Laura Rowland: Black Lotus

“But I’m not!” The impassioned exclamation burst from Haru as she wept. “When the Black Lotus Temple took me in, I thought my problems were solved. I was going to be a nun someday and have a home forever.” In Buddhist nunneries and monasteries, the faithful enjoyed freedom from worldly concerns and pursued spiritual enlightenment while supported by alms from the lay community. “Now I’ve been taken away from the people I love. I’m all alone again.”

“Because of what happened at the temple yesterday?” Reiko said, circumspectly referring to the fire to avoid frightening Haru back into silence.

The girl nodded. “I’m so afraid that everyone thinks I set the fire and killed those people. My friends will turn against me. I’ll be expelled from the Black Lotus. The police will arrest me. I’ll be tied to a stake and burned to death!”

This was the penalty for arson, whether or not anyone died as a result. Even a small fire could spread, destroy the entire city, and take thousands of lives, as the Great Fire of Meireki had thirty-five years ago; therefore, the bakufu harshly punished arsonists. Fear for Haru overshadowed Reiko’s triumph at getting her to talk about the fire. So far, Haru was the only suspect and thus an easy target for public outrage and official censure, whether she was guilty or innocent. Reiko experienced an increasing urgency to determine what had happened and perhaps prevent a terrible injustice. She didn’t want to break her tenuous rapport with Haru, but she needed to establish one fact before proceeding.

“Did you set the fire?” Reiko asked.

Haru stared at her, aghast. “I would never do such an awful thing.”

Tears streamed from her eyes onto her trembling mouth. “I could never hurt anybody.”

Sincerity echoed in the girl’s voice, but Reiko cautioned herself against premature belief. “I’m sorry to upset you by asking that,” she said, “but you can see why people might be suspicious, can’t you? After all, you wouldn’t talk when you were questioned about the fire yesterday. Why is that?”

“I could tell that those detectives didn’t like me, that they thought I’d done something wrong. And the nuns and priests acted as if they didn’t trust me anymore. I knew nobody would believe anything I said.” The words tumbled from Haru in an agitated rush, and she began to breathe in rapid wheezes. Rising, she backed away from Reiko, leveling upon her a wounded gaze. “You say you want to be my friend, but you don’t believe me either!”

“I didn’t say that,” Reiko protested. “I just want to understand-”

The girl fell to the floor, sobbing with hysterical abandon. “There’s no one to help me. I’m going to die!”

Watching, Reiko experienced the unease of contradictory feelings. Criminals often claimed to be innocent and put on convincing acts to gain credibility, but a person wrongly suspected would also behave as Haru did.

“If you’re innocent, then you have nothing to fear.” Reiko moved over to kneel beside Haru, patting her back until the weeping subsided, then said, “I want to tell you a story.” Although Haru lay curled on her side, her face hidden by her hair, alertness stilled her. “When I was very young, I loved legends about samurai heroes,” Reiko said. “I often imagined myself as one of them, riding into battle with my armor and swords. But my favorite daydreams were about protecting peasants from marauding bandits and defeating evil villains in duels.” Reiko smiled, recalling her childhood fantasies. “My father is Magistrate Ueda, and I used to listen to trials in his court. I convinced him that some of the people accused of crimes were really innocent. I saved them from jail, beatings, exile, or death. Since I married the sōsakan-sama, I’ve worked with him to avenge innocent victims. The great joy of my life is righting wrongs and helping people-especially women.”

She didn’t mention that she’d also helped her father extract confessions from criminals and Sano to deliver the guilty to justice. Instead Reiko said, “I’d really like to help you, Haru-san. But first you must tell me everything you know about the fire.”

For a long moment Haru lay motionless, sniffling. Then she sat up and lifted a blotchy, tearstained face to Reiko. A gleam of hope brightened her eyes; doubt furrowed her brow. Shaking her head, she whispered, “But I don’t know anything. I can’t remember.”

Reiko knew that criminals sometimes tried to hide their guilt behind pleas of ignorance and lost memory, but she concealed her instinctive skepticism. “How can that be? You were at scene while the house burned. At least you can tell me what you were doing there.”

“But I can’t.” Fresh panic infused Haru’s voice, and her face crumpled, as though she might burst into tears again. “The night before the fire, I went to bed in the orphanage dormitory, as usual. The next thing I knew, it was morning, and I was outside the burning cottage. I don’t know how I got there.”

The story sounded outlandish to Reiko, but she withheld objection for the moment. “Did you see anyone around the cottage before the fire brigade came?” she asked.

Haru frowned, pressing both palms against her temples in an apparent effort to recall. “No.”

“Concentrate on the night before. Try to remember waking up, and if you saw or heard anything unusual.”

A dazed look misted Haru’s gaze. “Sometimes I think I remember things. A light. Noises. Struggling. Being afraid… But maybe I was dreaming.” Then Haru’s eyes focused and widened. She exclaimed, “Maybe the person who set the fire brought me to the cottage so everyone would think I did it!”

Reiko’s skepticism increased: Criminals often swore they’d been framed. “Who would do that to you?”

The girl said sadly, “I don’t know. I love everyone at the temple, and I thought they loved me, too.”

That she didn’t try to divert suspicion by incriminating someone else argued in favor of Haru’s innocence, Reiko noted. “Did you know Police Commander Oyama? Or the woman and child who died in the fire?”

Lips pursed, Haru shook her head. Then she suggested, “Maybe someone from outside the temple burned down the cottage.”

Criminals often blamed mysterious strangers for their deeds, too. Reiko contemplated Haru with growing distrust. She wanted to believe the girl, but many signs pointed toward her guilt.

Haru must have perceived Reiko’s doubts, because her posture slumped and she bowed her head. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me. But I really can’t remember anything… except that someone hurt me that night.”

“Hurt you?” Startled, Reiko said, “How do you mean?”

Haru took off her socks, stood, and lifted the skirt of her kimono. She turned, anxiously watching Reiko over her shoulder as she displayed raw scrapes on her heels and calves.

Although Reiko winced inwardly, she tried to maintain her objectivity. “That could have happened when you were trying to get away from the fire brigade.”

“But there’s more. See?” Facing Reiko, the girl tugged open the neckline of her kimono. Fresh, dark bruises smudged the flesh around the base of her throat. “And look!”

Quickly Haru untied her sash, shed her garments, and stood naked. More bruises, large and small, in shades of reddish purple, discolored her thighs, upper arms, and chest. “They weren’t there when I went to bed. I don’t know how I got them.”

Reiko stared in horror. At the same time she noticed that despite her slender build and childish manner, Haru had the body of a woman. Her breasts were round and full, her armpits and pubic mound covered with coarse hair. This incongruity reminded Reiko of the danger of making assumptions based on initial appearances, but a new scenario occupied her mind.