The Masuda Affair (36 page)

Sadanori said something, but his words were unintelligible.

‘Somebody will come and get us out,’ Akitada told him. That opened up new and frightening possibilities. Sadanori’s servants scrambling about among the broken timbers could well cause a fatal collapse.

Sadanori suddenly raised his voice and said clearly, ‘I’m dying.’

Appalled, Akitada asked, ‘Where are you hurt?’

‘My arm hurts.’

That hardly sounded fatal, and Sadanori’s voice was quite strong. Trust the man to wail over a small injury, thought Akitada. He put Sadanori’s problems from his mind and concentrated on his own situation. His right leg still hurt. Worse, he had no feeling in the lower part of it any longer. For all he knew, part of the limb was gone. He gulped down fear and worked his right hand back to feel along his body. At his hip, he encountered the beam which seemed to rest on him. His left hand moved more freely, and his left leg seemed only pinned. He could move his foot. He began a cautious effort to free it, but something shifted as he moved and now pressed on his shoulder. It was becoming hard to breathe. Akitada tried to suppress a rising panic, but he still had nightmares of the weeks he had spent buried in a mine on Sado island. His heart started racing and he was gasping when Sadanori began his dreadful keening again.

Akitada forgot his own terror and got angry. ‘Shut up!’ he shouted.

Sadanori broke off.

‘What makes you think you’re worth saving?’ Akitada asked nastily.

Sadanori sobbed.

Feeling better, Akitada put him from his mind and used his hands to dig away the dirt underneath him. The ground was soft down here. He prayed that the beam, or whatever
pinned him, was supported by something other than his body, and that he could get enough purchase to crawl out.

Sadanori suddenly said, ‘I would not have hurt Hanae. I just wanted her to see what I could do for her. If the chancellor had not summoned me and kept me all day, this would not have happened.’

Akitada snarled, ‘You lie. You had your servant drug her and tie her up. She escaped on her own a day later.’

‘It’s the stupid woman’s fault. She exceeded her orders.’

Akitada did not think that worth a response.

Sadanori tried again. ‘I did not intend any of it to happen. How can I be responsible for what Ishikawa did?’

Akitada stopped digging. What was he talking about? Still angry, he said, ‘You’re beyond the human law now, but the judge of the underworld will know exactly what you did.’

Sadanori wept noisily.

On an impulse, Akitada added, ‘Your only option is to make a clean breast of it so that the living will not suffer for your deeds.’

Sadanori wept harder.

Akitada went on digging. He was sweating from the exertion, but so far nothing else had shifted and he could now twist his body a little.

‘Am I really dying?’

Akitada almost laughed. ‘How should I know?’ he snapped. ‘I thought you said you were.’

After a moment, Sadanori said sadly, ‘Yes, I am. I hope it’s quick.’

Akitada paused to rest. ‘In that case you’d better confess now,’ he said hopefully.

‘We’ll both die, so what’s the point?’

‘I’m not,’ Akitada said with more conviction than he felt. ‘I’m digging myself out.’ And he started on his labors again.

And then the first of the aftershocks hit.

A
kitada’s first thought was that a quick death would have been preferable. It was not the pain in his arm and back that seemed unbearable, or that his chest felt crushed, but rather it was not being able to breathe. Or at least not enough. Every fiber in his body wanted to gulp air, but could not.

Panic seized him. He would die here, in minutes that would feel like hours. He was trapped and would suffocate. A fitting punishment for his cruelty to Yori, to Tamako, to Tora and Genba, and even to the dog. The gods had given him back a measure of happiness, only to snatch it all away.

Whatever weighed down on his chest had probably broken ribs, though breathing was not so much painful as very difficult. Except for the tiniest breath of dust-laden air, which choked him and teased his body into futile spasms that brought nothing but pain, he could not fully inhale.

He could still move his right arm, the one that did not hurt, and felt around with it. As far as he could make out, the last shock had settled the weight of the building on his body. His frantic efforts to breathe made matters worse. He concentrated on regulating his breathing. By taking slow, shallow breaths, he made his panic subside a little. He thought of Tamako. It seemed a pity that his life should end before they had a chance for another life together.

