by Kara Dalkey
“It is merely an expression, my lord, of my lady’s view of the importance of things in the world.”
“Is it so?” the Emperor stared at Uguisu. She longed to shout out “No, no, it isn’t true!” but the Emperor did not give her the chance. “I have heard enough!” he growled. “This contest is over! I declare the Team of the Right, and Su K’an, the winners. They may join us in the Imperial Dining Hall for the celebration banquet.” The Emperor rose, and without another look at Uguisu, strode out of the room.
Uguisu tried to stand and protest, but found herself pushed roughly to the floor. Nobles shoved past her, ignoring her cries of dismay, to surround Su K’an and her team. Uguisu felt frightened in the crush of bodies pressing on her but ignoring her. Suddenly, a woman’s arm reached out and grabbed Uguisu’s sleeve, pulling her close. It was Shonasaki, who managed to pull Uguisu through the seething tide of people, until they finally got outside into the garden. They collapsed wearily beneath a nearly bare cherry tree. Uguisu laid her head on Shonasaki’s shoulder and wept.
“I am so sorry, my lady,” said the poet. “I had no idea it would be like this. I would not have been a part of it if I had known.”
“What shall I do? I have said nothing like what Kitsune said. Why did she say that?”
“I do not know,” said Shonasaki, stroking Uguisu’s hair.
Uguisu sobbed, gripping Shonasaki’s shoulders, then suddenly realized that something was missing. “My flute! Shonasaki—where is my flute?”
“I don’t know, I did not see—oh, no, My Lady! You must not go back there!”
Ignoring her, Uguisu ran back toward the building. But, careless of her footing, she tripped on a tree root just before the veranda. As she fell, sprawled on the ground, a bit of color caught her eye. Just in front of her she saw her wooden flute, lying broken and trampled among the damp autumn leaves.
Ladies Parting
“I wonder where she has gone,” said Shonasaki, gazing through the bamboo curtain as the last leaves fell from the cherry trees beyond the veranda.
“She is no longer our concern,” said Kitsune, who was folding and packing her kimonos and cloaks.
“How can you just sit there and say that?” said Nikao, wiping away a tear with her sleeve. “Didn’t you care for Our Lady at all?”
“She was a little fool. She only has gotten what she deserved.”
“But I never heard her say anything like what your poem said.”
“But her actions spoke loudly enough, didn’t they? It was clear she put her own concerns over those of the Emperor. Daimigi-sama merely wanted it made clear to His Majesty and the Court.”
“Daimigi-sama!” said Shonasaki, snapping her head around to stare at Kitsune. “What did the Chancellor have to do with this?”
“Nothing, really. He merely suggested the tone my poem should take and—”
“Traitor!” yelled Nikao as she pushed Kitsune over and began pulling her hair. Shonasaki quickly pulled her off Kitsune and held her, but the poet glared at Kitsune.
“How dare you call me traitor, you lump of ricemush!” Kitsune said, righting herself. “It was Uguisu who was treacherous, not I! She put us in a dangerous position. I have saved us! You should be thanking me!”
“No doubt the Chancellor will be thanking you as well,” Shonasaki said softly.
“As he should! I made the problem clear to Our Majesty who has now solved it. And I shall have a place in the Fujiwara household now.”
“Has Kazenatsu offered to openly declare you as his wife?”
“No … not yet. But he will, soon enough. I don’t know what you are so angry about. The Fujiwara will offer the two of you places as well, if you choose.”
“I will refuse anything they offer me,” said Shonasaki.
“Heh! So go become a nun and live in poverty, writing sutras until you die of hunger. And you, Nikao, you could have a place. Hidoi, they say, still seeks a wife.”
“You can’t be serious,” said Shonasaki.
“It is her choice to make.”
“I don’t know,” murmered Nikao. “I think I will go home.”
“Fine. Go back to your family, and they can marry you off to some skinny silk merchant for whom you can have babies till you drop. Oh, you two are such fools!” Kitsune jumped to her feet and balled her fists. Shonasaki was surprised to see a tear rolling down Kitsune’s cheek, leaving a rivulet in her white face powder. “I do all I can to help you and you take the side of that selfish little flute-player! Well, I hope Benten smiles upon you—you will need smiles from all seven Gods of Luck, for no one in this Palace will be of any help to you anymore!” Kitsune swiftly picked up the packed clothing-basket and hurried out of the room with a sob.
