Island of Exiles

hips.

Akitada whistled.

The elderly woman at the fire straightened up and glared at him. “Where’s that wood?”

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 completely 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?”

“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 attractive 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 prepared to go in the interest of an investigation. He wished he had Tora here. This situation would suit his rakish lieutenant perfectly. 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 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 poison, not enough to kill you, but enough to let you visit paradise 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.” She had lost interest in him, and Akitada was glad to make his escape so easily. In spite of her denials, he was certain that she, and her husband, knew something that was connected with the prince’s death and the poisonous fugu fish.

Having delivered the fish to Takao’s mother and fetched some water for her, he found that she wished him gone. Snatching up a rice dumpling in lieu of his evening meal, he left for the lake.

When he passed Sakamoto’s house, he saw that the gates were closed again and all was quiet inside. He had to walk a long way before he found a place to get down to the water. An over-grown field, shaded by large firs and oaks, suited him perfectly.

He worked his way through the undergrowth and brambles to the muddy bank, where thick reeds hid most of the lake, stirring up first a rabbit and then a pair of ducks, which protested loudly and flew off with a clatter of wings. He was fond of waterfowl, but could have done without them at this juncture. Taking off his boots and outer robe, he waded into the water, parting the reeds until they thinned enough for him to see along the shore to