by Kara Dalkey
After the contests and awards ended, there was, as at all festivals, a great banquet. But this time, Uguisu was not asked to play music for it. Instead, she was taken by her ladies-in-waiting to a special room in the Seriyō Den. There her ladies dressed her in three loose kimonos of the sheerest white silk that had been scented with a delicate perfume. Her thick raven hair was combed again and again, and allowed to flow freely over her shoulders and down to her knees. The ladies bustled about the room, adjusting the kicho, cushions and reed mats to be just so. Nikao could not seem to keep from giggling. Uguisu wanted to slap her.
Instead, summoning what control she could, Uguisu said the line she had been rehearsing in her mind all day. “Please, could you remove some of the iris and sage from the north doorway? My nose has become quite irritated from their scent, and I would like the breeze blowing in off the veranda to be fresh. One wouldn’t want to sneeze while the Emperor is visiting.”
This sent Nikao into new gales of laughter. “Why, no! Then he might think your love is false.”
“But what of evil spirits?” asked Shonasaki.
Kitsune clucked, “You would almost make me think you believed in such things!”
“I would think,” said Uguisu, “that if my Lord of Heaven is not sufficiently powerful to drive away evil spirits, there would be little hope for our Empire.”
“Oh, beautifully said!” Nikao exclaimed, clapping her hands.
“If that is what you truly wish,” said Shonasaki. She obligingly removed some of the iris leaves from the blind facing the north veranda. Then the ladies arranged the kicho carefully around Uguisu, bowed their “good evenings” to her and withdrew.
Uguisu felt utterly alone in the darkening twilight gloom. She became aware of a growing excitement within her, anticipating the Emperor’s warm embrace. Yet her heart ached, knowing the price he would someday pay for this evening of pleasure with her. The leering eyes of the demon-child in her nightmares drifted again through her mind.
She looked around at the objects near her kicho, wanting to fill her sight with anything but the evil face she saw. Her gaze settled on a tiny bonsai pine, a gift from the Emperor—a symbol of his willingness to wait for her. He has been so kind. Other men, such as Hidoi, would have wheedled, demanded or forced their way through to me. Must I repay his kindness with treachery? Though one has duty to one’s family, is there not also duty to one’s husband, lord and emperor?
She sat many minutes just feeling herself breathe. The only sounds in her awareness were the high-pitched drone of the cicadas outside, and the beating of her heart. It seemed, as she waited, that the pounding was becoming louder, until she realized it was the sound of approaching footsteps. She heard the shoji slide open and cultured voices softly wishing one a pleasant evening as they departed. Then the shoji slid shut and someone approached the kicho. The Emperor had arrived.
“Uguisu?” His voice was low and gentle.
Uguisu swallowed and tried to return a greeting, but her throat felt suddenly tight and she could say nothing.
His hand appeared at the edge of the kicho-frame and slowly drew it aside. Uguisu dared not look up at his face, but she could see the edge of his gold silk robe, and catch the scent of its elegant perfume. Her awareness of his nearness was overpowering and she felt transfixed, unable to move.
His hand gently caressed her cheek, and he said, “You are very beautiful, Uguisu.”
His loving words made her keenly feel her shame, and she found she still could not speak.
Gently, the Emperor pulled aside the folds of her kimonos, until she was partially revealed to him. He ran his hand ever so lightly down the nape of her neck, her shoulder, under the curve of her small breast. Uguisu’s breathing became quick and shallow, and her heart fluttered like hummingbird wings. Slowly the Emperor moved to embrace her.
“No!” Uguisu shrieked, flinging herself out of the Emperor’s arms. Pulling the kicho around her, she said, “No, you mustn’t! You mustn’t touch me! Go away! Go far from me, oh please, please!”
For long moments, her sobbing was the only sound.
Then she heard the Emperor ask softly, “Is it because I am old, Uguisu, that you reject me so?”
She could hear the hurt and disappointment in his voice, and it was like a knife in her heart. “No, you do not understand. I cannot tell you. I am … I am unworthy, my lord. I would bring you bad fortune. Please, send me away. Forget me. But you mustn’t touch me!”
