Page:Anthology of Japanese Literature.pdf/108

104 My son, however, appeared more delighted than he could say.

The following day the Prince sent a note: “Does this happy event mean nothing to you? Is that why you have sent no congratulations?” And toward the end of the month, “Has something happened to you? We have been very busy here, but it is not kind of you to ignore me.” And thus my silence had the effect of making him the petitioner, a position that had to then been exclusively mine. “It is sad that your duties keep you so busy,” I answered. I was sure that he had no intention of visiting me.

The days went by, and it became clear that I was right. But I had finally learned not to let his silence bother me. I slept very well at night.

Then one evening after I had gone to bed I was startled by a most unusual pounding outside. Someone opened the gate. I waited rather nervously, and presently the Prince was at the end door demanding to be let in. My people, all in night dress, scurried about for shelter. I was no better dressed than they, but I crawled to the door and let him in.

“You so seldom come any more even to pass the time of day,” I said, “that the door seems to have gotten a little stiff.”

“It is because you are always locking me out that I do not come,” he retorted pleasantly. And how would one answer that? …

My house was meanwhile going to ruin. My father suggested that it would be best to let it out, since my retinue was a small one, and move into his place on the Nakagawa. I had spoken to the Prince many times of the possibility that I might move, but now that the time approached I felt I should let him know I was finally leaving. I sent to tell him that I wanted to talk to him, but he replied coldly that he was in retreat. “If that is how he feels,” I said to myself. I went ahead with the move.

The new place fronted on the river, near the mountains. I found it rather satisfying to think that I was there by my own choice.

The Prince apparently did not hear for two or three days that I had moved. Then, on the twenty-fifth or twenty-sixth, I had a letter complaining that I had not informed him.

“I did think of telling you,” I answered, “but this is such a poor