“Would you know where I might find this Uemon?”
The cook hesitated, looking Tora over. “Why are you looking for him?”
Tora said, “Personal interest, you might say.” He stroked his mustache and winked. “There’s a very pretty girl in that troupe.”
The cook suddenly became distant. “If you’re after one of Uemon’s girls, you can forget it. He’s a respectable man and his people are strictly class. Better go talk to one of the aunties in the quarter.”
Tora smirked. “Come, now! Maybe he doesn’t know everything the youngsters get up to. I happen to know better. You ever meet any of them?”
The cook grinned. “Sure. They come in pretty regular for a meal or some wine. In fact, since you’ve met them before, you must’ve seen the girls with Miss Plumblossom. They were here when you came in.”
Tora cursed himself for having missed his chance. Now he would have to follow them. “Well, where do they live when they’re in town?”
“You’re pretty persistent, aren’t you?” said the cook, narrowing his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but you’re lying. Maybe you’re a rapist or the slasher. Maybe you’re a constable. Come to think, there’s something official-looking about you. Anyway, I can’t help you.”
Won’t is more likely, Tora thought. He wanted to deny being either a rapist or a constable, but knew it was too late to come up with another convincing tale. Places like the Abode of the River Fairies, though not precisely hangouts for criminals, were sensitive about protecting their clientele. He sighed and looked around for Genba, but the table where he had sat was now empty. Genba had left him stuck with the bill for their meal and Harada’s.
Outside, night had fallen with the abruptness of the season. Tora pulled up his collar and looked up and down the street. There was no sign of Genba. The wind still blew from the dark mountains and whistled through the alleys which led away from the river. The lanterns in front of the businesses swayed and bobbed with every gust. Their feeble lights were reflected in the dark, slow-moving waters of the Kamo and resembled madly dancing fireflies. A few customers hurried past, their collars raised around their ears and their arms buried in their deep sleeves.
Tora shrugged resignedly. He had little choice but to try his luck in some of the other eateries and wineshops.
An hour later, half-frozen and discouraged, he entered a ramshackle dive near the end of the quarter, and here his luck changed. The host of this dubious establishment was Tora’s age, but unlike Tora incredibly ill-kempt. His long hair and beard were matted with dirt, and he wore nothing but a pair of stained cotton pants, held precariously in place by a knotted rope tied below his hairy paunch, and a dingy cotton shirt which was too small for him and hung open in front. He looked more like a street ruffian than a legitimate innkeeper. And apparently he was not only careless about his appearance, but also foulmouthed.
When Tora heard the first string of colorful curses, his face lit up. He joined the three barefooted laborers who were leaning on the counter and cried, “By the bare ass of a monkey! A man from Tsukuba!”
His host eyed Tora’s neat blue robe. “Yeah?” he said. “And who are you, then?”
“Why, you filthy piece of ox dung, you pail of cat’s piss, you dog’s turd, you stinking pile of bear’s vomit! Are you too stupid to recognize your neighbors?”
The host’s dirty face relaxed. “Well, fry my balls!” he grunted. “You do sound like it. What village?”
“Ohori.”
“No!” the host cried with delighted surprise. “I was raised across the river from Ohori. My old man and me fished the river and sold the catch in your village. You bastards used to throw rocks at us from the shore. Me and my buddy came across one night and let the water out of all your cisterns.”
Tora guffawed. “You missed us. Half the village had to squeeze into our bath the next day. Say, what brought you here?”
“The cursed army. I was a kid when they grabbed me, the filthy bastards. I ended up here. How about you?”
Tora’s smile faded. He did not like to remember the day when the soldiers had come to their farm. He had never seen his parents again. “Me, too,” he said casually.
His host gave a knowing nod. “Hard times, but you look prosperous enough now. Lucky devil! The gods’ve been good to you. Me, I’m slowly starving.” He slapped his bare belly and chuckled.
Tora laughed. “I’ve had some fighting, a little trouble, and a lot of luck. The name’s Tora, by the way.”
“Hah! The tiger, eh?” The fat man nodded sagely. Everyone knew the value of a pseudonym when you had to leave the military service abruptly. “Me, I’m not so fierce. They call me Ushi because I look like a big old clumsy bull.” He reached under the counter and brought up a pitcher, poured two cups of wine, and pushed one toward Tora. The three laborers looked sadly into their empty cups and swallowed. “All right! All right!” the Bull said, and refilled their cups from an open barrel. “There. It’s on the house! To celebrate this auspicious meeting with my countryman.”
The three grinned, bowed, and tossed back the raw liquor.
Tora tasted. Ushi’s private brew was strong but excellent; the fire it lit in his belly was welcome after the cold night outside. He raised the cup again and emptied it in one slow smooth gulp. “You live better than you think, Bull,” he said with a grin, and belched.
Ushi’s laugh rumbled and shook his belly like jellied bean curd. “So what sort of work do you do? You got your own business?”
“No. I’m in service, but my master appreciates my talents and treats me well.”
“Ah! Lucky dog! A roof over your head, fancy clothes, three squares guaranteed, and money to spend.” Ushi shook his head in envy, and returned to the past. “Say, speaking of strong wine, you ever get a taste of that stuff the monks used to brew in the temple on the Tone River? They called it mountain berry juice or some such and sold it in all the villages up and down the river. Strongest berries I ever tasted!”
Tora remembered it, and much more besides. After an exchange of reminiscences, he managed to ask about Uemon.
“Uemon? Too proud to set foot in my place,” said the host, making a face. “I hear they go to Miss Plumblossom to practice. You after some girl? Better watch your step with the lady, my friend, and keep your hands to yourself. Miss Plumblossom don’t tolerate low manners. She’s a famous acrobat and served at court.”
Tora did not believe that for a moment. Females in the theatrical profession had a very poor reputation. Many made their living with prostitution between engagements. He could well imagine what passed in Miss Plumblossom’s establishment.
The Bull reached for the pitcher again.
“No, thanks,” said Tora. “I’ve got to go. It’s getting late, and I’ve got my bowl of rice to earn like the rest of you. Just tell me how to find this Plumblossom’s place, and I’ll be off.”
The Bull frowned. “Say, you’re not on the lookout for a bed partner for your master, by any chance? You’d better try the Willow Quarter. Or does he prefer men?”
Tora’s arm shot out, grabbed the rope holding up Ushi’s pants, and jerked forward hard. The fat belly hit the counter, and Ushi gasped and cursed. Still holding the man by his belt, Tora put his face next to Ushi’s and snarled, “You filthy-minded piece of offal! What do you think I am, a pimp for a pervert?”
“Sorry, brother,” whined the fat man. “I didn’t mean it. Let go!”
Tora slowly released his hold. “Well, you’ve got your nerve,” he grumbled, “assuming such a thing of a fellow countryman. I’d rather bite my tongue than ask you how you got out of the army.”