Bundori: A Novel Of Japan

His voice trailed off as he saw the connection that the historians had missed, or ignored.

“Thereby reducing the number of men at hand for Oda’s protection,” O-tama finished for him. “But did Hideyoshi really need those troops? And why did Ieyasu take a holiday then? Was it a coincidence that Oda’s allies were both gone when he needed them? And what could Akechi have hoped to gain by killing the most powerful man in the country?”

Stunned by this new version of history, Sano repeated the standard answer, which now sounded ridiculous. “Revenge. Oda had sent Akechi’s mother-in-law to another clan as hostage for his good behavior. She died when he attacked them. And Oda ridiculed Akechi in front of their colleagues, banging on his bald head with an iron war fan as though it were a drum.”

“Oh, sosakan-sama. Such silly reasons!” O-tama laughed merrily; Sano imagined her sporting naked in a bathtub with a client, amid clouds of steam. “And why did Akechi stay in Kyoto after the murder, instead of running for his life?”

“He wanted to win the support of Oda’s allies by distributing Oda’s treasure among them.” Having seen documents that proved Akechi had indeed tried this, Sano answered with more confidence.

O-tama countered, “Oh, no, sosakan-sama. He was waiting for Generals Araki and Endo, who had arranged their lords’ absences so he could kill Oda. They’d promised him money and a higher rank. But they never came. And Hideyoshi avenged Oda’s death by killing Akechi.”

“If this story is true, then why didn’t Araki and Endo keep their promise?” Sano asked, striving to maintain his position, but only for objectivity’s sake. For he needed a motive for the crimes.

“Because Araki and Endo had acted without their lords’ consent. They didn’t want news of the conspiracy to make Oda’s retainers rise up against Hideyoshi and Ieyasu. Akechi was supposed to take the blame, alone. And he did; he was punished-but Araki and Endo weren’t. General Fujiwara learned of the conspiracy and vowed revenge, but failed. Now one of his descendants has taken up the task. Chugo? Matsui? Maybe. But only Chamberlain Yanagisawa is a direct descendant of General Fujiwara’s eldest son. With him lies the main responsibility for fulfilling our ancestor’s wish.”

Sano’s earlier optimism drained away in a trickle of icy horror. The murder of a samurai’s lord was the ultimate offense-a blood score that could indeed transcend generations. O-tama’s story, supported by circumstantial historical evidence, explained General Fujiwara’s bizarre behavior, and the murders. And reaffirmed Yanagisawa as the prime suspect.

“There can’t be any truth to this legend!” Sano blurted in vehement denial.

“It doesn’t really matter if there is, does it, sosakan-sama? All that matters is that someone-the killer-believes so.”

Sano couldn’t argue, but leapt to challenge O-tama’s credibility. “Why did you break the silence and tell me a secret that has been kept for so many years? Why have you given me evidence that endangers your cousins?”

Satin garments rustled as the shadowy figure behind the screen stirred. “You may find this shocking and disgusting, sosakan-sama, but I have no love for my family.” Bitterness damped the lilt in O-tama’s voice. “Their problems are not mine. I care nothing for the samurai heritage that binds us. And I’ll tell you why.”

She recited the Fujiwara family history, and Sano learned of the rivalry that had divided the general’s sons after his death, the rises and declines in fortune experienced by the clan’s different branches. O-tama’s, he discovered, had fared worse than Matsui’s, Chugo’s, or Yanagisawa’s.

“My grandfather mismanaged the estate entrusted to him by Tokugawa Ieyasu,” O-tama said. “He was demoted to the post of secretary. And my father, who inherited the post, was a drunk who lost it entirely. He became a wandering ronin, hiring himself out as a guard to peasant villages. We ate millet and lived in huts. Money was scarce; my father couldn’t afford a dowry for my marriage. He turned me out when I was eighteen.”

