The woman was impossible, but being in a softened mood after Genba and Tora, Akitada simply nodded and asked, ‘Where is everybody?’

‘Your lady and the old man are in the garden. Don’t know where the silly girl is.’

The ‘silly girl’ was Tamako’s maid. Akitada went outside. The service yard was neat, thanks to his two stalwart retainers. He could hear their voices from the stable, where they were tending to the horses. He entered the main garden through a narrow gate of woven bamboo.

The trees and shrubs must have put on a burst of new growth over the summer. He looked in dismay at a massive tangle of greenery that reminded him of the courtesan’s garden. It was high time something was done or the garden would swallow the house. Hearing voices, he made his way along the narrow path, its flat stones barely visible any longer, and came on Tamako and Seimei. They had not heard him.

Seimei sat on the veranda steps, huddled in a quilted robe. Akitada frowned. Even after sunset, it was too warm to wear such heavy clothes. He saw how frail the old man had become and remembered with a twinge of guilt how, in his raving grief over the loss of his son, he had questioned the justice of a fate that snatched the youngest and let the old survive.

Tamako wore an old blue-and-white patterned cloth robe. She had turned up its sleeves and tucked the skirt into her sash so that he could see her trousers underneath. Her long hair was twisted up under a blue scarf. She was cutting dead wood from the wisteria vine. A large pile lay beside her.

It was a day for uncomfortable memories. Akitada had fallen in love with Tamako when she had worn a similar blue cloth gown. They had been sitting under a wisteria-covered trellis in her father’s garden. Under the ancestor of this very same wisteria. And the poem Tora had carried to her the morning after their first night together had been tied to a wisteria bloom from that plant.

‘Why don’t you let Genba and Tora do that?’ he asked sharply.

They both jumped. Seimei rose shakily to his feet and bowed, crying, ‘Welcome home, sir. We were worried.’

Tamako said nothing. She gave him a searching, earnest look, then turned away.

He stared at her back. ‘There is no need for you to do such heavy work,’ he said. ‘I can still afford to hire people.’

‘It is dying,’ she murmured vaguely, touching the shriveled twigs that remained on the plant. ‘I have tried, but it keeps dying. A little more each day.’

‘Nonsense. It just needs water. Or something.’

‘There has been a lot of rain.’

Seimei sighed. ‘Too much rain. It causes rot, and healthy things shrivel up and die.’

Tamako turned. They both looked at Seimei and then at each other and wondered if the old man was talking about the wisteria.

Tora’s Secret

In the stable, Tora and Genba unsaddled the horses. ‘How’s the master doing?’ Genba asked, reaching for a rag to rub down Akitada’s mount.

‘The same, I think.’ Tora leaned against his horse for a rest. He felt very tired all of a sudden. So many problems. He sighed. ‘He did talk a little about some mystery in Otsu, so maybe he’s taking an interest again.’

Genba brightened. ‘That’s good. So, did you tell him?’

‘No.’ Tora led his horse to his stall and tied him up. ‘It’s too soon. He’s still brooding.’

Genba glanced at him as he scooped some grain into two leather buckets. ‘Time’s passing,’ he said, taking the buckets to the horses. ‘You’ve got to do something soon.’

Tora sagged down on some straw and did not reply.

‘Besides, there’s work to be done here. The place is falling apart. I can’t do it all by myself. This can’t go on, Tora. It’s not fair to her or to our master.’

Tora was saved by the stable door creaking open. The cook came in. Tora groaned.

She put her hands on her wide hips and glared at him. ‘So you finally show your face again. What’s the matter? Are the girls fed up?’

Tora said, ‘I hope you haven’t been looking into the stew pot again, Turnip Nose. I hate curdled stew.’

‘I hope it gives you a bellyache.’

Tora made a face at her. ‘It will. You’ll kill us all one of these days.’

‘You think you’re so smart. Here -’ she held out a stained basket – ‘run to the market and get a good-sized bream for your master’s dinner. And be quick about it. He’ll want his food as soon as he’s had a bath.’

‘For Buddha’s sake, woman,’ Tora cried. ‘I just got back from riding all the way to Otsu and beyond.’

‘Then it’s time you made yourself useful around here.’ She pushed the basket at him.

‘Aiih!’ Tora jumped back in mock horror.

‘It’s the fish basket, stupid!’

‘I know. I meant you.’ He gave a bellow of laughter, and she threw the basket at him with a curse and ran out, slamming the door behind her.

‘You shouldn’t tease her,’ said Genba.

‘That one brings nothing but joy,’ Tora grumbled, bending for the basket, ‘when she leaves.’

‘She’s a good cook. Give me the basket. I’ll go. You look dead on your feet.’

Tora relinquished the basket. ‘She’s short, fat, stupid, ugly, lazy, and mean. A woman like that is spitting into the wind of fate. And her bad karma is ruining our lives.’

‘Get some rest, brother. You’ll feel better.’

Tora collapsed on a pile of straw. ‘You’re right. Thanks.’

Genba swept up the basket with one hand and trotted out.

Akitada retreated from the scene in the garden to his study, and Tamako turned back to her work. Seimei watched her for a moment, then got up from his seat on the veranda and shuffled after his master into the house. He found Akitada seated behind his desk, drumming his fingers on the lacquered surface and scowling.

‘Will you have some tea now, sir?’ Seimei asked.

‘Yes. Thank you.’

Akitada continued drumming, while the old man lit the coals in a brazier under the water pot and selected a twist of paper with powdered tea leaves and orange peel.

‘Was your journey successful?’ Seimei asked.

‘Hmm. What? Oh, that. Quite successful.’

Seimei eyed his master. ‘I was afraid there were problems when you were gone longer than expected.’

Akitada sighed. ‘I found a small boy, Seimei. And I lost him again. Don’t mention the matter to your mistress because it might upset her, but I’m worried about that child.’

‘Ah.’ Seimei cocked his head at the kettle, gauging the moment when the steam would whistle from the spout. Not yet. He poured a little of the powder into a cup and glanced at Akitada. ‘You are worried, sir?’

‘Apparently, he belongs to a fisherman and his wife. He has been beaten and starved, Seimei. I saw his poor body. It was covered with bruises, and he was just skin and bone. And he’s such a nice little boy. Do you think I should buy him?’

‘Buy him?’ Seimei’s jaw dropped. ‘To do what?’ The water came to a sudden rolling boil, sending a hissing thread of steam from the narrow spout. Seimei snatched the kettle up and poured. Stirring the tea with a bamboo brush, he brought the cup to Akitada. ‘What did you have in mind for the child, sir?’

The question was uncomfortable. ‘I don’t know. I suppose I thought he would be company. That I could teach him. He’s deaf-mute, you know. Or perhaps just mute. I’m not sure.’

Though he had not been invited to do so, Seimei sat down on a cushion. ‘You miss Yori,’ he said firmly. ‘It is quite natural to feel such a loss.’

‘You think I’m acting like a fool,’ objected Akitada. ‘I felt sorry for the child. He needed help. Is that so hard to grasp?’ He saw the pity in the old man’s face and threw up his hands. ‘Oh, very well. Have it your way. All I know is that for the day and night I had the boy I felt whole again. And now that he is gone, I … have nothing – except a dreadful fear of having abandoned him to the brutality of his parents.’ He stared bleakly into the cup of tea.