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 better 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.”
“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 hostility displayed by this man. But the news that Mutobe had made elaborate arrangements for him after all was more disconcerting. 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 ability 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 guardroom, 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.
Outside, she stopped. “Oh, Taketsuna, you must never do that again. Fighting with a guard will get you nothing but a vicious flogging and chains.”
She was right, of course, and he could not afford to make a scene in any case. When he muttered an apology, she reached up to touch his face. “Thank you, Taketsuna. It was kind of you to want to protect me.” She was looking up at him with a little smile, her eyes suddenly moist. “I would put up with a great deal more than a few silly words to spare you pain,” she said softly. When he said nothing, she asked, “Are you really leaving so soon?” He saw the tears in her eyes, and his heart started beating faster. Feeling like a brute, he said, “Yes. I’m to travel inland with one of the governor’s inspectors.”
“Oh, Taketsuna. So little time.” She looked dejected, then brightened. “But you’ll come back soon?” He said nothing and they walked back to the kitchen courtyard. At the well he helped her wash the bowls. She was deep in thought and said little. He was relieved. Her words and expression had touched him deeply. He wondered what the relationship was between her and Mutobe’s son and knew he did not like it. Ashamed of his jealousy, he forced his mind to more important matters.
Regardless of Mutobe’s assertion that his son had been framed by his own political enemies, Akitada was by no means convinced of the son’s innocence. Toshito had attended the university in the capital and might have come in contact with Prince Okisada’s enemies. He might, in fact, have been their tool to eliminate a troublesome claimant to the throne.
Back in the kitchen, Akitada took up the broom and began to sweep while Masako busied herself about the stove, laying the fire for the morning meal and gathering the remnants of bean soup for their own supper. The Yamadas’ provisions seemed scarce and of the plainest sort, but Masako had managed to prepare decent meals with what she had. Such extreme poverty was still a great puzzle to Akitada.
“You seem to be on very familiar terms with young Mutobe,” he began after a while.
She stopped, a bamboo dipper with bean soup in her hand, and stared at him. “What do you mean?” she asked, color rising to her cheeks.
“That was badly put.” He leaned on the broom and smiled at her. “Nothing insulting, I assure you. You speak to each other like brother and sister.”
She finished emptying the soup kettle. “We are friends, because we grew up together.”
“You must know him very well, then. Well enough to share secrets, as children do. Would you tell each other things you might not mention to your fathers?” He tried to make it sound like gentle teasing.
But she was too sharp for that. “Why do you want to know?” she demanded suspiciously.
He retreated. “No reason. Or rather, there are so many mysteries about you that I . . . Never mind! It was just idle conversation.”
She came then and looked up at him searchingly. “Was it, Taketsuna?” she asked, her voice suddenly husky. Akitada started to back away, but she put her hand on his arm to stop him. “Who are you really?”
This startled him. “You know who I am. Yoshimine Taketsuna.”
“No. I mean, who are you inside? You ask about me, but what are your thoughts? What is your family like? What did you wish for before you came here? What sort of life will you make in the future?”
He moved away from her and started sweeping again. “What I was does not matter here,” he said, “and I have no future.”
She followed him. “Your past matters to me, and so does your future. Many exiles have settled to a comfortable life here.
They have taken wives and raised families.” Appalled by where this conversation seemed to be leading, he kept his back to her. “I will never rest until I return to my home and family,” he said firmly.
“Tell me about your family.”
He turned then. “I have a wife and a young son.” She flinched a little at his fierceness. “Oh,” she murmured. “I should have thought of that. I’m sorry. You must love them very much.” Tears rose to her eyes, making him sorry for his cruel frankness. “Taketsuna,” she whispered, “you may not see them again for many, many years, or perhaps never. What will you do meanwhile?”
“Nothing. Hope. What else can a man do?” Her eyes pleaded. “He can make another life.” He put away the broom then. “I have no life,” he said in a tone of finality. “And now, if you have no other chores for me, I think I’ll go clean up before the evening meal.” Outside, at the well, he started to strip off his gown, but a strong sense of being watched made him stop and look over his shoulder. Masako stood in the kitchen doorway, a small, secretive smile on her pretty face. When their eyes met, she turned abruptly, took up the container of bean soup, and walked away humming a song.
They took their evening meal-the leftover bean soup with some pickled radish-as always on the veranda in front of Yamada’s study. For Akitada it was a difficult meal. Masako had appeared a little late. She was again in her faded blue silk gown, but she had put a new ribbon in her shining hair.
Her father was in his usual abstracted mood, and she attempted to make conversation with Akitada, making sure he had enough soup, that it was to his liking, that the setting
sun was not in his eyes. All of these overtures Akitada met with a monosyllabic “Yes” or “No,” and she finally turned to her father.
“When will you get paid again, Father?” she asked, startling Yamada, who cast an embarrassed glance toward Akitada.
“Not for another five days, child,” he said. “I am very sorry.
It must be difficult for you.”
“Not at all,” she said lightly. “I’m a very good manager. But the guards were demanding fish today, and it has been days since we’ve had any. I expect you would like some, too.”
“Fish?” He seemed surprised. “You have no money left? I am very sorry, my dear. You shall have some tomorrow. The truth is I had not noticed the absence of fish.” He added with a smile to Akitada, “Masako makes even the plainest dish taste like something fit for the emperor. Isn’t that so?” The meals had been adequate but
