place of a minister and must not shame such an exalted office.”
Soga dressed far more extravagantly than Akitada, but to Akitada’s mind such things had nothing to do with his performance in the office. On the other hand, he really did not want to prejudice Tora’s case, so he submitted without further argument.
He arrived at the ministry behind Nakatoshi, who looked startled to see Akitada so early and in such formal dress.
“I was just opening up, sir,” he said apologetically. “I haven’t had a chance to look over the work for today.”
Akitada smiled at him. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll do it together.” Still filled with the energy of the previous day, he even looked forward to routine paperwork, but his real interest was in the petitions. One or two promised some interesting legal work. He asked Nakatoshi if any progress had been made on the Chikamura claim.
“Not yet, sir. There might be something later today. Oh, I almost forgot. After you left yesterday, someone stopped by and left a note for you.”
Akitada, thinking of Tora’s upcoming hearing, hurried into the office and snatched the note from the desk. It was on standard government paper, folded many times very neatly, but not sealed. There was no superscription. It was strange that it should have been delivered in person. Akitada registered this strange combination of fussiness and lack of formality as he unfolded it.
He did not recognize the spidery hand, but the writing style was characteristic of clerks in government service. Again there was no address or signature, lending an aura of secretiveness to the missive, almost as if sender and recipient were engaged in some illegal transaction.
“In regards to the matter about which you enquired: It has come to mind that the properties in question in the province mentioned are assigned to its current governor. They were indeed at one time associated with the family-the confusion with shrine lands no doubt arising from the name itself. My deepest apologies for not having been of service when required.”
Without signature, identification mark, or personal seal, the message was incomprehensible. Akitada called Nakatoshi. “Are you certain this was meant for me?” he asked, holding up the note.
“The gentleman said so, sir. He was a very elderly person.”
“Strange. There is no signature. Might it be for the minister?”
“Oh, no. He gave your name, sir. I think he works in one of the bureaus. He looked a little familiar, but I can’t place him. A small man in his late sixties. I assumed you had had some business with him.”
Akitada shook his head. “I don’t recall.” But he reread the note, and this time there was something vaguely familiar about it. Name, property, land, province. Shrine lands? Of course. The Utsunomiya property. Miya referred to shrine. This was about Haseo’s case. That business now seemed so far away that he had completely forgotten it. Well, Haseo must certainly wait again while he sorted out Tora’s problem. Akitada said, “Yes. I remember now. It must have been Kunyoshi. The archivist from Popular Affairs.” He glanced at the pile of waiting paperwork. “Please send him a note-no, wait!” Kunyoshi, who was a senior archivist, had taken the trouble to come in person. He could not simply brush him off. Soga’s arrogance must be rubbing off on him already. He sighed. “I’m going over to thank him for his trouble. It shouldn’t take long.”
As he strode quickly along the wide street past the Court of Abundant Pleasures and the Halls of State, the first light appeared where the eastern mountains met the starry sky. It was already getting warm, and his formal silks hampered his movements and made him perspire. The brief respite of yesterday’s cooling rain had not lasted, and the increased humidity added to the unhealthy, sticky feeling. Akitada briefly wondered about the smallpox rumors and hoped that by now fears were subsiding. Of course, that would bring Soga back all the more quickly.
The first wave of senior officials was already arriving for duty. They, at least, had not abandoned the capital yet. Akitada passed through the gate of the Ministry of Popular Affairs, hoping that Kunyoshi was in already. He was. Akitada found him bustling about with stacks of documents, muttering under his breath. Nobody else seemed about. Nakatoshi had referred to the archivist as very elderly, and Akitada, who had thought little about it in the past, now realized that Kunyoshi must be nearly Seimei’s age, though he certainly moved more easily. He called out, “Good morning.” Kunyoshi did not respond but went on with his chore and his muttering. Akitada caught the words, “… told him to put these away… I’m sure of it…”
It was only when Kunyoshi was returning that he noticed Akitada. His face lit up. “Ah, it’s you sir. I did not hear you. Did you get my note? I left it with that nice young clerk of yours.”
Akitada bowed. “Yes, I came to thank you.” He said it loudly, knowing that the old man was somewhat deaf.
Kunyoshi’s eyes, disconcertingly, watched his lips. Then he smiled. “No need. Glad to do it. Hope the information helps.”
“Well, I did have one or two questions. You indicated, I think, that some property which used to belong to the Utsunomiya family is now under the control of the incumbent governor of Izumo. A Fujiwara, I think?” It was a safe guess. Most men in position of authority were Fujiwaras. Theirs was a large clan with many branches, and the Fujiwara chancellors, as well as the Fujiwara empresses, saw to it that they had supporters in all the key positions.
“Oh, yes. Fujiwara Tamenari. Of course, he does not administer the land himself. Customarily the income from the rice harvest and other products is divided evenly between the cultivator and the government. I assume that is the case in this instance.”
“When did the property become public land?”
Kunyoshi frowned and scratched his head. “Now, where did I put my notes?” He shuffled among the papers on a shelf, muttered, went to another shelf, then to his desk, and ended up standing still, with both hands rubbing his skull as if that would stir his memory.
“It does not have to be a precise date,” said Akitada-though that would certainly have helped. “Can you recall anything? Was it about five years ago?”
“What?”
Akitada repeated his question.
Kunyoshi shook his head. “I would not want to say when I cannot recall. It may come to me later.” He looked depressed.
Izumo Province, thought Akitada. It was too far away, on the Japan Sea, but a rich province and an important one for its ancient shrine to the gods. “Was it a large estate?”
“Oh, dear me, yes. A very rich plum for the nation. And for the governor, who is wealthy enough himself. I must say, under the circumstances he should pay the taxes on the questionable acres. I suggested as much.”
Akitada felt a new respect for Kunyoshi. Standing up to a Fujiwara must have taken considerable courage. “I hope,” he said with a smile, “you have not made any enemies.”
“Hah! At my age? What do I have to lose?” Kunyoshi opened his mouth and grinned so widely that Akitada could see almost every one of the few remaining yellow teeth. Like horses, men in their old age seemed to grow long in tooth, nose, and ear.
Akitada gestured at the many shelves full of documents. “The nation would lose an indispensable servant,” he said with a smile.
Kunyoshi turned shy. He looked down at his gnarled fingers, rubbing them nervously. “Once perhaps,” he said sadly, “but not anymore. I don’t hear well and I’ve become forgetful. Who wants an archivist who forgets things? It’s time I left.”
Akitada had never liked working in the law archives of the Ministry of Justice. It was dreary, dull work that involved much climbing up and down to reach tall shelves and a great amount of dust. Surely this was very hard on an old man. “Won’t you like having time for your family?” he asked.
“I have no family. It would not have been fair to them. You see, this…” he gestured to the shelves and documents, “was all I wanted. Just to work in my humble way at something I could do well.” He added wistfully, “But not anymore. Not anymore.”
Akitada was dumfounded. Such a choice amounted to a renunciation of the world just as much as if he had chosen to become a monk. The sages, who knew a great deal more than the Buddhist crowd, taught that it was a man’s duty to take a wife and have children. That rule even took precedence over serving one’s sovereign and superiors faithfully. Where would the world be without the family structure? It was the very foundation of life.
