Sanuki no Suke’s Diary: Memories of the Imperial Palace (7)

 

     The long bridge, which the young Gosechi dancers would use to ascend before the Emperor, was under construction as usual, with craftsmen busily at work. Seeing the bridge being built exactly as it used to be—stretching from the steps of the Shokoden to the northeast corner door of the Seiryoden—brought back a flood of memories.

     As I stayed by the young Emperor's side until sunset, watching him gaze at the construction with innocent curiosity, my mind drifted back to that early morning when the snow fell.

     The late Emperor had still been asleep when word came that a heavy snow had fallen. In fact, having been on night duty myself, I was right there to accompany him and witness it in the early dawn. Though I have always found snow beautiful, that particular morning was breathtaking. Even the humble dwellings of commoners have their own charm in the snow, but how much more so the magnificent Imperial Palace, adorned like a realm of jewels and mirrors! If only I were a painter, I would have captured every exquisite detail to show the world.

     When the lattice shutters were pushed up, the snow lay so thick that one could hardly tell the plum branches apart from the rest. The bamboo platform in front of the Jinju Hall was bending so low under the weight that it looked ready to break. The fire pit before the Seiryoden was nearly buried, and the sky, darkened by the softly falling flakes, was a magnificent sight.

     The snow piled high along the lattice fence of the Takiguchi guardhouse was enchanting. Perhaps it was the setting, or perhaps my own heart was simply overflowing, but the Emperor’s presence seemed to radiate a brilliant light—making me feel utterly self-conscious about my own disheveled morning appearance.

     "The snow this morning invites us to gaze upon it far longer than usual," I murmured.

Amused, he replied with a gentle smile, "It always looks that way to me."

     Even now, I feel as though I can see his smiling lips right before my eyes.

     That morning, I was wearing a layered Gosechi robe with colors softly blending from yellow to crimson, topped with a crimson-dyed karaginu. The vibrant colors of my attire contrasted so beautifully against the white snow that the Emperor could not bring himself to leave, pausing instead to admire me.

     Just then, a woman's voice—likely a maid from the Takiguchi office—drifted over. Peeking out from beside the lattice fence to look at the weather, she grumbled, "Oh dear, look at this dreadful snow! What are we to do? We won’t even be able to carry our carrying-poles through this."

     Hearing this, the Emperor laughed. "Listen to that. She sounds as if a great disaster has struck. Her words have quite spoiled the beauty of the snow, haven't they?"

The memory of his laughter pierces my heart with deep sorrow.

     Yet, completely unaware of the grief in my heart, the young Emperor tugs at me.

"Give me whatever that craftsman is holding! Come on, hurry! Let me have it before he leaves. Tell him, tell him!" he pleads, turning my face toward him. His innocence is so utterly endearing that, for a moment, my profound loneliness seems to melt away.

     Taking advantage of this commotion and the gathering dusk to slip away, "Well then, I shall take my leave now," I say to those around me.

     They reply in amusement, "Oh, that is absurd! Why leave now without even watching the ceremony?"