by Kara Dalkey
“Perhaps.”
“Thank you, Wise One!” Uguisu pressed her forehead to the ground.
“Be off now! Your father and servants will be wondering where you are if you tarry too long. Do as I have instructed, and call to me again once you have achieved position at court so that I may advise you further.”
“Yes, Wise One! Thank you!” Uguisu bowed several times as the face in the fire faded again to a grey blur and vanished in a billow of smoke.
Gathering her robes around her, Uguisu stood, clutching the flute tightly. She hurried into the cool dark streets, full of relief and hope. She headed home, a northeast wind blowing her hair across her face. The beating of her excited heart seemed to match the rhythm of the death-drums nearby. For their sound, she could scarcely hear the distant thunder of an approaching storm.
Of Kiri Leaves
In the heart of the Imperial Nine-Fold Enclosure, in the midst of the opulent splendor of the Seriyō Den, His Shining Majesty the Emperor sat in a room that was utterly bare. Holy tags of ivory adorned his black eboshi cap and his wide sleeves of white silk brocade. His handsome face stared into nothingness as he tried to weigh the sins he had amassed in his forty-one years. Yet all he could feel was loneliness.
In a pool of sunlight that flowed into the room from beneath the raised blinds, there lay a cat. She had long, golden fur and big yellow eyes that blinked at the Emperor. Stretching luxuriously, she rolled onto her back and gazed at His Majesty with expectation.
“I am sorry, Lady Hinata,” said the Emperor solemnly. “I may not pet you today.”
The cat mewed and rolled over again.
“Do not reproach me, my lady. This is a holy day of Imperial Abstinence. Do you not hear the priests chanting the Sutra of Great Wisdom? On this day I must not eat, drink, touch a woman, read poetry, play games of Go, or do anything else pleasant or distracting. This day I am to sit and reflect upon the path my life has taken, and take measure of my sins. I must set a pious example for my court.” He finished with a haughty tilt of his chin and turned his head to gaze out at the garden.
Then his eyes flicked back to the cat and a gentle smile slowly grew on his lips. “But I doubt even the Amida could resist such eyes.” The Emperor reached out and picked up the cat, setting her on his lap. She immediately began purring loudly and curled up in contentment as his Majesty stroked her fur.
The Emperor again gazed out, past the veranda to the portion of the garden he could see from where he sat. There stood a kiri tree, all but one of whose heart-shaped leaves had fallen into a pile of reds, golds and browns at its base. To the Emperor, the leaves seemed like a crowd of courtiers in bright Palace robes, bowing obeisance to their lord, the one remaining leaf.
“See there, Lady Hinata, that leaf upon the tree? There am I. Lofty, yet alone.” The thoughts in his mind began to form into a poem, when there came a sudden gust of wind. The lone leaf was whipped off the branch and spun through the air until it disappeared from the Emperor’s sight.
His Majesty closed his eyes and sighed. Taking up brush and inkstone, he wrote upon a fan of yellow paper:
“—Even the highest leaf
May find itself tumbling
in the autumn wind.”
By the Imperial Kitchen
“Sake!” called Inner Guards Lieutenant Kuma, pounding the floor with one end of his archer’s bow. “More sake, Katte-san!” He grinned at the morose young man sitting across the low table from him.
The young man did not seem cheered. Arms crossed on his chest, he said, “Drowning me in rice wine will not make me forget Uguisu, Kuma-san.”
A pretty woman in a plain cotton kimono hurried, scowling, out of the kitchen. She brought to the table a bottle and a pair of small bowls. “Hush, if you please, Kuma-san!” she whispered with extreme annoyance. “You should not be here. If the Master of the Kitchens should hear that I served you here, I would be dismissed at once.”
“Ah, fear not, Katte-san. I have former comrades who are Chamberlains. They would see that the Household Office gave you no trouble.”
“Hah. Much your courtly friends would care about this lowly one. And your Captain, if he hears—”
“I am not on duty until the Hour of the Boar tonight, Katte-san. You worry too much. Now be good and pour, will you? My friend Takenoko here has much need of consolation.”
