I. Parker: Death on an Autumn River

The other youngsters scattered, and Sadenari slid down, flushing crimson. Akitada merely looked at him, then turned and left.

Fujiwara Kaneie was in his office and received him happily. “My dear Akitada, welcome. Sit down. You’ve been missed. All sorts of things are in arrears, and I cannot get any work out of the young clerks. Are you all done with that irritating piracy business?”

Akitada bowed, sat, and indicated he was.

“Well, that’s good. You’re to have some leave, what with the recent death of your old retainer, but if you would just have a peek at a few matters before you take it, I’d be very grateful.”

“Of course, sir. You are well, I trust?”

“Yes, yes. Thank the gods. I’ll be on my way into the country to have a look at my family estate now that you’re back. Getting in a little hunting perhaps. Do you hunt?”

“No, sir. Not lately anyway.”

“I’m going to try falcons. The sport of emperors.” He laughed. “Very clever birds, I’m told. You just toss one into the air and it chases down your duck or rabbit or whatever and brings it back. Imagine that.”

“Very impressive. May I ask what you have decided to do about Sadenari, sir?”

The minister’s face fell. “Ah, yes. Silly boy! Sorry he gave you a hard time. I’ve put him in the archives. Surely that’ll teach him a lesson.”

Akitada sighed inwardly. The young man was a liability, and Akitada had little hope that he would become a useful member of the ministry, but his exploits in Eguchi had mostly been due to youthful foolishness and an excess of libido. He recalled the young man’s humble family and thought it best to leave matters alone, provided he was never saddled with him again.

“By the way,” the minister said, “the governor of Settsu . . . man by the name of Oga. You must’ve met him.”

“Yes, I did. What about him?”

“Resigned his office. Says he decided to take the tonsure. Why is everybody in such a hurry to enter a monastery these days?”

“I have no idea, sir.”

“Exactly. It’s a mystery.” The minister pushed a stack of document boxes toward Akitada. “Here are some of the cases you need to have a look at. Handle them any way you see fit. I have the utmost confidence in you. Well, I think that’s all. I should be back in another week.”

Akitada carried the boxes to his office where his elderly clerk greeted him with a smile and the words, “Oh, dear. More documents? There’s no room. His Excellency has been sending everything here for the past two weeks.”

Akitada looked around his small room. Every surface was covered with boxes and scrolls, some with small tags attached that proclaimed them to be urgent. He put the boxes in his arms on the floor, and went to sit behind his desk, staring at the stacks that rose before him and threatened to topple in his lap. It reminded him of Nakahara’s desk.

The clerk offered, “Shall I clear the desk a little? I can put all those on the floor with the new ones.”

Life was back to normal.

*

The next morning, Akitada rose early and stepped from his wife’s room out onto her veranda. It was dawn of another fine day. Their wisteria was not blooming so late in the year, but it looked particularly healthy and lush, with many seedpods dangling among the leaves. Already the small maple had turned completely red, and Tamako’s chrysanthemums bloomed lavishly white and golden yellow.

He sat down and thought about his marriage. He had felt shame while making love to his wife last night, shame because he had wanted to bed the choja Nakagimi. Even this morning in his peaceful domesticity, his feelings were still ambivalent. He knew he would have taken Nakagimi that night if not for Sadenari’s appearance. He had lacked both the strength of character and the wish to resist. As for Nakagimi, she was very beautiful, but there had been a hardness about her that he found repellent. Had he been angry with her because of his own failure?

He pondered this for a while. A bird began to sing somewhere close by.

He had been unfair, he decided. More than likely, she, like Akogi, had suffered a “presentation” when she was still a very young girl. But she had not fallen in love with a handsome and dashing young nobleman. No doubt she had been taken by an older man who had been both unattractive and inconsiderate. She had learned early to look out for herself because no one else would.

He sighed. He must learn not to judge people too harshly. Even Watamaro had gone into his violent and mercenary business with a wish to improve the lot of poor sailors and fishermen.

A rustling of the bed clothes in the room behind him reminded him of the eager and passionate lovemaking he and Tamako had shared. No courtesan could improve on that. With a smile, he rose to get his flute and play for his wife. He walked quickly from her garden to his and into his study. Taking the flute from its box, he returned.

To his delight, the sun had risen over the trees and struck the top of the maple, making the crimson foliage blaze more brilliantly than the most costly dyed silk robe fit for an empress. He put the flute to his lips and played.

Tamako came out and stood listening. He looked at her in her white undergown with a flowered quilt wrapped around her shoulders against the chill morning air. She was beautiful, and he put his heart into the song. She was his beloved, his luminous pearl beyond compare.

When he finished, she came to him. “How lovely,” she said, touching his cheek and looking at him with moist eyes.

“Thank you, my dear.” He put an arm around her and pointed with the flute. “Look. See how the sun brings out the fire in those maple leaves. I am very happy at this moment.”

“I was very happy last night,” she murmured with a smile. “Oh, Akitada, I wanted to wait to be quite sure, but I’ll tell you now. I think I am with child again.”

He pulled her close, his heart full of joy. “I wish Seimei could be here.”

“Yes. He wished for another boy.”

An heir for the Sugawara name. If they had another son, Akitada hoped he would be a better father to him than he had been to Yori.” His happiness faded as he thought of that other father who had caused his son’s death by wanting the best for him. He felt afraid.

The End

The time of Death on an Autumn River is 1024, nearing the end of the Heian era that predated the period of shoguns and samurai warriors. Though there certainly were wars and warriors, life was more peaceful than in later centuries. The ruler was an emperor and the government was centralized in the capital Heian-Kyo (later Kyoto) but reached across the land via provincial administrations and a well-organized transport system. Most customs and institutions were patterned after those in T’ang China, but contact with foreign countries had been broken off completely in previous centuries, and what foreign trade there was again was still severely controlled.

Japanese officialdom dominated every aspect of the people’s lives, but it was no longer in the hands of the best and brightest as in China. It had passed into the control of a single family of the Fujiwara clan. Through marriage politics, senior Fujiwara officials held all the highest positions. They became the fathers-in-law, uncles, grandfathers, and cousins of ruling emperors. By the eleventh century, they encouraged the early abdication of emperors in order to place another, easily controlled, child on the throne. Perhaps the most powerful man of the time was Chancellor Fujiwara Michinaga, who had ruled for many years, either as chancellor or as the father or grandfather of chancellors, empresses, and emperors. By 1024, he lived retired in the Byodo-in, his palace on the Uji River.