later.” Seeing Akitada admiring her costume, she smiled and

added with a wink, “Your master is better and feels like a little

company.”

The older woman gave a snort, but Akitada grinned and

bowed. “Ah! Osawa is a lucky man.”

“Thank you,” his hostess said, patting her hair, and walked

away with a seductive wiggle of her slender hips.

Akitada whistled.

The elderly woman at the fire straightened up and glared at

him. “Where’s that wood?”

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

187

Akitada brought it and then helped himself to the small bit

of cold broth with a few noodles, which was all that remained in

the pot.

“Make yourself right at home, don’t you?” sneered the old

woman.

“Just trying to save you the trouble, auntie.”

“Don’t call me auntie,” she snapped. “That’s what whores

call their old bawds. Maybe that’s what my slut of a daughter

makes of me, but I brought her up decent. Hurry up with that

soup and get the fish. I have enough to do without having to

wait for your convenience.”

Akitada gobbled his soup meekly and departed with a basket.

He knew where Haru’s husband sold his fish, but since

the restaurant was open, he decided to meet the famous Haru

herself.

He found her on the veranda, bent over to beat the dust

out of some straw mats and presenting an interestingly volup-

tuous view of her figure. His landlady’s rival, both as a hostess

and as a woman, she was about the same age but considerably

plumper.

Akitada cleared his throat. Haru swung around, broom in

hand, and looked at him, her eyes widening with pleasure.

“Welcome,

handsome,” she crooned, laughing black eyes

admiring him. “And what can little Haru do to make you com-

pletely happy?”

Midday lovemaking must be in the air in Minato, thought

Akitada. He returned her smile and stammered out his errand

like some awkward schoolboy.

“Poor boy,” she said, laying aside her broom and coming

closer. “You’re a little lost, but never mind. Does Takao treat you well?” She put her hand familiarly on his chest, feeling his muscles. “Where did that lucky girl find someone as young and

strong as you to work for her?”

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“I’m not really working there. My master’s staying at the inn

and asked me to lend a hand while she sees to his dinner.”

“So that’s the way it is.” She cocked her head. “Pity she

prefers your master. I could use someone like you to lend me a

hand.” She reached for his and placed it on her rounded hip.

“How much time can you spare me?”

Akitada could feel her warm skin through the thin fabric

and flushed in spite of himself. Haru was not in the least attrac-

tive to him, but her forwardness and overt sexual invitation

reminded him of Masako. Suddenly their recent lovemaking

struck him as no more than a coming together of two lecherous

people, and he felt a sour disgust—with himself for having lost

his self-control, and with Masako for being unchaste. He had

not been the first man to lie with her. Women were very clever

at pretending love.

But men could learn and be wary. He snatched his hand

back from Haru’s hot body and hid it behind his back. “I’ll go

see your husband. All I need is some awabi, and—”

She smiled. “Foolish man. You don’t need awabi. That’s

what old men eat to regain their vigor. All you need is a good

woman. And don’t worry about my husband; he doesn’t care.”

She stroked his shoulder and played with his sash.

Akitada retreated. There were limits to how far he was pre-

pared to go in the interest of an investigation. He wished he had

Tora here. This situation would suit his rakish lieutenant per-

fectly. He said, trying to look disappointed, “You are very kind,

but I’m afraid I can’t. They’re waiting for the fish. I’d better find your husband. Goodbye.” He bowed and turned to go.

She followed him, chuckling. “He’s out on the lake. Never

mind. I’ll see you get your fish, and the best, too, even though

that stupid Takao doesn’t deserve it.”

They passed through the restaurant, where a few locals were

noisily slurping soup, and into the kitchen. A sweating girl was

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

189

chopping vegetables to add to the big pot which simmered on

the fire. The fish soup smelled very good, and Akitada said so.

“Would you like some?” Haru asked.

“I have no money.”

“I’ll add it to Takao’s bill,” she said, and grabbed a bowl and

the ladle. Filling the bowl generously, she handed it to him.

“Bring it along to the fish shack and tell me what she wants. You

can eat while I get the fish.”

“Some awabi, and a bream,” he said, inhaling the smell of

the soup. “Thank you for the soup. I only had a few noodles at

the inn.”

She snorted. “I’m a very good cook. Much better than

Takao. Much better in bed, too, I’ll bet.”

They passed out into the sunlight and walked to the shack

where Akitada had met Haru’s husband that morning.

“See, he’s not here,” said Haru, giving him a sideways look.

“And it’ll be hours before he gets back.”

Akitada pretended not to understand. The baskets and

casks, empty this morning, were now mostly filled with the

day’s catch.

She busied herself gathering the fish and putting them in his

basket, while he looked around with pretended interest. “Do

you sell much blowfish?”

“Fugu? ” She turned and peered into a small cask. “You want

some?” she asked, lifting up a small fish by its tail. It flapped

about and swelled into a ball. She laughed. “They say, ‘ Fugu is sweet, but life is sweeter.’ Don’t worry. I know how to clean it so it’s safe. I also know how to prepare it so you think you’ve gone

to paradise because you feel so wonderful.” She dropped the fish

back into the water with a splash.

“Oh? Are there different ways of preparing it?”

“Yes. Many people know how to make fugu safe, even in the

summer, but only a few know how to leave just a bit of the

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I . J . P a r k e r

poison, not enough to kill you, but enough to let you visit par-

adise and come back.”

“It sounds dangerous. Is there much call for it?”

She smiled. “You’d be surprised who likes to take such risks

to reach nirvana. Of course, it’s not cheap.”

Akitada took a chance. “I heard the Second Prince was fond

of fugu,” he lied. “Do you suppose that’s what killed him?”

Her smile disappeared instantly. “Who’s been saying my fish

killed the prince?” she demanded, her eyes flashing angrily. “Was

it Takao? I had nothing to do with that, do you hear? It was bad

enough when they thought I’d poisoned my prawn stew. There

was nothing wrong with that stew when the governor’s son

picked it up. I served it in the restaurant and we ate it ourselves.

I bet that Takao’s spreading lies again because she’s jealous that

I’m a better cook and do a better business. I’ll kill that trollop.”

She grabbed up a knife, her face contorted with fury.

“No, no,” Akitada said, eyeing the knife uneasily in case she

might force her way past by slashing at him. “Please don’t get

excited, Haru. It wasn’t Takao. I heard the story of the poisoning

in Mano. Hearing you talk about fugu made me think, that’s all.”

She stared at him, then put the knife down. “People talk too

much,” she said in a tired voice. “It’s true the prince liked fugu, but I had nothing to do with his death. And that’s all I’ve got to say.”