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DRAMATIC MONOLOGUE:
Rokujo's Confession
to the Priest of the Temple in the Hills
How lovely distant Kyoto looks tonight--Eternal in the glow at summer’s end.
Your temple here high in the eastern hills--
How serene a view the gods have given you.
How like fireflies the people there must seem
Lighting lanterns in palaces below.
As insects hum on evenings after prayers
Do you remember your own days among
The silken robes and samisens at court?
For I was told that you were once a prince,
Perhaps a distant relative of mine--
That one winter evening you closed the gate
Of your mansion and walked alone through snow
Amid the plaintive cries of cranes and came
To this secluded place. They say that you
Have never left this temple since but have
Become a saint and refuge for the lost.
The Emperor himself came after you,
His carriage decked with pine and holly boughs,
And begged you to return to Heian Kyo.
He said he did not want to live if he
Could never hear your samisen again
Or never play a game of go with you.
Your eyes alight. So there is truth in tales.
And evil rumors fly like hungry crows,
So I am sure that you have heard of me.
I have no doubt requests have come to you
For prayers and chants, the word “murder” written
By quaking hands and details of the crimes
That whispers everywhere accuse me of.
And yet you place rice cakes and tea for me--
The sacred drink that I have never seen
Until this night—brought from far China for
The holy ones to drink. And you speak too.
Your words are a deep pool of repose for
One who has tried to cross the darkest road.
Confess to you? In brief, there are two dead
Because of me, yet no one ever loved
The mystery of sweet peace as much as I.
Look at the melon moon through willow trees--
In the Great Buddha’s law they say the moon
Rises on good and evil making one.
As night covers us both like silken robes
I share with you my secrets and my shame.
Wait—do you hear faint music drifting up
From the Nijo Palace? Even from here
I know his fingers playing on the strings… .
Yes, I could play the samisen at three;
My father said my melodies evoked
The waves lapping the shells at Suma Beach.
And I could dance when I reached five years old,
My body supple as the crested crane.
During the Tanabata Festival
One starry summer night, the Emperor
Requested me to dance for him. Here in
My sleeve I carry still the tanka that
His messenger brought to our mansion—here
Still wrapped in silk of lavender with sprigs
Of morning glory—dried of course by now.
I’ll read the Emperor’s own words in his
Calligraphy cascading like a waterfall:
The child who dances
Like an egret in summer
Rain—bring her to me
To lure the clouds away from
Stars aligned but once a year.
I saw his eyes sparkling in the starlight
As I performed for him. Yes, even then
I was destined to share the fragrance of
An emperor. Destined to be Empress
Myself. He chose me as the Heir Apparent’s bride.
The High Priest from the Ise Shrine himself
Intoned the chants one autumn when the moon
Shone down like gold on the chrysanthemums.
The temple bell at Kiyomizu chimed
In the distance as my feet slipped across
The polished wood, and I heard women catch
Their breath at sight of me. Even the men
Made small soft sounds in the backs of their throats.
The thirty robes of silk I wore rustled
Like falling leaves and glowed with threads of gold
And every hue that autumn brings to birth.
My memory of the Heir Apparent’s eyes
In lantern glow from the garden beyond
When he first saw me on our wedding day
Is joy so strong it edges into pain.
The maples in the palace court had turned
The blood color of the robe near my heart--
The last of all the robes. He came each night
To my quarters all autumn long. We knew
Every cicada by its name and watched
The geese fly home in pairs as darkness fell
And rain streaked grasses riffling in the wind.
When clouds covered the moon his whispers filled
My dreams. And he never wandered away
Searching for some new fragrance down some dark
And little traveled corridor. Never
Did he grow tired when I would play for him
Plucking my samisen on stormy nights.
And I came to believe that Buddha’s Law
Is lived between one woman and one man
Forever faithful in this life and all
Our lives to come. Then came winter, swifter
Than a fox. Red berries fell in snow
And one morning the icicles hung from
The eaves like swords and he was dead.
I have heard tales from far off India
Where our Lord Buddha lived that women there
Shriek like the monkeys when their husbands die
And throw themselves into the funeral pyre.
How I wish I had perished in the flames
Screaming with grief as fire devoured me.
But here in the land of the Rising Sun,
We are quiet people and we endure
Our karmic insults with the rustle of
A fan. And so, a widow long before
Twenty, I moved with all my servants to
The mansion on Sixth Avenue, and thus
They all began to call me Rokujo--
Not Empress, not Her Royal Highness, just
The one who lives six streets from the Palace.
