The Hell Screen (5 page)

She shook her head. “She has been ill for three weeks now. It started with an ache in her belly. We have tried everything: gruels made from herbs, powdered thistle, parsley, red clover, and teas of barberry bark and catmint. The pharmacist walks in and out of our house as if it were his own.”

Akitada glanced toward the closed shutters which could not shut out the chanting of the monks. “So you finally resorted to spiritual remedies?” he asked, raising his brows.

“Not for that reason,” Yoshiko said, shaking her head impatiently. “I know how you feel about it, but how would it look if we did not? Besides, it was Mother herself who made the arrangements. I don’t think she believes in the chanting, but she likes people to think that we do things properly. Oh, Akitada, she has changed so much, you will be shocked. She cannot keep her food down and is too weak to stand up. I do not know how she has lived this long, except to wait for you and her grandson to come home. You did bring Tamako and the boy?”

“When I got your letter, I rushed ahead. The others won’t be here for a while. I did not want to risk their health.”

Yoshiko’s face fell. “She will be disappointed. But never mind. Come in!”

She led the way into the gloom of his mother’s room. A large, rawboned maidservant quietly rose from her cushion beside the sick woman and moved aside. The elder Lady Sugawara lay on her bedding on the floor, her head propped on a porcelain headrest, her pitifully thin body covered by a silk quilt. The room was dimly lit by a single candle on a stand, and the air was thick with incense, which did little to disguise the smells of sickness and decay.

Akitada almost did not recognize his mother. The long beautiful hair, her special pride, was gone, cut off short just below the ears. What was left was thin and snow-white. The strong handsome face had shrunk and her skin was bluish gray, the pale lips restlessly pursing and unpursing, the eyes closed, receding into dark sockets. Of the rest of her, only the hands could be seen, lying on top of the cover, gnarled, spotted, and feebly plucking at the fabric.

“Mother?” said Akitada softly, frightened by her appearance.

She opened her eyes. They were still black and as sharp as ever. “You took your time!” she said. Her voice was strong, and its tone the familiar reprimand. It was almost reassuring. Akitada knelt down next to her.

“I came as soon as I heard. Yesterday’s rain slowed me down. I had to spend the night in the mountains,”

“Where is my grandson?”

“He follows with Tamako and the servants. They will be here soon.”

The eyes closed. “Not soon enough,” she murmured.

“Only a week or so. You must get better quickly now so that you can hold your grandson and play with him. He is nearly three years old, active and big for his age.”

“He is like his father, then,” she sighed.

Akitada was deeply moved. He did not know what to say. Sudden tears rose to his eyes and he swallowed hard. “Oh, Mother!” he whispered, taking her hands in his.

His mother opened her eyes to glare at him and pulled her hands from his pettishly. “Well, what are you waiting for? I expected you to bring me my grandson. Go away now. I am tired.”

Akitada left the room, followed out by Yoshiko, who closed the door and murmured, “You must not mind her. She is in pain all the time.”

He leaned against the wall and sighed. “No. She was always the same. I should not have expected any softening. It grieves me that you have had to be at the mercy of her moods all these years.”

Yoshiko hung her head. “She cannot help it. It is her nature. Besides, there is no one else.”

“Akiko?”

“She has her own home and cannot come often. Never mind. It will be better now that you are here. But come, let’s have some tea or wine!”

Akitada thought of the sickroom and shuddered. “Wine, I think. And something to eat. I left the monastery before the morning rice and have had nothing since last night.”

Yoshiko cried out at that and made a fuss over him. She got him settled in his own room, which was spotlessly clean and adorned with a pot of fresh chrysanthemums. A maid brought warm wine and a plate of pickles. Soon after, bowls of rice, vegetables, and an excellent fish stew followed.

Akitada ate, while Yoshiko filled him in on recent events in the household.

“We have new servants,” she said. “Saburo, of course, you remember. He has been most kind and helpful, but the work is getting too much for him, so I employed a boy to help him with the outside chores. Mother’s old nurse died, as we wrote you, and her new maid has had to take much abuse. But she is a simple country girl, very strong and forgiving of Mother’s ill temper. I apologized to her one day, when Mother called her an idiot fit only to clean out stables, and she said, ‘Never mind, miss, she’s hurting and it takes away a bit of the pain.’ The cook is her cousin. I am afraid she knows nothing of elegant dishes, but we have had no occasion to entertain since you left. Is the food to your taste?”

“Delicious,” Akitada said, and meant it. “If this is peasant fare, we must give it a fancy name and serve it to company.” He lifted his bowl of fish stew and bamboo sprouts. “How does ‘silver carp playing among the reeds and grasses’ strike you?”

Yoshiko giggled. There was a little more color in her pale face now. Akitada put down the bowl and looked at her. Gone were the childlike innocence and gaiety, the soft prettiness of her face and body. She was paler, thinner, older, and much more fragile, but had gained an elegance which was quite attractive. In brighter clothes and with her hair loose she would be a different woman. Seeing her like this, in her dull cotton gown and with her hair pulled back and tied at her neck, he regretted bitterly that his younger sister’s chances at happiness had been sacrificed to his mother. And to his own career, he thought sadly, for if he had remained at home, she, too, could have married.

“Have you not met any young men?” he asked bluntly. “Your sister seems to have managed very well.”

