Dream of a Spring Night (Hollow Reed series) (25 page)

Toshiko was sickened by the message.
 
A provincial official is released from annual taxes on his lands — a considerable figure in the case of the Oba holdings.
 
Just what did her father expect her to do?
 
She protested, “But Father is no magistrate.
 
He knows nothing about the laws.
 
How can he ask for such a position?”

Takehira laughed, a little too loudly — some of the other visitors turned to stare at him disapprovingly.
 
“What a foolish thing to say,” he cried, raising more eyebrows.
 
Unaware of the effect of his bad manners, he ploughed on, “You’re just a female and hardly grown for all that you warm the bed of —”

“Takehira!” his sister cried.
 
“
You mustn’t . . . please do not
say such things . . . and so loudly.
 
It will ruin both of us.”

He looked around, saw the eyes watching him, and ducked his head.
 
“Sorry.
 
Got carried away,” he muttered.
 
They both sat in silence for a while.
 
Then he said in a lower voice, “What Father means to do is hire some fellow from the capital.
 
Some poor law professor who’ll do the job for a reasonable fee and a house for himself and his family.”

“I see.”
 
Toshiko saw indeed.
 
She saw that she had been sold, and that her family cared only for the benefits they would reap.
 
She hardened her heart and wished Takehira would go away.

“You aren’t by any chance with child?” her brother asked, leaning forward and peering at the grass curtain as if he could see through it and her many layers of clothes to verify for
himself
that her belly was getting larger.
 
“That would really be a great thing.”

“No,” she snapped.

He caught her tone this time and chuckled.
 
“Don’t get upset, girl.
 
You’re young.
 
Maybe you need a bit more time.
 
But the moment you have a child, especially a boy, you’ll make all our fortunes in the blink of an eye.”
 
He rubbed his hands and grinned more widely.
 
“You’re the lucky one all right.
 
What could be easier for a woman?
 
A man has to work all his life to get a bit of recognition, and all you have to do . . .”

“Sssh!”
 

He stopped, glanced right and left, and said, “Don’t be so prickly.
 
I wasn’t going to say anything.”

Toshiko was so angry that she could not speak for a moment.
 
Then she informed him quite stiffly, “I am glad you came to tell me about your appointment, Brother.
 
No doubt you will be quite busy at the palace and in town.
 
Do not trouble yourself about me.
 
I cannot receive visitors in any case, and I doubt we shall meet again very soon.
 
Please give my respects to our parents and to our brother and sister.
 
Good bye.”
 
Without waiting for his response, she rose and left him there.

           
An even greater loneliness settled over Toshiko after her brother’s visit.
 
For the others, there was still much excitement about parties and New Year’s visits from family and friends.
 
A few left to spend time at home.
 
For Toshiko, there was not
so
much as a letter.
 
She moved through the busy days like a puppet, allowing herself to be dressed, posed, and at times put into the emperor’s bed.
 

She was one of the young women chosen to participate in the circle dancing at court.
 
One morning a carriage backed up to the south veranda, and she was helped in and sent off with one of the maids to the imperial palace.
 
This maid was hugely excited by the excursion and chattered away to her silent mistress.
 
After they crossed the bridge over the Kamo River, she lifted the curtain a little and commented on the sights they passed on their way to the imperial palace.
 
Toshiko wondered where the doctor lived and worked.
 
She leaned forward to get a look at the shops, gates, and walled mansions.
 
Perhaps in those milling crowds was the one person in
all the
world she wished to see again.

Encouraged by her interest, the maid became voluble.
 
She talked of her own home in the southern part of the capital, of visiting the two great temples, Sai-ji and To-ji, of the bustling markets with their astonishing wares and entertainments, of the artisans in the different quarters reserved for their trade.
 
Her father, it appeared, was a paper merchant.

“Where do the doctors live?” Toshiko asked.

“Doctors?
 
Do you mean professors, Lady Toshiko?”

“No.
 
Physicians.
 
Do they have their own street?”

The maid laughed.
 
“Of course not.
 
