“I hope my taste is better than theirs,” Tora said primly.
She lay back and snuggled into the crook of his arm. “She’s a bitch all right. An ungrateful bitch. But he deserved her. After all I did for the old bastard for years, he had to go marry her. He was a fool about that woman. Would you believe, he’d make me ask the fishmonger for free fish bones to make soup, but whenever she wanted a new gown, he’d give her the money and more. How that man spoiled her! And she’d be gone all day, leaving me to do all the work. I was always taking care of him.Even the day he got killed. She went off to visit her family-or so she said-leaving me alone with her sick old man and the inn to look after. And now she’s got it all and I’m still the kitchen drudge. It’s so unfair.” She pounded her fists into the bedding. Tora patted her shoulder and made soothing noises.
“Well,” he said after a moment,“she’s hired those girls and the new cook. You’ve got a lot less work, I bet.And more time for me.” He gave her a little squeeze.
She giggled and rolled on top of him. “You’re right. I’m not tired,” she whispered, biting his ear and pressing her breasts against him.
Tora gave an inward sigh and stroked her buttocks. Their lovemaking had been good, but now he wanted to get on with his job. Still, there was no reason an experienced man couldn’t do both. “I guess your mistress paid him back with a bit of this at night,” he said, pulling her down on himself, “and he thought it a good bargain.”
“Oh, no,” she gasped, moving energetically, “she wouldn’t have him … and he, fool that he was … doted on her anyway.”
“Maybe she has a lover.” Theg irl was so agile, Tora was having difficulty concentrating on his questions.
“Mmm! … I like you.”
“You’re not bad yourself, my girl!” He grunted and forced his mind back on business. “I suppose she could’ve paid to have the old man killed.”
She stopped moving abruptly.For a moment she said nothing, then, “I thought she didn’t like those three.Made them sleep on the kitchen floor and said it was good enough for such rubbish. But it’s true, they did do her a big favor. Never mind. The dirty old bastard deserved what he got.” She sounded venomous when she said that, and started moving again, furiously, mumbling, “Bastard … mmm…aah!” Shec ollapsed on top of Tora with a sigh. “That woman doesn’t know how lucky she is! I tell you, she owes me!” she muttered, as they rolled apart.
Tora frowned in the dark. Kiyohad some unexpected attitudes toward her employers. He wondered about thewidow. “Well, did she have a lover?” he asked again.
“She’s a cold fish, though she acts the slut with those weird eyes of hers, and men like that. No, making money and buying clothes for herself is all she’s interested in.”
“That night Sato was killed,did you hear anything?” Tora asked, pulling the quilt over their sweat-covered bodies.
“Not me. I had a bad cold. Took some of the old man’s medicine with a little hot wine and slept like a bear. I’m glad they didn’t slit my throat, too. Would’ve been easy enough. Say, what is this? Let’s talk about us!”
Tora pulled her close. “I was thinking about you, all alone with those killers in the house,” he whispered in her ear.
She cuddled. “You know, I couldr eally go for a man like you! And not just in bed. Do you like me?”
“What do you think?”
“Want to do it again?” She propped herself on an elbow, and tickled his ear.
Tora almost yelped. “Look,Kiyo, a girl shouldn’t ask a man. It’s forward. A man likes to be in control of these situations.”
She flopped back down. “Well,if you really want to know, my cold was horrible. What with the medicine, and feeling that awful, I couldn’t cook dinner that night and forgot all about old Sato. I did feel bad about it the next morning and, seeing that the three guests had already left, I made him a special soup, with bits of mushrooms anda handful of rice and some bean paste. He used to like that before the bitch moved in. And there he was, blood all over, the room in a mess, and his money box lying there empty!”
“I bet that shook you up,” Tora muttered, his mind in turmoil. One moment she cursed the old geezer and the next. .. an unpleasant thought took hold of him. He moved away from her abruptly and sat up. “Wonder what time it is. I’d better go.”
She yawned. “You can stay the night, Hiroshi. Maybe after a rest you’ll want to do it again?”
“No!” He was up, straighteninghis clothes hurriedly. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
Tora paused at the door. “I forgot something I have to do.” Then he took to his heels as if a demon were afterhim.
SIX
THE OUTCASTS
After parting from Tora, Hitomaro continued on the main road for a while, then turned off in the direction of the coast and harbor. He passed among dwellings and shops of ramie weavers, smiths, rope twisters, broom makers, and soothsayers.The houses gradually became smaller and shabbier, their inhabitants now laborers or porters. At the point where the narrow street turned into an open dirt road through barren fields, and the last straggling outskirts of Naoetsu merged with the first scattered dwellings of Flying Goose village, stood a small shack. Its dilapidated sign promised fresh seafood.
Hitomaro lifted the worn curtain that served as a door and ducked into the dimly lit interior. Steamyheat met him and the powerful smell of fish frying in hot oil. On a wooden platform a small group of men sat around a hissing and bubbling cauldron,presided over by a red-faced, sweating cook with a blue-checked rag tied about his head. He was stirring the kettle and watching in a fatherly fashion over his chattering customers.
A huge man, a mountain of fleshand muscle, rose from the group and greeted Hitomaro in a booming voice. The firelight cast a red glow on his shaven head and round, smiling face. “Throw insome more abalone, Yaji,” he told the cook. “And the rest of you, make room.”He waved Hitomaro over. “Come and eat, brother. We’re planning our strategy for the match.”
Hitomaro grinned at Genba,nodded to his supporters, and settled himself on the platform. He knew only Genba’s landlord, the rice-cake baker, a stringy middle-aged fellow in a faded,patched cotton gown. The others matched him in age and also looked like smalltradesmen.
“May your opponents eat the dirt at your feet, Genba,” Hitomaro said. “Allow me to pay for the next roundof wine.”
A storm of protest arose: Both Genba and his friend were their guests and they would be deeply hurt if not allowed to treat them.
The food was as fresh as thesign had promised. Since Genba’s disguise had such unexpected benefits,Hitomaro accepted graciously a share of the excellent fried abalone and very decent wine, listening with only half an ear to their discussion of odds,weights, and the physical attributes of various competitors. When someone mentioned outcasts, his interest perked.
“Totally ruined, I tell you,”the man said. “One year district champion, the next a nobody. And all because of a hinin woman. Those outcast women are witches. You beware of those foxes, Genba. Go to regular prostitutes.”
“I abstain from sexual activity while in training,” Genba said piously. He smacked his lips and held up his empty bowl for a refill. Genba had put on considerable weight since their day sof hardship when there was a price on their heads. Hitomaro was convinced that those years of near starvation had made Genba prefer the pleasures of food to those of the bedchamber.
“Well, I’m not a wrestler,” he said, “and I’m not afraid of any woman so long as she’s a looker and good at her job. Are they really so special?”
The short man shook his head doubtfully. “Oh, they’re very handsome and know some clever tricks, but I for one don’t want to chance it.”
The cook chortled, “You’re just henpecked, Kenzo.”