The Ninja's Daughter (24 page)

The door to the Jesuit's room rattled open. Father Mateo stepped outside and knelt beside Hiro on the porch. He smiled, but his eyes held only sorrow.

“I will miss this house,” the Jesuit said, “especially the koi. I still wish we could find some way to stay.”

“Only a fool attempts to fight a battle he cannot win.”

“Only a coward flees from those who need him,” the Jesuit countered.

Hiro watched as another breeze fluttered the trees by the garden wall. “A man cannot help anyone from a grave.”

“We have to take Ana with us. And Luis.” The Jesuit spoke with quiet determination.

“A group attracts more attention than a pair of pilgrims on the road.”

“I will not leave without them,” Father Mateo said.

Hiro nodded. “Then we will find a way.”

“And I want to solve Emi's murder before we go,” the Jesuit added.

Knocking echoed through the house.

Father Mateo looked over his shoulder. “Again? Could Yoriki Hosokawa have returned?”

Hiro was already on his feet. “Stay here,” he said, though he knew the Jesuit wouldn't.

The two men entered the house as Ana's voice carried through from the entry.

“May I help you?” she asked.

“I have come to see the foreign priest.”

To Hiro's surprise, the voice belonged to Yuji.

Father Mateo gave Hiro a look of surprise. They entered the common room together, as Ana showed the actor through from the entry.

“Good afternoon,” the Jesuit said to Yuji. “Ana, brew some tea.”

The housekeeper bowed and left for the kitchen.

Father Mateo knelt by the hearth and motioned for Yuji to join him there.

Hiro crossed to the hearth and knelt, reinforcing the visitor's lack of status.

Yuji didn't seem to notice. He did appear to have trouble settling and fidgeted nervously with his robe.

“Welcome to my home.” Father Mateo opened with the pleasantries he offered every guest.

Yuji took a shallow breath, as if trying to force himself to respond in kind. At last he blurted, “I came to confess. The coin is mine—but I did not kill Emi.”

“Pardon me?” Father Mateo asked.

“The golden coin,” the actor repeated. “The one you found on Emi's body. It belongs to me. I'd like it back.”

Father Mateo reached for his purse, but returned his hand to his lap at a glance from Hiro.

“Why would you give a golden coin to the sister of a girl you planned to marry?” Hiro asked.

“Would you admit to having an affair with your future sister-in-law?”

“I would not have an affair with her in the first place,” Hiro answered.

“You see?” Yuji said. “I didn't think you would understand. I knew, if I told you the truth, you'd think I killed her.”

“Indeed.” Hiro paused. “A lie works so much better to prove your innocence.”

“What made you decide to confess this now?” Father Mateo asked.

“Chou came to the rehearsal. She told me she revealed the affair to you.” Yuji hung his head in shame. “Since you already know the truth, I saw no harm in claiming my golden coin.”

“When did you give the coin to Emi?” Hiro asked.

Yuji raised his head. “The coin is mine, and Emi is dead. With respect, sir, the details no longer matter.”

“If you want the gold, you will answer my questions,” Hiro said. “Otherwise, you are free to leave. I will not entertain a commoner's arrogance.”

CHAPTER 45

Yuji raised his hands, as if in surrender. “I simply wondered why it mattered. Sir, I meant no disrespect.”

“Adding ‘sir' does not transform your rudeness into proper speech.” Hiro glared at Yuji. “Answer my questions or leave, but show respect.”

Ana returned with a teapot and three cups on a tray. She set them in front of Father Mateo, bowed, and left the room.

Hiro noted the lack of snacks, a clear sign of Ana's disapproval. The housekeeper had no issue serving treats to the prostitutes in Father Mateo's congregation. She didn't mind when the priest invited beggars to the house for tea. But somehow, in the space between the entry and the common room, Ana had judged the actor—and found him wanting.

Father Mateo prepared the tea, pouring water into the pot from the steaming kettle above the hearth. He poured the fragrant liquid into cups and passed the first one to the guest.

Yuji accepted the teacup and inhaled the steam with a slightly curled lip, as if anticipating a foul odor. His lips turned up in surprise, and he inhaled again, more deeply. He gazed at Father Mateo approvingly and sipped the tea.

