Dream of a Spring Night (Hollow Reed series) (24 page)

The onlookers, deprived of their entertainment, muttered and drifted away.
 
When the owner of the business also turned to go, Yamada rose angrily.
 
“Not so fast, you!” he said.
 
“I know you and I promise I shall lay charges against you if you don’t this instant get the constables so that this man can be helped.”
 
The man nodded and slunk off.

Left alone with his shivering patient, Yamada crouched beside him and touched the man’s shoulder.
 
“Don’t be afraid,” he said.
 
“I’m a doctor.
 
We’ll take you to my house where I can treat your wounds.
 
What is your name?”

What was once a mouth moved a little, and a sound came like a
breath.
 
Yamada could not be certain.
 
“Goro?” he asked.

No, it seemed to be Togoro.
 
The burned man tried to say more but was hindered by his shaking and the fact that he was weeping again, more copiously than before.
 
Yamada’s heart contracted with pity, seeing those tears well from swollen, crusted eyelids and course down the raw flesh.
 
The salty liquid must burn as much as the fire had.
 
He said no more, hoping that help would come soon and that in the silence the man would stop crying.

After an eternity, the constables arrived with a stretcher and the patient was carried to the doctor’s house.
 
There, a white-faced and frightened Otori spread clean bedding in a storage room next to the kitchen.
 
The doctor had thoughtlessly wanted to put him in his own room, but she refused to countenance this, claiming that the doctor was out so much that the nursing would fall to her, and she spent most of her day in the kitchen.

The constables left, and Yamada set about cleansing his patient’s wounds and applying soothing ointments.
 
Togoro was very patient throughout the painful process.
 
The doctor gave him some medicine to soothe the pain, and Otori fed him small amounts of broth through a hollow straw.
 
After a while, Togoro went to sleep.
 
Seeing the extent of his injuries, which also covered parts of his body, the doctor was surprised that, in due course, his patient healed and recovered most of his functions.
 
Only his hands and feet were so badly scarred that they had stiffened.
 
He shuffled and was awkward at grasping things.
 
His face was the worst.
 
Even after the swollen, infected wounds had healed, he was left horribly scarred and of such ugliness that people looked away the moment they laid eyes on him.

Togoro had no memory of his past or of the fire that destroyed his life, but he suffered from nightmares and had periodic moods of deep sadness that sent him to the temples.
 
Fire of any size frightened him and he gave any open flame a wide berth.
 

As with Hachiro, Yamada had to guess at his age and background.
 
Togoro could neither read nor write, and his speech marked him as belonging to the laboring class.
 
From the beginning, Yamada was humbled by his patience.
 
He bore the painful cleansing and scraping of his wounds without complaint, merely looking up at the doctor with doglike devotion.
 
He often wept when he thanked Yamada.

And when he got better, he stayed on.
 
One day early on, when Yamada came to change his bandages, he had crawled from his pallet and was sweeping the kitchen floor, holding a short broom with both painful hands.
 
Nobody had the heart to send him away after he got stronger, and in time they came to depend on his tireless labors.

*

And that was how, for this
new year
, Yamada added another guilt to the one he already bore.
     

Spring brought sun and warmer weather, and in the palace, servants and maids threw open the wooden shutters, letting sunlight and fresh air into the dark, perfumed world of women and the dusty offices of men.

In the courtyard of the women’s quarters, a potted plum tree was covered with buds showing deep red against the blue sky, and on the tiled roofs sat doves cooing in the sun.
 
The ladies put out their heads and laughed with pleasure.
 

Time to put away the winter robes with their deep jewel colors and bring forth cherry- blossom silks and willow-leaf gauze and gorgeously embroidered Chinese jackets.
 
These must be aired, scented, and have their wrinkles pressed out.
 
In the bustle, there was new excitement.

Only Toshiko was listless.
 
She was more of an outsider now than she had been before.
 
Even Shojo-ben kept away these days; she had an admirer among the young courtiers and was in love.
 
Lady Sanjo watched Toshiko with hot eyes, and her maids periodically searched Toshiko’s clothing and reported to her.
 
They were looking for the first sign that she was with child, and she hated them and herself.

She often went to the little room under the eaves for privacy.
 
One day, she found that here, too, the heavy shutters had been raised.
 
The veranda and small courtyard beyond lay in the morning sun.
 
