I. Parker: The Old Men of Omi

Kosehira had spent the ride home chattering gleefully about his daughter. It was clear he loved her dearly, and Akitada had the uncomfortable feeling that his friend would remain alert to her welfare even after she had become his wife and lived in the Sugawara home.

Custom prescribed that a son-in-law live in his new wife’s home and become a part of her family. It was not a notion Akitada found appealing. There would be no privacy for the couple, and he treasured his privacy. In his first marriage, the possibility had not arisen because Tamako had become both fatherless and homeless on the same day. In this case, it was surely understood that Yukiko would come to him, but clearly there would be strings attached.

More worrisome was that all of these plans had been presented to him so quickly and completely. Apparently, Kosehira had expected Akitada and Yukiko to step unprotestingly into their ascribed roles. And so he now wanted to see her to assure himself that she would come to him willingly and without reservations. He was no longer at all sure of this.

Alas, the garden was empty, and after waiting quite a long time, wandering back and forth between the promontory and the koi pond, Akitada returned to his room to change. There would be another family dinner tonight in celebration of the engagement, and he dreaded it.

It was young Arimitsu, the youngest of Kosehira’s sons, who met him on his way to the main house. He came running, all smiles, and stopped before Akitada with the words, “You are to be my brother-in-law. Father said so. I’m very glad!”

Greatly moved by this artless welcome, Akitada laughed and swung him up into his arms to hug him, saying, “I’m very glad, too, Arimitsu. Thank you.”

They walked hand-in-hand to the main house, Arimitsu quiet now and proud to be leading the guest of honor. When they entered the reception room, chosen for this meal in honor of the occasion, Akitada’s heart misgave him again. It was all happening too fast. He had not had time to think. What would Kosehira’s wives think of this odd match?

He glanced around nervously, but saw only smiling faces. Yukiko was absent, and that gave him a new worry.

They seated him between Kosehira and his first lady, Yukiko’s mother. This was perhaps traditional. The presence of all the children though, was surely not. He was grateful for it, especially when Arimitsu gave him a broad grin. The other youngsters were more reserved, but seemed quietly pleased.

When all eyes turned toward the door, he saw Yukiko. She wore a gorgeous robe of shimmering gauze over pale green silk with touches of red and pink peeking forth at her full sleeves and at the hem of her skirts. She looked beautiful and remote. Not once did she lift her head to look at Akitada as she went to her place on her father’s other side where Akitada would be unable to catch her eye throughout the meal.

He wished himself elsewhere. Back at home in his study, far away from people and obligations, from having to make conversation when his heart misgave him. Dear gods, how was he to get through this meal?

And through the other formalities yet to come?

Somehow they consumed the first courses, served by two pretty maids, while talking about the weather.

“Today, I saw geese flying north again,” said Arikuni, Kosehira’s second son. “Spring is almost over. What a pity. All those fairs are so much fun. Will you be here for the Great Shrine Festival, Cousin Akitada?”

“Yes. That is, if I can get the time off. My superior indicated that he has a good deal of work waiting for me.” That had sounded stilted and awkward, and he added, “Yasuko and Yoshi have been begging to come, and I did promise them.”

They asked more questions about his family and home next, all easy to answer. Yukiko’s mother wanted to know about the children’s ages and their upbringing. Kosehira supplied anecdotes from his visits to Akitada’s home, carefully avoiding references to Tamako.

Akitada felt grieved by this. He said, “I have neglected my children. It was very wrong of me, but the death of their mother was deeply painful. I hope to make up for my neglect.” This, alas, struck a funereal note on what should be an auspicious occasion.

To dispel the somber mood, Kosehira said, “You have good people who look well after your children. I recall seeing Genba jumping about the courtyard with young Yori on his back, and Tora used to teach him how to fight. I’m sure they also look after the other two very well.”

Seeing some blank looks, Akitada explained, “Yori was my first son who died in the smallpox epidemic.” The women sucked in their breath and gave him pitying glances, while Kosehira bit his lip. Clearly the topic of tragic losses was undesirable. Embarrassed, Akitada added quickly, “You are right. My people love the children, and so do their wives. Tora has a son who is a year older than Yasuko. They all study and play together. And now Genba also has a little daughter.”

He felt awkward talking about his family and wondered what Yukiko thought. This new worry caused him to fall silent.

Kosehira changed the subject to the troubles in Otsu. “Akitada has been helping Chief Takechi with those murders that have people so upset,” he said. “It’s a difficult case, and I’m very glad he’s here to help.”

This brought more questions which Akitada and Kosehira answered cautiously, leaving out details that might frighten the women and give the smaller children nightmares.

And so the meal finally ended. Yukiko left quickly with the other women. She had not spoken once. Neither had she looked at him.

He walked back to his room dazed and miserable, wondering what was expected of him next. Was he to slip into Yukiko’s room under cover of darkness and make love to her?

Probably. But he had no idea where her room was. A younger man would have found out such an important fact long before now. He grimaced at the contrast between himself, a staid government official with a growing family, and a young lover. Poor Yukiko.

Clearly he could not force her to submit to him. It would be insensitive and brutish. The bedding of the bride had been easier in Tamako’s case, though there, too, he had been afraid to make his move. But he had been younger then, both eager and ardently in love, and that had overcome all his scruples. Now he had acquired a host of feelings of inadequacy.

He reached his room, looked at the bedding spread out by servants, and knew he would not be able to sleep. Turning around, he went back into the dark garden.

Half hoping.

It was already quite dark at the koi pond, and no one was there. Disappointed, he walked on to the promontory. Daylight lingered on the shining mirror of the lake, but a pale moon had risen, and the land lay dark beneath the starry sky. Only a few lights glimmered like glowworms in the city below.

Was the killer sleeping down there somewhere or was he watching another victim’s house? He had surely been watching the rice merchant’s house, waiting for the family and the servants to leave for the shrine fair. Then he had gone inside to kill Fumi Tokiari. This killer was a man of enormous patience.

So many fairs! A memory nagged at him, the words of a child. Yes, it had been the little boy at the rice merchant’s place wanting a puppet. Could he have seen the killer?

A rustle among the shrubs, a soft step, the scent of almond blossoms.

He turned slowly. Yukiko stood on the path. She wore the same blue robe as the last time they had met here-when he had believed he would never see her again.

“I thought you might come here, Akitada,” she said softly.

“Yukiko,” he murmured, extending his hand to her. “Oh, my dear. Are you pleased?”