I. Parker - Death on an Autumn River

“Very well, if you’re sure.”

Otomo fled, and Akitada went back to his letter, shaking his head a little. The room must look pretty bad if not even a poorly paid academic found it tolerable. He added a few more sentences to his letter, dated, and signed it, and impressed his seal. Then, he put everything back into his writing case, and went in search of Otomo.

He found him outside the hostelry, playing rock, scissors, paper with the thin little girl. His heart warmed to the elderly man when he heard a gurgling laugh escape from the sad little child. He went to join them.

“I see this little lady had the courtesy to entertain my guest,” he said, smiling at her as he fished out a penny. She took it, bowed, and dashed away. “Can she speak?” he asked Otomo.

The professor nodded. “Oh, yes. But she has little enough to say about her world, poor little flower. Her parents, or whoever has her care, mistreat her. There are always new bruises on the child. And she doesn’t get enough to eat.”

“I see you know her. I suspected as much. It’s hard to know what to do.”

Otomo sighed and glanced at the hostelry. “Young girls are vulnerable.”

It was clear what dangers the professor foresaw for the little girl. Soon she would be old enough to sell her body to travelers passing through. Akitada thought of his own little girl and shuddered. The professor was probably thinking of the Korean girls who had died in Eguchi. If what Otomo suspected was true, they were not much older than this child. It was very wrong that children should become the playthings of spoiled older men who took their pleasure in initiating them into the world of the clouds and the rain, a poetic term that had little in common with the realities of a life of prostitution. He felt guilty that he could not offer Otomo his help.

Perhaps reading his mind, Otomo said, “I came to see you about the young girl in Eguchi. And I’d like to put my very humble home at your disposal. Whatever its shortcomings, it’s surely more comfortable than your current quarters. I hope you will forgive me for making such an offer.”

Akitada hesitated. It was a kind gesture, but he did not like to move again. He said, “You are very generous, but my stay will not be long. I hope my clerk turns up today. If he doesn’t, I shall have to return to the capital.” It occurred to him that Otomo must wonder about the real reason for his move. Perhaps he had been given a highly colored account by Nakahara when he had called there.

The professor cleared his throat. “Since I’m here, forgive me for troubling you again in the other matter. Perhaps we could talk at my house?” He smiled a little nervously. “You could see it that way. It might be to your taste after all.”

Akitada weakened. “I have a little spare time just now. But I’m not at all particular about my lodging.”

The weather had warmed again, but the sun was getting low. Their walk turned out to be pleasant. Otomo explained the sights as he led the way from the center of town. They crossed several canals and passed through some quiet streets with many trees. The land rose gently, and eventually they reached a longer bridge crossing a sizable river.

“My house is just on the other side.” Otomo pointed to a roof rising among pines and other trees. It was a small building surrounded by a charming wilderness and high on the bank of the river.

“Where are we?” Akitada asked. “This is surely not the Yodo River?”

“It’s a smaller branch. The Yodo has many arms reaching for the sea. My father liked the quiet here, and so do I.”

The troubled world of violent men and scheming officials did seem far removed. Through the trees, Akitada could see some fishermen casting nets. He gazed with pleasure. “How pleasant this is! You are a fortunate man.” The memory of that elegant pavilion overhanging the Yodo River came back to him. He decided that this was much better for a simple life.

“Oh, it’s very modest,” said the professor, “and the land is mostly wild. I’m afraid neither my father nor I have any garden-making talents. I had some trees removed so I could see the river from the house, but that’s about all. Come, let me show you the ducks.”

As they walked down toward the shimmering water, Akitada realized that Sadenari need not have been taken away on one of the big ships. Boat journeys in this huge river delta could begin and end anywhere.

Somewhere a monkey chattered in the trees, and from the river came the busy quacking of ducks. In a small cove, the ducks, some twenty of them, swam about chittering softly. One of them set up loud warning cries, and a violent flapping of wings and splashing ensued.

Otomo made clucking sounds, and after a moment they calmed down and swam back. “I feed them,” he said to Akitada, adding, slightly embarrassed. “They are such trusting and gentle creatures. There is much to be said for the Buddha’s prohibition against taking the lives of helpless creatures. I’m afraid my neighbors hunt them down for food, and so they have become shy.”

Akitada really liked the man. He needed a friend, and his heart warmed to Otomo.

Back at the house, they encountered a startled white-haired lady. She was slender and soberly dressed in dark green silk, her long white hair twisted into a knot at her neck.

Otomo smiled at her and said simply, “My wife. My dear, this is Lord Sugawara from the capital.”

She must have been very pretty once, Akitada thought, with even features and large luminous eyes. At the moment, she was flustered, greeting an unexpected nobleman, and without her fan. She bowed and withdrew quickly, murmuring something about refreshments.

“There are just the two of us now,” said Otomo. “My wife’s maid is also our cook, and I hire occasional help for the heavy work. “Only one of our daughters lives. She is married to an official in Kyushu. We don’t see them often.” He sighed.

“Children and grandchildren are a great blessing.” It was a conventional retort, but these days Akitada felt its truth deeply.

The professor showed Akitada into his study. “You see how we live,” he said. “You really would honor us greatly if you would accept our hospitality.”

The house was just large enough for a guest or two, even if it had none of the outbuildings and pavilions customary in noble houses. Several rooms had covered verandas overlooking the river. It was very tempting to stay here for a few days, and Akitada liked the Otomos.

“I truly wish I could accept your generous offer,” he said, “but I doubt I’ll spend another night in Naniwa. Watamaro has sent a ship or ships after the one Sadenari is supposed to be on. If there’s no news today, I must return to the capital and report his disappearance.”

Otomo looked surprised. “But you will return?” He added, “You may come any time and you’ll be welcomed.”

“Thank you.” Such generosity was almost embarrassing. “What a fine library you have.” The room reminded Akitada of the one that had belonged to Tamako’s father, who had also been a professor. There were just as many books here, some on stands, others stacked against the walls or used to support shelves which held more books and scrolls.

Otomo said, “I’ve deprived my family in order to buy books. No doubt there is a special punishment in hell for such self-indulgence. Perhaps I shall be struck with blindness among the rarest works known to men.” He laughed nervously.

“Surely searching for knowledge is a good thing.”

An elderly maid brought wine, pickled plums, and nuts. They sat on cushions near doors that stood open to a view of the distant river. Here, too, the crickets were chirping. The sadness of autumn seized Akitada again. Perhaps it was his worry about Sadenari, or the memory of the poor young drowned girl, but thoughts of death seemed never far away lately.