She heard him sigh and there were more long moments of silence. Then she heard him rise, and, with slow, weary step, leave the room without another word.
Uguisu huddled, shaking, for she did not know how many moments. Then she heard a rising wind outside. Louder it grew, moaning and whistling through the blinds. Suddenly, with a snap, the blind was blown open and a great gust of wind blew the kicho aside.
The blind flapped in the gale, and Uguisu could see in the sky a huge grey storm cloud boiling and darkening. Its folds and billows began to form into the shape of a face, and with terror Uguisu realized it was the face of her guardian spirit scowling down at her.
“Betrayer! Traitor! You should not have disobeyed, Uguisu!” the wind howled and hissed.
Uguisu grabbed at the few nearby herbal balls and iris leaves and clutched them tightly to her chest, gasping with fright.
“Those will not protect you long,” the wind moaned. “You will be punished for your treachery! You and your precious Emperor. You think you have saved him, but you have not. Our vengeance on the Fujiwara will yet be realized, despite you. You will see, Uguisu. You have won nothing! You will see.”
Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled as the dark cloud roiled and changed shape, becoming the face of a bearded man with intense eyes. Uguisu had seen those eyes before, in her dreams. “Cursed are you, treacherous child!” roared the wind, “Cursed is your flesh that will suffer torment. Cursed is your spirit that shall wander the earth without end when you are dust! Remember this and know that you have brought this upon yourself.”
With another crash of thunder, the bamboo blind slammed back across the doorway, and Uguisu trembled alone in the howling dark.
Changing Paths
“We have lost, Mother. The treacherous girl has defeated us.”
“No, Nagaya-chan, do not be such a nay-sayer. We had placed all our hopes upon one bridge that proved faulty and crumbled. This does not mean there are no other paths to our goal.”
“We may yet do damage to the Fujiwara, yes. But I will not have the body of a prince to enter. I will not be reborn as Emperor.”
“Do not be so certain even of that, my son. The Emperor must have an heir, and therefore an Empress. Perhaps even the Chancellor’s daughter. Now wouldn’t that be sweet irony?”
“But I may not freely enter a babe that is not of my blood. To do so requires intricate ritual that can only be performed by one of flesh and substance.”
“Even that might yet be arranged, never fear. We shall see. Let me think.”
Hot Winds
Netsubo left the noise of the chanting and gongs of the Shinto priests behind as he strode into the Plum Pavillion. Having decided that his presence was not necessary to have his “sins and impurities” purged from his soul, he did not think the gathering of noblemen and officials at the Great Gate of the Imperial Palace would notice his absence. Netsubo had chosen this opportunity for a more important task.
The lady-in-waiting called Shonasaki approached him, eyes properly cast down, saying, “How are we honored by your presence, Lord of the Household?”
“I wish to speak to my daughter Uguisu.”
“If you please, sir, she is observing a day of abstinence, as are many in the palace. It is her duty to observe the strictures—”
“And it is the duty of a daughter to speak to her father when he commands it! You will prepare her to see me at once!”
“But My Lord, it will nullify the purifying aspects of the abs—”
&
nbsp; “She has done enough to ‘nullify its aspects’! Will I see her, or will I have you replaced with a more obedient maid?”
“As you wish, My Lord,” Shonasaki said softly. “Wait but a moment.”
Netsubo listened to the irritating rustle of her kimonos as the lady-in-waiting hurried away. He tried to calm himself, fanning the close, muggy air from his face. He did not wish in any way to appear an incompetent father. It seemed many long moments before the lady-in-waiting returned.
“She is ready, my lord.”
Netsubo was ushered into a bare room, dominated by a large, plain black kicho that bore many ivory prayer tags on its frame. To his consternation, several Buddhist monks were kneeling in one corner, reading softly from scrolls they held.
“What is this, Uguisu? Shouldn’t these be out at the gate for the ceremony?”
“If you please, father, the Purification rites are Shinto. It would not be seemly. And I need them here to guide my troubled spirit.”
“Hmpf. Shinto and Buddhist mix often enough. And you would be better guided by common sense.”
