I. Parker - Island of Exiles

For just a moment, he imagined himself home, but instantly the ugly image of the emaciated and abused body of the prisoner Jisei superimposed itself on his fantasy. He sat up.

Where he had dropped his own filthy robe the night before lay, neatly folded, a new blue cotton robe and a white loincloth.

He unfolded the clothes in wonder, then looked about for his own things. They were gone, and he was seized by a sudden fear for his documents. Day by day, events proved his undertaking more foolhardy and impossible. It should have occurred to him that his clothes might get lost or stolen.

Dressing quickly in the new robe, he pushed back the shutter. Outside was a vegetable plot, its plantings of radish, cabbage, onions, and melons stretching higgledy-piggedly in all

directions. The sun was fully up; he would be late for his duties in the archives. This puzzled him as much as the new clothes.

Someone should have come for him-some guard with a whip for the lazy prisoner.

Stepping down into the garden, he looked around. Never mind the mouthwatering smells and the gnawing emptiness in his stomach. He must find out what happened to his clothes and then run across to the archives where Yutaka, no doubt, had already raised an alarm.

He turned the corner of the house quickly and halted in dismay before a private family scene. On a small veranda sat a balding man with pendulous cheeks and a small paunch, his host, no doubt. To judge by the sloping shoulders and downcast expression, the superintendent was in very low spirits. Across from him knelt Masako. She wore her blue silk gown today, and her shining hair hung loose. The difference from the girl in the prison kitchen was startling. She looked charming and entirely ladylike as she urged her father to sample a dish she was filling from several bowls on a small tray.

Akitada attempted to withdraw, but a scraping of the gravel beneath his feet caused both to turn their heads simultaneously.

Akitada bowed, thought better of it, and knelt instead, bending his head to the ground.

“Ah,” said the superintendent. “Is that our guest, daughter?

Good morning to you, sir. Please join us.” Akitada sat back on his heels and looked at the superintendent in astonishment, wondering if whatever weighed on the man’s mind had unbalanced his reason. “Good morning, sir,” he said. “Please forgive the intrusion. I lost my way. I am not a guest, only a prisoner. Having overslept, I was on my way to the archives to report for work.”

Masako now said very pleasantly, “Please take some gruel first.”

He stood up slowly, not understanding. “Thank you, but there is no time. Allow me to express my thanks for your hospitality and for lending me these new clothes.” The superintendent cleared his throat and looked at his daughter. “Er, don’t mention it,” he said. “Please accept our food, such as it is. It’s only some millet gruel and fruit from the plum tree in the backyard. But my daughter is a fine cook as well as a good judge of men.”

“It would not be proper. I’m a prisoner, sir,” Akitada protested and became suspicious about his lost papers.

The superintendent waved the objection away. “Masako says that you are of good background. Whatever brought you here was, no doubt, due to some careless association, or even perhaps a noble act. These are politically troubled times, and many a good man is deprived of home, office, income, and happiness.” He gave his daughter a sad nod.

Akitada was faced with a dilemma. He looked at Masako, who kept her eyes lowered, blushing modestly. This certainly was not the fiery, sharp-tongued girl he had met in the prison kitchen. “I am deeply honored by the young lady’s good opinion,” he said, “but I was sent here because I murdered a man.

Under the circumstances, I fear that both you and I will suffer if I accept your generosity. And I am already late for work.” Masako now said softly, “Please do not worry. You need not report to Yutaka until later today. Come, there is plenty for both of you. Father’s appetite has been poor lately.” Bemused, Akitada obeyed and took his place on the veranda, accepting a bowl of millet gruel, and feeling uneasy about this change of attitude. The success of his assignment depended on his being taken for an exile and a dangerous individual. He tried to think of a way to introduce the subject of his missing clothes, but Masako spoke first.

“Were you of some use to the doctor last night?”

He suppressed a grimace. “There was little enough to do and no postmortem. The doctor seemed to think the prisoner died as a result of a fight.” He stared unhappily at the gruel his hostess had passed to him.

“I am sorry it is only millet,” she said.

“Oh, the gruel? No, no. It’s delicious,” he said. “No. It’s the dead man. I knew him, you see. He was kind to me when I first arrived.”

“Ah,” she murmured. “I am very sorry the man died, but life is hard for the prisoners here.” She shivered a little.

Akitada set the gruel down half eaten. There seemed to be different rules for different men. He was sitting here, at his ease and in the company of a gentleman of rank and his charming daughter, taking his morning gruel in new clothes, after spending a night in fine bedding in a room of his own. And only one night ago he had slept under the open sky along with the crippled wretches who were beaten regularly by cruel men and suffered from the festering wounds they got by crawling in and out of mine tunnels. Was this justice? He said angrily, “The prisoners are abused until they die, and the authorities permit this, if they don’t actively encourage it.”

There was a brief silence in which father and daughter looked at each other. Then the superintendent said, “You speak very frankly but not wisely. In this house you are safe, but not so elsewhere. As you may spend the rest of your life on this island, you can hardly wish to make it a life of torment and suffering.” This was said in a tone of sad finality, and Akitada recalled himself. “Of course not,” he said humbly. “I was merely struck by the contrast between my condition and theirs.” Yamada nodded and fell into another bout of melancholy.

Akitada looked at the daughter. “I wondered what had become of my clothes,” he said, giving up any effort at diplomacy.

“Oh. I mean to clean them. You’ll have them back tonight.”

Relief made him smile. “Thank you, but there is no need. If I may borrow a brush, I can do it myself.”

“Very well.”

Picking up his bowl, Akitada finished his gruel quickly, then rose to bid father and daughter goodbye.

“Yes, ah,” said Yamada vaguely without raising his head,

“delightful to meet you, young man.”

“Father,” said Masako sharply. “Remember the governor’s message!”

“Ah,” said the superintendent after a moment’s puzzlement,

“yes, of course. How silly of me to forget! I shall need your skills for an hour or so. You see, I have no clerk, and a prisoner is to be questioned again. It is quite beyond Masako, who has other duties anyway, I’m afraid. So will you take notes?”

“I’ll gladly do whatever you require of me, but is it permitted?”

“Oh, yes. The governor himself said so.” So Mutobe had wasted no time to have him hear about the murder from his son’s lips. And that also explained his accommodations. Akitada suppressed his excitement and bowed again. “I’m quite ready to accompany you, sir.” As they walked across the courtyard toward the low building that served as jail, the superintendent muttered, “It’s so difficult.

One doesn’t know how to behave.”

“I beg your pardon?” asked Akitada catching up a bit.

“Young Mutobe. As assistant to the governor he was my superior, but now . . . well, he’s a prisoner charged with a capital crime. A crime against the imperial family.” He sighed heavily.