proceed with the investigation from there.
Even at the risk of their own lives.
29
The vibrant, haunting tones of koto music told Reiko that she had at last found the witness she’d been seeking for two days. From the lofty hilltop behind Zojo Temple, the ancient melody drifted down through forests, over worship halls, pavilions, and pagoda, each note sharply defined in the clear air.
“Let me out here,” Reiko commanded her palanquin bearers.
Alighting at the foot of the hill, she hurried up a flight of stone steps that ascended through fragrant pines. Birds warbled an accompaniment to the music, which grew louder as she climbed higher. However, the tranquil beauty of the place made little impression upon Reiko. Everything-not just her personal ambitions or her marriage to Sano, but their very lives-might depend on what the witness knew about Lady Harume’s murder. Anticipation quickened her steps; her billowing cloak flapped behind her like umber wings. Gasping for breath, heart pounding, Reiko arrived at the summit.
A vast panorama spread around her. Below, on the other side of the hill, stone bridges arched across Lotus Pond to the islet upon which stood a shrine to the goddess Sarasvati. The temple’s tile roofs gleamed in the sunlight; fiery foliage blanketed the surrounding landscape. In the north, Edo lay beneath a haze of charcoal smoke, embraced by the Sumida River ’s shining curve. Reiko walked toward the many-armed statue of Kannon, goddess of mercy, and the pavilion beside it. An audience of peasants, samurai, and priests had gathered to hear the musician who knelt before the koto, under the pavilion’s thatched roof.
He’d always seemed ancient to Reiko, and she guessed he must be over seventy now. His head was as bald and speckled as an egg. Age had stooped his shoulders and pulled down the lines of his narrow face; bent over the long, horizontal instrument, he looked like an elderly crane. But his knotty hands played the koto with undiminished strength. He twisted the tuning pegs, deftly moved the stops, and struck the thirteen strings with an ivory plectrum. Eyes shut in concentration, he coaxed forth music that seemed to hold the entire world immobile with awe. The song’s ethereal beauty brought involuntary tears to Reiko’s eyes. Abandoning haste, she waited outside the pavilion for the performance to end.
The audience listened reverently as the music gained volume and complexity, layering improvisation upon theme. The final chord hung in the air for an endless moment. Head bowed, eyes still closed, the musician sat as if entranced. The audience faded away. Reiko approached.
“Sensei Fukuzawa? Might I please have a word with you?” She bowed, adding, “You may not remember me. It’s been eight years since we last met.”
The musician opened his eyes. Age hadn’t dimmed their keen, bright clarity. His face lit with immediate recognition. “Of course I remember you, Miss Reiko-or, I should say, Honorable Lady Sano.” His voice was weak and quavery; his soul spoke chiefly through the koto. “My congratulations on your marriage.” Extending his hand in a gesture of welcome, he said, “Please join me.”
“Thank you.” Reiko climbed the steps into the pavilion and knelt opposite him. Warm sunlight streamed through the lattice walls; a folding screen provided shelter from the wind. “I’ve been looking all over for you-at your house in Ginza, and the theaters. Finally one of your colleagues told me you’d begun a pilgrimage to temples and shrines across the country. I’m so glad I caught you before you left Edo.”
“Ah, yes. I want to visit the great holy places before I die. But what caused your sudden urge to see your old music teacher?” The old man’s eyes twinkled. “Not, I presume, the desire for more lessons.”
Reiko smiled ruefully. During the six years in which Sensei Fukuzawa had taught her to play the koto, she’d been a reluctant pupil. When her lessons ended, she put away her instrument with great relief and never touched it again. Now she was old enough to regret the waste of her sensei’s effort and feel ashamed of the callous way she had rejected the art to which he’d devoted his life. Uncomfortably she remembered her father pointing out her naivete and overconfidence, and Sano her headstrong contrariness. These, too, were faults she must admit and conquer.
