19

      Troubled once more with insomnia, he went to the room of a certain Azechi, a woman of his mother's who was his favorite, in some measure, over the others, and there passed the night. No one could have reproved him for sleeping late, but he jumped from bed as if duty were calling.

Azechi was evidently annoyed:

“Clandestine my rendezvous at Barrier River.

No good this sudden departure will do for my name.”

He had to admit that he was not being kind:

“Viewed from above, its waters may seem shallow.

But deep is Barrier River, its flow unceasing.”

Even “deep” had a doubtful ring to it; and “shallow,” one can imagine, did little to dispel Azechi's bitterness.

“Do come for a look at this sky.” He opened the side door. “How can you lie there as if it didn't exist? I would not wish to seem affected, but the dawn after one of these long nights does fill a person with thoughts about this world and the next.” Spreading confusion behind him, he made his departure.

Although he did not have a large repertory of pretty speeches, he was a man of taste, thought by most people to be not entirely without warmth. Women with whom he had exchanged little pleasantries hoped for more. And this household of a princess no longer a part of the world was a target for properly introduced serving women, and each, after her rank and fashion, could no doubt have told stories to which one might listen with interest and sympathy.