years it has been neglected. Indeed, they say it is rather lonely." He low-
ered his voice. "But tell me. I have hesitated to mention it because I have
not been sure of the facts and I have been afraid you might think me
forward and a little eccentric. I have heard that a person I once knew
<P 1082>
well is hiding there. I thought that when I had learned a few of the facts
I might ask you exactly what had happened, and now I hear that you have
taken her under your protection and made a nun of her. Might I ask
whether it is true? She is very young and her parents are living, and I feel
somewhat responsible for her disappearance."
<N 2>
The bishop was at a loss for an answer. He had guessed from her
appearance that she was a girl of some standing, and Kaoru's manner
suggested very strongly that she was important to him. The bishop must
conclude that, although he had been faithful to his pious duties, he had
acted recklessly. It seemed likely that Kaoru knew the essential facts.
Attempts at evasion, now that so much had been found out, could only
complicate matters.
"Ah, yes," he said after a time. "The young lady who has so puzzled
us all these months. The nuns at Ono went to Hatsuse with some request
or other, and on the way back my mother was suddenly taken ill. It was
at the Uji villa. Her condition seemed critical and someone came for me.
I arrived to find a very strange situation indeed." He lowered his voice as
he told how they had come upon Ukifune. "My sister seemed completely
devoted to the girl. She as good as left our mother to take care of herself.
The girl was still breathing, but that was the only sign of life. It was all
very strange indeed. I was reminded of stories I had heard of people who
had come back to life at their own funerals. I called my disciples, the ones
who had made names for themselves, and had them take turns at prayers
and spells. I was with our mother myself. She is so old that I shouldn't have
had any regrets for her, I know, but there she was away from home, and
I wanted her at least to give herself up unconditionally to the holy name.
So I was not able to observe the girl in any detail. I would imagine from
what the others told me that some goblin or wood spirit had led her astray.
We brought her back to Ono with us, but for three months or so she might
as well have been dead. My sister is a nun too. You may possibly have
heard of her, the widow of a guards captain. She lost her only daughter
and she went on grieving, and now she had found a pretty girl, a most
elegant girl, indeed, of about the same age. She saw it all as an answer to
her prayers at Hatsuse. I could not help being moved by her pleas, poor
woman. She seemed desperate to save the girl. And so I came down from
the mountain and conducted services. The girl began to emerge from her
trance and after a few days seemed to make a complete recovery; but she
was afraid that the evil spirit, whatever it might have been, was still after
her, and she wept and begged me to let her take vows. She had to escape,
she said, and look to the next world for happiness. I have taken vows
myself and it was natural for me to encourage her, and I did as she asked.
How could I have dreamed, sir, that she was somehow of importance to
you? It was all so strange, I suppose, that we should have made inquiries,
but my mother and sister feared complications if word got out, and we kept
our own counsel over the months."
Kaoru had come a great distance to confirm his suspicions, and now
<P 1083>
the knowledge that the dead girl was alive made him feel like a sleep-
walker. Since it would not do to have the sage see him in disarray, he
struggled to control the tears that surged forward.
The bishop was feeling guilty. He should not have taken it upon
himself to help so important a lady leave the secular world. "It must have
been something she brought from an earlier life," he said, "that she should
have been so vulnerable to the assaults of evil spirits. I should imagine that
she is from a good house. What could possibly have reduced her to such
unhappy circumstances?"
"We shall say that she is an obscure cousin of the emperor himself.
I happen to know her, though not at all intimately. I would not have
dreamed that anything so terrible could happen to her. But her disappear-
ance was very strange indeed, and all sorts of theories were propounded.
Some even hinted that she had thrown herself into the river. Now I know
the truth. I am content with it, and must thank you. It is all for the good,
I am sure, that she has taken vows and should be trying to lighten the
burden of sin. But it would seem that her mother still grieves for her. I
ought to inform her of what I know, I suppose; but the shock might be too
much for her, and then your good sister has seen fit to keep the secret all
this time. It is not easy for a mother to give up a child. I am sure the
unfortunate woman would be quite unable to deny herself the comfort of
a visit.
"You will think me excessively demanding, I am sure," he continued
after a moment, "but might I ask you to go down to Ono with me? I cannot
ignore the girl, now that I know the truth. It all seems very unreal, but I
would still like to have a talk with her."
The bishop was in a difficult position. He understood Kaoru's wishes,
and the girl could be said to have taken a step that was irreversible. But
the most ascetic of clean-shaven monks had strange urges occasionally,
and nuns were still more susceptible. He would be putting the girl to a cruel
and unnecessary test, as much as inviting transgression.
"I fear that circumstances compel me to be here on the mountain for
a few days more. I will get off a note early next month."
Kaoru was unhappy, but it would have been unseemly to press fur-
ther. He had no choice but to wait, he concluded, making ready to start
back for the city. He called the girl's brother, the handsomest of the
governor's sons.
<N 3>
"This lad is a very close relative of the young lady's. Perhaps I might
ask you to give him a message for her, please, if you don't mind. Even a
short note will do. You might not want to mention me by name, but
perhaps you could warn her that someone may shortly be inquiring after
her."
"It would, I fear, be wrong of me to do as you suggest. I have told you
the facts, and in some detail. I doubt that anyone would reproach you for
going in person and doing what seems necessary."
