Light as being most appropriate for Yakushi, but for a small extra charge we can include specific incantations for a case of lightheadedness. Tshk, tshk."

"It is for my mother, Lady Sugawara." Tora's jaw slackened, and Akitada bit his lip to keep from smiling. He told the monk, "I really don't know any details, but she said that the same reading was requested about a month ago."

The old monk looked astonished. "Sugawara? I don't recall any Sugawaras. Are you sure?" He scanned the entries and shook his head. "No, tshk. No one by that name. Is it really the Healing Buddha you want?"

"Yes. Mother sent someone else last time. Perhaps she gave another name. She does not want people to know she is ill."

Apparently Yakushi had no problem with pseudonyms, for the recorder merely asked, "And what name would that be?"

"Oh," cried Akitada in a tone of irritation, "how should I know? She never consults me! This is too frustrating! Let's just forget it if you cannot look it up!" He turned to leave.

"Just a moment, sir," the recorder said quickly. "There are not many requests for the Healing Buddha nowadays. Did you say a month ago? Tshk." He scanned the entries. "Here it is, the only entry in several months. The name was Kato! The Golden Light Sutra from the moment of sunrise. Tshk, tshk. Does the name ring a bell?"

"Kato," mused Akitada. "She has a cousin by that name. What day was it?"

The monk looked it up. "The ninth day of the third month."

Tora sucked in his breath, and Akitada shot him a warning glance. To the monk he said in a dubious tone, "It sounds right. What did this fellow look like?"