The Nightingale

by Kara Dalkey

  This brought from Takenoko only a sob instead of a reply. He hung his head, finding the sight of what his father had become too painful to view. This also moved the four ladies-in-waiting who attended Niwa, and they had to wipe the tears from their faces with their somber grey sleeves. “There, now, girls,” Niwa said, “do not make such noise. This is not yet a funeral. Be off with you if you cannot control yourselves.”

  The ladies rose and slowly trooped to the shoji, slipping out with sad looks back at old Niwa. After they left, Niwa said with a dry chuckle, “They even dress in grey robes of mourning, though I am not yet dead.”

  “It is rude of them,” Takenoko managed to say.

  “Ah, now, my son, I should not see tears from you. It is unseemly for monks to cry. Though if you had stayed with me, and become a court nobleman, you might cry all you like. You should see them, Takenoko. These Gentlemen Who Dwell Among the Clouds will shed tears like rain at the drop of a cherry blossom.”

  “You are right, father. I should have stayed with you. I should not have left you to … this!”

  “No, my son. I believe you made the best choice. If you knew the pettiness and nastiness that goes on, the triviality and boredom of noble life … no, the Path to Heaven is surely better. It cheers me that I myself might take that path before long,” Niwa added, coughing and shifting uncomfortably on his sleeping mat.

  “You mustn’t talk like that!” said Takenoko. “This is only a minor illness. You must get better!”

  “Polite lies from a monk?” Niwa chided. “My son, you were to have left such concern for me well behind you on your path, were you not?”

  “I … I have found that path hard, father. I find I cannot leave some things behind.”

  “Ah,” said Niwa. “Ah.” Carefully propping himself up on one elbow, Niwa frowned and said softly, “There are rumors, Takenoko, most dangerous ones. Have you not left Uguisu behind on your path?”

  “She is hardest to leave behind, father. Especially now that I serve her in prayer.”

  “These rumors, Takenoko, say that you serve her in other ways as well.”

  Takenoko gasped and blanched.

  “My son, the penalty for interfering with an imperial lady is banishment. If Uguisu is to become Empress, it would be instant execution.”

  Takenoko clenched his fists and struck the floor. “But I have done nothing! Nothing that could be thought as such!”

  “Please, my son, you know these walls are paper.”

  More softly, Takenoko went on. “You don’t know how often, as I have knelt chanting beside her kicho, I have ached to give her a note, a poem, some indication it was I who prayed for her. But I have not! I even change my voice when I am near her so she will not guess. She does not even know I’m there! Please believe me, father, those rumors are but wind!”

  Niwa sighed. “I believe you. I know you to be a good lad. Let us hope those in power believe so too. For, if they do not, I doubt I shall be around to defend you.”

  “Don’t talk like that! If there was some way I could prove my loyalty to the Emperor—”

  “Such action might be regarded with suspicion, unless it comes to you naturally. You cannot command blossoms to grow so that you may pick them. You must wait for their own time, then take them as they appear. My advice to you is to leave the Palace, if you can. Give no more cause for gossip. Then return when you can be of better service to the Emperor. Or return to your mountain temple and live the proper life of a monk.”

  “I cannot leave you, father. Not like this.”

  “There is no more you can do for me, my son. I have done all that needed doing in my life and I am now ready to face its end. I probably should have turned to holy study myself, but you will add to my karma for this life. My next shall surely be better because of you.”

  “Can I give you no more service in this life? Could I not call in my master to drive out the demon of illness that besets you?”

  “No demon causes this illness. At least, not a demon of the spiritual sort.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Niwa waved a limp hand. “Tsk. Just the suspicions of a sick old man. No, my body is possessed only by age. And any attempts to remove that from me would only hasten my passage from this life. No, Takenoko, there is no more you can do, except to follow my advice and go. Find your Path to Heaven. I shall not be far behind you.” Niwa settled back within his robes and relaxed, drifting off into sleep.

  Takenoko hesitated, fearing that his father might never wake from his sleep. But, at last, he murmured a short blessing over Niwa’s still form, and walked back out into the whispering rain.

