15

The old woman's remarks were very much on his mind after his return to the city, and the princesses were still before his eyes, more beautiful and reposed than he would have thought possible.

“And so,” he thought, “Uji will not, after all, be my renunciation of the world.”

He sent off a letter, taking care that every detail distinguished it from an ordinary love note: the paper was white and thick and firmly rectangular, the brush strong yet pliant, the ink shaded with great subtlety.

“It seems a great pity,” he wrote, “that my visit was such a short one, and that I held back so much I would have liked to say; but the last thing I wanted was to be thought forward. I believe I mentioned a hope that in the future I might appear freely before you. I have made note of the day on which your honored father's retreat is to end, and I hope that by then the gloomy mists will have dissipated.”

The letter showed great restraint and avoided any suggestion of ro-mantic intent. The guards officer who was his messenger was instructed to seek out the old woman and give it to her along with certain gifts. He remembered how the watchman had shivered as he made the rounds, and sent lavish gifts for him too, food in cypress boxes and the like.

The following day he dispatched a messenger to the temple to which the prince had withdrawn. “I have no doubt,” said the letter that accompanied numerous bolts of cotton and silk, “that the priests will be badly treated by the autumn tempests, and that you will want to leave offerings.”

The prince was making preparations to depart, his retreat having ended the evening before. He gave silk and cotton cloth as well as vestments to the priests who had been of service.

The garments of which that watchman had been the recipient—a most elegant hunting robe and a fine singlet of white brocade—were further remarkable for their softness and fragrance. Alas, the man could not change the fact that he had not been born for such finery. It was the same everywhere he went: no one could resist praising him or chiding him for the fragrance. He came to regret just a little that he had accepted the gift. It restricted his movements, for he dreaded the astonishment each new encounter produced. If only he could have the robes without the odor— but no amount of scrubbing would take it away. The gift had, after all, been from a gentleman renowned for just that fragrance.

Kaoru was much pleased at the graceful and unassuming answer he had had from Oigimi.

“What is this?” said her father, shown a copy of Kaoru's letter. “Such a chilly reception cannot have at all the effect we want. You must bring yourselves to see that he is different from the triflers the world seems to produce these days. I have no doubt that his thoughts have turned to you because I once chanced to hint at a hope that he would watch over you after my death.” He too got off a letter, his thanks for the stream of gifts that had flooded the monastery.

Kaoru began to think of another visit. He thought too of Niou, always mooning over the possibility of finding a great beauty lost away in the mountains. Well, he had a story that would interest his friend.

One quiet evening he went calling. In the course of the usual court gossip, he mentioned the prince at Uji, and went on to describe in some detail what had taken place in the autumn dawn.

He was not disappointed. “A masterpiece!” said Niou.

He added yet further exciting details.

“But what of the letter? You said there was a letter, and you haven't shown it to me. That is not kind of you. You know that I would hold nothing back if I were in your place.”

“Oh, to be sure. All those letters you've had from all those ladies and you have not shown me the smallest scrap. But I know that something of this sort is not for the weak and obscure of the world to have all to themselves. I would like to take you for a look sometime, I most definitely would; but it is out of the question. I could not think of taking such an important man to such a place. We who are not too burdened with glory are in the happier position. We have our affairs as we want to have them. But think: there must be _hundreds of beauties hidden away from us all.

There they are, poor dears, cut off from the world, hidden behind this and that mountain, waiting for us to find them. As a matter of fact, I had for a number of years known of princesses off in the Uji mountains, but the thought of them had only made me shudder. A man knows, after all, the effect of saintliness on women. But if the sun sets them off as the moon did, then it would be hard to ask for more.”

By the time he had finished, his companion was honestly jealous. Kaoru was not one to be drawn to any ordinary woman. There must be something truly remarkable here. Niou longed to have a look for himself.

“Do, please, investigate further,” he said, openly impatient with his rank, which made such expeditions difficult.

And he had not even seen the ladies, thought Kaoru, smiling to him-self. “Come, now. Women aren't worth the trouble. I must be serious: I had reasons for wanting to get my mind off of my own affairs, and I especially wanted to avoid the sort of frivolity that so excites you. And if my feelings were to pull me against my resolve—you cannot tell me, can you, that any good would come of it.”

“Fine!” Niou said, laughing. “Another sermon. Let us all fall silent and hear what our saint has to say. But no. I think we have had enough.”

It was with longing and dismay that Kaoru thought of the events the old woman's story had hinted at. He had never been very strongly drawn even to women of uncommon charm and talent, and now they interested him still less.