Текст книги "Dream of a Spring Night"

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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From Lady Sanjo’s Pillow Book

Today the new girl arrived – a rustic from a military family.  Need one say more?  We worked for hours to make her presentable, and throughout the fool had not a word to say for herself.  I was secretly pleased.

I suppose if His Majesty had not graciously sent a palm leaf carriage for her, she would have arrived in a sedan chair.  Or worse: on a horse!  Apparently provincial warriors bring up their daughters much the same as their sons.  I overheard His Majesty telling the imperial adviser of the third rank – amazing how military men rise in this world – that He was charmed when He saw her ride a horse.  I thought He was joking.  But alas – He sent for her.

They had her togged out in silk, but the colors were all wrong and the silk so wrinkled from travel that I let one of the maids have everything she wore.  There was no time to unpack her single trunk (!), but fortunately His Majesty had sent some gowns for her.  I had instructions that I was to make a selection.  This proves how highly He regards me, but I must confess it put me in a quandary.  I meant to have her appear as uncouth as possible to open His eyes to her unsuitability.  As it was, I was forced to demonstrate my good taste instead.  Her youth and the season required the colors of blossoming:  a three-layered dress of varying shades of plum-red beaten silk and a pale green over robe.  Her costume, in any case, was charming.

As for the girl herself:  a heavy application of lead-white on her face, neck, and those rough red hands – honestly, they must have had her cutting reeds – pretty well hid those dark features more commonly seen in peasant women.  Her hair is thick and long enough, but crimped around her temples.  We had to apply hot oil and stretch it.  No doubt that hurt – a true warrior’s daughter, she did not flinch once.  With a great deal of effort and some discreet pinning of the more unmanageable portions, her hair looked passable.

It is very strange that His Majesty should have chosen so poorly.  He is in every other way a man of such exquisite taste.  One can only assume that he did not get a good look at her.

The other ladies laughed.  Very improper, of course, but the young fool was too stupid to know.  I held the mirror for her when we were done, but she barely looked in it.

Reminder:  My own mirror must be replaced.  It has warped so badly that my cheeks look sunken, which adds a very unattractive sharpness to my features.  When I first noticed it, I became so concerned that I placed a pickled plum in each cheek before presenting myself before His Majesty.  To my surprise this gave my speech a rather attractive, youthful lilt.  He looked at me very attentively and smiled.  The dear man.  I am convinced he is secretly captivated and only maintains his reserve out of respect for my husband.  Perhaps in time he will come to see that a woman whose husband has been stationed in distant provinces for more than a decade is free to take a lover.  To paraphrase a poetic line: “Though my pain is cruel, I cannot put him from my mind.”

There was that night two months ago when I thought he had decided to visit me under cover of darkness.  I was lying awake, wishing for just such a thing to happen when I recognized his step approaching my door.  My heart beat so I thought he must hear it through the shutters.  But Lady Dainagon’s miserable cat had taken to sleeping there and he must have stepped on the creature’s tail.  There was a great deal of noise, which woke up the other ladies and, when I opened the door to pull him inside, He had fled.

The next morning I paid one of the groundskeepers to take care of the cat, but His Majesty did not come back, though I often wonder if he is waiting somewhere in the corridor, wishing he could hold me in his arms.

Sadly I have been “waiting in vain night after night.”

Lady Dainagon wailed for weeks for her lost pet, and we all went on rather amusing searches, crying, “Here, kitty.  Here, kitty,” to the great entertainment of the young gentlemen, until Her Majesty forbade it.

And I, after “waiting in vain” for a whole month, went to see His Majesty.  Plums in place, I presented him with a poem and whispered, “I am entirely at your Majesty’s service.”

He looked surprised and very moved at my fervor.  I thought I saw tears of gratitude in his eyes, but matters of state interfered with our happiness once again – as in those terrible days when both Their Majesties, father and son were attacked.  The sacrilege of that!  I was never so frightened.  Soldiers everywhere.  Ladies screaming.  No doubt they were being raped, though none would admit to it later.  And His Majesty kidnapped from our midst, along with his son, who was only seventeen then.  Of course, they did this while our protector Kiyomori was on a pilgrimage.  I’ll give him this: he rushed back and rescued their majesties.

And now, just when we are settling down after Her Majesty’s departure, His Majesty has brought this young girl into the palace and instructed me to keep an eye on her and report to him.  I must think what to do.

Tooth Blackening

Toshiko was shown a place to sleep.  At home she had her own room and privacy.  Here was surrounded by other women.  When she returned from her interview with the emperor, they looked at her, then turned away.

