35

Genji thought too of Oborozukiyo. It had come to seem that she had been more accessible than she should have been. He was very sorry to learn that she had finally become a nun. He got off a long letter describing his pain and regret.

“I should not care that now you are a nun?

My sleeves were wet at Suma—because of you!

“I know that life is uncertain, and I am sorry that I have let you anticipate me and at the same time hurt that you have cast me aside. I take comfort in the hope that you will give me precedence in your prayers.”

It was he who had kept her from becoming a nun long before. She mused upon the cruel and powerful bond between them. Weeping at the thought that this might be his last letter, the end of a long and difficult correspondence, she took great pains with her answer. The hand and the gradations of the ink were splendid.

“I had thought that I alone knew the uncertainty of it all. You say that I have anticipated you, but

“How comes it that the fisherman of Akashi

Has let the boat make off to sea without him?

“As for my prayers, they must be for everyone.”

It was on deep green-gray paper attached to a branch of anise,* not remarkably original or imaginative and yet obviously done with very great care. And the hand was as good as ever.

Since there could be no doubt that this was the end of the affair, he showed the letter to Murasaki.

“Her point is well taken,” he said. “I should not have let her get ahead of me. I have known many sad things and lived through them all. The detached sort of friend with whom you can talk about the ordinary things that interest you and you think might interest her too—I have had only Princess Asagao and this lady, and now they both are nuns.+ I understand that the princess has quite lost herself in her devotions and has no time for anything else. I have known many ladies, personally and by repute, and I think I have never known anyone else with quite that combination of earnestness and gentle charm.

“It is not easy to rear a daughter. You cannot know what conditions she has brought with her from earlier lives and so cannot be sure of always having your way. She requires endless care and attention as she grows up. I am glad now that I was spared great numbers of them. In my young and irresponsible days I used to lament that I had so few and to think that a man could not have too many. Endless care and attention—they are what I must ask of you in the case of your little princess. Her mother is young and inexperienced and busy with other things, and I am sure there is a great deal that she is just not up to. I would be much upset if anyone were to find fault with my royal granddaughter. I hope she will have everything she needs to make her way smoothly through life. Ladies of lower rank can find husbands to look after them, but it is not always so with a princess.”

“I certainly mean to do what I can for as long as I can. But, “she added wistfully, “I am not sure that it will be very much.” She envied these other ladies, free to lose themselves in religion.

“Nun's dress must feel rather new to her and she may not have caught the knack quite yet. Might I ask you to have something done for her? Surplices and that sort of thing—how do you go about making them? Do what you can, in any event, and I will ask the lady in the northeast quarter at Rokujo~ to see what she can do. Nothing too elaborate, I should think. Something tasteful and womanly all the same.”

Murasaki now turned her attention to green-drab robes, and needle-women were summoned from the palace and put to quiet but carefully supervised work on the cushions and quilts and curtains a nun should have.