I. Parker - The Crane Pavillion

Steps in the corridor outside recalled him to the need for self-control, or Saburo, with hot water for his tea, was about to find him in an embarrassing condition. He sat up with a shudder.

The door opened, but it was Tora who peered in. “Ah, you’re awake, sir. I brought water for your tea.”

Astonished, Akitada asked, “Where’s Saburo?”

Tora sidled in, closed the door and busied himself with the preparation of Akitada’s tea. “Umm,” he muttered, stirring the half-dead coals in the small brazier and setting the iron kettle on it. “Not sure, sir. Where do you keep the tea? Oh, here it is, in this little box. How much do I put in the cup, sir?”

Tora never drank tea unless it was prescribed for some illness, and he was practically never ill. Akitada got up and went to help him. “I don’t understand,” he said. “Why isn’t Saburo doing this?”

“Well, umm, I’m afraid something must have happened. Saburo would never stay away from his duties, not after the way you spoke to him yesterday.”

Akitada winced. He had been too harsh once again. Brushing a hand over his face as if to wipe away the cobwebs of such memories, he remembered instead the deep and humiliating trouble he was in with his superiors. He must not take out his frustrations on his people. He said rather mildly, “Did Saburo go out last night?”

Tora gave him a nervous look. “Yes, sir. We both did. After it got too dark to work on the roof. He was all torn up over the blind girl and some starving schoolmaster, and we thought we’d better make one more attempt before Genba and I leave with the horses today.”

The horses! The lack of money! The dire need of his household!

Tora had the grace to look ashamed. With Saburo gone, Akitada could not send both of his remaining retainers away. Irritation stirred again, but he restrained it. “What happened?”

“We chased a suspect, a crooked gambler, to a private house in the willow quarter. Saburo suggested I return home while he’d find out whose house it was and then follow. He never got back, sir.”

“A gambler? The willow quarter? Are you both mad? How can you be thinking of expensive amusements at this time?”

Saburo might have shrunk from this flash of anger, but Tora knew Akitada better and merely said, “We didn’t go to be amused, sir. We were trying to help people. You always told us to help the poor.”

Akitada bit his lip. “Yes, you did mention something about a blind woman. But I told Saburo to leave that to the police.”

“You did, but the police aren’t going to be much help. We just had the one night and decided to make one more effort. We’d heard that a gambling boss might be involved. I think Saburo got too close. The man’s a gangster called Kanemoto. Kanemoto controls gambling and prostitution in the willow quarter. I think the man we chased went into his house.”

With a sigh, Akitada said, “Well, you and Saburo have managed to foil my efforts to reduce family expenses while wait to hear from the court. The horses will have to remain here until Saburo’s back. Tell Genba to have some more fodder delivered.” He opened the box which held the pitifully small heap of silver coins and two remaining gold bars and took out a silver coin. “Give this to Genba. Then go look for Saburo. If you cannot get any answers at this gangster’s house without putting yourself into danger, go ask Kobe’s help.”

Chastened, Tora nodded. “Thank you, sir, for understanding. Saburo’s always had a soft spot for poor children, and that schoolmaster has a number of them. By any chance, could the man be useful here?”

Akitada shook his head. “I cannot take on another person, Tora. Feeling pity for the poor is all very well, but there are children in this household who may also soon stare at empty bowls.”

Tora nodded again and left.

Akitada sat, glumly contemplating the money box. He could not recall when it last had been so empty, and in the past he had not had so many mouths to feed. Yes, there could well be empty bowls, and that would mean that his people would have to leave to try and earn a living elsewhere. He could not bear the thought.

Getting up, he walked into his garden. It was fall. The chrysanthemums were fading and the maple had turned red. The cold weather of the past week had brought winter closer. Tamako had planted those chrysanthemums, a rare and wonderful dark copper color that looked magnificent with the maple’s brilliant red leaves. In her hands, his world had turned to beauty in so many ways. What gifts she had given him!

The children!

He had nearly forgotten them again. Ashamed, he decided to walk over to Tamako’s pavilion. It had become Yasuko’s pavilion now, but her brother and Tora’s son also spent most of their day there. Even though Yoshitada took such pride in having his own room in the main house, he always ended up there.

On an impulse, Akitada went to look into his son’s room. He found the boy still tangled in his quilts and softly sobbing.

“Yoshi?” he said alarmed, kneeling beside the weeping child. “What’s the matter? What has happened? Are you ill?”

The boy gave a cry and flung himself in his father’s arms, clinging to him with arms and legs. “I want Mother,” he wailed.

Akitada did not know what to say. He had marveled that the children had taken their mother’s death so calmly and both admired and resented their restraint. It had not occurred to him that they would suffer alone and in silence at night. He held Yoshi, rocking him in his arms.

“I do, too,” he said softly. “It’s always worst when I wake up. I miss her very much. She has gone to live in paradise where we hope to meet her again someday.”

The boy nodded against his chest and gulped.

“I’m sorry, Yoshi. What can I do to help?”

“N-nothing!” The arms clung a bit more tightly. “I’m sorry, too, Father.”

“I’m sure Yasuko will be missing her also. Shall we go to see her?”

Yoshi released him and got up. His clothing consisted of a rumpled shirt, but his father found a pair short pants and a jacket to put on over it. He was awkward about dressing his son, but Yoshi did not seem to mind the odd costume, and Akitada was in his old house robe. Both were barefoot, unwashed, and with their hair disordered. Akitada smiled at his son and wiped away his tears with his sleeve.

“This is no way to dress when visiting a young lady, but this once it will do.”

“Yasuko’s no lady,” said Yoshi dismissively and seized his father’s hand to pull him away.

They found Yasuko putting away the bedding with Tamako’s maid. The maid, herself still in her sleeping clothes, gave a little cry of embarrassment and ran out. This made Yoshi laugh and Yasuko scold.

“We aren’t dressed yet.” she told her brother. “You are not to enter a lady’s chamber without making sure she’s dressed. It’s improper.” Yasuko only wore a silk undergown over her skinny little body. This she had slept in, but it also served as her underclothes. Her gown was draped over a clothes stand. Akitada was amused that his children should already have adopted the manners of adults. Yoshi had wanted his own room even though he probably felt alone there, and Yasuko insisted on the respect due to her as a female.

“I’m sorry we are early. We came to see how you are,” he said, searching her face for tears. He saw none; perhaps sharing the room with the maid kept her from weeping. Letting go of Yoshi’s hand, he went to pull Yasuko close. How frail and fine-boned she was! Fear for his children’s future rose again. He must find a way to feed them, to raise them into strong, healthy adults.

He reached for her gown and offered to help her. She was quite adept at this process and giggled at her father’s ignorance.