15

The old lady had left instructions that the funeral take place that same day. Her nephew, the governor of Yamato, had charge of the arrangements. The princess asked for a last silent interview with her mother, but of course it accomplished nothing. The arrangements were soon in order.

At the worst possible moment Yu~giri appeared.

“I must go to Ono today,” he had said as he left Sanjo~. “If I don't go today I don't know when I can go. The next few days are bad.” The image of the grieving princess was before his eyes.

“Please, my lord,” said the women. “You should not seem to be in such a hurry.”

But he insisted.

The journey to Ono was a long one and a house of grief awaited him at the end of it. Gloomy screens and awnings kept the funeral itself from his view. He was shown to the princess's room, where the governor of Yamato, in tears, thanked him for his visit. Leaning against a corner railing, he asked that one or two of the princess's women be summoned. They were none of them in a state to receive him, but Kosho~sho~ did presently come in. Though he was not an emotional man, what he had seen of the house and its occupants so moved him that he was at first unable to speak. Generalizations about the evanescence of things were suddenly particular and immediate.

“I had allowed myself to be persuaded that she was recovering,” he said, controlling himself with difficulty. “It always takes time to awaken, as they say,* and this has been so sudden.”

The cause of her mother's worst torments, thought the princess, was here before her. She knew about inevitability and all that sort of thing. But how cruel they were, the ties that bound her to him! She could not bring herself to send out an answer.

“And what may we tell him you have said, my lady? He is an impor-tant man and he has come running all this distance to see you. Do not, please, make it seem that you are unaware of his kindness.”

“Imagine how I feel and say what seems appropriate. I cannot think of anything myself.” And she went to bed.

Her women quite understood. “Poor lady, she is half dead herself,” said one of them. “I have told her that you are here.”

“There is nothing more I can say. I shall come again when I am a little more in control of myself and when your lady is somewhat more composed. But why did it happen so suddenly?”

With many pauses and with some understatement, Kosho~sho~ de-scribed the old lady's worries. “I fear I will seem to be accusing you of something, my lord. This dreadful business has left us somewhat dis-traught, and it may be that I have been guilty of inaccuracies. My lady seems only barely alive, but these things too must end, and when she is a little more herself perhaps I can describe things a little more clearly and listen more carefully to whatever you may wish to say to her.”

She did not seem to be exaggerating her grief. There was little more to be said.

“Yes, we all wandering in pitch-blackness. Please do try to comfort her, and if there should be the briefest answer—”

He did not want to go, but it was a delicate situation and he had his dignity to consider. It had not occurred to him that the funeral would take place this very evening. Though the arrangements had been hurried, they did not seem in any way inadequate. He left various instructions with the people from his manors and started for the city. Ceremonies which because of the haste might have been almost perfunctory were both grand and well attended.

“Extraordinarily kind of Your Lordship,” said the governor of Yamato.

And so it was all over, and the princess was quite alone. She was convulsed with grief, but of course nothing was to be done. It went against nature, thought the women, to become so strongly attached to anyone, even a mother.

“You cannot stay here by yourself,” insisted the governor, busy with the last details. “If you are ever to find comfort it must be back in the city.”

But the princess insisted that she would live out her days at Ono, with the mountain mists to remember her mother by. The priests who were to preside over the mourning had put up temporary cells in the east rooms and galleries and certain of the east outbuildings. One hardly knew that they were still on the premises. The last traces of color had been stripped from the princess's rooms.

The days went by, though she was scarcely able to distinguish day from night, and it was the Ninth Month.