Free The Heike Story by Eiji Yoshikawa Page A

make Kiyomori forget his resolutions. He wondered if this turbulent blood was all that he had got from her.
     
    Yasuko was disappointed and annoyed. Kiyomori showed no signs of relenting toward her. She had expected him to come to her with tears. She was also irritated by his indifference to Ruriko and his studied absorption in the sights around them.
     
    "Heita, what makes you hesitate so? Are you afraid that Tadamori will hear of this?" she finally asked.
     
    "Yes—my father is here and I fear he will see us."
     
    "Does that matter? Though Tadamori and I have separated, you are still my son, aren't you? I know how lonely and miserable you and your little brothers are without me."
     
    "No!" Kiyomori quickly retorted. "My brothers, the horses in the stable, and all are well and happy. No one ever speaks of you!"
     
    Yasuko laughed quickly to conceal the change that came over her face, and, for some reason that Kiyomori could not make out, seized his wrist and clung to it.
     
    "And you—you have never wanted to see me?"
     
    Kiyomori struggled. "Let me go. My father is looking this way. He sees us. Let me go!"
     
    "Heita!" Yasuko exclaimed, giving him an arch smile. "Tadamori is not your father, though I am your real mother. What makes you so partial to him? You must come to see me, Heita, for I often long for a sight of you. And Ruriko will be good company for you, too."
     
    Kiyomori once more struggled to free his wrist, certain that his father had seen him by now.
     
    Beyond the tumult of the crowds and the dust writhing over the course, the sun paled, marking the end of the races and the long day. The Emperor and the ex-Emperor left their pavilion, followed by their attendants, and turned their steps toward the Kamo Shrine, where, to the accompaniment of sacred music, priests performed the rites of lustration. Once more the assemblage repaired to the pavilion, there to drink a toast to the winners and to watch the jockeys receive the royal congratulations.
     
    The formal presentation of trophies took place in the autumn at a court banquet, when the winners claimed their stakes—placer gold, rolls of silk, and rare incense. At the nightlong feasting, warriors and courtiers alike drank freely of the abundant wine. Victor and vanquished alike danced and sang. Victory was the beginning of defeat, defeat the beginning of victory. This was the natural law, the ever-revolving Buddhist Wheel of Life. To the courtiers flushed with wine, life was pleasure, and pleasure life. What was victory, or what defeat? Had not the Fujiwara prospered for three hundred years, and had not success and even more success been theirs for generations?
     
    This day of the Kamo races was only an interlude in the long pursuit of pleasure. Above the cherry trees, thick with leaf, rose the moon. The Emperor's coach and the ex-Emperor's carriage rolled away from the course, followed by those of the courtiers and officials.
     
    Tadamori left the Palace late that night, in a happy mood, for the ex-Emperor had been in good humor all day. Mokunosukй usually came to meet his master, bringing him his horse, but tonight Tadamori found Kiyomori waiting for him at the Guard Office.
     
    "Where is Mokunosukй?" he asked.
     
    "He was here tonight, but I sent him home and told him I would wait for you," Kiyomori replied.
     
    As he climbed to his saddle, Tadamori remarked: "So you waited for me. You look tired, Heita."
     
    Kiyomori grasped the leading reins and looked up at his father in the starlight. Should he or should he not tell? He must speak, though the telling might hurt his father. Kiyomori had sent Mokunosukй home and waited for this chance to be alone with his father. If Tadamori had not seen him that afternoon, it would be better to say nothing, he thought. He was certain, however, that his father had seen him even at that distance. His father would never bring up the matter, for it was like him to keep his loneliness and sorrows to