I. Parker: The Old Men of Omi

“Yes, Akitada. I’m well pleased. And you?”

“Come here, my love!” he begged.

She came and he drew her close, and after a moment’s hesitation he cupped her face in his hands and put his lips to hers, tasting her sweet breath, and then kissed her again. His hands found their way under the loose blue robe to the merest wisp of silken undergown and the warm skin beneath. He caressed her lightly and kissed her again, feeling her soft gasp and the way she swayed against him.

Releasing her reluctantly, he gestured at the moon. “Last time, the sun was rising and you were bathed in golden light. I thought you the most beautiful sight I’d ever seen and grieved my loss. And now, by the light of the moon, I find you again, far more beautiful and dearer to me.”

She took his hand and placed it against her cheek. “It nearly broke my heart, your leaving.”

They stood, their arms around each other, looking up to where the moon was riding on a bank of silvery cloud. The Milky Way, that magical river in the sky had been crossed by the herdsman to embrace the weaver maid. Akitada was enchanted that he, too, should have found love again.

Just then a flight of birds crossed the sky. He murmured, “Not magpies, surely.”

“Geese,” she said with a soft chuckle. “My brother was right. They are flying north.”

They followed the arrow of their flight as they passed across the moon. It was a beautiful sight and surely a good omen.

Yukiko took his hand. “Come!” she said.

Akitada spent at least part of the next day in a dream.

He intended to work with Takechi, to talk again to all the people connected with the crimes, but this time asking them a specific question. This would be time-consuming and frustrating, but there was a sense of urgency now, and the danger of riots was rising in the city. People were frightened by rumors of a mad killer and had become angry with the authorities. Even the constables were not safe. In one street, a crowd of boys had pelted them with horse droppings and stones and called them names.

But his thoughts were with Yukiko. He was as hungry for her as a young man in his teens and could not stop thinking about their night together. Feeling foolish, he reminded himself that this unaccustomed passion was due to long abstinence-or if not abstinence, then those quick and loveless unions he had purchased with silver. Yukiko, beautiful, young, utterly desirable, was his wife. He was barely able to comprehend it yet. Every thought of her filled him with a strange mix of tenderness and lust.

After spending the night with his daughter, Akitada’s first meeting with Kosehira was awkward. Fortunately, his friend was similarly embarrassed, and the situation in the city was the topic of the conversation. Akitada told Kosehira what he had remembered. Kosehira looked dubious, but said, “Well, since we have nothing else, I suppose you and Takechi had better look for the man.”

It was easier said than done.

His next embarrassment stemmed from Tora’s reaction when he told him what had happened. Tora’s jaw dropped in utter surprise. Alas, his shocked silence was temporary. After boisterous congratulations accompanied by backslapping, he bombarded Akitada with advice. You would have thought he, Akitada, had never bedded a woman or-which was more galling-that he was well past the age where he was able to function in the marriage bed. Tora insisted on regaling him with his experience in sexual matters.

“Remember now, sir, hot passion cools easily. Take it slowly. The young ones like it that way. Else you might frighten her.”

That one got Tora a stern warning, “How dare you, Tora. Mind your own business.”

Tora merely grinned, and Akitada was too happy to pursue the matter. But Tora was not done yet. He next advised, “Be careful how you look to others today, sir. It’s hard to conceal one’s thoughts of love-making.” Caught out in a lustful memory, Akitada flushed and shot Tora an angry look.

“I suppose you’ve been writing a hot poem this morning,” Tora observed with a grin. “Nice custom. Among the rest of us, women prefer something a bit more substantial.”

“Enough!” roared Akitada. “If you cannot control your tongue, you can go home and stay there. I don’t need you.”

A stricken look on Tora’s face caused him to relent.. “Oh, never mind. The Grand Shrine Festival is the day after tomorrow. I promised the children they could come. Under the circumstances, you’d better ride home and tell everybody what has happened. I’ll give you a letter for my sister.” He paused a moment to consider Akiko’s reaction. It was altogether predictable. She would be enchanted and immediately start planning. He sighed. “Hanae will need to prepare for my new wife. Yukiko will have Tamako’s pavilion, and that means Yasuko will need new quarters. Have Saburo take whatever funds he needs and get things ready. I don’t want him to spare money this time. And you may return with the children tomorrow.”

This time, Tora obeyed without further comments.

As for the morning-after poem, Akitada had, in fact, returned to his quarters before dawn and taken up his brush to write: “ Did you come to me or I to you? Your gown , like mist dispersed by wind, revealed my heart’s desire. Am I asleep or awake?” It was a poor effort, but he had never been a poet, and while the image of the wind was quite improper, he hoped she would see how great his passion for her was. He had slipped the note under her shuttered door.

Many years ago, he had labored longer over Tamako’s morning-after poem, eventually sending her a pretty verse about wisterias, tied to a wisteria branch from her father’s garden. This was different, frank and passionate. He was no longer the young lover.

His matrimonial duty done, he eventually turned his thoughts to catching a killer. In Otsu, he and Kosehira drafted letters to be sent to Prefect Ishimoda of Echi district and to Masaie, the warden in Okuni. Both were to ask more questions of witnesses near the victims’ homes. A special messenger was sent post-haste and told to return with answers that night.

Then Akitada went to see Takechi and told him of his idea. “I want to go back to the merchant’s house and talk to the child again,” he said. “And after that, we need to see the judge’s servants.”

Takechi’s expression suggested that he was as doubtful as Kosehira had been. But like the governor, he was desperate. “Let’s go,” he said.

The merchant’s shop was open for business. Fumi Tokiari’s son said apologetically, “People need to eat. We had to open up.”

Takechi nodded. “Better this way. For them and for you. Work keeps your mind on the living.”

The merchant nodded.

“We’d like to have a word with your grandson. Is he still here?”

“My grandson? But he’s only five. He knows nothing.”

“Nevertheless,” said Akitada impatiently.

“Yes, they are here. For the funeral.” He led the way to the back of the house which seemed a good deal more crowded today. Akitada spied the boy playing with another child and went to speak to him.

Crouching down to the child’s level, he asked, “Do you remember me?”

The boy stared and nodded.

“And do you remember going to the shrine festival.”

Another silent nod.

“You told me you saw a puppet man. A dolly man I think you called him.”

The child’s eyes brightened. “Yes. I saw him. I wanted the monkey, but mother said I couldn’t have it.”

“Right. Now think, because it’s important. Where was the puppet man?”

“Outside.”

The boy’s mother inserted herself into the conversation. “He means at the fair.”