--so queer, really, some might say. People are all agog at his trips here.
Some say they're the first real sign of human feeling he has ever shown."
"That is what he told me." The woman was quick to pass all this on
to her colleagues, and it soon reached the princesses, and did nothing to
assuage their distress. Such was the pass they had come to, said Oigimi to
herself. It was the end. He had only wanted amusement while he got ready
to marry a well-placed lady. With one eye on Kaoru, he had contrived to
put together certain words of affection. Beyond thinking further about this
duplicity, convinced that the world no longer had a place for her, she lay
weeping helplessly. She no longer wished to live. Hers were not women
of such rank that she need feel any constraint before them, but the thought
of what they would now be saying quite revolted her. She tried to pretend
that she had not heard this new report. Her sister was with her, napping
as people will who have "thoughts of things." What a dear little creature
she was, her long hair flowing over the arm on which her head was
pillowed--what remarkable grace and beauty. Oigimi thought of her fa-
ther and his last admonitions. He would not be in hell of course--but even
if he was, could he not summon them to his side? It was too cruel, that
he should leave them in these sad straits, refusing to come to them even
in a dream.
The evening was dark and rainy and the wind in the trees was a sigh
of utter loneliness For all her worries Oigimi was a figure of great distinc-
tion as she sat leaning against an armrest and thinking of what had been
and what was to be. Her hair had long gone untended, and yet not a strand
was in disarray as it flowed down over a white robe. The pallor from days
of illness gave to her features a certain cast of depth and mystery. The eyes
and forehead as she sat gazing out into the dusk--one would have longed
to show them to the world of high taste, to connoisseurs of the beautiful.
Nakanokimi started up at a particularly harsh gust of wind. Her robes
were a lively combination of yellow and rose, and her face had a lively
glow, a luster as of having been freshly tinted over. There was no trace of
worry upon it.
"I dreamed of Father. I saw him for just a second, standing over there.
He seemed upset."
"I have wanted so to see him, even in a dream," said Oigimi, in a new
access of grief," and I have not once dreamed of him."
<P 860>
Both of the girls were in tears. The fact that he had been so much on
her mind recently, thought Oigimi, perhaps meant that he was wandering
in some limbo. She longed to go to him, wherever he was--not that such
a sinful one as she would be permitted to. And so her worries ran on into
the other world. There was an incense, it was said, which men of a foreign
land had used to bring back the dead. If only she might have a stick of
it!
In the evening a letter was delivered from Niou. It came at a difficult
time, and should have been some slight comfort to them; but Nakanokimi
was in no hurry to look at it.
"You must send off a kind answer, a friendly one," said Oigimi. "It
worries me a great deal to think that I may die and leave you behind, and
some awful man may come along and make things even worse. As long as
the prince has an occasional thought for you, the worst sort of man will
stay away. It will not be easy, I know, but he _is_ a defense of sorts."
"Do you really think of leaving me? You mustn't even whisper it."
Nakanokimi hid her face.
"We all have to die, and you know how much I hated the idea of living
a moment longer than Father. But here I am, with my life still to live out.
And who is it that makes me, after all, sorry to leave'a world where no
one can be sure of the morrow'?"
A lamp was brought and they read the letter. It was warm and de-
tailed, as always, and it contained this poem:
"The sky I see is the usual nighttime sky.
Then why tonight do the showers increase my longing?"
It was so trite and perfunctory, just one more allusion to tear-soaked
sleeves. "Well, that is that," one could almost hear him saying as he dashed
it off. Yet his manner and appearance were enough to make any girl fall
in love with him, and he could be completely charming when he wanted
to.
Nakanokimi's longing increased as time went by. And there had been
those effusive promises, which it was hard to believe he meant to ignore
completely. She felt her resentment subside.
The messenger said that he would like to go back that night. Everyone
was pressing Nakanokimi for an answer, and finally she produced a poem:
"Here in our hail-flogged village, deep in the mountains,
The skies upon which we gaze are forever cloudy."
<P 861>
It was late in the Tenth Month, and a whole month had gone by since
Niou's last visit to Uji. He thought nervously each night of setting forth.
But alas, he was,'a small boat caught in reeds," and, with the Gosechi
dances coming earl y this year, there were gay events at court to occupy
his time. And so the days went by, and at Uji the wait was increasingly
painful. This or that court lady would briefly catch his eye, but his heart
remained with the Uji princess.
His mother spoke to him again of Yu~giri's daughter. "When you have
made yourself a good, solid marriage, then you can bring in anyone who
strikes your fancy and set her up wherever it suits your convenience. But
you _must_ build yourself a strong base."
"Wait just a little longer, please. I'm thinking it over."
At Uji they could not know that it had never been his intention to hurt
them, and each day brought a heavier pall of gloom.
Kaoru meanwhile was wringing his hands. Was his friend less trust-
worthy than his observations had led him to believe? Had he been wrong
all along? He rarely visited Niou's apartments these days, but he sent
frequent messengers to inquire after Oigimi's health. He learned that she
had improved somewhat since the first of the Eleventh Month. It being a
season when he had all manner of business, public and private, he let five
or six days go by without further inquiry. Then, suddenly alarmed, he
shook off all these urgent affairs and rushed to Uji.
He had given instructions that the services be continued until her
complete recovery, but she had said that she was much better and dis-
missed the abbot. There were very few people in attendance upon her. He
summoned Bennokimi and asked for a full report.
"There are no alarming symptoms, really. It is just that she refuses to
eat. She has always been more delicate than most people, and you would
hardly recognize her now. Ever since the Niou affair she hasn't let the
smallest bit of fruit pass her lips. I am beginning to wonder if anything can
save her. I have not had an easy life, and it has gone on too long, that I
should live to see these things. I only want to die before she does." She
was in tears, as she had every right to be, even before she had finished
speaking.
