Summer 夏
On the long journey from Kyōtango to Heian-kyō Kasumi had followed in reverse the path they had taken so many years before. After several weeks of strenuous walking she found by the good will of the kami the onsen in the forest. In gratitude she bowed to the steaming water and as she rested her weary body deep within the pool she remembered that this was where her lady and His Lordship had consummated their marriage. This was where their deep attachment had begun. At dawn the next day she found the forest path and once again set out for the capital. Several weeks later she crossed the last ridge of Mt Ōe and saw the splendor of Heian-kyō in the valley below. Making her way to Oribe-cho, the district of weavers west of the Imperial palace, she bowed at the gate of her aunt Aoko. “Gomen kudasai,” she intoned.
Weary in body and mind Kasumi rested for a fortnight at the home of her aunt. Each day she looked out and thought that the district had changed very little in the years that she had been away. Her father had been a weaver and she had fond memories of playing in Oribe-cho’s back alleyways when she was a child. No matter what hour of the day you could always hear the sound of a loom as weavers worked the shuttles. The wooden spindles, hi, made swift whoosh sounds as they moved through the warp threads followed by a rhythmic clack as the beaters pushed the new weft yarn into place – sounds that calmed Kasumi’s spirit.
On mornings in Oribe-cho one could see elderly people dressed in cotton under robes watering the plants that grew in clay pots just outside their doorways. With bamboo bucket and ladle they reverently gave the thirsty plants nourishment for the day. Then you would hear the vendors walking the alleyways and calling out the freshness of their vegetables, fish, and tofu. The afternoons were quiet, especially when it was hot. But in the evenings Oribe-cho came alive. Lanterns were lit, small noodle shops opened their shoji and hung out noren made of hemp, and stalls with all manner of salty, tasty foods were set up. The stall she loved the most though was the one that sold crushed ice with liana syrup served in a paper cone. She would spend all the money she had earned running errands for just one sweet ice cup.
It was only after several weeks of helping her aunt with morning chores, resting on the cool straw matting in the afternoons, and wandering the alleyways at night that Kasumi finally felt strong enough to set out in search of work. When she was young, before entering a noble household as a nyōbō, lady-in-waiting, she had worked as a dyer’s assistant and at this same workshop she was readily taken in. Now, to find herself among the familiar herbs and roots of her childhood was soothing, centering. Covering her robe with an outer shift she took up a piece of gromwell root. It will make a fine deep shikon purple, she thought.
The mid-summer days were sweltering in the dyer’s shop as Kasumi worked to perfect her skill. To make the dye Kasumi first soaked dried and ground shikon root in warm water overnight to extract the pigment. Then she strained the mixture through a cloth to remove the particles. This residue was immersed in an alcohol-based solvent and steeped for twenty-four hours. Then she strained the solution and steeped the residue once again. After filtering out the residue the dye that remained was a beautiful deep purple. Kasumi bundled the silk thread into skeins and soaked them in a mordant made from camellia wood ash, tsubaki-haijiru, that would bind the dye to the fibers. Then she soaked the skeins in the dye bath – water that was kept at a temperature below 60 degrees centigrade to prevent discoloration and preserve the deep purple hue. Wringing out the excess moisture she let the skeins oxidize in the air to fix the color firmly. She repeated this dipping and drying process several times until the silk thread was a deep shikon purple. Finally she let the newly dyed thread dry in the open air. For weeks she repeated this process until she was able to achieve a regal purple worthy of the nobility.
One late summer afternoon Kasumi sat at the open shoji overlooking a small inner garden while quietly sipping cold barley tea. The cicadas were chirping loudly and their shrill collective voice brought back memories of the past. Even now she clung to that time long ago like an empty cicada shell clinging to the leaf of a tree. What would her life have become had she not been poisoned and lost her ability to conceive a child, had her face not been slashed with a dagger – before she became meaningless to herself and hideous to behold? Best not to dwell on this. It was time to take action and make the journey to Iwakuraji.
On a mild early autumn day Kasumi set out for the temple at the foot of Mt. Hiei. The mountain momiji were just beginning to turn and the air was fresh and clear. At the temple gate Kasumi bowed and respectfully requested an audience with priest Eiyū. After several minutes a novice appeared and ushered her into the temple and down a long verandah. He showed her to a small room and bid her wait there. The room was starkly simple except for a four-paneled dark brown cryptomeria door that was painted with a large ancient pine intertwined with purple wisteria. There is no parting even in death and she thought of the gardens on His Lordship’s estate. She waited for over an hour lulled by the steady drop of water from a bamboo spout into a stone basin in the garden beyond. Her eyes felt heavy and her head was becoming light when just then an agéd man, the abbot, entered the room. He greeted her and bowing deeply in return she realized that she would not be allowed to meet priest Eiyū. Indeed, it must seem strange for an unknown woman to arrive there and make such a request. She decided in that moment to tell the abbot the truth and handing him the silk furoshiki she explained that it was the dying wish of her mistress, lady Sen, that her son priest Eiyū be given the manuscript – a nikki. She bowed again and extended the parcel. After moments that seemed like an eternity the abbot received the silken cloth. Then without a word he inclined his head and Kasumi realized that she was being asked to leave. She lowered her posture and murmured her gratitude for the abbot’s kindness. Then she rose and backed away to the sliding door. Before leaving she glanced at the abbot. He was staring at her intently. She met his eyes for an instant – bowed again and was gone.
As autumn neared its end, the once vibrant leaves gradually turned brown and drifted wistfully to the ground. It was chilly on the morning that Kasumi went to the storeroom in search of the spider – a female with a spherical black body that had a red stripe on the upper side of its abdomen. As the weather cooled the spider would become more lethargic in preparation for its winter hibernation. Kasumi searched cautiously, careful not to stumble upon a web unbidden. This spider though barely a half inch in size was poisonous and its venom injected through two fangs caused severe vomiting and pain. She found the spider in an untidy web in the corner of the storeroom behind some spools of thread. She caught the creature carefully in her net then quickly dropped it into a cage covered with fine gauze. Here it could live off small insects until winter arrived.
On a cold late November day Kasumi transferred her now sleeping spider to a small ceramic jar and then took it to the ice room in the cellar. The cold would cause it fully to enter winter dormancy, a coma-like state. It would stay in the cellar like this while she proceeded with her plan.
l e a m i l l a y 