The Samurai's Garden: A Novel (19 page)

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Authors: Gail Tsukiyama

BOOK: The Samurai's Garden: A Novel
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“That’s what Hiro-
san
said.”
“Ah yes, Hiro-
san
has been in Yamaguchi since the very beginning.”
“What about Kenzo-
san
?” I dared to ask.
This time Sachi looked away for an even longer time. I waited patiently until she finally continued, “It all seems such a long time ago. I sometimes think I have lived two separate lives; one as a foolish young girl, and the other as a wiser woman who came to learn too late in life what was really important. All I remember is, when the disease chose me, Matsu was the only one I could stand to see.”
“But why Matsu? You hardly knew him.”
“Perhaps that’s why. That, and his being the only one who could help me understand Tomoko’s death when it seemed so senseless. Then, when I became afflicted with the disease, I panicked, and there was no one else I could turn to.”
“Not even Kenzo?”
“Especially not Kenzo. How can I explain this, Stephen-
san
? He was someone very dear to me, someone I loved very much, but I always knew there was something lacking between us. When you’re young, you can excuse many things, hoping they will strengthen with time. Kenzo was a good man, but he never had the inner strength to deal with such a tragedy. As long as things went smoothly, all was well. When the disease spread to me, I knew that he would never really understand how something so dishonorable could happen to us.”
“But there’s no excuse, it could have been treated, kept under control!”
Sachi shook her head. “Back then we had no idea what to do. All I knew was it would eventually turn me into a monster, and it had to do with some weakness within me.”
“So you went to Matsu?”
Sachi stared blankly past me, then almost whispered. “It was Matsu who found me in my deepest shame.”
I remained silent, hoping Sachi would put all the pieces together
for me. But when she didn’t continue, I asked, “I don’t understand. How did Matsu find you?”
“It is a long story, Stephen-
san
,” Sachi answered. She leaned over and touched her flowers tenderly.
“Please, if you’re up to telling me, I would be honored to hear it.”
“Sometimes it is better to let go of the past,” Sachi faltered.
“Sometimes you can’t let go of the past without facing it again,” I added.
“You are as persistent as these flowers, Stephen-
san
,” she smiled. “I can see you won’t be leaving this house without taking some part of my past along with you.”
“Only if you should honor me with it.”
Sachi watched me closely for a moment, then touched the white scars that lined the left side of her face. She took another deep breath and let it out slowly. “You must be hungry, Stephen-
san
, let us go inside. The rice should be just about ready.”
Without another word, Sachi stood up and dusted off her kimono as she made her way back down the path. I slowly rose and followed, taking it to mean she had said enough. But when Sachi reached the bottom of the path, she turned to me and said, “I would not want you to listen to my story on an empty stomach.”
 
 
I sat down at Sachi’s familiar, low black lacquer table as she disappeared into the kitchen. She returned with a tray of tea, pickled vegetables, and two bowls of steaming rice, then she kneeled at the table and placed them in front of me. It was hot and delicious. I’d forgotten how parched my throat felt when I woke up this morning. I had left Hiro’s without drinking or eating a thing, so Sachi’s rice and vegetables were a gift. When I had finished, she pushed her bowl toward me without saying a word and gestured for me to eat some more. Grateful, I watched Sachi sip from her cup of tea. I could tell by the way she looked blankly past me that she was already deep in remembering. I remained silent, waiting. Then in a soft, clear voice Sachi began to tell me her story.
 
 
“If I had been brave like some of the others, I would be in the other world now. I still remember the salty ocean water, stained red with blood that morning so many years ago. And I often recall my father’s voice telling me how the samurai maintained their honor by committing
seppuku
. The hardest part was the first thrust of the knife. After it ripped through your body, all worldly pain would be put to rest.
“I still dream sometimes that I have the chance to do it all over again, only this time I swim into that ocean of red. At least then, there would be no memories. I know it was a child’s wish to think I could forget, but the memories haven’t faded with time as I hoped. By seventeen, I had shamed my family twice; first, when the disease chose me, and then when I was too weak to honor them with my death.
“My father had hoped that by my ending my life, he could retain the honor of our family. And in the end, I didn’t even allow him to have that. It would have simply been doing ‘
ko
,’ submitting to his wishes. It was an obligation, the supreme duty of a child to adhere to one’s parents, but I failed my father.
“Only now, as I move toward the end of my life can I begin to understand the enormous task that was asked of me, and to forgive myself for not completing it. And like a child, Stephen-
san
, I have reached the age where I may be unhampered by shame, finally free to tell you my story, which even now feels as if it were still just
kino
and filled with so many dreams.
 