Hiro wondered what made Yuji decide to claim the coin. Greed was an obvious motive, yet avarice seemed insufficient to justify the risk.

The three men sipped their tea in silence.

Yuji drained his cup and set it gently on the tray.

Father Mateo refilled the actor's tea.

“Help me understand your world.” The Jesuit set the teapot down. “In Portugal, a man would never have an affair with his sister-in-law.”

Hiro stifled a smile. Father Mateo had grown adept at using his foreign status as a shield for topics Japanese people could never broach directly.

“In most of Japan, an affair like this is also inappropriate,” Yuji said, “but actors live by different rules. We must. Otherwise, we could not gain the following, and patronage, required to earn a living.”

“Required . . . for those whose talent does not suffice,” Hiro added.

Yuji narrowed his eyes a fraction. “Talent alone is never sufficient, even though it should be. Women see an attractive man on the stage and want to know him better. Actors gain no favor by ignoring such desires. Refuse these patrons, and they turn their interest to another.

“An actor, without an audience, is nothing. His flower fades like a blossom that blooms and dies in a single night. Actors' wives must understand. They cannot expect the kind of husband a farmer or a peasant might receive.”

“And Chou understands this?” Father Mateo asked.

Yuji sighed. “She is young. But she will learn, in time.”

“None of this explains how you gave the golden coin to Emi,” Hiro said. “Or why.”

“I thought the gold would buy her silence. Our affair lasted only a single night—an indiscretion I regretted as soon as the moment passed.”

“At last you admit it openly,” Hiro said. “When did you give her the coin?”

“The morning after . . .” Yuji paused. “Two days before she died.”

“Two days?” Hiro asked. “We were led to believe your relationship lasted longer.”

“She tried to seduce me for weeks, but I refused until I learned she made herself available to men by the river. After that, I saw no reason to deny my own desire. But then, when it was over . . .”

“You desired her no longer,” Father Mateo said bitterly. “You despised her. So you gave her a golden coin and sent her away like a common prostitute.”

Yuji took another sip of tea. Hiro suspected the actor needed time to construct a plausible lie.

“Excuse me.” Father Mateo stood up and left the room through the kitchen door. It seemed an odd moment to use the latrine, but a person couldn't always control that timing.

After the door slid shut behind Father Mateo, Yuji bowed his head. “I apologize for disturbing your afternoon.”

Hiro stared at the actor and said nothing.

Yuji fumbled his teacup but recovered it without spilling. He set the cup down carefully before him. “I only came to request the coin. Once I have it, I will leave and bother you no longer.”

Hiro did not believe the actor's story about the coin. A man did not reclaim a gift he gave to hide his indiscretions.

“You waste your time and ours,” Hiro said. “We do not have the coin.”

Yuji hid his dismay behind a smile. “You had it yesterday.”

“Satsu wanted it. I believe he planned to throw it in the river.”

Yuji's eyes widened in horror. “Throw it in the river? Why?”

“As an offering, to prevent Emi's ghost from wandering on the bank forever.”

“Has he done it already?” Yuji asked.

“Does it matter?” Hiro shrugged. “I do not care.”

Yuji bowed from a seated position. “I apologize for taking so much of your time. If you will excuse me, I should go.”

“I think you should stay. I want to know what you said to Emi on the riverbank the night she died.”

Yuji looked nervous.

“Tell me, or tell the magistrate,” Hiro said.

“Th-the magistrate doesn't care.” Yuji stammered over the words. “He forbade an investigation.”

“Would you care to test his interest?” Hiro shifted his balance as if to rise.

“No—all right, I saw her,” Yuji said. “I went to the river because I wanted Emi to return the coin. I worried that Chou would see it and misunderstand and get upset.

“I couldn't risk the conversation at home, so I went to the river. Emi was there, talking with a merchant. He was drunk. I stayed near the bridge and waited for him to leave, but he wouldn't go. He lay down on the bank, and Emi sat beside him. A few minutes later, he fell asleep.” Yuji smiled. “What sake adds to the will, it removes from the skill.”

