Tora was saved by the stable door creaking open. The cook came in. Tora groaned.
She put her hands on her wide hips and glared at him. ‘So you finally show your face again. What’s the matter? Are the girls fed up?’
Tora said, ‘I hope you haven’t been looking into the stew pot again, Turnip Nose. I hate curdled stew.’
‘I hope it gives you a bellyache.’
Tora made a face at her. ‘It will. You’ll kill us all one of these days.’
‘You think you’re so smart. Here -’ she held out a stained basket – ‘run to the market and get a good-sized bream for your master’s dinner. And be quick about it. He’ll want his food as soon as he’s had a bath.’
‘For Buddha’s sake, woman,’ Tora cried. ‘I just got back from riding all the way to Otsu and beyond.’
‘Then it’s time you made yourself useful around here.’ She pushed the basket at him.
‘Aiih!’ Tora jumped back in mock horror.
‘It’s the fish basket, stupid!’
‘I know. I meant you. ’ He gave a bellow of laughter, and she threw the basket at him with a curse and ran out, slamming the door behind her.
‘You shouldn’t tease her,’ said Genba.
‘That one brings nothing but joy,’ Tora grumbled, bending for the basket, ‘when she leaves.’
‘She’s a good cook. Give me the basket. I’ll go. You look dead on your feet.’
Tora relinquished the basket. ‘She’s short, fat, stupid, ugly, lazy, and mean. A woman like that is spitting into the wind of fate. And her bad karma is ruining our lives.’
‘Get some rest, brother. You’ll feel better.’
Tora collapsed on a pile of straw. ‘You’re right. Thanks.’
Genba swept up the basket with one hand and trotted out.
Akitada retreated from the scene in the garden to his study, and Tamako turned back to her work. Seimei watched her for a moment, then got up from his seat on the veranda and shuffled after his master into the house. He found Akitada seated behind his desk, drumming his fingers on the lacquered surface and scowling.
‘Will you have some tea now, sir?’ Seimei asked.
‘Yes. Thank you.’
Akitada continued drumming, while the old man lit the coals in a brazier under the water pot and selected a twist of paper with powdered tea leaves and orange peel.
‘Was your journey successful?’ Seimei asked.
‘Hmm. What? Oh, that. Quite successful.’
Seimei eyed his master. ‘I was afraid there were problems when you were gone longer than expected.’
Akitada sighed. ‘I found a small boy, Seimei. And I lost him again. Don’t mention the matter to your mistress because it might upset her, but I’m worried about that child.’
‘Ah.’ Seimei cocked his head at the kettle, gauging the moment when the steam would whistle from the spout. Not yet. He poured a little of the powder into a cup and glanced at Akitada. ‘You are worried, sir?’
‘Apparently, he belongs to a fisherman and his wife. He has been beaten and starved, Seimei. I saw his poor body. It was covered with bruises, and he was just skin and bone. And he’s such a nice little boy. Do you think I should buy him?’
‘Buy him?’ Seimei’s jaw dropped. ‘To do what?’ The water came to a sudden rolling boil, sending a hissing thread of steam from the narrow spout. Seimei snatched the kettle up and poured. Stirring the tea with a bamboo brush, he brought the cup to Akitada. ‘What did you have in mind for the child, sir?’
The question was uncomfortable. ‘I don’t know. I suppose I thought he would be company. That I could teach him. He’s deaf-mute, you know. Or perhaps just mute. I’m not sure.’
Though he had not been invited to do so, Seimei sat down on a cushion. ‘You miss Yori,’ he said firmly. ‘It is quite natural to feel such a loss.’
‘You think I’m acting like a fool,’ objected Akitada. ‘I felt sorry for the child. He needed help. Is that so hard to grasp?’ He saw the pity in the old man’s face and threw up his hands. ‘Oh, very well. Have it your way. All I know is that for the day and night I had the boy I felt whole again. And now that he is gone, I… have nothing – except a dreadful fear of having abandoned him to the brutality of his parents.’ He stared bleakly into the cup of tea.
‘You cannot replace a child the way you would a dog,’ Seimei said.
That made Akitada angry. ‘Forget it. You don’t understand. How could you?’
Seimei bit his lip. ‘Drink your tea.’
Akitada drank. They looked at each other. Akitada felt demoralized. He groaned. ‘Everything I touch breaks in my hands. My life is cursed. What am I to do, Seimei?’
‘Her Ladyship-’ began Seimei.
Getting up abruptly, Akitada said, ‘Never mind. Thank you for the tea. After a bath, I shall work on the household accounts for the rest of the day.’
Seimei sighed and left.
Tora was too worried to rest long. He decided to forego the evening rice. Since Akitada was bathing, he told Seimei he was going into the city. The old man was arranging the household accounts on Akitada’s desk and seemed preoccupied. He barely looked up.
Tora’s destination was a quarter near the Eastern Temple, a far distance for a tired man, but he walked quickly. This southernmost corner of the capital was almost rural. A few great estates mingled with a large number of very modest homes and small farms. The small houses clustered around and between the large, tree-shaded and walled compounds and belonged mostly to the owners’ retainers and servants. Children played in the street, and laundry dried on bamboo fencing.
The rain had left puddles in the streets, and some ducks scattered as Tora passed. Doves cooed on the wooden eaves, and behind one of the mansion walls someone played a lute. Tora’s spirits lifted and he started to whistle.
Near the southern embankment of the city he turned into the yard of a tiny house and carefully closed the bamboo gate behind him. As always, he stopped to gaze at his home. The new roof was thatched and set the wooden house, little more than a one-room shack, apart from its flat-roofed neighbors. New steps led to a small porch at the front door, and a morning glory vine covered with deep-blue flowers and buzzing bees twined around its railing. Tora thought about adding a beehive next year, and then turned his attention to the little vegetable garden. His cabbages and radishes, planted in neat rows, looked well. The soil was good here, and the recent rain had caused a spurt of growth. He smiled as he walked along the path to the house. On the new step sat a fat white cat cleaning one front paw and barely pausing to purr when Tora bent to scratch its head.
He straightened and called, ‘Hanae? I’m back.’
Immediately, a loud yelping sounded from behind the house. It changed to excited barks, and then a cloud of squawking and fluttering chickens erupted around the corner, followed by a large grey creature making the sharp turn on scrabbling paws. The creature transformed itself into a shaggy dog, who flung himself on Tora in a paroxysm of joy. Tora staggered back and stepped on the cat’s tail. The cat yowled, spat, and jumped on to the railing, where it clung, hissing and twitching its tail.
Tora fended off the flying paws and lapping tongue. ‘Down, Trouble. Down, you big useless monster. Down. You broke your rope again. Where’s your mistress?’
The dog sat, the remnants of a straw rope still attached to his neck, his tail beating a drum roll on the wooden boards. He pricked up pointed ears and looked attentive.
‘Hanae?’ Tora called again.
The dog’s ears twitched, and he looked around expectantly.
‘Stupid dog,’ said Tora. ‘That’s what I bought you for. To watch your mistress. Don’t you remember where she went?’
The tail thumped apologetically.
Next door, a middle-aged woman came out on her porch. ‘That you, Tora? Hanae’s gone to the market. She should be back soon. Is that big brute loose again? I don’t want him after my chickens.’
‘Hello, Mrs Hamada. I’ll tie him up. He doesn’t mean any harm. Just has too much energy.’