Yamada’s ears started to burn again.  It was warm in the room from the braziers, and the air was scented with the oil of the many lamps, but he was hot for other reasons.  “I don’t believe it helps, sire,” he managed.

“Hmm.  Then an inability experienced by a man is purely his own fault or due to age or disease?”

“I believe so, sire.  But a temporary weakness is not a serious or permanent impairment.  It may be caused merely by distractions or tiredness.”

“Distractions.”  The emperor pursed his lips and nodded slowly.  “Yes, I think you are quite right.  That may well be so.  Good.  It is your turn now.”

Nothing in his studies and the years of his practice of medicine had prepared the doctor for the difficulty of this particular consultation.  He felt the sweat trickle down his back under his robe and was afraid.  The powerful are unpredictable.  He did not trust the kind and reasonable manner with which the emperor had invited him to probe.

After some thought, he ventured, “From what I have heard so far, I take it that Your Majesty has been blessed with unusual vigor until very recently?”

“Unusual?  I don’t know.  Is it unusual?”

“Yes, indeed, sire.”

So far, so good.  The emperor looked quite pleased, proving that emperors were just men after all.  Except, of course, when they lusted after the woman one loved.  The doctor said, “A healthy man may experience temporary failure at any time, though more frequently in old age.”

The emperor frowned.  “I am in my thirty-ninth year, doctor.  Is it old age then?”

“No.  I don’t think so, sire.  I believe both Your Majesty’s August Father and Grandfather enjoyed great vigor far beyond that age.”

The emperor nodded.  “Quite right.  Go on.”

“May I ask if there is a physical impediment?  Some discomfort for example?”

“None at all.”

“May we leave aside that the fault may lie with the female?”

The emperor raised his brows in astonishment.  “What do you mean?”

Oh, dear.  Yamada felt he was groping along an abyss in the dark.  Was the emperor talking about the consort?  The snowy courtyard had been full of palm leaf carriages and merchants carrying stacks of silks and boxes of cosmetics.  Apparently Her Majesty was in residence.  Yes, that must be the answer and it presented new dangers.  He said, “Sometimes there may be an impediment, and access becomes difficult or unpleasant for the male.”

The emperor stared at him, then shook his head.  “No.  Nothing like that.  Besides, it was over too quickly.  But you raise an interesting problem.  I suppose greater stamina is needed for bedding a virgin than for a woman who has borne a child?”

Yamada panicked again and wiped the moisture from his forehead.  The emperor noticed his discomfiture and chuckled.  “Do not be embarrassed to speak your mind, Doctor.  You have my confidence.”

Yamada took a deep breath.  “I feel, sire, that the problem may lie with you, but that it is one that may easily be overcome with careful preparation.  I believe what you refer to is the first of the seven sexual impediments.  It is called “stopped air.”  This prevents a sufficient erection because the male is exhausted from excess or lacks the desire to continue.”  He saw that the emperor began to frown and hurried on, “The art of the bedchamber is not a business that should be hurried.  Perhaps taking counsel from one of the helpful little texts that most young men are given may suggest an approach?”  He let his voice trail off.

“Dear me.”  The Emperor burst into laughter.  “I haven’t thought of those little books for years.  When I was very young, I studied them with the greatest interest.  They contain fascinating but often quite useless suggestions.”  He laughed again.  “‘Joined mandarin ducks’ was nothing at all like what ducks do, though it was one of the easier positions, but ‘the soaring seagull’ was impossible to achieve and, heaven knows, I tried.”  He shook his head with another laugh.  “Thank you, Doctor, for making me feel quite young again for a moment.”  Becoming serious and businesslike again, he said, “I suppose all will be well, but if you have some medicine that you have found efficacious, may I have it?  Just in case?”

Yamada bowed.  “Yes, sire.”

“Today?  And I will call you again if the problem persists.”

“Of course, sire.”

The audience was over.  The doctor bowed and took his leave.

Outside again, he was grateful for the chill air on his perspiring skin.  He blinked against the blinding light, his mind in turmoil.  Suddenly, he felt a powerful urge to rescue Toshiko before it was too late, and he did a very foolish and dangerous thing.  Returning into the waiting area, he asked one of the servants for a piece of paper and writing utensils.  Then, kneeling on the cold flooring, he rubbed a little ink and wrote the directions to his house.  Instead of a signature, he drew a cat’s face with one eye closed.  This note he folded into a small square.

Then he made his way to the northern precincts of the palace and found the walled garden of the women’s quarters.  It was deserted this time of year, lying undisturbed and featureless under the soft blanket of new snow.  The rocks seemed merely larger hummocks of snow, and the bamboo drooped under its burden and rustled dryly as a sparrow flew up, sending a dusting of snow to the white ground.  The heavy shutters of the building were closed.  The doctor walked quickly to the veranda, and left his note under a small stone just outside the shutter where they used to meet.

A part of him hoped fervently that she was inside and, hearing him, would open the shutter a little, but in this he was disappointed.  All remained silent except for the sound of melting snow dripping from the end of the eaves.

Back at the gate, he turned for a last look and saw his tracks leading to her door and away again.  Too late!

The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter

Toshiko’s life changed abruptly with the arrival of the consort.  The news reached them when one of the maids rushed in, chattering about the long line of carriages and outriders entering the palace precincts.

Their dim and quiet days were over.  The ladies hurried to unpack their best gowns.  Maids brought clothes racks and set them up to air fine robes of silk gauze and brocade and to perfume them with incense.  More lamps were lit, bringing out the jewel tones of deep reds and golds and purples in the rich fabrics.  The air was heavy with perfume.  Servants rushed into the city to purchase last minute adornments and fresh supplies of make-up.  And the ladies’ tongues wagged, wondering why the consort had returned so suddenly and what this might mean about news from the palace and about upcoming entertainments and who might be in her entourage.  The New Year was not far away, and if Her Majesty remained a while, the palace would hum with festivities, and many old friends would visit.

Toshiko was at a loss about what was expected of her in all of this.  She followed the others around, trying to find out more.  Lady Sanjo was besieged with questions but only smiled mysteriously.  Toshiko did not like the woman’s knowing manner and the sidelong glances she cast her way from time to time.

Nothing further happened the day of Her Majesty’s arrival, except that some of the ladies who traveled with the Consort stopped in for visits.  Even to Toshiko’s untrained eyes, they dressed more elegantly and engaged in much livelier conversation.  She guessed from their tales that they led a very different life in the city and began to suspect that their entertaining ways were the reason they had been chosen by the Consort.  Bits of poetry flew quickly between them, along with clever comments on this and that person or thing and laughter at silly incidents they had observed at court, and many, many references to gentlemen of their acquaintance.  The ladies in the retired emperor’s palace had nothing like it to offer in return and expressed wonder and a good deal of envy.