Sarashina Diary: Retold in the present tense (8)

 

The people in Princess Yushi’s residence tell me that they do not believe I truly want to shut myself up at home. They often call me. Once, they call my niece on purpose. I have no alternative but to let her go sometimes, and my niece takes me with her. With my niece, I am never so blinded by my naive pride as to expect an unreliable wish as I did before. Veteran ladies-in-waiting wear very confident expressions about anything. As for me, I am not seen as very inexperienced, but am not treated as skillful. Sometimes, I am treated like a guest. My position is uncertain and ambiguous. I am not wholly or solely relied on. I do not feel envious of other valued ladies-in-waiting. I feel rather at ease. I go to the residence when I feel it is suitable. I talk with ladies-in-waiting who have time to kill. When they have happy events, elegant events, or interesting events, I refrain from maneuvering tactfully or standing out. I just try to listen to formal and superficial matters.

When Princess Yushi visits the Inner Palace in April of 1042, I accompany her. The moon before the daybreak is very bright. I remember that the Goddess Amaterasu is enshrined in the palace. I worship her on this very occasion. Guided secretly and personally by a lecturer’s wife whom I know, I visit the sacred shrine within the Imperial Palace under the bright moon. In the very dim lantern’s light, she is very old and looks as if she is possessed by the goddess. She is a very knowledgeable and well-informed lady-in-waiting. She does not seem to be a human but appears as if she descended from heaven.

Next night, Princess Yushi and her ladies-in-waiting, including me, visit the Inner Palace. We are in Fujitsubo, namely Wisteria House, which is allocated to the princess, and which is located in the north of the palace. We have eastern doors opened and look at the bright moon, chatting together. It sounds that Fujiwara Seishi (1014–1068), to whom Umetsubo, namely Plum House, is allocated, and which is located in the north of Fujitsubo, is elegantly and gracefully visiting where the emperor is to sleep. Seishi entered the court as the emperor's consort after the princess's mother, Fujiwara Genshi (1016–1039), died. We say, if Genshi were alive, it would be Genshi, not Seishi, who visits the emperor elegantly and gracefully. I am very deeply touched by the imagination:

Through the vast and open gate of heaven,

The radiant moon glides softly in the sky,

Bringing back the memory of the late empress

Who once walked these palace halls in days gone by.

In winter, on a moonless night, it does not snow, and starlight illuminates the velvet, crystal-clear sky from corner to corner. All night long, I share confidences with the ladies-in-waiting who serve the foster father of Princess Yushi (1038–1105). Dawn breaks, and they drift away one by one. One of them composes:

We spent a moonless winter night,

Enwrapped in shadows, deep and still,

Yet with no blossoms in our sight,

Why does its lingering spell haunt me still?

It is charming that the lady-in-waiting feels the same as I do, so I reply:

The crystal sky of winter chills,

And freezes fast my weeping sleeve;

The icy frost that on it dwells,

Will make me weep again this eve.

When I keep night duty at Princess Yushi’s residence, the waterfowls in the pond cry and flutter their wings all night. Their sounds wake me, and I say to myself:

Restless on duty, awake I lie,

As waterfowls upon the deep;

With frosted wings they faintly cry,

And brush the cold, unable to sleep.

Another lady-in-waiting, lying beside me, chimes in with a knowing smile as she heard my poem:

Imagine, then, what I must bear,

Who keep these duties day by day;

How oft I brush the frost of care,

And wish to sweep the chill away!

On another day, ladies-in-waiting and I are chatting together with our sliding doors wide open. One of them invites her superior who is waiting upon the Princess. As the lady beside me sends inviting messages time and again, the superior replies, "If you need me urgently, I will go there." I send a poem, holding a withered pampas grass that happens to be at hand:

Our arms are weary, frail, and lean,

Like winter grass that beckons slow;

Come if you wish, or stay unseen,

Swayed like the pampas as winds blow.