journey.
“Things will look more promising after a good night’s rest,” he said.
Hours later, Sano arrived home, frozen and exhausted, to find that Reiko had waited up for him. She was standing in their bedchamber, and one look at her face told Sano something was amiss. Her jaw was set, her gaze simultaneously frightened and accusing.
“What’s wrong?” Sano said, afraid that something bad had happened to her or Masahiro.
She stepped back to avoid the hand he extended to her, and thrust a small book toward him. “Will you please explain this?” Her voice was brittle, stretched between dread and reproach.
Puzzled, Sano took the book, opened it, and frowned in surprise at the inscription. “The Pillow Book of Lady Wisteria? Where did this come from?”
Reiko didn’t answer. Unnerved by her strange expression, Sano began reading the pages. His surprise turned to alarm, then horror at the mixture of fact and fabrication. Lady Wisteria couldn’t have written such disgusting slander about him! The book must be a forgery. But while he read, it was as if he could hear Wisteria’s voice speaking the words, and who except she could have known intimate details of their relations?
If only he’d already told Reiko about the affair! How could he now persuade her that most of the story was a lie while he admitted concealing from her the parts that were true?
Sano read the last passage, which showed him insulting the shogun and plotting to make Masahiro the next dictator. His blood boiled with outrage. Feeling shamed and trapped, he slowly closed the book, delaying the moment when he must face Reiko. When he at last raised his eyes, she regarded him with the brave caution of a warrior encountering a stranger who may be friend or foe.
“Where did you get this?” Sano asked.
“From Lady Yanagisawa.” Reiko explained how the anonymous package had arrived for the chamberlain, and her friend had brought it to her. “Is the story true?”
Nerves raised sweat on Sano’s brow. “Let’s sit down and talk,” he said.
Reiko didn’t move, but her eyes went round, and Sano saw her pride crumble. “Then it is true,” she whispered. “She was your lover. I thought we were-all the while you-” Abruptly Reiko looked away.
“It was over before we married,” Sano said.
“Then why didn’t you tell me about her at the start of the investigation?”
“I didn’t want to upset you.” Sano ached with guilt. The brief pleasure he’d gotten from Lady Wisteria wasn’t worth this.
“That’s what you said to her when she was upset to learn you were engaged.” Reiko was afire with hurt, suspicion, and anger. She gestured toward the book that Sano still held. “She was beautiful. You loved her. She did everything for you that a man could want.” Bitterness twisted Reiko’s mouth. “You only married me because I’m from a high-ranking samurai family instead of a brothel.”
“I didn’t love her,” Sano protested. “There was nothing between us but sex.” He saw Reiko’s eyes narrow. “It was just a brief affair that had no future.”
“Then why did you free her?” Reiko retorted. 'Or didn’t you?” she added in a querulous tone that bespoke her need to believe he hadn’t performed this act that signified deep commitment to a courtesan.
“I did,” Sano said, though aware that the admission made him look guiltier.
Reiko briefly closed her eyes.
“But it wasn’t because I wanted the affair to go on.” Regretting to hurt her more, Sano nonetheless realized that he must tell her the whole story, and hastened to explain: “I met Wisteria on a case I investigated while I was on the police force. She gave me information. We spent a night together.”
“During which she taught you the art of lovemaking?”
Hearing the pain behind Reiko’s sarcasm, Sano nodded reluctantly. “Certain people were displeased that Wisteria helped me. She was punished. Her suffering was my fault, and I had to compensate her.” He described the events that had made this possible. “But I didn’t go to Yoshiwara to take her away.” Leafing through the book, he said, “There was no departure ceremony, no trip together to her new home. The bakufu provided the money and handled everything. Wisteria wasn’t my mistress. I never intended her to be.”
“So you were never together again?” Eagerness underlay Reiko’s skeptical query.
Though he hated to disappoint his wife, Sano said, “We were, but only twice-before you and I met. Wisteria was unfriendly to me. I was busy working for the shogun, and I never bothered going back to Wisteria. There were no violent quarrels, no reunions, no perverted sex, no insults toward the shogun, and certainly no scheme to use Masahiro-chan for my own benefit.”
Sano flung down the book, incensed anew by its portrayal of him. He was relieved that his secret had come out, but upset that it had come out this way. Gazing upon Reiko’s rigid, unhappy face, he said, “I love you. I’ve always been faithful to you.” Sincerity and tenderness hushed his voice: “I swear it on my life.”
Reiko looked torn between wanting to believe and wanting not to be deceived. Then she turned away. Sano inwardly cursed the Black Lotus for her morbid distrust that extended to him and what she knew in her heart about him.
“You’re always telling me that a good detective bases judgment on evidence,” she said. “What evidence is there to prove you’re not an adulterer?” She swallowed hard, as if to forestall crying. “What evidence is there to prove you weren’t involved in Lord Mitsuyoshi’s death?”
She even suspected him of murdering Mitsuyoshi so that Masahiro could take his place as the shogun’s heir! Sano lifted his eyes to the ceiling as despair filled him. He had nothing to prove the pillow book was a fraud. The only person who could say for a fact that he’d never done the things described in the book was Lady Wisteria. Sano thought of the mutilated corpse and shook his head. Then his gaze lit on the book, which lay on the table where he’d thrown it. A phrase that hadn’t registered while he read now jarred his memory. He snatched up the book and whipped through pages until he found it.
“Reiko-san, look,” he said.
She didn’t move. Eagerly Sano read aloud: “ ‘It was in the year that the child was born, during the month of leaves, while Sano-san and I sat on the roof viewing the full moon.’ But I couldn’t have been with Wisteria on the night of the full moon in the seventh month after you gave birth to Masahiro-chan. I was with you. Don’t you remember?”
Now Reiko did remember. She also remembered the passage in the book that she’d overlooked because she’d been too upset to read objectively. A rush of confused emotions made her feel faint. Stunned, she turned to Sano.
“Yes,” she said, and heard breathless relief in her voice.
Her distrust and his confession had transformed her husband into a stranger capable of adultery and treason; but now Sano looked his familiar self. An encouraging smile dawned through the worry on his face.
“The shogun had given you a holiday that month,” she said. “You took Masahiro-chan and me on a religious pilgrimage.” The temple where they’d stayed was a three-day journey from Edo, their holiday had lasted ten days total, and therefore Sano could not have gone to Wisteria in Nihonbashi at any time near the full moon.
“After you put Masahiro-chan to bed, you and I watched the moon from the garden,” Sano said.
“And we made love there.” The tears Reiko had been holding back now spilled. She wept with gladness that one small, false detail had shown the pillow book to be an elaborate lie, and shame that she’d not immediately recognized it as such. “Will you forgive me for doubting you?”
“If you forgive me for keeping a secret I should have told you,” Sano said.
He looked so earnest and chagrined that Reiko’s lingering anger melted away. Unaware of whether she moved toward him, or he toward her, she found herself and Sano embracing. She felt her sobs resonate through him, and the wetness on her cheek that could have been her tears or his. Sano’s hands caressed her with a tenderness that she could tell Lady Wisteria had never known from him. Her body responded with a welling of desire. His breath quickened and his grasp on her tightened.
