Island of Exiles sa-5 Page 9

  She put her hands on her hips and glared. “Then bring your food from home. Now open up! I don’t have all day.” The larger man muttered under his breath, but he got the keys and his lantern. As he passed Akitada, who was carrying the heavy food container in one hand and balancing the basket of bowls with the other, he sniffed. “It smells good for bean stew,” he said in an ingratiating tone.

  “Open up!” snapped Masako.

  Muttering some more, he preceded them down the hallway, stopping to unlock each cell door to let Masako fill a bowl and hand it to an inmate. They finally reached young Mutobe, who stood waiting and bowed politely to Masako before receiving his bowl.

  “How are you today, Toshito?” she asked the prisoner.

  “Well. Thank you, Masako.” He looked at her with concern.

  “And how is it with you and your father? Any news?”

  “No. Nothing. And you?”

  “No talking allowed,” growled the guard.

  Masako sighed and filled another bowl. “Here,” she said, handing it to the guard. “Hunger makes you irritable. Go away and eat.”

  “What about Kintsu? I can’t go back without taking him something.”

  Akitada handed Masako a second bowl with a wink. She chuckled softly, filled this also, and gave it to the waiting guard.

  He nodded and departed with the food.

  “Well, that got rid of him,” said Masako, giving Akitada a conspiratorial smile. “They’re becoming unbearable. Even the outcast sweepers ignore my orders. As Father’s daughter I used to get some respect, but now they think of me as one of their own. What a difference poverty makes.” She turned and saw that young Mutobe was still holding his full bowl, worried eyes moving between her and Akitada. “Sit down, Toshito, and eat, please.”

  He bowed and started eating, but would not sit in her presence. After a few mouthfuls he said, “You cannot continue this, you know. They are savages. One of them might get ideas.” He glanced at Akitada again.

  “I’m not afraid. Besides, Taketsuna can come along to protect me.”

  “Taketsuna?” His eyes narrowed. “Oh, it’s you. You were here yesterday with Masako’s father, taking notes. I wasn’t paying attention.”

  His tone had become arrogant and faintly hostile. When Akitada nodded, he turned back to Masako with a frown. “How do you come to know this prisoner?”

  “Taketsuna is no criminal. He is a political exile who works in the archives during the day and stays at our house.”

  “You mean like a houseguest? Why the special treatment?

  He should be locked up here or sent inland to work.” Masako stared at him. “Oh, Toshito, how can you of all people say such a thing?”

  Young Mutobe flushed and said angrily, “It is not safe to take a criminal into your house. You know nothing about him. What can your father be thinking of?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she cried, moving closer to Akitada and putting her hand on his arm. “For all you know he’s of better birth than you.”

  Young Mutobe paled and pushed the half-empty bowl her way. “No doubt. I can see how the wind blows. Here. I’ve lost my appetite.”

  “Oh, Toshito,” she cried, “I’m sorry. I did not mean to insult you. Please forgive me.” But the young man folded his arms across his chest and turned his back to them. She pleaded,

  “Come, you insulted Taketsuna. That was not well done, either.

  As for his staying with us: it was the governor’s wish, and he pays for Taketsuna’s lodging and food.”

  “I see. It’s the infernal money again!” Toshito said bitterly to the wall.

  Akitada wished himself elsewhere. He did not like being talked about as if he were not present, especially with the hostility displayed by this man. But the news that Mutobe had made elaborate arrangements for him after all was more disconcerting. Word had probably already got out that the was being treated like a guest in the provincial headquarters. He cleared his throat. “Forgive me for interrupting,” he said, “but as I am to leave Mano shortly, the arrangement is strictly temporary.

  My being given special lodging has more to do with my ability to take dictation and write well. I understand there is a great shortage of scribes here. Of course, I am most grateful to Superintendent Yamada. I assure you, his daughter is quite safe from me.”

  Akitada’s polite speech was a reproach to the other man’s manners, and he turned around. “I am sorry for my rudeness.

