The Hell Screen by I. J. Parker Page B

hum. He wondered at the cost and knew he would soon have to ask Yoshiko how large a gift the temple expected. Once during the night, he heard someone running, and the monks began a more frantic burst of chanting. Akitada rose and flung on some clothes, waiting for the summons which would call him to his mother’s side.
     
    But it did not come. The house fell quiet again, and Akitada returned to his bedding. Toward morning he finally dozed off.
     
    He sought out his sister as soon as he was dressed the next morning. She met him, looking exhausted, at the door of her room.
     
    “Is Mother all right?” Akitada asked. “I heard some excitement during the night.”
     
    “Another hemorrhage. A bit worse than last time. She finally fell asleep.” Yoshiko passed a hand over her dark-ringed eyes. “At least I think so. It is hard to tell if she is asleep or simply too weak to bother.”
     
    “You are tired. Shall I go sit with her today?”
     
    Yoshiko gave him a grateful look. “If you would. For just a few hours. I have not had any sleep. Don’t wake her, though.”
     
    In the corridor outside his mother’s room, some five or six monks sat in a line, their eyes closed and their lips moving continuously, while prayer beads passed between their fingers. Akitada stepped over them and opened the door. They neither looked up nor paused in their chant.
     
    His mother’s room was in semidarkness, the air overheated and thick with the smell of blood and urine. Braziers glowed here and there. The sturdy maid looked up at him with startled eyes, but Lady Sugawara lay still. She was on her back, hands folded across her stomach, sunken eyes closed, nose and chin jutting up sharply from a face which already looked more like a skull than a living human being.
     
    Akitada gestured for silence and took a seat near the maid, whispering, “I shall stay for a while. Please do not let me trouble you. How has she been?”
     
    “ ‘Twas bad in the night,” the maid whispered back. “But she’s been asleep the last hour or so.”
     
    “Good.” Akitada prepared himself for a long vigil, but suddenly his mother’s eyes opened and fixed on him. “Mother?” he asked tentatively. When she said nothing, he tried, “How are you feeling?”
     
    “Where is my grandson?” Her voice was shockingly loud and harsh in that stillness. “Have you brought my grandson?”
     
    “Not yet. They will be here shortly. In a...” He stopped, seeing her face contract into a mask of fury.
     
    “Get out!” she gasped, choking. “Get out of my room! Leave me alone!” The gasping turned to convulsive coughing. “I can... not even die in... peace ... without you rushing me along.... Curse you ... for ...” She raised up suddenly, pointing a clawlike hand at him accusingly, her eyes filled with implacable hatred. But whatever she had meant to shout at him was never said. A gush of dark blood spilled from her mouth and over the bedding, and she fell back choking.
     
    Akitada jumped up in horror and stood helplessly by as the maid busied herself, mopping blood and holding the gasping, coughing figure of his mother.
     
    “A doctor,” said Akitada, “I’ll get the doctor. Where does he live?”
     
    The maid glanced up impatiently. “No, sir. He can’t help. She’ll calm down in a moment. But you’d best go away. It upsets her to see you.”
     
    Akitada almost ran from the room. In his haste he stumbled over one of the monks outside. The man grunted, and Akitada mumbled an apology as he fled.
     
    In his room his breakfast waited. He stared at the bowl of rice gruel, then rushed out onto the veranda and vomited into the shrubbery.
     
    Feeling slightly better, he returned to his room to put on his outdoor clothes. Then he left the house.
     
    The weather was still overcast and chill. Now and then the frigid wind picked up and shifted some of the dead leaves. Most trees were bare already. A good time for death, Akitada thought