A girl flutters about me like a mother bird. Her movements are well practiced. She knows what I want before I have finished forming a thought. She works together with another girl, who sways like a dancer. A branch of blossoms in a musical breeze only she can hear and feel. The two girls move around me as if in a choreographed performance. Beside me, an older gentleman with a long white streaked beard wears soothing blue and green. He is listening to my pulse and every now and then, he glances at me with tender concern. Like a father checking on his daughter.
I do as they tell me. I don't speak. I fear what might come out. Instead, I communicate with them via signs and gestures.
After a walk around the courtyard with them, I see that these three are the only ones in this enclosed place with me. The kitchens are empty, the kennels are empty and the garden needs tending to. Half washed clothes lay in a tub by the back doors. Creeping vines grow unruly. I look at the two girls and see how tired they look with bags under their eyes and chafed fingers. I have a feeling the man looks older than he truly is as well. They need rest.
I am helped to a table in my study where paper, brush and ink are laid out before me. Sitting down, I paint.
On one page, the doctor writing at a desk, a nurse assisting him with medicines and another assistant weighing medication.
On another page, I draw the house beside mine where he lives together with his daughter. Children play in the yard.
Two hairpins. One a fluttering bird. One a swaying branch of blossoms.
I paint my two girls overseeing my house with me, directing other maids and servants in a neat yard. A cook in the kitchen. Horses in the stables. Dogs and cats in the kennels and chickens in the backyard. Gardeners trimming vines and tending flowers.
When I gesture to the boxes in the wall, the girls open one after another for me until I have the ones I want. A box full of money and a box full of jewelled hairpins. There's a lot more than I expected. Where did I obtain all these riches from?
Taking out two gold leaves, I put it with the painting of the hairpins and point to the two girls with a firm finger.
"No, no," fluttering hands protest. "You don't have to…"
She trails off at my frown.
Rifling through my box of hairpins, I take out several different ones and try to describe with my hands what shape I want the hairpins to be, how they should look, gesturing at my picture.
"What about if…" she starts making suggestions instead. After a moment, the girl of swaying blossoms joins in.
In the end, I paint the finished product, beaming along with my two friends. The girl of the swaying blossoms tucks bank notes into her belt, waves the hairpin designs dry, rolling them up. She sets off after we have decided on which of the smaller artisan jewellers will be able to make what I want. I don't know them, but the girls do and I base my decision on their recommendations.
The doctor grimaces at my paintings for him.
"My Lady," he begins, but then stops when I hold up my hand. A whiff of strong perfume is in the breeze and I look out the door toward the main gate.
"The Emperor arrives," heralds a high pitched male voice and before he has even finished speaking, bright yellow robes swish through the gates toward me.
The doctor and his daughter help me to stand and hold my arms to balance me when I try to curtsy. The Emperor takes my arm before I can dip and bob, and helps me sit back down.
"No need to be so polite," he says with gravel in his voice. His eyes are hard and stony. When he looks at me, the edges of the stones melt. Just a little. "You've only just started getting well again and I hear you are very weak still. I also hear you have lost your voice, so don't strain yourself, Tofu. Sit down and let me see what you've been up to."
His elaborate chair is placed beside me and he sits to look at my paintings. He examines them one sheet at a time. At a small flick of my hand, the fluttering girl runs to make tea and bring a plate of small cakes. The doctor stands back and I hear his feet shuffle on the wooden floor, his back bent in respect. From the way he stands, I have the feeling that his back is sore, but can do nothing while the Emperor is here.