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more closely, “he’s not very attractive, is he?”
     
    “Shh.   He’s a very vain cat.   I tell him that he looks heroic with all those scars from his battles.”
     
    They smiled at each other.
     
    “It’s his right ear,” she said helpfully after a moment, and he took his eyes from her face – a very pretty face -- and examined the cat.
     
    “I see what you mean.   Will you hold him for a moment while I get my case?”
     
    When he returned, she had the cat in her lap and was stroking him until he purred and closed his eyes.   “He belongs to Lady Dainagon,” she confided as he rummaged in his case, looking for a salve.   “He ran away and when he came back he was like this.   Only the ear got worse.”
     
    Lady Dainagon?   Perhaps she was a young relative or companion of one of the Emperor’s women.   He cast an anxious glance around.   They were alone, and the shades of the room beyond were down.   He hoped no one was inside.
     
    “The cut is inflamed and festers,” he said, “I am going to apply a soothing salve made of ground sesame seeds, but it should be cleansed frequently with vinegar or some wine in which ginger root has been boiled.   I don’t have any with me.   Perhaps you can do this yourself?”
     
    She nodded.   “Easily.   I have treated animals at home.”
     
    “Good.   In that case, a tea made from figwort and cloves and allowed to cool will also clean his eyes nicely.   Wash them and the ear once a day.   I shall leave the salve for you.   If you apply it to the ear, it will heal quickly. ” He found the little jar of salve and showed her what to do.   The animal twitched once or twice but then settled down to let him check the other wounds.
     
    “You have gentle hands,” she said approvingly.
     
    “Thank you.”   He was done but saw the oozing scratch on her hand.   “In that case,” he said lightly, “please let me treat the scratch while I’m here.”
     
    “Oh, it’s nothing.”   She blushed and hid the hand in her skirt.
     
    “The cat has dirty claws.   Why not let me at least have a look at it?”
     
    She brought forth her hand as if she were ashamed of it – a small hand, still childishly soft but capable and strong, he thought, with tapering fingers and lovely nails.   He held it reverently.   The scratch had bled but did not look deep.   He took a soft paper tissue from his case and another jar of ointment and carefully and gently cleansed the wound.   Her hand was warm and trembled a little in his.   It feels, he thought, like holding a small, trusting animal.   When he was finished, they looked at each other.   He felt warm and quickly laid her hand in her lap.
     
    “Thank you.”   She pulled the purring cat a little closer as he repacked his case.
     
    “It was my pleasure.”   He stood to make her a bow.   “My name is Yamada Sadahira.   My family is from Kii province.   I am delighted to have met you . . . and Lady Dainagon’s cat.”
     
    Her eyes widened.   “Kii province?” she cried.   “My mother is from there.   My father is Oba no Hiramoto.   We live in Iga province.”
     
    He bowed again.   “You are far from home, Lady Toshiko.”
     
    To his dismay, her tears spilled over.   She put the cat aside and got to her feet.   As they stood side by side, he realized that she was quite tall.   She smiled a little, brushing her tears away with both hands like a child.   “Yes,” she said.   “But it cannot be helped.   Only I have not heard from home in such a long time and I’m worried about my mother.”   She paused and then confided in a rush, “I had a dream, you see.   A dreadful dream.   I’m afraid that she is dying.”
     
    He saw the panic in her eyes and his heart melted.   “If you like, I could take a letter to her and report back to you.”
     
    Her face lit up.   “Oh, how kind you are!   But it is too much trouble.”
     
    “No trouble at all.   I’m going