Dream of a Spring Night (Hollow Reed series) (17 page)

Instead of answering, Shigeko signaled to the child’s nurse.
 
The woman came forward on her knees and extended a small scroll to the emperor.

It was tied with crimson silk and made of fine mulberry paper.
 
When he unrolled it, he saw that someone had taught the child a series of signatures.
 
They were certainly not wasting any time.
 
He suppressed a sigh and praised his son, adding, “But there are many, many other things to learn still.
 
So run along now, and practice with your brush.”
 

He was thoughtful as he looked after the boy, who scampered off, holding his nurse’s hand.
 
Norihito was still very young, but what did that matter?
 
An emperor’s duties were almost exclusively ceremonial.
 
Norihito would be dressed up like a doll and he would be coached about what to do and what to recite for the many hundreds of annual devotions to the gods.
 
He remembered those dull chores very well.
 
The ruling emperor had the ear of the gods and must perform all the rituals assuring good harvests.
 
Everything else lay in the hands of his ministers and the senior retired emperor.
 
That was why emperors agreed to resign.
 
It had been that way for many generations now.

Silk rustled.
 
Shigeko was reminding him of her presence.
 
He turned a smile on her.
 
“He will do very well.
 
And you?
 
Will you be even more distant when your son is on the throne?”

She raised her fan as if to hide a blush. “It is you who are distant, sire,” she murmured.
 
For a moment she sounded almost flirtatious, but then she said, “Naturally, I shall remain close to Norihito until he is old enough to be on his own.
 
I love my son and will do my duty as his mother.”
 

It was simply said, and he liked her for it, but the moment’s coyness in her manner had made him curious.
 
He decided to test the waters.
 
“But you are here now,” he said suggestively, taking her hand.
 

Her eyes flew to his.
 
“Now?”

Had that been shock, dismay, or — dared he hope — lust?
 

He laughed lightly and caressed her hand.
 
“Not here and not now, my dear.
 
We might be surprised.
 
Though surely it is customary between a man and his wife.”
 
He noted with satisfaction the slight flush on her skin where the white paste did not cover it completely and felt
a certain
warmth himself.
 

She bowed, her eyes lowered.
 
“Of course, sire.
 
As you wish.”

*

Late that night he went to his Consort’s quarters.
 
He walked so softly that he startled one of her women who sat up with a little cry, then recognized him in the light of his lantern and scurried away with a warning whisper to the others.
 
He approached the curtained dais and set down his light.
 
All was silent and dark inside.
 
Behind him, the attendants left with a soft rustling of their gowns.
 
Taking off his outer robe and slippers, he lifted the draperies and ducked inside.

Shigeko lay under a mound of silken covers.
 
When he knelt and felt for her, she started up.

“Sssh,” he said, unnecessarily.
 
Her women would not dare to spy on their love-making.
 

Shigeko made room for him, and he busied himself with peeling back her gown.
 
Apparently she had expected him; she wore only
a thin
gauze under gown.
 
The lamp outside the silk drapes cast a soft and diffuse light over her breasts.
 
Her lips were slightly open, her eyes closed.
 
He touched the firm curves of her body, fuller now that she had borne children and familiar to his hands in the near darkness. He murmured an endearment, and she sighed,
then
gasped at a caress.
 
He was pleased with this and his own response.
 
The duty visit would be accomplished pleasantly enough.
 
He reminded himself that intercourse was healthy, that the woman’s body was a source of the essential life force, and that he had abstained too long.

Pushing a knee between her thighs, he bent his mouth to hers.
 
He tasted her, explored her mouth with his tongue, allowing their saliva to mingle, then cleared the way below and thrust.

Alas.
 
In his hurry, desire failed him.
 
Embarrassed, he withdrew and pretended that the quick attack had merely been part of a lengthier campaign.
 
He concentrated on regaining his sexual vigor.
 
The ancients taught that the jade stalk sought to draw the life force from the cinnabar gate, but they also claimed that after childbirth a woman had lost much of this life force.
 
They recommended lying with a virgin to regain stamina.
 

An interesting theory.

After another failure, he decided that it must be his familiarity with Shigeko’s body and with her responses to his lovemaking that had deflated his lust.
 
He closed his eyes and resorted to imagining the soft flesh beneath him to be Toshiko’s virginal body.
 
This worked astonishingly well, but at the moment of penetration, reality prevailed and he failed again.

It was a disaster and an embarrassment.

He disentangled himself from the covers, murmured an apology, and left his wife’s bed.
 
Throwing on his robe and scooping up his slippers, he retreated to his own room.

The day after Sadamu’s mother was cremated at Toribeno — a trip that had taken them past the cloister palace and filled Doctor Yamada with intense longing — he decided that he must put the past from his mind and begin his life anew.

