Текст книги "Dream of a Spring Night"

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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The Consort Pays a Visit

The day after the “Little Snail” incident, the Emperor threw himself into the planning of his pilgrimage.  He had not liked Otomae’s warning and did not believe that for a woman love meant terror because the man forced her into compliance.

The little snail must dance or be crushed.

Worse, she had implied that men assumed women enjoyed being taken.  At first he had been angry, but the matter began to trouble him, filling him with new doubts about his intentions.

After a restless night weighing his desire for Toshiko against possibly painful regrets, he decided to seek spiritual enlightenment.  He emptied his mind of lustful thoughts and spent the pre-dawn hours in prayer and meditation.  After sunrise, he kept his secretaries busy with the details of the pilgrimage.  He consulted them about new temples and shrines to visit and checked his budget for further generous donations and endowments to religious communities.  He received a group of clerics and discussed their needs (they always had needs) and asked for spiritual advice on how to cleanse his mind of worldly matters.  They offered the same old lessons: Empty your mind by meditating on the Buddha.  He resolved to try harder.

Then, around midday, he got the news that his Consort had arrived.

This lady was not the mother of the late emperor Nijo – with her he maintained friendly but distant relations.  No, this was Shigeko, mother of the new crown prince and sister-in-law of Chancellor Kiyomori.  Shigeko had been his frequent bed partner until last year when she had moved back to the capital to be closer to life in the imperial palace.  Being busy with many plans at the time, he had hardly missed her.

The news of her arrival now filled him with astonishment.  She rarely came and then only for brief visits.  On this occasion, she had arrived with a procession of court carriages and mounted attendants, bringing along her ladies-in-waiting, a contingent of Taira warriors, and the little crown prince.

In one respect, the visit was natural enough.  He had just approved the elevation of her son to crown prince, and she wanted to express her gratitude.  But he had an uneasy feeling that she was overdoing it.  She had come too quickly and unannounced, and she seemed prepared for a longish stay.

Her arrival threw even a very large organization like the emperor’s retirement palace into turmoil.  From the moment of the first message, people were running in and out of his private office with questions about arrangements until he gave up and went to seek out his wife.

Shigeko was in the North Hall, in apartments set aside for her.  Everything was in a state of confusion with maids rushing about, carrying parcels, trunks, and folding screens.   He paused in the doorway to look for his wife and saw her directing two ladies in the best placement of a painted screen.

And then his mind played a trick on him.  Seeing the familiar figure of his consort, he found himself comparing it to the young girl who had stirred fires he had not felt for a long time.  Shigeko was small, but she had learned to walk like an empress, slowly and upright, showing off her train and her many lined gowns to perfection.

Toshiko, for all her youth, was both taller and more strongly built, perhaps because some warrior families raised their women as if they were men.  The image of her on horseback flashed again across his mind and suddenly, even as he watched his wife, he was again consumed by the same wild lust.

So much for his good resolutions.

Someone saw him then and alerted Shigeko.  She turned, bowed, and went to seat herself on the curtained dais, where her ladies spread her skirts around her.  She was beautifully gowned as always, and surrounded by equally beautifully dressed young women.

As he walked toward her, he thought that there had been a time when he would have looked her attendants over with an eye to an affair, but he had lost interest in the surreptitious bedding of hollow dolls.

The ladies prostrated themselves before him and then crept away to leave them alone.

He smiled at Shigeko.  “Welcome, my dear.  What a happy surprise.”  Sitting down beside her, he added, “My loneliness was infinite, and every morning my sleeves were drenched with tears.”

She smiled back and tossed her head a little in disbelief.  “Why, sire,” she murmured, “how can this be, when I hear that you spend your nights singing songs?”

Aha.  So that was it.  Someone – Lady Sanjo, no doubt – had informed her about Toshiko.  Pleased that Shigeko should rush to him because she felt threatened by a new girl in his household, he regarded her fondly.

His consort still looked very charming at twenty-four.  In fact, her prettiness had caught his eye when she had not been much older than Toshiko and in his sister’s service.  In those days, shortly after he had abdicated, his gratitude to Kiyomori had still been at its height, and he had allowed Kiyomori’s kinswoman to tempt him into an affair that had blossomed rapidly.

Yes, Shigeko had been young.  And he had already been suffering from a fear of old age.  Besides, when his father had forced him to abdicate, he had felt pushed aside once again.  There had seemed to be nothing in his future except taking the tonsure and spending the rest of his years in prayer and abstinence.  In sheer rebellion, he had begun a passionate affair with Shigeko and, within a year, she had borne him a son.  She was the daughter of a ranking official and related to Kiyomori, and he had acknowledged her and the child.  With his self-confidence restored, they had settled into a comfortable relationship.  She had made efforts to please him, and he had been receptive.

So now he told her that she was beautiful and that he had yearned for her.  It was a kindness and not altogether an untruth.

