Shinju. Part 7

Chapter 8.

This time Sano's interview with Magistrate Ogyu took place not in the Court of Justice, but in Ogyu's private office. The morning sun streamed through the translucent windows, dispelling any resemblance to the courtroom's dim gloominess. No dos.h.i.+n, defendants, or witnesses were present, only Ogyu's elderly manservant, who shuffled about serving tea. Sano didn't have to face Ogyu across the white sand of truth like a condemned man awaiting his sentence. They knelt on silk cus.h.i.+ons like any two officials engaged in a civilized meeting. But Sano still felt as if he were on trial.

"Honorable Magistrate, I respectfully request your permission to continue the investigation into the deaths of Niu Yukiko and Noriyos.h.i.+," he said.

He'd debated whether to approach Ogyu today, or wait until he had more facts to support his case. Guilt had finally prompted him to speak now: candor was the least he owed his superior.

Ogyu said nothing. Instead he cradled his tea bowl in both withered hands, sniffing the steam that rose from it. Today he wore his ceremonial clothes-a black haori with broad padded shoulders over a black kimono stamped with circular gold family crests. The stark garments made his skin seem especially pallid and desiccated. Against the wall mural's colorful landscape, he looked like an ancient pen-and-ink ancestor portrait.

"I am glad that you came to see me," he said finally. "It appears we have much to discuss."

Sano tried to draw hope from the neutral statement. "Yes, Honorable Magistrate?"

"There is the small matter of a report that you have written." Ogyu glanced down at an unfurled scroll on the desk before him.

With foreboding, Sano recognized his own writing and seal. It was the report cla.s.sifying the deaths as suspicious.

"I am afraid this doc.u.ment does not reflect the understanding that we reached at our last meeting," Ogyu continued.

Sano's heart plummeted. Ogyu's displeasure with the report would make him unreceptive to any suggestion.

"Also, you have issued a cremation order for Noriyos.h.i.+ in defiance of the law which states that s.h.i.+nju partic.i.p.ants must endure public exposure as punishment for their crime. What have you to say for yourself, Yoriki Sano?"

"Please let me explain," Sano said. He could almost feel the floor caving in under him. "When I heard of the deaths, I thought they required further investigation. That's why I wrote that report." Seeing Ogyu frown, he rushed on. He didn't mention the cremation order and fervently hoped Ogyu would drop the subject. "Forgive my presumptiousness; I should not have disobeyed your orders. But now that I've made some inquiries, I believe that Yukiko and Noriyos.h.i.+ were murdered. I beg your permission to finish my investigation, to find their murderer and bring him to justice." He didn't think it necessary to remind the magistrate that while the murder of a peasant might not warrant much official concern, that of a daimyo's daughter couldn't go ignored.

The frown lines in Ogyu's forehead deepened, whether in surprise or irritation, Sano couldn't tell. "And how do you know this?" he asked.

Sano drank some tea to calm himself. "I've learned that Noriyos.h.i.+ didn't like women, which means he probably would not have killed himself for the love of one. And he had enemies. At least one of them hated him enough to kill him."

"And who might that be?" Ogyu sipped from his own bowl, then motioned for the servant to refill both it and Sano's.

"Kikunojo, the Kabuki actor."

"How did you learn of this... enemy?" The pause before the word conveyed Ogyu's skepticism.

"I spoke with Noriyos.h.i.+'s close friend, a woman named Wisteria," Sano answered. Giving Wisteria's name to lend credibility to his story, he nevertheless hoped he wouldn't have to explain what she did for a living.

But apparently Ogyu knew. Rumor said that he still frequented Yos.h.i.+wara's pleasure houses, despite his age. He sighed and quoted an old proverb. "Two rare things: square eggs, and a yujo's sincerity."

"I think she was telling the truth," Sano said. Inadvertently he remembered last night. Wisteria's grief; her plea to him to arrest Kikunojo for her friend's murder; her pa.s.sion... Sano's blood stirred. He forced himself back to the present.

Ogyu was shaking his head. "Yoriki Sano." How can you be so gullible? his tone implied. How dare you waste my time with such nonsense?

"Magistrate, when I went to the morgue, I saw a large bruise on Noriyos.h.i.+'s head, as if someone had struck him," Sano said with growing desperation. "And he-didn't look as though he'd drowned." This was dangerous ground. What if Ogyu wanted to know more about his visit to the morgue?

Fortunately Ogyu's refined sensibilities kept him from taking up the subject. He made a moue of distaste and said, "We will not talk of such things here."

Having already presented his best arguments, Sano could think of nothing else to say. If Ogyu dismissed two and refused to discuss the other, what hope had he of succeeding?

