That had made her chuckle through her tears. “Oh, Saburo, How could you be so dense? I want you to make love to me.”

He had gaped at her.

“I want you to lie with me,” she had said more insistently. “A man should want to lie with a woman if he likes her. Don’t you want to? Ever?”

He had been speechless with delighted surprise. “Yes, of course, but … but—.” How to explain that he did not want her “services” but rather her love?

Her face fell. “Oh, Saburo. I’m sorry. I didn’t think. Is it that you cannot? Is it some wound? Something else those monsters did to you?”

Grinning foolishly, he had shaken his head. His arms had reached for her. And then he had kissed her so passionately that she had gasped, “Come, let’s go to my room now.”

And so Saburo had allowed himself to be seduced under the cherry trees and had made love to Shokichi ever since, as often as he could manage, to make up for years of near-celibacy.

His mind being thus occupied with love and being frequently away from home, he had been less affected than the others by the sadness which hung over the Sugawara compound. But he too had seen what his master had become. Most mornings, Saburo worked at estate matters by himself. On the few occasions when Akitada wandered into his study, he had merely stood for a moment, murmuring “Good Morning,” and then wandered out again. Saburo began to realize that his presence was what drove his master away. So he hurried with his work and left the place to the man who spent most of his time sitting there or on the veranda, brooding.

It was all very upsetting, and Saburo knew that Tora and Genba and the women were becoming frantic with worry. He felt guilty for escaping into the arms of Shokichi. And when he remembered Lady Tamako’s kindness to him and how she had mixed her pastes and paints until she achieved just the right shade for his skin, how she had understood his embarrassment, yet had been firm about teaching him her skill, then he felt most deeply ashamed. He had wept when the news had come to Kyushu. It pained him that they were probably thinking he did not care, that he, the most recent to join the Sugawara family, had not formed the bonds of loyalty and family they had. And so he fled whenever he could.

*

Genba’s wife was expecting a child. She had been afraid to hope. Her life as a prostitute had meant so many forced abortions that she had been certain she could no longer bear children. Or, what was even worse, she feared she might bear a deformed child. She watched him as he played with the master’s children, and tears rose to her eyes to think that she might disappoint him, this gentle mountain of a man who doted on children and animals and all things weak.

She pitied the master’s children, as did Genba. He spent too much time with them while chores were left undone. They should be more with their father, but he was so changed that he frightened them, and they much preferred Genba or Tora to keep them company.

Yasuko was getting to be a handful these days. She was seven now and lorded it over her little brother Yoshitada, Yoshi for short. Yoshi was five and timid. Tora frequently shook his head when Yoshi was fearful of the rough games his son Yuki played with Yasuko. To Ohiro’s mind, this was all backwards. Yasuko should be calm and ladylike, and her brother should be the one to play boys’ games. She had pointed this out to her husband, but he had simply laughed and said, “Children have their own ways. Just so long as they’re happy.”

But the master’s children were not really happy. They had cried and cried after their mother and their new brother had died. They had cried again when their father returned and had barely smiled at them. And now they stayed away from him, and he from them.

*

Akitada was unaware of the concern he caused his household. He was unaware of life around him in general. He ate what they brought him, answered their questions vaguely, stared at his children when they came to make their morning bows to him and murmured a greeting and the admonition to be good children and run along.

He was preoccupied with thoughts about the emptiness of his world. Not about the emptiness the Buddhist priests talked about when they meant the various human pursuits like lust, ambition, greed, desire, jealousy, and anger, but rather a very specific state affecting him alone, a man suddenly bereft of all that made his efforts meaningful. He no longer took pleasure in the beauty of the garden, the graceful movements of the koi in his pond, the challenge of tricky legal cases, or the discovery of a killer, and even—may the gods forgive him—the laughter of his children.

The swallows had returned to his house and had nested as before under the eaves outside his study. This had pained him, because the continuance of life was only a few steps from death. And there had been another death: the wisteria outside Tamako’s pavilion had died during the summer.

He read doom in this. Doom for himself and the rest of his life, which seemed to him to have begun with his marriage to Tamako, marked by his presenting her with a flowering branch from this very plant. The wisteria had been near death once before. That time they had drifted apart in mutual recriminations over Yori’s death. It had revived, as had their love. They had both become stronger. And now there was no more hope. What was he to do with himself?

A scratching at the door brought Tora. Akitada wished him away and did not greet him.

Tora glanced at the untouched bowl of rice and vegetables. “You must eat, sir,” he said.

“Leave me alone if you have nothing better to offer,” snarled Akitada.

“I can go to the market.” Tora tried a grin.

Akitada merely glared. “What do you want?”

“They’ve sent again from the ministry. The minister wonders if you’re ill.”

“Then tell him I am. Maybe then they’ll leave me alone.”

Tora sat down uninvited. “I doubt it. I think the minister would hurry over with his personal physician.”

“Send them to the devil if they come. I don’t want to see anyone.”

A heavy silence fell.

“There are the children,” Tora said after a while.

“What about them?”

“You are their father. You owe them something. Her ladyship would be appalled.”

Akitada jumped up. “How dare you? Get out!”

Tora paled, got up, and walked out like a beaten dog.

An hour later he came back to open the door with the words, “Superintendent Kobe, sir.”

Kobe walked in with a smile on his face, but before he could say anything, Akitada cursed.

Kobe stopped in his tracks. “What’s this?” he demanded. “I don’t recall you using such language before. What’s twisted your tail in a knot? And what have I done to get such a greeting?”

Akitada barely glanced at him. “Not you. Tora. I told him I didn’t want to see anyone only a moment ago.”

Kobe glanced at the congealed food and sat down. “Any chance of getting a cup of wine? I had a hot walk over here.

For a moment it looked as though Akitada would get up and leave, but he relaxed again and clapped his hands.

Tora’s face appeared in the door opening.

“Get these dishes out of here and bring some wine,” Akitada snapped, giving him an evil look.

Tora grinned, gathered up the tray with the uneaten food, and murmured, “Right away, sir.”

“He’s grown intolerable,” grumbled Akitada as soon as the door had closed behind him.

“You’re the one who’s grown intolerant. Tora loves you, as does the rest of your household. And your friends as well. It isn’t right to treat us like enemies.”

Akitada looked away. “I have not treated anyone as an enemy,” he protested feebly.

“And your children suffer. Your wife would be shocked, could she see it.”

Akitada clenched his hands. Then he got to his feet, and without a look or word, he left the room and went outside into the garden. It was unforgivably rude, but he could bear no more of this. Kobe had visited regularly, but never had he spoken as harshly as this. He felt tears rise to his eyes, hot and burning, and he bit his lip hard to gain control. He could not bear the thought of Tamako’s anger from beyond the grave, yet, he also could not find the strength to speak to his children. He had tried many times and each time he had run out of words and felt close to tears. He did not want them to see him weep and burst into tears themselves. Better they should play with Genba and Tora or be coddled by the women. They were too young to grieve.