Most people send for one of the monks or for a pharmacist.
 
Only the good people have learned physicians come to them.”

“Oh.”

When they reached Suzaku-mon, the gate to the imperial enclosure, Toshiko lost interest.
 
She lowered the curtain over the protest of the curious maid.
 

That day Toshiko received instruction in the dances.
 
She was one of forty other young women.
 
The movements were simple enough, and she wondered why the others seemed so nervous.
 
The ruling emperor was, after all, a mere baby.
 
The dancers were all very young and mostly very pretty.
 
One girl was only ten years old and charming.
 
All of them would be gorgeously robed in costumes provided by the wardrobe office.

Hardly one of the girls slept that night.
 
They chatted and giggled while frowning older ladies paced the hall, reminding them that they would need their sleep for the next day’s performances.

Toshiko discovered the reason for their excitement.
 
Each girl hoped that she would make an impression the next day.
 
On this one day’s public appearance in their young lives, they all hoped to have their futures decided by finding a noble husband or by becoming a lady-in-waiting for one of the imperial households.
 
Toshiko had already gained this latter status, but her position at the retired emperor’s palace — she did not mention what it entailed — was judged to be duller than those at the imperial court or in the households of the crown prince or any of the dowager empresses or imperial princesses.
 
The retired emperor was said to be on the point of taking the tonsure.

Both performances passed uneventfully for Toshiko.
 
Indeed, she barely paid attention to the festive atmosphere and the formal rows of senior nobles who watched them in both palaces.
 
When it was all over, she climbed back into her carriage and returned, accompanied by more chatter from the maid, who was fascinated with the romantic possibilities of having forty beautiful young women exposed to the curious eyes of men who normally only saw an edge of a sleeve or a hem of a gown.

“You have many admirers, Lady Toshiko,” she said with great satisfaction as soon as they had left the palace.
 
“Very great gentlemen and so handsome.
 
I have brought all their letters.”
 
She held up a fat bundle wrapped in silk.

“Throw them away,” snapped Toshiko.

The maid’s eyes widened.
 
“What?
 
Now?
Throw them out into the street?”

Toshiko clicked her tongue in frustration.
 
“No.
 
Of course not.”
 
What would Lady Sanjo do to her if she heard about this?
 
“You should never have accepted them.
 
Hide them and burn them later.
 
No, better give them to me.”

The maid smiled knowingly and passed the bundle across.

Ah, spring!
  

How very appropriate are the last words I wrote into in my journal.
 
We have been so busy.
 
The beginning of the year is always the most exciting time.
 
There are visitors and outings and banquets every single day.
 
“Oh, cherry
blossoms,
fall and hide me in a cloud, so old age will never find me!”
 

Indeed, I have been looking my best lately.
 
What with all the rich meals I have been eating, I am getting positively fat.
 
A round face and softly dimpled limbs are what seduce men.
 
Instead of stuffing my cheeks with plums, I now line my gowns with soft rolls of silk floss, cunningly doubled in all those places that men like to touch and squeeze.
 
To my utter delight, His .Majesty took notice during one of the banquets and sent me a serving of delicacies from His own table with a note that said, “Even hungry ghosts must be fed on the New Year.”
 
It was more than I could reasonably eat, but the dear, generous man smiled so lovingly at me that I forced myself.
 

The change in me has been noted by others.
 
The chancellor himself paid me a compliment the other day.
 
I flirted shamelessly with him before His Majesty and do believe the dearest man was quite put out.
 
I mean His Majesty, of course.
 
The chancellor became frightened and ran off.
 
I suppose he thought he had been caught poaching on a heavenly reserve.
 

Thus my chances have improved remarkably, while my rival has fallen into disfavor.
 
He rarely sends for her any more.
 
He even dispatched her to court to perform with the circle dancers.
 
When I heard of this, I quickly sent for the court silk merchant and selected
a particularly
precious figured brocade from his samples.
 
I chose the most striking pattern — brilliant red safflowers against green — and set about making a new robe for His Majesty.
 