Now Ogyu cleared his throat and signaled for another round of tea. Sano braced himself for a circ.u.mspect rebuke, perhaps an allusion to his patron, Katsuragawa Shundai. However, he soon found himself following the magistrate's convoluted thought trail down a completely different path.

"There are many lessons to be learned from the animal kingdom," Ogyu said. "When the tiger goes to the stream, the deer wait until he has drunk his fill and departed before they go to drink. When the hawk takes flight, small creatures hide until he has pa.s.sed."

Sano nodded, waiting for him to get to the point.

"When the dragonfly spreads his splendid wings, other insects dare not approach, lest they arouse his wrath," Ogyu finished. He paused to let his meaning sink in.

This last scenario bore no resemblance to nature, but Sano got the message anyway.

"So you've heard of my visit to the Nius," he said. The Nius, with their dragonfly family crest and their overshadowing power.

Ogyu winced at such bluntness. "Yoriki Sano, do you really need to be reminded of the dangers of offending a great daimyo family? Lady Niu called on me personally to complain about your intrusion." His voice rose to its highest, most querulous pitch. "What stupidity, what foolhardiness could drive you to inflict yourself upon the Nius in such an impertinent manner, at such an unfortunate time?" A livid patch appeared on each of his sallow cheeks, and his eyes narrowed.

Sano accepted the insults stoically, although each one tore at his samurai spirit. His face burned with the shame of having angered his superior to the point of open fury. Through his misery he felt the cold, equally shameful touch of fear. What would Ogyu do to punish him? But the inquisitive, detached part of his mind wondered why Ogyu was so anxious to halt the investigation and placate the Nius.

"The Nius received me with all possible graciousness," he said bravely. In spite of Ogyu's displeasure, he still thought he'd done right to question them. He only regretted learning so little, "Lady Niu didn't appear at all offended. And why should she be? All I did was ask a few questions, which she and young Lord Niu seemed glad to answer. Furthermore, if Miss Yukiko was murdered, why should the Nius object to an investigation? Wouldn't they want to cooperate so that the murderer can be found? Wouldn't they want justice-vengeance-for their family honor?"

"If Yukiko was murdered, Yoriki Sano."

Ogyu's resistance reminded Sano of something Wisteria had said last night: "No inquiry... to trouble the family of that girl, whoever she was." Now he wondered if the Nius had some reason for not wanting Yukiko's death investigated. Could it be that they didn't want the murder discovered, or the murderer caught? Was Ogyu helping them to hide the truth? If so, why? Sano tried to close his mind against these thoughts. He wanted to believe that his superiors acted only on the highest moral principles. The Nius and Magistrate Ogyu just wanted to avoid the scandal that would arise if Yukiko's part in the s.h.i.+nju became common knowledge. That was all. But suspicion lingered, a queasiness in his soul.

"Yukiko and Noriyos.h.i.+ died by their own hands," Ogyu was saying. His voice was calm now, and his face had returned to its normal pallor. But he continued to speak with uncharacteristic directness, as if he didn't want to take the chance that Sano might misunderstand. "The manner of their deaths makes this evident, as does the suicide note. There will be no more discussion of the matter. And now I must extract your promise not to trouble the Nius again, or to waste your time pursuing fantasies."

Sano gathered his courage for one last try. Drawing a deep breath, he said, "Magistrate Ogyu, I am sure that Yukiko and Noriyos.h.i.+ were murdered. I even have a suspect." He knew he was speaking too aggressively and with too much emotion, but he couldn't restrain himself. "I beg you to let me continue the investigation, and to let me explain to the Nius why it is necessary. The murderer is walking free, a danger to society. As a yoriki, I feel it's my duty to apprehend him before he harms anyone else. And your duty as a magistrate," he added recklessly.

He waited in an agony of suspense for Ogyu's answer. Surely Ogyu, a fellow samurai, could not resist the appeal to duty.

Instead of replying to Sano's impa.s.sioned speech, Ogyu changed the subject. "I am sorry to hear that your father is unwell," he said.

The courteous remark hit Sano like a fist to the stomach. Angry blood pounded in his ears and darkened his vision. Trust Ogyu to invoke the call of obligation in such a deliberately malicious way! Speechless with rage, Sano struggled to control himself.

Through his chaotic thoughts, Ogyu's voice went on, dryly, mercilessly. "A man of his age deserves a peaceful retirement and the respect of those closest to him. It would be a pity if a family disgrace were to worsen his illness."

