Chapter 43
Sheiji’s life as king became rather dull. The kingdom had been restored, taxes leveled off, and all traitors safely done away with. Sheiji had never been discontent with his tranquil life before, but now he found each day the same as the last and life seemed monotonous. Of course, there were occasional squabbles that arose among the servants, complaints from peasants, and councils with Sheiji’s generals. There were meals to plan and holidays to celebrate and guests to entertain. But it seemed tedious compared to the life he had lived with Sahima.
Sheiji became more miserable by the day. He spoke little and would sit for hours staring out over the city in bleak dispair. He began to lose his appetite, eating only a few bites at each meal. Of course, he tried to hide his depression, but everyone noticed. They really began to worry when he began to smile less. He had always been a happy child, quick to laugh and with an enchanting smile that lit up his face and made his eyes sparkle. But the glimmer of laughter in his round eyes was now replaced with a look of listlessness and misery.
Sheiji’s eighteenth birthday came and went and though a national holiday was proclaimed, it did nothing to lift his spirits. He laughed and smiled and joked with the guests, but his eyes lacked the joy he outwardly showed.
Fa-Ying was the first to notice the change in Sheiji, but he did not speak of it for many weeks. One night, Fa-Ying sat with Jihaad and brought the matter up, “Do you know why Sheiji is acting as he is?”
Jihaad shrugged his shoulders and sighed, “I don’t. But I’m terribly worried. I’m afraid he will just waste away. What do you think about it?”
“I know, I think,” Fa-Ying replied quietly. “There are two reasons, actually, but both are in part caused by the lack of activity to occupy his mind. The first reason, I began to suspect when his visits with me became less frequent.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Jihaad asked.
“Ever since I was confined to my bed, I think he began to realize that I was mortal, just like any other person,” Fa-Ying explained. “I think he believed partly that I would be around forever. I’m getting stronger and I can get up and walk around, but I still grow tired easily and I will never again be as I was before he became king. Sheiji is afraid that I am going to die and visiting me here only reminds him of that dread.”
Jihaad nodded. “What is the second reason?”
“Sahima,” Fa-Ying replied. “He misses her and is afraid she will never return. I don’t know how she feels about him, but I know Sheiji loves her. You’ve seen him staring out over the city. He’s watching for her, or imagining himself down there with her. I don’t know which.”
“Do you think she’ll return?” Jihaad asked.
“I thought she would, and so I told Sheiji,” Fa-Ying said. “She’s stubborn, even more so than Sheiji. I can’t say anymore whether she will return or not. I begin to think she will not.”
“Jihaad, I would like your advice on something,” Sheiji said one morning as they met to discuss the day’s activities. It was the first time in several days that he had begun a conversation.
“That is what I’m here for,” Jihaad replied. Sheiji had begun to notice that Jihaad no longer spoke to him like a master, but more like a friend. They were not yet very close, but Jihaad was coming around.
“Now that the Kingdom seems like it’s under control, do you think I could go look for Sahima?” Sheiji asked. “I know I couldn’t stay away for long and that I can’t go alone, but do you think I could go with an escort—Inon or you, perhaps?”
Jihaad thought for a minute, “How do you plan to find her? Imatsuro is a large country. You can’t search every city. Your chance of finding her is one in a million.”
“I know,” Sheiji answered, looking dejected and growing quiet once again.
“But I’m willing to try,” Jihaad said. “Go get changed and I’ll make some arrangements. Is an hour too soon?”
Sheiji grinned and his eyes held a new respect and friendliness for his advisor, “You would do that for me?”
Jihaad nodded, “You would have helped me find my wife if she had been lost. I’ll do the same for you.”
“Thank you, Jihaad. I’ll be ready in an hour.”
For two days they had been walking, searching for Sahima. Sheiji had an intense fear that she was sitting in some dark prison cell without food or water, caught for stealing. So they searched every prison. He worried about her lying sick in an alley. So they searched every alley.
Now, after a thorough search of the past two cities, they had struck out on a lonely country road, which led to the next town. The countryside was beautiful this time of year, but Sheiji could not focus his attention on that. His eyes flitted nervously from the road ahead to the rice patties on either side.
It was planting season and the women, with their brightly colored skirts rolled up to their knees, were bent double in the ankle deep mud. Gently they placed the seedlings upright in the sticky ooze in which the plants would flourish. It was a perfect rice year. It had rained just enough at the right time and the patties were rich and ready to nourish the baby rice plants.
As Sheiji’s eyes scanned the rice patty for the hundredth time, he stopped dead in his tracks. He watched the women plant. He scanned the field again. His eyes rested on one of the younger women who worked swiftly beside a nimble-fingered old woman. Something about the young woman made stop and blink.
Though he had only seen her hair down once—the night she had wrapped his wounds with her turban—Sheiji knew he was looking at Sahima. Who else had such lovely hair as she? He could not see her face, for it was turned downward, her eyes on her hands that gently pushed the rice seedlings into the mud; but somehow, he knew.
“Sahima!” he cried. “Sahima!”
The woman did not lift her head, though several faces looked up in annoyance and amusement.
“Sahima?” Sheiji called. “Suyo!” he hollered, hoping to get her attention by that name. The woman did not even start at the name. “Matsuyo!” Sheiji half yelled, half wept. He ran toward her, trampling several rice plants. A chorus of angry shouts followed and Sheiji stopped.
“Are you calling her?” a middle-aged woman asked, pointing to the young woman. Sheiji nodded. “You know her?”
“I thought I did. I guess I was mistaken,” Sheiji said. “What’s her name?”
“We don’t know,” the middle-aged woman replied. “She’s mute. Doesn’t speak to anyone. Maybe she’s deaf too. I don’t know.”
“Has she worked here long?” Sheiji asked.
“A few months,” the woman shrugged. “The master only keeps her on because she’s such a hard worker. She can plant double what I plant in a day. She doesn’t eat much either. Doesn’t cost much to keep. Doesn’t complain about her wages. That’s why he keeps her on.”
Sheiji thanked her and made his way slowly out of the field and back onto the road. His spirit was utterly crushed. “We may as well go home,” he told Jihaad. “We’ll never find her.”
“Don’t give up so easily, Vua. We’ve only been gone two days,” Jihaad tried to cheer him.
Sheiji cut him off, “Let’s go. It’s hopeless. You were right. I should have listened to you, but instead I’m out here wasting time I could better use to fix up the kingdom. I’m sorry, Jihaad. Just take me home.”