I Parker - The Convict's sword

Kobe nodded. “I know Ihara. I’ll pass along the word.”

“Of course, if Tora is released, he can do some work himself. He knows his way about the city and is clever about mixing with all sorts of people. Apart from having been fond of the woman, he will want to clear himself of these ridiculous charges.”

Kobe grunted. “Well, I suppose that’s all then. Tora’s biggest problem will be convincing the judge of his good character. He doesn’t have much respect for authority.” But he winked at Tora.

As they walked through the prison’s gate into the street, Kobe asked, “Did Soga tell you why he left the city?”

“No. I thought it was very strange, even for him.”

“Well, perhaps he was afraid you’d think him a coward. He’s taking flight to his country estate because there is smallpox in the capital.”

“Good heaven! My wife mentioned something of the sort a few days ago. I did not believe it. Is it a serious outbreak?”

“Some cases among the nobles, and a few in the city. It’s being kept quiet to avoid panic. One very highly placed person is already getting better. You know as well as I that we have the occasional case. Keep it to yourself. It seems a woman who used to help out at the Soga residence got the disease. When Soga heard she died, he decided to move to the country. He’ll look very foolish when it all comes to nothing.”

They parted after that, and Akitada turned homeward. He was touched by Kobe’s friendship but began to fret again about his situation. Soon the news would be out that he had lost his post and had no hopes for another. Meanwhile, how would he tell his wife? Akitada had never questioned Tamako’s loyalty, and she had reminded him of it just this morning. Or rather, last night-so much had happened in the meantime! But his wife was also a mother and the mistress of his household. After some reflection she would see how his loss of influence at court would hurt Yori’s future. And the economizing that must follow his loss of income would soon be a daily reminder of his failure. Tamako would come to blame him for their misery.

If he could avoid serious censure from Soga, he might find a clerkship in one of the other ministries or a post as supervisor of one of the bureaus. The thought of shuffling more paperwork depressed him. Another man in his situation would turn to his friends. Akitada had made many in his time, but some were gone and others had cooled toward him. And the ones who were left and in positions of sufficient influence to help him were overwhelmed by favor seekers every day of their busy lives. He could not bear to join the throng of abject men who prostrated themselves, holding humble petitions above their heads, every time the great personage emerged from the inner chambers of his residence.

When he got home, Yori was again practicing with the straw dummy. The figure had lost most of its stuffing and no longer produced those satisfying thwacks but Yori had adjusted his style to the pitiful limp figure that sagged against the fence. He now used his sword to stab viciously at various vital parts, shouting out each target before attacking. “Slit the throat… slice the arm… slit the peach.” This last accompanied by a vicious stab at the dummy’s nether regions.

Split the peach? That sounded like some of Tora’s gutter language.

“Yori.”

The boy swung around, cried, “Father,” and then dashed across the courtyard swinging his sword and shouting, “Father’s home! Father’s home!” He threw himself at his father with such force that Akitada had to take a step back. Picking up his son, he demanded, “Where did you learn such language?”

Yori clutched his neck and giggled. “What language? Did you visit the market? Did you buy me something? I could use a helmet. When’s Tora coming back?”

Akitada gave up on the offensive phrase. Yori spent almost all his free time with Tora and Genba. And he was a boy, after all. It would be different with a girl. So he hugged his son and said, “I hope Tora will be home soon. Maybe tomorrow even. And I have been too busy to go to the market. Perhaps later in the week. Have you studied hard today?”

Yori made a face. “That old Seimei! He’s such a fuss-body. He says, ‘No, no. You must do that character again. Hold your brush just so. Make the tail of the stroke curve up like the tail of a drake.’ Mother always likes what I do.”

His father smiled. “Now that you mention it, I believe Seimei gave me the same advice about the tail of the drake when I was your age. And it turned out, he was quite right. I could never have managed to get into the university if my character had not had the tail of a drake.”

Yori looked impressed. “Truly?”

“Truly.”

Genba trotted toward them from the stable, his round face anxious. He bobbed a perfunctory bow. “Any news, sir?”

At the main house, Seimei and Tamako had come out. Akitada realized that they must all be worried about Tora. Because of Soga he had forgotten to send them a message.

He told Genba, “I’ll try to have Tora released into my custody tomorrow. The case looks complicated.”

“That’s all right then.” Genba heaved a sigh of relief and grinned. “Might have known you’d take care of it, sir. Didn’t know what to think when your lady told us what happened. Not that she knew very much.” He looked at Akitada expectantly.

“Let me eat something first.”

Genba bowed. “Please take your time and enjoy your meal.”

Akitada set Yori down and took his hand. Together they walked to the main house.

Tamako murmured, “Welcome home. You have been awaited anxiously.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry I could not send a message. Tora should be home tomorrow. I will tell you what happened in a little while. At the moment, I’m very hungry. If cook has anything ready, have her bring it, please.”

Tamako’s eyes widened with concern. She hurried away on soft, stockinged feet, her layered silk robe billowing behind her as it swept across the gleaming wood floor. Akitada admired, not for the first time, his wife’s elegant bearing and grace. Tamako was the only child of one of Akitada’s professors and had been raised by him after her mother’s death. She could easily have become spoiled or self-absorbed, but had instead grown into a calm, intelligent young woman and, he thought, the perfect companion for a man of his temperament. The fact that her father had indulged her by teaching her things normally reserved for men-she read and wrote Chinese, for example, and was well-versed in the five classics-had proved a boon because Akitada could not abide stupidity and enjoyed talking with her about all sorts of things a man normally only discussed with other men. Now he was miserably aware that she deserved much better than a dismissed official who had not achieved middle rank yet and probably never would.

Seimei took Yori from him and promised to bring fresh tea. With a sigh, Akitada went to his study. Someone had folded away his bedding. He untied his court hat and put it away in its box, rubbing his neck where the strings had bitten into his skin. He needed a shave. And a bath. But first food and his report on Tora. And then he would have to tell them of the resignation.

Pushing back the sliding doors to the garden, he walked out onto the veranda. In the small pond, the koi rose to the surface, expecting to be fed. His whole household expected sustenance. Even his own belly demanded to be filled. How would he take care of all of them?

He could apply for a post in one of the provinces, as a secretary in one of the provincial administrations close to the capital. Taking orders from someone of his own class could not be worse than dealing with Soga’s insults. And it would spare him the stares of his colleagues here. But Tamako would be very unhappy. She had not had an easy time during the bitter winter of Akitada’s northern assignment, nearly losing the child she carried while they lived in fear for their lives. Here, with her own household, she had been contented. She enjoyed the respect of friends and family, and had the company of Akitada’s married sisters and of her female friends. He sighed.