At least with summer’s heat my daughter came
Reminding me of autumn nights when wind
Seemed to rush the huge moon across the sky.
My pain was past the threshold where a man
Will even let his thoughts wander. It went
On all night long and then the next and next
With muggy rain and frogs croaking out in
The dark garden. But she became my one
Comfort in all the years of solitude--
She and my samisen and the gray cat
Streaked like wet clouds. And so the years have passed.
This tea you offer me—its taste is like
A clean new wind, like nothing I have known.
Can it be possible with my burden
Of sin to take pleasure in something new?
My years in the mansion? Calligraphy,
Cherry blossoms, poems, wisteria,
Then falling leaves and snow. Of course I still
Had value to the men. My father tried
To broker me in marriage to a prince,
And other offers came. Eventually
My husband’s brother took the throne, he and
His dull wife, Kokiden, and I faded
Even farther into obscurity.
Of course he promised to take care of me--
Sent gifts and letters when the New Year came
And rice cakes for the Obon Festival
In summer when his dead brother’s memory
Haunted us all. My life could have gone on
That way until I reached the world of dreams
Except for that annoying boy—Genji.
Oh, how I hate to say his name. Yes, he--
The very one who plays the samisen
This moment as I speak, knowing the sound
Will echo through the evening air and reach
This temple in the hills. Why does he try
To call me back? He knows the hours I spent
Copying out the Lotus Sutra as
Penance. He knows I came here in disguise
Accompanied only by my oldest
Servant. His spies are everywhere. The scroll?
Yes, here it is, hidden within my robes,
A gift for your temple, amateur though
My brushstrokes are. You say my handwriting
Rivals the Abbott’s of Toji Temple
Six generations past? Others have said
The same, but I must leave my pride behind,
For it was pride and all its horrors, like
A thousand hateful toads that caused two lives
To end. Genji knew how to turn my pride
Into another dark adventure for
Himself. It was my pride that set me all
Aloof in the great house on Rokujo,
And pride that turned every suitor away.
Behind my garden gate I gazed with such
Repose into the pond of golden koi,
And I instructed all the servants to
Deny all visitors admission to
My inner world of calm. They sent away
All messengers, returned the gifts and notes--
Repulsed all desperate poems of love. Perhaps
You understand that kind of pride. Forgive
My rudeness now—the sort of pride that sets
Oneself above the clouds with icy eyes
Staring as at a distant game of go
At all the passions acted out below.
If I may ask, as humid frogs call out
And even far off stars look hot and moist
As sultry jasmine rules the night, have you
Also begun to love the world of snow?
Forgive again—it was so wrong of me
To ask. Another mochi cake before
I speak of death? With thanks, I answer, “No.”
I have removed myself from the senses
Except the strumming sounds that haunt me night
And day, and even now his samisen--
He holds such heavy music in his arms.
Could you not send an acolyte down the
Mountain to ask him to desist? How cruel
He is for always wanting more in spite
Of two who died. Have people come to you
Using the word “murder”? Have they spoken
Of me as a monster of jealousy?
You offer your kimono sleeve to dry
My tears and one more sip of this new tea.
How did they die? Surely before you left
The world behind, you knew the ways of love.
I make a guess that it was a woman
Who drove you to this temple in despair,
Though I must speak of my own sin rather
Than to surmise at yours. I want to place
The blame for everything in Genji’s hands,
But Kannon-sama, Goddess of Mercy
Sees in my heart and knows the fault is mine.
When all the others drifted off, I gave
Myself to him—the Shining Prince Genji--
And threw my worth away like lightning on
A summer night. Oh, yes, I knew he had
A wife. Aoi, Lady Hollyhock.
I never found her interesting, and I
Removed her from my mind. She was mannish
With her calligraphy in the Chinese
Design with every stroke so square and sharp
And nothing left to chance. Though now I must
Admit that chance has not been kind to me.
She was a Fujiwara, as you know,
And arrogant like all of them. No doubt
You heard about the Kamo festival--
The way her servants handled my carriage
With no respect for royalty. Have I
Digressed? Your question startles me back to
The poignant past. Yes, I remember how
It felt to share the Heir Apparent’s love
With no one else. But who in all Japan
Believes in faithfulness, except myself?
Even the Buddha does not teach our men
Fidelity. But you believe in it,
You say? Forgive my scorn. How easy for
A priest who has never descended from
His high and holy hill to preach to us
The ways of righteousness. My pride again.
Gomen nasai. Each breath should send profound
Apologies to you for bringing my
Polluted self into your sacred space.