Kaoru smiled. "Wrong, good sir? You quite fill me with shame. Here
<P 1084>
I am looking as if I still belonged in the world, and even to me it all seems
very strange. I have longed to take vows since I was a mere boy. But there
is my mother, and the bond, as you say, is not an easy one to break. She
is lonely, and I am really all that she has, little though it may be. I have
been caught up in affairs at court and I have moved ahead bit by bit,
without doing much to deserve it. I have worried a great deal, you may be
sure, about leaving undone the one thing I have really wanted to do, and
so the years have gone by. Duties pile up, there is no avoiding them; but
I have tried not to let my affairs, which I keep to a minimum, bring me
in conflict with the holy injunctions, or such small fragments of them as
I am not in complete ignorance of. I try to think of my life as little different
from that of a recluse like yourself. Can you imagine that I would even
dream of risking so grievous a sin for so small a cause? It is quite out of
the question. On that score you need have not the smallest doubt. I am sad
for her mother, that is all, and now that I have learned the truth I want
her to know it too. Then and only then will I be at peace with myself."
<N 4>
The bishop nodded approvingly. "Most praiseworthy," he said.
It was growing dark. Ono would be a convenient place to spend the
night. But Kaoru might be embarrassed to learn that he had after all been
mistaken. After some hesitation he set out directly for the city.
<P 1085>
The bishop's eye had meanwhile fallen on the boy, in whom he was
finding much to praise.
"Suppose you let him take a letter, then," suggested Kaoru once more,
"and give her a hint of what to expect."
The bishop dashed off a note." Let us have an occasional visit from
you too," he said to the boy. "Don't for a moment think it would be to
no purpose."
Though puzzled by this attention, the boy took the note and started
off with Kaoru.
Kaoru deployed his guard as they reached the foot of the mountain.
"So as not to attract too much attention," he said.
<N 5>
With little to relieve the monotony, Ukifune sat gazing into the
heavily wooded hills. Only the fireflies along the garden brook served to
remind her of the Uji days. From far beyond the eaves that looked out over
the valley came voices of outrunners cautiously clearing the way, and soon
torches, large numbers of them, were tossing among the trees. What might
this commotion mean? the other nuns were asking as they came to the
veranda.
"Whoever it is, he certainly does have himself a big escort. When we
sent that seaweed to the bishop this morning, he said in his note that we
couldn't have picked a better time. He all of a sudden had a general to
entertain, he said. Which general do you suppose it could have been?" It
was the sort of talk one hears in remote, unfrequented places. "The general
that is married to the Second Princess?"
The girl knew who it would be; and there among the voices of the
outrunners, unmistakably, were some she had heard clearing the mountain
path to Uji. What could be the profit, after all that had happened, in
remembering? She tried to lose herself in meditation upon the holy name,
and had even less to say than usual.
Travelers to Yokawa gave secluded Ono what precarious ties it had
with the larger world.
<N 6>
Kaoru would have liked to send the bishop's letter in immediately, but
he had attracted too large an audience. He dispatched the boy the next day,
escorted by two or three trusted courtiers of low rank and a guardsman
who had often taken messages to Uji.
He was careful to let no one overhear his instructions to the boy. "You
remember your dead sister well enough to recognize her, I suppose? Well,
I had resigned myself to the fact that she was no longer among us, but now
it seems quite clear that I was wrong. But it would not do to have people
know, and especially the people closest to her. See what you can find out.
You are not to tell your mother, not for the moment, at least. The news
might unsettle her, and we must prepare her gradually; and there is always
the possibility that people who shouldn't be in on the secret might hear.
My main reason for wanting to find your sister is that I feel so sorry for
your mother."
Very young and impressionable, the boy had continued to grieve for
<P 1086>
his sister, much superior to his many other siblings. Delight at this news
brought him close to tears.
"Yes, my lord," he answered gruffly, trying not to weep.
<N 7>
A letter from the bishop had been delivered at the nunnery earl y in
the morning. "Did a young page come yesterday with a message from the
general? Please tell the lady that, having been given a description of the
actual circumstances surrounding her case, I am overcome by a rather
surprising sense of remorse and guilt for what should have been an act of
piety. There are numbers of things we must talk about. I shall visit you
in the next few days."
The bishop's sister, astounded, took the letter in to Ukifune. The girl
flushed crimson. The rumor was abroad, finally, it seemed. The nun would
be furious at her secretiveness. She could find no answer.
The nun was indeed reproachful. "You must tell me the truth. Your
silence is cruel, that is the only word for it." Still apprised of only a part
of the truth, she was in great agitation.
"A message from the mountain," came a voice at the gate. "A message
from the bishop."
<N 8>
Confused, the nun ordered that the new messenger be shown in. He
would shed light on the mystery. A very handsome and well-groomed boy
came forward. Offered a cushion, he knelt deferentially beside the blind.
"I was ordered to deliver it personally."
The bishop's sister took the note. "To the young lady who has re-
cently become a nun," and, with the bishop's signature, "From the moun-
tain." This time the girl was not permitted the excuse that the message was
for someone else. She slipped deeper into the room and sat with her face
averted.
"You are a quiet girl, and always have been," said the nun; "but there
is a limit."
She looked at the bishop's letter. "The general came this morning and
asked about you, and I told him everything. You have turned your back
upon human affections and have chosen to live among mountain people.
This I know. Yet I was disturbed to learn the facts, and have come to fear
that, contrary to our intentions, what we have done might call down the
wrath of the holy powers. We must be resigned to it; and now you must
go back, surely and without hesitation, to the general, and dispel the
clouds of sin brought on by tenacious affections. Draw comfort from the
thought that a single day's retreat brings untold blessings. I shall myself
go over the problem carefully with you. The lad who brings this can no
doubt give you a general description of what has occurred."
There was no trace of ambiguity in the letter, and yet it was worded
so discreetly that an outsider would not immediately have guessed the
