The Hell Screen Read Online Free PDF

and empty as the mountain had been.
     
    But he turned his horse toward home, and soon the smell of wood fires announced small hamlets where cheerful men and women smiled at him and bowed.
     
    He was making better time now and with the speed he felt a renewed sense of urgency. Every moment brought him closer to the real world of the living—or dying, as the case might be. For days now the specter of his mother’s imminent death had driven him. Riding hard and long, changing horses at road stations when they went lame or flagged, he had been sore, hungry, and fearful of what he was rushing toward. Even now the enforced stay at the temple filled him with guilt. His nightmare of the hellish trial stayed with him, though common sense told him that it had been the result of an overactive and sickly imagination brought about by anxiety, exhaustion, and the sight of that extraordinary screen.
     
    Then Akitada caught the first view of the capital. With the fog gone, the day turned out to be one of those perfect early winter days, with a limpid, cloudless sky and a brisk freshness in the air. In the clear morning light, Heian Kyo, the seat of government and residence of the emperor, lay spread across the wide plain, along the sparkling Kamo River. It welcomed him home after four long years of absence. Akitada stopped his horse and looked his fill, tears slowly running down his cheeks. How beautiful it was, his city, the heart of his country, the place he had dreamed of in the long winter months of the far north. Heian Kyo was the golden jewel in the palm of Buddha, the promised end of the dark journey, his home.
     
    But he entered it almost shyly, by Rashomon, the two-storied red-pillared gateway with its curving blue tile roofs ending in gilded dolphin finials. As a provisional governor returning from official assignment, Akitada was entitled to travel with an impressive retinue of servants and bearers. Such an arrival attracted crowds and turned into something of a progress, even in a city like Heian Kyo, which saw such events on a regular basis. Not a man who had ever bothered much with consequence or protocol, Akitada had nevertheless pictured such a homecoming fondly. But his mother’s illness had spoiled the thrill, and he crept in through Rashomon as unnoticed as any ordinary farmer or hunter.
     
    Making his way quickly along Suzaku Avenue, the broad main street crossing the city from north to south, he saw that it was paved in molten gold with the scattered leaves of its willow trees. He paused at its end in front of the gate to the Imperial Palace. Normally he would enter to report his return before going on to his home. But today was different. He must see his mother first.
     
    Their street was, like the rest, covered with decaying leaves. Mournful sights and sounds greeted him. The gate to the Sugawara mansion was closed, and solemn chanting could be heard all the way down the street.
     
    Akitada pounded on the gate. It was opened slowly by a bent old man. Akitada recognized Saburo, his wife’s old servant, whom he had left in charge all those years ago. The old man stood in the opening, peering up at him in surprise. Akitada rode past him into the courtyard and slid stiffly from the saddle. A group of saffron-robed monks sat on the veranda of the main building, chanting away, undisturbed by his arrival.
     
    “Master!” cried Saburo, slamming the gate shut and hobbling his way. “You’re back! Welcome home!”
     
    Akitada stretched his sore limbs. “Thank you, Saburo. How is my mother?”
     
    The old man’s smile faded. He shook his head. “Not well, my lord. Not at all well, I’m afraid.” He cast a glance over his shoulder toward the gate. “Her ladyship? She’s not with you?”
     
    “No. They are two weeks behind me.” Seeing the old man’s disappointment, Akitada added with a smile, “But she is very well, and so is our son. She has missed you.”
     
    Saburo laughed out loud, baring