Or had she known all along?
Slowly Lady Keisho-in turned to Ryuko. She pulled him to his knees so that their faces were almost touching. All traces of good-natured silliness had disappeared from hers. “Tell me, my dearest,” she said. Her gaze bored into Ryuko. “Are you so concerned about the murder investigation for my sake, or your own? Have you been up to something?”
The words, spoken on a vapor of breath that stank of tobacco and; rotten teeth, wafted over Ryuko. Shock disoriented him. He envisioned battlefields after a war, with the wind carrying the odor of carnage. Despite all his efforts in the cause of charity and spiritual enlightenment, there had been incidents in his life that illustrated his greed, ambition, and ruthlessness. What if Sano found out? Surely he would suspect Ryuko of murdering Harume on Keisho-in’s behalf in order to protect her and, simultaneously, his own position. Yet even as he imagined himself at the execution ground, the wily politician in Ryuko saw a way to use the situation to his advantage.
“Yes, my lady,” he said, bowing his head as if in shameful confession. It wasn’t a lie. He’d devised and carried out plots designed to further his interests and Keisho-in’s, with and without her approval. He wondered how much she knew or guessed about him-and how much her poor memory had allowed her to forget about things they’d done together. If he was charged with Lady Harume’s murder, would Keisho-in sacrifice him to save herself? “I’m afraid Sōsakan Sano will discover what I’ve done.”
To his joy, Keisho-in responded just as Ryuko had hoped. She enfolded him in a suffocating embrace and declared. “I don’t care if you’ve done anything wrong, especially if you did it for me. I love you, and I’ll stand by you.” Ryuko hid a smile against Keisho-in’s breast. Let her believe-or pretend to believe-he’d killed Harume, if that was what it took to secure her complicity. Now they both would be safe from accusations of murder and treason. “As long as I live, no one shall harm a hair on your head!”
Patting Ryuko’s shaven scalp, Lady Keisho-in giggled at her own joke, then said, “I’m cold, and this tree stump is hurting my bottom. Let’s go back to Edo Castle. When we get there, I’ll fix Sōsakan Sano. Just tell me what to do. You needn’t worry about anything, my dearest.
21
Sano disembarked from the ferry that had transported him across the Sumida River to Fukagawa, birthplace of Lady Harume. Located at the mouth of the river where it emptied into Edo Bay, this suburb stood on former swamps filled in with vast heaps of city garbage and earth excavated during the construction of canals. After the Great Fire, many citizens had moved here for a fresh start. However, Fukagawa retained the hazards of its geographic situation. Floods, typhoons, and high tides wrought mass destruction. The area was rightfully considered unlucky. Here Lady Harume had made an inauspicious start on a life that would end with her murder eighteen years later.
The approach to the town center led Sano past warehouses that smelled of pine timber, sesame oil, and hoshika, a fertilizer made from sardines. Smoke from salt furnaces on the southern tidal flats obscured the view of Edo on the opposite shore. The cold air had a lung-saturating dampness. A busy commercial district lined the main avenue leading to the Tomioka Hachiman Shrine. This contained the Oka Basho, a notorious unlicensed quarter where nighthawk prostitutes operated. Tea-houses and inns abounded, as well as Fukagawa’s excellent seafood restaurants.
Hearing temple bells ring the noon hour, Sano realized he was hungry. He entered the Hirasei, a famous restaurant located just outside the shrine’s torii gate. There he ate mixed sushi with vegetables, rice, and grilled trout. Then he said to the proprietor, "I’m looking for a nighthawk named Blue Apple. Can you tell me where to find her?”
The proprietor shook his head. “I don’t know of anyone by that name. You might try the teahouses.”
Sano did, with disappointing results: No one had ever heard of Blue Apple; no one knew Lady Harume, except as the victim of a widely publicized murder. Sano headed toward the Hachiman Shrine. Its great copper-tiled roof rose above the streets like a giant samurai helmet; its high stone walls sheltered the Etai Temple, whose priests kept census records on everyone living in the district. They, if anyone, could direct Sano to Blue Apple.
“Her real name was Yasuko, " said the old priest.
He and Sano stood in the Etai Temple cemetery, where Sano had finally located Lady Harume’s mother. Her moss-covered stone memorial tablet lay in the area reserved for paupers. No flowers adorned these graves. Tall grass obscured paths down which visitors rarely came. The place had an air of bleak, chill desolation. Shivering under his cloak, Sano listened to the priest’s recollections of Blue Apple, dead for twelve years.
“She came here for shelter during the floods, and I remember her because of her unique situation. Most nighthawks have no one to care for them. Their clients are usually poor, and mostly strangers rather than regular customers. But Yasuko was beautiful and much sought after. Her professional name came from the bluish, apple-shaped birthmark on her wrist. She was a trusting creature who often took lovers and tattooed herself with their names. When I prepared her body for cremation, I found characters inked between all her fingers and toes.”
And following her example had led her daughter Harume to her death.
“Yasuko won the affection of Jimba of Bakurochō when he came to Fukagawa on business,” the priest said. “After the child was born, he regularly sent money. Then Blue Apple became ill. She lost her looks- and her better clients. She serviced former criminals, and even eta to earn her rice. When she died, I brought the child, who was six years old, to our orphanage. Then I contacted Jimba. He took her home with him to Bakurochō.”
The priest sighed. “I’ve often wondered what became of her.”
When Sano explained, distress shadowed his kind face. “How tragic.” Then he said, “Still, perhaps Harume enjoyed a better, longer life than if she’d stayed in Fukagawa and become a nighthawk like her mother.”
Sano had never given much thought to how few occupations were available for women. Now, with disturbing clarity, he saw the narrow scope of their lives: wife, servant, nun, concubine, prostitute, beggar. There was honor-and possibly happiness-in marriage and motherhood, but not even those alternatives offered the chance for independence, or scholarship, martial arts, adventure, or accomplishments that made life worthwhile for men. Uneasily Sano thought of Reiko, struggling to escape the confines of Japanese culture, and his own efforts to contain her. Men made the rules. He, himself, was part of a system that had decreed his wife’s limited existence.
And Lady Harume’s.
Such contemplation wasn’t exactly enjoyable. Sano thanked the priest, then left the temple. Yet even as he regretted the time wasted on this trip, he couldn’t help feeling that he’d learned something of importance to the murder case, and to his troubled marriage.
Bakurochō district lay northwest of Edo Castle, between the Nihonbashi merchant quarter and the Kanda River. A marketplace for horses even before the founding of the Tokugawa capital, it supplied Edo ’s thirty thousand samurai with mounts. Sano rode through muddy streets, past horse breeders herding their merchandise. These shaggy, varicolored beasts had journeyed from far northern pasturelands to be sold to the stables of Bakurochō’s dealers. In a stately mansion resided the Tokugawa bailiffs, who administered the shogun’s lands. Rustic inns housed provincial officials in town to buy horses or do business with the bailiffs. The famous archery range served as a front for an illegal brothel. Low wooden buildings housed food stalls, teahouses, a saddle maker’s store, a blacksmith’s workshop where burly men hammered out horseshoes. Porters hauled bales of hay, while eta street cleaners collected manure. Sano turned past the shop of an equestrian armorer and dismounted outside the Jimba Stables, where the crest of a galloping horse adorned the gate.