Akitada dressed, tucked his remaining money into his sash, and wrote a letter home. He asked that Tora come to join him, added greetings to the rest of his family, and a poem for his wife Tamako: “Hardly parted, I long to see you again, like the white waves making for the shore.” Pleased with himself, he walked to the post station where he paid for a mounted courier to take his letter to the capital. Tora should reach Naniwa late that night or by morning.
After that, he stopped at the nearest bath house where he bathed and had himself shaved. A modest breakfast of a bowl of noodles, purchased at a stand followed, and he returned to Kawajiri to check with the harbor authorities for news of Sadenari. To his shock, they informed him that a body had been fished out of the river and that the dead man’s appearance tallied with Akitada’s description of his clerk.
Afraid of what he would find, Akitada trudged to the small building they used as a morgue. The corpse was covered with a reed mat. When the custodian turned this back, Akitada saw a stranger who had died from a knife wound in the chest. He heaved a sigh of relief. There was still hope. The custodian waited, and Akitada shook his head. A mild curiosity made him ask, “Do the police have any idea who murdered this man?”
“I doubt it,” said the man, dropping the mat back into place. “This happens all the time. A fight in a wine shop or someone is tossed overboard from one of the ships.”
“But doesn’t anyone investigate?”
“When it gets bad and the bodies pile up, the prefect orders a sweep of the wine shops and whore houses.”
“What about currents? Can they tell where the body entered the water?”
The man looked blank. “Here? Where there’s tides and river currents and ship traffic? Impossible. Besides, nobody cares.”
It was a lawless environment. And yet both the governor and Prefect Munata had seemed reasonably responsible administrators-even if they objected to Akitada sticking his nose into their business when it came to piracy. He thanked the man and returned to Naniwa. Until he got word from Watamaro, he could do little. For that matter, he was beginning to doubt that man’s probity again. Watamaro was too perfectly placed for deals with pirates or for engaging in piracy himself. He decided to spend the rest of the day writing his report for the office of the Minister of the Right.
Back in his cheerless room, he opened the doors to the small courtyard-someone had put away his bedding and closed the doors in his absence-and carried his small writing box outside. The narrow strip of veranda had dried in the sunshine, and the air was still pleasant after the rain. He spread out a sheet of paper, got a little water from the pitcher inside, and rubbed ink. After a while, the cricket started its song again.
Perhaps an hour later he was done with the report. He still hoped he would not have to send it. Blaming his difficulties on Oga, Munata, and Nakahara made him look incompetent. He started on his letter to his own superior. Sadenari’s parents would have to be informed of their son’s disappearance. This letter was even harder to write.
He was staring at the fence across the way, pondering the next phrase, when someone called from the corridor outside his room. He got up and let in Professor Otomo.
The professor wore a sober black robe that had the effect of making his white hair and eyebrows contrast sharply in the dim corridor. He bowed, murmuring an apology and a greeting. When he took in his surroundings, his jaw sagged. “Umm,” he said, flushed, and went on quickly, “They sent me here from the trade office.” His eyes went to the veranda and the writing utensils. “But I see you’re working. I can come another time, or . . .?” He looked nervously at Akitada, who smiled and shook his head.
“I moved here because I thought it best to separate my work from that of the trade office. It’s only for the short time I’ll be staying in Naniwa. And I’m almost done with a letter. What gives me the pleasure of your visit?” Otomo looked about him again and shuffled his feet. There was no place to sit. Akitada gestured toward the veranda. “If you don’t mind sitting outside, I’ll put away my papers and ink.”
“I don’t mind,” said Otomo, “but please don’t let me interrupt. Perhaps I could come back in a little while?”
“Very well, if you’re sure.”
Otomo fled, and Akitada went back to his letter, shaking his head a little. The room must look pretty bad if not even a poorly paid academic found it tolerable. He added a few more sentences to his letter, dated, and signed it, and impressed his seal. Then, he put everything back into his writing case, and went in search of Otomo.
He found him outside the hostelry, playing rock, scissors, paper with the thin little girl. His heart warmed to the elderly man when he heard a gurgling laugh escape from the sad little child. He went to join them.
“I see this little lady had the courtesy to entertain my guest,” he said, smiling at her as he fished out a penny. She took it, bowed, and dashed away. “Can she speak?” he asked Otomo.
The professor nodded. “Oh, yes. But she has little enough to say about her world, poor little flower. Her parents, or whoever has her care, mistreat her. There are always new bruises on the child. And she doesn’t get enough to eat.”
“I see you know her. I suspected as much. It’s hard to know what to do.”
Otomo sighed and glanced at the hostelry. “Young girls are vulnerable.”
It was clear what dangers the professor foresaw for the little girl. Soon she would be old enough to sell her body to travelers passing through. Akitada thought of his own little girl and shuddered. The professor was probably thinking of the Korean girls who had died in Eguchi. If what Otomo suspected was true, they were not much older than this child. It was very wrong that children should become the playthings of spoiled older men who took their pleasure in initiating them into the world of the clouds and the rain, a poetic term that had little in common with the realities of a life of prostitution. He felt guilty that he could not offer Otomo his help.
Perhaps reading his mind, Otomo said, “I came to see you about the young girl in Eguchi. And I’d like to put my very humble home at your disposal. Whatever its shortcomings, it’s surely more comfortable than your current quarters. I hope you will forgive me for making such an offer.”
Akitada hesitated. It was a kind gesture, but he did not like to move again. He said, “You are very generous, but my stay will not be long. I hope my clerk turns up today. If he doesn’t, I shall have to return to the capital.” It occurred to him that Otomo must wonder about the real reason for his move. Perhaps he had been given a highly colored account by Nakahara when he had called there.
The professor cleared his throat. “Since I’m here, forgive me for troubling you again in the other matter. Perhaps we could talk at my house?” He smiled a little nervously. “You could see it that way. It might be to your taste after all.”
Akitada weakened. “I have a little spare time just now. But I’m not at all particular about my lodging.”
The weather had warmed again, but the sun was getting low. Their walk turned out to be pleasant. Otomo explained the sights as he led the way from the center of town. They crossed several canals and passed through some quiet streets with many trees. The land rose gently, and eventually they reached a longer bridge crossing a sizable river.
“My house is just on the other side.” Otomo pointed to a roof rising among pines and other trees. It was a small building surrounded by a charming wilderness and high on the bank of the river.
“Where are we?” Akitada asked. “This is surely not the Yodo River?”
“It’s a smaller branch. The Yodo has many arms reaching for the sea. My father liked the quiet here, and so do I.”
The troubled world of violent men and scheming officials did seem far removed. Through the trees, Akitada could see some fishermen casting nets. He gazed with pleasure. “How pleasant this is! You are a fortunate man.” The memory of that elegant pavilion overhanging the Yodo River came back to him. He decided that this was much better for a simple life.