she?’ Akitada asked.
‘Gone on a pilgrimage. The first lady gave her approval.’
‘When did she leave?’
‘Two days ago. Her son came for her.’
‘Ishikawa was here two days ago? When will she be back?’
The old man relented. ‘He said it was just a little outing, a visit to a few temples before the cold weather starts. She’ll be back in two weeks. Sorry, sir.’ And now he closed the gate firmly.
Akitada stood outside and heard the bars slide into place and footsteps recede. After a moment, he turned and walked away, his mind in turmoil. It was pointless to be so upset. Tora should be back soon. Perhaps he had found the maid. In any case, they would return together to the capital and his old life. The child was safe for the time being, and he was content to leave him there. It had been madness to think that he could be a father again.
Not having anything else to do, he got his saddlebag from the lodging house and rode to the outskirts of Otsu, where he settled himself on one of the benches outside a wine shop to await Tora. The bench was under a spreading cherry tree and the weather was pleasant. The summer heat had passed, and a light breeze came from the lake, where seagulls swooped and cried to each other. A cheerful waiter brought him some wine and a bowl of salted vegetables without bothering him with small talk. His horse grazed quietly on a patch of weeds. Akitada watched the road and the lake for a while, then pulled Inabe’s bird scroll from his sleeve.
The crow was really very well drawn. Inabe had had a gift as an artist. And his comments suggested a well- educated mind, even if he seemed somewhat obsessive about the supernatural significance of birds. Looking at the pictures, Akitada wondered if the splinted wing would have healed and if the crow would eventually have flown back to the wild. Probably so. Perhaps the place was full of birds the doctor had healed. No wonder they were so tame. The birds would have been company of sorts for a very lonely man.
Something had happened to turn Inabe inward. The loss of his wife? No, that had been earlier. Akitada knew all about loss and what it could do to a man, but he put thoughts of his own loneliness from his mind and unrolled more of the scroll.
Two magpies on a pine branch. Inabe had written down the Tanabata legend about the bridge of magpies. Cranes. It appeared that cranes were as faithful to their mates as mandarin ducks. They symbolized a long life. Auspicious birds! Ah, here was a story about a wounded crane’s gratitude to a human. It had turned itself into a beautiful maiden for the lonely young man who had saved it. Akitada smiled at the fanciful thought that Inabe’s loneliness had caused him to devote his skills to healing birds in the hope of finding a wife.
A series of sketches of small birds: a water-rail, snipes, a fly-catcher, a cuckoo. The drawing of a plover carried a legend about its grieving for a lost mate. The nightingale was said never to sing in the gardens of the imperial palace. Why not? Akitada knew that white doves were sacred to the god of war, Hachiman, and he also knew the story of a pair of wagtails teaching the first deities how to make love and create life.
Akitada thought of Tamako. She really would enjoy this scroll.
Apparently, Inabe had loved the common sparrows better than any other bird. Several sheets were filled with their sketches and tales. He searched for and found the story he remembered from his own childhood. He had told it to Yori. It was about the sparrow with the broken wing who rewarded the poor woman who healed him with an unceasing supply of food until her jealous neighbor caught the little bird. But remembering his son brought tears to his eyes, and the characters swam crazily on the paper.
Akitada blinked and unrolled the scroll a little more to read the rest of the story, but the text changed suddenly. There were no more drawings. The writing was dense and professional and hard to decipher. It was the same writing as in Inabe’s medical notebooks. His heart beating faster, he unrolled a large section. There were four sheets of medical notes altogether before the bird pictures continued. The story of the wounded sparrow had no ending because the medical notes had been glued over it.
What was more, these were the four sheets missing from the notebook. Inabe had hidden the pages by removing them carefully, and then he had sacrificed four sections of his treasured bird drawings to make sure they were hidden. Why? And from whom?
He read and learned that the ten-year-old girl had recovered. But it was the next patient who mattered: a thirty-year-old male who had complained of acute cramping in his belly, along with vomiting, and burning in his mouth and throat.
It had to be young Masuda.
There was no mention of warabi mochi. The doctor had merely poked and questioned the patient. He had noted spasms and tightness in the lower belly, especially on the right side, and had prescribed a dose of powdered daiou and moutan. The next day he had been called back and found the patient improved. But then, the day after, young Masuda had become much worse. He was now suffering from severe dysentery. Palpitation of the belly had produced fluid sounds. Inabe had again prescribed daiou and added persica. On this occasion he had noted a yang pulse and a yellow, dry coating of the tongue, and had identified them as the symptoms of an intestinal inflammation.
An inflammation? What had been wrong with the patient? There were two more visits, the comments increasingly shorter and more ominous: shallow breathing, cold sweats, and severe pain on the first of these, and on the last Inabe had noted that the patient was unresponsive and suffered from seizures. The outcome was, of course, death.
And that was all. Except that Inabe had scribbled some obscure comments in the margin of the last sheet. Akitada turned the scroll sideways and squinted at it. ‘For love-sickness there is no medicine.’ Love sickness? The other was a bit of Chinese which looked like ‘Yue-sun’s gruel’. He took it for the name of an obscure medicine.
More puzzled than ever, Akitada looked up, dazzled from close reading, and squinted at the sun. It was midday already, and that made Tora very late indeed. He decided not to wait any longer.
TWENTY
When Akitada got home, he went directly to Tamako’s room. Since he had become a stranger there after their son’s death, he announced himself outside the door and asked for permission to enter. She answered in her familiar, cool voice, and he went in.
She sat near the open door to the overgrown garden. He was struck by how very attractive she looked in the dark-grey gown that mourning still dictated and was glad that she was alone. But his heart fell when he saw that she was bent over two lacquer trunks he recognized. They had belonged to their son Yori and held his summer and autumn clothing. That she was taking out and handling his small garments depressed him immeasurably.
He expected grief, but she was calm. ‘Was your journey successful?’ she asked, giving him a searching look.
He came a little closer, wondering if he should sit down. ‘In some ways,’ he said cautiously, hoping for an invitation.
Her face lit up. ‘You brought the child with you?’ Her hands made a small, fluttering gesture at the clothes boxes.
He understood, and his heart fell further. ‘No, but he’s safe for the time being. I meant that there is more information about the Masuda case. And perhaps about the boy’s paternity. But there are still many unanswered questions.’
She was silent for a little. ‘Then you will leave again,’ she said finally.
He was taken aback. He had just arrived. Was she so eager to have him gone? ‘No. I… I must return to my duties at the ministry.’
She nodded, closed the trunks, and rose. ‘I had better tell cook to get more provisions.’
He did not step out of her way. For a moment they stood face to face, and he knew she was going to brush past him. In an awkward effort to keep her, he pulled the bird scroll from his sleeve and held it out. ‘I thought you might like this.’
