skimmed the pages for an explanation of government oversight

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in Sadoshima and found it in the fact that much of what was left

in safekeeping seemed to be silver. Akitada recalled that some of

the silver mining was in the hands of private families, Kumo’s

for example. But most intriguing was the fact that the official

currently in charge of the “Public Valuables Office” was none

other than Yamada.

◆

After work that evening, Akitada went directly to the prison

kitchen. Steam rose from one of the cookers in the large earthen

stove, and the smell of food hung in the hot air. Masako, her back

to him and dressed in her rough cotton cover and kerchief, was

filling a bamboo carrier with steaming soup. A basket of empty

bowls stood beside her. Except for her slender waist and a certain

grace in her movements, she looked exactly like a peasant girl.

“I came to help,” said Akitada.

She turned, her face red and moist from the fire and the

steam, and brushed away a strand of hair that had escaped from

the scarf. Flashing him a smile, she pointed to the basket of

bowls. “I’m about to take food to the guards and prisoners. You

can help if you want.”

He accepted with alacrity, taking the handle of the full soup

container in one hand and the basket of bowls in the other and

following her across the yard to the low jail building.

They met with a rude reception in the guardroom.

“What? Bean stew again?” complained one big, burly fellow,

sniffing disdainfully. “It’s been a week since we’ve had a bit of

fish. I suppose you’re saving up for a new silk gown.”

His smaller companion lifted her skirts and eyed her leg.

“We don’t mind if you wear a bit less,” he said, and guffawed.

Masako slapped his hand away and snapped, “If you don’t

want the soup, the prisoners will be glad of an extra helping.

The food is supposed to be for them anyway. You get paid

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

87

enough to buy your own. If you want delicacies, go to the mar-

ket. We’ve been feeding you lazy louts long enough.”

This was received with shocked surprise. “But,” whined the

first guard, “it’s been the custom. And you know we can’t leave

our post to go to the market.”

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

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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 mov-

ing between her and Akitada. “Sit down, Toshito, and eat,

please.”

He bowed and started eating, but would not sit in her pres-

ence. 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 pro-

tect me.”

“Taketsuna?” His eyes narrowed. “Oh, it’s you. You were

here yesterday with Masako’s father, taking notes. I wasn’t pay-

ing 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 bet-

ter 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.”

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

89

“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 hostil-

ity displayed by this man. But the news that Mutobe had made

elaborate arrangements for him after all was more disconcert-

ing. 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 abil-

ity 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 guard-

room, 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.

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Outside, she stopped. “Oh, Taketsuna, you must never do that

again. Fighting with a guard will get you nothing but a vicious