CHAPTER 23

“In Japan, a man does not excuse himself to a woman of common birth,” Hiro said when they had left the house behind them.

“A man of honor never demeans one, either,” Father Mateo said. “Interrogating a samurai woman is one thing. Chou is only a common girl, who recently suffered a tragedy. You have no cause to treat her like a criminal.”

“She is a liar,” Hiro said.

“She is a child—and your cousin, even though she does not know it.” Father Mateo’s tone conveyed his disapproval. “Of course she lied—she’s terrified of you.”

“And of you also,” Hiro said. “However, I will minimize my threats in the future, if you will remember to treat her as a commoner, not an equal.”

“All people are equal in the eyes of God,” the Jesuit said, “but I will try to respect the Japanese way.”

Hiro nodded. He could ask no more.

“Do you intend to tell Satsu what Chou revealed to us just now?” Father Mateo asked. “I worry that he might hurt her if we do.”

“I’m not the one who usually reveals the damaging facts to suspects.”

“Then we agree,” the Jesuit said, completely missing Hiro’s point.

At the entrance to Kenninji, the samurai on guard returned Hiro’s nod, but didn’t speak.

“How do you plan to find Satsu?” Father Mateo asked as they passed through the massive gate and onto the temple grounds.

Hiro nodded toward a pair of teenage monks who stood a little way down the path. They had their backs to the entrance, watching something on the grassy lawn beyond. “If you want to find an actor, follow the crowd.”

Satsu stood on the grass just past the monks. Nearby, Haru walked around on the lawn with his feet in the air and his hands where his feet should be. The boy seemed thoroughly comfortable upside down.

“Over and up, like a monkey,” Satsu said.

Haru flipped himself upright with a single fluid motion and instantly squatted on his haunches, hands drawn close to his chest like a resting monkey. He glanced at his father, ignoring the monks’ appreciative noises.

Satsu nodded approval. “That was better.” He noticed Hiro. “All right, enough for today.”

The monks followed Satsu’s gaze. At the sight of Father Mateo, they scurried away with guilty expressions on their blushing faces.

Father Mateo watched them go. “Did they leave because of me?”

“Indirectly,” Hiro said. “They must have mistaken you for a senior monk, at least at first, and suddenly remembered they have duties—which do not include an hour wasted watching actors’ lessons.”

“May I go home?” Haru asked.

“Only if you promise not to interrupt the actors,” Satsu said.

Haru frowned. “But they make mistakes—”

“—and correcting them is Botan’s job, not yours.” Satsu’s voice held a warning edge.

“It will be mine,” Haru said, “when I’m the master.”

“Until which time, you learn by silent observation.” Satsu nodded. “Very well, you may watch the lessons if Botan permits, but do not interrupt.”

Haru bowed. “Yes, Father.”

Satsu made a gesture of dismissal, and Haru ran off toward the temple gate.

The actor turned and bowed to the other men. “Haru mentioned you wanted to see me. I planned to look for you when his lesson finished.”

“Your son is a talented acrobat,” Father Mateo said. “I didn’t realize nō performances featured acrobatics.”

“They don’t,” Satsu replied, “but some of the kyogen interludes, between the plays, have roles for acrobats. I started training Haru for kyogen several years ago, in case he lacked the skills to act in nō. I needn’t have worried. Botan has decided that Haru has the skills to be shite.”

“We heard about his upcoming debut,” Father Mateo said.

“The role is small and played by a child to keep the focus on the adult actors,” Satsu said. “But even simple roles help children learn the rules of nō.”

“Why continue to train him in acrobatics?” Hiro asked.

“You are thinking that handsprings and balancing skills would serve a shinobi’s needs as well as an actor’s.” Satsu didn’t wait for affirmation. “These lessons provide a diversion for Haru, something else to absorb his time. Otherwise, he spends every waking moment watching actors and correcting their mistakes. He has memorized all the plays in our current repertoire, and has a flawless memory. Unfortunately, he is not good at holding his tongue when others err.”

“Do actors’ children have more freedom to speak than samurai boys?” the Jesuit asked.

“Noble children learn etiquette before they learn to walk, but actors avoid restricting children before they reach the age for formal training,” Satsu said. “However, I do expect my son to demonstrate self-control.”

“Do you expect the same from your daughters?” Hiro asked.

Satsu frowned. “What makes you ask?”

Hiro saw no point in subtlety. Satsu was trained to recognize subterfuge. “Did you know your daughter was meeting a man by the river before she died?”

“Emi?” Satsu shook his head. “No, though when you mentioned a ‘friend’ had told you about her death, I suspected something of the kind. The river is the only place she could have met him without being noticed.”

“We have reason to believe she met him regularly,” Hiro said, “including the night she died. We also suspect there may have been more than one man.”

Emotion flickered through Satsu’s features, but disappeared before Hiro could identify it.

“I did not know this,” the actor said, “but I will not deny it could have happened.”

Hiro waited for him to continue.

“I’m not a fool,” Satsu said. “My daughter wanted independence. Specifically, she dreamed of entertaining in a teahouse. She was too old to enter a high-end establishment, and I wouldn’t allow her to go to a house where patrons expect a girl to do more than sing. She didn’t understand why I refused, and disagreed with me, but children often fail to appreciate the reasons why their parents make decisions.

“She and I had reached an impasse. Emi refused to bend her will to conform to mine, or anyone else’s. She threatened to run away, and I believed her.

“Then, about a week ago, she told me she had changed her mind and wanted to become a nun instead. I found that surprising, and also strange. I wondered what caused the decision, but in my relief I didn’t demand a reason. I realize, now, I did not know my daughter nearly as well as I believed.”

“You don’t seem very surprised to learn that Emi met with a man without you knowing,” Father Mateo said.

“My daughter is dead,” Satsu replied. “Not much can surprise me about her anymore. Emi often went to the temple at night, to Chugenji or, sometimes, Kenninji. She told us she prayed and came directly home. I wish I had not trusted her at her word.”

“When did you learn she wanted to become an entertainer?” Hiro asked.

“Emi sang before she spoke and danced as soon as she learned to walk.” Satsu’s eyes took on the glaze of memory. “She had a difficult time accepting that she could not act in nō. She would have made a fine shite, if she hadn’t been born a female.

“I never realized how strongly she felt about it until we announced Chou’s betrothal to Yuji. That’s when Emi told me she did not ever intend to marry. At first, I thought she was jealous of Chou, but Emi explained that she had no desire to become a wife or a mother. She said no man would own her, that her life belonged to her alone.”

“Perhaps she had a preference for women.” Had Satsu not been an Iga shinobi, Hiro would not have made the comment. Polite conversation precluded direct discussion of such private topics.

“Not that I knew or suspected,” Satsu said, “and if she did meet men by the river, it suggests she enjoyed their attention. I think she simply wanted to control her life in ways no woman has a right to claim.”

“Shinobi women can claim it,” Hiro said.

“I am forbidden to speak that truth to my family.” Satsu’s voice took on a bitter edge. “Even had I realized her inclination soon enough, that way was barred to her.”