But Shigeko refused to play the game.  “I have brought you your son,” she said in a businesslike manner.

“Oh?”  He looked around.  “Where is he?  Is he much grown?  Is he clever for his age?  You know, of course, that he will be emperor?”

“Yes, sire, I know.  Your son will be a great ruler.”

“I hope so,” he said with a nod, then added, “I certainly trust he will turn out to be more filial than Nijo.”

The memory of those unpleasant battles with his oldest son was still amazingly painful.  Nijo had preferred his grandfather’s company and treated his father with the disdain that Toba had taught him.  The whole court had been shocked by this. That betrayal had left wounds, and for a time he had become distant and cold to all his children.

“This time it will be different,” Shigeko assured him.  “Kiyomori will make certain of that.”

Anger at Kiyomori’s manipulations resurfaced.  The emperor looked at his consort and saw that she was content, even triumphant.  She knew that her elevation to empress was a foregone conclusion, and that Kiyomori would become regent for his nephew.  Her face shone with the achievement.  This was what all his women had wanted.  Perhaps Kiyomori’s hand had been in it from the very start and he had arranged for Shigeko to seduce him – in the same way that he had brought him Toshiko now.

Kiyomori, the pimp.

And what was he but a puppet in their hands, seduced by his lust into obeying their wishes?

He suppressed self-disgust and wondered why she had come to him with enough attendants and baggage for a long stay.  Did she expect to share his bed again so she could bear him more children?  In all decency and out of courtesy, he must oblige, of course.  The notion dismayed him, but he had no time to analyze this feeling because they brought the new crown prince son to him.

The boy was lively and tore away from his nurse’s hand to run to them.  For his five years, Norihito was well grown and handsome.  Like all children at this age, he looked adorable in his miniature court costume and with his thick hair tied into loops above each ear.  The Emperor was fond of children but awkward in their company.  He had no wish to hurt his own children the way his own father had hurt him, but he did not trust them either.

So now the Retired Emperor received the handsome, laughing child warily.

“Bow to His Majesty,” reminded the boy’s mother, and Norihito bowed charmingly.

“Come here,” said his father.  “Let me see you better.”

The boy climbed up onto the raised dais and sat down between his mother and father.

“I’m very well.  How are you?” he said, looking up at his father.  Shigeko raised a hand to hide her smile.  No doubt, the nurse would later tell everyone what a happy picture they made.

The Emperor looked at his son and saw, as always, with a sense of wonder the smooth, clear skin, the glossy hair, the bright eyes and soft red lips.  Children were so perfectly made that no adult, no matter how beautiful, could equal them.  It was a pity that, the older they became, the more they lost that perfection, that inner light which seemed to fill their bodies and made them resemble gods.  His son was as pleasing to his eyes as the finest work done by the artists he employed.

For a while, the little prince bore the scrutiny with patience but he could not contain his excitement long.  “They say I’m to be emperor,” he informed his father.  “Just like you.  They say when that happens they will all lie down before me and nobody will dare look at my face.  Is that true?”

The consort clicked her tongue, but his father chuckled.  “It is true if you become emperor, but that may not be for some time and maybe never.  The present emperor is younger than you and may rule for many years until he himself has sons to succeed him.”

The boy frowned.  “They say he may die because babies die quite often.”

His mother gasped and cried, “Oh, do not say such things!  They will bring you very bad luck.  It is quite horrible and forbidden to speak of His Majesty’s death.”

Prince Norihito looked stunned by her outburst.  “Why?  All the women and also some of the men say so.  Will we all have bad luck now?”

Shigeko gave the Emperor a helpless glance.  While amused, he was uncomfortable with the topic.  True, forecasting an emperor’s death was a treasonable act and punished severely, and Norihito’s naïve comment might be called a forecast, but the child, and those he listened to, spoke no more than the truth in everyone’s mind.  Small children were frail and subject to sudden death.  In any case, the question was moot because very soon the little emperor would abdicate.  He said rather vaguely, “Let us see what the future brings.  You must wish His Majesty a long life and a peaceful reign.  Meanwhile, you have much to learn before you can be a good emperor.”  He turned to Shigeko.  “He must have a new tutor immediately.  How is his calligraphy?”

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 Doctor’s Orphans

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.

“Thank you, Father,” Sadamu whispered.  “If you like, I’ll help you make some fragrant pills.”

At that moment the doctor felt almost replete with happiness.

His satisfaction did not last long.  When they walked back to the house for their evening rice, they heard someone screaming.  They ran around the corner of the house and found the servant Togoro on the ground near the veranda steps.  He was clutching his groin with both hands while tears ran down his disfigured face.

“What happened, Togoro?” asked the doctor.  “Did you hurt yourself?”

“Oh.  Oh.  Oh,” moaned Togoro.  “Boy kicked me.”

“Boy kicked you?  Why?”

“He said I must bow to him and call him Master Hachiro now.  I told him to piss off, and he kicked me in the balls.”