“Please, father—”
“I had hoped I could say what I have to say to you alone. Do you think I do not know what the rumors say about you? About me? Have you any idea what will happen to us if you continue in this foolish behavior?”
“You do not understand, father! There are things you do not know.”
“No, there are things you do not know! Like how to behave as a grown woman instead of a child!”
“Father, I am afraid of—”
“Yes, you are afraid. Where has all your courage flown, eh? Why can you not accept your responsibilities? He is the Emperor, Uguisu! Have you forgotten?”
“No, father. All I have done …” Her voice trailed off into sobs.
“All you have done will gain you nothing, if he becomes displeased with you. What if I am sent off again as governor of some far province, eh? Who will listen to your pretty flute then? Surely your ancestors would look down on you in shame.”
There was silence behind the kicho, then the sound of rustling paper. “There is a message I must give you, father. A very important message.” Her voice caught as if breaking off a sob. “It explains why I have behaved this way. You may read it, so you will understand me better. But the message is intended for the Fujiwara Chancellor.”
“And what would you have to say to the Chancellor that is so important?”
“Please do not ask me now, father. I know you speak to Daimigi-sama often. You are the best person to take him this message. He will listen to you.” A large piece of folded, heavy Michoku paper was slid to him from beneath the kicho. “Please see that he gets it soon. He must be warned.”
“Warned! What can you possibly mean?”
But there came only the sound of quiet weeping behind the curtain.
Netsubo sighed. “I see it is no use speaking to you like this. Think well on my words, Uguisu. Remember, it is your duty to obey.” He stood to go, then noticed the face of a young monk who quickly turned away. He is familiar somehow.
Netsubo stepped out of the room and heard the shoji slide shut behind him. Rapidly he walked down the corridor and out of the building. He paused on the stairs and wondered at Uguisu’s stubbornness. Pulling open the folded note she had given him, Netsubo read:
To His Most August Excellency, Chancellor Fujiwara no Daimigi, from the Lady Uguisu. Through the kind efforts of my father, Minister of the Imperial Household Echizen no Netsubo, I send you greetings and warnings. It is with deepest regret and utmost urgency that I must advise you that your family and His Imperial Majesty are in the gravest danger. There are powerful evil spirits who seek revenge upon the Fujiwara for a long-past injustice. These spirits have used me to gain entrance to the Palace. My strange behavior has been for the purpose of denying them greater power in our world, but I fear I may only have delayed them. Please take all precautions to defend yourself, your family, and His Majesty against evil spirits and demons. And please hold my father blameless for this. The fault is entirely my own. Please keep yourself and His Majesty well.
“Evil spirits and demons?” muttered Netsubo. “Has she gone mad? Is that why she keeps those priests around her?” He remembered the face of the familiar-looking priest, and recognition struck him like a blow. Takenoko! The son of that creature Niwa. The one Uguisu … could it be? Could it be that she rejects the Emperor because her former love has returned? Has she taken up with him again, even though he is a monk?! And she keeps him brazenly by her with pretense of piety, and false warnings of evil spirits! Well, she will receive no assistance from me in her little scheme! I will not let her embarrass me this way.
Netsubo tore the note into many small pieces and flung them into the air. The paper floated and drifted far over the Plum Palace courtyard, unseasonal snowflakes on the hot wind.
Night of the Weaver
“It is clouding over,” said Shonasaki, gazing through the blinds at the late summer evening sky.
“Oh, I hope we do not have another storm,” said Nikao. “Not one like the Iris Festival storm, when Our Lady.…” Nikao looked down at her hands.
“These do not seem to be storm clouds,” said Shonasaki. “Though it may rain a little.”
“So,” said Kitsune, “the heavenly magpies will not make their bridge across the sky, and the Weaver and the Herdsman stars must wait another year before they meet again.”
Shonasaki sighed. “It seems a season of ill-aspect for lovers meeting.”
“That is foolishness,” said Kitsune. “Lady Uguisu rejected the Emperor by her own choice—”
“But why?” whispered Shonasaki.
“—and Kazenatsu has been very … attentive to me.”
“So long as you tell him about the doings of Our Lady,” said Shonasaki.
