from Kaoru: "Memories of these months have no order and form, but they
are more than I can keep to myself. It would be a very great comfort to
let you have a tiny fragment of them. Do not, please, treat me with the
coldness that has been yours in the past. You make me feel as if I had been
banished to some remote island."
"I certainly would not wish you to think me unkind," she replied,
though the effort was almost too much for her;" but I am really not myself.
Indeed, I am so unsettled that I fear I might say things both stupid and
rude."
But her women argued his case, and at length she received him at the
door to her room. His good looks had always been somewhat intimidating,
and she thought that he had improved and matured in the time since she
had last seen him. Along with remarkable grace and elegance, he had an
air of composure, of deliberation, such as few men could have imitated.
Altogether a remarkable young man, and the knowledge that her sister had
meant so much to him made the effect quite overpowering.
"It would be unlucky on such an occasion, I suppose, to speak of the
lady I shall go on speaking of forever." He broke off and began again. "I
shall soon be moving to a house not far from the one where you will be.
'Any time of the day or night,' the devotees and experts would say--but
please do let me see you. I shall want to hear from you whenever I can be
of service, and I shall be at your command for as long as I live. No two
people are alike, of course, and it is possible that you find the prospect
offensive. What might your own thoughts be?"
"I have not wanted to leave home, and I still do not want to. Now that
you tell me you are moving too--my thoughts are too much for me. I am
afraid I am not making sense."
Her voice faltered, and her very evident distress so reminded him of
her sister that he was left berating himself for having generously handed
her over to Niou. But all that was past. He made no mention of their night
together, and his frankness in other matters was almost enough to make
her think he had forgotten. The scent and color of the rose plum below
the veranda brought poignant memories. The warblers seemed unable to
pass without a song; and this mark of "the spring of old" was the more
moving for the memories they shared. The fragrance of the blossoms came
in on the breeze to mingle with Kaoru's own fragrance. Orange blossoms
could not have been more effective in summoning back the past. Her
sister, she remembered, had been especially fond of the plum blossom, and
had made use of it for this or that little pleasantry, and sought consolation
from it in difficult times as well. The memories too much for her, she
recited a poem in a tiny voice that wavered at the point of disappearing:
<P 878>
"Here where no visitor comes save only the tempest,
The scent of blossoms brings thoughts of days now gone."
Kaoru whispered a reply:
"The fragrance lasts of the plum my sleeve has brushed.
Uprooted now, must it dwell in a distant land?"
He brushed his tears away and left after a few words more. "There
will be chances, I am sure, for a good, quiet talk."
He went out to give orders for the next day. Wigbeard and others
would stay behind as caretakers; and (for nothing escaped his attention)
he left orders with the people at his manor to see to their general needs.
<N 5>
Bennokimi had made it known that she would not go along. Through
no desire of her own, she had lived this shamefully long life, and the others
would think it bad luck to have an old crone with them; and so she had
resolved that she was no longer to be considered a part of the world. Kaoru
asked to see her. The nun's habit and tonsure again brought him to the
point of tears.
<P 879>
They talked of old times. "I shall of course be stopping by occasion-
ally," he concluded, his voice faltering, "and I had feared that no one
would be here to receive me. I am sorry that you have decided to stay
behind, but I know that you will be a great comfort."
"I have lived too long. Life has a way of becoming more stubborn the
more you hate it. I find it hard to forgive my older lady for leaving me
behind, and though I know it is wrong of me I am resentful of the whole
wide world."
She was becoming querulous, pouring forth the complaints as they
came to her; but his efforts to comfort her were on the whole successful.
Her hair still had traces of its youthful beauty, and her forehead, now
shorn, seemed younger than before, and even somewhat distinguished.
Overcome with longing for Oigimi, he asked why she could not have
stayed with him even thus, as a nun. He might at least have had the
comfort of quiet, leisurely conversation. Though the old woman was an
improbable object for envy, he was somehow envious of her. He pulled her
curtain slightly aside, that she might seem a little nearer. She really was
very old, and yet her speech and manner aroused little of the revulsion one
expects from advanced age. She must once have been a woman of consid-
erable beauty.
Her face was contorted with sorrow.
"Tears came first. I should have flung myself into
A stream of tears that would not have left me behind."
"But that, of course, would have made the sin graver," said Kaoru.
"People do sometimes reach the far shore, I suppose, but everything con-
sidered I doubt that you would have succeeded. We would not want to
have lost you in midstream. No, you must remind yourself how empty and
useless it all is.
"Deep though one plunges into the river of tears,
One comes upon occasional snags of remembrance.
"When, I wonder, and where will there be relief?" But he knew the
answer: never and nowhere.
He did not want to leave, though it was evening. But an unscheduled
night's lodging might arouse suspicions. Presently he set out for the city.
<N 6>
She told the other women of his remarks, and her own grief was
beyond consoling. She found them engrossed in preparations for their
departure, oblivious to the incongruity their twisted old figures empha-
sized; and her nun's robes seemed drabber for all the happy confusion.
"And there they are, so busy getting ready,
And wet are the sleeves of the solitary fishwife."
<P 880>
Nakanokimi answered:
"Is it drier, my sleeve, than the brine-wet sleeve of the fishwife?
Sodden it is, from the waves upon which it floats.
"I do not expect to take to this new life. I may well be back after I
have given it a try, and so I do not really feel that I am going away. We
will meet again. But I do not like the thought of leaving you here by
yourself for even a little while. Nuns do not have to cut themselves off
completely, you know. Do as all of them do--come and see me occasion-
ally."
Affection welled up as she spoke. She had arranged to leave behind
such of her sister's combs and brushes as she thought a nun could use.