The snow was gone, leaving behind moisture that had darkened the wooden boards and the rocks and gravel beyond.
 
The one small azalea bush, where they had caught the cat together, showed buds among its green leaves, and Toshiko stepped outside to see what color it would be.

At home, the wild azaleas in the woods behind their house bloomed in all shades of red.
 
She used to go with her mother to dig up small plants for the spring garden her mother had planted outside her veranda.
 
A white cherry also grew there.
 
It must be quite large by now.
 
Its blossoms used to open white as snow when the red azaleas bloomed.
 
Cherry blossoms lasted only a short time.
 
Before you knew it, they
blushed
a rosy pink and died.
 
The azaleas went on blooming blood red, but the cherry petals fell like snow and drifted to cover them with a white blanket.
 
Even in the beginning of life there was already death.

Looking at the budding azalea bush, Toshiko thought of her mother and sister and how much she loved them.
 
Were they walking together in the spring garden today and thinking of the absent one?
 
Her hand went to her breast where she still carried her mother’s letter -- the farewell to a child who had passed out of her life.
 
When His Majesty had presented her with the precious gowns, she had kept only one.
 
The rest she had sent home.
 
She had not added a note, because the message of the gowns was enough.
 
Her mother would know that Toshiko had done her duty.

After the long darkness, the sunlight felt harsh and almost painful.
 
Toshiko shivered.
 
There was nothing for her here, or in this coming of spring, and she turned sadly to go back inside.
 
As she did, she saw a glimmer of white where the boards of the veranda met the wall of the building.
 
She bent to pick up the scrap of paper — such cleanliness was ingrained from her upbringing — and saw that it had been folded over many times.
 
It must have been there for a long time, for it was still moist from the melting snow and the ink had blurred through the paper.
 
She unfolded it cautiously, found the writing had become illegible, but recognized — with a wildly beating heart — the small drawing of a one-eyed cat.
 
It was from him.
 
She turned and looked toward the gate — as if he would open it and walk in — and then at the rocks — in case he was hiding behind them and would now rise to greet her.
 
But he was not there.
 
He had come and left a note she could no longer read, heaven knew how long ago, and she had not known it.
 
Perhaps there would still have been time then.

The sadness of it overwhelmed her.

No.
 
It had always been too late.
 
It had been too late the day the perfumed darkness first swallowed her, and now she was truly lost.

She refolded the stained slip of paper and put it next to her warm skin, along with her mother’s letter, and went back to her duties.

After the brightness outside, the rooms were doubly dark.
 
She passed through the eave chamber into the corridor and did not see Lady Sanjo until her arm was grasped at the door of the eave chamber.
 

“What were you doing out there?” the woman demanded.

Her words were rude and inappropriate to someone who was not a servant, and Toshiko was not only well-born but had been distinguished by His Majesty’s favor.
 
However, her listlessness extended to Lady Sanjo’s bad manners and, freeing her arm, she said only, “I went to check on the azaleas.
 
They have buds already.”

It was a disingenuous explanation, and Lady Sanjo snapped, “Nonsense.
 
You were looking for the man you used to meet here.
 
I saw you picking up his note.”
 
She extended an imperious hand.
 
“Give it to me.”

Toshiko’s heart failed her.
 
In the dim corridor, the older woman’s eyes glittered with excitement.
 
“You are mistaken,” Toshiko said
,
her voice trembling as her hand moved protectively to her breast.
 
“I dropped an old letter from my
mother, that
is all.”

“How dare you lie to me?
 
I saw you reading it.
 
Give it here.”

Toshiko backed away and gathered her courage.
 
Let the woman think the worm had turned into a hissing snake.
 

 
“I shall inform His Majesty that you have insulted me,” she said angrily.
 
“Surely even you must know that I am to be treated with respect.”
 

But Lady Sanjo was not so easily intimidated.
 
She called for witnesses.
 
The ladies arrived in twos and threes, eyes wide with curiosity.

“You will attest to the fact,” Lady Sanjo told them, “that Lady Toshiko has been receiving messages from a man.
 
Just now I caught her with a letter that was left on the veranda.
 
She refuses to give it to me.”

They looked shocked and perhaps a little pleased.
 
Toshiko knew that they must think her very foolish indeed to carry on a romantic affair, no matter how innocent, in her present situation.
 
She straightened her shoulders and said, “I dropped my mother’s letter and picked it up.
 
