2

But he must wait for the proper occasion. He could not step forth and make a great show of welcoming Yu~giri as his own. That would be too utterly ridiculous. The time would come, however. A surface calm hid these tensions.

The anniversary of Princess Omiya's death fell on the twentieth of the Third Month. To~ no Chu~jo~ attended memorial services at the Gokurakuji Temple, south of the city. All of his sons were with him, a very grand entourage indeed. As handsome as any of them, Yu~giri was also of the party. Though he had avoided To~ no Chu~jo~ since the days when the latter had treated him so badly, he had not let the smallest sign of his resentment show. To~ no Chu~jo~ was increasingly aware of it all the same.

Genji too commissioned memorial services, and Yu~giri solemnly bus-ied himself with services of his own.

As they returned from the Gokurakuji in the evening, cherry petals were drifting through the spring haze. In a reminiscent mood, To~ no Chu~jo~ intoned lines from the anthologies. Yu~giri was no less moved by the beauty of the evening. It looked like rain, someone said. Yu~giri did not seem to hear.

To~ no Chu~jo~ (one may imagine that it was with some apprehension) tugged at his sleeve.

“Why are you angry with me? Might this not be the occasion to forgive me, whatever I may have done? I think I have a right myself to complain, that you should have cast me aside in my declining years.”

“Grandmother's last instructions,” said Yu~giri, very politely, “were that I look to you for advice and support. But you have not seemed to welcome my presence.”

Suddenly there was a downpour. They hurried home in twos and threes.

What could have produced this sudden change? The words themselves had seemed casual enough, but they came from a man before whom Yu~giri seldom felt comfortable. He lay awake all night asking what they could mean.