A wave of panic extinguished Sano's anger like a splash of icy water. Ogyu was threatening to dismiss him! For his father's sake, he couldn't let it happen. But he couldn't relinquish the investigation without one last plea.

"Magistrate Ogyu," he began.

Ogyu accepted more tea from the servant. He did not offer Sano any: the interview was over. Reluctantly Sano rose and bowed. He crossed the room on unsteady legs.

"Yoriki Sano?"

Hand on the door catch, Sano turned.

"Might I expect to see your final report on the s.h.i.+nju this morning?" Ogyu asked mildly. "When I see Lady Niu at Miss Yukiko's funeral in the afternoon, I should like to tell her that the matter has been resolved."

Sano bowed again, opened the door, and walked out, letting Ogyu interpret his silence in any way he chose.

Chapter 9.

Keeping his gaze focused straight ahead, Sano hurried along the street toward police headquarters and the haven of his own rooms. Men pa.s.sed him; he avoided their eyes. He couldn't stand the thought of talking to anyone or going to his office, where he would have to see Tsunehiko and the rest of his staff. Not with his body still trembling with impotent rage. He needed time alone to master his emotions.

"Good morning, Yoriki Sano-san," someone called.

Sano sped past without replying. At last he reached headquarters. But when he got to the barracks, he saw floor mats and bedding hung out to air on the veranda railings. He heard women's voices. All the doors stood open; in his room, a maid was scrubbing the floor. He'd forgotten that the barracks were cleaned thoroughly once a week at this time. Frustration adding to his anger, he ran to the back garden. To his relief, it was deserted.

Solitude brought him no peace. Seeking to vent the anger he couldn't express to Magistrate Ogyu, Sano looked around and saw a fist-sized rock at his feet. He picked it up and hurled it into the pond with all his might.

It hit the water with a satisfying splas.h.!.+ Instantly he felt better. He chuckled wryly at himself. Such a childish gesture! Just like one of his young pupils having a temper tantrum. He squatted beside the pond, gazing at the pine needles floating on its surface as he pondered his next move.

Now that his rage had cooled, he could better understand Ogyu's position. Yukiko's and Noriyos.h.i.+'s deaths had looked like suicide. The magistrate could hardly justify a murder investigation on the strength of a questionable bruise on Noriyos.h.i.+'s head, or the fact that Noriyos.h.i.+ hadn't liked women and had made enemies. Sano admitted the mistake he'd made by approaching Ogyu with such flimsy evidence. He couldn't blame Ogyu for resorting to extreme tactics to avert what he considered a potential disaster. What he needed was to find indisputable proof of the murders. Proof that neither Ogyu nor the Nius could brush aside, and which they would ultimately be grateful to have.

Sano rose with a sigh. To find proof, he would have to disobey Ogyu's orders again. And perhaps, while seeking it, he would find evidence of the Nius' involvement in the crime, and Ogyu's collusion in covering it up. The prospect dismayed him, with its promise of danger for him and his family. But somehow, almost without his noticing, his sense of personal duty toward finding the truth had burgeoned until it rivaled the obligation he owed to his father, his patron, and Ogyu. Added to it was a vague but strong feeling of indebtedness toward Wisteria and Dr. Ito. Wisteria's testimony and lovemaking and Ito's dissection had cost them each something; he couldn't let their actions count for nothing. With a shock, he realized that he would risk almost anything to fulfill his personal duty. His desire for the truth fueled an inner reserve of strength and daring he hadn't known he possessed. This frightened him more than the threat of losing his position. To depart from the Way of the Warrior, from its code of unswerving loyalty and obedience, must have consequences that he hadn't begun to imagine.

He headed for the stables, rea.s.suring himself that this particular inquiry needn't cause him any ill consequences. Questioning Kikunojo should put him in no danger. With luck, Magistrate Ogyu and Lady Niu wouldn't hear of his actions until he had some results.

He tried to ignore his suspicion that they would oppose an investigation no matter what proof he laid before them.

Sano's spirits rose considerably by the time he reached the Saru-waka-cho theater quarter near the city's Ginza district, named for the silver mint that the Tokugawas had built there. Yesterday's balmy weather was holding, and the pleasant ride reminded him of childhood holidays when the whole family, along with various friends and relatives, would spend a day at the theater. They'd arrive when the performances began at dawn and stay until the last one ended at sunset. His father, who, like many older samurai, preferred cla.s.sical No drama, would complain about the melodramatic Kabuki plays, even while enjoying them. Sano also remembered more recent excursions, when the theater offered a chance for him and other young men to flirt with the young women who also attended. However, during the last five years, work had left him little time for such diversions. Now he studied the district with nostalgia.

