He turned and studied the pavilion. Its curved tile roof swept out much like the wings of a large bird, overhanging verandas that must have offered the dead woman lovely views of the small lake. Here was, without a doubt, the best accommodation Abbot Genshin’s large and elegant residence had to offer. It was typically the sort of pavilion a man might reserve for a favored companion. Who had Lady Ogata been? What had she been to her host? And why had she died?
He had no proof that her death was anything but suicide, but then there was no proof it had been suicide except the placement of the trunk underneath a beam. What kept him coming back was the strong feeling that all was not as it had appeared. He knew that he should speak to Genshin about this but could not bring himself to do so.
He walked up to the pavilion and onto the veranda. From there he looked out over the garden. All was peaceful and serene.
And yet.
Pushing open a shutter, he walked again into that dim room. The few items of furniture were as they had been last time. She had been very poor but had clung to some of the clothes of a far more elegant past. A shocking event must have caused the change in her life. And yet it had not been enough for her to take her life when it had happened. So, why now?
He saw nothing to answer his questions, and eventually turned to go back out into the garden. He saw the path that led to the caretaker’s cottage. While the man had acted somewhat strangely, he had been forthright in his description of what he had found that morning. There were, of course, also the two children who had raised the alarm. He ought to try to find them.
Peering at the dense cover of trees that separated the pavilion from the outer wall, he thought of the city that lay beyond, and of the children who had come from there. He assumed they lived among the tenements or humble homes, for they were said to belong to a poor woman who had to work during the day, leaving them on their own.
Another female who was alone. All she had were her children.
But that was more than the dead woman had had.
He thought of his own loneliness. Yes, he was blessed by fortune in that it had left him his son and daughter. He had enjoyed his morning with them. They seemed to him handsome, affectionate, and loveable. It was a pity he had never taken enough time to get to know his own children. Now, like the poor mother, he must work to provide for them, and they would again grow distant.
As he gazed at the large garden of the rich man who had forsaken the world and its pleasures to become a monk, he wondered if Tasuku had really made a clean break from his former life.
Akitada decided there were no answers for him here. He must begin to call on men in the emperor’s service, begging them to support him. It was all very distasteful and humiliating, but it must be done.
He bowed his head and walked away from the mystery of Lady Ogata.
But in his abstraction, he took the wrong path. It curved away suddenly and plunged into some dense undergrowth before suddenly emerging in a small clearing with a rustic building made from logs and covered with a roof of cypress bark.
He stopped. This sort of thing was not unusual on large estates. Such places were used for religious observances, meditation, and perhaps childbirth when the owner feared the event would contaminate the main house. Shinto abhorred the uncleanness of death and birth equally.
He stood there, lost in thoughts about the human lifespan when he realized that the building’s single door was open. Walking closer, he called out, and a moment later a small gray figure appeared in the doorway.
The nun had returned.
Akitada went to the steps leading up to the small dwelling and bowed. “Forgive me for interrupting your peaceful life. I’m Sugawara Akitada and heard you were a friend to the poor lady who took her life here recently.”
She spoke quite sharply for such a slight person. “Sadako did not kill herself. And I know your name. I heard you were here asking questions. It’s about time someone looked into this.”
Akitada was taken aback by this forthright speech from a Buddhist nun who had, presumably, forsworn the concerns of the world around her. “You surprise me,” he said. “Do you have reasons to suspect something else?”
She compressed her lips. “You are here, aren’t you? Isn’t that reason enough?”
Akitada gestured to the narrow veranda. “May I sit down and talk to you?”
Aware of having neglected the most basic of courtesies, her pale face reddened. “Yes, of course. I’m called Seikan. Forgive me, but I’ve been distraught. Would you rather come inside?”
“No, thank you. It’s pleasant here.” Akitada went to perch on the veranda, but she stopped him. “Your robe. Wait while I get a cushion.”
He waited and she returned and placed a plain cushion made from woven grass for him, then sat down herself. Her gray robe apparently did not require much protection from dust.
Akitada asked, “What really made you think that your friend’s death may not have been her own choice?”
“Because she was content. After much suffering, she was finally at peace. She had no reason to wish for death.”
“The others, your neighbors here, call her Lady Ogata. Was that her real name?”
She waved a slender hand. “What are names? Since she has lived here, she has called herself the ‘lady of the crane pavilion.’ She said she had no past. Like the blessed in paradise, she lived from day to day in quiet joy.”
Akitada raised his brows at this. Nobody lived that way, particularly not someone who had exchanged a worldly life for this lonely existence. He said, “We cannot forget the past and must prepare for the future. That is our karma. For some, this is a heavy burden; for others it’s easier to bear; but none of us are without pain.”
She said nothing.
“What happened to the lady in her past life?”
Silence.
“What was her relationship with Abbot Genshin? Was she his lover?”
To his surprise, she turned to him with a little laugh. “You are a very silly man. Why is it that people always assume there must be a man in the case when a woman turns her back on the world?”
This startled him. Women who turned their backs on the world as a rule became nuns. And Seikan was a nun, but the dead woman had not chosen such a way. Irritated by her words, he said, “Because in many cases women do turn to the religious life because a lover deserted them or they suffered rejection by the men they fell in love with. Men, especially young men, are not considerate of the feelings of the females they bed. And Abbot Genshin was, to my personal knowledge, a rake in his younger years.”
She surprised him again by chuckling. “Quite right. Forgive me. But the answer to your question is no. Sadako never knew His Reverence until she came here to live and she was not his lover.”
“But why did she come here? What caused him to offer her refuge here? And what was she running away from?”
She shook her head. “I will not talk about her past, and know little enough as it is.”
“But you think someone killed her?”
“I don’t want to think so. It could have been an accident.”
Akitada thought of the scene that had been described to him and shook his head. “Hardly.”
The nun shuddered. “Then it was an evil act.”
“Evil acts are committed for a reason. The motive for murder often lies in a person’s past. If you want the murderer found, you should tell all you know.”
“What I know will not help you,” she said, looking away. “I may grieve my friend’s passing, but that does not mean I want to stir up things that are best forgotten. The past is past. Leave it undisturbed.”