“It’s understandable that you don’t care for me,” he said, “but perhaps you found Left Minister Konoe more compatible.”
“Why do you say that?” Jokyōden said in a tone of polite curiosity.
“You knew about the house he’d secretly purchased, which indicates a more than superficial acquaintance with him.” Sano ventured a bold guess: “Were you and he lovers?”
Jokyōden gasped and dropped the vase she was holding. It broke on the floor; lotuses scattered and water splashed. With a moan of distress, she grabbed a cloth and began cleaning up the water.
“Here, let me help.” Sano gathered up the fallen blossoms, gratified to see that he’d shaken Jokyōden’s composure at last.
“Thank you,” she murmured. She inserted the flowers in a new vase and placed it carefully on an altar. Then she stood and faced Sano. “So your wife told you my secret, even though she promised me her discretion? No? But of course, you are clever enough to have guessed.” Jokyōden’s expression was strained. “Yes, the left minister and I were once lovers.”
Then Reiko had known, Sano thought; yet instead of telling him, she’d kept silent. Sano was furious at Reiko, but he welcomed the news of her duplicity, as if it somehow excused his own behavior with Kozeri.
Jokyōden said sadly, “My husband is not the most stimulating companion, and his nature requires me to perform many of his duties. My work brought me into close contact with Left Minister Konoe. He was attractive and unmarried. We had many interests in common. I was lonely. Eventually, friendship led to romance. But the romance did not last.”
“Why not?” Sano said, making an effort to forget his personal problems and concentrate on Jokyōden.
“In the beginning, the left minister seemed wonderful. He praised me, brought me gifts, made me feel cherished and important. I fell in love with him. But soon he changed. He lost his temper if I disagreed with him on court policy. He pressured me to put my husband’s official seal on documents that would give him more authority. When I refused…”Jokyōden blinked, swallowed, then said, “He had other women. And he was always busy with Tomohito, talking to him, supervising his lessons, rehearsing him for ceremonies, and playing games with him, while ignoring me.
“Finally I told the left minister that I wanted to end our liaison. I expected him to object, apologize, and ask for another chance, but he just said he’d never really wanted me; he’d used me to gain more influence over the court. And he didn’t need me any longer because he’d won Tomohito’s confidence. His affection had been a pure sham. I was terribly hurt and made a hysterical scene.”
Abruptly Lady Jokyōden knelt by a tray of covered dishes. She lifted the lids, revealing traditional Obon foods: noodles, rice cooked with lotus petals, dumplings, sweet cakes, pickled eggplant, and fruit. With extreme care, she picked up a pair of chopsticks and divided the food onto small platters made of unglazed red earthenware. Sano thought he saw tears gleam in her eyes.
“So although I once cared very much for the left minister, it would be hypocritical for me to say that I regret his death. After our romance ended, I still had to work with him as usual. His presence was a constant reminder of my own foolishness. I wanted never to see him again.” Arranging noodles on a platter, she drew a tremulous breath. “His death granted my wish.”
Revenge on a cruel lover was a powerful motive for murder, yet something about Jokyōden’s confession bothered Sano. Convincing as it sounded, he couldn’t quite imagine her falling for such a transparent scheme, and once again, she’d volunteered information too readily. Dropping the vase had seemed too melodramatic for a woman as poised as Jokyōden. Now Sano wondered whether she and Konoe ever had been lovers, or quarreled. But if not, then why lie and incriminate herself further?
Sano said, “I understand that you manage the affairs of the imperial family. You must have a remarkable talent for business.”
“You’re too generous. My poor efforts hardly deserve praise.” An air of waiting stillness came over Jokyōden, although her hands continued filling dishes.
“So it would be humiliating to fall under the domination of someone less worthy or capable than yourself.”
“Humiliation was the ultimate result of my affair with the left minister, yes.” Rising, Jokyōden began setting food platters on each altar as offerings to the spirits of the dead. She gave Sano an oblique glance, as if not sure what he was getting at, but sensing a trap.
“And now, with Left Minister Konoe gone, you’re free from his interference,” Sano said, walking beside Jokyōden. “But how free can you really be, while the Imperial Court is ruled by the bakufu? Do you ever resent its domination?”
“Why resent a circumstance that is beyond my control?” A note of puzzlement crept into Jokyōden’s voice. “That would be a waste of energy.”
“Not if you thought you could change your circumstances,” Sano said, handing plates of fruit to Jokyōden. “Do you ever imagine ruling Japan? An entire country would offer a much wider scope for your talent than the small world of the court. Do you ever think you could govern better than the bakufu does?”
Jokyōden turned an acid glare on him and said, “Your mockery of this poor woman shows deplorable manners.” Then, as she bent over an altar and set down the plates Sano had handed her, a glimmer of a smile lit her profile. “But perhaps a shift of power is overdue. In less than a century, many problems have plagued Japan: famines, a bad earthquake, the flood that washed away the Sanjo Bridge and drowned hundreds of people, the Great Fire of Meireki that destroyed most of Edo, and two major fires here in Miyako. Such calamities are signs that the government is out of harmony with the cosmos. Only by transferring leadership to a worthier ruler can we avoid future disasters. Who better than a wise, capable member of the Imperial Court?”
Sano had begun to think that nothing Jokyōden said could surprise him anymore, but her declaration stunned him. She’d not only implied that she blamed the Tokugawa for Japan’s bad luck, but that she considered herself qualified to take over the government! Was she responsible for the restoration conspiracy? Had she quarreled with Konoe over a love affair gone bad, or because he’d discovered the plot and meant to report her to the metsuke?
Or was this another move in some bizarre game of which she alone knew the objectives?
More baffled than ever, Sano said, “Have you already taken steps toward restoring harmony to the cosmos?”
“Perhaps… perhaps not.”
Either she realized she was on dangerous ground, or she sought to confuse him further. Losing patience, Sano ventured a countermove: “It might interest you to know that a certain house in the cloth dyers’ district was raided yesterday.”
“Why should that concern me?” Jokyōden asked.
Sano couldn’t tell whether his news disturbed her, or if she knew what it meant, but the atmosphere in the chapel seethed with Jokyōden’s unspoken thoughts. He said, “Would you happen to know what’s become of the weapons that were in that house two days ago?”
Jokyōden set the last dish on an altar. Standing, she faced Sano with an enigmatic smile. “Weapons are not always necessary for the overthrow of a regime. The murders in the palace prove that there is a force stronger than any army. You samurai call it kiai and think that you invented it, but the power to take life by an act of will developed before the Way of the Warrior. When your ancestors were primitive tribal chieftains squabbling in the dirt, the Imperial Court had an advanced culture handed down to us by the gods. We command the magic of the universe, and within the palace walls, ancient traditions continue.”
A strange intensity lit Jokyōden’s narrow eyes. As she glided out through the open doors, her layered silk robes fluttered in the wind. Curious, Sano followed, not knowing what to expect. An eerie disquiet infused the air. Above the garden, clouds and smoke drifted across the sky. Tiny waves rippled the pond; irises swayed; distant thunder boomed in the hills.