His first step was to inform Otori when she brought him his morning gruel.

“Otori,” he said without preamble, “I have decided to adopt the boys.”

She gaped at him.
 
“What?
 
What boys?
 
There’s only the one.”

“No, there are two.
 
You have forgotten Boy.”

For a moment she looked confused.
 
Then she cried, “You are mad, Doctor.
 
That one?
 
That useless scum?
 
The one that bites the hand that feeds him?
 
The one whose face is as crooked as a demon’s because he has a demon’s soul?”

“He is a boy like any other,” insisted the doctor, “and like Sadamu he needs a family.
 
I have no family myself but the means to support one.
 
It is good fortune that has brought us together.”

She forgot all about her position in the house and plopped down on the mat across from him.
 
“Listen to me,” she said fiercely, shaking a finger in his face.
 
“I have looked after you since you were no higher than Sadamu.
 
And what a handful you’ve been to me!
 
You say you have no family?
 
Well, you’re the son I never had.
 
As a mother, I say to you now:
 
do not shame yourself and your family by associating with low scum.
 
You are a Yamada.
 
You were born to be a lord and have many servants and many children by fine ladies.
 
But you go and become a doctor, and being a doctor, you go to live among the poor.
 
And now you want to be like them.
 
Have you gone mad?
 
What of your own children?
 
Will you have them take second best after those two guttersnipes?”
 
She burst into tears.

Yamada saw that she was truly upset.
 
What she had said about having raised him was true enough.
 
The care of the youngest children in a noble household fell to a reliable maid, and she had raised him as if he were her own.
 
She was entitled to her reaction.
 
Servants took enormous pride in the status of their masters, and he had sadly disappointed her.

“Otori,” he tried to explain, “I have no children of my own and I shall never marry.
 
I’m lonely and shall be lonelier still when I grow old.
 
Let me do this for the boys and for myself.
 
You will see
,
it will be good to have children’s laughter in this house.”

She wiped away her tears and stared at him.
 
“Why won’t you take a wife?” she asked suspiciously.

“I . . . there is no one I want to live with,” he said lamely.
 
Oh, dear heaven, the lie almost strangled him.

Otori’s eyes narrowed.
 
“You prefer boys to women maybe?” she asked, pursing her lips in disapproval.

He did not understand immediately,
then
he laughed.
 
“No, Otori.”

“But then why not take a wife?
 
You’ll see how nice a woman can be.
 
Your trouble is just that you haven’t tried it.
 
You’re a good-looking man.
 
Your wife will think herself lucky to warm your bed and bear your children.”

“No, Otori.
 
I will never marry.
 
Now bring the boys in.”

But Otori burst into fresh floods of tears.
 
“I don’t understand,” she wailed.
 
“Please make me understand.
 
What is wrong?”

Her grief shamed him, and he decided to tell her the truth.
 
“Hush,” he said.
 
“It is a secret.
 
You must never speak of it to anyone.
 
Promise me?”

Her tear-drenched face filled with half-fearful curiosity.
 
She paused her sobbing and nodded.

“I met someone, but I cannot ask her to be my wife.
 
And I will not live with any other woman.
 
It would not be fair to this other
woman,
for I should always think less of her because she was not the one I want.
 
Do you understand now?”

Otori sniffed and wiped her nose with her sleeve.
 
Then she nodded.
 
“Who is she?
 
Does she already have a husband?”

“I cannot tell you.
 
Now go bring the boys.”

When Otori returned with his “sons,” Yamada had a moment’s misgivings.
 
Sadamu was all very well.
 
He was only five and showed some promise of growing into a man who was at least ordinary looking.
 
Otori’s ministrations had made enough of a change to hint even at handsomeness.
 
But Boy was discouraging.
 
As Otori had pointed out, his appearance matched his reputation for thievery and untrustworthiness.
 
He was lean rather than skinny these days because he got enough to eat, but he had never lost his furtive look and manner.
 
Boy was tall, with narrow shoulders, a long neck, a broken nose which gave his face its lopsided appearance, a long chin and a crooked grin.
 
His eyes were deep-set and wild, and his hands and feet overly large.
 
At the moment, his arms dangled at his sides, and he was casting quick appraising glances around the room and at Yamada’s face, as if he were gauging his chances of grabbing some item of value and making a run for it.

Yamada sighed.
 
“Boy,” he said, “
have
you been happy here?”

Boy’s eyes sharpened.
 
His head bobbed up and down eagerly.
 
“Yes, Master.
 
Very happy.
 
Thank you, Master.”
 
Boy’s voice had changed.
 
