And then I composed a little verse: “Ever since I first glimpsed the realm above the clouds, my love has been as fresh and bright as the safflower.”
The great moment of my presentation came after the Oba girl had left for her dancing. She looked quite crushed when any other girl would have been delighted with a visit to the imperial palace. No doubt it was due to having lost His Majesty’s favor. As it is, I had no hand in it, though once I almost caught her out. Never mind.
Naturally, His Majesty was surprised when I approached him. Always gracious, he accepted my gift and read the note with the kindest smile.
“Dear Lady Sanjo,” He said, “you are a treasure to me. Whenever I am sad, I only have to think of you and I laugh right away. This is a most unusual pattern. How ever did you find it?”
I nearly swooned, but managed, “When it is a matter of giving Your Majesty pleasure, nothing is impossible. I am yours to command, sire. You have but to send for me.”
As it turned out, He was too busy that night and the next. I lay awake, my hair and body perfumed, and pictured to myself the moment when we would be together at last. “Eagerly I await his call, but alas, no one appears but the morning star.” When He had not sent for me by the time the Oba girl returned, my tears soaked my sleeves. The disappointment might have crushed me “like the waves that pound Nagahama beach,” but He did not send for her either.
Besides, by then my plan to discredit her in His Majesty’s eyes was beginning to take shape after all. Her dancing for the New Year’s guests at the imperial palace had done what I had failed to do: her maid informed me that all the brash young men wanted to get a taste of the emperor’s morsel. They soon came, left letters and poems, and waited for replies. Regrettably, she rejected all the notes without glancing at them, but I kept my eye on her suitors and managed to see quite a few of their silly effusions in verse — comparing her to cherry blossoms and themselves to the breeze, talking about how they burned for her like Mount Fuji at night, and endlessly wringing out their wet sleeves.
To my surprise, I recognized the youngest son of the regent among them. I wondered what his father would say if he knew and then realized that the young man was perfect for my plan because he would not dare mention any part of it to anyone.
My heart became “as light as a cloud passing across a mountain peak.”
When I took the young man aside, I played the concerned friend. Did he not realize, I asked, what a difficult position the young lady was in.
He admitted it, looking as sorrowful as a wilted cabbage.
Was it kind to turn her poor young head, I asked.
He perked up at this. “Oh? Does she care a little for me?” he asked eagerly.
Poor fool.
“You must not continue this,” I said, looking severe. “No matter how much she may pine for you.”
He brightened even more at that, then frowned. “But she has not answered my notes,” he said.
“I should hope not.” I shook my finger at him. “My dear young man, you must stop this nonsense. If you were caught together, it would be the end of her.”
“Oh, but Lady Sanjo . . .” he muttered, looking half disconsolate, half hopeful.
I patted his arm in a motherly fashion — he is by no means unattractive — and said consolingly, “Be brave. Put her from your mind. I said the same to her only last night as she lay sleepless in the northern eave chamber.”
He stared at me. For a moment, I thought I would have to lead him to the place and show him how to open the shutters. Then he nodded and bowed. “You are right to censure me, Lady Sanjo,” he said. “I have been very foolish. Thank you for reminding me of my duty.” And off he trod with a little bounce in his step. He is really quite attractive. I’m doing the girl a favor.
Ah, spring!
The Eave Chamber
Eventually, Toshiko returned to the eave chamber. Lady Sanjo was not likely to show her face again after her defeat over the note with the one-eyed cat, and Toshiko felt safe to take it out again. She would sit near a place where the sun slanted through a crack between the curtain and the door frame and carefully unfold the small scrap. Once it was dry, the writing had become more legible. It was very faint, but she recognized the word “come” and guessed that the rest gave directions to his house or a place where they could meet.
Her heart began to beat faster at the thought that he had wanted her to come to him. Oh, if only she had been here when he left the note. Or if at least she had found it right away. She would have run to him then. Now everything had changed, and besides he surely no longer expected her.
She spent much time staring at the smudged words, trying to guess their meaning. One was surely Sumei-mon, a gate in the city. Perhaps he lived near this gate, or in a quarter with that name or near a street called Sumei.
But always she would know that it was too late and, holding back her tears, she would refold the precious scrap and tuck it inside her mother’s letter.
*
In the eave chamber, she felt close to him and had some privacy from prying eyes and from the constant chatter. The emperor only rarely sent for her now that He was preparing for the move to the new palace. She busied herself with writing down the last of the imayo for His collection. Soon He would no longer need her for this work, and she was afraid that He had tired already of her body. There were times when she wondered if her parents would consider Takehira’s appointment and a few gowns worth their efforts. Of course, if she were to conceive, that would change everything. Takehira had been quite right about that.
Because of her loneliness and isolation, she wished for a child with all her heart. She would have someone of her own then, someone to care about, and who would care about her. Even if the child were taken from her to be raised elsewhere, she would watch it grow from a distance. She knew that giving birth to the emperor’s child would not elevate her to the grandiose heights imagined by her family. Everyone still treated her like the lowliest of His Majesty’s ladies, without the slightest recognition of the fact that she was also His occasional bed partner.
*
But her status seemed to have changed a little the day Lady Sanjo approached her with an invitation to make the eave chamber her own private domain and to sleep there in the future.
Perhaps Lady Sanjo wanted to make amends for her rudeness, but Toshiko was pleased for different reasons. Lately, a few of the ladies had received nighttime visits from men. Toshiko suspected that Shojo-ben was one of them, because her friend was strangely distracted and had a dreamy look on her pretty face. Toshiko was happy for her, but also uncomfortable. When you shared quarters with others, separated only by flimsy screens, and spent much time lying awake in the dark, you could hear every sound, and such sounds as these were all too familiar to Toshiko now. Her closeness to the secret lives of others embarrassed her and reminded her of her own duties in the emperor’s curtained bed.
So she welcomed the change and had her maid move her trunks and bedding and a few screens to the eave chamber. Lady Sanjo was there, all smiles and bustling energy, ordering grass mats to be brought in and lamps and braziers to be placed just so.
“You will be quite comfortable now,” she said, fluttering her fan. “This room is small but private, and you have your own small garden.” She raised a shade and peered out. “Delightful. Nobody ever comes here. You can sit on the veranda if you like. I am sure His Majesty prefers that you keep away from the noisy visitors who seem to plague us lately.”
It was, of course, more isolation, but Toshiko was glad of that. There was even a possibility that the emperor had become considerate of her feelings and suggested the change.