  O-Bon Visitor

  Netsubo tossed and turned on his sleeping mat. Elsewhere in the palace there were Bon-fires crackling and people dancing for the dead. Their wailing songs and the pounding of their drums were all too audible to the sleepless Household Minister.

  Netsubo had had no wish to speak to his ancestors or other relatives who had passed on. He had no wish to share with them the humiliation he was suffering in court. So he had contrived to absent himself from the O-Bon festivities. He had asked the Imperial Bureau of Divination for a favor in exchange for some better furnishings for their office. They obliged him, stating that because of yin-this and yang-that and the coincidence of the Day of the Monkey with the time of the Little Brother of Metal, it would be bad luck for him to go anywhere, and particularly to interact with the dead. So Netsubo gladly had performed the necessary ablutions and put himself to bed. And lay there, sleepless.

  He huddled more beneath his sleeping robes and tried to shut out the noises from outside. Suddenly, he felt his feet become chilled, as if they had touched soft snow. Looking up, he was shocked to see his dead wife, Uguisu’s mother, standing at the foot of his mat. She was as beautiful as he remembered her, and for a moment he felt disoriented in time. Then he noticed her face was unnaturally pale. And her light grey kimonos ended in wisps like smoke that trailed away from her … well above the floor. “D-dearest wife!”

  “Netsu-chan.” Her voice was sad and distant.

  “Why have you come to me? I did not summon you.”

  “We do not always need a summons to appear, dear husband. Particularly on O-Bon night. I have come at the call of others.”

  “What others?”

  But she ignored his question. The cold, trailing wisps of her robes brushed his ankles, and Netsubo jerked his feet beneath himself and sat up. “I have worried about you, Netsu-chan,” she said at last, sighing.

  “Worried? Why should you worry about me, dearest? Have I not attained an important position in the Imperial Palace? Our beautiful daughter has—”

  “Our daughter has betrayed us, Netsu-chan.”

  Netsubo hung his head and sighed. So it was no use trying to hide from the dead. “Yes. But what can I do? I would disown her, yet I dare not so long as the Emperor gives any shred of support to her. And for some foolish reason, His Majesty seems reluctant to give her up. I have, at least, arranged for those monks who attend her to be sent away. I would have forced them out sooner, but Uguisu made such a scene about needing them by her tonight that it would have been most embarrassing to press matters.”

  “You did what was proper, my husband. But there is more you can do.”

  “More?”

  “I worry for you and the position you have worked so hard to obtain. I hurt at the way our selfish daughter’s transgressions may harm you. I feel, in part, responsible. I was, perhaps, too lenient a mother.”

  “Nonsense. You were a perfect mother! It is my fault. I did not keep an eye on her as I should and allowed her to become willful.”

  “It is a willful child indeed who disobeys her guardians,” said the ghost, her voice taking on a steely edge. “Yet, I would at least help you, beloved, so that you might escape the consequences of her misbehavior. There is something you can do to remain in the Emperor’s favor.”

  “What is that, dearest wife?”

&
nbsp; “Listen. I shall tell you …”

  The Chinese Courtesan

  The Emperor sat in a large, sumptuous audience room in the Chancellor’s Palace suite, feeling more unsettled than he had ever felt in his life. He found it difficult to pay attention to the noblemen around him, the fourteen sumo wrestlers who kneeled before him, or the Chancellor who was gesturing at them and saying,

  “I thought we’d do things a little differently this year, Your Majesty. You may select seven from these who will be the ‘Chrysanthemum Team.’ Those who are left will be the ‘Wisteria Team.’ That should be much more interesting than merely calling them teams of the Left and Right, don’t you think?”

  “Hmmm?” The Emperor heard Uguisu, hidden in the back of the room behind a bamboo screen, take up a mournful tune. The Emperor had often wondered, of late, why he did not simply send her away. Hope? he thought, that she might change her mind? I certainly owe nothing to the cold, ungrateful little— He caught himself in midthought, as her music soared into a flight of shuddering, sighing melody that spoke of hopes unrealized. Her music so well matches my mood. As if our souls were once very close … perhaps in a former life. Perhaps that is why I cannot bear to part with her.