Sitting up all night, I used my daintiest stitches and imagined to myself his delight when I presented it to Him.
 
As I sewed the sleeves, I thought of being held in His embrace, and when I stitched the collar, I pressed my face into the fabric in anticipation.
 
The hem . . . oh, dear, the hem!
 
The robe is casual, the sort He would wear in the evening in the privacy of his rooms.
 
It ends above the knees to show off His full silk trousers.
 
I made certain that it opened easily by trying it on when it was finished.
 

And then I composed a little verse:
 
“Ever since I first glimpsed the realm above the clouds, my love has been as fresh and bright as the safflower.”

The great moment of my presentation came after the Oba girl had left for her dancing.
 
She looked quite crushed when any other girl would have been delighted with a visit to the imperial palace.
 
No doubt it was due to having lost His Majesty’s favor.
 
As it is, I had no hand in it, though once I almost caught her out.
 
Never mind.

Naturally, His Majesty was surprised when I approached him.
 
Always gracious, he accepted my gift and read the note with the kindest smile.

“Dear Lady Sanjo,” He said, “you are a treasure to me. Whenever I am sad, I only have to think of you and I laugh right away.
 
This is a most unusual pattern.
 
How ever did you find it?”

I nearly swooned, but managed, “When it is a matter of giving Your Majesty pleasure, nothing is impossible.
 
I am yours to command, sire.
 
You have but to send for me.”

As it turned out, He was too busy that night and the next.
 
I lay awake, my hair and body perfumed, and pictured to myself the moment when we would be together at last.
 
“Eagerly I await his call, but alas, no one appears but the morning star.”
 
When He had not sent for me by the time the Oba girl returned, my tears soaked my sleeves.
 
The disappointment might have crushed me “like the waves that pound Nagahama beach,” but He did not send for her either.
   

Besides, by then my plan to discredit her in His Majesty’s eyes was beginning to take shape after all.
 
Her dancing for the New Year’s guests at the imperial palace had done what I had failed to do:
 
her maid informed me that all the brash young men wanted to get a taste of the emperor’s morsel.
 
They soon came, left letters and poems, and waited for replies.
 
Regrettably, she rejected all the notes without glancing at them, but I kept my eye on her suitors and managed to see quite a few of their silly effusions in verse — comparing her to cherry blossoms and themselves to the breeze, talking about how they burned for her like Mount Fuji at night, and endlessly wringing out their wet sleeves.
 

To my surprise, I recognized the youngest son of the regent among them.
 
I wondered what his father would say if he knew and then realized that the young man was perfect for my plan because he would not dare mention any part of it to anyone.

My heart became “as light as a cloud passing across a mountain peak.”

When I took the young man aside, I played the concerned friend.
 
Did he not realize, I asked, what a difficult position the young lady was
in.
 

He admitted it, looking as sorrowful as a wilted cabbage.
 

Was it kind to turn her poor young head, I asked.
 

He perked up at this.
 
“Oh?
 
Does she care a little for me?” he asked eagerly.
 

Poor fool.
 

“You must not continue this,” I said, looking severe.
 
“No matter how much she may pine for you.”
 

He brightened even more at that,
then
frowned.
 
“But she has not answered my notes,” he said.

“I should hope not.”
 
I shook my finger at him.
 
“My dear young man, you must stop this nonsense.
 
If you were caught together, it would be the end of her.”

“Oh, but Lady Sanjo . . .” he muttered, looking half disconsolate, half hopeful.

I patted his arm in a motherly fashion — he is by no means unattractive — and said consolingly, “Be brave.
 
Put her from your mind.
 
I said the same to her only last night as she lay sleepless in the northern eave chamber.”

He stared at me.
 
For a moment, I thought I would have to lead him to the place and show him how to open the shutters.
 
Then he nodded and bowed.
 
“You are right to censure me, Lady Sanjo,” he said.
 
“I have been very foolish.
 
Thank you for reminding me of my duty.”
 
And off he trod with a little bounce in his step.
 
He is really quite attractive.
 
I’m doing the girl a favor.

Ah, spring!