“You did not share a room?” Akitada asked, puzzled how a lover could have visited Tomoe without her sister’s knowledge.
To his dismay Otomi began to weep in harsh, racking sobs. Akitada shot a helpless look at Okamoto.
The older man smiled a little sadly.
“Hush, Otomi,” he said, explaining, “The girls did not get along. Tomoe said her sister snored, and Otomi wanted her to stop reading by candlelight.”
Otomi sniffled. “I think she just said those things because she wanted to be alone to receive this person. How could she go away with him like that in the middle of the night without a word to anyone! But my father has always allowed her to do whatever she wished.”
Okamoto shook his head. “No, Otomi. You exaggerate.” Turning to Akitada, he said, “This is really not like Tomoe. No goodbye. Not so much as a letter. I am afraid the poor child has been abducted by a man who has no intention of treating her honorably. That is why we must find her.” His short, stubby hands became fists. “This person of rank knew we are only ordinary people without learning, and he thought it would be easy to fool us. You, being a young gentleman yourself, will understand much better than I the person who took my child. What do you think we should do? Please speak frankly. I shall not take offense. My child’s life is precious to me.”
Akitada hesitated. It crossed his mind that Tomoe had run off with some commoner, perhaps even a rich man’s servant. He said awkwardly, “I do not want to worry you more, but I am wondering why the minister dismissed you. You are a highly respected man and have had the honor of addressing His Majesty.”
The older man looked uncomfortable. “I was a little surprised myself. Stiff, I am nobody. It is only my association with wrestling that brings me in contact with the ‘good people.’ ”
Akitada turned back to the young woman. “I assume you never saw your sister’s visitor. But perhaps she described him when she talked about him. Anything, the smallest detail, may help me find him.”
She nodded. “Tomoe said he looked exactly like Prince Genji. And that, like Prince Genji, he wore the most ethereal perfumes in his robes. Is there such a man among the great nobles?”
The question struck Akitada as incredibly naive. He blurted out, “Prince Genji is a character in a novel.”
“I thought so.” Otomi’s expression was almost triumphant. She reached into her sleeve and produced a crumpled bit of paper. “There,” she said, extending it to Akitada. “She left this behind.”
It was a poem, or rather a fragment: “By the pond the frogs sing in the branches of the fallen pine; let the two of us, like a pair of ducks, join their...” Either the author had been interrupted or had discarded a draft. But the brushstrokes were elegant; both the calligraphy and style were those of a courtier. Apparently that much of Tomoe’s story had been true.
Folding the paper Akitada tucked it into his sleeve. “This may be some help.” Okamoto’s anxious eyes met his, and he felt great pity for the distraught father. “It is possible that the man was sincere in his feelings for your daughter,” he said gently.
Okamoto regarded him fixedly. “He took Tomoe without my permission.” When Akitada nodded, he laughed bitterly. “The poem is just a bit of verse, that’s all. The fine gentleman dashed it off at a moment’s notice to turn a poor girl’s head.”
Akitada said helplessly, “Well, I’ll make inquiries. Can you describe your daughter to me?”
Okamoto tried, but tears rose to his eyes and Otomi spoke for him. “Tomoe is in her sixteenth year,” she said, “but well-grown and tall for her age. She has an oval face, her skin is very white, and her eyes are large. Her hair reaches to her ankles and is very thick. I brush it for her every day.” Otomi compressed her lips before continuing. “In front of her left ear she has a small brown mark that looks like a little bug. She hates it and always wears her hair loose so it covers her ears.”
She gave Akitada a fierce look. “My sister is very beautiful. She looks nothing like me at all.”
Okamoto shivered and wiped the moisture from his eyes. Immediately Otomi rose to get another robe and draped it around his shoulders solicitously. “You are tired, Father,” she said. “I shall fetch a brazier of hot coals and some wine.”
Embarrassed, Akitada rose, saying, “I am very sorry for your trouble and shall try to help.”
Okamoto rose also, leaning on his daughter’s arm. “Allow me,” he said and pulled a slender, neatly wrapped package from his sleeve. “This is a token of my gratitude for your interest and will defray any immediate expenses.”
Akitada accepted with a bow and took his departure, wondering why the girl Otomi looked so complacent, almost happy, as she stood beside her father.
His first visit was to the headquarters of the municipal police to see if there had been an accident involving a young woman. He was shown to an office where a harassed looking sergeant was bent over paperwork. Akitada sat down and waited.
“Of all the things to happen!” the sergeant muttered to himself. “And the coroner is sick! Heaven only knows if I got this right. No names, he says. How is a man to file a report without names, I ask you.”
Akitada leaned forward. “A troublesome case?” he asked.
The sergeant looked up. “Oh. Sorry, sir! Didn’t realize you were there.” A puzzled frown, then a tentative smile. “Haven’t I seen you in the Ministry of Justice?”
Akitada bowed slightly. “Sugawara Akitada,” he introduced himself. “Junior clerk.”
“Right. Yes, we’ve got a nameless suicide. And the report was brought in by a nameless citizen.” He looked over his shoulder, then leaned forward to whisper, “It’s all very hush-hush. Your boss talking to my boss. Actually it was the captain of the palace guard.”
“Ah,” nodded Akitada. He asked in a whisper, “Masahira or Morikawa?” There was a right guard and a left guard of the palace.
“Masahira,” mouthed the sergeant. He continued in a normal tone, “I’ve been told to file a report without names; just the ‘unfortunate female victim’ and the ‘person who made the discovery.’ On top of that we don’t have a coroner’s report. All I know is the girl was dead when we pulled her from the water.”
A girl! Akitada became alert. “Perhaps,” he offered, “I could be of assistance. I am not a coroner, but I had a little forensic medicine when I was a student at the university.”
The sergeant was relieved. “If you wouldn’t mind taking a look,” he said, getting to his feet. “Just a bit of the jargon and I can finish my report. We’ve got her in the back room.”
The back room was a barren space, dim with the shutters closed, and contained nothing but a covered body on a mat. A faint smell of rotted vegetation hung in the air. The sergeant threw open the shutters, then pulled back the straw mat that covered the corpse.
Akitada held his breath. He saw the face first and felt an almost physical pain that someone so young and beautiful should be forever lost to the world. Slender brows arched over eyes shaded by thick lashes, now wet against the pale cheeks. The small nose and softly rounded lips were almost childlike in their freshness and innocence. She looked asleep, and like a sleeping child she touched a hidden desire to cherish and protect.
Too late. The long hair, matted with mud and rank vegetation, stuck to her skin, was tangled in the clammy folds of her fine silk clothes (lovely rose colors shading all the way to the palest blushing skin tone), and reached to her small, slender hands and feet. There was so much hair, so many layers of wet silk that she seemed to be wrapped in them as in a strange pink and black cocoon.
Akitada approached, feeling strangely reverent, and knelt, his eyes on her face. He saw no marks on her except for a thin red line high on her neck beneath the jaw. It disappeared under her hair. He extended a hand, almost apologetically, and brushed aside a strand that covered her right ear.