Saru-waka-cho sparkled with familiar color and activity. Bright signs plastered over the walls of the four main theaters announced the current play schedules. An occasional burst of song or cheering from the open upper-story windows signaled a play in progress. In square towers perched high on the rooftops, drummers beat a steady ba.s.s rhythm to summon theatergoers from distant parts of the city. People of all cla.s.ses and ages crowded the wide streets, lining up at the ticket booths, seeking refreshment at the many teahouses and restaurants that occupied the s.p.a.ces between the theaters, or pausing to exchange greetings. Sano knew some of them had waited all night to get a good seat to see their favorite actors.

"Where is Kikunojo performing?" he asked the attendant at the public stable where he left his horse.

The attendant pointed in the direction of the largest theater. "The Nakamura-za," he said.

Sano made his way through the jostling crowds. When he reached the Nakamura-za, he saw signs posted across the front of the building: "Narukami, starring the great Kikunojo!" To his disappointment, there was no line outside. The performance had already started.

"Can I still get in?" he asked the ticket seller without much hope. Narukami-the story of a princess who saves j.a.pan from a mad monk who has used magic to keep the rains from falling-was a popular attraction. And Kikunojo would fill the theater no matter what the play.

But the ticket seller nodded. He took Sano's money and handed over a ticket, saying, "There are seats left, sir. The play has been running for a month now; most everyone has seen it already."

Entering the theater, Sano paused for a moment to get his bearings. The vast room, lit only by windows in the roof and along the upper gallery, was dim because fire laws prohibited the use of indoor lighting. When his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, he could make out the unlit lanterns hanging from the rafters, each bearing the crest of an actor who had performed in the Nakamura-za. Women and commoners occupied the less desirable seats along the walls. Raised dividers separated the s.p.a.ce before the stage into square compartments, where the shaved crowns and upright sword hilts of the samurai predominated. Refreshment sellers ran up and down the dividers carrying trays of food and drink. The incessant chatter and restless movement of the audience almost drowned out the sound of the musicians' wooden clappers. Sano climbed the nearest divider and walked along it until he spotted a compartment near the front with an empty s.p.a.ce. Kneeling on the mat with five other samurai, he turned his attention to the stage.

The play was nearing its end. Against a painted backdrop of mountains and clouds, the actor playing the mad monk Narukami sang about the havoc he would wreak upon the country by withholding the rains. Exaggerated black eyebrows and whiskers gave him a demonic appearance. The brilliant red and gold cleric's mantle that he wore over his brown monk's robe caught the dim light. He bellowed each word in a resounding voice designed to carry over the noise of the audience, stamping, pacing, and gesticulating to hold their attention. The musicians seated at the side of the stage played a cacophonous accompaniment on their clappers, flutes, and samisens.

The song ended, and the music with it. A hush fell over the theater. Heads turned toward the back of the room.

"He's coming," someone whispered.

The clappers sounded again, rapid, frantic. Sano felt a ripple of antic.i.p.ation pa.s.s through the audience.

A woman was walking slowly and daintily down the gangway that extended from the back of the theater to the stage. Princess Taema, dressed in a magnificent purple satin kimono printed with white chrysanthemums, was coming to free the rains and save her people. Her face was strikingly beautiful with its stark white makeup and scarlet mouth. Long black hair, pulled back at the sides, hung down to her waist.

"Kikunojo." The name, spoken on a collective sigh, echoed through the room. "Kikunojo." Then the audience burst into wild cheers.

Princess Taema reached the stage. The audience quieted as she began to sing. Sano sat transfixed. Although he knew that Kikunojo was Edo 's foremost onnagata-specialist in female roles-he couldn't believe that the figure onstage was not a real woman. Voice, posture, expression, and movements were all completely feminine. Not even the kerchief of purple cloth that covered the actor's shaved crown could detract from the illusion. Sano watched, fascinated, as Princess Taema began to seduce Narukami.

Any effeminate man could be dressed up to resemble a beautiful woman, but Kikunojo's genius lay in his ability to project emotion. Sano could feel the s.e.xual current flowing from Princess Taema to Narukami, and he knew the rest of the audience could, too. How could Narukami resist her ploy?

He couldn't. With much song and gesture, he yielded. Princess Taema cut the magic rope that held back the rain. The musicians produced the sound of falling water. j.a.pan was saved amid cheers, whistles, and clapping from the audience.

Sano remained in his seat until most of the crowd had left the theater. Then he headed down the divider and onto the stage, where Kikunojo held court before a group of female admirers.