"But why didn't you tell me? I have been busy at court and at the
Reizei Palace and it has worried me terribly that I am not able to look in
on her."
He went to the sickroom and knelt at Oigimi's bedside. She scarcely
had strength to answer him.
<P 862>
"No one, no one at all, came to tell me. I have been worried, but what
good does that do now?"
He summoned the abbot and other priests whose prayers were in high
repute. With rites to begin the following morning, he sent to the city for
some of his people, and the Uji villa was alive with courtiers high and low.
The women forgot their loneliness. At dusk they brought him a light
supper and sought once again to take him to a distant wing of the house.
He replied that he wished to be where he could be useful. The priests
having occupied the south room, he put up screens in the east room,
somewhat nearer Oigimi. Nakanokimi was much upset, but the women,
relieved to see that he had not after all abandoned them, had given up their
efforts to take him away. Continuous reading of the Lotus Sutra began in
the evening, most impressively, twelve priests of the finest voice taking
turns. There was a light in Kaoru's room, and the inner room, where
Oigimi lay, was dark; and so he raised a curtain and slipped a few inches
inside. Two or three women knelt beside her, Nakanokimi having with-
drawn to the rear of the room. It was a lonely scene.
"Can't you say just one word to me?"
He took her hand. Startled, she replied in a barely audible whisper.
"I would like very much to speak to you, believe me. But it is such an
effort. You had not visited me for so long that I feared I might die without
seeing you again."
"I am furious with myself." He was sobbing aloud. He felt her brow,
which seemed fevered. "And what sort of misconduct, do you suppose, is
responsible for this? Making someone unhappy, perhaps?" He leaned very
near and seemed prepared to talk on and on. The merest wisp of a figure,
she covered her face. He could not imagine how it would be if she were
to die.
"I am sure you are exhausted," he said to Nakanokimi. "I am on duty
tonight. Suppose you get some rest."
Hesitantly, Nakanokimi withdrew deeper into the room. Oigimi still
hid her face, but he was beside her, and that was some comfort to him. She
strove to dispel her embarrassment with the thought that a bond from a
former life must account for their being so near. When she compared his
calm gentleness with Niou's heartless behavior, she had to admit that the
contrast was startling. And she did not want to be remembered for her
coldness. She could not send him away. All through the night he had
women at work brewing medicines, but she quite refused to take them. He
was beside himself. The crisis was real, that much was clear. And what
could be done to save her? New lectors came for the matins, and the abbot,
who had been present through the night, started up at the fresh resonance
and began intoning mystical formulas. His voice was hoarse with age, but
it seemed to have in it a store of grace that was enough to bring hope even
to this despairing household.
"How did my lady pass the night?" asked the abbot, going on to
<P 863>
speak, his voice sometimes wavering, of her father. "And in which realm
will he be now? I wonder. One of peace and serenity, of that I am sure.
The other night I dreamed of him. He was wearing secular dress, and he
spoke with great clarity.'I had persuaded myself from the depths of my
heart to renounce the world,' he said,'and had nothing to hold me back.
But now a small worry has come up, to ruffle the calm. I must pause on
my way to the land where I long to be. It is a cause of great disappointment
to me, and I beg you to pray that I soon recover the ground I have lost.'
I could not immediately think what to do, and so I set five or six of my
men to chanting the holy name--it was the one thought that came to me.
And then I had another: I sent priests out in the four directions to proclaim
the Buddhahood of all men."
Kaoru was in tears. Oigimi wanted only to die, at the thought of the
burden of sin she must bear for her father's troubles. She longed to be with
him wherever he was, to join him before his soul had come to its final rest.
After a few words more the abbot withdrew. The priests sent out to
<P 864>
proclaim universal Buddhahood had gone to villages near at hand and to
the city as well, but presently they were back, for the dawn gales had been
cruel. Seeking out the abbot's room, they prostrated themselves at the
garden gate and grandly brought their invocations to an end. Kaoru, whose
studies of the Good Law were by now well advanced, was deeply moved.
In painful uncertainty, Nakanokimi came somewhat nearer. Kaoru
drew himself up politely as he caught a rustling of silk.
"And how does it seem to you?" he asked. "These readings may not
be the most important things in the world, but they do have a certain
dignity." As if in ordinary conversation, he added a poem:
"Forlorn the dawn, when on the frosty bank
The plovers sound their melancholy notes."
Something about him reminded her of his cruel friend. But she still
found him rather forbidding, and sent her answer through Bennokimi:
"The plovers in the dawn, shaking off the frost:
Do they call to the heart of one now sunk in grief?"
Ill favored though the intermediary was, the poem was delivered
gracefully enough.
Nakanokimi seemed very shy, even in these fleeting exchanges, but
her gentle replies gave evidence of a sensitive nature he would desperately
hate to see leave his life. He thought of the Eighth Prince as the abbot had
dreamed of him, and of how it must be to watch all of this from the
heavens. He had sutras read at the monastery where the prince had spent
his last days and ordered new rites at other temples as well. Taking leave
of all his affairs in the city, he set about assuring himself that no device,
Buddhist or Shinto, had been overlooked. There were no signs, however,
that the sick lady was the victim of a possession, and these varied ministra-
tions seemed to accomplish nothing. Though a prayer in her own behalf
might have helped, she saw her chance to die. Kaoru had attached himself
to her as if he were her husband. There would be no shaking him off. And
if, to push her forebodings further, the emotions that now seemed so
powerful were to fade, they would both of them, she and Kaoru, have
gloom and uncertainty to look forward to. No, a nun's vows offered the