  My situation is frustrating to me because I cannot help my friends.”

  Akitada bowed. “I understand.”

  But there was resentment in the air, and Masako called the guard. When she picked up their empty bowls in the guardroom, the little guard remarked with a grin, “Found yourself a new fellow, eh? He’ll give better service than that little sprout Toshito and he’ll live longer, too.” Masako gasped, and Akitada took a threatening step toward the man, but she caught his arm and pulled him away.

  Outside, she stopped. “Oh, Taketsuna, you must never do that again. Fighting with a guard will get you nothing but a vicious flogging and chains.”

  She was right, of course, and he could not afford to make a scene in any case. When he muttered an apology, she reached up to touch his face. “Thank you, Taketsuna. It was kind of you to want to protect me.” She was looking up at him with a little smile, her eyes suddenly moist. “I would put up with a great deal more than a few silly words to spare you pain,” she said softly. When he said nothing, she asked, “Are you really leaving so soon?” He saw the tears in her eyes, and his heart started beating faster. Feeling like a brute, he said, “Yes. I’m to travel inland with one of the governor’s inspectors.”

  “Oh, Taketsuna. So little time.” She looked dejected, then brightened. “But you’ll come back soon?” He said nothing and they walked back to the kitchen courtyard. At the well he helped her wash the bowls. She was deep in thought and said little. He was relieved. Her words and expression had touched him deeply. He wondered what the relationship was between her and Mutobe’s son and knew he did not like it. Ashamed of his jealousy, he forced his mind to more important matters.

  Regardless of Mutobe’s assertion that his son had been framed by his own political enemies, Akitada was by no means convinced of the son’s innocence. Toshito had attended the university in the capital and might have come in contact with Prince Okisada’s enemies. He might, in fact, have been their tool to eliminate a troublesome claimant to the throne.

  Back in the kitchen, Akitada took up the broom and began to sweep while Masako busied herself about the stove, laying the fire for the morning meal and gathering the remnants of bean soup for their own supper. The Yamadas’ provisions seemed scarce and of the plainest sort, but Masako had managed to prepare decent meals with what she had. Such extreme poverty was still a great puzzle to Akitada.

  “You seem to be on very familiar terms with young Mutobe,” he began after a while.

  She stopped, a bamboo dipper with bean soup in her hand, and stared at him. “What do you mean?” she asked, color rising to her cheeks.

  “That was badly put.” He leaned on the broom and smiled at her. “Nothing insulting, I assure you. You speak to each other like brother and sister.”

  She finished emptying the soup kettle. “We are friends, because we grew up together.”

  “You must know him very well, then. Well enough to share secrets, as children do. Would you tell each other things you might not mention to your fathers?” He tried to make it sound like gentle teasing.

  But she was too sharp for that. “Why do you want to know?” she demanded suspiciously.

  He retreated. “No reason. Or rather, there are so many mysteries about you that I . . . Never mind! It was just idle conversation.”

  She came then and looked up at him searchingly. “Was it, Taketsuna?” she asked, her voice suddenly husky. Akitada started to back away, but she put her hand on his arm to stop him. “Who are you really?”

  This
startled him. “You know who I am. Yoshimine Taketsuna.”

  “No. I mean, who are you inside? You ask about me, but what are your thoughts? What is your family like? What did you wish for before you came here? What sort of life will you make in the future?”

  He moved away from her and started sweeping again. “What I was does not matter here,” he said, “and I have no future.”

  She followed him. “Your past matters to me, and so does your future. Many exiles have settled to a comfortable life here.

  They have taken wives and raised families.” Appalled by where this conversation seemed to be leading, he kept his back to her. “I will never rest until I return to my home and family,” he said firmly.

  “Tell me about your family.”

  He turned then. “I have a wife and a young son.” She flinched a little at his fierceness. “Oh,” she murmured. “I should have thought of that. I’m sorry. You must love them very much.” Tears rose to her eyes, making him sorry for his cruel frankness. “Taketsuna,” she whispered, “you may not see them again for many, many years, or perhaps never. What will you do meanwhile?”