The onnagata was bigger than he looked from a distance. He stood taller than Sano, head and shoulders above the women crowded around him. The actor who played Narukami must have worn high-platformed sandals to top him. As Sano moved closer, he spotted more signs of Kikunojo's true s.e.x. The long, graceful hands, white with the same powder that covered the onnagata's face, had large knuckles and bony wrists. His features, though delicate, lacked the softness of a woman's. The tricks he used to disguise his masculinity were obvious: the long, trailing ends of the special sash that made him seem shorter, the way he kept his chin lowered to hide his adam's apple.

But none of this bothered Kikunojo's admirers. In fact, the spectacle of male s.e.xuality hidden beneath a woman's hairstyle and clothing excited them to a fever pitch. They flushed and giggled as they shyly advanced one at a time to offer tributes to him: a prettily wrapped package, a stammered compliment. Each of these Kikunojo accepted with an ethereal smile and a graceful bow. He placed the gifts on a small table evidently intended for that purpose.

"Go on! I dare you!" The woman next to Sano nudged her companion, a grandmotherly matron.

Grandmother darted forward and stood on tiptoe to touch Kikunojo's purple kerchief. Her wrinkled face full of glee at her own audacity, she scurried back to her place. The other women howled with laughter.

Sano smiled. The government had tried to reduce the s.e.xual appeal of onnagata by requiring them to shave their crowns, but many women found the kerchiefs just as erotic as a full head of hair.

He waited until the last admirer had departed, then introduced himself. "Kikunojo-san, may I have a word with you in private?"

Kikunojo produced a silk fan from the folds of his kimono. Hiding the lower half of his face with it, he murmured, "Honorable master... my duties... errands... another performance soon... many apologies, but I have no time now... perhaps another day...?" The gesture, the high, sweet voice, and the vague, trailing speech perfectly mimicked those of a n.o.ble lady.

"It's about Noriyos.h.i.+," Sano said. "We can either talk here, in public, or somewhere else. Your choice." Impressive though the act was, he didn't intend to let Kikunojo get away.

Awareness widened Kikunojo's eyes before his lids slipped down again. He nodded demurely and said from behind the fan, "Come with me."

Sano followed Kikunojo's stately figure through a door near the stage and down a dim pa.s.sage to the onnagata's dressing room. They left their shoes outside the curtained doorway, and Sano noted with amus.e.m.e.nt that Kikunojo's were bigger than his own. In the tiny cubicle, bright kimonos hung from standing racks. Five wigs on wooden heads occupied one shelf, while others held fans, hair ornaments, shoes, and folded undergarments. Brushes, powder puffs, and makeup jars littered the dressing table; silk scarves were draped over the large mirror. A table held packages similar to the ones Sano had just seen Kikunojo receive, probably gifts from other admirers. Had Niu Yukiko been one of them? The suicide note suggested a connection between her and the Kabuki theater, even if she hadn't written it. And Lady Niu had commented upon the theater's bad influence on young girls.

Kikunojo knelt before the dressing table. Sano knelt, too, feeling awkward. True onnagata like Kikunojo never stepped out of their female personae, even offstage. They claimed that this allowed them to perform their roles more convincingly. Was he supposed to join in the charade by addressing Kikunojo as a woman? He couldn't forget that Kikunojo was a man. The actor's very male odor of sweat, easily discernible in such close quarters, served as a vivid reminder.

To his relief, Kikunojo dropped his act, either because he sensed Sano's discomfort or because he saw no need to waste his efforts on a yoriki.

"Whatever you have to say, please make it quick," he said. He tossed aside his fan, lifted his head, and straightened his drooping posture. But his voice remained high and girlish, as if playing women onstage had somehow feminized him. "I have another performance this afternoon, and some very important business to conduct before then."

"Such as paying someone like Noriyos.h.i.+ to keep your secrets?" Sano asked, hoping to catch the actor off guard.

Kikunojo just shrugged. "So you've heard he was blackmailing me," he said. "I hope you won't mind if I undress? I'm in a bit of a hurry."

"Not at all." Sano watched, intrigued, as Kikunojo removed his purple kerchief to reveal his bare crown. The actor undid a complicated system of pins and knots that anch.o.r.ed the long black wig to his own hair, which was slicked back and tied in a tight knot at the nape of his neck. Then he picked up a cloth, dipped it into a jar of oil, and scrubbed the makeup from his face. In a startling transformation, the beautiful young Princess Taema became a man of regular but unremarkable features, long past his thirtieth birthday.

"Noriyos.h.i.+ won't be troubling me or anyone else now," Kikunojo went on. "He's dead, and I must say I'm not sorry. The little weasel!"