badly overgrown, and no doubt things were worse inside. Since Yori’s death he had simply not cared.
Genba opened the gate and greeted them with a broad smile. ‘So you found him, brother,’ he said to Tora, and to Akitada, ‘Welcome home, sir. We were worried.’
Akitada reluctantly accepted the fact that his people might be genuinely fond of him and care about his well- being. As he dismounted, he looked at Genba more closely. If he was not much mistaken, the huge man had lost weight. ‘Are you quite well, Genba?’ he asked.
‘Yes, sir. Why?’
‘You look… thinner.’
Tora glanced at Genba and said, ‘His appetite’s gone, sir. He’s been grieving for Yori. We all have.’
Bereft of speech, Akitada turned to go, then managed a choked, ‘Thank you.’
Tamako was not waiting for him. He went to his study and shed his traveling robe, slipping instead into the comfortable old blue one he wore around the house. Then he went looking for his wife. The house seemed to be empty. In the kitchen, he finally found the frowzy cook. He disliked the woman intensely. Not only was she ill- tempered and lazy, but she had deserted them when Yori had become ill. She had returned later and wept with contrition, claiming that she would starve in the streets if he did not take her back. And he had done so. Now she looked up from chopping vegetables and scowled. ‘So you’re back. I’d better get a fish from the market then.’
The woman was impossible, but being in a softened mood after Genba and Tora, Akitada simply nodded and asked, ‘Where is everybody?’
‘Your lady and the old man are in the garden. Don’t know where the silly girl is.’
The ‘silly girl’ was Tamako’s maid. Akitada went outside. The service yard was neat, thanks to his two stalwart retainers. He could hear their voices from the stable, where they were tending to the horses. He entered the main garden through a narrow gate of woven bamboo.
The trees and shrubs must have put on a burst of new growth over the summer. He looked in dismay at a massive tangle of greenery that reminded him of the courtesan’s garden. It was high time something was done or the garden would swallow the house. Hearing voices, he made his way along the narrow path, its flat stones barely visible any longer, and came on Tamako and Seimei. They had not heard him.
Seimei sat on the veranda steps, huddled in a quilted robe. Akitada frowned. Even after sunset, it was too warm to wear such heavy clothes. He saw how frail the old man had become and remembered with a twinge of guilt how, in his raving grief over the loss of his son, he had questioned the justice of a fate that snatched the youngest and let the old survive.
Tamako wore an old blue-and-white patterned cloth robe. She had turned up its sleeves and tucked the skirt into her sash so that he could see her trousers underneath. Her long hair was twisted up under a blue scarf. She was cutting dead wood from the wisteria vine. A large pile lay beside her.
It was a day for uncomfortable memories. Akitada had fallen in love with Tamako when she had worn a similar blue cloth gown. They had been sitting under a wisteria-covered trellis in her father’s garden. Under the ancestor of this very same wisteria. And the poem Tora had carried to her the morning after their first night together had been tied to a wisteria bloom from that plant.
‘Why don’t you let Genba and Tora do that?’ he asked sharply.
They both jumped. Seimei rose shakily to his feet and bowed, crying, ‘Welcome home, sir. We were worried.’
Tamako said nothing. She gave him a searching, earnest look, then turned away.
He stared at her back. ‘There is no need for you to do such heavy work,’ he said. ‘I can still afford to hire people.’
‘It is dying,’ she murmured vaguely, touching the shriveled twigs that remained on the plant. ‘I have tried, but it keeps dying. A little more each day.’
‘Nonsense. It just needs water. Or something.’
‘There has been a lot of rain.’
Seimei sighed. ‘Too much rain. It causes rot, and healthy things shrivel up and die.’
Tamako turned. They both looked at Seimei and then at each other and wondered if the old man was talking about the wisteria.
FOUR
In the stable, Tora and Genba unsaddled the horses. ‘How’s the master doing?’ Genba asked, reaching for a rag to rub down Akitada’s mount.
‘The same, I think.’ Tora leaned against his horse for a rest. He felt very tired all of a sudden. So many problems. He sighed. ‘He did talk a little about some mystery in Otsu, so maybe he’s taking an interest again.’
Genba brightened. ‘That’s good. So, did you tell him?’
‘No.’ Tora led his horse to his stall and tied him up. ‘It’s too soon. He’s still brooding.’
Genba glanced at him as he scooped some grain into two leather buckets. ‘Time’s passing,’ he said, taking the buckets to the horses. ‘You’ve got to do something soon.’
Tora sagged down on some straw and did not reply.
‘Besides, there’s work to be done here. The place is falling apart. I can’t do it all by myself. This can’t go on, Tora. It’s not fair to her or to our master.’
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.’