And you are right. When I allowed Genji
To cross my gate, I leaped beyond the hands
Of God. I was in Buddha’s kingdom when
I was the Heir Apparent’s wife. How could
I let a selfish boy lure me away
From Buddha’s Lotus Throne? And how could I
Pretend that I could hurt Aoi without
Hurting myself? You ask these questions too.
Was it boredom or idleness? The truth
Is more complex than the easy answers
You offer me. He was an artist and
His every step was like the stars. If you
Could see the tanka that he sent to me--
On violet paper with a cloud design
Tied with a sprig of sweet wisteria
On rainy summer nights—or in autumn
He chose paper embossed with the faintest
Outline of a single wild duck, lonely,
And looking for a mate. He wrote them in
Hiragana, the way we women write,
As though he yearned to turn away from all
The arrogance of men. One night he brought
A kitten as a gift. Another time
A length of cherry colored silk, painted
In his own hand with peonies, open
And scented with a perfume warm as all
The hungry nights in Yakamochi’s poems.
In short, his ways made other men seem dull
And colorless, and he convinced me that
Of all the women in the world, no one
But I was worthy of the starry light
He carried in his hands. How bitter now
Are all the Boddhisattvas’ tears, looking
From heaven at the karma we began.
How many summer evenings did we spend
Counting the fireflies as we drifted off
To dreams, until the night when he did not
Appear? Seven. It shames me even now
To tell this to a priest. On the eighth night
I played my samisen till dawn, and then
The rage ascended from the hidden part
Of me in that sunrise the shade of fires
Upon the sea. You heard me playing on
That evil dawn? How harsh the wild discord
Must have intruded on the tranquil moss
And quiet chanting of your morning prayers.
Again, forgive me for the least of all
My thousand-thousand sins. The greatest sin
Was thinking that my charms could hold Genji
In bonds of starlight all the nights of this
Incarnation the Buddha gave to us.
And it was only seven nights until
His interest turned to someone else. How small
A woman is in spite of all the years
She spends perfecting every art in skill
And grace. How easily replaced by one
Whose garden has a more intriguing scent.
A woman’s words can never tell a man
How deep the sea of shame where women drown.
The only wisp of consolation came
In memories of the Heir Apparent’s love.
But even he, beyond the Bridge of Dreams,
Could not control the rage, like heat one feels
When standing near a funeral pyre. My spies
Found Genji soon enough. She was no one--
Some low ranking Chunagon living on
Some nothing street. Not even beautiful,
Or so they said. But Genji always lusts
For something new and dangerous. His wife
With her old fashioned Chinese set of rules
Was dull to him. And he learned all my wiles
In only seven nights. But this one had
A child, the daughter of his rival, who
Is also Genji’s friend, and brother of
None other than the Lady Hollyhock!
How Genji thrives on strange relationships.
No doubt his lust for me was based in part
On knowledge that the Emperor had placed
Me under his protective care as a
Royal widow not to be trifled with
By wild and spoiled boys who haunt the court.
To every “no” our Genji must say “yes,”
And shame his father every chance he gets--
The Emperor abandoned him and put
Him in the Minamoto Clan instead
Of claiming him in Court and making him
A member of the royal family.
So Genji, “Shining Prince,” is not allowed
To wear the purple robes. His mother was
As low as the back alley girl he left
Me for, so how could he resist the chance
To make discomfort for his father and
Begin a game of competition with
The brother of his wife? The Prince of Light
Has traveled in the world of shadows too,
And all his darkness fell on me, though I
Must not deny the karma of my own.
As autumn came, he visited my gate
From time to time, though it was never as
It was before, and I withdrew as winds
Grew chill and leaves turned dark as blood.
My consolation came from my good name
And from my rank above even his wife.
I kept my thoughts on my calligraphy,
And I read The Manyoshu everyday
As the chrysanthemums grew more lovely
Than ever, with their petals all aflame.
But still my spies reported, though I told
Them not to bother me with trivia.
He had transported her, they said, to some
Abandoned mansion in the hills, and there
He swore his everlasting love to her.
A moment please—I cannot find the words--
Something outside of me—beyond the edge
Of seasons, wind and rain—beyond music--
An urging from the place of evil saints--
Took hold of me—and later I was told
That she was dead, and that his grief had brought
Him here in illness and in shame. You burned
Her body here in this very temple
And prayed for his pollution to subside.
Was I sorry to learn of her demise?
My heart soared like a lark, though even my
Own servants looked at me with fearful eyes.
