The earthquake and fires had destroyed most of the district, but as Sano rode through it with Marume, he noticed porters lugging trunks and streets blocked by oxcarts filled with furniture. Residents were moving back into their repaired homes. Still, glaring signs of the disaster remained. Barricades made of scrap wood and other debris substituted for walls not yet rebuilt. Beyond these rose the tents where many residents still lived.Sano and Marume dismounted outside a new gate. The sentry admitted them to a mansion whose wood structure smelled pungently of fresh cedar resin. The plaster on the half-timbered walls looked fresh enough that Sano could leave his handprint in it if he wanted.“Didn’t the chief tax collector used to live here?” Marume asked.“He committed suicide,” Sano said. The earthquake had begotten a flood of suicides that was only just tapering off. Many people, driven to despair because they’d lost relatives and friends, their homes, work, and income, had chosen to die rather than face a future that seemed so bleak.