  “Your Majesty?” Daimigi prompted.

  “What? Oh. Yes. Quite so.” He waved his golden fan at seven wrestlers at random, saying, “Him,” and “That one,” and “You’ll do.” The Emperor wondered at how quickly he had lost control of things. Old Niwa lay gravely ill, his duties now taken by his deputy—a Fujiwara, of course. The Myobu Katte had suddenly resigned her position. The guard Kuma had left under a cloud of scandal. The allies I had hoped to gather around me have fallen one by one. And Uguisu …

  “Your Majesty! Are you well?”

  “What? Oh, I am fine, Daimigi-san. I was merely thinking of … a poem. Yes, those seven will do fine.” But a very strange poem Uguisu had sent him would not leave his mind. She had written:

  “Avenging winds will scourge the flowered meadow.

  And shred the clouds of Heaven as they pass,

  When poor men’s houses are allowed within the palace,

  The wise man wears the iris all the year.”

  Below the poem had been written the words “Please protect yourself.” Folded within the note had been another piece of white paper on which was written a prayer to one’s ancestors.

  The Emperor could not make any sense of it. The first line could refer to the Fujiwara, whose name meant ‘wisteria plain.’ But the rest … Why did she use the odd word ‘nagaya’ to refer to houses, and why would they appear in the Palace? The Emperor sighed and shook his head. Could it be the rumors that she is mad are true? They say she is mortally afraid of spirits, not to mention her fear of me. And what of the rumor that one of the monks she kept near her is her former lover, and might be again? I cannot, in my heart, believe that. And I do not think her mad. Her poem is a warning, clearly, but of what or whom? Looking at all the noblemen in the room, he thought, Is it one of you?

  “—and we offer Your August and Most High Majesty, upon whose shoulders shines the golden light of Heaven, our most sincere and humble gratitude.”

  The Emperor realized it was one of the sumo he had chosen who spoke, and the seven selected all slowly touched their foreheads to the floormats.

  “How I envy your strength,” the Emperor murmured.

  The sumo who had spoken before said, “Surely, Great Majesty, our strength is nothing compared to the might of your imperial power.”

  The Emperor exhaled a sardonic “Heh!” which he swiftly covered with a cough. “Well, yes. Of course.”

  He noticed Daimigi giving him a momentary frown. Then the Chancellor waved his fan, saying, “You may return to your training.”

  “Yes,” the Emperor added, “I look forward to seeing your efforts.”

  The wrestlers bowed once more and rose. Uguisu played a sprightly saibara from the southern provinces and some of the sumo sang along as they waddled out of the hall.

  “Must she always be playing, Your Majesty?” said the Chancellor, gesturing with his fan towards Uguisu.

  “No, you are right. She may need a rest.” The Emperor called a page boy to him. “Tell the Lady Uguisu she may retire to her quarters.” The little page scurried off.

  Moments later, Uguisu’s music stopped, and the Emperor felt the same odd emptiness as every other time she stopped. He heard the rustling of her stiff court kimonos as she was led away and, in a room full of courtiers, he felt alone.

  “Your Majesty,” Daimigi said softly, leaning closer, “I was wondering if this evening we might have a discussion of a private matter of some importance.”

  “Your daughter.” The Emperor tiredly rubbed his brows.

  “Yes, in fact. Time passes on, and I have had no reply from you. Her mother and I are wondering if we should wait for offers from others. But it is you I am worried for, Your Majesty. You can afford to wait far less than she.”

  Yes, thought the Emperor, Time passes on, and I am still without heir, without true friends, without allies, without love. Perhaps even taking a girl-child to my heart would be better than this … emptiness. “Very well, Daimigi-san. Bring your daughter to the Seriyō Den this evening and we shall plan the wedding.”

  For a brief moment, the Emperor beheld on Daimigi’s face a victorious smile, that was broken as a little page rushed back into the hall.

  Flinging his forehead to the floor, the page cried, “Your Majesty, Lord Netsubo of the Imperial Household craves an urgent word with you!”

