On the night of the performance, the women of the household had withdrawn early, but the men had stayed. Toshiko found out the next morning that everyone had composed love poems. In fact, the younger shirabyoshi had exchanged more than poetry with Toshiko’s handsome older brother. He had gone about in a dreamlike state for days and had followed them when they departed. Toshiko’s father had brought him back several days later. As a country girl, Toshiko had a fair notion what passed between men and women, but she had been shocked to hear that her own brother had done such things.
All of that now seemed ages ago and made her sad again. She was here, far from home, and His Majesty had asked if she could sing imayo. Surely, if he invited shirabyoshi to perform for Him, He would find her untrained voice and pitiful dance steps ridiculous. She was glad that she had denied any talents along that line but worried that her parents wished her to please Him.
Lady Shojo-ben talked a little about the other ladies. There were ten of them here at the moment. The number fluctuated. About forty ladies were in service at the retired Emperor’s court, but his wives had taken the others with them into the city on the other side of the Kamo River. The Taira consort, the retired Emperor’s most recent favorite, liked to be in the capital and closer to the palace. Since the little Emperor was still an infant, the retired Emperor and Chancellor Kiyomori ruled the nation.
The ten ladies were the remnants of the Taira Consort’s court, and most were no longer in their first youth or they were married. Lady Sanjo was a principal handmaid and in charge. In the absence of the Consort, she reported to the Emperor. Ladies Chujo and Kosaisho had grown children and husbands serving at court. Lady Dainagon was a widow and Lady Saibara was so plain that she had never had a husband. Of the younger women, Lady Harima was skilled with the zither and lute, and the Ladies Ukon and Kunaikyo composed poetry. Until Toshiko’s arrival, Lady Shojo-ben had been the youngest. As daughters of the first families in the nation, all of them outranked Toshiko Except for Lady Shojo-ben, they behaved with barely hidden disdain toward the newcomer.
Yet of all of them, only Toshiko had been brought here by special invitation by the Retired Emperor.
Later that day, she was given an assignment, to be in charge of fans, writing boxes, games, and musical instruments. Lady Sanjo showed her where these were kept and how they must be stored. It seemed a simple enough chore – the sort of job given to someone with no special talent or intelligence.
Lower-class serving women came to clean and serve meals. Toshiko found the food bland and of mediocre quality. She was used to the varied fare at home where the men regularly hunted and the manor was well supplied with delicious fresh fowl and fish. But she had been warned not to mention this. The taking of life, whether fowl or fish, was strictly forbidden at court. Most of the meals here seemed to consist of rice and vegetables, along with a few fruits and nuts. But Lady Shojo-ben shared some sweet cakes with her. She kept them in a small box that was regularly replenished by one of her family’s servants.
In the afternoon, she and Shojo-ben played board games, while Lady Harima practiced her zither. The music and the soft sound of the rain soothed Toshiko into tranquility. But the light faded quickly on this overcast day, and as darkness fell, panic returned. Would she be called again into His presence? Should she tell Him the truth this time? What would he do, if she did? Her heart beat fast with fear and excitement, but nothing happened, and she retired to sleep peacefully.
From Lady Sanjo’s Pillow Book
A dreadful day!
Lady Dainagon’s cat returned today. I was on the rear veranda at the time, when the creature, looking half dead and disgustingly dirty, walked up the steps and laid a half-eaten rat at my feet. The rat was mangled, its pale intestines poking out of the slimy brown belly. The cat looked up at me with the most malevolent expression.
I screamed.
That brought the others. They were as horrified as I. Lady Harima fainted and Lady Ukon was sick all over the floor. I pulled myself together and shouted for servants when the new girl pushed past me, picked up the rat by its long tail and flung it over the balustrade into the shrubbery. The cat bounded after it, found it, and proceeded to devour its prey -- head, tail, and pink feet -- before our horrified eyes. With more shrieks, we rushed back inside. Only the new girl, uncouth creature that she is, remained on the veranda, leaning on the balustrade and watching the cat.
After we had calmed down a little, Lady Dainagon thought she had recognized the cat.
“Was it my darling Mikan?” she asked. She had named the kitten that because its color used to resemble that of an orange. I had a sneaking suspicion that it might indeed be the nasty creature – come back to haunt me. Of course, in its present condition it looked more like a dirty rag.
I said firmly, “It is not. There is no resemblance whatsoever. This is a very ugly wild cat with an ear missing. No doubt it is diseased. I had better send for servants and have it destroy—, er, taken out of the palace.” I almost made the mistake of shocking Lady Dainagon into another fit of tears but caught myself in time.
“Oh,” said Lady Dainagon sadly. “It would have been such a lovely miracle if it had found its way back to me. Imagine, a poor lost kitten, roaming all over the land, facing untold dangers, nearly starving, but persisting until it is reunited with its mistress. Animals are capable of amazing loyalty.”
Really, the woman is demented when it comes to cats. I pointed out, “This creature came to me, not to you.”
Lady Dainagon sighed and said, “I am sure you are right, Lady Sanjo. I was only dreaming a little.”
Just then the new girl came back inside, carrying the nasty animal in her arm. “Poor kitty,” she said to no one in particular. “Just look at it. It has had a rough time lately. It’s covered with wounds and pitifully thin.”
“Out!” I cried, rising and pointing to the door. “That filthy thing is repulsive.”
The stubborn girl did not obey me. She looked at the others and pleaded for the cat. “We could clean it up. Once it was a very handsome kitty. It only needs a home and regular meals.”
“No,” I cried, but in vain. Lady Dainagon got up and ran over.
“Oh,” she quavered. Then she extended a hand and touched the nasty fur. “Mikan?” she asked with a little sob, and the miserable cat started to purr.
“Why, it knows you.” The new girl laughed with delight and passed the cat to Lady Dainagon. “How wonderful! Is it yours?”
Lady Dainagon held the cat and wept with joy and grief over its condition. “Oh, what happened to you, my little love?” she crooned. “Please, someone, fetch a physician.”
A physician! The scene turned my stomach. The disgusting thing still slavered bloody bits of rat from its mouth, and its orange fur was matted with dirt and dried blood. One eye was closed completely under a crust of yellow pus, but Lady Dainagon and the new girl made it a nest from a pair of silk hakama and called for water to wash its wounds.
All morning, they kept the servants running back and forth. They consulted a physician about its condition, and a soothsayer cast the miserable animal’s future. There was so much commotion that the story came to His Majesty’s ears and he arrived Himself, unannounced, in our midst to ask what had happened.
Ah, what were my feelings to see Him, who had “grown distant as a cloud in the sky.” I was all aflutter, having had no time to arrange my costume or comb my hair or put the plums in my cheeks. No doubt He was shocked at my appearance. Of course, I went immediately to kneel and explain the incident, but He hardly glanced at me and brushed past as if I were no more than a servant. Instead He went to where Lady Dainagon and the new girl were still fussing with the miserable cat.