It was only a small area, nicely planted with a stand of golden bamboo, a few clipped shrubs, and some ferns.  The plants clustered around three large rocks surrounded by patches of moss and large round pebbles.  The rest of the ground was covered with the same fine pale gravel that formed the surface of the palace courtyards.  It looked like a very private, almost forgotten, corner of the palace, enclosed by high walls on three sides and the veranda of the building on the fourth.

On this veranda knelt a young girl, singing softly as she bent over some furry creature.  She made a charming picture.

But the animal suddenly gave a loud yowl, leaped from the girl’s hands, and

flew off the veranda and into the garden.

“Oh, you bad cat,” cried the girl, putting a bloody hand to her mouth.  “Come

back here, stupid.  I’m just trying to help.”  She got up to look for the cat and caught sight of Sadahira.  “Oh.”

Sadahira wanted to withdraw quickly, afraid that he had intruded into a restricted

area, but she was very young and she smiled at him.  That smile twisted his heart.  Just so his little sister used to smile at him, long ago when he still lived at home.

“Forgive me,” he said with a bow — she wore rather rich robes for a mere child — “I’m afraid I am lost.”

She laughed.  Her laughter sounded like bells to Sadahira.  “I’m Toshiko,” she said, “and being a stranger here myself, I cannot direct you.  Since you are here, could you help me catch a cat?  He has a very bad ear and refuses treatment.”

“Really?”  Enchanted, he walked to the veranda and looked up at her.  “It so happens I’m a physician.”

She clapped her hands.  “Wonderful.”  And without further ado, she jumped off the veranda in her billowing gowns and full trousers and pounced on a shrub.  “Quick,” she cried, “I have him, but he’s strong.”

Sadahira set down his bamboo case and went to her aid.  Together they pulled the fighting, hissing, scratching animal forth.  He carried it back to the veranda.  “Heavens,” he said, looking at the cat more closely, “he’s not very attractive, is he?”

“Shh.  He’s a very vain cat.  I tell him that he looks heroic with all those scars from his battles.”

They smiled at each other.

“It’s his right ear,” she said helpfully after a moment, and he took his eyes from her face – a very pretty face -- and examined the cat.

“I see what you mean.  Will you hold him for a moment while I get my case?”

When he returned, she had the cat in her lap and was stroking him until he purred and closed his eyes.  “He belongs to Lady Dainagon,” she confided as he rummaged in his case, looking for a salve.  “He ran away and when he came back he was like this.  Only the ear got worse.”

Lady Dainagon?  Perhaps she was a young relative or companion of one of the Emperor’s women.  He cast an anxious glance around.  They were alone, and the shades of the room beyond were down.  He hoped no one was inside.

“The cut is inflamed and festers,” he said, “I am going to apply a soothing salve made of ground sesame seeds, but it should be cleansed frequently with vinegar or some wine in which ginger root has been boiled.  I don’t have any with me.  Perhaps you can do this yourself?”

She nodded.  “Easily.  I have treated animals at home.”

“Good.  In that case, a tea made from figwort and cloves and allowed to cool will also clean his eyes nicely.  Wash them and the ear once a day.  I shall leave the salve for you.  If you apply it to the ear, it will heal quickly. ” He found the little jar of salve and showed her what to do.  The animal twitched once or twice but then settled down to let him check the other wounds.

“You have gentle hands,” she said approvingly.

“Thank you.”  He was done but saw the oozing scratch on her hand.  “In that case,” he said lightly, “please let me treat the scratch while I’m here.”

“Oh, it’s nothing.”  She blushed and hid the hand in her skirt.

“The cat has dirty claws.  Why not let me at least have a look at it?”

She brought forth her hand as if she were ashamed of it – a small hand, still childishly soft but capable and strong, he thought, with tapering fingers and lovely nails.  He held it reverently.  The scratch had bled but did not look deep.  He took a soft paper tissue from his case and another jar of ointment and carefully and gently cleansed the wound.  Her hand was warm and trembled a little in his.  It feels, he thought, like holding a small, trusting animal.  When he was finished, they looked at each other.  He felt warm and quickly laid her hand in her lap.

“Thank you.”  She pulled the purring cat a little closer as he repacked his case.

“It was my pleasure.”  He stood to make her a bow.  “My name is Yamada Sadahira.  My family is from Kii province.  I am delighted to have met you . . . and Lady Dainagon’s cat.”

Her eyes widened.  “Kii province?” she cried.  “My mother is from there.  My father is Oba no Hiramoto.  We live in Iga province.”

He bowed again.  “You are far from home, Lady Toshiko.”

To his dismay, her tears spilled over.  She put the cat aside and got to her feet.  As they stood side by side, he realized that she was quite tall.  She smiled a little, brushing her tears away with both hands like a child.  “Yes,” she said.  “But it cannot be helped.  Only I have not heard from home in such a long time and I’m worried about my mother.”  She paused and then confided in a rush, “I had a dream, you see.  A dreadful dream.  I’m afraid that she is dying.”

He saw the panic in her eyes and his heart melted.  “If you like, I could take a letter to her and report back to you.”

Her face lit up.  “Oh, how kind you are!  But it is too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all.  I’m going home shortly anyway.  It will be on my way,” he lied.

“Oh . . . in that case . . .”

            “Shall I return tomorrow for your letter?”

“Yes.  If you are sure.  Nobody comes here as a rule.  The first half of the hour of the hare?  It’s the time of the morning rice, and I can slip away then.”

He bowed again and left.

Later in the day, he asked someone about the Oba family and was told that Oba’s daughter was the Retired Emperor’s newest acquisition.  Shock and pain struck with equal fierceness: shock that he had mistaken one of the imperial women for a mere child and conversed freely with her, even touched her — and pain that she was not for him.  She was fourteen, it appeared, old enough to be bedded and bear an imperial heir.  The thought sickened him, and he wished they had not met.

But he had given his word, and the next day, dressed in his best silk robe and court hat, he returned.  The courtyard was empty.  He waited a little, nervous about being seen, and was just turning to leave, when the green shade moved a little and a small hand gestured.  Climbing quickly to the veranda, he asked softly, “Lady Toshiko?”

“Yes,” she whispered.  “I don’t have much time.  You are so kind to do this.  I have thought about it all night.”  The hand reappeared and pushed a pale blue folded letter his way.  Then, before he could respond, she gave a little gasp and whispered, “I must go.  Thank you.”

He took the letter and left quickly.

Lady Oba

Toshiko’s mother was startled when the visitor was announced.  With her husband and oldest son away, she had expected a quiet day.

The visitor’s name was Yamada.  She once knew someone by that name, but this visitor had come from the capital.  Perhaps, she thought hopefully, he was bringing good news about Toshiko.

Her husband was getting impatient and angry because no invitations had come from His Majesty.  Their oldest son, Takehira, was looking sullen.  He had expected to join the imperial guard long before now.  When his younger brother, Yasuhira, brushed off Takehira’s complaints with the comment that only a fool would want to live in the capital among the perfumed dandies, Takehira had punched his face.