"You seem so much more deeply affected than the others," she went
on. "It makes me feel sure that there was a bond between us in another
life. And you seem even nearer now."
The old woman was weeping quite helplessly, like a child that has lost
its mother.
<N 7>
<P 881>
The rooms were swept, things put away, carriages drawn up. Among
the outrunners were numbers of medium-ranking courtiers. Niou had
wanted desperately to come for her himself. Since unnecessary display was
to be avoided, however, he ordered that the procession be a quiet one, and,
intensely impatient, awaited her at Nijo~. Kaoru too had sent retainers in
large numbers. Niou had taken care of the broader plans and Kaoru of all
the small and intimate details. Nakanokimi's women joined the men from
the city in warning her that it would soon be dark. Utterly confused,
scarcely knowing in which direction the city lay, she finally got into a
carriage. She was all alone, and defenseless.
Beside her, a woman called Tayu~ was smiling happily.
"You have lived to come upon these joyous days,
And are you not glad Old Gloomy did not get you?"
Nakanokimi was not pleased. What a vast difference, she thought,
between this person and the nun Bennokimi.
Another woman had a poem ready:
<P 882>
"We do not forget to look back at one now gone;
But this day, of all, our hearts must look ahead."
Both of them had long been in service at Uji, and both had seemed
fond of Oigimi. And now they had left her behind. The very fact that they
refrained from mentioning her name added to Nakanokimi's bitterness and
sorrow. She did not answer.
The road was long and it led through precipitous mountains. She had
been deeply resentful of Niou's neglect, but now she began to see why his
visits had been infrequent. The bright half-moon was softened and made
more mysteriously beautiful by a mist. Unaccustomed to travel, alone with
her thoughts, she was soon exhausted.
"The moon comes forth from the mountain upon a world
That offers no home. It goes again to the mountain."
The future was too uncertain. What would become of her if anything
in this precarious balance should change? She longed to return to days
when, she knew now, she had been very silly to feel sorry for herself.
<N 8>
It was late in the night when they arrived at the Nijo~ mansion. The
splendor quite blinded her. The carriage was pulled up at one of the
"threefold, fourfold" halls, and an impatient Niou came out. Her apart-
ments, she saw, and those of her attendants as well, were beautifully
appointed. They had obviously benefited from Niou's personal attention.
No detail had been overlooked.
It was matter for much astonishment that he who had been the cause
of so many rumors and worries should now, quite suddenly, have found
himself a wife. There was nothing ambiguous about what had happened
this time, people said, hoping for a glimpse of the hidden princess.
Kaoru was to move into his Sanjo~ mansion, now near completion,
towards the end of the month. He went every day to see how it was
progressing. Since Nijo~ was not far away, he mounted a lookout to see how
things would be with Nakanokimi. Presently the men he had sent to Uji
came back to report that Niou seemed much taken with the lady, and had
been very attentive. Kaoru was pleased, of course; and at the same time
he felt a wave of something like resentment. It was senseless, he knew, for
his circumstances had, after all, been of his own devising.
"Might I have it back again?" he whispered to himself.
"The boat setting forth on the undulant Lake of Loons,
Though badly rigged, did somehow make a landfall."
<N 9>
<P 883>
Yu~giri had fixed upon this month for marrying his daughter
Rokunokimi to Niou. And now, quite as if to announce that he had
priorities of his own, Niou had brought a stranger into his house. Worse,
he had stopped calling at Rokujo~. Niou felt a little guilty at news of his
uncle's displeasure, and sent a note to Rokunokimi from time to time. The
whole world knew that plans were being rushed ahead for her initiation,
and to postpone it would be to invite derision; and so it took place toward
the end of the month. Yu~giri thought of marrying her to Kaoru instead,
unexciting though a wedding within the family would be. It seemed a pity
to let someone else have him. He was evidently grieving for a lady he had
loved in secret over the years. Through a suitable agent, Yu~giri sought to
determine how he might respond to a proposal.
The answer was not encouraging. "I know how useless and insubstan-
tial things are. I have had evidence before my very eyes, such strong
evidence that my own existence seems stupid and even revolting."
Yu~giri was deeply offended. Could the young man not see that the
proposal had been a difficult one to make? But Kaoru was not a man with
whom even an older brother took liberties, and Yu~giri made no further
advances.
Gazing in the direction of the Nijo~ mansion, where the cherries were
in full bloom, Kaoru thought of the cherries, now masterless, at the Uji
villa. He might have gone on to ask how they would be responding to the
winds, but the old poem did not offer much comfort.
He went to visit Niou, who was spending most of his time at Nijo~ and
seemed to have settled down happily with his princess. Kaoru had no
further cause, it would seem, for worry. That other strange question per-
sisted all the same: why had he brought them together? But his deeper
feelings were wholly admirable. He rejoiced that Nakanokimi's affairs had
turned out well. The two friends talked of various small matters, and
presently, in the evening, servants came to prepare the carriage that was
to take Niou to court. A large retinue assembled. Kaoru withdrew to
Nakanokimi's wing of the house.
The rude life of the mountain village had been changed for richly
curtained luxury. Catching a glimpse of a pretty little girl, Kaoru asked her
to convey word of his presence. He was offered a cushion, and a woman
apparently familiar with the events at Uji came to bring Nakanokimi's
reply.
"I am so near," he said, admitted to her presence, "that I was sure it
would be like having you beside me all hours of the day and night; but
I have had to keep my distance. I have not wanted to intrude, and I have
had no real business. Somehow things seem utterly changed. From my
<P 884>
garden I look through the mists at the trees in yours, and they bring the
fondest memories."
