Dream of a Spring Night Page 13

  The emperor flushed. “Be careful, Otomae.”

  The nun bowed.

  Biting his lip, He turned away and took up his papers. He talked about other songs, asking about different versions. Toshiko said little. She was confused and a little frightened by what had just happened.

  And by what was to come.

  A short while later, the guards outside twanged their bowstrings and announced the hour of the boar. His Majesty dismissed the two women abruptly and without his earlier smiles.

  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 a
nd 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.