Ingrid Parker - Rashomon Gate – A Mystery of Ancient Japan

"Not really. There were only two dangerous moments. The first one was during the impersonation, just after he left the carriage and entered the hall. He had to be quick, for though Kinsue had left again, the prince's friends would enter the courtyard any moment. I remember Kinsue talking about the amazing speed with which the prince ascended the stairs. But once inside, what Sakanoue had to do took only a moment. He lit a candle and some incense, stripped off the robe and left it, along with the bloody head, on the prayer mat. Then he slipped back out, closing the door behind him, and waited in the dark for the old gentlemen to seat themselves on the veranda. When they saw him, they were too tired from the journey and lack of sleep to wonder where he had come from. He was expected, and he was there. Soon after they all settled on the veranda, the sun rose and the chanting began. All four men on the veranda and Kinsue in the yard saw Sakanoue sitting among them while the sutra chanting was going on. Both Yanagida and Shinoda were adamant that he was there from beginning to end. He had a perfect alibi, and the world another supernatural event."

Tora shook his head in wonder. "What was the other time?"he asked.

"Sakanoue's second problem was a horse for the return trip, but that was easily accomplished while the whole monastery was running about searching for the prince. After all, horses were readily available in the stables. In fact, old Kinsue, the driver, was puzzled by the fact that Sakanoue's horse had not been one of their own."

Tora nodded reluctantly. "All right. I can see how it could be done. It was the middle of the night and they were all old men. Probably couldn't see the hand before their eyes by daylight. But tell me this: how did Sakanoue get rid of the body?"

Akitada sighed. Retracing Sakanoue's clever plot was one thing, but the body left behind in the prince's rooms, stashed headless into one of the bedding trunks, brought with it the knowledge of sudden violent death. He pictured again the room, recalled the scratches on the otherwise immaculate floor, and felt the unearthly presence of the dead man's spirit. Perhaps the murdered man had tried to tell him then. He summed up bleakly, "The corpse was taken to the country in one of the trunks."

Tora looked dumfounded. "To be unpacked?"

"No, of course not. According to Kinsue, Sakanoue drove the last cart himself, and it was night again. He probably dumped the body someplace on the road. A headless corpse is not readily identifiable."

Tora cried, "No, sir! He didn't have to do that. He passed through Rashomon! They bring their dead there at night. You could leave the chancellor himself, and nobody would think anything of it."

"Rashomon? But surely the men who pick up the dead would report a headless corpse?"

"Maybe they would and maybe they wouldn't," Tora said darkly. "Things happen to dead people in that place, and not all of them are done by the living." He shuddered, then added more cheerfully, "Congratulations, sir! You've solved the case."

Akitada nodded glumly.

"What's wrong? You got that bastard Sakanoue. I thought that's what you wanted."

"You and I may know he killed the prince, but we will never prove it. The emperor himself has put his seal on Sakanoue's safety."

They had reached the top of the ridge and caught their first glimpse of the capital spread across the vast plain below them. In the heat of the midday sun, a haze hung over the great city, and only the blue-tiled or black-thatched roofs of the imperial palaces and government halls were clearly visible. From there, Suzaku Avenue stretched southward, its willows fading in the distance as into a fog. They both looked for the tiled roofs of the distant Rashomon, but the great gate was lost somewhere in the blue vapor.

Tora cried out, "Look! There's been a fire! I thought I smelled smoke this morning." He pointed at heavy streaks of charcoal gray hanging over the northwest quadrant of the city. "I knew it would happen in this weather. Poor bastards! Thank Heaven it's a long way from home!"

Akitada thought of his family and the young boy who was their visitor. He spurred on his horse. They made the descent rapidly and were soon close enough to see the location of the disaster more clearly. The fire had been brought under control. Only a slight dark haze was left over a particular grove of trees and rooftops, while the black smoke was slowly drifting away in the blue sky.

Akitada reined in his horse with a jerk. "Merciful heaven! I hope my eyes deceive me." He pointed. "Look, Tora! Isn't that gap among the charred trees where the Hiratas' house used to stand?"

Tora came alongside, glanced at his master's white face, and shaded his eyes. "Amida!" he muttered. "It is! Let's go!"

The smell of acrid smoke greeted them blocks before they reached the Hiratas' street. It was almost palpable in their nostrils, burnt their eyes and felt greasy on their skin.

The street itself looked at first glance the same as usual. The Hiratas' garden wall stood firm, and the two willows by the gate swayed their graceful branches in the breeze. But the breeze also wafted gray filaments of smoke across the wall, and a gaggle of onlookers was gathered about the open gate.

To Akitada they seemed to peer in with the avid curiosity of people who, having been spared by disaster, savor their own luck complacently. Seized by a sudden furious hatred for them, he sent his lathered, gasping horse forward with a sharp kick to scatter them in all directions.

Inside the gate the scene was reminiscent of hell. He slid from his saddle and stood speechless, staring in horror and disbelief. Wet steaming mounds of charred rubble lay among blackened vegetation, and a bluish haze hung over the place where once the deep-gabled house with its attached pavilions had stood. Soot-darkened figures, their faces covered with wet rags, moved through the smoke like demons in search of lost souls, walking paths that had once meandered through Tamako's lush gardens.

Tamako! Akitada tried to call her name, but an icy fear made his voice falter and his tongue refuse to obey.

"You there!" shouted Tora, jumping off his horse behind him, "What happened to the family?"

One of the dark figures, a fireman, turned briefly and pointed. "Over there."

At the foot of a charred cedar there were two patches of bright color. A red-coated police constable stared down at a bundle covered by a blue and white cotton robe.

A woman's robe.

Akitada moved towards the cedar stiffly, forcing one foot in front of the other until he stood beside the constable and looked down on death.

The cotton robe had been folded back to show part of a human body. The charred remains were unrecognizable and looked surprisingly small, almost like a child's corpse. Bent double, arms and legs drawn up to the torso as if defending itself against the indignities inflicted on the dead, it was the first victim of fire Akitada had seen. That shrunken black mass of scorched flesh and bones could not be… but, oh, that robe!

The constable growled, "Hey! What do you think you're doing here?"

Akitada looked up dazedly. "Who is this?" he croaked.

"'Was' is the correct word," said the man lugubriously. "They dragged him out of that pile over there."

Him? Akitada looked again at the corpse and saw that the back of the blackened head still retained remnants of a gray topknot. For a moment his relief was almost too intense to contain. Belatedly, Akitada looked where the constable had pointed. The rubble was what was left of Hirata's study, a pavilion separate from the main house. Oh, God! he thought. Hirata! Not Tamako, but her father. But where was she then? His brief hope died, as his eyes searched the debris, looked past the constables for other bodies, for there had been the servants, too. Were they all dead?