20

The rains continued, day after day. Chafing at his inability to travel that mountain road, Niou thought how constricting was “the cocoon one's parents weave about one” *—and that was scarcely a kind way to characterize the concern his royal parents felt for him. He sent off a long letter in which he set down his thoughts as they came to him.

“I gaze your way in search of the clouds above you.

His hand was if anything more interesting the less care he took with it. She was still young and rather flighty, and these avowals of love set up increasingly strong tremors in response. Yet she could not forget the other gentleman, a gentleman of undoubted depth and nobility, perhaps because it was he who had first made her feel wanted. Where would she turn if he were to hear of this sordid affair and abandon her? And her mother, who lived for the day when he would give her a home, would certainly be upset, and very angry too. Prince Niou, judging from his letters, burned with impatience; but she had heard a great deal about his volatility and feared that his fondness for her was a matter of the passing moment. Supposing he were indeed to hide her away and number her among his enduring loves—how could she then face Nakanokimi, her own sister? The world kept no secrets, as his success in searching her out after that strange, fleeting encounter in the dusk had demonstrated. Kaoru might bring her into the city, but was it possible that his rival would fail to seek her out there too? And if Kaoru were to turn against her, she knew that she would have herself to blame.

Her thoughts had reached this impasse when a second letter came, this one from Kaoru. Ranged side by side, the two letters seemed to reproach her. She went off and lay down with Niou's, the longer of the two. Ukon and Jiju~ exchanged glances: so the game was over, and Niou had won.

“Perfectly natural,” said Jiju~. “I really thought I had never seen a finer man than the general, but the prince is so handsome, especially when he's just being himself. If he ever paid that much attention to me, I can tell you, I'd be making my plans right now. I'd be looking for a place with Her Majesty, and then I could see him every day of the week.”

“I can see that you bear watching. But I don't agree. The general is the finest of them all. I don't care about looks. Manners and disposition, those are the things that count. But she has worked herself into a fine predicament, on that I think we can agree. Whatever will become of her?”

Life was easier for Ukon, however. It was easier to tell lies and invent excuses now that there were two of them.

“I have been very remiss,” said Kaoru's letter in part, “though you may be sure that you have been constantly on my mind. I would be very pleased indeed if I might have a note from you now and then. Can you have led yourself to believe that I do not care for you?

“The long, dark rains go on, one's heart is dark.

Will it be so in yon village of rising waters?*

“My longing to see you is greater with each passing day.”

It was on prim white paper in a formal envelope. The writing lacked subtlety, perhaps, but suggested breeding and sensitivity.

Niou's letter was interesting too. Long and detailed and intricately folded, it was as different from Kaoru's as a letter could possibly be. She must answer it first, while no one else was with her, said one of the two women. She took up her brush—but no, she could not possibly. As if by way of practice, she set down a poem:

“'Gloom' is the name of Uji in Yamashiro.

It speaks of the lives of us who dwell in its compass.”

Sometimes she would take out the sketch Niou had made for her, and weep. His love would not last, it could not, she told herself, wishing that quiet resignation would come to her. But she wept more bitterly at the thought that she might one day be torn from him.

At length she sent an answer. He wept quite unapologetically as he read it:

“I wish to be as the cloud that darkens the peak.

Better so than aimlessly drifting through life.*

“Were I to join them...” +

She did, after all, seem fond of him. He thought again of that pathetic little figure, huddled up as if in defense against its own thoughts.

And the more proper of the two suitors was meanwhile reading _his_ note over and over. He deeply sympathized, and wanted very much to see her. This was her poem:

“The tedious days of rain, incessant rain,

They speak to me of me. Yet wetter my sleeves.”