Yoshiko flushed and turned her head away. “Someone had to stay with Mother,” she said. “When Akiko’s match was arranged, Mother said I was not to mind, that Akiko had a stronger character and was better able to put up with the sorrows of marriage. She implied I was lucky to be saved from all that.”

Akitada was speechless. If this was indeed his mother’s opinion, it provided a surprising glimpse of her own relationship with his father. For the first time he considered whether the bitter, autocratic woman who had made his life unpleasant all these years was in fact more to be pitied than blamed. Still, her treatment of Yoshiko showed selfishness rather than concern. He put softer emotions aside and said, “Well, I do not agree. You shall marry if you wish, and you shall have the same dower your sister had.” He had provided the silver for the marriage settlement— and Toshikage had not come cheaply—as well as boxes of silk and brocade, household furnishings, and enough rice to feed five servants for a year. Akiko’s good fortune had meant a year of deprivation for himself and his family in the far north. Now his finances were in better shape and he would gladly do the same for Yoshiko.

But his sister said bitterly, “It is too late. No one will want someone like me, no longer young and worn out from serving Mother as a maid.”

He flared up, “It is not too late. You are young still, and pretty. What you need is a rest, some happy people around you, and pretty clothes. I shall see to it that you will have them. Is there any man you like?”

She looked at him then, and slowly her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Akitada! You mustn’t!” She sniffled. “Really. It is so kind, but... it’s all over.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, upset by her grief.

She shook her head wordlessly and buried her face in her sleeve.

“Yoshiko,” he begged, “please tell me. I think it is my fault you are so unhappy. Perhaps there is something I can do to set it right.”

“No,” she cried, her voice muffled. “It has nothing to do with you, or with Mother. I was foolish. There was someone once. I thought that he liked me... and I hoped he would ask Mother. But nothing came of it. He married someone else.” She paused to heave a shuddering sigh. Then she squared her shoulders and lifted her face. “When Akiko married Toshikage, it did not really matter what Mother said. You see, after that I really did not want to marry anymore.”

Akitada was taken aback. “This man,” he growled, “did he visit you privately?”

Yoshiko waved this aside as immaterial.

“Did he?” persisted Akitada, his voice tense with anger.

She nodded with downcast eyes.

“How often?”

“Please, Akitada. It does not matter. It is all over. As I said, I was foolish. I thought of you and Tamako. But I see now that that was different.”

“Do you mean that he came to you at night as a bridegroom and allowed you to think you had become his wife and then disappeared?”

“No,” she cried, wringing her hands. “Oh, Akitada, stop! It is long past and forgotten.”

Akitada bit his lips. Hardly forgotten! Something truly hurtful had happened to cause Yoshiko such unhappiness. He would get to the bottom of it but did not want to force the issue now. “I am sorry,” he said. “I should not have questioned you about such a private matter. Forgive me.”

She nodded, giving him a small, moist smile.

“You once spoke to me very bravely, when you were still a young girl and thought that I was making a mistake by staying away from Tamako. Do you remember?”

Her face brightened. She nodded. “And I was right, wasn’t I?”

“Yes, you were, and we both owe you a great deal. I mention it because nothing would make me happier than to repay that debt someday. Will you allow me to do so?”

She said sadly, “I know you want to help, Brother, but it is too late.”

“Very well,” he said, yawning. “We will talk about it some other time. Now I shall get some rest, and early tomorrow I shall meet the servants and take a look at the house.”

The next day, after Akitada had duly spoken to all his people, thanked them for their faithful service to his mother and sisters, and made a brief inspection of the property, he returned to the house. Yoshiko awaited him.

“Mother wants to see you again.”

He followed her to his mother’s room. If he had expected to find Lady Sugawara apologetic or in a more mellow mood, he was mistaken. She fixed her sunken eyes on him and asked in a peremptory tone, “Have you reported your return to the controller’s office?”

“No, not yet. I came directly here.”

“I thought so.” She spoke with difficulty, forcing out brief phrases between gasps of pain. “You have not changed. Always irresponsible! Go immediately.” She took a shuddering breath, and added, “You can ill afford to risk whatever little good will you may have gained with your last assignment.”

Akitada protested, “But Mother, I thought you would want me to see you first. Besides, my official robes and all the documents are traveling with Seimei in the convoy. I assure you, the controllers do not expect me for weeks.”

Rolling her head from side to side, she gasped, “Why are you arguing with me?” and pressed a hand to her chest, closing her eyes in pain. “Do you want me to die?”

Akitada bit his lips. “Of course not, Mother. I shall go immediately.” He turned to leave.

His mother’s voice pursued him to the door. “Hurry! How stupid of you not to think that the news of your arrival will be all over town by now!”

Akitada went to his room fighting depression. She had not changed at all. There was nothing he could do to please his mother. He flung open one of his old clothes chests. It contained robes which had been too worn to take along four years ago. He rummaged around and found an old suit of court robes. The gray silk robe was faded, mildew-stained, and threadbare, and the white trousers had yellowed and showed muddy splotches along the bottom. Both garments were badly wrinkled and smelled of mold. And the formal court cap, still trimmed with the colors of his former rank, had lost much of its lacquer and leaned limply toward one side. But he dressed in the costume that was compulsory for a visit to the palace, and left the house, walking the distance in the slanting rays of the winter sun.