I Parker: The Masuda Affair

He lost the boy almost immediately.

While thinking how to introduce this foundling to his wife, he became aware of shouting. The boy’s arms tightened convulsively around Akitada’s neck, and a sharp-faced, poorly-dressed woman pushed to his side.

‘It is you, Jiro!’ She glared at Akitada and demanded shrilly, ‘What are you doing with our boy? Give him back.’

Akitada could not answer immediately because the child’s thin arms had wrapped around his neck with a stranglehold.

A rough character in the shirt and loincloth of a peasant joined the woman. ‘Hey,’ he cried, ‘let go of him. He’s ours.’ When Akitada did not react, he bellowed at the bystanders, ‘Here. He’s stolen our boy. Someone call the constables.’

Akitada loosened the boy’s grip and saw the sheer terror on his face.

It was over quickly. Two constables pushed through the crowd. The couple burst into angry speech, confusing the two guardians of the peace and distracting the audience from the dance performance as a more exciting entertainment played out in their midst.

Akitada listened to the storm of accusations and demands, holding the trembling child against him, murmuring that it would be all right. But it was not all right.

The man’s name was Mimura. The boy was his son. He was a fisherman on the lake and lived with his wife about a mile from Otsu, near the forest where Akitada had found the boy.

The constables turned their attention to Akitada.

‘Do you know this boy, sir?’ the first constable asked politely.

‘No. I found him yesterday, abandoned in the forest. In the rain. I brought him to Otsu to find his family.’

The constables looked at each other, nodded, and the first constable said contentedly, ‘Well, you’ve found them, sir. Just give the boy to these people. I’m sure they’re much obliged to you.’

Akitada looked at the Mimuras and frowned. ‘He doesn’t seem to want to go with them,’ he said. The child’s fear of the couple was palpable and obvious to anyone. Moreover, they did not act like loving parents. The man’s low brow, mean eyes, and angry expression did not promise well, and nobody could find any maternal love in the coarse-featured female’s manner. They did not look relieved to have their child back, safe and sound; they looked furious – and greedy. The crowd muttered.

Mimura caught their mood and put on an ingratiating smile. ‘The kid’s crying his eyes out ‘cause his treat’s over,’ he explained. ‘The rich gentleman has bought him pretty clothes and presents. And sweets, too, I suppose. I’m sure he likes it much better here than at home.’ His voice took on a whining quality. ‘We’re just poor people, sir. Desperately poor. The child’s gone hungry along with his parents. Why, I wager he thought he’d found paradise with you, sir. But he belongs to us. I lost a day’s work, looking for him. I don’t know how we’re going to manage.’

Akitada looked at the constables and snapped, ‘Before I turn this child over to these people, I should like to see some proof that they are indeed his parents.’ But he had little hope of disproving their claim. The boy had recognized them. And the fact that he had picked up the child in the forest near their home had already convinced the constables.

Since he was clearly a gentleman and the claimants were a ragged fisherman and his wife, the two constables decided to turn the matter over to the local warden. They all walked to the warden’s office, Akitada still carrying the child.

The warden was a middle-aged man with an enormous mustache which he kept stroking as he listened to the constable’s report. He looked them over, then took down everyone’s name and dwelling place. When informed that Akitada was a senior secretary in the Ministry of Justice, he bowed respectfully.

The fisherman, Mimura, whispered to his wife. They looked like people whose fortune was about to be made, if only they played their game carefully.

When the warden had written down his last note with painstaking brush strokes, he turned to the child in Akitada’s arms. ‘Boy,’ he said, not unkindly, ‘Are these your parents?’

Mimura’s wife cried, ‘No point asking him. He’s an idiot. Deaf and dumb as a stone. He’s ours all right. Who else would want him?’

‘He is not an idiot,’ snapped Akitada. ‘And if you were his mother, you wouldn’t call him that.’

The man came to his wife’s aid. ‘It’s true, begging your pardon, sir,’ he said. ‘He’s been a great burden to us, poor little cripple. But he’s ours, and we take care of him as best we can.’

The warden sighed. ‘Do you have any proof that he’s yours?’ he asked the Mimuras.

They looked at each other. The man said, ‘We didn’t know we’d need his papers. We just went searching for our lost boy. It’s a fine thing when a father can’t have his own child without carrying papers around with him.’

The warden sighed again. He turned to Akitada. ‘You won’t deny that you found the boy near the Mimuras’ home, will you, sir?’

‘No. But what parent would leave a child out in such weather in nothing but a thin ragged shirt? No real parent would treat a child in that fashion. And he’s been beaten and starved.’

The warden heaved a third sigh. His expression spoke volumes about the naivete of the wealthy when it came to how the poor lived their ramshackle lives. ‘Can you find someone to testify that the boy is yours?’ he asked the fisherman.

Mimura blustered, ‘What? Now? This time of night? On a holiday? You don’t mean I should go all the way home and walk back here with one of my neighbors, do you?’

But his wife was pulling his sleeve and pointing to the street outside. ‘There’s that monk again,’ she said. ‘He saw the boy at our place.’

The warden sent for the mendicant monk, perhaps the same one Akitada had seen earlier. He was still wearing his basket hat. The warden explained the situation and the monk turned to peer through a slit in the basket at the Mimuras and the boy in Akitada’s arms. He spread his hands. ‘I don’t recognize the child, though I remember the woman very well.’ He had a fine, deep voice and spoke like an educated man. His tone implied that their meeting had not been a pleasant one.

The woman bit her lip. ‘Jiro’s wearing new clothes and is clean. You’ve got to remember him. I was telling you what a terrible thing it is to raise a child that’s not right. Can’t say a word, can’t hear, and isn’t right in the head, I said. We work and work to feed him, and there’s never any money in the house.’

The monk inclined his head. ‘I recall that conversation, and it is true there was a child there. It may be the same boy.’

It was good enough for the warden. Since Akitada made no move to turn over the child, one of the constables took him from his arms and handed him to the woman. The warden pronounced a warning to the Mimuras to keep a better eye on him in the future, the monk departed, and that was that.

But Mimura was not quite done. He now bobbed Akitada a bow. ‘We’re much obliged, sir,’ he said. ‘He’s been treated like a prince. Just look at him weeping his eyes out, sir. He knows he’s going home to a cold house and an empty bowl.’ He paused expectantly.

Akitada looked at Mimura in disgust, but he reached into his sash and gave the man most of the silver he carried. It was enough to feed a large family for a month. The boy looked at Akitada despairingly.

‘Be a good boy,’ Akitada told him, tousling his hair. ‘I shall come to visit you and make sure all is well.’ He gave the Mimuras a sharp look and then turned away, unable to meet the child’s eyes.

The woman snorted. ‘He can’t hear a word. No need to bother yourself.’ The Mimuras left.