“Oh, it’s very modest,” said the professor, “and the land is mostly wild. I’m afraid neither my father nor I have any garden-making talents. I had some trees removed so I could see the river from the house, but that’s about all. Come, let me show you the ducks.”
As they walked down toward the shimmering water, Akitada realized that Sadenari need not have been taken away on one of the big ships. Boat journeys in this huge river delta could begin and end anywhere.
Somewhere a monkey chattered in the trees, and from the river came the busy quacking of ducks. In a small cove, the ducks, some twenty of them, swam about chittering softly. One of them set up loud warning cries, and a violent flapping of wings and splashing ensued.
Otomo made clucking sounds, and after a moment they calmed down and swam back. “I feed them,” he said to Akitada, adding, slightly embarrassed. “They are such trusting and gentle creatures. There is much to be said for the Buddha’s prohibition against taking the lives of helpless creatures. I’m afraid my neighbors hunt them down for food, and so they have become shy.”
Akitada really liked the man. He needed a friend, and his heart warmed to Otomo.
Back at the house, they encountered a startled white-haired lady. She was slender and soberly dressed in dark green silk, her long white hair twisted into a knot at her neck.
Otomo smiled at her and said simply, “My wife. My dear, this is Lord Sugawara from the capital.”
She must have been very pretty once, Akitada thought, with even features and large luminous eyes. At the moment, she was flustered, greeting an unexpected nobleman, and without her fan. She bowed and withdrew quickly, murmuring something about refreshments.
“There are just the two of us now,” said Otomo. “My wife’s maid is also our cook, and I hire occasional help for the heavy work. “Only one of our daughters lives. She is married to an official in Kyushu. We don’t see them often.” He sighed.
“Children and grandchildren are a great blessing.” It was a conventional retort, but these days Akitada felt its truth deeply.
The professor showed Akitada into his study. “You see how we live,” he said. “You really would honor us greatly if you would accept our hospitality.”
The house was just large enough for a guest or two, even if it had none of the outbuildings and pavilions customary in noble houses. Several rooms had covered verandas overlooking the river. It was very tempting to stay here for a few days, and Akitada liked the Otomos.
“I truly wish I could accept your generous offer,” he said, “but I doubt I’ll spend another night in Naniwa. Watamaro has sent a ship or ships after the one Sadenari is supposed to be on. If there’s no news today, I must return to the capital and report his disappearance.”
Otomo looked surprised. “But you will return?” He added, “You may come any time and you’ll be welcomed.”
“Thank you.” Such generosity was almost embarrassing. “What a fine library you have.” The room reminded Akitada of the one that had belonged to Tamako’s father, who had also been a professor. There were just as many books here, some on stands, others stacked against the walls or used to support shelves which held more books and scrolls.
Otomo said, “I’ve deprived my family in order to buy books. No doubt there is a special punishment in hell for such self-indulgence. Perhaps I shall be struck with blindness among the rarest works known to men.” He laughed nervously.
“Surely searching for knowledge is a good thing.”
An elderly maid brought wine, pickled plums, and nuts. They sat on cushions near doors that stood open to a view of the distant river. Here, too, the crickets were chirping. The sadness of autumn seized Akitada again. Perhaps it was his worry about Sadenari, or the memory of the poor young drowned girl, but thoughts of death seemed never far away lately.
Otomo poured wine and offered the nuts and plums. “Knowledge lays obligations on a man,” he said. “Your own ancestor wrote movingly about our duty.” He quoted in Chinese: “‘Even if one turns away from harmony for just one night, suffering ensues.’ How very true that is.” He sighed deeply. “I’m afraid I have troubled you with my concerns.”
The Chinese quote came from one of Michizane’s poems. He felt a little resentful that Otomo had used the words of that most moral of men and statesmen to remind him of a man’s obligations, but he swallowed his displeasure. “I, too, must seek to reestablish harmony by returning a lost young man to his family. I see you’re still troubled by the death of the young girl?”
Otomo looked down at his folded hands. “Yes, it troubles me so much that I cannot sleep at night. It is difficult to know what to do. When one asks awkward questions of those in power, one is bound to cause more trouble. And in this case . . .” He paused, searching for words. “Perhaps I’d better tell you what I did. I took a boat to Eguchi and walked from brothel to brothel, asking if they employed foreign girls and if any had committed suicide. In the last house at the western edge of town, one of the young women said they had had a suicide recently. I sent for the owner of the house. She was very short with me when I told her why I had come. I persisted. Finally, she admitted that a girl had drowned herself and that the body of the girl had been taken away by her family. She said they had not been foreigners. When I tried to question her more closely, she became really angry. She snapped at me that she had no foreign girls and that I should stop listening to gossip and learn to appreciate our local beauties.” The professor blushed a little.
Akitada chuckled. “Awkward. But it need not mean anything except patriotic pride in her own girls.”
“Possibly, except for what happened next. I left, but I hadn’t walked very far when the girl I had spoken to called after me. She was nervous, but she offered to sell me information. It was dear, but I paid. She told me the girl who died had been so unhappy that she couldn’t bear her life any longer, and that there had been others.”
“Do you mean other foreigners or other suicides?”
Otomo admitted, “I didn’t ask. She seemed a little resentful of the dead girl.”
Akitada’s interest was aroused by this. Very wealthy men with certain sexual obsessions might make it worthwhile for the owner to provide them with a particular kind of female. If the girls had been foreign and very young and pretty, the brothel keeper might have supplied a special demand. “Did she say anything about who the clients were?”
“Oh, no. . . er . . . she didn’t know.”
“I really wish I had the time to look into this. If your suspicions are correct, it sounds like a very unsavory situation. But there is nothing to say how the girl died, or that she wasn’t sold into the trade legitimately by her parents.”
“There was the amulet,” Otomo said sadly. “A family who gives such a thing to their daughter doesn’t sell her.”
There was no answer to that. Akitada emptied his cup and sighed. “Forgive me. I must seem very uncaring to you, but I have my own obligations. Perhaps when my clerk is found and my assignment is finished, I can stop in Eguchi on my homeward journey and ask a few questions.”
Otomo did not persist. “You’re very generous. Even the fact that you have listened to me is a great encouragement. Sometimes one feels so helpless.”
*
The feeling of helplessness Akitada could well relate to. It was dark by the time he got back to the hostel. There was still no news of Sadenari, but he found a message from Watamaro that the Black Dragon was headed for Bizen province, and that he hoped to catch up with it there. He did not say how long that would take.
Akitada’s conviction that the youngster was dead increased, and he shuddered at the thought that he must tell his parents. He had made arrangements with the fat manager to leave Sadenari’s bag there for him to pick up when or if he returned. He let the man think that the young man’s absence was no more than a sightseeing trip. The manager nodded, then said, “There was a fellow here, looking for you. I said you’d gone to the harbor.”