I. Parker - Death of a Doll Maker

He got up and walked onto the veranda. Outside, the clear blue sky stretched into the distance. Somewhere to the north was the Inland Sea and Hakata harbor and Chinese merchants. What was to prevent him from going there now? Only his position. Governors did not mingle with the common people. Normally, they travelled with a procession of soldiers and servants. And that, of course, would not get him close enough to the people to learn about their lives.

He remembered the times when he had mingled with the crowds like an ordinary man. In Kazusa province, he had been young and very foolish, and yet it had been wonderful.

Surely nobody would know him here, if he wore ordinary clothes. He had not been in Kyushu long enough to be recognized. Of course, if he were to meet someone who would remember him later, it could be embarrassing. He would almost certainly get a reprimand for not observing proper decorum.

The sun was warm, and overhead sea gulls circled, their wings catching the sun and flashing brightly against the immense blue sky.

He went back inside and interrupted Mori, who was instructing one of the scribes. “I’m going for a ride, Mori. If there are any problems, speak to Saburo.”

In his room, Saburo informed him that the boy had brought him a present. “He had a hard time with it, so I helped him. Go outside and take a look.”

Akitada stepped on his narrow veranda and saw a small cherry tree in a large tub where there had been nothing but bare gravel before. The little tree was heavily in bud. He did not know what to say. This act of kindness and welcome, delivered belatedly, left him speechless.

“It seems this was one of the things carried away and not returned,” Saburo explained. “Koji knew where it was and got it back for you.”

“He’s a good boy. We must see what we can do for him.” Akitada smiled at Saburo. “Maybe things won’t be too bad here after all.”

In a happy mood, he returned to his room and changed quickly into a plain brown robe and boots. A soft hat replaced the small official cap. Saburo watched in astonishment. Akitada said, “I’m going to have a look at Hakata.”

“Shall I come, sir?”

“No.”

Saburo’s face fell. “You’d better take your sword. You never know what might happen.”

“I’m going alone and without a sword. Anything else would attract attention. I’ll be an ordinary man, strolling about and looking into shops. I may not be back until dark. Meanwhile, you’ll be in charge.” With a light step, he hurried to the stables, selected a decent but unremarkable horse, thanked the startled stable boy Koji for his present, and rode out of the gate with a lighter heart than he had had in many weeks.

The distance to Hakata was modest and over the same road he had come by before. But this time, Akitada enjoyed the ride and looked about him with less foreboding. The road was still crowded with traffic moving in both directions, but he now noted comforting details. Trees were about to bloom and rice fields newly planted. The farmers with their carts piled with early vegetables were going to the market in Hakata. On the Mikasa River, fishermen worked in their boats. Soon the low roofs of Hakata appeared, stretching out across the plain between the Mikasa and Naka Rivers all the way to the blue sea beyond. The larger islands beyond the distant horizon were the provinces Iki and Tsushima, two of the nine which had given the large island Kyushu its name “Nine Provinces.”

He left his horse at the Hakata post station, and started walking. It was good to get some exercise. He had become stiff and lazy on the long boat journey. The people he saw differed little from those at home. They looked like decent, hard-working people. He took courage from this, but those he must discover were no ordinary men. They were almost certainly already on their guard about the new governor.

At Hakata police headquarters, he paused, hoping to see Captain Okata and the capable Sergeant Maeda. But when one of the constables noticed him, Akitada moved on.

The main street was busy. It led to the harbor, and goods were transported in both directions by hand carts, ox carts, and porters bent under heavy loads. At the harbor, he located the harbor master’s office and watched as clerks ran about between piles of goods or argued with ship captains and merchants. Each clerk had an abacus tied to his belt and carried fistfuls of lists. Good, he thought, the harbor master must be conscientious.

He turned next toward the market, a more modest version of the markets in the capital but otherwise very similar. It was crowded. The vendors shouted their wares, and the shoppers bargained with farmers who sat amid their produce. These vegetables were still modest at this time of the year, but already some greens and fresh herbs were for sale in this warm climate. He also saw eggs and rice cakes, as well as fish and other creatures from the sea. The abundance and low prices cheered him. The low rice supplies in the provincial store house would not be needed for the coming months.

The smell of the hot foods was tempting, and when he saw a restaurant where guests sat outside on benches in the warm spring sunshine, he decided to go there. He was tired from the walking and would eat his midday meal in comfort while watching the people of his new province going about their business.

Choosing a seat near the street, he ordered noodle soup. He was fond of the sort served as a cheap meal in the capital and encountered it all too rarely at home or during the elaborate formal dinners he had to attend. A steaming bowl arrived quickly, costing only three coppers, and pleased him so much he finished it quickly and asked for another. His aching legs also appreciated the rest, and so he took his time over the second bowl as he watched the people passing by.

He soon noticed a man, a gentleman by his somewhat formal blue robe and small stiff hat. It seemed to him he had passed by earlier and was now coming back. Not only was this his second appearance, but he looked very sharply at Akitada as he passed.

Had he been recognized? Come to think of it, the man looked vaguely familiar. Elderly, though not really old. Given to some corpulence, but still straight-backed and with a firm step.

There were two occasions when they could have met: on his recent visit to Dazaifu or immediately after landing in Hakata. He was still searching his memory, when the gentleman returned a third time with a quicker step and took a seat at a nearby table. He ordered, then looked at Akitada again.

This was becoming awkward. Should he leave or should he confront the man?

The waiter brought the new guest a flask of wine and a cup. The man picked these up and came across to Akitada.

Making a deep bow, he said, “May I join you, Excellency? Forgive me, but I think you must have forgotten me.”

It was embarrassing, but at the last moment Akitada remembered. He smiled and returned a slight bow. “Not at all, sir. Please sit down. You’re Kuroda, the local shrine priest. We met briefly on my arrival.”

Kuroda looked a little disappointed. Perhaps he had expected apologies, or greater respect. He sat, saying rather stiffly, “I didn’t mean to intrude on your thoughts, but it seemed improper not to acknowledge the acquaintance.”

This was clearly a reprimand for ignoring Kuroda. Akitada took a dislike to the priest, but such men enjoyed considerable respect in their communities. It would not be wise to aggravate him further. He said politely, “I’m very glad you did. Perhaps you can tell me about Hakata. I’m very much a stranger here.”

Kuroda seemed slightly mollified and puffed himself up a little at being consulted. “Come, you’re not truly a stranger, Excellency. You are, if I recall, a direct descendant of our revered Tenjin .”