Because I am far from home and miss her, I often come to this room to read her words.
 
But Lady Sanjo has called me a liar, and that I will not tolerate.”
 
Pulling the letter from her gown, she extended it to the lady closest to her.
 
“See for yourselves.”

Lady Kosaisho took the letter with a glance at Lady Sanjo and unfolded it.
 
“This is indeed from her mother, Lady Sanjo,” she said when she had glanced at it.
 
“It appears to be an old letter.”

“Give me that!”
 
Lady Sanjo snatched it from her hands.
 
She looked at it, muttered something, and dropped it on the floor, then left with an angry twitch of her skirts.

As Toshiko bent to pick it up, Shojo-ben said, “
Oh, that
was too much.
 
Not even she can treat you this way, Toshiko.
 
We all heard her.
 
I shall write to His Majesty and tell him what happened.”

Toshiko shook her head.
 
“No, please don’t.
 
I had rather not trouble him.
 
And it is better not to make Lady Sanjo even angrier.
 
Let us forget it.”

And so things went back to normal — or almost so.
 
Some of the other ladies became a little friendlier to Toshiko, and Lady Sanjo seemed preoccupied with other matters.
 
The First Month’s holidays kept them all very busy.
 
They were on call for parties and banquets and must present themselves in elaborate costumes to attend the retired emperor when he received the congratulatory visits of his family and senior staff.
 

Whenever that happened, they filed into the hall, their faces hidden behind fans, and seated themselves in rows behind silk-trimmed curtain stands.
 
But the stands were not very tall and had chinks and they could be moved apart a little to make room for the elaborate, multi-layered costumes the ladies wore.
 
Many of the young courtiers took the opportunity to peer over, perhaps with an apology that they had hoped to see a relative among the ladies.
 
As always, Toshiko stayed in the back, but the curious male eyes found her, and she learned to keep up her fan at all times.

The ladies received visits from relatives during these days, and one sunny day Toshiko was told her brother Takehira awaited her on the south veranda.
 
The news stunned her because there had been no letters or messages from her family for many months now.
 
She had almost accepted her orphaned state, and did not know whether to be happy or sad at his visit.

The south veranda was very long and at this hour and on such a balmy early spring day
,
 
several
other guests were sitting outside the grass curtains.
 
The maid servant showed Toshiko to the section where Takehira awaited her.
 
From the dim interior, she could see quite well through the loosely woven curtain and noticed right away that Takehira was wearing a very handsome blue military uniform and carrying a bow.
 
She seated herself with a slight rustle of her gowns.

Takehira, who had been studying the other visitors, turned his head.
 
“Toshiko?
 
Is that you?”

“Yes, Takehira.
 
How handsome you look.
 
Isn’t that an imperial guard uniform?”

“Right.”
 
He grinned and stood to show it off.
 
Narrow white trousers were tucked into knee-high black boots, his blue robe had full sleeves and was long in the back where his bow and quiver of arrows rested against his back, and on his handsome head was the formal black headgear with the fanlike ornaments above each ear.
 
“Yes, Little Sister,” he said, sitting back down, “I finally got my letter of appointment.
 
I’d just about given up on you.
 
Mind you, it wasn’t quite what I expected, but it’s better than staying home listening to Father’s complaints all day long.
 
I’m Junior Assistant Lieutenant Oba no Takehira of the Outer Palace Guards, Left Division.”
 
He pointed to the large black lion crests that decorated his sleeves, chest, and the skirt of his over-robe.

“Very handsome,” Toshiko said, but her heart contracted.
 
The emperor had paid off his debt to her family.
 
“Congratulations.
 
I am sure you will soon distinguish yourself and receive a promotion.”

Takehira made a face.
 
“Not likely, unless there’s some fighting.
 
All I do is inspect the conscripted soldiers when they arrive, make sure they are fully equipped by their people, and then drill them.
 
You’ve never seen such oafs.
 
If it wasn’t for the nightlife, I’d resign.
 
Listen, can you put in a word for me with the emperor?
 
If you think about it, this is little enough for the brother of an emperor’s favorite.
 
I’ve got my heart set on a captaincy, and I’d rather be with the Inner Palace Guards.
 
You should see their scarlet outfits.
 
And Father says to tell you he wants the magistrate’s post in our district.
 
He’s tired of paying rice tax when his daughter serves the emperor.”