This emphasized the unpleasant tone.

“How old are you now?
 
About sixteen?”

A lifting of the shoulders.

“I cannot go on calling you ‘Boy.’
 
You’ll be a man soon.
 
What name do you want to be called?”
      

That astonished the youth.
 
His sharp eyes scanned Yamada’s face.
 
Then he grinned more widely.
 
The effect was that of a trickster trying to ingratiate himself, but he answered readily enough, “Sadahira, Master.
 
Like you.”

Yamada was taken aback.
 
He glanced at the smaller boy, who looked mildly puzzled.
 
“That name is taken,” the doctor said stiffly.
 
“Pick another one.”

A stubborn look came into the older boy’s face.
 
“Why can’t I have that name?
 
If he’s Sadamu, I want to be Sadahira.”

Here were already the first signs of jealousy between the boys.
 
Yamada’s sudden decision appeared fraught with difficulties.
 
Otori thought so, too.
 
She grunted and snapped, “I told you he was worthless and ungrateful.
 
You’re a fool if you go through with it.”

Her words had an interesting effect on Boy.
 
He glanced quickly from Otori to Yamada.
 
A calculating expression replaced the stubborn look.
 
He said, “Sorry, Master.
 
You must pick my name.
 
I shall be proud to bear it.”

“Very well.
 
Then you shall be Hachiro.
 
It is an honorable name in my family, and I shall expect you not to bring shame to it.”

The newly named Hachiro bowed again.
 
“Thank you, Master.
 
It is a fine name.”

“The reason I have called you both,” Yamada continued, impatient now to get it over with before he lost his nerve at the older boy’s manner, “is that I have decided to adopt both of you.
 
It means that this is now your home.
 
You will receive an education suitable for sons of mine, and after my death you will inherit my property in the way I see fit to bestow it.
 
In return, I expect obedience, filial behavior,
earnest
effort at the chores I set you, and honesty.
 
Do you accept?”

Hachiro flushed,
then
said fervently, “Yes, Master, I will. Thank you.”

“You may call me ‘Father’ from now on, Hachiro.”

“Thank you, Father.
 
May the Buddha and all his saints bless
you.
”

“And you, Sadamu?” asked Yamada, a little disappointed that the smaller boy had said nothing and was frowning.

“My father is dead,” Sadamu said flatly.
 
“My mother is also dead.
 
I have no home.”

Otori gave a small gasp.

Yamada sighed.
 
“Yes, I know, Sadamu.
 
That’s why you are here.
 
I will be your father from now on.”

The boy said nothing and looked away.

“Sadamu,” whispered Otori.
 
“You must thank the doctor.
 
You’re a very lucky little boy, you know.
 
Not many orphans with
no
family get taken in by such a fine gentleman as Doctor Yamada.
 
Where are your manners?”

Sadamu thought about it, then bowed and said, “Thank you.”

More than anything the doctor wanted to be called ‘Father’ by this quiet thoughtful child, but he did not press him.
 
Instead he sent the boys away and went into his garden.

Much later, as he was grinding dried herbs in his studio, Sadamu slipped in and stood beside him to watch.

“Would you like to help me?”
 
Yamada asked.

The boy nodded, and the doctor showed him how to use the pestle to grind the powdered herbs together with sesame seeds so that he could mix them with honey into a thick paste and then roll small pills the size of orange seeds.
 
He did the weighing himself and smiled to see the child put a finger into the honey and lick it.
 
Still, Sadamu did not say much and made few replies to Yamada’s chatter.

“Did you know,” Yamada said, “that I can mix a medicine that will make a person become as fragrant as Prince Genji?”

The boy looked up at him.
 
“Why?”

“Oh, there are people who wish for this.
 
Prince Genji was much admired by beautiful ladies.”

“Do you want to be fragrant and have many beautiful women?” asked the boy.

Yamada laughed.
 
“Yes, but I doubt it would help me much.”

 
Silence fell again as Sadamu pounded and Yamada measured.
 
Then the boy asked, “Why don’t you have children?”

Remembering Otori’s reaction, the doctor said cautiously, “I’ve never had a wife.”

“Were you afraid she would die?”

Yamada set down the earthenware jar he had been filling with pills.
 
“No.
 
What makes you say a thing like that?”

“My father died.
 
Then my mother cried and cried until she got sick and died, too.
 
Maybe I’ll die next.
 
And then you will die.”

“No, Sadamu. You will not die,” Yamada said quickly and took the child in his arms.
 
“I’m a doctor, and I won’t let you die.”
 
But as he said it, he thought that the boy would now believe he had let his mother die.
 
Helplessly, he held the child until he felt the small arms slip around his neck and hug him.