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 shut-

ter. Outside was a vegetable plot, its plantings of radish, cab-

bage, onions, and melons stretching higgledy-piggedly in all

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I . J . P a r k e r

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 dis-

may 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 superinten-

dent 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.”

I s l a n d o f E x i l e s

63

He stood up slowly, not understanding. “Thank you, but

there is no time. Allow me to express my thanks for your hospi-

tality 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 per-

haps a noble act. These are politically troubled times, and many

a good man is deprived of home, office, income, and happi-

ness.” 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 opin-

ion,” 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 ve-

randa, 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 indi-

vidual. 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?”

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I . J . P a r k e r

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 host-

ess 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 spend-

ing 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 crip-

pled wretches who were beaten regularly by cruel men and suf-

fered from the festering wounds they got by crawling in and out

of mine tunnels. Was this justice? He said angrily, “The prison-

ers 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 be-

come of my clothes,” he said, giving up any effort at diplomacy.

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

I s l a n d o f E x i l e s

65

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 accom-

modations. 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