Perhaps he had thrown away that chance. Once disrespected, it was gone forever. But that was superstition. And he worried about Tamako. Heaven forbid she should be in such straits and he not there to help her. Then he thought about fire. What if she was trapped in a burning house?

His wrenching fear for her caused him to gulp for air, and he choked again on thick dust. After an agonizing
sneezing and coughing fit, he pushed his terror aside. The others would look after Tamako. Unlike Sadanori’s people, who seemed not to have missed him, Tora and Genba could be relied on. He listened for Sadanori and heard an odd snuffling noise.

‘Sadanori?’ he croaked.

Silence.

‘Sadanori? Is that you?’ Silly question, and no wonder he got no answer. But the snuffling had stopped. Speaking had wrought more havoc with his breathing, and Akitada gasped and rested. Then he tried again. ‘Sadanori, did you tell your people where you were going?’

A sob and a soft, ‘No.’

So the man who was responsible for his present condition still lived and was probably better off. Akitada felt resentful. The fool! No one would bother checking this building until other emergencies and damage to the main house had been taken care of. He took in more air and choked again. The blood pounded in his temples. It was not likely that he could last that long.

‘She was so beautiful.’ Sadanori’s voice sounded dreamy.

‘What?’ Akitada was not sure he had heard correctly.

‘Peony. She was mine. My wife to be. Did you know that I planned this place for her? We were to live here together. She left me before I could finish it.’

Akitada closed his eyes. He no longer cared to hear the dreary love confessions of a man who could have bought any woman he wanted.

‘Masuda came like a thief and took her from me. Who would allow such a thing?’

Against his better intentions, Akitada asked, ‘What did you do?’

‘Clever Ishikawa found her in Otsu. She would not come back.’

‘She died a pauper.’

Sadanori sobbed. ‘I loved her. I will always love her.’

‘Did you tell Ishikawa to kill them both?’

Silence. Then softly, ‘No, oh no. I thought …’ Sadanori’s voice faded.

‘He sent his mother to poison Masuda. And he killed the doctor and Peony’s maid because they knew about it. On your instructions.’ Akitada gasped for air.

Sadanori said something very faintly, but Akitada was coughing and did not hear. ‘Are you all right?’ Akitada asked when he could speak again, surprising himself.

‘I’m dying. May Amida help me.’

Perhaps he was dying, perhaps not. Akitada felt callous about the spoiled Fujiwara lord’s fate. ‘If you had told your people where you were going,’ he said with a certain satisfaction, ‘they would be here by now.’

Sadanori did not speak again for a long time, but the periodic sound of sobbing and whimpering meant that he was still alive. Akitada used his free hand to scratch away at the dirt again. It seemed hopeless; he could no longer get his fingers under his body except just below his chin. Mercifully, there were no more shocks, and after a lot of scratching and scraping, he breathed easier. Encouraged, he worked harder.

Sadanori said suddenly, ‘I would never have allowed Ishikawa to kill Peony. He did not kill her. Masuda deserved to die. But not the others. I did not want that.’

Akitada managed to ease his left shoulder away from whatever had rested on it. His left arm was still caught, but hurt less. He ignored Sadanori and concentrated on freeing himself. After more grubbing under his body, the fingers of his right hand were bleeding. Never mind. He had certainly suffered worse in his lifetime, and Tamako was worth every effort.

Sadanori was still talking to himself. Something about stars. Perhaps he was reciting poetry. Or hallucinating. For that matter, there were some chinks and slivers of light in the murky darkness. Akitada bit down on his lip and gave his left arm a sharp jerk. Something shifted and his clothing tore and then he was blessedly free. Or rather, his upper body was free.

‘Sugawara?’

‘Hmm?’ Akitada flexed his left arm and hand. They hurt too much to be useful. With a sigh he began scratching at the dirt with his bleeding right hand again.

‘What will happen to me?’

‘I thought you said you were dying.’

‘You would like that, wouldn’t you?’

‘Well –’ Akitada decided to take another chance and used all his strength to force his hips against the weight that rested on the small of his back – ‘you took a life.’ Something gave, and he held his breath in fear that he would be crushed. But all was well. He could twist his body now. It hurt like the devil, but he managed to pull up one leg, and then the other. Sadanori said something else, and Akitada snapped, ‘Be quiet, I’m trying to get out of here.’

