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chamber, they were very pretty. Genji was set apart from other men by being a lord of high rank and great power. But he was still a man. In addition to their mundane duties, they were to provide more intimate attention if he desired it. Tonight, he did not. His thoughts were too much with Heiko.
    “Thank you,” Genji said.
    “Good night, Lord Genji,” the senior housemaid said. The women backed out of the room on their knees. The door slid silently shut after them.
    Genji went to the other side of his room and opened a door facing the inner garden. Dawn was less than an hour away. He enjoyed watching the rays of the rising sun cast their first light onto the carefully manicured foliage, produce intricate shadows in the raked patterns of the stone pool, inspire the birds into song. He sat on his knees in the
seiza
posture, placed his hands in a meditative Zen mudra, and allowed his eyes to narrow nearly to closing. He would let go of all thoughts and concerns as best he could. The sun would bring him out of meditation when it rose enough to light him.
    If anyone had occasion to observe him now, they would see someone far different from the drunken idler of just a few minutes earlier. His posture was straight and firm and steady. That he was a samurai was beyond doubt. He could have been preparing for battle, or for his own ritual suicide. Such was his appearance.
    Within, it was quite different. As always when beginning meditation, Genji found himself indulging in fancy and conjecture, instead of letting go of them.
    His first thoughts were of Heiko, then of her present unobtainability, and quickly shifted to the three housemaids who had just departed. Umé, the chubbiest and most playful of the three, had been quite a diversion in previous encounters. Perhaps he had dismissed her too hastily.
    That thought brought to mind a discussion he had recently had with a Christian missionary. The missionary had very gravely emphasized the importance of what he called “fidelity.” He claimed that once married, a Christian man slept with no one but his wife. Genji was utterly astonished. It was not that he believed the missionary, for what he said was impossible. Such behavior was so unnatural, not even outsiders, strange as they were, could adhere to it. What shocked him was that the man so seriously made the claim. All men lied, of course, but only fools told lies no one would believe. What had been the missionary’s motive? Genji wondered.
    Guessing at motives did not trouble his grandfather. Prescient from the age of fifteen, and gifted with an amazing stream of accurate visions over the years, Kiyori was one man who knew, and did not wonder. Genji had been told by Kiyori that he himself would have three visions, and only three, during his entire life. He was also assured that these three would be enough. How three visions could enlighten an entire lifetime Genji could not imagine. But his grandfather was never wrong, so he must believe, even if he could not help being concerned. He was already twenty-four and had not yet seen a single glimpse of the future.
    Ah, he was thinking, not letting go. Fortunately he had caught himself before he had gone on too long. He took a deep breath, exhaled fully, and began letting go.
    An hour or a minute passed. Time had different dimensions in meditation. Genji felt the warmth of sunlight on his face. He opened his eyes. And instead of seeing the garden—
     

     
    —Genji finds himself among a vast crowd of screaming men, all dressed in the graceless clothing of the outsiders. They wear no topknots. Instead, their hair is in the unruly confusion of madmen and prisoners. Out of habit, Genji immediately looks for weapons against which he may have to defend himself, and sees none. No one is armed. That must mean there are no samurai present. He tries to check for his own swords. But he cannot voluntarily move his head, his eyes, his hands, his feet, or any other part of his body. He walks