Clenching his fists, Akitada snapped, ‘Don’t pretend you tried to defend me. I don’t believe it. I think there’s some political advantage to you. You know very well that you were unqualified for your duties the day you arrived. In my view you’ve made little effort since to grasp the basic aspects of our work here. I have covered for you, and the thanks I get is a demotion. No, worse than that. You’re putting an idiot in my place.’ Seeing the minister begin to bluster, Akitada raised his voice a little. ‘Don’t bother to deny it. You’ve buckled down to the new chancellor’s demands. And that was not only ungrateful, but also cowardly, sir.’
He regretted his outburst the moment the words left his mouth, but it was too late. Kaneie shot to his feet, his face an alarming shade of scarlet. ‘I believe,’ he said in a shaking voice, ‘it will be best if you take a leave of absence. Immediately. Clearly, the news has deranged your mind. You will be told when – or if – to report back.’
Akitada stood also, his face hot with anger and embarrassment. He considered resigning or apologizing, but in the end he just bowed and left.
Breathing hard, he stalked back to his office, thinking to sit down to gather his thoughts and calm the rage that had caused him to lash out at Kaneie. The minister was the last man he should have attacked, and he had acted with little foundation, too. He had no proof that Fujiwara had not made an attempt to defend him. In fact, the minister himself was on shaky ground with the present administration. Besides, Kaneie had always been fair with him, had even been a friend in the past.
He was considering the situation more rationally until he walked in on Munefusa rearranging the furnishings in his office.
‘What are you doing?’ Akitada snapped, seeing his desk pushed against the opposite wall.
‘Oh,’ said Munefusa with a silly grin, ‘I got the news before you and thought I might have a look at my new office. You’re to take mine, I believe.’ He turned to eye the array of books and scrolls on the shelves and went to take down a large tome.
‘Those are mine,’ said Akitada quickly. ‘Aren’t you rushing things a bit?’
Munefusa put the book back and turned, smiling more widely. ‘Not at all, Sugawara. You’ve always said yourself we shouldn’t waste time. Do you want some help moving these things?’
Disarmed by the offer, Akitada nodded sourly. Munefusa was not to blame for the vagaries of fate.
Munefusa clapped his hands and told the man who appeared, ‘You will assist the junior secretary by taking a few things to my old office.’ Then he looked around one more time and said, ‘I’ll leave you to it, Sugawara. Make sure to take the inventories in the Tomonori case with you. I’d like to see them finished and on my desk by this afternoon.’
Akitada glared at him, then said coldly, ‘I am to take a leave of absence. You’ll have to find someone else to do your work.’
Munefusa raised his brows. ‘Dear me, it’s worse than I thought. What did you do?’
Akitada turned away. By now completely demoralized, he made no attempt to settle into Munefusa’s small office, but took only a few of the most valuable books and his father’s writing box before leaving the ministry. In better days, he could have summoned one of the ministry’s servants to carry his things, but seeing the secret smirks and blank stares, he did not have the courage to ask. He had thought he was well liked, but in this world a man’s value was judged by his influence.
The smoke had been dispersed by a hot wind. Walking from the ministry in his official robe, while carrying a heavy and awkward armful of objects, caused him to perspire. He thought of Tamako and the bad news he was bringing, thought of her condition and the discomfort she must feel in this heat. They could ill afford it, especially now, but he would go later and purchase some lengths of hemp. Oyuki and Hanae could soak the panels in water and hang them around Tamako’s room. Then fanning the air might bring her some relief. He envied the wealthy, who were accustomed to large vessels of ice cooling their houses. The ice was brought into the capital in winter by their servants and slaves and stored in cellars or earthen pits until it was needed during the summer heat. But the Sugawaras could not afford such luxuries. And now, after the way he had insulted the minister, he would surely be dismissed, and times would get much harder.
He expected his early return with his books and writing box would cause instant consternation among his people, but only an astonished Seimei greeted him.
‘Back already, sir?’
Akitada said, ‘I shall want to speak to you about our expenses.’
Seimei stared at the box full of books. ‘But we discussed the accounts only this morning, sir. Is anything wrong?’
‘Later,’ Akitada said brusquely and went to Tamako’s pavilion, clearing his throat outside to give her warning and steeling himself for the sight of his grossly pregnant wife. It was strange that he had not felt either fear or this shameful reluctance to be near Tamako during her first pregnancy. But they had both been younger then and full of life and hope. Tamako had been rosy and healthy and happy. When they had lost that child, his beloved Yori, a few short years later, they had both changed.
Tamako called out, and he opened the door. The room was nearly dark with the shutters closed against the heat. Tamako sat alone, enveloped in a loose gown of stiff rose-colored silk, and moved her fan listlessly to stir the stagnant air.
‘How are you?’ Akitada asked, scanning her pale face and the dark-ringed eyes. As he came closer, he sniffed the air. It smelled vaguely still of smoke, but also of sweat and illness.
‘Well. Thank you,’ she said and looked away. ‘I’m sorry this is taking so long. You must be tired of waiting.’
‘No, not at all,’ he said quickly, but he knew she was right. Instead of a wife and companion – a lover, even, in happier moments – she was an invalid and, frighteningly, a reminder of death waiting just beyond the closed shutters. Would he be trading her life for that of another son? Men everywhere faced that fear and bore the guilt of having caused their wives’ deaths.
He sat down beside her, taking the hand that rested on the swollen belly. ‘I’m afraid, Tamako,’ he said more honestly, bowing his head. ‘You’re not as strong as last time. I blame myself.’
She squeezed his hand and, for a moment, her eyes twinkled. It occurred to him that he had not heard her laugh for weeks now.
‘No, no,’ she said. ‘You mustn’t worry. I wanted this child as much as you. Besides, I’m quite strong. I’m just tired, and it has been so hot. It won’t be long now. I can feel it. Be just a little patient with me.’
That almost brought tears to his eyes. He said nothing and raised her hand to his cheek and lips.
‘You’re home early,’ she said. ‘Is it because of me or has the ministry run out of interesting cases?’
He lowered her hand, cradling it in both of his, and looked away. ‘Neither,’ he said bleakly. ‘I’ve been given a leave of absence.’
‘Oh, how nice!’ she said brightly.
For a moment he considered hiding the truth from her, but he knew she would guess, perhaps had guessed already. Yes, she was searching his face. He heaved a sigh. ‘It may well be a mistake, but someone close to the new chancellor decided that my promotion to senior secretary was premature.’