“It isn’t like that!” Kitsune snapped. “And besides, I am only looking after all our interests. Our Lady must be mad to treat the Emperor so! She is very fortunate he hasn’t sent her away.”
“Kitsune!” Nikao complained, “you mustn’t speak of the Lady we serve that way!”
“Oh, mustn’t I? Even when her behavior hurts the Emperor and endangers us all? What will become of us when His Majesty at last tires of her rudeness? When she is sent away, will you follow her and continue to serve? Even if she is sent up the Tokkaido to the island of hairy savages?”
Nikao looked down and said nothing.
“I might,” said Shonasaki.
“You are too romantic and impractical,” said Kitsune.
“That is why her poems are so nice,” Nikao said softly.
“And does your heart always follow the practical path, Kitsune?” said Shonasaki.
“Well, at least I don’t believe in ghosts,” she replied, looking pointedly at Nikao.
“I tell you I saw them! An old woman and a man with a rope around his neck!”
“Indeed,” clucked Kitsune.
“Leave her be,” said Shonasaki.
“Me? It was you who put those foolish ideas in her head!”
“Foolish? Do you believe in nothing beyond what your eyes can see? There is an evil atmosphere about the Palace these days. Can you not feel it?”
“Stop it!” Kitsune snapped.
“Let’s talk about something else,” Nikao said anxiously.
For a moment they sat in silence.
“What was that argument you and Kazenatsu were having the other morning?” Shonasaki asked slyly.
“It wasn’t an argument,” said Kitsune. “It was a … discussion.”
“A disagreement, then. Well?”
“He merely wanted to know what sort of present I would like, as he wanted to give me one. I said that a man of such position should be able to get the best monotagari, and that is what I would like.”
“Monotagari?” said Nikao.
“Romance stories,” said Shonasaki.
“Kazenatsu laughed at me and asked how I could read such silly th
ings. But I told him that they are beautiful stories. Ladies have been reading and writing them for many years. They are much more interesting than the stilted works of Chinese scholars that he reads.”
“And you say my nature is too romantic.”
“It’s not the same thing!”
“Let’s not get back into that, please?” said Nikao. “Have each of you prayed to the Weaver tonight? I lit incense to her and asked that She help my sewing improve. Have you asked Her for anything, Kitsune?”
Kitsune blushed. “Not anything I would tell you about.”
“Shonasaki? Did you ask Her for help with your poetry?”
“No. I asked Her to help Our Lady. And the Emperor.”
“That is kind of you. I suppose Lady Uguisu has asked for help in music.”
“She does not need help in music,” Kitsune grumbled. “She needs good sense.”
“It is so strange,” said Shonasaki. “It is nearly autumn and the joy we hoped for a year ago still eludes us.” Taking up brush and inkstone, she wrote on a piece of yellow paper:
“The summer maple leaf reddens on the bough,
Who knows which way the autumn storms will blow?”
AUTUMN
A bare black tree,
A black crow takes early rest,
Against autumn twilight.
—Bashō
OLD NIWA
Waiting on the veranda outside his father’s sickroom, Takenoko watched the gentle rain as it hissed and pattered against the roof and leaves. As if Heaven itself weeps. The cool, damp air was fragrant with the scent of chrysanthemums. Takenoko thought this rudely ironic. Vain noblemen and women would leave long pieces of silk floss draped over the flowers to catch the “chrysanthemum dew” of autumn mornings. They would then rub the damp, aromatic cloth over their bodies, believing that this would prevent the effects of aging. Takenoko doubted the fragrant rain mist could do anything to help his father now.
Before long, a lady-in-waiting admitted him through the blinds and he entered the room. Though, outside, he had felt only cool acceptance, the sight of his father lying ill brought hot tears to Takenoko’s cheeks. Old Niwa lay swathed in his voluminous black robes of office, incense burners smoking at the head and foot of his sleeping mat. The skin of his face and hands seemed waxy and pale, and he appeared shrunken within his robes. Only his narrow, black eyes retained most of their former light. “Welcome, my son,” he said softly. “You will forgive old Niwa if he cannot greet you properly, neh?”
