I. Parker: The Old Men of Omi

“I’m at your service, but let me take my son back to his mother.”

Akitada wandered into the house, peering into rooms as he passed them. They were all empty, though furnished with thick tatami mats and amenities like candle holders, oil lamps, braziers, and small screens. Here and there, he also saw clothes racks. All of those things were of good quality and everything was very clean. The wooden floors shone. He thought of the poor young couple. Judge Nakano had certainly got his money’s worth from their services. Given the fact that Otsu provided many opportunities to earn a living, he began to wonder if Nakano had used some sort of threat to keep them in bondage.

And that, of course, would give them a motive. But a motive for what? Nakano’s death was most likely due to his age and ill health.

He returned to the study and cast another glance at the desk with its papers, fanciful writing implements, and that odd carving of Jizo. He picked it up to see if it might have an inscription, making it something like an amulet, but saw nothing.

“I’m ready now, sir.”

Akitada turned, startled. The young man was back. He was barefoot; that accounted perhaps for his silent movements. He looked curiously at the little figure in Akitada’s hand as he waited.

This room was the only one that was not painfully neat. The floor still bore all the marks of recent activity by constables and others.

The violent intrusion of strangers after a death.

“Any idea why your master had this little carving of Jizo?” Akitada asked, holding it up.

The young man shook his head. “I never saw it before his death, sir. It’s not the sort of thing the judge would own. It was on the floor when we found the master dead. My wife put it on his desk.”

“Strange. Where did it come from? Did he have any visitors recently?”

“No, sir. No one.”

“Well, then, did he go out the day before he died?”

“No, sir. My wife and I do the shopping.”

A brief silence fell while Akitada looked at the young man thoughtfully. If he had indeed worked against his will for the judge, he could not be trusted to tell the truth.”

The young man shifted nervously, then said, “If you’ll forgive me, sir, but the figure looks like the sort of cheap stuff people sell at markets and fairs around here. Travelers buy them for good luck, and we have many travelers passing though.”

“Hmm. Yes. But that doesn’t explain how it got here.” Akitada replaced the carving on the desk and looked about again. “I’ll mention it to the chief. Meanwhile it will be best if you and your wife stay out of this room. The police will seal the doors until the investigation is finished.”

The young man bowed. “Is there anything else, sir?”

Akitada noticed that the servant’s eyes wandered to the desk, and he glanced at it again. This time he noticed that the stack of notes had been shifted aside a little. “Have you or your wife tried to clean up here?”

“No! The police chief said not to touch anything.”

It came too quickly and with a furtive expression.

“Very good. That’s all for now. You may leave. I’ll see myself out.”

As soon as the young man was gone, Akitada scooped up the judge’s notes and put them inside his robe. Then he left, closing the door behind him.

Tora arranged to have a pair of staves sent to his room, then he, too, rode into Otsu. He was uneasy about the man he had rescued and wanted to check on him. His first call was at the harbor master’s office.

He dismounted and tied up his horse, then went inside. The clerks stared, but the harbor master saw him from his backroom and came to greet him.

“How may I assist, sir?” he asked with a nicely calculated bow, and a glance at Tora’s black eye.

“You recall the incident yesterday?”

“I do indeed. Please accept my deep regrets for the monks’ behavior toward you.”

Tora blinked, then got it. Touching his eye, he said, “Oh, this? That’s nothing. I came to check on that worker. Those bastards threatened him.”

“I haven’t seen him today. If he’s smart he’ll have left Otsu with his family. North of here, at Hikone, there’s also good work and it’s much safer.”

“Hmm.” Tora pondered this. It made sense, but he had a bad feeling about the man’s absence. He had not been eager to leave on the day of the incident, so why now? “What’s his name, do you know?”

“Kinzaburo. He comes from someplace near Awazu.”

“He was worried about his family, you said? Did he bring them to Otsu with him?”

“That’s what I thought. He lost his farm. They couldn’t have stayed behind.”

“And where would they live here?”

“There’s a workers quarter over there.” The harbor master pointed. “Most of the men employed in the harbor live there. It’s poor housing, but the rents are cheap.”

Tora thanked him and walked along the harbor looking at the teams of bearers and porters and scanning the area for armed monks. All was peaceful this morning. The unloading progressed briskly, and the men sang as they trotted back and forth between the quay and the bowels of the boats. Kinzaburo was not there.

The workers quarter seemed a safer bet for finding him. In Otsu, this looked not much different from all the poor housing wards in other cities. The capital had several of these in its western part, and Hakata’s had borne a strong resemblance to Otsu’s. Here as there, the harbor provided abundant work to unskilled men who had nothing to offer but a strong back and nimble feet. They labored as porters and bearers, carrying heavy loads on their backs, or as sailors, taking boats up and down the shores of Lake Biwa, or they took cargo by land in wagons or with pack horses. It was poorly paid work and very hard, but it was abundant and they all hoped to save a little by living in shacks or in one room in row houses so that some day they might buy a little bit of land.

Tora was familiar with them. Their dreams invariably came to nothing as the years passed and a large family, or drinking, or gambling consumed their savings. But a poor peasant whose land had been stolen by greedy monks and who was about to be put in bondage with his family might prefer even this hopeless existence.

The poor, mostly women, children, and the old, treated Tora with respect, and his questions eventually led him to one of the row houses. The last unit of this was the home of the porter Kinzaburo.

He walked into tragedy.

Children squalled inside. When Tora lifted the rag that served as a door and looked in, he saw two small children and a screaming baby lying in its mother’s lap. The mother cowered in a corner, her face bloodied and her body shaking. When she became aware of him, she started wailing. The small space looked as though a battle had raged in it. Broken crockery, torn clothes, and blood stains covered the dirt floor.

He was still staring, aghast, when a shrill voice behind him demanded, “Haven’t you done enough, you filth? Leave her alone.”

Tora turned and saw a bent old woman peering up at him from dim eyes. She held a stick in one trembling hand and waved it in threatening manner.

“Go away! And may the gods smite you!”

“What’s happened here, grandmother?” Tora asked, raising his hands to show his innocence.

She lowered her stick a little. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“Lieutenant Sashima, in the service of Lord Sugawara. I came to talk to Kinzaburo. Where is he and what’s happened?”

“The animals came down from the mountain and got him. And that’s not all those assholes did.” She shook her stick. “Look at her!”