8
His daughter would be fifty days old on the fifth of the Fifth Month. He longed more than ever to see her. What a splendid affair the fiftieth-day celebrations would be if they might take place in the city! Why had he allowed the child to be born in so unseemly a place? If it had been a boy he would not have been so concerned, but for a girl it was a very great disability not to be born in the city. And she seemed especially important because his unhappiness had had so much to do with her destinies.
He sent off messengers with the strictest orders to arrive on that day and no other. They took with them all the gifts which the most fertile imagination could have thought of for such an occasion, and practical everyday supplies as well.
This was Genji's note:
“The sea grass, hidden among the rocks, unchanging,
Competes this day for attention with the iris.*
“I am quite consumed with longing. You must be prepared to leave Akashi. It cannot be otherwise. I promise you that you have not the smallest thing to worry about.”
The old man's face was a twisted shell once more, this time, most properly, with joy. Very elaborate preparations had been made for the fiftieth-day ceremonies, but had these envoys not come from Genji they would have been like brocades worn in the night.*
The nurse had found the Akashi lady to her liking, a pleasant companion in a gloomy world. Among the women whom the lady's parents, through family connections, had brought from the city were several of no lower standing than the nurse; but they were all aged, tottering people who could no longer be used at court and who had in effect chanced upon Akashi in their search for a retreat among the crags. The nurse was at her elegant best. She gave this and that account, as her feminine sensibilities led her, of the great world, and she spoke too of Genji and how everyone admired him. The Akashi lady began to think herself important for having had something to do with the little memento he had left behind. The nurse saw Genji's letter. What extraordinary good fortune the lady did have, she Mad been thinking, and how unlucky she had been herself; and Genji's inquiries made her feel important too.
The lady's reply was honest and unaffected.
“The crane is lost on an insignificant isle.
Not even today do you come to seek it out.
“I cannot be sure how long a life darkened by lonely reveries and brightened by occasional messages from outside can be expected to con-tinue, and must beg of you that the child be freed of uncertainty the earliest day possible.”
Genji read the letter over and over again, and sighed.
“The distant boat more distant.” + Murasaki looked away as she spoke, as if to herself, and said no more.
“You do make a large thing of it. Myself' I make no more of it than this: sometimes a picture of that seacoast comes into my mind, and memories come back, and I sigh. You are very attentive, not to miss the sigh.”
He let her see only the address. The hand would have done honor to the proudest lady at court. She could see why the Akashi lady had done so well.