13

The mother and the nurse were outraged. Poor Ukifune was as good as homeless.

And so the mother wrote to Nakanokimi, Prince Niou's wife:* “I have thought that It would be impertinent of me to approach you without good reason, and so I have not written. Certain developments now make life rather difficult for my daughter, and it seems advisable that she be away from here for a time. If there were a place in your house where she could hide, attracting the attention of no one, I should be very happy indeed. It is not possible for an insignificant person like myself to see adequately to her needs, and sad events do have a way in this world of piling one upon another. I have no one to turn to except you.”

She was in tears as she wrote. Nakanokimi was deeply moved, but in a quandary. Would it be right for her, the guardian of his memory, to take in the daughter to whom her father had to the end denied recognition? And on the other hand it would not be easy to look away while her sister suffered and perhaps went to ruin. Nor would it do honor to the memory of her father if, for no good reason, the two were to become strangers. What was she to do?

In an agony of indecision, she appealed to the woman Tayu~.

“She must have her reasons,” said Tayu~. “Please do not answer in a way that might strike her as even slightly unfriendly. Daughters of lowranking mistresses are always keeping company with daughters of proper wives. Your good father was altogether too inflexible.” *

The princess sent off her answer: “We have a place in the west wing where she may hide. It will be uncomfortable, I am sure, but if she can bear with it she is most welcome.”

The mother was delighted, and the two of them, mother and daughter, slipped out of the house. Ukifune was by now rather happy at her misfortune, because it offered a chance for new intimacy with her sister.