I. Parker: Death of a Doll Maker

“My dear husband-we had a son-alas, he died. Forgive your loving wife.”

The death of the child was an unexpectedly painful blow. It was, of course, a common occurrence that newborns died, and this child had been born before his time to a mother who was no longer young. He had not expected to grieve for a creature he only knew from feeling its movements inside its mother’s womb. How like Tamako to ask his pardon in her own grief. There was nothing to forgive. Fate frequently opposed human hope. He sighed and reminded himself that Tamako had already given him two beautiful children-no, three. Yori had also fallen prey to the cruel hand of fate. It was the human lot to suffer such losses. He would write to Tamako. He did not need more children to find happiness in his marriage. She was all he had ever wanted and needed.

He laid her note aside and started to tell Tora and Saburo about the death of the baby. To his surprise, they looked stricken. He said, “It was a boy, but he died.”

Saburo shook his head and wiped away tears. Tora said in a thick voice, “Read the other letter, sir.”

Later he would not be able to say when he knew. Was it Saburo’s face when he had smeared Tamako’s make-up by wiping tears from his eyes, or Tora’s choking voice?

Akiko’s letter explained it. It was a short letter for her. He read it and felt the room spin. He read it again, and his hand started shaking so badly that the letter fell from it. He did not have the strength to pick it up.

“I’m very sorry, sir,” Tora said in a half-stifled tone.

Saburo wept openly now. “Me too, sir. We’d both give anything to undo this.”

Akitada could not speak. He nodded and waved a hand, and after a moment they rose and left the room.

Tamako was dead!

Her short note had been her last words to him. An apology. She had barely had the strength to hold the brush; Hanae had helped her. And then she had died. Without him by her side. He had been chasing after villains who meant nothing to him. For a government that had demanded the ultimate sacrifice from him.

Now he was alone and would remain alone. Tamako was such an essential part of him that her place could not be filled-not by the children, though he loved them-not by Tora or Genba or Saburo, though they were his closest friends.

He was alone and nothing mattered any longer.

After a long time, he got to his feet and walked outside. The ground beneath the little tree was white. Snow, he thought. Snow, as pure and cold as death.

But it was not snow. The little tree had shed all its blossoms overnight, and beauty had left the world.