Lady Sanjo, who had taken her to His Majesty, pointed vaguely toward a dark corner, and Toshiko went there.  She found several neck rests, took one, and lay down as she was, placing her head on the unfamiliar support and pulling her outer gown over her for warmth.  She was so tired that the humming voices of the others lulled her to sleep.

The sounds of steady, thrumming rain on the roof and the splashing on the stones outside woke her.  For a moment, the darkness was puzzling, then she remembered where she was, and desolation swallowed her again.  At home this would have been a delicious sort of waking, that moment of fusion of dream and reality when she hovered between both, half tempted to slip back into sleep, half curious about the new day.  But now reality brought only despair.  She opened her eyes to the grey obscurity of the hall and, like a frightened mouse, listened for human sounds.  When she heard none, she sat up.

Here and there on the dark glossy planks lay silken figures.  Their long hair writhed like black snakes across gowns whose colors looked faded in the faint light leaking through the shutters.  They seemed like dead people, as if she alone had been spared by some demon who had come in the night and killed the others.

Spared for what?  To be at the ogre’s mercy, captive and tormented until she died?

She thought of flight, of leaving this dark world of death and returning to her home – to life, to a world of sunshine and swaying grasses, of horses and falcons, and the freedom to ride with her brothers.

But she could not leave, not ever.  She, too, was dead – dead to her family, as they were dead to her.

Gradually distant sounds of palace life penetrated the thrumming of the rain: a guard’s shout, quick footsteps passing on the covered veranda outside the shutters, subdued voices, a crash as something fell.

And slowly in the room, the dead women began to stir, to sit up, stretch, and talk to each other.  A shutter opened and a maid looked in.  Their day had begun.

Bemused, Toshiko watched from her corner as each of the ladies was greeted by her own maid who tended to her morning toilet while exchanging soft chatter.  Everywhere there were elaborate preparations with much running and fetching.  Someone called for more light, for food, and the shutters were raised, revealing an unrelenting gray sky and a slanting rain which made the world outside appear as if seen through silver gauze.  Maids rushed about with bowls and water pitchers or small trays with the morning rice gruel.  Here and there large round mirrors appeared, and candles were lit as the ladies applied cosmetics to their faces or fresh blackening to their teeth.

Lady Sanjo arrived suddenly at Toshiko’s side.  She cried, “Heavens, has no one seen to the new girl?  She must be made presentable.”

Toshiko, aware of her sleep-rumpled condition, got to her feet and looked about for her cosmetics box, her mirror, her combs.

Lady Sanjo glared at her.  “You have brought no maid,” she said accusingly.

Toshiko bowed her head.  “No.  I was told—”

“How stupid!”  The other woman snapped her fingers irritably, looked around, and fixed on a young lady nearby who was almost ready.  “Shojo-ben, do you mind sharing your maid until someone can be assigned?”

Lady Shojo-ben smiled and bowed, and Toshiko blushed with embarrassment and bowed back, murmuring her thanks.  A rather plain woman in a dark silk gown joined them and was told to get Toshiko’s boxes and hot water.

Lady Shojo-ben was small and very pretty.  Her hands were like fluttering butterflies as she asked if Toshiko had slept well.

“Yes, thank you.  I was tired.  It was a long journey and then to be called into the August Presence . . . it was exhausting,” bubbled Toshiko, grateful for the other’s friendliness.

Lady Sanjo made a hissing sound.  “Guard your tongue, girl,” she murmured, and Lady Shojo-ben blushed and lowered her eyes.

It became very quiet in the large room.  Toshiko felt confused and then realized that they must think – oh, no – they must think that she and he —.  She began to tremble with shame.  “It was nothing,” she cried, looking around at the listening women and their maids.  The room seemed to be full of ears, all avidly waiting for her next word.  “He didn’t . . . nothing happened.”  Lady Sanjo now looked as fierce as a demon and hissed again.  “We only talked,” Toshiko finished lamely.

Someone giggled, then immediately suppressed the sound.

Lady Sanjo gripped Toshiko’s arm painfully and nearly jerked her off her feet, pulling her out of the room and onto the veranda where the rainwater rushed from the overhanging eaves and drowned out most sounds, away from the open door and the room full of ears.

Pushing Toshiko hard against the wall, she brought her face close and said through gritted teeth, “You rude, disgusting girl!  You will never – do you hear me, you stupid thing? – never mention His Majesty again.  You will never discuss what passes between you, or tell what was said.  If you cannot do this, you will be sent home in disgrace this very day.  Do you understand me?”  And she gave Toshiko a shake.

