“Were you surprised that the brother was arrested for the murder?”
“A bit. But then I thought, who knows what goes on in the heads of people? He used to get drunk a lot, and a man is not accountable for what he does then.”
It made for a simple and convenient explanation all right. But as Akitada walked homeward, he wondered where Nagaoka had spent the night of his wife’s murder.
SIX
Painted Flowers
More than a week passed without news of any kind. Akitada’s mother rallied a little over the next few days, but continued her steadfast refusal to see her son. Akitada was relieved. Since his visit to the shrine, he no longer actively hated his mother, but in his present detachment, he had no desire to face another scene. He occupied himself with drafting his report to the chancellor and reviewing his accounts. He visited the temple which supplied the monks whose chanting continued to fill the house, and presented several rolls of silk in payment for their services. He also negotiated the terms of the funeral rites, an action which met with disapproval from the betto, intendant of the temple, who murmured a gentle reprimand about having more faith in the prayers. He did, however, to Akitada’s sarcastic amusement, enter into the financial arrangements with the utmost thoroughness.
Akitada’s greatest concern was the lack of a letter from Tamako. He knew that they must be getting close to the capital by now, and it would have been easy to entrust a letter to one of the many government messengers who hourly galloped along the major highways leading to Heian Kyo. He fretted because he could do nothing about it.
Toshikage and Akiko had also not made an appearance for a number of days. Though no news was good news, Akitada could not help feeling uneasy about Toshikage’s problem. This, at least, he could do something about, and so he sent a brief note announcing his visit. On a dry, cold morning with hoarfrost on the roofs and terraces, he set out to pay a visit to his brother-in-law.
Toshikage’s house, though smaller than the Sugawara residence, was newer and altogether more impressive. It occupied four city lots in one of the best residential streets, and its gatehouse and main building were roofed with blue tiles and carved spouts like the imperial palaces, great temples, and houses of important nobles.
Akitada admired the complex from the street, reflecting that his own home, though in an old and prestigious quarter and certainly large enough by the standards which applied there, was sadly ramshackle and old-fashioned by comparison. His father and grandfather had been forced to sell off several parcels of the original grounds, so that the buildings now appeared cramped among the remaining huge trees and narrow gardens which surrounded them. To his own eyes and, no doubt, to his disapproving neighbors, they seemed sadly run-down. Worse, repairs had been done only as a last resort and the great roofs looked patched and ragged. The money had certainly never stretched to tile roofing, though it was far more durable than the thick, blackened thatch which covered the Sugawara halls, or the boards, held down by heavy rocks, which protected the outbuildings.
Akitada knew that his mother had been motivated by Toshikage’s wealth when she had chosen him for Akiko’s husband and he hoped wryly that all this would not be confiscated for theft.
He walked through the open gate into a wide courtyard. Servants were sweeping the gravel. One of them bowed deeply and ran ahead to announce him. Inside, a majordomo appeared, saw to his reception, and informed him with many bows that Lord Toshikage regretted that he was in conference. However, her ladyship would be delighted to receive her brother.
Akiko occupied a large, handsome room in the northern quarter assigned to the first lady of the house. Akitada found himself in a most luxurious and feminine setting. The entire wall facing him consisted of translucent oilpaper-covered sliding doors, closed now against the wintry weather, but promising a veranda and garden view outside. Shelves, filled with decorative objects, and cabinets took up the right wall, while a lovely painted screen and a series of lacquered clothes boxes occupied the left. The center of the polished black wood floor was covered with four thick grass mats which were surrounded by low curtain stands with richly tasseled brocade hangings.
Akitada’s sister reclined languidly on the mat among her silken bedding as a young servant girl brushed her shimmering black hair.
“What, still abed?” he teased, walking to her.
“Don’t be silly.” She smiled up at him. “1 am fully dressed. Though only just. Toshikage insists that I take it easy.” She patted her stomach, a tightly rounded shape covered by a saffron yellow silk gown under an embroidered Chinese jacket in chestnut brown.
“You look very fetching,” acknowledged Akitada, seating himself on a cushion. “That is a lovely jacket. And I had no idea that your hair had grown so long.”
Akiko was pleased. “Yes. It is nice, isn’t it? I have it brushed for an hour every morning.” She sat up abruptly and turned to the maidservant. “That is enough. You see I have a visitor. Go and fetch some wine.”
“Too early for wine,” protested Akitada. “I don’t suppose you serve tea?”
“Naturally. Toshikage gets me anything I like. Very well, Sachi. Make some tea instead, and bring some of the sweet rice cakes.”
When they were alone, Akiko rose. “How do you like my room?”
Akitada glanced around the large, elegant space. Filtered light came through the paper-covered doors. The room was comfortably warm, for large braziers filled with glowing charcoal stood about everywhere.
Akiko walked to the doors and opened one a little. “My private garden,” she said proudly.
Akitada joined her and looked. Beyond the open veranda with a red-lacquered railing lay a landscape in miniature. A tiny stream meandered among mosses. Spanned by a curved red-lacquered bridge, it flowed through a small pond and out under the tall plaster walls which enclosed the area. Hillocks rose and undulated around the waterway, cleverly planted with shrubs and dwarfed trees to resemble a wooded scene. A small wooden pagoda, precise in every detail, to the gilded bells at its eaves and the golden spire on its top, stood among some rocks, and a carved stone lantern beckoned from beyond the bridge as if the tiny path continued past a dense shrubbery into another scene.
“That one there is supposed to be Mount Fuji.” Akiko pointed to the largest hillock. “Does it look like it?”
Akitada had seen the sacred mountain. “An exact replica,” he lied. He glanced at Akiko fondly. “I am glad to see you so happy and that Toshikage is such a good husband to you.”
She laughed lightly. One of the nicest things about Akiko was her tinkling laughter. It lacked the infectious spontaneity of Yoshiko’s, but fell very pleasantly on the ear. For a moment, Akitada felt a strong sense of affection for both his sisters.
Akiko shivered and pushed the door shut. “It is so cold today,” she said. “How is Mother? No doubt she ordered more braziers for her room until you cannot breathe at all. I do not see how Yoshiko stands it day after day.”
Akitada’s warmth toward Akiko faded a little. His eyes fell on the large screen. It was painted with baskets and vases of flowers. The colors and shapes were lovely and natural, and the realistic detail with which the artist had rendered wisteria, bluebells, kerria, camellias, maiden grass, and many other plants astonished Akitada. Tamako would know them all by name, along with their medicinal properties. The painted flowers had been gathered in a number of charming painted baskets, porcelain bowls, and bamboo birdcages.