He wished he could believe her, but he knew she was as fickle as her son. Resisting the panic that clawed at his mind, Ryuko began to plot. He would have to bury his secrets deeper. That was his top priority. He reassured himself that Sano wouldn’t bring him down. He had at least one good weapon in his arsenal.
“Mama, can I go with you?” Akiko asked.
“No, I’m sorry.” Reiko inserted the last comb into her hair and put on her coat. “It’s too dangerous in the city.”
Akiko tugged at Reiko’s skirts. “But I’m tired of staying home. I want to go out.”
“This is where you’re safe. When I get back, we’ll play dolls.”
“No! Please?”
In the crowded chamber, Sano smiled as he fastened his swords at his waist. Akiko was so much like her mother. Reiko would have her hands full, trying to protect, discipline, and teach the adventurous Akiko. And so would he, with two such strong-willed, contrary womenfolk.
Akiko pleaded; Reiko refused to relent; their tempers flared. Sano said, “Akiko, you can come with me.” He told Reiko, “I’m going to Hirata- san ’s house on my way to see Priest Ryuko and Minister Ogyu.” It was time to confront Hirata about his absences, his secrecy. “She can play with the children.”
“Good!” All smiles and sweetness, Akiko hugged Sano.
“Come put on your coat.” Stuffing her daughter into the little pink garment, Reiko gave Sano a glance that thanked him for resolving the argument.
Sano took Akiko’s hand. She skipped beside him out of the estate. He realized he’d never gone anywhere alone with her; Reiko and the servants usually accompanied them. The walls of the passage that led to the official quarter were broken, full of gaps. Akiko broke away from Sano and started to climb a rock pile. Before Sano could catch her, she slid down it and fell on her knee.
“Akiko! Are you all right?” Sano examined Akiko’s knee. It was scraped raw, but she didn’t cry. She was brave like her mother.
Two patrol guards sauntered by. They hid smiles as they bowed to Sano, the great chamberlain playing nursemaid. Sano got a firmer grip on Akiko’s hand. They arrived at Hirata’s home without further incident.
Midori hurried out of the storehouse, the baby in her arms, her other children following. The expectancy on her face turned to disappointment as she recognized Sano and Akiko.
“I brought you a visitor,” Sano said.
Akiko ran to Taeko and Tatsuo. Midori said, “I thought you were my husband coming home.” She looked worried. “Have you seen him?”
“No,” Sano said. “I was hoping to find him here.”
Midori brushed her disheveled hair off her face. “He didn’t come home last night.”
Sano was disturbed. His irritation at Hirata for his absence during the investigation gave way to fear that something bad had happened to him. Sano didn’t trust those friends with whom Hirata had become so close. But he didn’t want to voice these thoughts and upset Midori.
“He’ll probably be home soon,” Sano said. “I’ll stop by again later.”
“Yes, you’re right,” Midori said, reassured.
“Can I leave Akiko with you?”
“Of course.” Midori turned, saw the three children climbing a rock pile, and shouted, “Get down from there!”
Sano left in search of Priest Ryuko.
22
A messenger boy from Edo Castle called into the courtyard of the Yushima Seid o: “Honorable Minister Ogyu! His Excellency the shogun wants you. You’re to come at once!”
The summons awakened Minister Ogyu, who lay in bed with his wife and children in their tent. Groggy consciousness gave way to an agonizing headache that felt as if a spike had pierced his right eye, stabbed through his brain, and pinned him to the bed. His body’s response to mental strain, the headache had come on yesterday after Chamberlain Sano’s visit. Ogyu wished he could go back to sleep, but he couldn’t ignore the shogun’s order. He rolled over and stifled a groan.
His wife roused immediately. She searched his face, read the pain that he hid from everyone except her. “Is the headache bad today?”
“Not very,” Ogyu lied, not wanting to worry her.
The mental strain had been his constant companion for as long as he could remember. Even when he was a child, fear and anxiety would pump through him and turn into pain in his head. “Make it go away!” he’d sobbed to his mother.
She had shaken him and scolded, “Never cry! Don’t be a sissy!”
“Obey your mother,” his father had said. “It’s for the good of us all.”
Even though they withheld comfort, Ogyu had never doubted that they loved and cherished him. He’d known their story ever since he’d been old enough to understand. His father had been a court physician, his mother from a minor noble family. They were desperate for a son to carry on the family name, until at last Ogyu was born, the precious only child. They expressed their love through ever-vigilant discipline.
His wife clambered out of bed, wrapped herself in her heavy coat, and said, “I’ll brew you some opium tea.”
She was more sympathetic than his parents had ever been. Ogyu loved her dearly for it. Most other men would think her plain and worthless, but he wasn’t like most other men. He appreciated her as the luckiest thing that ever happened to him.
He said, “I’ll have just a little.” Opium was the only thing that took the pain away, but he rationed his doses; he didn’t want to become a slave to it or impair his wits. “Because of Chamberlain Sano and his investigation. I need a clear mind.”
They hadn’t spoken about Madam Usugumo or the murders. They had a tacit agreement that they wouldn’t, except indirectly.
“But you dealt with Chamberlain Sano,” his wife said. “He went away.”
“He’s not finished with me,” Ogyu said. “We have to be on our guard.”
“We always are.” She smiled, proud of their unity against a world they’d both found cruel.
But Ogyu could see how tired she was, how dark the shadows under her eyes. Life after the earthquake was wearing her down, and she’d shared the burden of his problems for the nine years they’d been married. He himself badly needed a rest from the pressure to dissimulate, achieve, and impress. But it never let up.
Dragging himself upright, he remembered mealtimes at his parents’ house during his childhood. “Eat!” his mother commanded, holding a bowl under his chin and spooning rich meat stew into his mouth. “Get bigger!” He ate until he was bloated. “Take your medicine!” He swallowed the bitter herb potion. Before he went out in public, his father coached him. “Walk like this, with bigger steps. Don’t mince! Shoulders back. Head high. If someone speaks to you, speak up; don’t whisper. Talk deeper in your throat.”
His parents were gone now, but his wife had taken over for them. She put more coals on the brazier and heated gruel, thick with fish and vegetables and lard. As she mixed his medicine, he said, “I don’t think I can eat.”
“You must.”
She urged him with kindness, but it was still a regimen he wished he could escape. Knowing he never could, he dutifully ate and drank. Afterward, she shaved him, oiled his hair, tied his topknot, and neatly trimmed the end. Unlike other men of his status, he didn’t have a valet. She helped him dress in his loincloth, white silk under-kimono, his formal black satin robe ornamented with gold family crests, his black trousers, and black padded coat. On his feet she put socks she’d laundered herself, and high-soled sandals. She checked every detail of his appearance so thoroughly that he didn’t need a mirror.
“There,” she said with a satisfied smile. “You’re ready for the shogun.”
Ogyu took small comfort in knowing that he looked the perfect scholar. His headache stabbed, each thrust deeper. Involuntary tears stung his right eye. The pain was as bad as during the most stressful occasions of his life.
One of those was the day he’d had his first lesson with his tutor, at age six. Up until then, the only people he knew were his parents and their servants. They’d kept him at home, not allowing him to mix with other children; they had no friends or visitors. But they wanted him to have a good education, necessary for their family’s advancement. At great expense they’d hired the tutor-a strict, humorless scholar from the shogun’s court. The tutor was the first stranger that Ogyu had had to impress. For years he toiled to learn math, literature, history, and Confucian philosophy while practicing everything his parents had taught him. He excelled at his studies, but that only created a new challenge.