This time Tanabe woke up. "Hear, hear!" he cried. "The names of the august sponsors and participants, if you please."

Oe suppressed a smirk. "For the time being," he said, "I will only reveal that Prince Atsuakira will preside over the judges. However, we have been given permission to use the imperial pavilion in the Spring Garden for the occasion. And, since a certain anonymous benefactor is paying for everything, no expense will be spared."

Oe finally got enthusiastic applause from the faculty. He received it complacently, like an indulgent parent might accept his children's delight at an unexpected treat. Then, raising his hand, he cut the chatter short, and got down to business.

"You have been given a draft of the program. Please note particularly the selection of musical pieces and dances which will be incorporated. Does anyone have a question?"

Takahashi shot up, waving the program. "Yes. How dare you? I, for one, find it intolerable that I was not consulted about this," he snapped. "It shows the same unprofessional attitude towards your colleagues which caused me to reproach you earlier on another matter."

Oe reddened and his white hair seemed to bristle. He said acidly, "Someone has to plan these affairs and since it was I who worked tirelessly to gain support at court, it would hardly be seemly to turn this occasion over to someone who has neither interest nor talent."

Someone snickered in the audience. Glancing around at bland faces, Takahashi quivered with rage, then shredded his program and turned back to Oe. But before he could speak, Ono cried, "Pray do not allow personalities to get in the way of this remarkable achievement. Since it is a contest in the composition of Chinese verse, there can be no question as to who is the best man to plan it."

Takahashi flung around again. "Shut up, you silly, snivelling toady!" he shouted. "We all know you'd lick that conceited bastard's fat ass if he asked you to."

There were some gasps and a snort of suppressed laughter. Then Fujiwara's booming voice cut in. "Enough! I have better things to do with my evening than to listen to a couple of angry roosters crowing. Sit down Takahashi! Get on with it, Oe, and make it brief!"

For a moment Takahashi resisted the arms which were pulling him down, and Oe looked ready to walk out, but common sense prevailed. Oe got through the rest of his announcements with a minimum of flourish and self-congratulation, as Takahashi glowered silently. More papers were passed around by Ono without arousing much discussion. Only Tanabe could be heard muttering, "Splendid!" "Most gratifying!" and "What condescension!"

Akitada glanced at the sheet in his hand. It contained a list of noble sponsors and competitors. He did not share Tanabe's thrill, but recognized a name amongst the competitors representing the government, a Secretary Okura. He wondered if this could be the man who had placed first in last spring's examination.

The meeting broke up early enough for Fujiwara, who left arm in arm with Sato, talking loudly about a night on the town.

"Disgusting!" muttered Takahashi, who had been behind them and now paused to say to Akitada, "Such men should not be allowed to teach! They corrupt the young."

At this, Nishioka inserted his slender figure between them, saying, "Dear sir. Aren't you forgetting that that dissolute history professor is likely to win the contest prize away from Oe? I should have thought you'd be more tolerant of his foibles under the circumstances."

Takahashi grunted and walked away.

"What do you mean?" Akitada asked Nishioka. "I thought Oe was the favorite."

"Oh, no. There are any number of talented names on the list, but the fact is that only Fujiwara is a true poet. Compared to him, the rest are merely practitioners. If Fujiwara has a mind to it, or if he is sufficiently drunk— the same thing in his case— he composes like another Li Po. Oh!" Nishioka's face split into a grin. "That earlier quarrel between Oe and Takahashi? That was about a draft of a memorial to the emperor. Seems Takahashi composed it and asked Oe's opinion. Oe gave it to the calligraphy professor as scratch paper for his students."

Akitada's brows shot up. "Not intentionally?"

"Apparently. At least Oe does not deny it."

"What an extraordinarily rude thing to do!" Akitada said, shaking his head. "No wonder Takahashi was furious."

Nishioka nodded happily. "Mark my words! This will not be the end of it. Takahashi holds a grudge, and Oe cannot take any injury to his pride. Oh, yes! There will be repercussions!" Rubbing his hands, he walked away.

When Akitada left the building with Hirata, the sun was setting, and the cleaning crews were busy about the grounds.

"The Kamo festival is only two days away," Akitada remarked. "How can Oe expect the participants to be ready for their parts in such a short time?"

"He probably doesn't. Mind you, the musicians, like Sato, always have something prepared. The others . . . well, as long as Oe is ready himself, he does not mind who makes a fool of himself."

Hirata was uncharacteristically caustic. Akitada put it down to pressure. He asked, "Are professors always so hostile towards each other, or is all this bickering due to what happened last spring?"

Hirata shuddered, hunching up his shoulders. "I cannot believe that it is public knowledge," he muttered. "No. The problem is that we are more vulnerable to human flaws than ordinary people. If we were not, surely we would not be teaching. Saints make very poor preceptors. They don't know what it is to struggle with temptation."

He sounded so bitter that Akitada had to remind himself of the extraordinary tolerance Hirata had always shown for other men's shortcomings and vices. Such an attitude could, of course, be carried too far, and if such men ended up hurting others, it must eventually lead to self-recrimination. He recalled uneasily Hirata's strange remark that he only persisted because he still had two duties to accomplish.

They passed silently between the red-lacquered columns of the university gate and walked into Mibu Road. Directly across from them was the vast expanse of the park. Another gate, of rustic beams and with a thatched roof instead of lacquered columns and blue tiles, like the university gate, led into the Shinsenen, the imperial Spring Garden where the poetry contest was to take place. Flowering trees shimmered amidst the darker green of oaks, maples and pines, and the warm evening air was filled with the scent of blossoms. The picture of Tamako in her flower garden came to Akitada's mind.

"You must come to dinner again soon," said Hirata suddenly, as they turned north.

Akitada started. "Thank you," he said awkwardly.

"Tamako asks about you every evening."

"Oh." Akitada was at a loss for words.

They continued to the corner where Mibu Road ends at Second Avenue and their paths parted.

"Well?" asked Hirata, stopping.

"Yes. I should like to," stammered Akitada. "That is, if Tamako really . . . that is, I do not want to be a nuisance."

"Not at all. You would do us a favor." Hirata put his hand on Akitada's arm and pleaded, "You see, we live too detached a life. Especially Tamako. She needs to be with young people her own age. Usually mothers manage this sort of thing, but since my wife died . . ." He let his voice trail away uncertainly and sighed. "Some day I shall be gone and my daughter will be alone in the world. It is not natural for her to spend all her time with me."