She caught up with him before he reached the door. “Wait.” Peering up at him, she cried, “What is wrong? Are you ill?”
“No. Just tired. And worried about Yoshiko.”
“You look terrible. Yoshiko will get over it. Fortunately, both Toshikage and Akiko agreed with me and we convinced her to obey you in this matter. Come sit down.” She led him to the bedding, which still lay spread out, and made him loosen the upper part of his robe. He submitted meekly, marveling at how he had misjudged her. She had been on his side all along.
Kneeling behind him, Tamako massaged and stroked his neck and shoulders with her strong, gentle hands until he felt his muscles ease and allowed himself to relax, closing his eyes and sighing with pleasure.
He did not know how it came about, but at some point he caught one of her hands and kissed it gratefully. She paused for a moment, then moved around in front of him to slip his robe off his shoulders. Her fingers touched his skin like the wings of butterflies, or like the mouths of the fishes in the pool last night, moving over his chest, down to his waist, and back again. His breath caught in his throat. He looked at her, hoping she would read the naked hunger in his eyes.
Tamako extinguished the candle, and helped him out of his clothes.
Later, when he was back at his desk, warm and happy, Seimei brought fresh tea along with the morning rice. Akitada thought the old man looked pale and drawn. The tray seemed almost too heavy for him. Eating the thick rice gruel, he watched Seimei pour a cup of the tea with a hand that shook so badly that he spilled a few drops. Akitada lowered his bowl. “Are you feeling quite well, Seimei?”
“Yes. Fine, sir. Fine. Sorry about this.” Seimei dabbed at the drops of tea with the sleeve of his dark cotton robe. Then, instead of leaving quietly, he remained, his eyes downcast.
“Is anything else wrong?”
“Nothing wrong—precisely—sir. Only…”
“Only what?”
“I wondered if all is well with Miss Yoshiko, sir? Her ladyship mentioned to me that the policeman had brought some very disturbing news. I couldn’t help worrying.”
“Heavens. I thought you knew.” Akitada tried to remember: had Seimei somehow missed being told? He realized that this was the first time he had not discussed family matters or a case with the old man. He set down his bowl. “I am sorry, Seimei. I should have kept you informed, but so much has happened lately that I forgot. Please take a seat, for this will take a while.”
Seimei obeyed, his eyes suddenly moist. Akitada told him of Yoshiko’s relationship with Kojiro, her trips to the prison, and Kobe’s assumption that Akitada had used her to get to the prisoner. Then he explained the agreement he had reached with Kobe and the present status of the case. When he was done, Seimei nodded and dabbed his eyes.
“Why, what is the matter now?” Akitada asked.
Seimei smiled a little. “Nothing now, my lord. I’m overcome with gratitude. I was afraid that I had lost your confidence.” He made Akitada a deep bow. “I shall do my utmost to be always worthy of it.”
“You are and will be.” Akitada’s conscience smote him. In his pique he had slighted the old man and hurt his feelings. “It was just an oversight, Seimei. Stop worrying so much. Er, how is Yori doing? Are you still teaching him his brushstrokes?”
Seimei sat up a little straighter. His smile widened. “The young master is improving. It is said that one is never too young or too old to learn the way of the brush. He is not always as patient as you were at his age, but he has a steadier hand, I think.”
Akitada chuckled, relieved to hear the old Seimei quoting his wise sayings again. “I am sure,” he said, “that you have reminded him that even the poorest archer will hit the target with enough practice.”
“Ah, yes. I did mention that, and also the one about a drop of water piercing a rock if repeated often enough. He did not care for that one too much. But the day he complained of his fingers being too cold to hold the brush, I explained that a turning waterwheel does not have time to get frozen. He worked quite industriously after that.” Seimei chuckled.
With a lighter heart, Akitada reached for his gruel. On second thought, he carried it out into the garden and fed grains of rice to the fish. They rose eagerly to the surface, twisting and splashing for the bits of food. Their excitement pleased him and he laughed.
“You remind me, my old friend, that I have neglected other duties,” he said, turning to Seimei, pleased to see the quick flush of joy the familiar form of address brought to the old man’s cheek. “I’m afraid that I have also not been much of a father lately.”
Seimei smiled. “Impossible, sir. A parent’s love for his son is greater than the son’s for his father.”
“Well, I hope Yori does not think too badly of me.” Akitada looked at the sky. It was still slightly overcast, but here and there a patch of blue showed and the sun shone fitfully. Two squirrels chattered in the pine and then chased each other up and down the trunk. The air smelled fresh and clean. “What do you say, shall we have a game of football in the courtyard? Tora and Genba can use some exercise, I expect, and you can keep score for us.”
Seimei clapped his hands. “Excellent, sir. The young master will be happy. A man may be known for his sportsmanship as much as his erudition.”
Akitada found Yori with his mother. The boy greeted the suggestion with whoops of joy, crying “kemari, kemari” while he looked for the leather ball. Father and son sat down together on the veranda steps to put on their leather boots and then ran out into the courtyard. Yori’s excited shouts brought Tora and Genba from the stables. Their playing field, ten feet square, was quickly marked out in the gravel. Four potted trees marked the corners, and the players, booted and their trousers tied up, arranged themselves between them.
The object was to kick the ball from player to player without letting it touch the ground. Yori, not yet four years old, was already amazingly adept at the game, and the others lost points rapidly. Akitada called for time out to remove his heavy outer robe, and noticed Tamako and Yoshiko on the veranda. Tamako was smiling, but his. sister still looked pale and dispirited.
Akitada’s performance gradually improved. It had been a long time since he had played the game. Once he had been very good at it. He took great care to make it easy for his young son, but Yori had the energy of ten and threw his whole small body into each effort. Tora and Genba, unaccustomed to this pastime of the “good people,” caused Yori to burst into gales of laughter at their clumsy efforts.
When they finally broke off, the adults were breathless and perspiring, while Yori, declared the winner, raced about the courtyard, shouting, “I won! I won!” as Seimei and the ladies applauded. In a sudden glow of happiness, Akitada caught up his son and swung him high into the air. Yori shrieked with delight and flung his small arms about his father’s neck. Akitada had not felt so well, so whole, in many months, and, hugging the child to him, he made a courtly bow toward the veranda.
Back in his office, his newly found optimism still with him, he called for his outdoor clothes. “I am going to pay another call on Nagaoka,” he told Seimei, who helped him dress. “There must be any number of things the man has not told. I did not pry into his relations with his wife last time, but her personality is the most intriguing mystery in her death. It now seems to me he avoided the subject.”
Seimei pursed his lips. “In autumn there is no need for a fan. From what you said, Mr. Nagaoka was too old for his wife. He may feel great relief.”
Seimei was a terrible misogynist, but Akitada considered the possibility that Nagaoka might have tired of an immature and expensive wife. He said dubiously, “From all accounts, she was very beautiful and he loved her.”