surroundings until he passed through the market gateway and was greeted by the sights, sounds, and smells of the place. People bustled about or bargained, shop boys cried out their wares, and on dozens of small stoves simmered soups, filled dumplings, and fried fish. Dodging shoppers, vendors, and merchandise, Tora made for the tower.
Tomoe’s place had been taken by the soothsayer who used to occupy one of the steps on the other side. Draped in a colorful new shawl, he seemed to be doing a good business in his new, elevated location. Tora did not like the speed with which he had taken Tomoe’s place, but he knew well enough that in this world of commerce each vacancy was instantly filled by some other creature trying to scrape up enough coppers for a day’s food, while hoping to make his fortune before it was too late.
Tora preferred an honest death in battle to this futile struggle in the marketplace. Even a farmer could die contented, knowing that he had grown rice for his own family and many others besides. Poor Tomoe had gained nothing from her struggle. Tora wondered how she had managed to get her choice location. He walked around the tower. The soothsayer’s place was now taken by an amulet seller in a pilgrim’s straw hat and white robe. He was doing an even better business than the fortune-teller. Tora looked around for other regulars. There was that filthy piece of dung, the beggar, pulling at the clothes of one of the amulet seller’s customers. And the storyteller had his usual group of wide-eyed maids with young children in tow. Tora walked past a straw sandal maker who was measuring the feet of a boy as his mother haggled over the price. Beside him a young girl was selling paper fans. He didn’t see the noodle soup man at his corner across from the tower, but it was still early in the day. The mochi seller was just coming into view, moving through the crowd of shoppers with his large basket of rice dumplings strapped to his back, calling out, “Sweet dumplings, savory dumplings, fresh dumplings, bean paste dumplings.”
The sun was high and many hours had passed since Tora’s morning rice. He decided to treat himself to a dumpling while asking a few questions. The mochi man in his short pants and jacket had a prematurely lined face, and his arms and legs were sinewy and brown from walking around the market all day and kneading dough and baking his dumplings at night. His lean face broke into a smile when he saw Tora. He stopped his chant and swung the heavy basket down to the ground.
“How are you, Brother?” Tora greeted him. “One of the bean paste dumplings, please. No, make that two, and wrap up the second. My master’s little son is fond of them.” Genba was too, but Genba was getting fat, and besides Tora was low on funds at the moment.
The vendor exchanged the dumplings for some coppers, and watched Tora take a big bite out of his while tucking Yori’s into his sleeve. “You hear about Tomoe?” he asked.
Tora wiped rice flour from his mustache and nodded. “I’m the one that found her.”
The vendor’s eyes grew large. “You don’t say? Was it as bad as they say? Blood everywhere? Like some wild animal got her?”
“It was an animal all right,” said Tora, looking at his half-eaten dumpling and then tossing it toward a sleeping dog. He had lost his appetite. “But a human animal.”
“Here,” said the vendor, “what was wrong with that dumpling?”
The dog, startled awake into a growl, devoured the unexpected gift and licked his chops. “Nothing,” muttered Tora. “You shouldn’t have reminded me.”
“Oh. Well, watch it. If people see you tossing my dumplings to the dogs, it’ll hurt my business.”
“Sorry. You happen to have any idea who killed her?
The vendor chewed his lip. “We’ve been talking, some of us in the market. Seemed weird. She had nothing. Was she raped?”
“They don’t know for sure.” The question reminded Tora that he should have asked Ihara for the coroner’s report. The bastard probably wouldn’t have given it to him, but he should have tried. Then he had the uneasy thought that the report might have been among the papers he had returned without reading. He sighed. Maybe he had better sit in on Yori’s lessons.
The dumpling man said, “If she wasn’t raped, your guess is as good as mine. People here liked her. She worked hard and we all felt sorry for her.”
“Somebody didn’t. How long had she been working here?”
