Akitada raised his brows. “And why not?”

“They had a quarrel right after the funeral. You never heard such shouting! The master all but threw him out, and the old man left shaking his fist at him.”

“Really?” Akitada was intrigued. “Where does his father-in-law live?”

“He’s got a farm someplace near the brother’s. Gives himself airs like a gentleman but wears a patched robe and straw boots.”

“Hmm.” The servant seemed to have run out of useful information, and Akitada turned to leave. “Very well. I shall check

your story. If you have lied to me, I’ll have you arrested. Meanwhile, you had better straighten up the place in case your master returns.”

Greatly relieved, the servant promised to get started immediately, but Akitada had a strong premonition that Nagaoka would not return to this empty shell of a house.

SIXTEEN

Yin and Yang

“It’s too late now,” grumbled Tora, when he and Genba returned to the stable from the game of football and Genba suggested he go to see Gold. “No telling what she’ll think of me for standing her up. She hated the idea of going to the pleasure quarter to meet me.”

“Well, why don’t you go and explain? Buy her something pretty and apologize.”

Tora brightened a little. He never lacked confidence when it came to women. “You going, too?” he asked tentatively. Their peace was still recent, and bad feelings might linger.

Genba shook his head. “No. I think I’ll exercise the horses.” He slapped the rump of Akitada’s gray, who snorted playfully and danced about on his rope.

Tora hesitated. “I’m sorry for what I said about, you know, the lady.”

“I know.” Genba busied himself with one of the saddles.

“She was really good with the bamboo staves. No fear at all.”

“I know.”

“D’you suppose she wrestles, too?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“I didn’t like getting beaten by a female. Would you wrestle with her?”

Genba placed the saddle on the back of the gray and pulled the leather straps tight. Then he leaned on it to look at Tora. “After what she did to you? No.” He grinned slowly.

Tora returned the grin. “Well, remember what you told me. Don’t be discouraged. There are lots of ways to get close to a woman. Tell her you’re afraid of hurting a delicate creature in a real bout. Then show her other uses for holds and clinches.”

Genba smiled a little sadly. “She doesn’t like me. She likes you.”

“That’s because you haven’t sweet-talked her. Tell her how pretty she is, and how bright her eyes are, and how sweet her voice sounds.”

Genba made a face. “She’s an intelligent woman, not a silly young girl. We talk about important things.”

“That’s where you make your mistake. Women like it when you talk about their beauty and make soulful eyes at them. It’s their nature. A woman who doesn’t like pretty speeches is as rare as a square egg. You want me to stay and teach you some good lines?”

“No, thanks. I’ll do my own courting. Go on and find your girl.”

Relieved that all seemed to be well between him and Genba, Tora walked into the city in a more cheerful mood. The sun was already high; it was time for the midday rice. Gold would hardly be at the training hall except at night, and then only on their practice nights. He remembered that she stayed at the Golden Phoenix Inn, but his first stop was the Willow Quarter, on the off chance that she might still be waiting.

In broad daylight the quarter looked shabby and deserted. A few elderly maids swept doorways and porters delivered supplies to the restaurants and wineshops. The house he was looking for was in a backstreet and quite small, squeezed between two more substantial neighbors. It had a tiny entrance courtyard behind a wicker gate. A morning glory vine grew here in summer, but now the wooden posts were bare. Tora opened the gate and quickly walked the few stepping-stones to the door. A small bell with a wooden clapper hung there and he rang it vigorously. When there was no immediate answer, he pushed the door open and stepped into the small, dirt-floored entry, shouting, “Ho! Mitsuko?”

“Yes? Who’s there?” came a soft voice from the back.

“Tora. Can I come in?”

“Tora?” The voice was filled with sudden pleasure. “Yes. I’ll be right there.”

Tora grinned and took off his boots. After a moment, a middle-aged woman, very small like her house, and dressed in a plain blue cotton robe, came hurrying down the dim corridor. She moved with the peculiar half-sliding, half-swaying gait of the trained woman of pleasure and had, in fact, once been a famous courtesan. She was still beautiful in all but her face, which was severely disfigured by smallpox.

“It is you, Tora, my fierce animal!” she cried. “At last, after all this time. It’s been six years almost, hasn’t it? Come in, come in. Let me look at you.”

Tora stepped up onto the wooden floor of the hallway. It was highly polished and, like everything else in the small house, very plain and very clean. He looked down at her from his height. “You look well, little flower,” he said, and bowed. “It gives me great pleasure to find you as charming as ever.”

She laughed at his formality, brushing at her hair, which she wore gathered into a heavy bun. It was still glossy and the sound of her laughter was pleasant, like that of very small smooth pebbles being poured into a ceramic bowl. It rippled melodiously, and used to make men feel quite weak with pleasure. “You’re such a handsome liar,” she said, reaching up and pulling Tora’s nose. “I have some decent wine. Shall we share a cup while you tell me your adventures and help a poor lonely old woman pass an afternoon?”

“Never an old woman, but”—he looked at her anxiously— “have you been lonely, Mitsuko?”

She patted his arm. “No more than usual. Since you have rid me of that horrible man, I can go anywhere and my friends can visit me again.”

The “horrible man” was a hunchbacked fishmonger who had attempted to force Mitsuko to become his personal property by paying a debt for her and then claiming that she had sold herself to him. Like many women of her class, Mitsuko was unable to read the documents she signed with her mark. Tora had made certain that the fishmonger not only relinquished the documents, but never approached her again.

“I was hoping the bastard had died.” Tora seated himself in a tiny reception room hardly large enough to hold two people. Mitsuko produced the wine and cups with the conscious grace of the professional companion and served him with slender, beautiful hands. “Welcome home, my tiger,” she said with a smile.

Tora raised his cup to her and drank. The wine was good, but he drank sparingly, knowing she had little money. Putting his cup down, he asked, “Did a young woman come here last night, asking for me?”

Mitsuko raised her brows. “You have made new friends before visiting your old ones?”

“I’m sorry, Mitsuko. I met her on an assignment for my master. I haven’t had time off until today.”

“Ah. I forgive you. No. Nobody came. Perhaps you are not as irresistible as you think?”

Tora was disappointed. “I guess not, though I would’ve bet she liked me. Maybe you know her? She’s an actress. Her professional name’s Gold. She and her twin Silver work for a guy called Uemon.”

Mitsuko thought. “No. I’ve seen Uemon’s shows. They’re very good. Is she pretty?”

“Pretty, yes. Not beautiful like you.”

She smiled a little sadly. “You are always kind, Tora. Sometimes I need to hear that. After the smallpox, people stopped looking at me. Just the one glance, you know, and then they turn their eyes elsewhere as they talk to me.”

Tora looked at her. “Not all of them. I like looking at you. Your eyes are as large and handsome as ever and you still smile like a goddess. It’s just the skin that’s a bit marred. Nothing to get upset about. I’ve seen much worse, and not so long ago.”