I. Parker: Death on an Autumn River

Two middle-aged men in the dark robes and hats of officials were on their feet. Both shouted and one of them, with a spreading stain on the front of his robe, had the old waiter by the throat.

The owner of the restaurant rushed from the kitchen and tried to calm the officials while delivering kicks at the quailing waiter. Akitada felt sorry for the poor old man and instinctively disliked the officials. But the matter was settled quickly, and the owner bowed the irate guests out. The old waiter limped back to the kitchen, weeping.

“I wish they hadn’t been so cruel,” said Sadenari, and Akitada forgave him his earlier remark.

*

For that night, they stayed in a small monastery on the outskirts of Eguchi, away from the noise and the temptations of its brothels. Akitada fell asleep immediately, dreaming of casting his line into the water from the veranda of his river pavilion and dragging out an enormous fish. The fish changed into the shape of a dead young girl who had the features of his little daughter.

He came awake in a cold sweat and lay for a while looking up at the rafters. It had only been a nightmare, perhaps because he had been forced to ignore the case of the drowned girl. She had been so young, too young to end her life like that.

Something else nagged at him: the incident in the restaurant. Something had been wrong. Those officials were not what they seemed to be. Even at that distance, their robes had looked worn and the colored rank ribbons on their hats had been for the third and fourth rank respectively, far too high in the hierarchy for ordinary officials going about their business in a place like Eguchi.

He sat up and looked over to where Sadenari slept. His bedding seemed strangely flat in the dim moonlight that came through the shutters. Getting up, he went to check and found the quilts empty. Sadenari was gone, and he had taken his clothes, shoes, and money pouch with him.

Akitada muttered under his breath as he dressed and gathered his belongings. He was very angry. Sadenari had managed to become a thorn in his side already.

The trick of arranging his bedding so that it would look occupied was juvenile. Common sense dictated ignoring this ruse and, if he did not make an appearance soon, continuing the journey alone. After all, the youth was nineteen and should know how to take care of himself.

On the other hand, he felt a responsibility for someone as naive about the world as Sadenari was, and besides, the young man’s father would hold him responsible if harm came to his child.

Sadenari had probably slipped out to sample the harlots, or possibly he had followed up on his obsession with the drowned girl. Either way, there was little to be done about it.

Akitada stepped outside the monastery gate and looked down the road toward Eguchi. In the east, the darkness was lifting, but the town was still asleep. The lights in the brothels had dimmed, and paper lanterns swayed ghostlike in the breeze from the river. Akitada sniffed. He could smell the open sea. The air was fresher here than in the capital, which was enclosed by mountains and tended to have stagnant summer days.

With an impatient sigh, he turned back into the monastery compound and sought out the dining hall for his breakfast. The monks had already been up for early morning lessons and now were chatting over their gruel. He ate what they ate, millet gruel with some vegetables added, and drank water. Two young monks sat near him, their shaved heads together, and whispered. He caught the word “drowned.”

Belatedly, it occurred to Akitada that this must be the monastery in charge of the dead girl’s funeral, and that she must have been brought here already.

When he asked the two monks, they flushed furiously. They were young and perhaps new to their vows, but it troubled him that, instead of sadness for a life lost so young, this death should cause prurient thoughts. Sadenari had also flushed because the nameless girl had aroused desire in him.

After his breakfast, he sought out the abbot, introduced himself, and asked if the warden had paid for the funeral.

“Oh, no,” the elderly abbot said quickly. “We don’t require payment. The poor young girl has no family and no money. But late last night a young woman from the town left some silver to have prayers read. They are very protective of each other.”

Akitada did not mention the gold piece he had given the warden. Though he could not really afford it, he took out another one, saying, “Allow me to make a small contribution also.” He asked for the name of the other donor – hoping that the girl had had a family after all-but the abbot did not know.

When he left the monastery, the sun was up, and still there was no sign of Sadenari.

He walked the entire length of Eguchi, passing several drunks sleeping in doorways, but none was Sadenari. At the wharf, the boats swayed gently in the river current, making soft bumping sounds. Here, too, he saw no one. The deep blue of the sky promised another fine day. Until the body of the girl had been discovered, the river journey had been very pleasant. Akitada decided to continue the short distance to Naniwa by water. He looked at the sun. There was time for a stroll before the first boat would leave.

Touching the drowned girl’s amulet in his sash, he felt obscurely guilty for abandoning her to a crooked warden and a quick cremation by the monks. She had been too young to be in this profession, perhaps as young as twelve or thirteen.

It was a pity what happened to poor children-for the pleasure houses also provided boys to their customers. Their parents frequently were too poor to feed them. What a shocking life the dead girl must have found here. He thought of his little daughter and shuddered.

He saw the first signs of life in the streets. A woman opened shutters on one of the houses, a drunk staggered homeward holding his head, and the owner of the restaurant where they had eaten the night before was shouting at two maids who swept last night’s dirt out into the street. Akitada remembered the old waiter.

“Good morning,” he called out to the owner. “My clerk and I happened to eat here last night.” The man hurried over and bowed. “You had an unpleasant incident,” Akitada added.

“My deepest apologies. I assure you, sir, that the worthless waiter has been dismissed. We take pride in giving only the best service.”

“I watched the incident. Your waiter was most likely innocent. The two men who complained were not who they pretended to be. I suspect they created the incident to get a free meal.”

To his surprise, the man nodded. “That is so, sir.”

“You suspected them?”

“It’s happened before. In my business you have to keep your eyes and ears open.”

“But in that case, why blame the waiter?”

“He was getting too old anyway. I lost the payment for two meals and wine, but my customers think I got rid of a careless waiter.”

Outraged, Akitada snapped, “What you did was unjust and heartless. You should go and apologize to that old man and ask him to come back.”

The restaurant owner started a laugh, turned it into a cough, and bowed. “Your pardon, sir, but my business waits.” He disappeared into his establishment.

Akitada stared after him in helpless fury when one of the maids, an older woman sidled over with her broom and started sweeping. She murmured, “Fukuda lives behind the temple,” and moved away.

Akitada bit his lip. Sadenari was still gone. Perhaps he should give him a bit more time and take the later boat. He walked to the small temple not far from the landing stage and found a narrow footpath leading through a bamboo grove. Within moments, the world became peaceful. A rabbit started and dove into the undergrowth, and very small birds fluttered up as he passed. The lush leaves above his head shut out the sky and were in a continuous rustling motion. From time to time, smaller footpaths crossed or led away from the one he was on until he feared he would become lost in this green world.