  “Nothing. Hope. What else can a man do?” Her eyes pleaded. “He can make another life.” He put away the broom then. “I have no life,” he said in a tone of finality. “And now, if you have no other chores for me, I think I’ll go clean up before the evening meal.” Outside, at the well, he started to strip off his gown, but a strong sense of being watched made him stop and look over his shoulder. Masako stood in the kitchen doorway, a small, secretive smile on her pretty face. When their eyes met, she turned abruptly, took up the container of bean soup, and walked away humming a song.

  They took their evening meal-the leftover bean soup with some pickled radish-as always on the veranda in front of Yamada’s study. For Akitada it was a difficult meal. Masako had appeared a little late. She was again in her faded blue silk gown, but she had put a new ribbon in her shining hair.

  Her father was in his usual abstracted mood, and she attempted to make conversation with Akitada, making sure he had enough soup, that it was to his liking, that the setting

  sun was not in his eyes. All of these overtures Akitada met with a monosyllabic “Yes” or “No,” and she finally turned to her father.

  “When will you get paid again, Father?” she asked, startling Yamada, who cast an embarrassed glance toward Akitada.

  “Not for another five days, child,” he said. “I am very sorry.

  It must be difficult for you.”

  “Not at all,” she said lightly. “I’m a very good manager. But the guards were demanding fish today, and it has been days since we’ve had any. I expect you would like some, too.”

  “Fish?” He seemed surprised. “You have no money left? I am very sorry, my dear. You shall have some tomorrow. The truth is I had not noticed the absence of fish.” He added with a smile to Akitada, “Masako makes even the plainest dish taste like something fit for the emperor. Isn’t that so?” The meals had been adequate but hardly fit for an emperor, or even one of their own class. A farmer or a monk might have approved, though, of the vegetarian dishes. Millet and beans were their main staples. The flavor was due to herbs, fruit, or vegetables, all things which were raised in their garden or gathered in the woods. However, Akitada agreed politely, then changed the subject.

  “I noticed a document in the archives today which refers to a rather peculiar institution of which you seem to be the overseer, sir. It’s called a Valuables Office. Apparently it pays out rice against securities like silver? I thought such operations are usually carried out by temples.”

  Masako dropped her bowl with a crash and stared at him wide-eyed. Her father turned rather pale. His hands shook as he put down his own bowl. After a moment, he took a deep breath and said, “Clean that up, child.” He waited until Masako had scooped up the shards and food bits and left the room. Then he asked, “What is your interest in this matter, young man?”

  Akitada knew now that he was on the right track but said only, “Curiosity, mainly. Sadoshima is a strange place to me.

  There are private silver mines here, when I thought all the mined silver belonged to the emperor. Why is so much silver in private hands, and what is the reason for the valuables office?” Yamada relaxed a little. “Some of the mines belong to the emperor, and the silver from them goes into storage in the gar-rison until it is shipped to the mainland. But the landowners do their own mining under special permits. This created a problem in the past. There is very little minted currency in Sado, and people began to barter in silver, which caused it to become devalued, even the silver coins minted by the emperor, and so it was thought best to control the matter by allowing people to trade their silver for rice from the government storehouses.

  Now the value of the silver is fixed. In addition, many people are leaving their valuables in our hands for security. There are, after all, many criminals on this island.” Akitada thought he had a pretty good idea what had plunged Yamada into sudden but temporary poverty. The man was trying to make restitution before the next inspection. For the time being Akitada had to let the matter rest. There were far more urgent worries on his mind.

  After the evening meal, Akitada made his way in the dark to a storage shed and climbed on its roof. From here he could see over the tribunal walls down to the city and the peaceful bay.