Shonasaki hugged Nikao, who was weeping. “It has all gone so wrong, somehow.”
“You once said,” gasped Nikao, “that all things of beauty come to an end. It is aware.”
“Yes. But there is more happening here. It is not the normal loss of beauty in time. Too many people now actively seek its destruction. I fear for us all.
“Our fortunes tumble with the leaves of autumn,
And now, I wonder, will there come a spring?”
WINTER
The snowflakes drifting down—
Behind them earth and sky
Are crouching, silent.
—Hashin
WINTER STORM
Lightning flashed in the night, illuminating barren trees and sword-sharp grasses in a blinding white glare. The thunder followed, rumbling over the hissing of the rain like the booming of a huge funeral drum. Uguisu staggered through the nightmare landscape, her torn, wet kimonos clinging to her arms and legs. Icy raindrops splattered on her face and hair, and ran in chilling rivulets beneath her clothes. Teeth chattering helplessly, she shuddered with the cold.
If I can just reach the river Kamo, she thought, I will end my troubles in its waters. But she had spent days wandering the city, eating and sleeping very little. And the chill of the storm sapped what was left of her strength. She grasped the slick branches of a dead tree, unable to move any further.
Lightning flashed again and Uguisu moaned, putting her back against the wet trunk of the tree and flinging her arms wide. “Strike me! End this miserable life with your fire! Strike me!”
But the thunder rolled on, leaving cold, wet darkness behind. Uguisu’s cheeks grew tight and she felt herself starting to cry, but her face was so filled with raindrops she could not tell if tears joined them. She slid down against the tree until she knelt in the mud between its roots. How can I be so tied to this life when I am so ready to leave? My body is like a stone weight holding me here.
Another bolt lit up the night. Silhouetted in its flash was a large, hulking figure with wild hair and grimacing face. Uguisu caught her breath. An Oni! A demon who has come to escort me to the gates of Hell! Summoning all her strength, she flung herself across the path of the striding figure. “Here I am, Oni-san! If you have mercy, make my death swift and carry me from this cold world!”
“Eh? What is this?” said the figure in a deep, gruff voice. Uguisu felt strong hands grasp her arms and raise her till she stood. “Who are you?”
Uguisu wearily wondered if the demon’s question was philosophical, and if her answer might determine to which of the many afterlives she might be taken. She felt quite beyond deep thought. “I am no one. I am nothing!”
The strong hands shook her. “No one is nothing!” growled the deep voice. “What is your name?”
“This … this lowly one was once called Uguisu.”
“Uguisu? Echizen no Uguisu, the Imperial Flute-Player?”
“I am Imperial no longer. I have been banished from the Palace. And my flute is broken. And my father has disowned me, so I am Echizen no longer. Truly, I am nothing, Oni-san.”
“I am not an oni! I am Kuma. And you are not nothing. Come with me.”
He has the form of a man, yet he is called ‘bear.’ Might His
Majesty or my father have sent … no. He must be an animal-spirit, come to take me to his forest. No mortal of this world would take an interest in me now.
She felt his strong arms lift her up and she was carried through the rain back into the city. In time they came to a small house that had clearly once been a place of some nobility and elegance, but now was falling into ruin. How like myself, thought Uguisu.
Kuma carried her through the wild garden and onto the veranda. There he rapped on the latticed shutters. “I have returned, Katte-san! Open up!”
The sound of running feet came from within, and the shutters were unlatched and opened. Within stood a woman who looked vaguely familiar to Uguisu.
“Ah, Kuma-san! Did you find any—Who is this?”
“This is the Lady Uguisu, Katte-san. I found her by the Kamo River.”
Kuma carried Uguisu to the central room of the house, where a small floor-hearth radiated welcome warmth. As Uguisu was set down beside the hearth, she wanted to protest that she was no longer a lady and unworthy of such kindness. But the change in temperature caused her to shiver violently and she could not speak.