“About three years. She just stopped in the middle of the market and started singing. The guards fined her for working without a proper permit. After that she paid. Didn’t do much business at first. People paid no attention. Then the soothsayer gave up his place on the tower platform to her, and she started drawing a nice crowd.”
So the soothsayer had merely taken back his old place after Tomoe’s death. Tora turned to look at him and asked, “Did she have any special friends? The soothsayer, maybe?”
He got no answer. Three youngsters had come up, and the vendor was busy selling them dumplings. When he was done, he said, “I wouldn’t know about her friends. She kept to herself. I’ve got to move on or the guards will fine me.”
The mochi man only had a permit for walking about with his goods. Stationary vendors paid more and did not like competition next to their spaces or stands. Tora strolled back to the tower and stopped at the line of customers in front of the amulet seller. “What’s the big attraction?” he asked a woman, while giving the pretty girl in front of her a wink and a smile.
The girl giggled, but the woman said fervently, “His amulets are direct from Ise Shrine. The God has blessed them. It’s a lot of money”-she opened her hand, and Tora saw that it contained about twenty coppers-“but I’m scared. My little boy-better he should live than eat mochi, right?”
Seeing her poor clothes and her work-worn face, Tora asked, “Is he sick?”
“Not yet. Amida be blessed! But the sickness is everywhere. Only last week the neighbors’ baby died. Covered with hundreds of boils she was! Terrible!”
Tora began to grasp the run on amulets. A smallpox panic seemed to have started, and people were buying the small wooden tablets to protect themselves against that terrible plague. Tomoe had been pockmarked and blinded by smallpox. Once, no doubt, she had been just as pretty and lively as the giggling girl in the queue.
Tora turned away-he did not have enough money for an amulet in any case. Every time he thought of Tomoe, something twisted in his belly. His master had asked him if he had loved her, and he had said “no.” But love is not such a simple thing to explain. With Tomoe it had not been lust. He had not wanted to lie with her-even the thought made him uncomfortable. But he had wanted to hold her close, to protect her. Many times. And he mourned her death and convinced himself that the pain he felt for having failed her might ease when he found her killer.
He glanced up at the tower platform where the soothsayer sat importantly before a red silk cloth on which he cast people’s fortunes. Tora wanted to know why he had given up his spot to Tomoe.
He got in line behind a fat merchant and sat on the steps while the fat man whispered his questions and the soothsayer rustled his yarrow stalks and clinked coins. Bits of their exchange drifted back to Tora: “That’s a ‘yes’ on the travel, but the direction is not auspicious…”
“Ssh! Not so loud.” Whisper, whisper. “Profit?” Whisper. More rustlings and stirrings.
“Ah! Yes, a prosperous undertaking if you…”
Down at the bottom of the steps, the beggar had hold of a woman’s skirts. She hit him with her full basket, and he let go, shouting an obscenity after her.
The fat merchant pulled out a string of coppers and paid the soothsayer, leaving with a happy smile. Sometimes Tora wondered if soothsayers passed along only good news in hopes of a generous tip and return visits. But he believed in dreams and omens himself and thought that at least some of the diviners spoke truth. So he bowed politely to the long-faced man with his stiff black hat and the colorful shawl about his shoulders before squatting down.
The diviner looked at him carefully with rather sad eyes. “Ten coppers if by coins,” he said. “Twenty if by stalks.”
“By coins,” said Tora quickly, fingering the sad remnants of the money in his sash.
“I remember you,” said the soothsayer. “You knew Tomoe.”
Tora nodded. “I don’t suppose you could find her killer with your divining, could you?”
“My method can only give a ‘yes’ or a ‘no.’ You have to have the name of a person.”
Tora sighed. “I haven’t got one. Besides, it wouldn’t be good evidence in front of a judge anyway.”
The long-faced man raised his brows. “Oh, I don’t know. There was a murder case where they found a man guilty on the say-so of a medium. He confessed when she pointed the finger at him. Fate never lies.”
“I heard you gave this spot to Tomoe when she first started her business three years ago.”