Toshiko nodded.  She tried not to breathe – the other woman’s breath stank – and felt hot tears springing from her eyes, and then she felt the sharp pain of a slap.

“Stop that!  No tears, do you hear?”

Toshiko swallowed her tears and nodded again.

“Well?”

“I shall obey, Lady Sanjo.”

“Remember it.  You are in my charge, and I shall have my eye on you every moment.  At the least impropriety . . .”

And now Toshiko understood that this woman hated her and that she must submit to anything she demanded or dishonor her parents.  She sank to her knees.  “I swear,” she whispered.  “I’ll be obedient.  Please do not send me home, Lady Sanjo.  Please.”  And that act of submission took more courage than the defiance that tore at her heart.

But the rest of the day was not altogether bad.  She dressed, and Shojo-ben’s maid helped her with her toilet and praised the thickness and length of her hair.  Toshiko bent over her mirror in the half-light of the cloudy day, determined that Lady Sanjo should find nothing to criticize.  She located her jar of tooth-blackening and applied another coat to be sure that not the least spot of white showed.

White teeth are like the uncouth fangs of wild animals.

Long ago, when she had still been alive, her mother had said this to her, explaining the need for tooth-blackening.  Toshiko was thirteen then and had become a woman.  “It is time to put away the wild and childish things and prepare to become a lady,” her mother had said.  Applying the evil-smelling paste of metal filings and soured wine to her teeth marked her new status as much as did plucking her eyebrows and her hairline.  She learned to cover her face with the paste of ground rice flour and to use burned oil of sesame to paint new eyebrows high up on her forehead and to outline her eyes.  She reddened her lips with safflower juice.  And she learned to wear her hair loose.  It was all very unpleasant.  Being a lady made it nearly impossible to engage in the things she loved so much.  Ladies spent their day sitting or lying down, whereas men rode horses, hunted with falcons, played football, shot arrows at targets, and practiced sword-fighting.

She had complained, but her mother had been firm.  “You are a woman,” she had said.  “It is your karma.”  And then she had begun to comb her daughter’s long hair.

That was the only pleasant part of the daily toilet.  Both her mother and sister had combed her long thick hair and rubbed almond oil into it to make it glossy and smooth, and she had done the same for them.  To have her hair handled produced an inordinately lovely sensation.  It made her whole body feel warm and languid, and delightful little shivers of intense pleasure ran through her.  She grew proud of her hair and begged to have it combed.

But she had still found moments to slip away to the stable to saddle her horse and ride with the wind.  That, too, was a deeply physical pleasure, though of a different, more intensely alive kind.  She had felt in control then, filled with power.  When her hair was being combed, she seemed to turn to liquid.

Lady Shojo-ben’s maid combed her hair now, but Toshiko could not enjoy it because some of the others came to speak to her.  They were curious.  They asked about her family and about her skills, but their eyes remained cold and when she had answered they turned away, as if she were of little interest.

Only Lady Shojo-ben was truly kind.  She showed her around her new home.  Their quarters were in the Hojuji palace, which was very large, to judge from the building they were in, and from the many roofs and galleries Toshiko could see through the open doors.  These were the women’s quarters, but His Majesty’s official wives were elsewhere at the moment, in their own palaces in the city or in nunneries.  The retired Emperor had seven sons by several wives, and the succession was assured.  The high-born mothers of these sons no longer felt it a duty to be on call, but because the reigning sovereign was a mere infant, some of the other ladies still hoped that His eye would fall on one of them, that they would bear Him another prince, and that this would raise them and their families in the world.  That was why Toshiko was here and why the others were wary of her.

When they reached the long gallery that led to the imperial apartments, Toshiko stopped.  She recognized the mirror-bright flooring and the ornate double doors at the end, and shivered with sudden dread.

Lady Shojo-ben looked at her, blushed a little, then took her hand and said, “Are you afraid?”

Serving a “son of the gods” was like a religious duty, like praying to the Buddha, or copying the lotus sutra hundreds of times.  But Toshiko was only fourteen and had not bargained with the gods for this.  Her prayers had always been for her loved ones or for a new horse, or bow, or a sword like her younger brother’s.  But it had been her parents’ prayers that were answered when she was called to court.

Remembering Lady Sanjo’s warning, Toshiko said nothing, and after a moment Lady Shojo-ben said, “You must not worry.  He is very kind.  Mostly he is devout and very busy with matters of state.  And when he does not work or pray, he makes a collection of the songs called imayo.”