The second murder was more difficult.
I had returned even the notes and gifts
He sent after the death of Miss Nothing.
By winter I was well aware that there
Were girls in every corner of Kyoto
Sobbing into their sleeves, offering prayers
That he might come again some snowy night.
In my own prayers an insight came to me
That deeper even than my own despair
Was Genji’s need to have the love of each
Woman beneath the Rising Sun. And yet
His restless yearning forced him to betray
All promises of love and search anew
Every locked gate, each garden overgrown
With weeds. Was it in fact Kiritsubo
Who haunted him—his own dead mother who
Left him alone when she faded away
Because of cruel, possessive Kokiden?
How many times you must have had to hear
Stories of murder caused by jealousy--
Stories of men whom no amount of love
Can satisfy. What bitter karma are
The yin and yang of love and jealousy.
And why must women be the ones to die
While men like Genji spend their lives obsessed
In questing for that perfect earthly love?
Has the sky darkened suddenly? I thought
I saw a cloud reflected in your eyes.
Forgive my boldness. Custom calls for me
To speak behind a screen. But here it seems
The habits of the world are left behind.
How sweet the scent of jasmine as a hint
Of rain ripples the temple’s garden pond.
You wait. Arigatoo for your patience.
The second death. Genji’s own wife, Aoi,
The Lady Hollyhock. How did she die?
You knew she was with child. She asked for prayers.
I was the last to learn. I felt betrayed
That he would make a child with his own wife.
Thank you again for not laughing at me.
I thought of my own husband and the love
He gave to me. Genji did not deserve
To have that kind of love. A part of me
Felt sorry for Aoi, to have a child
With one who brought her shame. Another half
Wanted to cause her pain. But you must know
That a member of the Royal Family of
Japan would never harm in violent ways
Another person of nobility.
Even the worthless girl who died at night
With Genji in that old abandoned ruin
I would never have touched abusively.
It is a gentle world in which we live,
Except in darkness when the dreams intrude.
How can I speak of those tormented dreams?
I will not speak of them. I even seemed
To smell the incense that the exorcists
Were burning day and night in hopes to save
Aoi and her child. I could not sleep,
And even melting snow was comfortless,
And cherry blossoms, once a source of joy,
Were moonlight phantoms menacing my heart.
Did Genji stay at home to comfort her?
No. Genji came at night still wanting me.
If I knew where the end of this world is,
I would have journeyed there and jumped into
The gates of hell. Instead, I left Kyoto
With my daughter for the Shrine at Ise.
They asked for her as Vestal Virgin there.
As you well know, the greatest Shinto shrine
In all Japan must have a priestess from
The Royal Family. So she was my
Excuse to flee from my torment and seek
The sacred peace only the gods can give.
Foolish again! For evil thoughts cannot
Be left behind, and darkness even hides
In prayers. When letters came to tell us of
Aoi’s death, I knew I was the cause,
Though I was grateful that her child survived,
And I would never consciously have done
Her harm. The demon jealousy was out
Of my control, and stronger even than
Your prayers. In thus defeating you, I take
No pride. The gods deprived me of my power
To love, and thus transformed me into this--
You turn your eyes away. Is evil’s face
So hideous to see? You hide your tears.
Please, let me offer now my sleeve to touch
The tears away. Do I disturb your peace?
You take my hand. Do not apologize,
Though my heart quickens with confusing thoughts.
Here in your hand—just taken from your robe--
A yellowed paper folded many times--
Kept near your heart, you say, for all these years.
My fingers tremble as the past returns--
Yes, this calligraphy, finer even
Than the Old Emperor’s, and this tanka:
Though sorrow clouds your
Heart like autumn mists, and you
Hear only the call
Of a lone wild duck—listen
Again. Tonight two call out.
Yes, memory emerges like a dream
Recalled in morning rain. A messenger
A year after my husband’s death—he left
This poem, tied to a branch of maple leaves.
Though beautiful, I sent it back. My heart
Still smoldered with the ashes of his death.
This poem, I guessed, was from the prince who asked
My father for my hand. And now the mists
Between us disappear. That prince was you.
How could the Law of Buddha be so cruel
To punish us forever in this way?
I could have known the love of two kind men
And saved the lives of two harmless women.
Then Genji could have poisoned someone else
With demons hiding in his shining robes.
But truthfully, perhaps the demons were
My own, and would have filled your heart with snow.
On this warm summer night, your breath beside
Me here echoes the beating of my heart.