  The moon was nearly full and shone very brightly on the shimmering water. Below him huddled the dark roofs of the houses of the city, and beyond rose the dusky headlands which stood between him and his home and loved ones. The bay looked like molten silver where the moonlight touched it. The distant coast of Echigo was hidden behind the dark mountains, but he fixed his eyes on the faint silver line which marked the separation of land and sky and thought of Tamako and their son.

  He had almost died on the way here, and he might die in the attempt to carry out his orders. The possibility of never seeing his wife or child again threw him into a stomach-twisting panic, and he was tempted to give up this mad assignment and go home.

  Oh, how he longed for safety from the tangled and deadly schemes of men, and from the tear-drenched eyes of a brave and lovely girl.

  CHAPTER SIX

  TWISTING A STRAW ROPE

  Midmorning of the following day the governor paid a surprise visit to the archives. He came accompanied by a small, round-bellied man who walked with short, quick steps and cast a curious glance into Akitada’s cubicle. The governor passed by without a nod and made straight for Yutaka’s office. A murmur of voices told Akitada nothing, but after a few minutes Yutaka, his face stiff with disapproval, put his head in and told him the governor wished to see him.

  “This,” said Mutobe, when Akitada had knelt and bowed, “is Inspector Osawa. He is leaving on an inspection tour, and you are to accompany him as his secretary. One of Yutaka’s scribes will also go along.”

  Akitada bowed again, suppressing his amusement. A promotion from scribe to secretary? Mutobe must really be uncomfortable with his lowly status. He bowed also to Osawa, who merely stared back. Primly attired in brown robe and black cap, the inspector was in his late forties, and looked like a typical midlevel provincial official. Such men were born and trained in their own provinces, where they made themselves indispensable to the governors with their knowledge of local conditions. Here on Sadoshima, such a man might have allegiances with the wrong factions, and Akitada decided not to trust him.

  Mutobe told Osawa, “Perhaps you had better just look into the matter of the Valuables Office before you leave. I will send word to Yamada to have the books ready tomorrow morning.”

  Akitada cleared his throat.

  “Yes?” asked Mutobe. “Is there a problem?”

  “No, Your Excellency. Superintendent Yamada mentioned that he had some copying work for me to do in my spare time.

  Since I am indebted to him for my lodging, may I take your message and offer my assistance in getting the accounts ready for Inspector Osawa’s v
isit?”

  Mutobe looked momentarily confused, no doubt wondering what possible interest Akitada might have in an inspection of the Valuables Office, but he said only, “Good idea. Why don’t you go now?”

  Akitada bowed to Mutobe and Osawa and went to tell Yutaka that the governor had dispatched him to Yamada.

  “Oh, all right,” muttered the shijo, pursing his lips. “But it is very disappointing. First he sends you here, then he sends you away. Yes. Very disappointing.” He shook his head, sighed, and bent to his copying work.

  Akitada found Yamada in the small garden behind his house. He was digging radishes and putting them in a basket which already contained some leafy vegetables. When he saw Akitada, he looked embarrassed. “Ah, hmm,” he said. “Back already? You find me at my hobby. Gardening is very good for health and useful, too.” He pointed to the basket. “For our evening meal. I wish the radishes were bigger, but I don’t seem to have the touch. And caterpillars have been in the cabbages.

  Do you happen to know about such matters?” Akitada had no time to discuss gardening. He said brusquely,

  “I’m afraid not. The governor sent me to tell you that Osawa will inspect the books of the Valuables Office tomorrow.” Yamada was too shocked to take note of Akitada’s abruptness or his lack of courtesy titles for Mutobe and Osawa. He dropped his spade, turned perfectly white, and began to sway on his feet. Akitada caught his arm and helped him to the veranda steps.

  “All is lost,” groaned Yamada, putting his head into his muddy hands. “All the hard work in vain. Poor Masako. Poor child. And what will become of my son when his father’s disgrace is known?” He ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head in hopeless despair.

  Akitada sat down beside him. “What precisely is wrong in the Valuables Office?” he asked.