15

But as Genji went to bed he felt that he had been the loser, caught in such a very compromising position.

An outraged Naishi came the next morning to return a belt and a pair of trousers. She handed Genji a note:

“I need not comment now upon my feelings.

The waves that came in together went out together, leaving a dry river bed.”

It was an inappropriate reproof after the predicament in which she had placed him, thought Genji, and yet he could imagine how upset she must be. This was his reply:

“I shall not complain of the wave that came raging in,

But of the welcoming strand I must complain.”

The belt was To~ no Chu~jo~'s of a color too dark to go with Genji's robe. He saw that he had lost a length of sleeve. A most unseemly performance. People who wandered the way of love found themselves in mad situations. With that thought he quelled his ardor.

On duty in the palace, To~ no Chu~jo~ had the missing length of sleeve wrapped and returned, with the suggestion that it be restored to its proper place. Genji would have liked to know when he had succeeded in tearing it off. It was some comfort that he had the belt.

He returned it, wrapped in matching paper, with this poem:

“Not to be charged with having taken your take,

I return this belt of indigo undamaged.”

An answer came immediately:

“I doubted not that you took my indigo belt,

And charge you now with taking the lady too. You will pay for it, sir, one day.”

Both were at court that afternoon. To~ no Chu~jo~ had to smile at Genji's cool aloofness as he sorted out petitions and orders, and his own businesslike efficiency was as amusing to Genji. They exchanged frequent smiles.

To~ no Chu~jo~ came up to Genji when no one else was near. “You have had enough, I hope,” he said, with a fierce sidelong glance, “of these clandestine adventures?”

“Why, pray, should I? The chief hurt was to you who were not invited —and it matters a great deal, since you do so love each other.”* And they made a bond of silence, a vow that they would behave like the KnowNothing River.+

To~ no Chu~jo~ lost no opportunity to remind Genji of the incident. And it had all been because of that troublesome old woman, thought Genji. He would not again make such a mistake. It was a trial to him that she continued, all girlishly, to make known her resentment. To~ no Chu~jo~ did not tell his sister, Genji's wife, of the affair, but he did want to keep it in reserve. Because he was his father's favorite, Genji was treated respectfully even by princes whose mothers were of the highest rank, and only To~ no Chu~jo~ refused to be awed by him. Indeed he was prepared to contest every small point. He and his sister, alone among the minister's children, had the emperor's sister for their mother. Genji belonged, it was true, to the royal family, but the son of the emperor's sister and of his favorite minister did not feel that he had to defer to anyone; and it was impossible to deny that he was a very splendid young gentleman. The rivalry between the two produced other amusing stories, I am sure, but it would be tedious to collect and recount them.