“I want to apologize for my poor attitude,” Reiko said, though humility didn’t come easily to her. “And I’ve missed you,” she added, realizing for the first time how much she had. Unlike her relatives, Sensei Fukuzawa had neither scolded nor punished her for misbehaving. Unlike other teachers, who raged, threatened, and even hit students when they made mistakes, he’d always inspired through patient kindness rather than fear. Thus he had coaxed Reiko’s meager talent to its full potential, while providing a haven from the criticism she got from everyone else. Didn’t the fact that she could now appreciate the value of such a rare person mean her character was improving?
“No apology is necessary; it is enough to see that your character has matured,” the old man said, echoing her thoughts. “But I suspect that there is a serious reason for the honor of your attention?” He smiled gently.
“Yes,” Reiko admitted, recalling his ability to see through people, as if studying music had given him special insight into the human spirit. “I’m investigating the murder of Lady Harume. I heard that you spent the past month in the castle, giving lessons to the women of the Large Interior.” His age and reputation made him one of the few men allowed there. “I want to know whether you saw or heard anything that might help me figure out who killed her.”
“Ah.” Sensei Fukuzawa ran his gnarled fingers over the koto strings, contemplating Reiko. From the instrument came a wandering, abstract melody in a minor key. Though neither his expression nor his tone indicated anything except benign interest, Reiko read disapproval in the music. She hurried to justify herself to the old teacher because she craved his good opinion. After explaining why she wanted to investigate the murder, she delivered the news that had increased her determination to solve the case.
“My cousin Eri told me this morning about a rumor that’s circulating around the castle. Apparently the shogun’s mother had an affair with Harume that ended badly. Everyone says she wrote a letter to Harume, threatening to kill her, and therefore, Lady Keisho-in is the murderer.
I don’t know if there really is such a letter, or if it means she’s guilty. But my husband’s other prime suspect- Lieutenant Kushida-has disappeared. He’s under a lot of pressure to solve the case. If he hears the rumor and finds the letter, he may decide to charge Lady Keisho-in with poisoning Harume. But what if he’s wrong, and she’s innocent?
“He’ll be executed for treason. And I, as his wife, will die with him.” Clenching her hands in her lap, Reiko tried to subdue her fear. “I can’t depend on my husband to find the real killer, or to protect me. Haven’t I the right to save my own life?”
The koto music took a brighter turn, and Sensei Fukuzawa nodded. “Knowing that a former pupil is in danger, I would gladly help. Let me see…” As he played, he contemplated a pleasure boat drifting on Lotus Pond. Then he sighed and shook his head.
“It is no use. When one is my age, recent events blur in one’s memory, while those of thirty years ago are as clear as water. I could re-create every note of my first performance, but as for the month I spent at Edo Castle -” He shrugged in sad resignation. “The ladies and I had many conversations during their lessons. Quarrels often arose between them, and women do gossip constantly; however, I can’t think of anything they said or did that seemed out of the ordinary. Nor do I recall meeting Lady Harume. Certainly I had no premonition of her death.”
He added, “I am sorry. It seems you’ve gone to much trouble for nothing. Please forgive me.”
“That’s all right, it’s not your fault,” Reiko said, hiding her disappointment and knowing that she herself was to blame for it. In her youthful arrogance, she’d formed an exaggerated notion of her detective abilities and the value of her contacts. Now reality stripped her of delusion.
She’d used her last lead, to no avail. She would neither solve the murder case nor save her life. True, she’d discovered Lady Ichiteru’s quarrel with Harume, and that Lieutenant Kushida had been in Harume’s room shortly before the murder. Yet this evidence hadn’t led to a conviction. Reiko’s unhappiness turned to anger at herself and her sex. She was nothing but a worthless female who might as well go home and sew until the soldiers came to take her to the execution ground!
And beneath the anger seethed a disturbing mixture of contrary emotions. Though Reiko regretted that she couldn’t prove her superiority to Sano by beating him at his own game, she realized that she’d also wanted to
