Having made such an efficient start, he decided to invite also the neighborhood Shinto priest to say prayers and scatter rice for good luck. The priest was a pleasant older man who was unsurprised by the sudden urgency of the request. While Akitada waited impatiently, he donned a striking black and red robe and gilded head dress and took up a spear and a shield. Then he called an assistant to carry a hamper with other paraphernalia. They walked back together and arrived to the solemn chanting and bell ringing of the three monks, who had positioned themselves on Tamako’s veranda.
The Shinto priest inspected the premises, then performed a ritual perambulation around Tamako’s pavilion, reciting spells, scattering rice grains, and holding up an amulet against potentially lurking evil spirits at the four corners. Afterwards he took up his station in the courtyard, where he laid out a thick straw rope in a circle. In this circle, he danced and chanted while beating on the shield with his spear. His assistant accompanied him on a drum and occasionally twanged the string on a catalpa bow.
As Akitada observed these performances, dawn was breaking over the rooftops, and somewhere a cock crowed: a new day and a new life were beginning. He smiled to himself, content at having carried out his duties with such success, and went to see how his wife was progressing.
But when he crossed the threshold into Tamako’s room, he was greeted by an atmosphere of heat, sweat, blood, and anxious activity. When Tamako screamed, Akitada grasped the door frame for support and stared at the rectangle of white-enshrouded screens, behind which heads bobbed up and down and tense voices muttered. Some crisis was at hand. It sounded as if things had gone very wrong. Perhaps Tamako was on the point of death.
Afraid to move closer, he called out, ‘What is happening? How is my wife?’
The doctor bustled out from behind the screens, making shooing motions as if Akitada were a small child or pet dog who had wandered where he was not allowed. ‘You must have patience, sir,’ he cried. ‘There’s nothing you can do. Now go away, please.’
Akitada would have stood his ground for answers, but at this point loud shouting broke out in the garden. He turned and ran out. Some fifteen or twenty strange men were jumping about waving assorted weapons and screaming unintelligible words at the tops of their voices.
He gasped, ‘What the devil-?’
Tora joined him, grinning. ‘They’re good, aren’t they?’ he shouted over the noise.
He looked so proud that Akitada was speechless. Tora roared to the men, ‘Louder, brothers. Put your hearts in it. Don’t let them get anywhere near.’
It dawned on Akitada that Tora had taken it upon himself to provide and drill a troop of helpers to scare away demons lying in wait to possess mother and child in their weakest moments.
The chanting of the monks on the other side of the building combined with the shouts of the demon-repelling warriors and the noise made by the Shinto priest and his helper in the courtyard. All of it nearly drowned out another scream from inside.
Nearly, but not quite.
The whole scene filled Akitada with sudden terror and revulsion. Tamako was dying – he was sure of it – dying in agony, and this horrible noise was her death chant. There had been chanting when Yori lay dying. The whole horror was repeating itself.
He turned away and staggered to his study, where he sat down, shivering with fear.
Seimei found him a little later. ‘Come, sir,’ he called from the doorway. ‘The doctor said to call you.’
Akitada stared at Seimei’s smiling face. ‘Call me?’ he asked dully.
‘You’re a father again,’ crowed Seimei and shuffled away happily.
A father again!
And Tamako was alive? She must be. Seimei had been smiling. Akitada got to his feet and started for the door. Then he remembered. A father always welcomed his son with a sword. He took the Sugawara sword from its stand and, carrying it reverently in both hands before him, walked to Tamako’s pavilion.
Outside, the shouting and chanting continued, but it made a happy sound now. Akitada was filled with joy and gratitude. The door to Tamako’s room opened just as he got there – conveniently, since his hands were full and laying down the sword might have been a bad omen. He walked in, a broad smile on his face for the moment when he would see his son.
He was met by several gasps. The screens around Tamako’s bedding had been moved aside so that he could see her lying there, looking pale and exhausted.
Someone snatched the sword from his hands. Akitada turned his head and saw that Seimei seemed to be hiding it behind his frail body. The old man looked apologetic and bowed immediately. ‘Your pardon, sir. I should have mentioned… Please forgive an old man. It was the joy that overwhelmed me. It’s a little girl, sir.’
A little girl?
Akitada was surprised and turned back to Tamako for clarification. To his dismay, she had started crying. Now she rolled on her side with a wail.
‘What…?’ Akitada looked around at shocked faces, then strode to her side, knelt, and took her hand. ‘Tamako, what is it? Are you in pain?’ She snatched her hand away, but did not respond, and the sobbing increased. He looked for the doctor. ‘Come here. Something’s wrong. Help my wife.’
The doctor crept closer, looking a little uncomfortable, but he continued to smile. ‘Nothing is wrong, sir. I’m afraid Her Ladyship thinks you’re disappointed.’
Akitada was no wiser, but now Hanae came to place a small silk-wrapped bundle in his arms. ‘Welcome your daughter, sir,’ she told him.
He looked down at a tiny red face and moist dark hair. The baby’s eyes were closed, the nose a mere button, and the rosy lips a flower bud. As he watched, the mouth opened slightly, and lips and tongue made wet sucking noises. Then a minuscule hand emerged from the folds of fabric. His heart contracted with a great surge of love. ‘Oh,’ he said, and ‘oh’ again, then he bent over the child and kissed her small head. ‘A daughter.’ He looked at Tamako with tears in his eyes.
His wife had stopped sobbing and looked back. A tiny smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. ‘A daughter, Akitada. Do you mind so very much?’
He smiled, rocking the baby gently. ‘Look, a daughter. Isn’t she beautiful?’ he said to the others. ‘Who would have thought we’d have a daughter?’
Relieved laughter filled the room. They called out their well-wishes for the child’s future health and happiness.
Through Akitada’s head danced visions of a pretty little creature in colorful clothing skipping through his house, tugging on his hand, begging to be picked up, bringing her dear Papa small gifts of flowers and stones from the garden.
He muttered endearments and stroked the child’s silky hair with a finger, admiring the perfect little hand. ‘I have a daughter,’ he said again, with such evident joy and satisfaction that Tamako laughed aloud.
‘A little girl,’ she said, her voice still thick from weeping. ‘A little girl who will steal all your love from me.’
‘Never,’ he said fervently and reached for her hand.
FLOATING CLOUDS
Tora’s wound worsened overnight. He had ignored it in the excitement of the birth, and the others had been too busy. He woke feverish and in pain. Hanae was spending the night in Tamako’s pavilion to look after her and the newborn, and Yuki was with his mother.
Tora got up with a groan and went to their small kitchen to quench his thirst with some water. Then he unwrapped his arm and saw that the wound was oozing and surrounded by a swollen and angry redness. He soaked some rags in cold water and laid them on his arm. This soothed the pain a little, but did nothing to clear his fuzzy head. He needed Seimei to take a look and work some of his magic with herbs or salves or whatever, but he did not want to draw attention to himself at a time when the household was exhausted and when any extra care should be devoted to its mistress and the little baby girl.
Eventually, he rewrapped his arm as best he could and ventured outside to sweep the courtyard and clean up