The jasmine in the dark garden merges with
The stars. A novice at your temple rings
The bell, and who knows where the Buddha leads us now.
Your temple here high in the eastern hills--
How serene a view the gods have given you.
How like fireflies the people there must seem
Lighting lanterns in palaces below.
As insects hum on evenings after prayers
Do you remember your own days among
The silken robes and samisens at court?
For I was told that you were once a prince,
Perhaps a distant relative of mine--
That one winter evening you closed the gate
Of your mansion and walked alone through snow
Amid the plaintive cries of cranes and came
To this secluded place. They say that you
Have never left this temple since but have
Become a saint and refuge for the lost.
The Emperor himself came after you,
His carriage decked with pine and holly boughs,
And begged you to return to Heian Kyo.
He said he did not want to live if he
Could never hear your samisen again
Or never play a game of go with you.
Your eyes alight. So there is truth in tales.
And evil rumors fly like hungry crows,
So I am sure that you have heard of me.
I have no doubt requests have come to you
For prayers and chants, the word “murder” written
By quaking hands and details of the crimes
That whispers everywhere accuse me of.
And yet you place rice cakes and tea for me--
The sacred drink that I have never seen
Until this night—brought from far China for
The holy ones to drink. And you speak too.
Your words are a deep pool of repose for
One who has tried to cross the darkest road.
Confess to you? In brief, there are two dead
Because of me, yet no one ever loved
The mystery of sweet peace as much as I.
Look at the melon moon through willow trees--
In the Great Buddha’s law they say the moon
Rises on good and evil making one.
As night covers us both like silken robes
I share with you my secrets and my shame.
Wait—do you hear faint music drifting up
From the Nijo Palace? Even from here
I know his fingers playing on the strings… .
Yes, I could play the samisen at three;
My father said my melodies evoked
The waves lapping the shells at Suma Beach.
And I could dance when I reached five years old,
My body supple as the crested crane.
During the Tanabata Festival
One starry summer night, the Emperor
Requested me to dance for him. Here in
My sleeve I carry still the tanka that
His messenger brought to our mansion—here
Still wrapped in silk of lavender with sprigs
Of morning glory—dried of course by now.
I’ll read the Emperor’s own words in his
Calligraphy cascading like a waterfall:
The child who dances
Like an egret in summer
Rain—bring her to me
To lure the clouds away from
Stars aligned but once a year.
I saw his eyes sparkling in the starlight
As I performed for him. Yes, even then
I was destined to share the fragrance of
An emperor. Destined to be Empress
Myself. He chose me as the Heir Apparent’s bride.
The High Priest from the Ise Shrine himself
Intoned the chants one autumn when the moon
Shone down like gold on the chrysanthemums.
The temple bell at Kiyomizu chimed
In the distance as my feet slipped across
The polished wood, and I heard women catch
Their breath at sight of me. Even the men
Made small soft sounds in the backs of their throats.
The thirty robes of silk I wore rustled
Like falling leaves and glowed with threads of gold
And every hue that autumn brings to birth.
My memory of the Heir Apparent’s eyes
In lantern glow from the garden beyond
When he first saw me on our wedding day
Is joy so strong it edges into pain.
The maples in the palace court had turned
The blood color of the robe near my heart--
The last of all the robes. He came each night
To my quarters all autumn long. We knew
Every cicada by its name and watched
The geese fly home in pairs as darkness fell
And rain streaked grasses riffling in the wind.
When clouds covered the moon his whispers filled
My dreams. And he never wandered away
Searching for some new fragrance down some dark
And little traveled corridor. Never
Did he grow tired when I would play for him
Plucking my samisen on stormy nights.
And I came to believe that Buddha’s Law
Is lived between one woman and one man
Forever faithful in this life and all
Our lives to come. Then came winter, swifter
Than a fox. Red berries fell in snow
And one morning the icicles hung from
The eaves like swords and he was dead.
I have heard tales from far off India
Where our Lord Buddha lived that women there
Shriek like the monkeys when their husbands die
And throw themselves into the funeral pyre.
How I wish I had perished in the flames
Screaming with grief as fire devoured me.
But here in the land of the Rising Sun,
We are quiet people and we endure
Our karmic insults with the rustle of
A fan. And so, a widow long before
Twenty, I moved with all my servants to
The mansion on Sixth Avenue, and thus
They all began to call me Rokujo--
Not Empress, not Her Royal Highness, just
The one who lives six streets from the Palace.
At least with summer’s heat my daughter came
Reminding me of autumn nights when wind
Seemed to rush the huge moon across the sky.