“Lady Uguisu!” said Katte. “The Lady of the Pine Kicho! Oh, what has happened?” Katte put her hands on Uguisu’s cheeks. “You are so cold! We must get you out of those wet clothes.”
Kuma looked at Uguisu with concern. Katte began to peel the wet kimonos off of Uguisu—a difficult task, since Uguisu could not help, she shivered so. Kuma disappeared into an adjoining room, then returned with an aloeswood chest that he set beside Katte. Then with a nod, Kuma left again.
“You must tell me—oh, I see you cannot speak just now. Dear me, how your teeth chatter! Do try to hold still, please.” Setting aside Uguisu’s wet silk robes, Katte pulled out of the chest some clean but patched cotton kimonos and wrapped them around Uguisu’s still shaking form. “Well, I shall tell you what has happened with myself, then, since we last met.” Katte recounted to Uguisu the story of her promotion at court, the cruelties of the ladies and the Chancellor’s present. “I gave half the gold to my family, and with the rest I went to find Kuma. Now, you see, he and I can finally marry for we are at last of the same rank—which is to say no rank at all.”
Uguisu felt warmer and no longer shook as much. The cotton kimonos were soft and comforting against her chilled skin, but she noticed they were old and patched with care. “You are so kind. I am so sorry to be a burden imposed upon you.”
Katte laughed. “Oh, you must not feel you are a burden. It appears to be my fate these days to be a caretaker of strays. See?” She pointed to a corner across the hearth.
Uguisu looked. There, seated among the empty rice sacks in the shadows, was the cat Hinata. She seemed thinner than she had been in the Palace, and her fur was scruffier. But she still looked at Uguisu with penetrating golden eyes.
Her gaze brought back all of Uguisu’s sorrow and guilt. Leaning on Katte, Uguisu found herself spilling out her entire story—how the guardian spirit instructed her, how she obeyed by denying the Emperor, then disobeyed to save his life. She told how she was supplanted by the Chinese lady and expelled after the poetry contest. “What terrible things must I have done in past lives, for my karma to have earned me a fate such as this?” Uguisu could not keep back tears of self-pity and she wept on Katte’s shoulder.
“So that is what happened,” said Katte. “But why didn’t you tell someone at the Palace this? Surely you could have found someone to help and understand you.”
“I tried. I tried to tell my father, to have him warn the Fujiwara Chancellor. But I fear my father did not believe me and told Daimigi-san nothing. I sent a warning poem to the Emperor. But because I did not know what eyes would see it, I had to be circumspect in my wording. Either His Majesty did not understand me, or chose to ignore me. I could not tell everything, because my mother’s family is forbidden from the Palace. My father would have been punished for bringing me to Court. And I might have been executed. Though, perhaps, that would have been the best thing.”
“Nonsense! It is unfair that you should be punished for doing what is right. Surely some wise kami, or the Amidabha himself will understand. You will have great karma for your next life, I am sure.”
Uguisu felt something soft against her cheek and turned her face to see what it was. The cat Hinata had climbed onto her lap and was sniffing her face. Gently, Hinata began to lick the tears from Uguisu’s cheek.
“You see?” said Katte. “Even Hinata-san forgives you.”
Katte gave Uguisu a bowl of rice to eat. Then she led her to a sleeping mat behind a screen whose paper panels were stained and torn. Uguisu lay down, and Katte covered her with more cotton robes. “You rest now,” said Katte, and she withdrew to return to the hearth.
Weariness overtook Uguisu and her arms and legs felt heavy and cold. Her chest felt heavy as well and she found herself breathing slower.
She heard Kuma reenter the room, and he and Katte began speaking softly, though Uguisu could hear them clearly through the paper screen.
“Of course we must help her,” Katte was saying, “but our funds are running low, though we have been frugal. I do not know how long—”
“You need not worry,” said Kuma. “I have seen men in the Guard die from weather less severe than what she has been through. I doubt she will last another day.”
Katte gasped and began to weep. “So soon? Then … then we must find a priest to attend her. Oh, but we cannot afford a priest!”
“I know of one priest who would serve her for no payment,” said Kuma, “if I can find him.”
