Iris own stores, the gloss from the fulling mallets uncommonly fine, and
numerous garments of white damask and the like. Though he had no
women's trousers, he did come upon an ingenious cord, which he knotted,
and, with this poem, added to the collection:
"I shall not go on always and always resenting
The cord that now has bound you to another."
He sent them all to Tayu~, an elderly serving woman with whom he
was on good terms.
"Here are some bits and scraps I happened to find lying about. Hand
them out quietly, please, as seems appropriate."
Though not so as to make a great show of the matter, he had the gifts
for Nakanokimi wrapped with special care. Tayu~ was used to these atten-
tions, and she neither gave the princess a full report nor thought it neces-
sary to stand on formality and return the gifts. Taxing herself no further
<P 913>
with these refinements, she distributed the cloth to the women, and they
set about making new clothes for themselves. It was only right that the
better materials should go to the young women in immediate attendance
upon the princess. The menials, who were beginning to have trouble
hiding their tatters, caught the eye the more pleasingly for the modesty of
the unlined white robes in which they now were dressed. Who but Kaoru,
they asked, would have thought of all this? Niou was warmhearted
enough, and would of course not let them starve; but he had no eye for
the fine details that made all the difference in running a household. The
pampered darling of the whole world, he was not very keenly aware of its
sorrows and frustrations, of its persistent refusal to go in every respect as
one would wish. For him "cold" signified nothing more piercing than the
touch of dew, and life was a gay parade of style and elegance. Yet, given
the circumstances, he _was_ considerate, seeing to fairly routine matters with
the passing of the seasons, provided they concerned someone of whom he
was fond. A few of his women, including his nurse, thought indeed that
he occasionally went too far. Nakanokimi was, all the same, embarrassed
at the shabbiness of her retinue, and she sometimes feared that a mansion
so fine only set her off to incongruous effect. And there were Rokunokimi
and her household to be considered, the luxury and extravagance that were
the talk of the day. To Niou's men the Nijo~ house must seem scarcely fit
for human habitation. Kaoru observed and understood, and, though he
would have hated to be thought discourteous or unfeeling in sending off
garments so unremarkable that he would not have dreamed of letting a
stranger have them, he had to keep certain notions of propriety in mind.
What would people have said if he had sent the products of the greatest
cutters and weavers in the land? And so, with his usual care and sobriety,
he had had a collection neither extravagant nor mean put together, includ-
ing a robe woven especially for Nakanokimi, and damasks and other
fineries. He too was the spoiled pet of the great, his manner so proud that
some might have called it aloof and arrogant, his tastes such as might, at
times, have seemed overrefined. The Eighth Prince's mountain dwelling,
its solitude and melancholy, had wrought a great change in him and led
him to an awareness of the tears of ordinary life. In rather sad ways the
prince had been of service!
Kaoru had been determined to behave so as to add nothing to her
worries, but she was more than ever on his mind. His letters were more
detailed, and suggested that his feelings were no longer very securely
under control. And so, thought Nakanokimi, her agitation rising with each
letter, the complications in her life refused to leave, and indeed increased.
If he were a complete stranger, she could easily dismiss him as a lunatic
and send him on his way; but he had been a great source of strength over
the years, and a sudden breach would only make people ask questions. He
had been kind and gentle, and she was grateful; but she must avoid giving
the impression that she condoned his behavior. All the women who might
<P 914>
be young enough to understand seemed too new and too unfamiliar with
events at Uji, and those who were adequately informed were all very old.
Quite alone, with no one whom she could really talk to, she longed more
than ever for her sister. Kaoru would surely be able to control these
improper tendencies if Oigimi were still alive. Nakanokimi almost thought
them more distressing than the possibility that Niou might weary of her.
One quiet evening, the yearning at length too much for him, Kaoru
paid a visit. Nakanokimi had a cushion set out for him on the veranda and
sent word through one of her women that she was not feeling well and
would be unable to receive him. Though almost in tears, he was deter-
mined to control himself before her women.
"When you are not well, you invite strange priests to sit beside you.
Can you not at least treat me like your physician? Can you not let me
inside your room? If we have to have people running back and forth with
messages, then I might as well not have come at all."
Very improper, said the women who had been present at the scene
that earlier evening. They lowered a blind between the veranda and the
main hall and showed him to the seat usually occupied by the priest in
night attendance. Nakanokimi was extremely uncomfortable, but had to
agree that open hostility would be misguided. Shyly and without en-
thusiasm, she edged a little closer, and the few words that came to him in
a faint little voice so reminded him of Oigimi in the days after she fell ill
that forebodings were added to his sorrow. The lights seemed to dim
before his eyes. He could only blurt out short and disconnected phrases.
Her refusal to answer seemed intolerable. Reaching through the blind in
the manner he had as of being one of the family, he pulled the curtain
slightly aside and leaned towards her.
In a panic, she called out to a woman named Sho~sho~. "I seem to be
rather short of breath. I wonder if I might ask you to massage me for just
a moment or two."
"That sort of thing only makes matters worse." With a sigh, he drew
back again--but not because any great measure of calm had returned to
him. "Why do you go on feeling so unwell? I have asked about people in
your condition and been told that there may be great discomfort at first
but that it goes away in time. Might you perhaps be making a little too
much of it all?"
"I do feel unwell sometimes," she replied, much embarrassed to have
to talk of her condition. "It was so with my sister too. I have heard people
describe it as a sign that neither of us was meant to live long."
