“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.

The workday was nearing midday, and most officials, clerks, and scribes, hurrying to their homes for their noon rice, cast astonished glances at Akitada’s disreputable appearance. Admitted to the controller’s office only after long negotiations with a shocked clerk, he found one of the senior secretaries still in and explained his errand. The young nobleman, himself dressed impeccably in a freshly stiffened cap and gorgeous robe of figured silk over white silk trousers, wrinkled his nose, took in Akitada’s costume, and raised his eyebrows in astonishment.