Toshiko’s eyes widened.  “Imayo songs?”  She recalled his question and felt ashamed and a little frightened.  Had she already ruined her parents’ hopes by that small, well-intended fib?

“Yes.  Sometimes he sings them for us. They are quite pretty.  Only, you know, imayo is usually performed by certain . . . women.  They are called shirabyoshi.”  Lady Shojo-ben paused, then leaned closer and whispered, “They say some of these women have visited His Majesty to perform for him.”

“Really?  Here?”  Toshiko brightened.  She knew all about shirabyoshi.  Two of these magical creatures had come to her home.  But since Shojo-ben seemed to find them somehow shocking, she did not want to say so.

In the country, there was little entertainment, and the Obe family was close-knit.  When the two female entertainers had stopped on their travels to offer their services, Toshiko’s father had let the whole family as well as the servants watch their performance.  It was a holiday for all of them.  To Toshiko, the two women had been enchanting.  They had worn vaguely masculine outfits in pure white with red sashes and red trousers and had sung and danced like celestial beings.  Later, Toshiko had borrowed her younger brother’s riding costume and secretly practiced their songs and dance steps.  Her father had caught her at this, been amused, and had one of the performers teach her some of the movements and songs.  Many of the songs were folksongs she had already known.

On the night of the performance, the women of the household had withdrawn early, but the men had stayed.  Toshiko found out the next morning that everyone had composed love poems.  In fact, the younger shirabyoshi had exchanged more than poetry with Toshiko’s handsome older brother.  He had gone about in a dreamlike state for days and had followed them when they departed.  Toshiko’s father had brought him back several days later.  As a country girl, Toshiko had a fair notion what passed between men and women, but she had been shocked to hear that her own brother had done such things.

All of that now seemed ages ago and made her sad again.  She was here, far from home, and His Majesty had asked if she could sing imayo.  Surely, if he invited shirabyoshi to perform for Him, He would find her untrained voice and pitiful dance steps ridiculous.  She was glad that she had denied any talents along that line but worried that her parents wished her to please Him.

Lady Shojo-ben talked a little about the other ladies.  There were ten of them here at the moment.  The number fluctuated.  About forty ladies were in service at the retired Emperor’s court, but his wives had taken the others with them into the city on the other side of the Kamo River.  The Taira consort, the retired Emperor’s most recent favorite, liked to be in the capital and closer to the palace.  Since the little Emperor was still an infant, the retired Emperor and Chancellor Kiyomori ruled the nation.

The ten ladies were the remnants of the Taira Consort’s court, and most were no longer in their first youth or they were married.  Lady Sanjo was a principal handmaid and in charge.  In the absence of the Consort, she reported to the Emperor.  Ladies Chujo and Kosaisho had grown children and husbands serving at court.  Lady Dainagon was a widow and Lady Saibara was so plain that she had never had a husband.  Of the younger women, Lady Harima was skilled with the zither and lute, and the Ladies Ukon and Kunaikyo composed poetry.  Until Toshiko’s arrival, Lady Shojo-ben had been the youngest.  As daughters of the first families in the nation, all of them outranked Toshiko  Except for Lady Shojo-ben, they behaved with barely hidden disdain toward the newcomer.

Yet of all of them, only Toshiko had been brought here by special invitation by the Retired Emperor.

Later that day, she was given an assignment, to be in charge of fans, writing boxes, games, and musical instruments.  Lady Sanjo showed her where these were kept and how they must be stored.  It seemed a simple enough chore – the sort of job given to someone with no special talent or intelligence.

Lower-class serving women came to clean and serve meals.  Toshiko found the food bland and of mediocre quality.  She was used to the varied fare at home where the men regularly hunted and the manor was well supplied with delicious fresh fowl and fish.  But she had been warned not to mention this.  The taking of life, whether fowl or fish, was strictly forbidden at court.  Most of the meals here seemed to consist of rice and vegetables, along with a few fruits and nuts.  But Lady Shojo-ben shared some sweet cakes with her.  She kept them in a small box that was regularly replenished by one of her family’s servants.

In the afternoon, she and Shojo-ben played board games, while Lady Harima practiced her zither.  The music and the soft sound of the rain soothed Toshiko into tranquility.  But the light faded quickly on this overcast day, and as darkness fell, panic returned.  Would she be called again into His presence?  Should she tell Him the truth this time?  What would he do, if she did?  Her heart beat fast with fear and excitement, but nothing happened, and she retired to sleep peacefully.