O-tama leaned closer to the screen. Against the milky paper, Sano could just make out the oval of her face. “So I came to Edo, looking for work as a maid. But I couldn’t find a lady willing to hire a girl like me, who would tempt the house’s menfolk and make the women jealous. For even then I was beautiful.”

A strange, sad note crept into her voice. She swallowed audibly, then continued. “Winter came. Living and begging in the streets, I was hungry and cold and desperate. All my life, I’d heard my father talk about our great cousins. So I went to ask their help.

“I tried Matsui first, at his moneylending shop. He gave me enough coins for a meal and sent me on my way, with orders never to return. Chugo refused to see me at all. And Chamberlain Yanagisawa… ”

Her sigh trembled like wind through dead leaves. This woman who lived in luxury hadn’t forgotten her harsh past.

“He was the shogun’s new plaything. He took me to his private chambers in the castle, where he gave me food and heard my story with great sympathy. I was so thankful I wept. He was so handsome, so kind. He was going to help me. But then-”

O-tama’s voice broke. “He violated me,” she whispered. “From behind. And then threw me out without a zeni. That same day, the Water Lily’s proprietor saw me wandering the streets and offered me work as a yuna. I had no choice but to accept, and no pride left to prevent me doing so.

“And so you see, sosakan-sama, why I have no loyalty toward those who would deny mercy to a helpless girl. My story has a happy ending, of course. But I’ve always dreamed of taking revenge on Matsui, Chugo-and especially Chamberlain Yanagisawa. Now I have. One of them is the Bundori Killer. And by speaking the forbidden secret, I hope I’ve delivered him to you.”

Despite the timbre of truth in O-tama’s words, Sano grasped at the slim hope that she, not Yanagisawa, was the murderer. He knew women were capable of killing, and it was they who had traditionally prepared trophy heads after battles. O-tama bore her grudge and spoke of revenge with a keen relish that even General Fujiwara would have been hard pressed to match. And there was one other reason.

“The secret incriminates you, too,” he reminded her.

O-tama laughed again, but this time mournfully. “Sosakan-sama, I have nothing to fear.”

“If that’s so, then where were you on the nights of the murders?”

“Here at home, where I always am.” A pause; her shadow tilted its head in thought. “You wish proof?”

“Please,” Sano said.

He expected her to summon Mimaki to back her alibi, but O-tama called the maid and said to her, “Remove the screen.”

“But my lady… ” The maid gasped in alarm. “The master… ”

O-tama’s shadowy hand rose, silencing her protests. “Do as I say.”

Casting a nervous glance toward the door, the maid dragged the screen aside.

Sano’s jaw dropped. Revulsion followed shock.

Supported on piled silk cushions, O-tama’s small, thin body was twisted like a gnarled tree. Her right arm, bent and drawn up against her side, ended in a leathery stump. Only one dainty stockinged foot protruded from beneath her rich red satin kimono. Most horrible was her face, a shocking contrast to the perfect black wig on her head. A mass of puckered, mottled scar tissue had obliterated the features of the right side. On the intact left side, the half-open eyelid revealed a cloudy, sightless eye.

Sano, glad that she couldn’t see his reaction, bowed his head in pity and awe. The fire at the Water Lily had freed O-tama from a sordid profession, but had ravaged her body. The public had no idea just how great Mimaki’s love for her had been. He’d taken the blind, disfigured, and crippled prostitute into his home, to cherish and care for, to live with her in seclusion not because of jealousy, but to hide her terrible secret. He’d planted the fragrant garden and hung the birdhouses and wind chimes so she could enjoy its smells and sounds, if not its sights. He pushed her in the strange wooden seat along paths she couldn’t walk. And, from the way his face had looked after he’d spoken to her, he loved her still. No one could have imagined a more poignant ending for the scandalous romance.

Or a better alibi for the murders.

“So you see, sosakan-sama.” The charming voice that so richly evoked O-tama’s lost beauty issued from her deformed mouth. “I couldn’t possibly be the killer you seek.”