My pain was past the threshold where a man
Will even let his thoughts wander. It went
On all night long and then the next and next
With muggy rain and frogs croaking out in
The dark garden. But she became my one
Comfort in all the years of solitude--
She and my samisen and the gray cat
Streaked like wet clouds. And so the years have passed.
This tea you offer me—its taste is like
A clean new wind, like nothing I have known.
Can it be possible with my burden
Of sin to take pleasure in something new?
My years in the mansion? Calligraphy,
Cherry blossoms, poems, wisteria,
Then falling leaves and snow. Of course I still
Had value to the men. My father tried
To broker me in marriage to a prince,
And other offers came. Eventually
My husband’s brother took the throne, he and
His dull wife, Kokiden, and I faded
Even farther into obscurity.
Of course he promised to take care of me--
Sent gifts and letters when the New Year came
And rice cakes for the Obon Festival
In summer when his dead brother’s memory
Haunted us all. My life could have gone on
That way until I reached the world of dreams
Except for that annoying boy—Genji.
Oh, how I hate to say his name. Yes, he--
The very one who plays the samisen
This moment as I speak, knowing the sound
Will echo through the evening air and reach
This temple in the hills. Why does he try
To call me back? He knows the hours I spent
Copying out the Lotus Sutra as
Penance. He knows I came here in disguise
Accompanied only by my oldest
Servant. His spies are everywhere. The scroll?
Yes, here it is, hidden within my robes,
A gift for your temple, amateur though
My brushstrokes are. You say my handwriting
Rivals the Abbott’s of Toji Temple
Six generations past? Others have said
The same, but I must leave my pride behind,
For it was pride and all its horrors, like
A thousand hateful toads that caused two lives
To end. Genji knew how to turn my pride
Into another dark adventure for
Himself. It was my pride that set me all
Aloof in the great house on Rokujo,
And pride that turned every suitor away.
Behind my garden gate I gazed with such
Repose into the pond of golden koi,
And I instructed all the servants to
Deny all visitors admission to
My inner world of calm. They sent away
All messengers, returned the gifts and notes--
Repulsed all desperate poems of love. Perhaps
You understand that kind of pride. Forgive
My rudeness now—the sort of pride that sets
Oneself above the clouds with icy eyes
Staring as at a distant game of go
At all the passions acted out below.
If I may ask, as humid frogs call out
And even far off stars look hot and moist
As sultry jasmine rules the night, have you
Also begun to love the world of snow?
Forgive again—it was so wrong of me
To ask. Another mochi cake before
I speak of death? With thanks, I answer, “No.”
I have removed myself from the senses
Except the strumming sounds that haunt me night
And day, and even now his samisen--
He holds such heavy music in his arms.
Could you not send an acolyte down the
Mountain to ask him to desist? How cruel
He is for always wanting more in spite
Of two who died. Have people come to you
Using the word “murder”? Have they spoken
Of me as a monster of jealousy?
You offer your kimono sleeve to dry
My tears and one more sip of this new tea.
How did they die? Surely before you left
The world behind, you knew the ways of love.
I make a guess that it was a woman
Who drove you to this temple in despair,
Though I must speak of my own sin rather
Than to surmise at yours. I want to place
The blame for everything in Genji’s hands,
But Kannon-sama, Goddess of Mercy
Sees in my heart and knows the fault is mine.
When all the others drifted off, I gave
Myself to him—the Shining Prince Genji--
And threw my worth away like lightning on
A summer night. Oh, yes, I knew he had
A wife. Aoi, Lady Hollyhock.
I never found her interesting, and I
Removed her from my mind. She was mannish
With her calligraphy in the Chinese
Design with every stroke so square and sharp
And nothing left to chance. Though now I must
Admit that chance has not been kind to me.
She was a Fujiwara, as you know,
And arrogant like all of them. No doubt
You heard about the Kamo festival--
The way her servants handled my carriage
With no respect for royalty. Have I
Digressed? Your question startles me back to
The poignant past. Yes, I remember how
It felt to share the Heir Apparent’s love
With no one else. But who in all Japan
Believes in faithfulness, except myself?
Even the Buddha does not teach our men
Fidelity. But you believe in it,
You say? Forgive my scorn. How easy for
A priest who has never descended from
His high and holy hill to preach to us
The ways of righteousness. My pride again.
Gomen nasai. Each breath should send profound
Apologies to you for bringing my
Polluted self into your sacred space.