‘Someone will come and get us.’

‘If you’re going to live, you’ll have to stand trial.’

Sadanori clicked his tongue. ‘If you believe that, you’re a bigger fool than I thought. It’s you who’ll stand trial, and I’ll watch you. Exile is very unpleasant, I hear.’

Akitada was familiar with exile. It was the most common form of severe punishment bestowed on government officials who embarrassed their superiors and was rarely preferable to execution. His own legendary ancestor, Michizane, had died miserably in Kyushu.

He pushed himself forwards a few feet. Feeling around, he moved aside some smaller pieces of lumber, then crept around an obstruction and saw daylight ahead of him. It was like a gift from the gods, though he would have to find a way under or around a pile of broken boards and crazily tilting beams. There was no sign of help, but he felt reasonably sure now that he could eventually extricate himself.

‘I take it you’ve decided you’ll live,’ he said dryly. ‘In that case, perhaps you would not mind answering a few questions while we wait for rescue?’

There was a brief silence, then Sadanori said, ‘Since we are alone, it cannot signify.’

‘Peony gave birth to a child in Otsu. Is he your son?’

‘No. They told me she drowned the boy along with herself.’ Sadanori’s voice broke. There was a long silence marked by faint sniffs.

Akitada managed to crawl over a pile of splintered wood after slipping off his good silk robe and abandoning it.
Peony’s fate still nagged at him. Had she really drowned herself? Her message to her maid could only have meant that she expected money and was no longer desperate. He called back to Sadanori, ‘Could Ishikawa have killed Peony without your knowledge?’

The tearful noises ceased, and Sadanori said faintly, ‘No, he was here with me when it happened. Never, never did I think she would take her own life.’

Akitada registered the answer, but he had a new worry. He smelled smoke. Resting for a moment, he sniffed. Yes, and it was getting much stronger. All those reed screens and dry grass mats, all of Sadanori’s paper scrolls and silk paintings would go up in a roar of flames any moment. Something had caught fire, and he had no time to lose on idle conversation.

The main obstruction between himself and the outside was one heavy beam that rested on smaller debris. He could neither squeeze through nor move things out of his way. There was a small space under it at one point, and he crawled in and heaved upward. But the beam was too heavy or lodged too firmly. Still, he tried again, and again. He heard a creaking and felt a slight movement. Using every ounce of his strength, he heaved again. Splinters cut into his back, and he could feel blood running down his sides, but the beam shifted and rolled a little. Something else shifted also and fell with a dull rumble somewhere behind him. Sadanori squealed briefly. Akitada paused to listen, but his ears now detected the crackling of flames, and he choked on smoke. Coughing, he frantically moved broken tiles and other debris. He thought he could already feel the heat searing his back.

When he found an opening that was just wide enough, Akitada squeezed through, shedding his under robe in the process. He emerged outside half-naked, dirty and bloody, and staggered to his feet. The pavilion was a leaning pile of rubble. Flames engulfed its north side and already licked eagerly at the near corner.

Sadanori was trapped.

Through the thick smoke, Akitada climbed on to the pile
to see if he could reach Sadanori from above, but it would take more than one man to lift the heavy timbers, and the fire was getting very close.

Cradling his painful arm, he set off towards the main house at a limping trot. There was a fire here also, but he saw people milling about: servants, and a small huddle of colorfully robed ladies.

‘Ho!’ he shouted. ‘Help! Over here. Your master’s caught under the pavilion.’

They heard him and came. They tried their best, as Akitada stood by and directed their efforts. Some formed a chain to the lake and passed leather buckets of water up. The fire subsided in hissing steam.

Eventually, Sadanori was found. He was dead. It was not clear if he had died of suffocation from the smoke, been crushed, or had slowly bled to death. Akitada clambered on to the ruins and looked down at his corpse. He lay in a pool of blood from a deep wound in his upper leg. Everything considered, he looked quite peaceful. Perhaps he had been dying even as they spoke. Loss of blood made people light-headed, and Akitada remembered that Sadanori had sounded strangely calm. His last words had been of Peony.