“He should not be here either,” the kitchen maid muttered.
“Now, now, have some compassion, Katte-san. Who do you think provides the blossoms from the garden for my love notes to you?”
The kitchen maid flushed and hurried away without another word.
“Ah, now there’s a real woman, Takenoko. Did you see how strong she is? Not like those willow maidens of the court, who faint at the thought of anything more strenuous than lifting a writing brush or plucking a koto string. Yes, that is what we should do, Takenoko. We should find another woman for you.” Although that may not be an easy task, thought Kuma, noting Takenoko’s wiry build and tanned face. Most women at court like their men pale as the moon and nearly as round. As I have learned. He rubbed his narrow, hirsute face ruefully.
“There is no other woman for me,” said Takenoko. “Besides, if you like that one so much, why haven’t you married her?”
“Oh, my family still has hopes that I will marry well. If I were to become a Chamberlain, or something … who knows.” He quickly downed a bowlful of sake.
“Hmp. Just like Uguisu’s father. Tell me, Kuma-san, why is rank such a big thing?”
“It is not a big thing. It is everything! You know, there is no problem you have that could not be solved by exerting a little ambition. Where can you go from your current position, eh? You can become an Imperial Gardener, like your father Niwa. Which is better than being an ordinary gardener, but what then? Nothing. You will work with your hands in the dirt all your life until you become bent and gnarled as the trees you care for.”
Takenoko nodded slowly. “You are right, Kuma-san.”
“Of course I’m right. But, now, there are other paths open to you that you do not yet see.”
“What do you mean?”
“You could join the Imperial Guards, boy! There’s a career with promise! There’s always a place for a young, strong lad like you. After all, we’ve got to get some worthy recruits to balance out the weak, spoiled nobleman’s sons we’re always getting stuck with. I would vouch for you. Come, place your offerings on the altar of Hachiman!”
“Hachiman,” murmured Takenoko, toying with his sake cup. “I wonder if the God of War knows that here at court the Ministry of War is the least respected of all the offices.”
“Pheh! You’ve been eavesdropping on too much gossip. What do those weakling bureaucrats know? Besides, it’s better than gardening. And certain ladies of the court do not harbor such prejudices.”
“I thought you said court ladies weren’t worthwhile.”
“Well, not for marriage, no. But they’re fine for a lonely night’s entertainment. What say you? Shall I sign you up tonight?”
Takenoko shifted uncomfortably. “Naturally I will consider your kind offer, Kuma-san.”
From his tone of voice Kuma could tell that Takenoko had no intention of following through on the offer. Kuma sighed. Love rarely makes one reasonable.
“Yes,” Takenoko went on, “I must consider carefully upon what altar I will make my offerings.” Sighing, the young man stood. “Well, Kuma, I fear I must return to my work. My poor old father needs help more than he used to, and I should go to him. Thank you for your friendly advice. I shall give it all the consideration it deserves. Please excuse me.” Takenoko bowed quickly and, sliding the shoji aside, hurried away.
“Hmpf,” muttered Kuma, “so much for doing good works for one’s fellow man.” He stood and stretched slowly. Walking to the door, he leaned against the frame and stared out at the overcast sky. He heard soft footsteps behind him, but he did not turn around.
“It will rain
tonight, don’t you think?” said Katte.
“Hmm.”
“I have not been able to repair your straw rain cape, but then you have not brought it to me as you said you would. Which of us should be blamed if you catch your death of cold?”
The Guards Lieutenant turned and looked at her in surprise, painfully noting the caring in her eyes.
The kitchen maid lowered her gaze to the floor. “I think I shall leave my door open tonight. With the kitchen so close, it is nice to have the rain-freshened air coming in.”
“Then perhaps I will walk by, on my rounds, to see that no thieves crawl through your open door.”
“Perhaps. Yes. That would be nice.” Katte smiled and bowed, then trotted back to the kitchen.
“Perhaps,” Kuma whispered, watching her leave. Then, gathering his red guardsman’s jacket tighter around him, he stepped out into the first drops of evening rain.