And you are right. When I allowed Genji
To cross my gate, I leaped beyond the hands
Of God. I was in Buddha’s kingdom when
I was the Heir Apparent’s wife. How could
I let a selfish boy lure me away
From Buddha’s Lotus Throne? And how could I
Pretend that I could hurt Aoi without
Hurting myself? You ask these questions too.
Was it boredom or idleness? The truth
Is more complex than the easy answers
You offer me. He was an artist and
His every step was like the stars. If you
Could see the tanka that he sent to me--
On violet paper with a cloud design
Tied with a sprig of sweet wisteria
On rainy summer nights—or in autumn
He chose paper embossed with the faintest
Outline of a single wild duck, lonely,
And looking for a mate. He wrote them in
Hiragana, the way we women write,
As though he yearned to turn away from all
The arrogance of men. One night he brought
A kitten as a gift. Another time
A length of cherry colored silk, painted
In his own hand with peonies, open
And scented with a perfume warm as all
The hungry nights in Yakamochi’s poems.
In short, his ways made other men seem dull
And colorless, and he convinced me that
Of all the women in the world, no one
But I was worthy of the starry light
He carried in his hands. How bitter now
Are all the Boddhisattvas’ tears, looking
From heaven at the karma we began.
How many summer evenings did we spend
Counting the fireflies as we drifted off
To dreams, until the night when he did not
Appear? Seven. It shames me even now
To tell this to a priest. On the eighth night
I played my samisen till dawn, and then
The rage ascended from the hidden part
Of me in that sunrise the shade of fires
Upon the sea. You heard me playing on
That evil dawn? How harsh the wild discord
Must have intruded on the tranquil moss
And quiet chanting of your morning prayers.
Again, forgive me for the least of all
My thousand-thousand sins. The greatest sin
Was thinking that my charms could hold Genji
In bonds of starlight all the nights of this
Incarnation the Buddha gave to us.
And it was only seven nights until
His interest turned to someone else. How small
A woman is in spite of all the years
She spends perfecting every art in skill
And grace. How easily replaced by one
Whose garden has a more intriguing scent.
A woman’s words can never tell a man
How deep the sea of shame where women drown.
The only wisp of consolation came
In memories of the Heir Apparent’s love.
But even he, beyond the Bridge of Dreams,
Could not control the rage, like heat one feels
When standing near a funeral pyre. My spies
Found Genji soon enough. She was no one--
Some low ranking Chunagon living on
Some nothing street. Not even beautiful,
Or so they said. But Genji always lusts
For something new and dangerous. His wife
With her old fashioned Chinese set of rules
Was dull to him. And he learned all my wiles
In only seven nights. But this one had
A child, the daughter of his rival, who
Is also Genji’s friend, and brother of
None other than the Lady Hollyhock!
How Genji thrives on strange relationships.
No doubt his lust for me was based in part
On knowledge that the Emperor had placed
Me under his protective care as a
Royal widow not to be trifled with
By wild and spoiled boys who haunt the court.
To every “no” our Genji must say “yes,”
And shame his father every chance he gets--
The Emperor abandoned him and put
Him in the Minamoto Clan instead
Of claiming him in Court and making him
A member of the royal family.
So Genji, “Shining Prince,” is not allowed
To wear the purple robes. His mother was
As low as the back alley girl he left
Me for, so how could he resist the chance
To make discomfort for his father and
Begin a game of competition with
The brother of his wife? The Prince of Light
Has traveled in the world of shadows too,
And all his darkness fell on me, though I
Must not deny the karma of my own.
As autumn came, he visited my gate
From time to time, though it was never as
It was before, and I withdrew as winds
Grew chill and leaves turned dark as blood.
My consolation came from my good name
And from my rank above even his wife.
I kept my thoughts on my calligraphy,
And I read The Manyoshu everyday
As the chrysanthemums grew more lovely
Than ever, with their petals all aflame.
But still my spies reported, though I told
Them not to bother me with trivia.
He had transported her, they said, to some
Abandoned mansion in the hills, and there
He swore his everlasting love to her.
A moment please—I cannot find the words--
Something outside of me—beyond the edge
Of seasons, wind and rain—beyond music--
An urging from the place of evil saints--
Took hold of me—and later I was told
That she was dead, and that his grief had brought
Him here in illness and in shame. You burned
Her body here in this very temple
And prayed for his pollution to subside.
Was I sorry to learn of her demise?
My heart soared like a lark, though even my
Own servants looked at me with fearful eyes.
The second murder was more difficult.
I had returned even the notes and gifts
He sent after the death of Miss Nothing.