Yes, he thought, in an access of pity. One had to realize that life was
far shorter than "the thousand years of the pine." Sho~sho~'s presence no
<P 915>
longer enough to restrain him, he began to speak of his feelings over the
years. He did, it was true, choose his words with care and circumspection,
avoiding matters that might be compromising or inconveniently clear to an
outsider. A gentleman of remarkable sensitivity, thought Sho~sho~.
Everything reminded him of Oigimi, who seldom left his thoughts.
"From very early in my life I turned my back on the world, and I hoped
to end my days a bachelor. But fate seems to have intervened. One would
have to say that your sister was a rather chilly lady, and yet something
about her struck up a most extraordinary response, and my saintly resolu-
tions, for what they were worth, began to waver. I admit that I went out
looking for comfort after she died. I glanced at this and that woman and
even kept company with one or two for a time. It was only that I wanted
to stop thinking of her." He was in tears and his voice had taken on a
pleading note. "And to no purpose at all. I have been drawn to no one else.
Sometimes--I am only human--I have not been able to keep myself under
very tight control. But it would hurt me very much indeed to think that
you have ever had cause to doubt my motives. You would have every right
to be shocked and revolted if you were to detect even a hint of anything
improper in my behavior toward you. Do please let me go on seeing you
from time to time. Who could possibly object if we were to talk of the little
trifles that interest us? I have no tendencies, I assure you, that need make
you feel in danger. I am not like other people, I swear I am not."
"But I do trust you. You do not know me very well if you think I
would allow such extraordinary intimacy otherwise. You have been kind-
ness itself over the years, and it is because I know so well what you will
do for me that I have asked favors of you."
"Favors? I am not aware of any worth mentioning--or dare I hope that
in your plans for your mountain village you will finally decide you have
found a use for me? If that is so, then we have evidence that you have read
a part of my feelings. I am delighted." He had not finished complaining,
but he thought that her women had heard enough.
It was growing dark and the humming of insects was loud. The hillock
in the garden was falling back into night. He sat quietly on, leaning against
an armrest. She wished very much that he would leave.
"An end to sorrow," he whispered. "No, it is too much. Let me have
a Silencetown somewhere, a place for quiet tears. Somewhere near that
monastery of yours. No, I don't need a whole monastery. If I could just
have a statue or a picture of her, and set out offerings before it."
<P 916>
"A very kind thought. But just a moment--you speak of having an
image made, and that somehow suggests the river Mitarashi. And so
perhaps you are not being so kind to my sister after all. Or a picture: much
depends, you know, on what you are willing to pay. An artist can do very
badly by a person."
"That is true, of course. And in any case, no sculptor or painter could
really give me what I want. Short of a miracle, which I would not reject.
I know of a sculptor who one day not long ago brought flowers raining
down from the skies."
She at length took pity on him, convinced that he had indeed been
unable to forget, and came a little nearer.
"This image you speak of reminds me of something. Something very
strange."
"Yes?" Delighted at this new amiability, he reached under the curtain
for her hand.
So here they were again! But her indignation did not keep her from
wanting to quiet him somehow and make reasonable discussion possible;
and there was the problem of Sho~sho~, sitting right beside her.
She managed to go on. "I heard recently of a lady whose existence I
had not dreamed of. Someone whom I could not keep at a distance, and
at the same time whom I had no great wish to be friendly with. The other
day she came calling, and the resemblance to my sister astonished me and
moved me deeply. You insist on seeing my sister in me, on thinking of me
as a sort of legacy, and yet these women tell me that no two people could
have been more unlike. Strange that in both cases it should be the opposite
of what one would expect--that a lady with no cause to look like her
should be her very image."
Might he be dreaming? "Some very strong bond has brought you
together, of that we can be sure. But why had you told me nothing of this
before?"
"Bond? I have no notion what that might be. Father's great fear was
that we would become drifters and beggars, and now that I am alone I have
reason to think I am finally beginning to understand what he meant. And
now this unfortunate affair comes along, and I shudder to think of the
harm it will do to his memory if we let the world get wind of it."
Her manner suggested that she was referring to "this keepsake, this
child," left by some lady with whom her father had kept secret com-
pany. He wanted to hear more about the resemblance to Oigimi.
<P 917>
"Having said this much, you ought to go on, I think. Surely you do
not mean to leave me dangling."
But she was reluctant to give him the details. "You might want to visit
her. There is much that I do not know myself, but I can tell you in a general
way of her whereabouts. And revealing too much sometimes takes away
from the interest."
He pressed her for more." If it were in pursuit of your sister, I would
give myself up to wandering the wide, gloomy world, I would search to
the depths of the sea. I would of course be less single-minded in pursuit
of this new lady. But since I had thought that even an image of your sister
would be some slight comfort, why should we not enshrine the other in
that mountain village? Please tell me everything, and as clearly as you
can."
"No. He did not recognize her as one of his children, and I should not
have told you as much as I have. It was just that I felt sorry for you and
doubtful about this request for a miraculous sculptor.
"She grew up in the far provinces. Her mother thought it a pity that
she should be hidden from the world and mustered up courage to write
to me. I could not bring myself to ignore the letter, and so the girl herself
came to see me. It may be of course that there was not time for a really
good look at her, but she seemed less countrified in every way than I would
have expected. It would be great good fortune for her poor mother--she
really seemed quite desperate--if you were to enshrine the girl. But I
hardly think that matters will go so far."
He was resentful, sensing behind the apparent innocence with which
she told him of this new discovery a wish to turn away unwelcome atten-
tions. Still he was interested. She evidently found his presence next to
intolerable; and yet his heart beat faster at the thought that she was not