The Fujiwara
The slopes of Mt. Otoko were ablaze with autumn color. From the white pebbled courtyard of the Iwashimazu Shrine of Hachiman, a robust, grey-haired man in a flowing black court cloak surveyed the scene with quiet satisfaction. He was Fujiwara no Daimigi, Minister of the Right, chief of his clan, and the most powerful man in the empire. And in his hands he held a trembling, plump white dove.
“Peace, little one,” he murmured to the dove. He was charmed by the way she reminded him of the Emperor, who also seemed to be squirming lately within the Fujiwaras’ political grasp. “You are fortunate, little one. You I intend to set free.”
He continued to hold the dove while the priests of the temple chanted the Supreme Sovereign Sutra. Other high nobles of the court assembled in the yard, each bearing a creature to be “liberated.” Koi carp were released in the temple ponds and young deer were set loose to run in the forest.
Daimigi noted his young daughter’s ornate carriage by the shrine’s fence and hoped she had a good view of the ceremony. She so loved animals. Enjoy the outing while you can, my dear. Soon you must take the place of your sister, the late Empress. And the wife of an emperor may not travel everywhere as she pleases. It seems a terrible burden to place on you when you are so young, but it is for the good of all. The Emperor has no heir and you must give him one … an heir of Fujiwara blood. You will understand when you are older.
A priest in white robes and triangular hat approached the minister and bowed. “My lord, you are the last.”
Daimigi nodded and savored for a few moments more the captive life within his hands. Then gracefully he tossed the dove into the sky. He watched her flight until she disappeared behind the red and gold treetops.
“My lord!” the priest beside him suddenly exclaimed. “Your sleeve, my lord!”
Daimigi looked and saw that the dove’s talons had scratched his right wrist. A trickle of blood had seeped into the sleeve edge of his white under-robe.
“A bad omen, my lord.”
“No. A good omen. Hachiman should be pleased by a sacrifice of blood in his shrine, don’t you think?”
“As you say, my lord.”
“Quite so.”
The Minister of The Imperial Grounds
Uguisu knelt behind the shoji door to her father’s study and silently slid it shut behind her. Across the room, the Minister of the Imperial Grounds sat on a cushion, his back to Uguisu, reading a scroll of what appeared to be a list of names.
A list of posts soon to be vacant, no doubt, so he’ll know what to request for the New Year’s promotions. As her father had not seemed to notice her yet, she took a moment to look at him, since she rarely had the chance. As usual when in his presence, she felt a mixture of admiration and distrust. He was an impressive figure, with his tall, black cap of office and his green over-robe indicating nobility of the Fifth Rank. Yet even now, thought Uguisu, he probably dreams of wearing the black robes of higher rank.
Her father began to turn his head, and Uguisu quickly ducked behind a curtain screen.
“Ah, Uguisu. Finally beginning to act like a lady, I see,” said the Minister.
Uguisu felt herself blush with embarrassment and was grateful for the kicho curtain between them. The cloth panels were faded and threadbare, and therefore not much of a barrier, but the kicho was nevertheless important as a symbol of rank. Ladies of quality were not supposed to be seen by any man, except a lover or husband. When Uguisu’s family lived in the provinces, it had been less important. But now that her father was a minister, he had begun to insist on such things. And I suppose when I go to court myself, I will spend the rest of my life surrounded by these little screens, or behind paper doors or bamboo blinds. Uguisu sighed. “Yes, father. You wished to speak to me?”
“Indeed. It has been some time since we had a talk, and our last conversation was regrettably unpleasant.”
“Yes, father.”
“I would have spoken to you sooner, but your maid Tetsuda says that you spend several hours each day away from home, and she could not tell me where you were.”
So that’s what he’s wondering about. “Yes, father. I have been told that if I am to eventually have a place at court I should apply myself to improving my talents. Every day, for the past month, I have been pursuing musical studies. I only go away from home because I want no one to hear how terrible I sound while I practice. When I am good enough, of course, it will not matter who hears me.”
“It pleases me to hear you say this, Uguisu. Since we had our last talk, I have been worried about you. I am glad you have come to see the correct way of things. Of course I knew you could not be doing anything foolish such as seeing that gardener’s boy on the sly.”