So, I am dying, thought Uguisu. She was surprised at her own lack of fear. Feeling the coldness creeping through her, she knew Kuma was right. It would be soon.
Hearing the crackle of straw beside her, Uguisu opened her eyes and saw Hinata standing there. The cat stepped onto Uguisu’s chest and lay down, tucking her paws beneath her. With the weight of the cat pressing on her, Uguisu found breathing even more difficult. Does the cat wish to hasten my death? As punishment or mercy, I wonder.
Hinata began to purr and a curious but delicious warmth spread out from beneath her, filling Uguisu’s body and driving the cold from her limbs. She felt a peaceful darkness overtake her. If this is to be my death, thought Uguisu, it is better than I deserve.
The Silver Mirror
“The rain has turned to snow,” said Su K’an as she sat looking out through the bamboo blinds. “Raiden, the Thunder Demon, has spent his anger and Tsukiyomi, the Moon Goddess, now appears from behind the clouds. It is an auspicious sign for your wedding, My Lord.”
The Emperor laughed gently as he gazed on her, still entranced by her beauty. “Is divination another one of your many talents, Su K’an? I am surprised and pleased that you know so much about our gods. Though I am not sure that the appearance of the Kami of the Realm of Darkness could be called ‘auspicious.’ ”
Su K’an smiled. “But of course she is. The ‘Realm of Darkness’ is night, is it not? Do you not wish to have many pleasant nights after your wedding?”
“I have had many pleasant nights already,” said the Emperor. “And it is Kwannon, Goddess of Mercy, who has smiled on me by bringing you into my life.”
Su K’an looked down demurely, but no trace of a blush stained her perfect pale features. “My Lord is most kind, but it is not me you should be thinking of right now. You still have two nights to spend with your little bride-to-be. Then you will have your grand wedding banquet and I may take joy in seeing you with your new little Empress beside you.”
The Emperor laughed again and shook his head. “You are amazing, Su K’an. I know of no other woman who would be pleased to see her lover married to someone else.”
“But as I have explained, my lord, I shall be gaining a family. And that shall do more to fulfill my dreams than you can know. Is that not cause for joy?”
The Emperor sighed, again thanking his guardian star for sending him such a good-natured lady. “Ver
y well. I shall find my duty more pleasant for knowing it brings you joy.” It would be nearly the only pleasure, the Emperor reflected, for Daimigi’s daughter was as shy and uncomfortable as Uguisu—but the child did not have the temerity, or the option, to say no. “But before I leave to undertake this night’s duties, I have a gift for you, Su K’an.”
“A gift? My lord is too generous to this lowly one.”
“Nonsense. The gift is hardly worthy of such a beauty as you. Yet I wish you to have it as a small token of the great affection I have for you. Now, please close your eyes a moment. I want this to be a surprise.”
Su K’an laughed and turned her face away, eyes shut. The Emperor smiled to himself and went to a beautifully inlaid sandalwood box. Lifting off the lid, he pulled out a bundle of white silk. He carefully unwrapped the silk to reveal a magnificent silver mirror. Its back was decorated with an image of Benten in her aspect as Goddess of Beauty, and studded with pearls and mother-of-pearl and emeralds. The craftsman who made the mirror claimed it had been ceremonially purified in the waters of Lake Biwa. It was said this blessed the mirror with the power to show the true, inner beauty of whoever was reflected on its surface.
The Emperor wondered if Su K’an’s beauty could be enhanced in any way. Out of curiosity, he approached her from behind, holding out the mirror. He hoped to catch a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror while she sat unaware. But as he held the mirror near her face, he saw Su K’an’s lustrous raven hair reflected as a frazzled grey mass. And the image of her face was ashen and wrinkled, as if centuries old. “What is this?” exclaimed the Emperor. Something was terribly wrong.
“My Lord?” said Su K’an, turning. Her gaze fell upon the mirror and her eyes widened. In the reflection, a red glow lit within her eyes and her lips pulled back in a snarl. Lashing out with one arm, she smashed the mirror out of the Emperor’s hand. With an unpleasant, embarrassed laugh, she said, “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I dislike mirrors. They make me seem vain and—”