By winter I was well aware that there
Were girls in every corner of Kyoto
Sobbing into their sleeves, offering prayers
That he might come again some snowy night.
In my own prayers an insight came to me
That deeper even than my own despair
Was Genji’s need to have the love of each
Woman beneath the Rising Sun. And yet
His restless yearning forced him to betray
All promises of love and search anew
Every locked gate, each garden overgrown
With weeds. Was it in fact Kiritsubo
Who haunted him—his own dead mother who
Left him alone when she faded away
Because of cruel, possessive Kokiden?
How many times you must have had to hear
Stories of murder caused by jealousy--
Stories of men whom no amount of love
Can satisfy. What bitter karma are
The yin and yang of love and jealousy.
And why must women be the ones to die
While men like Genji spend their lives obsessed
In questing for that perfect earthly love?
Has the sky darkened suddenly? I thought
I saw a cloud reflected in your eyes.
Forgive my boldness. Custom calls for me
To speak behind a screen. But here it seems
The habits of the world are left behind.
How sweet the scent of jasmine as a hint
Of rain ripples the temple’s garden pond.
You wait. Arigatoo for your patience.
The second death. Genji’s own wife, Aoi,
The Lady Hollyhock. How did she die?
You knew she was with child. She asked for prayers.
I was the last to learn. I felt betrayed
That he would make a child with his own wife.
Thank you again for not laughing at me.
I thought of my own husband and the love
He gave to me. Genji did not deserve
To have that kind of love. A part of me
Felt sorry for Aoi, to have a child
With one who brought her shame. Another half
Wanted to cause her pain. But you must know
That a member of the Royal Family of
Japan would never harm in violent ways
Another person of nobility.
Even the worthless girl who died at night
With Genji in that old abandoned ruin
I would never have touched abusively.
It is a gentle world in which we live,
Except in darkness when the dreams intrude.
How can I speak of those tormented dreams?
I will not speak of them. I even seemed
To smell the incense that the exorcists
Were burning day and night in hopes to save
Aoi and her child. I could not sleep,
And even melting snow was comfortless,
And cherry blossoms, once a source of joy,
Were moonlight phantoms menacing my heart.
Did Genji stay at home to comfort her?
No. Genji came at night still wanting me.
If I knew where the end of this world is,
I would have journeyed there and jumped into
The gates of hell. Instead, I left Kyoto
With my daughter for the Shrine at Ise.
They asked for her as Vestal Virgin there.
As you well know, the greatest Shinto shrine
In all Japan must have a priestess from
The Royal Family. So she was my
Excuse to flee from my torment and seek
The sacred peace only the gods can give.
Foolish again! For evil thoughts cannot
Be left behind, and darkness even hides
In prayers. When letters came to tell us of
Aoi’s death, I knew I was the cause,
Though I was grateful that her child survived,
And I would never consciously have done
Her harm. The demon jealousy was out
Of my control, and stronger even than
Your prayers. In thus defeating you, I take
No pride. The gods deprived me of my power
To love, and thus transformed me into this--
You turn your eyes away. Is evil’s face
So hideous to see? You hide your tears.
Please, let me offer now my sleeve to touch
The tears away. Do I disturb your peace?
You take my hand. Do not apologize,
Though my heart quickens with confusing thoughts.
Here in your hand—just taken from your robe--
A yellowed paper folded many times--
Kept near your heart, you say, for all these years.
My fingers tremble as the past returns--
Yes, this calligraphy, finer even
Than the Old Emperor’s, and this tanka:
Though sorrow clouds your
Heart like autumn mists, and you
Hear only the call
Of a lone wild duck—listen
Again. Tonight two call out.
Yes, memory emerges like a dream
Recalled in morning rain. A messenger
A year after my husband’s death—he left
This poem, tied to a branch of maple leaves.
Though beautiful, I sent it back. My heart
Still smoldered with the ashes of his death.
This poem, I guessed, was from the prince who asked
My father for my hand. And now the mists
Between us disappear. That prince was you.
How could the Law of Buddha be so cruel
To punish us forever in this way?
I could have known the love of two kind men
And saved the lives of two harmless women.
Then Genji could have poisoned someone else
With demons hiding in his shining robes.
But truthfully, perhaps the demons were
My own, and would have filled your heart with snow.
On this warm summer night, your breath beside
Me here echoes the beating of my heart.
The jasmine in the dark garden merges with
The stars. A novice at your temple rings
The bell, and who knows where the Buddha leads us now.
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