I. Parker - Death on an Autumn River

Even at this relatively early hour, Eguchi’s main street was already busy. Akitada tried in vain to suppress his distaste for this particular crowd. Slatternly older women swept before the doors of the brothels, while the younger inhabitants emerged to trip off to the temple up the street. The religious fervor of females in this profession was legendary. They were superstitious, worshipped phallic gods, prayed to the Buddha to cleanse them of their sins and send them wealthy patrons, and lived forever in the hope of miracles. The wine shops were mostly still closed, but a few drunks still lay around in doorways, snoring or eyeing the day blearily. Food vendors did a good business, shouting out their dumplings and noodles and greeting the passing harlots with obscene comments.

Somehow all this did not match up with his image of the young, beautiful, and very dead girl. Shaking his head, he turned his steps toward the bamboo grove and the shack of Furuda and Harima.

He heard the clucking of chickens before he got to it, and when he emerged from the bamboo thicket, he saw that there were many more fowl than last time. The garden, too, had doubled in size. A new section was freshly dug, and already some young plants were growing in rows.

“Harima,” he called out, and she came to the door of the shack. Her face broke into a smile, quickly hidden behind a hand as she came to greet him. He admired again that inimitably graceful, swaying walk of the great courtesan. “I came for a little visit,” he greeted her.

She bowed deeply. “Welcome, my Lord. Oh, how I wish Furuda were here! He’s delivering melons and vegetables in town. Oh, sir, you were so right. We are doing a lot of business with our garden. Did you see the new garden with the little cabbages and radishes and turnips? Please come sit under the tree. I’ll fetch a cushion, and if you’ll stay a little while, Furuda may return.”

Akitada laughed. His heart warmed to this old couple all over again. “I’m very happy to hear you’re both well. By chance, might there be a melon left?”

“For you, of course. Oh, sir, we owe it all to you.” Her eyes shone and she forgot to cover her mouth as she smiled at him. “A moment, sir.” Hurrying back to the shack, she returned with a cushion for him and went to cut a melon.

Akitada sat under the tree, watched the chickens scurry out of her way, noted that the shack had a new roof and a door, brushed aside a late bee, and felt cheerful.

The melon was as sweet as last time. He asked her to share it with him, but she shook her head. “It would not be seemly. May I offer you something else? We have no wine here, I’m afraid. Furuda has sworn off it. But I could run to town and be back very shortly.”

He could not imagine making someone of her age run such an errand for him. She was in her seventies, surely, and while she was still slender and moved with great grace, she also moved slowly. He thought of Seimei and how painful had been his final years because of the many chores he had insisted on performing to the end. Tears rose to his eyes. “Thank you,” he said, “but I don’t drink wine this early and I don’t want you to deprive me of your charming company.”

She smiled at him with her eyes and acknowledged the compliment with a little bow, still so practiced that he felt subtly flattered. by her attention. She had moved close to him to serve him bites of melon. It was ridiculous to feel attracted to a woman old enough to be his mother, or even grandmother, but so it was.

Putting his mind firmly to the purpose of his visit, he said, “You’re very kind, Harima. That’s why I came to ask you a favor.”

“If it is in my power, sir, I shall do it.”

“I need some information. Your past life has given you knowledge about the way the local brothels are run.”

She flushed and turned her head away. “It has been a very long time since I was a part of that, but please ask your questions,” she said.

Inwardly cursing his blunt language, he said, “The day before I came here the first time, a young girl had drowned in the river. Do you remember?”

She nodded, her face sad. “Yes. She was very young. It can be a difficult life for the young ones. I grieved to hear of it.”

She seemed calm, but he noticed her hands, folded now, pressing against her waist. Even work-roughened and twisted by age, they were still graceful and expressive. The gesture suggested grief, pain, and pity for the dead girl.

“I was told that she was not Japanese, that she had been brought here from Koryo,” he said.

“That must be a false rumor, sir. There are no foreign girls in Eguchi. Unless . . .” She paused, frowning.

“Unless what?”

“We have many sailors here. One of them may have brought a woman from that far place, but I never heard about it.”

“The rumor also maintained that not just the one, but a number of young women- mere children-had been taken from Koryo and sold into the trade here because there was a special demand for them.”

Now her eyes widened in alarm. “Oh, no. That would be a very cruel thing to do.”

“Yes.But you must know that there are men who find children, both boys and girls, attractive in that way. The dead girl I saw looked as young as thirteen.”

She shook her head. “I have known of such men, but not recently. This particular girl was young, but not quite so young. And she was one of our people.”

This was news! Akitada took the amulet from his sash. “She was wearing this around her neck when she was found. It’s Korean workmanship.”

She looked at it and shook her head. “I don’t know where she got this, but she was not from Koryo.”

“Then you knew her? Or knew of her?”

She said simply, “I was a choja once. Some of the girls still visit me sometimes to ask my advice. They tell me about their hopes and fears and about their hardships and jealousies. She was never here, but several others talked about her.” She sighed. “You must understand that women compete with each other, and since they pin all of their hopes on finding a generous client who will buy them out, they often blame each other when they fail.”

That raised an interesting point. “Then do you think she was driven to commit suicide, or . . . could she have been murdered by a rival?”

Spreading her expressive hands, she said, “I don’t know how she died, and neither do my young friends. There’s gossip, of course, but I don’t want to spread lies. I’ve found that you cannot always believe what these young women say.” She smiled a little sadly.

“Nevertheless, will you trust me?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “The dead girl was a shinju , that is, she was still in training. Her name was Akogi. She lived in the Hananoya, the House of Blossoms. The Hananoya is the biggest of the Eguchi houses.” She twisted her hands in her lap. “It’s an unhappy house, I think, and yes, there was jealousy there, but I don’t think it led to murder. More likely, she found her life too hard. It cannot have been a happy one for her. The others thought she had gone into the river herself.”

And that proved once and for all that Professor Otomo, that nice and caring man, had lied to him. Had lied to him repeatedly with his stories about the kidnapped and possibly murdered Korean girls. The only conceivable reason he could have had for such an elaborate fabrication was to send him away from Naniwa and from his investigation into piracy. It made perfect sense. First they had distracted him with the disappearance of Sadenari, then they had tried to send him on a wild goose chase after kidnapped Korean girls, and finally, when all that had not worked, they had attacked his family in the capital.

But there remained the fact of the dead girl. Akitada was puzzled by what Harima had said. It did not add up. He said, “If she was still in training, why were the other girls jealous of her?”