  “What does he want?” grumbled the Emperor.

  “He says it is most important that he speak to Your Majesty right away!”

  “Very well, show him in.”

  Netsubo entered in a rush, nearly knocking over the little page boy. He knelt before the Emperor and pressed his forehead to the floor. “Thank you, Most Gracious Majesty, for agreeing to see this most unworthy servant.”

  Now what could be bothering him? “As one of my more valued advisors, Netsubo-san,” the Emperor replied politely, “you know I always find your advice important. What have you to tell us?” Netsubo sat up, nervous excitement in his eyes. “Oh mighty Emperor, as keeper of the Imperial Household, it is my honor to see that you receive a gift for you that has arrived at the Palace.”

  “I see. But why doesn’t the giver of the gift present it himself?”

  “Because the giver is far away, Your Majesty, and his agents may not enter the Palace.”

  The Emperor frowned in confusion. “And who might be this generous, but distant benefactor?”

  “If it please Your Majesty, the gift is from His Imperial Majesty, the T’ang Emperor of China.”

  There were gasps from the assembled noblemen, and Daimigi sucked in his breath through his teeth. “This cannot be allowed, Your Majesty! Foreign emissaries have been banned from the Imperial Palace!”

  Netsubo turned and bowed to Daimigi. “If it please Your Excellency, there is no emissary. There is only the gift.”

  The Emperor gave a little chuckle. “Rather like a certain book I saw some months ago, eh Daimigi-san?” His remark was rewarded with a dubious sidelong glare from the Chancellor.

  “Bring in this gift, Netsubo-san,” commanded the Emperor. “For if there is no official emissary, no one need think that we have ‘officially’ accepted it.” Netsubo bowed and left the room. In a few moments, he returned, followed by four strong men. They bore on their shoulders a platform on which sat an enormous red lacquer box, whose sides were decorated with gold and black inlaid dragons. Great knots of black silk cord were at each of the corners of the box, and as the men set the platform down, they began to untie these. All at once, the four sides and top of the box fell away, revealing what appeared to be a loose pile of black, red and gold cloth. Then the cloth began to shift, and a veiled figure slowly sat up. The porters removed this veil to reveal the most beautiful woman the Emperor had ever seen.

  Her face was
as pale and smooth as the finest porcelain. Her mouth was round and tiny, wtih lips the color of red plum blossoms. Her dark eyes shone through elegant, narrow lids. Golden pins and combs held her thick, lustrous black hair in an elaborate coif. She was swathed in a Chinese court robe of red, covered with embroidered black and gold dragons. In her lap, two tiny, delicate hands held a silver flute. Everything about her seemed so perfect, the Emperor could scarcely believe she was real.

  “The Emperor of China,” Netsubo said, “has heard that Our Beloved Majesty has a taste for beautiful flautists.”

  “What is your name?” the Emperor asked her.

  “If it please Your Majesty, this insignificant one is called Su K’an.” Her voice was high and soft and sweet.

  “This is most … irregular,” Daimigi murmured, looking at the woman with concern. The Emperor was pleased to see that even the Chancellor seemed taken with her beauty.

  “Perhaps we should ask her to play something,” suggested one of the noblemen, “and see if she is as good as our Uguisu.”

  The Emperor nodded and waved his fan at Su K’an, “Play something for us.”

  Su K’an smiled and raised the silver flute. The tune she played was light and cheerful, the notes bright like sparkling water, and equally dazzling. The Emperor felt his spirits buoyed, his cares melting like morning mist. He was reminded of times long ago, early spring or autumn mornings when he would stare at the sky and think of nothing at all.

  But soon the tune ended, leaving the Emperor feeling refreshed but dissatisfied. “Play us another!” he asked.

  “If it please Your Great Majesty, that is the only tune I can play, although I can add variations.”

  “Oh. Well, do so, then.”

  She obeyed, and the Emperor felt exactly the same throughout the song, and exactly the same when it ended. He was about to request that she play once more when he saw the cat Hinata enter the room. “Ah, My Lady Hinata! What do you think of our new flautist?”