I Parker: The Masuda Affair

‘My wife has charge of him, but he should be returned to his family’

The minister opened his mouth to ask, but said only, ‘Ah,’ and, ‘well, I wish you success. Perhaps you will tell me what happens?’ He rose. ‘Time to get back. May we expect you when you have settled the matter?’

‘Certainly, sir. In a day or so.’

In a burst of friendliness, the minister said, ‘I look forward to it, my dear Akitada. You are always getting involved in the most fascinating situations.’

When Akitada returned to Otsu, Judge Nakano brushed away Akitada’s thanks and returned his gold to him with many apologies. He greeted Tamako courteously, and then looked with interest at the boy. Dressed in Yori’s clothes, and with his hair neatly parted and tied, he looked like a handsome noble child.

Nakano shook his head. ‘I find it hard to believe that this is the same boy you found. Both Mimura and his wife were dealing in pirated goods. We found their storehouse filled to the rafters with evidence and put a stop to a notorious pirate who has been working on the lake.’

Akitada said, ‘Good,’ and added, ‘we are on our way to speak to the Masudas.’

‘You think the child is theirs? Come to think of it, young Masuda kept a courtesan. Is that it? Can you prove it?’

‘Young Masuda acknowledged Peony as his concubine, and we know the boy is his son.’

‘Extraordinary! Good blood shows, doesn’t it? But the Masuda ladies will hardly welcome him.’

Akitada sighed. ‘I must do my best for him. Thank you again for your support.’

At the Masuda mansion, the ancient servant opened the gatehouse window. He shook his head stubbornly when Akitada demanded to see the old lord. ‘The first lady has forbidden it,’ he said.

‘This doesn’t concern her. It concerns your master.’

‘She doesn’t wish my master to be upset again.’

‘Life has a way of upsetting us, ‘Akitada said coldly. ‘If Lord Masuda had looked after his family better, his friend Inabe need not have died.’

The servant opened his mouth to object, but then just shook his head again. ‘I don’t dare, sir.’

‘Look,’ Akitada said, losing his patience, ‘I have come with my wife and with Lord Masuda’s grandson, his son’s child by his concubine Peony. Would your master not wish to meet him before he dies?’

‘B-but,’ stammered the old man, ‘that cannot be. You must be mistaken, sir. That child is dead. Lady Masuda said so herself

‘Why is everyone in this household taking her word for things?’

The old man hesitated. ‘Amida!’ he whispered. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes,’ Akitada said firmly.

The servant’s resistance crumbled. ‘Well, it is one of his good days, and the ladies are at a service for poor Mrs Ishikawa. Did you know she died on her pilgrimage?’

Akitada nodded.

‘Surely a blessed occasion,’ the servant said.

Akitada had no wish to discuss Mrs Ishikawa’s blessed or unblessed state. He waited until the old man opened the gate. When the servant saw the child in Tamako’s arms, his eyes widened. ‘Amida,’ he said. ‘He’s his father’s image.’

‘This is Lady Sugawara.’ Akitada handed the child down to the old man and helped Tamako dismount.

The old man paid no attention. He held the boy and crooned, ‘Oh, my little master, how very handsome you are. I used to serve your father when he was just your size.’

The boy smiled at him.

Akitada said, ‘Perhaps we should have him meet his grandfather now.’

The old servant was still looking at the child with joy and amazement. ‘Oh, dear, the ladies will be back any moment. I don’t know what they’ll say. Let’s be quick.’ He led the way.

Lord Masuda turned his head when they entered. He said nothing, but narrowed his eyes.

Akitada took Nori’s hand and brought him to the old lord. ‘My name is Sugawara,’ he said. ‘I was here once before, sir. Today I returned with my wife to bring you your grandson.’ He told the child, ‘Bow to your grandfather.’

Nori made a very creditable bow and a small noise in the back of his throat. Letting go of Akitada’s hand, he went to touch the old lord’s gnarled fingers with his small ones. Lord Masuda looked long and searchingly at the child and from the child to the painting of his son. Akitada held his breath.

‘Yori?’ Lord Masuda’s voice was thin as a thread. ‘Is that really you, Yori?’

The boy nodded, and Akitada’s heart missed a beat. He looked at the servant.

The servant was wiping tears from his eyes. ‘His son’s name was Tadayori. The child looks just like him at that age. We used to call the young master Yori.’ He gestured to the painting.

Akitada looked at the image of the younger Masuda and saw that his eyebrows almost grew together and slanted upward a little at the temples – as did the child’s. He took a deep breath. His own Yori had been Yorinaga – but the coincidence moved him profoundly.

He had crossed paths with this child on that rainy night of the O-Bon festival. In the darkness of his heart he had mistaken him for his son’s ghost and called out his name, and the child had come to him. For the span of that night and a day, he had lived in the dream of having a son again. They had encountered a cat who had led him to Peony’s villa, and everything else had followed – so many things, including his own salvation. Somehow they had reached this moment, he and the boy – a grieving father and a fatherless child.

The old lord looked at him. ‘Where did the child come from?’

‘My Lord, when I was here earlier, I spoke to you about your son and the courtesan Peony.’

‘Peony?’

‘They had a child, a boy, born five years ago. Your son acknowledged the boy as his. This is that child.’ Akitada did not know this for certain, but young Masuda’s return to Peony implied as much.

Lord Masuda looked from Akitada to the boy and then back again. ‘He resembles my son,’ he said. His gnarled hand stretched out and traced the child’s eyebrows. ‘What is your name, boy?’

The child was struggling to speak when the door opened abruptly and Lady Masuda swept in, followed by Kohime. ‘What is going on here?’ she demanded, taking in the scene and singling out Akitada, anger flaring in her face. ‘I told you my father is not well.’

Akitada’s eyes were on the boy. He had a sudden premonition of what was to come. Lady Masuda had finally met her retribution.

But the boy looked past the first lady. His face crumpled, and the small boy erupted into violent movement and speech.

‘Sh-she… k-killed her,’ he screeched. Before Akitada could stop him, he dashed past Lady Masuda and threw himself at Kohime, fists flying. ‘She killed my mother. She did it.’

Kohime screamed, gave the child a violent push, and fled from the room.

Akitada caught the boy in his arms. The child was shaking with a storm of grief and anger, but he was still talking, a flood of incomprehensible syllables of loss and anger. Akitada had guessed the wrong killer, but his heart was filled with joy. ‘So you found your voice,’ he said, hugging him. ‘All will be well now.’

‘M-my m-mother,’ sobbed the child, pressing his wet face against his neck.

‘Shh,’ Akitada patted his back. ‘Your grandfather will take care of it.’ And somehow he knew that it would be so. The old man was far from senile; he had merely been submersed in grief and loneliness for too long. He was very alert now and fidgeted with suppressed emotion. And he was looking straight at Lady Masuda.

She was very pale, but her eyes devoured the child. ‘Thank the gods, he is alive,’ she whispered. Oh, thanks to the blessed Amida, he’s alive. How did you find him? I have searched everywhere.’