that she seemed to materialize out of thin air. She scowled at Reiko, grasped her arm, and demanded, “Where have you been?”
“I got lost,” Reiko lied.
Yasue snorted in disbelief. “Snooping around, I’d say.”
She yanked the stick from under her sash and smote Reiko three hard blows across the back. Reiko fell on hands and knees, crying out in pain and angry protest.
“I’ll be watching you,” Yasue said. She grabbed Reiko’s collar and hauled her to her feet. “Remember that when you get the urge to snoop again.” Her stick prodded Reiko along the paths. “Now I’ll give you enough work to keep you too busy to cause trouble.”
She’d already made an enemy, Reiko realized unhappily. She hoped she could last long enough here to discover the truth about Senior Elder Makino’s death.
15
If you must investigate that actor, shouldn’t you start at the place where he performs?” Ibe asked Sano as they and their entourage rode through the Saru-waka-cho theater district. “We just passed the Nakamura-za, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
He gestured toward a theater on the avenue. Signs on its facade pictured Koheiji and proclaimed the title of the play: Amorous Adventures of an Edo Samurai. Men and women lined up at ticket booths there and at the other theaters. Song, laughter, and applause issued from upper-story windows.
“We’ll start at the place where Koheiji started his career,” Sano said.
He had an intuition that he would learn more there, but he didn’t bother trying to explain this to Ibe or Lord Matsudaira’s men, who wouldn’t want him chasing hunches instead of pursuing the suspects they wanted him to incriminate. He led the group into Kobiki-cho, a lesser theatrical quarter. Here, the theaters were small and shabby, the audiences exclusively male. Men crowded the teahouses, drinking sake, playing cards, and wagering on cockfights. Drummers led more men through the streets in search of amusement. Teahouse proprietors rushed out to greet Sano and his entourage.
“Would you like a companion for the night?”
“I can set you up with the handsomest actors!”
“One piece of gold, and he’s yours from the final curtain until daybreak of the morning after!”
The Kobiki-cho district was famous as a gathering place for devotees of manly love, Sano knew. It generated more revenue from male prostitution than from ticket sales. Boys in their teens swarmed the street, offering free tickets, luring men to their plays. Men called propositions to youths who leaned out second-story windows. Sano politely declined all offers, although a few of his companions eyed the boys with interest. Maybe some actors enjoyed manly sex as much as did their suitors, but Sano knew that young, unknown performers earned so little that if they wanted to eat, they must sell themselves. Hence, Kobiki-cho was a carnal paradise for wealthy men who craved boys.
At the Owari Theater, Sano and his party dismounted; stableboys took charge of their horses. Police officers loitered outside the dingy wooden building, ready to quell the riots that often occurred when men quarreled over their favorite actors. Entering the theater, Sano found a play in progress. On a raised stage lit by skylights and decorated with a painted backdrop of a forest scene, an actor in peasant garb sang a soulful duet with an onnagata-female impersonator-dressed as a courtesan. Musicians played an off-key accompaniment. Men filled the seats along the walls and compartments in front of the stage. Raucous cheers burst from the audience. Smoke from tobacco pipes fouled the air.
As the actors sang, a samurai in the audience rose. “Ebisuya-san!” he called. “Here’s a token of my love for you!”
He drew his dagger, hacked off his little finger, and hurled it at the onnagata. He tried to leap onto the stage, but the police hauled him away. No one seemed much bothered by the incident, which was not uncommon in Kobiki-cho. The performance continued without pause. Afterward, the audience straggled out of the theater. Sano led his watchdogs and detectives to an elderly man who stood below the stage.
“Are you the proprietor?” Sano asked him.
“Yes, master.” The man had shoulders drawn up to his ears; white tufts of hair circled his bald pate. He yelled at the actors lounging and smoking on the stage: “Don’t just stand there-change the set for the next performance!”
The actors, who apparently doubled as stagehands, moved the backdrop. Ebisuya, the female impersonator, clenched his tobacco pipe between his rouged lips as he worked. The proprietor said to Sano, “What can I do for you?” He spoke courteously, but his expression was sour.
Sano introduced himself. “I’m investigating the affairs of the actor Koheiji. I want your help.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know any actor by that name.”
“Yes, he does,” Ebisuya told Sano. He’d dropped his ladylike falsetto voice, and his deep, male tone contrasted bizarrely with his female costume. He jerked his chin toward the proprietor. “His memory’s gone to rot. Koheiji worked here before he moved to the Nakamura-za and switched from girl roles to samurai roles.”
Sano was interested to learn that Koheiji had once been an onnagata. Did he still impersonate women, perhaps in private if not onstage? The torn sleeve at the murder scene had come from a kimono belonging to Okitsu, but who had worn it the night Makino died?
“My memory is just fine,” the proprietor said angrily. Pointing at Ebisuya, he said, “You watch your mouth, or I’ll throw your lazy behind out in the street.”
Ebisuya shot Sano a glance that said his employer was daft, but he wanted to keep his job.
“I know who you’re talking about now,” the proprietor said to Sano. “I must have hired Koheiji ten or eleven years ago. I gave him his start in the theater, but he moved on to bigger and better things. What’s he done wrong?”
“Why do you think he’s done anything wrong?” Sano said.
“The shogun’s detective wouldn’t come asking about him otherwise.” Senile he might be, but the proprietor knew the ways of the world. “And all these actors are troublemakers.”
“Koheiji is a suspect in a murder,” Ibe cut in, impatient.
Another blank stare came from the proprietor. “Who was murdered?”
“His patron. Senior Elder Makino.” Ibe spoke in the emphatic, disdainful tone reserved for addressing idiots.
“Oh,” the proprietor said.
“Did Koheiji meet Senior Elder Makino here?” Sano said.
The proprietor’s expression turned vague. “Maybe. If not here, then in one of the teahouses. That’s the usual thing.”
Sano began to doubt that the man had a true recollection of who Koheiji was, let alone anything else about him. What he said about Koheiji probably applied to many actors.
“This is getting us nowhere,” Ibe said in exasperation.
Lord Matsudaira’s men voiced their agreement that Sano should end the interview. On stage, Ebisuya adjusted a new backdrop. He caught Sano’s eye and tilted his head toward the back door.
“We can go now,” Sano said, earning nods of approval from the Matsudaira contingent and a suspicious look from Ibe.
Outside the theater, Sano told his detectives, “Go talk to people around the district and find out what they know about Koheiji.” The detectives split up and headed down the street; Ibe’s and Lord Matsudaira’s men dogged their heels. Sano said to Ibe, “Please excuse me a moment.”
As if intending to use the privy, he strode down the alley between the theater and the neighboring teahouse. A young boy stood pressed against the wall, his kimono raised above his waist. A groaning, panting samurai thrust himself against the boy’s naked buttocks. Sano squeezed past the pair and turned the corner. Behind the theater were reeking privies in open wooden stalls. Near them slouched the onnagata. At first Sano didn’t recognize him- he’d removed his wig, female garb, and makeup. Ebisuya now sported black robes and cropped hair. Smoke rose