“Spare me your feeble attempts at humor,” Hiro said.

“After the merchant fell asleep, Emi walked down to look at the water. I approached her and asked for the coin, but she refused to give it back.” Yuji's eyes filled with tears. “She said she wanted to keep it as a token of our secret love.”

Hiro decided that Haru was right about Yuji's acting skills—or lack thereof.

“She said, if I tried to take it, she would scream,” the actor continued. “There was a yoriki nearby. I couldn't risk it.”

“A yoriki?” Hiro asked. “Not a dōshin?”

“Everyone in the theater district recognizes Yoriki Hosokawa,” Yuji said. “I assure you, Emi was alive when I left her. I have no reason to lie to you. I came here only to retrieve my coin.”

“For that, you must speak to Satsu.”

“You know as well as I that I will never mention it to Satsu.” Yuji bowed from the waist. “Please, may I have permission to leave, without you involving the magistrate?”

Hiro stood up. “You may leave. I will show you out.”

CHAPTER 46

When Hiro returned to the common room, Father Mateo was kneeling by the hearth with the coin in his hand. He gestured for Hiro to join him.

“Why do you think he wants this coin so badly?” the Jesuit asked. “And do you think the yoriki was really by the river when Emi died?”

“You were listening behind the door?” Hiro glanced toward the kitchen.

Father Mateo nodded. “He wouldn't answer my questions. I thought the conversation might go better if I left.”

Hiro stared at the priest, impressed with his cunning.

“You don't have to look so surprised.” Father Mateo poured himself another cup of tea. “Yoriki Hosokawa didn't mention seeing Emi by the river the night she died.”

Hiro knew what the priest was thinking. “He wouldn't mention it, if he killed her. Unfortunately, that omission does not prove his guilt. He may not have noticed the girl at all. Samurai overlook commoners all the time.”

Father Mateo sighed. “Everyone saw everyone else by the riverbank that evening, and everyone has a valid excuse for being there.” He laid the coin on the tray beside the teapot. “I do not want to leave Kyoto with Emi's murder unresolved.”

“So you have mentioned. More than once.” Hiro noted the priest's unusual sorrow. “This killing bothers you more than others. Why?”

“The girl is your cousin,” Father Mateo said.

“Which explains why her death should bother me, not why it impacts you so deeply.”

Father Mateo stared at Hiro for several seconds. “When I saw her body, it reminded me of another—whose death I caused.”

“
You?
You killed a girl?”

“I did not kill her,” Father Mateo said, “and yet, I am responsible for her death.”

In the silence that followed, Hiro longed to ask what happened, but friendship and etiquette barred the question. He realized, yet again, how little he knew about the priest. It struck him as odd that he felt so close to a person whose past he knew essentially nothing about.

“Her name was Isabel,” Father Mateo said. “She was my sister.”

“You had a sister?” Questions swirled in Hiro's mind like leaves in a whirlpool, though he would never ask them. Friends did not summon the ghosts of the dead for the sake of curiosity.

Father Mateo nodded. “I have not spoken her name aloud in years, though I think of her, and pray for her, every day.”

“You need not speak of this,” Hiro said. “I apologize for intruding on your privacy.”

“No, I want to tell you. Perhaps, then, you will understand why Emi's death impacted me so deeply. That is, unless you would rather I did not speak.”

Hiro nodded, knowing Father Mateo would take the gesture as consent.

“In my country, most couples have many children,” Father Mateo said, “but God allowed my parents only two. They had given up hope of having any children at all. But then, God answered their prayers—first with me, and, six years later, with Isabel.

“I adored my sister from the moment she was born. When she grew old enough, we played together constantly. She loved to run and explore, like a boy, and though my parents scolded me, I encouraged her wild ways. I protected her. I never believed that she would come to harm. . . .”

Father Mateo clenched his jaw. His hand crept up to the scar on his neck, and he rubbed it absently, lost in memory.

Hiro waited as the silence stretched between them.

Father Mateo's eyes refocused. “On the day I turned fourteen, my father gave me a horse of my own—a fine gray stallion—and told me he had apprenticed me to an acting troupe. All of my childhood dreams were coming true.