“We mustn’t forget to look at the stars,” I said.
“But of course. Since it is the landscape of your homeland.” There was that slight lilt to Taro’s voice that let me know he was teasing. “Here.” He turned me gently by the shoulders. “We must look for Orihime, the brightest star in the sky.”
I had no trouble finding my way around the heavens. Anyone brought up in a mariner’s household or who had spent so much time at sea could hardly fail to know a thing or two about astronomy. The name Taro used wasn’t one I was familiar with, but I knew which star he meant.
“There,” I said, pointing.
“Ah, yes. That is our weaver. Now we must find her lover, Hikoboshi, further down across the River of Stars.”
He was still holding my shoulders. I could feel his breath, warm against my cheek. My neck gave a little quiver as I pointed out the star we were looking for.
“It is a fine night for them,” Taro said. “The magpies will build a bridge for them and they will cross and share a night of happiness.”
He sighed; making my skin ache with a longing no one had ever told me existed in a woman, although I thought I could guess what it was.
“O-gin.” He let go my shoulders. I turned round to look at him. “I would like to say something.”
“Yes?” That pounding in my heart had come back again. Even the insect chorus was obliterated by it. All I could see were the soft depths in Taro’s eyes. He swallowed several times; I saw his Adam’s apple bob. Silence. I felt I would die if he didn’t say what he had to say. I waited; he frowned and sighed to himself. For all his aristocratic poise, whatever was on his mind had him flummoxed.
“I am glad you came,” he said at last. “You have made my castle a happy place this summer. I am grateful.”
“Oh. Yes. Thank you.” My innards sank. I had been so sure he was going to say something else. “I am grateful too. You have given me a beautiful home. Way beyond anything I deserve.”
“I… er… you do me great honour.” Could it be that he was using formalities to cover the awkward moment? “Would you like to see the new summer tableau I have had made? The scents will be exquisite by night.”
By the time I got back to the house, it was very late. Taro insisted on walking me all the way to the door, and on picking one of the morning glories as a parting gift, “for a friend.” Its petals were shut, and in the heat I doubted it would last the night; but I touched its velvet to my lips and cheek, breathing in the night perfume.
"The Weaver and the Cowherd", Silver Hands by Elizabeth Hopkinson
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