“You are not teaching the young women to dance any longer? Hanae always said you were her best teacher.”

Ohiya became sentimental. “Ah, Hanae! Such grace and quickness. Her feet did not touch the ground. She was exquisite. My best student. What a loss!”

“Well, she married Tora, my senior retainer. They are very happy and have a sturdy son.”

Downing another cup of wine, Ohiya said magnanimously, “Yes, I don’t blame her. Tora is incredibly good-looking. Even I … alas, he did not care for me. The best ones never do.” This sad comment on his love life required another draft. “But what pains me is the decline of my art. All used to be elegance and respect for the classical movements. Now it is fads and seduction merely.”

This conversation reminded Akitada of Lady Ogata. “By any chance, are you familiar with gosechi dances?”

Ohiya’s face lit up. “Of course. I used to teach the dancers.” He shook his head. “That was in the days of my glory. Oh, those little ladies were so charming. You can always tell quality. Mind you, they had their own minds, and their nursemaids—ugly old things—would encourage their little darlings. But I knew how to manage. I flatter myself that we put on stunning performances during the years I had the honor to work at the palace.”

Akitada glanced around the shabby room again. It was indeed a comedown from the imperial halls. Ohiya drank again and belched.

“I heard there was something called ‘the dance of the cranes,’” Akitada said. “Are you familiar with it?”

“Oh, that? We only performed it once. We had a tall girl that year. Perfect for that long-legged bird. She did very well, as I recall.” Ohiya smiled. “Her father sent me two pieces of gold when it was over. He wanted her to catch the crown prince’s eye. It didn’t happen, but she caught plenty of other eyes. Did you know that cranes dance when they are mating?”

Akitada nodded. “Who was the girl?”

Ohiya thought, fueled his effort with another cup of wine, and shook his head. “Forgot. I’m getting old.”

He was also getting drunk. Akitada was becoming worried and returned to his original purpose to get his answers as quickly as possible. He said, “Better slow down on the wine a little.”

Ohiya flushed and said apologetically, “I have been practicing my craft. It’s thirsty work. Please ask me anything.”

“I need some information about two people who are well-known in the willow quarter. Do you keep in touch with your former friends?”

Ohiya grimaced. “Friends? I have no friends,” he said bitterly. “But it is my life. A few still care about true elegance. The clientele has changed since quite common people have come into money. Such people want to see low entertainment. Girls dress up in men’s clothing and dance with swords these days. It’s shocking. No properly trained asobi would have done such a thing in my day. They’ve picked up the abominable and depraved behavior of the kugutsu vagrants.” He sighed deeply and reached for his wine.

“Do you know the man they call Kanemoto?”

Ohiya almost dropped his cup. “No,” he cried. “Not really. Please don’t ask.”

He knew enough, apparently, to be panicked by the mere name. “I thought you might. He seems to be mostly involved with gambling and prostitution. My interest is in his personal life.”

Ohiya relaxed a little. “Oh, I wouldn’t know about that. He prefers women,” he said.

“Any particular one?”

Ohiya drank and belched again. He put his hand to his mouth and gave Akitada a comical look. “Oops! Your pardon, sir. My stomach isn’t what it used to be. I’m getting old.” The thought made him teary-eyed. “You should’ve seen me in my youth. Oh, they all thought I was so handsome. I got love letters even from the most highly-placed gentlemen. Very highly-placed! And from some of the ladies, too.” He giggled. “And more than letters. But I mustn’t tell. No, no. I mustn’t. But it was such fun.” And now he wept openly, brushing the tears away with his hands. “Oh, what I have come to!” He swung an arm about, gesturing at his shabby abode and knocking over his wine cup. “Oops! Lucky it was empty.” He laughed and poured himself more wine.

“You were about to tell me who Kanemoto’s girlfriend is.”

“Oh, her!” Ohiya waved dismissively. This time the wine sprayed from the full cup in his hand. He stared at it. “What happened? Did I drink it?” He giggled. “Never mind.” He poured some more.

Akitada, who had barely been missed the shower of wine, reached across and took the cup from his hand. “Who is she?”

“Who?”

Akitada bit back an angry comment. “The woman who sleeps with Kanemoto?”

Ohiya screwed up his face in thought. “Now who is she? A drop of wine would help me remember,” he added in a wheedling tone.

“You drink too much. That’s why you no longer teach.”

Ohiya protested weakly, “I still teach. I have three promising pupils. The wine is for after work.” Self-pity seized him again. His face crumpled and he sobbed. “I’m old. That’s what it is. They’ve all left me because I’m old. All my boys, my lovers, my pets are gone. I’m all alone!”

Akitada’s disgust melted on that last wail. Loneliness was everywhere. The lady in the crane pavilion, the professor, the painter, perhaps even the student. And Genshin? Was he lonely now that he was a monk? He, too, had lost his good look. Would the women at court give him a second glance these days?

And what of his own loneliness?

Akitada was not a vain man and had never thought of himself as handsome. He had reached middle age and already discovered a white hair or two. Would any woman still consider him a suitable husband or lover?

But what was he thinking of? Tamako had not even been gone a year.

He looked at Ohiya, whose head had sunk to his chest. Was the man asleep? Yes, that was the sound of a snore. Suddenly frustrated, Akitada jumped up and took Ohiya by the shoulders—thin, bony shoulders—and shook him violently. Ohiya’s eyes opened and stared.

“Wha—?”

“What’s the name of Kanemoto’s woman, you drunken sot?” Akitada roared.

“Phoenix. They call her Phoenix. Lucky bitch. He’s buying her a house.”

Akitada let Ohiya go and straightened up.

Ohiya rubbed his shoulders. “You hurt me,” he complained.

Ashamed, Akitada fished a silver coin from his sash and dropped it on the floor.

The sight revived the man amazingly. He snatched up the coin and staggered to his feet to perform one of his elaborate bows. “How generous!” he cried, staggering a little. “May Amida bless you a thousand fold! May you never lack beautiful women and may you have many sons!”

Not likely, thought Akitada and turned to leave.

25

Phoenix

It was getting dark and the rain was heavier when Akitada left the dance master’s place. As he walked away into the dusk, he heard the sound of a small drum and Ohiyah’s voice, strangely melodious for a man who was drunk, begin an old song. The sound was soothing, and Akitada’s frustrations melted. He felt sorry for the man who had nothing to look forward to but death. He also became aware of extreme fatigue and a very painful left leg. He felt a great temptation to go home to his warm bed. For that matter, he wished he could just close his eyes for a very short rest, but wind and rain buffeted him and time was running out.

The memory of Tora and Saburo in their cells and of the blind woman only a night away from being found guilty of a grisly murder made him continue. His stubborn journey took him all the way back to the willow quarter. Ohiya had provided the professional name of the woman who had witnessed the gambler’s murder, but he still had no idea where she could be found. As things stood, he could not ask Kobe to take up the investigation.

When he reached the willow quarter, it was blazing with colored lights even in this miserable weather. Snatches of music floated on the perfumed air and the hanging paper lanterns swung in the wind, giving the scene an air of wild abandon. Perhaps it had always been thus, but Akitada was impressed in spite of his aversion to the hedonistic world of prostitution and gambling. He got a sense of what drove men to squander their hard-earned money here. It was more than lust for women; it was a desperate hunger for an experience that would blot out their real lives for the span of a night. To the women and professional gamblers as well as a host of others this was the only real life, and they stood ready to collect their wages.