“No, father.”
“You could not because I hear he has left the city. But since you have had a change of heart, I doubt that is important to you.”
Uguisu felt as if someone had struck her in the stomach and she pressed her face into her voluminous sleeves to stifle an exclamation. Takenoko gone! With no word to me. What does it matter now if I become a court lady who can do as she pleases?
“Speaking of young men, I happened to talk to Fujiwara no Hidoi yesterday.”
“Did you?” Uguisu murmured softly.
“Yes. He said he has heard fine things about you, and would like to get to know you better. He gave me a note to give to you.” The Minister thrust a folded piece of orange paper, with a wilting chrysanthemum stuck in it, beneath Uguisu’s curtain. “He seems quite taken with you. In fact, it would not surprise me if he comes to visit you tonight.”
The suggestive tone of her father’s voice made Uguisu’s stomach twist.
“Of course, it would be the sheerest impoliteness not to respond to Hidoi’s note. If you write a reply now, I will take it with me when I see his father, the Minister of the Right, this afternoon.” He slid a red paper fan under the curtain, along with an inkstone and brush.
So that you can read my answer, and substitute a better one if you don’t approve of what I write, no doubt. “Give me a moment, if you please, while I read Hidoi’s poem.”
“Of course. Take your time. I would not want your response to be ill-considered.”
Reluctantly, Uguisu unfolded the orange paper, brushing away the wilted flower within it. Hidoi’s poem read:
“Though it is autumn, in dreams I see
an uguisu on my plum tree
and feel yearnings of spring.”
Crude, thought Uguisu. And clumsy. How very like him. She struggled with her thoughts for some moments, trying to come up with an unencouraging reply, but one that her father would not censor.
At last she set her brush to paper:
“The uguisu also longs for spring,
To have the plum flowers for her fine kicho.”
This she passed under the curtain to her father, saying, “I trust you can find an appropriate plant to send with this. Perhaps a paper plum flower would be nice.”
“This is a … very modest reply, Uguisu.”
“Yes, father. Since it is
important now that I act like a lady, I felt it was a proper response.” She found it difficult to keep the irony from her voice, and she hoped her father wouldn’t notice.
“Er, yes, of course. Well, I shall see that it gets to Hidoi straightaway.”
As Uguisu returned to her rooms, she still was not sure if her note would reach Hidoi unaltered, but she was satisfied she had done the best she could. If her father substituted a more passionate poem, or if Hidoi chose to misinterpret what she wrote … Could the Wise One help her if Hidoi did come for the night? She began to think of some way to slip out and make offerings to her guardian spirit.
Just then her maid, Tetsuda, hurried down the corridor to her. “Lady Uguisu! As I was cleaning your rooms I found this on your sleeping mat, under your cloak.” Tetsuda handed Uguisu a folded piece of brown paper, and Uguisu felt something like a twig wrapped inside it. Another poem from Hidoi? Uguisu thought with dread. Nodding thanks to her maid, Uguisu hurried into her room. She curled up on a cushion and paused a moment to gather courage before opening the note.
But when she finally did so, her heart gave a momentary leap of joy, for the calligraphy was Takenoko’s rough hand. The twig was cherrywood, completely bare, but finely shaped and shining as if polished. Takenoko’s poem read:
“Leaves leave the garden, washed away
by autumn rain
Never again to see the blossom
that once was so near.”
So it is true. He has gone, thought Uguisu. As tears filled her eyes, she picked up brush and ink. Below his poem, she wrote a reply, though knowing he would never see it:
“Bare is the garden,
washed empty by autumn rain.
So, too, is my heart.”
Mountain Path
Through the morning mist, Takenoko struggled up the mountain path. Ahead, up the slope beyond the low clouds, lay the Shingon Temple of Ninna-ji. Pine branches seemed to reach out and catch on his sleeve, as if trying to detain him.
Takenoko paused to catch his breath at a bend in the path. He looked back at the city of Heian Kyo in the valley below. He could see why poets often called it the “City of Purple Hills and Crystal Streams.” Seen through the mountain mist, it was like a scene from a dream.
