Island of Exiles by I.J. Parker

to provide prisoners with such things.”
    “Oh,” said Akitada. “Of course. In your house I tend to forget that I am a prisoner.” He touched his beard with a rueful smile. “I do not like to appear in front of you so unkempt, but I suppose I must.”
    “But,” said Masako quickly, “I could trim it for you. I always shave Father.”
    “No,” cried Akitada, rising quickly, “I would not dream of asking such a thing of a lady.”
    “Well,” put in her father, “I suppose it is out of the ordinary, but we can hardly expect to live by the old rules, any of us. Masako is quite skilled with a razor. You may trust her completely.”
    “Of course I trust her,” said Akitada, reddening, “but it is surely not seemly for her to trim my beard. A servant, perhaps . . .”
    “We have no servants,” Masako said practically. “But if it embarrasses you, I would rather not.” It was an impossible situation which ended, predictably, after reassurances and apologies from Akitada, with him sitting on the edge of the veranda, while she knelt beside him and trimmed his beard. Yamada had withdrawn into his room, where he was bent over some paperwork and out of earshot.
    Masako’s closeness was as disturbing to Akitada as her featherlight touch on his skin. He could not avoid looking at her face, so close to his that he felt the warmth of her breath. She had unusually long lashes, as silken and thick as her hair, and her full lips quirked now and then with concentration. Once they parted, and the tip of her pink tongue appeared between
    her teeth. White teeth. She did not blacken them as other women of her class did. Neither did his wife, for that matter, unless she had to appear in public. The memory of Tamako shook him enough to avert his eyes from Masako’s pretty features. But there was little escape, for they next fell on her wrist, slender and white where the sleeve of her gown had slipped back, in contrast to the rough redness of her hands.
    He remembered the first time he had met her, how she had been barefoot, and how dirty her pretty feet had been. How could such a beautiful and wellborn young girl lead the life of a rough serving woman? Had her education been as neglected as her manners? He felt a perverse desire to protect her.
    In his confusion, he blurted out, “Why are you and your father so poor?”
    She dropped the razor in her lap and stared at him. “What do you mean?”
    Oh, dear. He could hardly refer to the millet gruel and their mended clothes. But there were always her menial tasks. “You know very well,” he said severely, “that a young lady of your class should not engage in the kind of work I have seen you perform.
    That is for slaves or outcasts to do. Only utter penury could have caused your father to care so little about his daughter’s behavior.”
    She reddened and her eyes flashed. “My behavior is not your concern,” she hissed, waving the razor at him to make her point.
    “If I wish to shave men, it is my business. And if I want to work in the prison kitchen, it is also my business. Let me tell you that I find such a life more entertaining than spending all my days and nights in some dark room reading poetry like the fine ladies you are familiar with. I am fed up with people telling me how improper I am and how no gentleman will want me for a wife.
    There are only farmers, soldiers, and prisoners in Sadoshima.
    The few officials are either too old or too settled to look for another wife. The best I can do is to marry some penniless exile like you, and he would surely appreciate the fact that I can cook a meal, clean the kitchen, and trim his beard when it needs it.”
    They stared at each other, dismayed at opening the flood-gates of so much suppressed frustration. The deep color which touched her translucent skin reminded Akitada of the blushing of a rose.
    “Forgive me,” he said, taking her hand.
    “I didn’t mean that,” she cried at the same moment. They both laughed a