I. Parker - Island of Exiles

“Wait, you’re bleeding,” he cried.

Haseo gave a snort-“I know”-and kept crawling.

“It must be bad. We should stop and tie up the wound,” said Akitada.

“There’s not enough room,” grunted Haseo. Then he stopped and said, “Amida. I don’t believe it.”

“What?”

“I can see the stars. Either that or I’m dying.” Since Haseo’s body blocked the crawl space almost completely, Akitada could not see, but his heart started hammering.

“Can you get out?”

A muffled “Yes, oh, yes” came back on what sounded like a sob. Then Haseo slid away from him and there, barely lighter than the tunnel, was a patch of night sky.

Akitada crawled forward like a man in a dream. His hands touched the moist coolness of grass and he felt his shoulders brush past the mouth of the tunnel as he slipped through, then rolled down a steep slope and came to rest in a batch of bracken, breathing the scent of pine and clover and looking up at a starry sky.

Little Flower asked to see Tora the next morning. He had just finished his bowl of watery rice gruel without complaint-he did not mind sharing with Oyoshi’s large brood-when the request came. His hopes that Little Flower might have some new information about Wada to impart were quickly crushed by the landlady’s knowing wink.

“I’m pretty busy this morning,” he hedged, scratching one of the flea bites he had picked up overnight.

She grinned her gap-toothed smile and slapped his back with a cheerful, “Go on, handsome!” Tora, conscious of his new rank, thought her manner overly familiar, especially when she added, “You’re the first man Little Flower has lost her heart to.

She deserves something nice for a change.” He reached for his helmet and edged toward the door. “I’ll look in later,” he lied.

“It’ll just take a moment.” Oyoshi firmly took his arm and led him to the back of the hostel.

She flung back Little Flower’s door and pushed him in, slamming it behind him with a giggle.

Little Flower had taken pains with her toilet. She wore a garishly printed robe, covered mostly with red and pink peonies and brilliantly green leaves, and had tied a yellow sash about her tiny waist. Her face was powdered, the eyebrows black smudges painted on her forehead, the eyes ringed with charcoal, and her lips rouged into a tiny rosebud. Someone, perhaps Oyoshi, had brushed her hair and draped it artfully over her thin shoulders.

On either side of her painted face, a portion of hair had been whacked off in the style that little girls wore. These small black wings framed her face, making it appear incongruously young.

Tora, still scratching, simply stared at her.

She smiled-carefully, so as not to disturb the thick layer of powder-and revealed black teeth. “Do you like it, Master Tora?” she asked. “I wanted to show you that I can be quite pretty when I’m not sick. I’m much better today.” Tora swallowed. “I’m glad.”

She sat down and patted a cushion beside her invitingly.

“Why don’t you keep me company for a little while?”

“I . . . I have things to do.”

Her eyes grew large with hurt. “You don’t like me like this?

The hair? I should have pinned it up. Or perhaps you prefer less paint? Master Wada doesn’t like me to paint. He wants me to look like a child, but I thought you . . . you would be used to the women in the cities . . . very elegant and beautiful . . . oh, I shouldn’t have bothered.” Forgetting the thick white paint, she hid her face in the peony sleeves and wept.

Tora muttered a curse and knelt beside her. “Don’t do that, Little Flower,” he said gruffly. “You are really very pretty just as you are. You shouldn’t try to please that animal Wada or me.

You should go home to your family and find some other kind of work where you don’t get hurt by men.”

But it did no good. She sat there, weeping sadly into her finery, and after a while, he got up and left.

For once Turtle was nowhere to be found, and Tora walked to the harbor alone. The day was overcast and a chill wind whipped up the incoming tide so that the fishing boats bobbed like chaff among the whitecaps and dirty yellow foam covered the shore. Gulls swooped with raucous cries, diving for the small creatures the sea had thrown up on land and which scrambled madly to return to the safety of the ocean. This land was inhospitable to man and beast. The scene filled Tora with more gloom and a sense of urgency.

A few bearers were moving remnants of the previous day’s cargo, but no new ships from the mainland had arrived, and the harbor was without its usual staff of constables. Tora strolled along the street of ramshackle wine shops, warehouses, and port offices toward the end where some trees and more substantial roofs signaled better accommodations. He passed the wine shop where he had first stopped after disembarking. It was empty, but then it was still early in the day.

The grove of trees was behind a building that bore the sign

“The Golden Phoenix.” Tora stopped and looked the place over.

So this was where Wada had met Little Flower. Somewhere in back must be the place where he had almost beaten her to death. He wondered how often a man like that needed to repeat this sort of experience. There seemed no shortage of poor women willing to take their chances with such men, but how sharp were Wada’s appetites? Did he indulge them once a month, every week, or more often? He wished he could send Turtle to ask some questions for him. Where was the rascal when he was needed?

It was much too early for business, and no one seemed about. Tora decided to play the curious visitor and take a stroll about the premises. He put his head in the main house first. It was filled with the smells of such establishments: stale wine, food, perfume, sweat, and, faintly, sex. Apparently none of the employees had returned yet to clean up and ready the place for another night of debauch. But Tora did not think that even in lax Sadoshima a house would be left wide open to casual thieves, and he continued his reconnaissance with a stroll around the main building and into its back gardens. These were surprisingly well kept. When he turned to look back at the house, he saw why. Most of the rooms of the Golden Phoenix overlooked the gardens. Very nice.

But the gardens were only trimmed neatly near the main house. Farther off, dense shrubs and trees had been allowed to close off the view to the small building whose roof just showed above them.

A narrow path, lined with stones, led to the far corner of the property. Here a small cottage or summerhouse stood close to the woven bamboo fencing separating the grounds of the Golden Phoenix from a wooded shrine area beyond. The door to the cottage was open, and he saw that it contained only a single room, occupied at the moment by a small elderly woman on her hands and knees, scrubbing the grass mats and muttering to herself.

Tora had approached silently on the smooth stones of the path. She jumped a little when he cleared his throat.

“Good morning, auntie,” he greeted her. “Up so early after a late night?”

She took in his uniform, then stood painfully and bowed.

“Good morning, sir. We’re not open yet, but please to return later this evening. The Golden Phoenix offers the most elegant entertainments, the finest wine, and the most delicious foods.

Can I be of some service to the officer?” Apparently the polite phrases had been drummed into her head. As a potential customer of the Golden Phoenix, Tora must be encouraged to spend his money. He sat down on the veranda steps and smiled at her. “I was taking a stroll out near the harbor, but it’s a bit windy, so I came inside. Nice garden, this. Do you mind if I rest here for a while?” She bowed again. “Please make yourself at home, sir. Can I fetch you some wine?”