the red maple leaves to the dog’s burial. And the maids in attendance suddenly livened up, becoming almost frivolous. They had all crossed the bridge and were resting in the arbor designed as a vantage point from which to view the falls when the gardener came rushing up, babbling every cliché of apology in his repertoire. Only then did he climb the steep, treacherous rock face to remove the dripping black body and bury it in a suitable spot.
“I’m going to pick some flowers. Kiyo, won’t you help?” asked Satoko, effectively ruling out any assistance from the maids.
“What kind of flowers would one pick for a dog?” Kiyoaki countered, his obvious reluctance drawing a burst of laughter from the women.
Meanwhile the Abbess removed her drab tunic to reveal the purple habit beneath and the small stole that hung around her neck. She had a presence that radiated grace to those around her, her brightness dissipating the atmosphere of illomen.
“Goodness, the dog is blessed to have Your Reverence offering a requiem for it. Surely it will be reborn as a human being,” said Kiyoaki’s mother with a smile.
Satoko did not bother to wait for Kiyoaki, but started up the hill path, stooping now and then to pick a late-flowering gentian that she had spotted. Kiyoaki found nothing better than a few withered camomiles.
Each time she bent to pick a flower, Satoko’s aquamarine kimono was an inadequate disguise for the roundness of her hips, surprisingly generous on such a slim figure. All at once Kiyoaki felt unsettled, his mind a remote lake of clear water suddenly clouded by a disturbance deep below its surface.
After picking the gentians necessary to complete her bouquet, Satoko suddenly straightened up and stopped abruptly in Kiyoaki’s path, while he did his best to look elsewhere. Her finely shaped nose and huge bright eyes, which he had never yet dared to look into directly, now confronted his vision at uncomfortably close range, a threatening phantom.
“Kiyo, what would you do if all of a sudden I weren’t here any more?” Satoko asked, her words coming in a rushed whisper.
4
T HIS WAS A LONG-STANDING trick of Satoko’s for disconcerting people. Perhaps she achieved her effects without conscious effort, but she never allowed the slightest hint of mischief into her tone to put her victim at ease. Her voice would be heavy with pathos at such times, as though confiding the gravest of secrets.
Although he should have been inured to this by now, Kiyoaki could not help asking: “Not here any more? Why?”
Despite all his efforts to indicate a studied disinterest, Kiyoaki’s reply betrayed his uneasiness. It was what Satoko wanted.
“I can’t tell you why,” she answered, deftly dropping ink into the clear waters of Kiyoaki’s heart. She gave him no time to erect his defenses.
He glared at her. It had always been like this. Which was why he hated her. Without the slightest warning she could plunge him into nameless anxieties. And the drop of ink spread, dull and gray, clouding everything in his heart that had been pellucid only a moment ago.
Satoko was still watching him intently, and her eyes, which had been sad, suddenly twinkled.
On their return, Kiyoaki’s bad temper surprised everyone and gave the women of the Matsugae household something to gossip about.
∗
Kiyoaki was so capricious that he tended to exacerbate the very worries that gnawed at him. Had it been applied to love affairs, his stubborn persistence would have been that of almost any young man. But in his case it was different. Perhaps this was why Satoko deliberately sowed the seeds of dark and thorny flowers, rather than brightly colored ones, knowing what an unhealthy fascination they held for Kiyoaki. Indeed he had always been fertile ground for such seeds. He indulged himself, to the exclusion of all else, in the cultivation of his anxiety.
Satoko had caught his interest. Although a willing prisoner of his discontent, he was