 
“I remember the first time I met Matsu. I was twelve or thirteen and had gone to visit Tomoko. Before then I had only seen her brother in passing or from a distance. Matsu was three years older than I, and already more muscular than most of the men in the village. He resembled his father, both of them thick and silent as they worked together in the garden of their house. Tomoko, with her mother’s fragile beauty, seemed unrelated to the two men I met that morning. They awkwardly greeted me with quick bows, and while his father went to look for Tomoko, Matsu turned back to his work, gently smoothing dirt around a new planting. I stood there on my wooden sandals, rocking back and forth against the
flat, uneven stones that lined the path to their house, wondering if I should try to make polite conversation.
“‘
Sumimasen
, Matsu-
san
,’ I said timidly. ‘What is it that you’re planting?’
“Matsu took a moment before he looked up, as if he wasn’t sure I had really spoken to him. ‘Chrysanthemums,’ he finally mumbled.
“I was about to continue our conversation when I heard Tomoko calling for me. When I turned back to Matsu, he was already at work digging another hole as if I had never been there.
“Afterward, Tomoko and I often saw Matsu walking from town to your
oj
-san’s
beach house. He would mutter something and bow as we passed on the road, and there were times when Tomoko, in a playful mood, would tease her brother for being so sullen. ‘Matsu, you’re too much like an old man, come with us down to the beach!’ she would say, laughing. He would only shrug his shoulders and walk quickly away from us. Sometimes, when I turned back, I could see that Matsu had stopped and was staring after us as we continued to laugh and make our way down the road.
“‘What’s the matter with Matsu?’ I asked Tomoko one of those afternoons.
“‘He’s all right,’ Tomoko answered, serious for a change. ‘Matsu’s like my father. They get along better with silk trees and chrysanthemums than with people.’
“At the time I didn’t think to ask anything else. After all, Matsu was only Tomoko’s older brother. I dismissed his remoteness as something that would never affect me.
“Yet my friendship with Tomoko flourished. We did everything together, growing strong like stalks of bamboo. While we might sometimes bend one way or the other, it would take a great deal to break us. Even now, after so many years, I have to smile when I recall that the one thing about me which constantly annoyed Tomoko was that I was slightly taller. And like most things having to do with appearance, she was greatly conscious of it, holding her shoulders straight back with her head lifted regally to give her more height. In turn, I humored her by slouching a bit.
“Tomoko had a spark which seemed to ignite everything she touched. You couldn’t help but be drawn to her beauty and enthusiasm.
And she did everything quickly, from her school work to her household duties. Perhaps too quickly, now that I speak of it. Sometimes a body can simply burn out too soon. But how I waited for Tomoko each day, knowing that once she was finished with her work, she would come to my house to get me. And no matter how much work I had to do, Tomoko could always persuade me to follow her. We would usually take a walk down to the beach, wearing the American-style cotton dresses Tomoko’s mother had sewn for us at her daughter’s pleading. Tomoko always wanted to be the first to do things differently from the other girls, and I was always her willing accomplice.
 
 
“It was right after my fourteenth birthday that Kenzo began to pay more attention to us. Sometimes he and his friends would be down at the beach or grouped at his father’s teahouse where Kenzo helped after school. At first I thought he was interested in Tomoko, but he slowly began to speak more to me. Tomoko would tease me, saying, ‘You see, Sachi, Kenzo-
san
doesn’t even see me when you are around. I might as well be invisible!’
“But Tomoko was far from invisible. She was too beautiful not to be noticed. And though she was pursued by many of the young boys in Tarumi, she never had any real interest in them. Tomoko always spoke of going to Tokyo after middle school, and of finding work there in a large office, or perhaps a department store where they carried all the latest fashions. No village boy was going to ruin her plans. Even as a young girl, she always seemed to be aware of how far she could go with her beauty. I sometimes still wonder if she had valued other things as well, would she be with us now? While it wouldn’t have stopped the disease from touching her, it might have allowed her to live with it. But that seems to be another story, Stephen-
san
.
“I didn’t know at first what good friends Kenzo and Matsu were. I more or less stumbled on the fact one day when I saw them together at the teahouse. It was the first time I had seen Matsu as a real person, laughing and talking comfortably. But as soon as I made my presence known, Matsu stood up, bowed politely, and returned to being Tomoko’s silent brother.
“‘How do you know Matsu-
san
?’ I asked Kenzo. He simply
smiled and answered, ‘It isn’t as if Tarumi’s a large city. Matsu’s always been a friend of mine.’
“‘But I thought he didn’t like people?’ I said, naively.
Kenzo laughed. ‘Only some people,’ he answered.
“Afterwards, I made a few weak attempts to speak to Matsu when I was visiting Tomoko, but his abrupt replies led me to believe that perhaps I was one of those people he chose not to like.
“I was too blinded by my youth, along with what I knew was a life blessed with good fortune to notice anything else. Kenzo and I continued to grow closer, and by my fifteenth birthday we were betrothed by our parents. I prepared to become his wife by learning from my mother to cook the foods he liked, such as pickled cabbage and
tonkatsu,
and to keep a neat home. During those months of preparation, everyone and everything else simply hovered in the shadows. You see, Stephen
-san,
I’m ashamed to say that it wasn’t until Tomoko’s tragedy, and then my own, that I really began to know Matsu.
 
 
“And so it was almost a year after Tomoko died that the whitish rash appeared on my left forearm. It was no larger than a yen coin. At first, I thought nothing of it, until I started to feel feverish and dizzy and the rash wouldn’t go away. Then I had to admit that it might be a sign of the disease. I panicked, remembering it was a rash that first appeared on Tomoko’s face. I hid it from my family under the sleeve of my kimono and after a while, the rash began to fade away, only to return a few months later. By then a favored day for the marriage between Kenzo and me had been chosen by our families. I was so young, and until then I had thanked the gods for my lucky match with a young man whom I loved. But every time I dared to look at the blotchy rash, it was like a nightmare. I didn’t know where to turn, and then I thought of Matsu. He had been so kind and understanding when Tomoko had taken her life. He was the only one who wasn’t afraid to speak to me of her death, who told me Tomoko would want me to go on with my own life. I felt I could trust him to help me face whatever it was.

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