She said reproachfully, “My husband’s trust is never a trouble.”

But the Great Sage counseled that a man had best keep his innermost thoughts to himself or risk destroying the harmony of his family. Akitada said firmly, “Never mind. I’ve just been overworked and tired lately. You mustn’t be foolish and take my moods personally.”

Tamako, who had reached out to touch her husband’s hand with hers, withdrew it again. “Forgive my foolishness,” she said, tonelessly. “I shall have the maid spread your bedding and wish you a good rest then.” She made him a formal bow and left, closing the door softly behind her.

Akitada looked at that door for a long time, wondering why he always managed to say the wrong thing.

CHAPTER SEVEN

OLD MEN

Seimei brought Akitada his morning rice the next day. It was still dark, but for once Akitada was instantly awake and thinking about the chores ahead. He got up and sat behind his desk, watching impatiently as Seimei knelt to place the bowl of gruel just so and then poured a cup of tea. The old man’s hands shook a little, and Akitada noticed how loose the skin had grown around the frail and knobby bones—as if it belonged to a much bigger person. Never a large man, Seimei had shrunk imperceptibly but shockingly. His face had lost flesh to the point that Akitada could see the hollows and ridges of the skull beneath. He was suddenly afraid.

“Are you feeling quite well these days?” he asked.

Seimei jerked and spilled a few drops of tea. He looked at Akitada for a moment, then averted his eyes. “So sorry,” he muttered, dabbing at the spill with his sleeve. “Careless of me. I am very well, sir. Nothing at all the matter. You know I drink my strengthening tonic every day. No, no, I feel entirely well. And quite energetic.” He rose from his kneeling position with a quickness that must have caused pain in his arthritic joints and busied himself with Akitada’s bedding, as if to prove the point.

Akitada bit his lip. Seimei was much too proud to admit to infirmities. “I am very glad to hear it,” he said, between sips of his gruel. “I really don’t know what we would do without you. I was going to suggest that you take special care of yourself.”

Seimei paused in his folding of quilts. “Thank you, sir,” he said, his eyes a little moist. “It is good to be needed at my age. I would not like to be useless, though they say it is enough to do the best you can and await the will of heaven.”

“That will not be for a long time, I hope,” Akitada said briskly. “You’ve raised me and now you’re raising my son. I am deeply grateful, Seimei.” He saw with dismay a tear spilling down Seimei’s cheek. The old man turned, dashing it away with a shaking hand. He finished folding the bedclothes and putting them away in their trunk. Only then did he return to the desk.

“Yori is a fine boy,” he said, looking at Akitada earnestly, “just as you were. He will go far some day, perhaps even as far as his father. I think you have been needlessly troubled about the future and are still so even now. If you will only look up, sir, there are no limits.”

Akitada was astounded. It struck him, for the first time, that there were few secrets between them. Child and man, Akitada had been guided and loved by Seimei. They knew each other’s flaws and were often irritated by them, but they were bound together by bonds of familiarity and loyalty as strong as the bonds of blood. To a lesser degree that was true also of Tora and Genba. Yori was a part of this extended family, and soon other children and new servants would join his household. They all belonged to each other. He had been wrong to complain of his responsibilities. The others lived within the same bonds and seemed happy and contented.

“You are wise as usual, Seimei,” he said, pushing aside his bowl and getting up to put his hand on the old man’s shoulder. How thin and bony it had grown, and how bent his back. “It is said: The world is what we wish it to be.”

Seimei loved quoting proverbs almost as much as the sayings of Master Kung, and he smiled and nodded. “That is so, sir. Did you drink your tea? Why not take it out on the veranda while I brush out your robe? It will be a beautiful morning.”

Akitada obediently picked up the cup and walked outside. In spite of his exhaustion the night before, he had bathed and shaved before falling into a deep sleep. Perhaps that accounted for his newfound faith in himself.

It was not morning yet. The stars still blinked and there was a new moon. It would be another clear, hot day when the sun rose, but for the moment some of the freshness of yesterday’s rain still lingered and sweet scents drifted from the dark shrubs of the garden. He sipped his tea and found that Seimei had remembered and made the orange-and-honey-flavored drink again. He was a little ashamed that he had never tried to please Seimei, or even thought about him much.

A splashing in the pond reminded him of the hungry fish and he went back to get the remnants of his rice gruel for them. The light from his study showed their shapes only vaguely as they rose from the blackness of the water to snap up a morsel and then disappear to make room for another. Dim shadows of grey and silver, brown and orange moved with only an occasional brilliant glint of light on a fin in the black depths of the pond. He was seeing and yet not seeing them.

Somehow, this reminded Akitada of Tomoe. Had her blindness made her life one of unrelieved darkness, or had she found sparks of brightness in it, perhaps too brief to grasp? She had been scarred by smallpox. Probably the disease had robbed her of her sight, as it did with many it spared from death. Her life and death seemed as dark to him as the pond, but both must have been filled with the shapes of people.

Tora vehemently opposed the notion that Tomoe had sold herself like a common streetwalker. As proof he had cited the fact that she had been invited to the home of one of the good families. Akitada would give much to know the name of that family.

On the other hand, two members of her own class, people who were in daily contact with her, the beggar in the market and the stonemason’s wife, had called her a harlot. Whom to believe? Had she been involved in prostitution and a ring of thieves and gangsters? He could not make that image blend with his own memory of the woman, of her lute playing and her austere lifestyle.

Inside Seimei appeared, carrying Akitada’s best robe and trousers carefully folded over his arm. Akitada said, “Not my court robe, Seimei. It’s just an ordinary day in the office.”

Seimei smiled. “You want to make a good impression on the judge, don’t you? Besides, you have taken the place of a minister and must not shame such an exalted office.”

Soga dressed far more extravagantly than Akitada, but to Akitada’s mind such things had nothing to do with his performance in the office. On the other hand, he really did not want to prejudice Tora’s case, so he submitted without further argument.

He arrived at the ministry behind Nakatoshi, who looked startled to see Akitada so early and in such formal dress.

“I was just opening up, sir,” he said apologetically. “I haven’t had a chance to look over the work for today.”

Akitada smiled at him. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll do it together.” Still filled with the energy of the previous day, he even looked forward to routine paperwork, but his real interest was in the petitions. One or two promised some interesting legal work. He asked Nakatoshi if any progress had been made on the Chikamura claim.