The Samurai's Garden: A Novel (23 page)

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Authors: Gail Tsukiyama

BOOK: The Samurai's Garden: A Novel
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“I was in my early twenties by the time the garden was completed. I remember it being the end of summer and Matsu had to return to Tarumi for several days to help his father. I missed him terribly and found myself unable to sleep. We had become so
close. I began pacing the floor like a caged animal. Each day I grew increasingly filled with anger and rage at this disease which was consuming my life. How could I stand the loneliness of Yamaguchi? How could I continue to live as an outcast? Dark thoughts of ending my life again entered my mind.
“Then something strange occurred. A strong wind began rattling the house, and I was suddenly compelled to go out into the garden, the wind calling me. I opened the
shoji
screen and stepped out into its embrace, soothed by the still, gray rocks. I remember how I stood there in my bare feet, the dull sensation of the stones pushing and crackling beneath my feet. It was like a dream to think I had worked for months to create it, only to finally realize what was in front of me. In that moment, it all came to life. Suddenly, I could hear the water flowing and see the soft ripples on its surface. But most of all, I could now relish the fact that its beauty was one that no disease or person could ever take away from me. I stood there for a long time until I felt like I was no longer myself at all, but part of the garden.”
 
 
Then Sachi’s voice stopped. She turned her head away from me toward the garden, listening. A few seconds later I heard the soft sound of footsteps, realizing what she had already known, that someone was entering the gate to the garden.
I can’t forget Matsu’s face when he found me at Sachi’s house last week. It wasn’t a look of surprise, but one of happy satisfaction, as if he had already placed me sitting at the table with her and his intuition had been confirmed. I remember being annoyed at first by his interruption. I wanted to hear more of Sachi’s story, but I knew the minute Matsu entered the house, her lulling voice as I had known it would have to stop.
Matsu had come to tell me that we would have to return to Tarumi. He had much-needed supplies to buy to rebuild the two burned houses, and wanted to return to Yamaguchi with them as soon as possible. He exchanged a few words with Sachi, too quick
and low for me to understand, but whatever he said, she seemed pleased and bowed low several times to him.
We left Sachi’s house so quickly I felt cheated by the fact that I hadn’t thanked her properly, hadn’t told her how grateful I was that she trusted our friendship. Instead, I only thanked her for the rice and vegetables, simply saying, “
Say
nara
,” as she stood by the door watching us go.
We walked back down the mountain saying very little. I imagined that Matsu was keeping a mental list of everything he needed to buy and bring back to Yamaguchi—nails, boards, blankets, the most essential things. My own thoughts drifted back to Sachi’s flawless childhood, which had been irrevocably set apart by the suffering she endured as a young woman. I couldn’t imagine how terrible it must have been for her; dead in the eyes of her family and then having to live a life with lepers, knowing that it would soon become her own fate. It must have been worse than looking in a mirror, to see your own destiny in the faces of those walking right in front of you. All of a sudden I remembered something that Mah-mee had once told Pie when she had complained of not winning a drawing contest she’d entered. “It’s better this way. If you have too much good luck when you are young,” Mah-mee said, “there won’t be any luck left for when you are old.”
Just then I heard Matsu cough and clear his throat. I looked up to see that he was stopped ahead on the dirt path, waiting for me to catch up to him. I had lagged behind quite a bit, slowed by my own daydreaming and my sore muscles, which made themselves felt as the path grew steeper down the mountain. As I approached him, I took a good look at his thickset body and his strong, powerful arms and legs, wondering what it might have been like to know him as a young man. He hadn’t physically changed so much over the years. Even as a young boy I remembered Matsu’s same strong features as he worked around my grandfather’s garden. There was always a mystery about him, the way he flew in and out so quickly, as if he were always racing to be somewhere else. I wonder now if he had been on his way to see Sachi. But as the distance closed between us, I could also see that the years had softened him, his body heavier, his short hair completely gray.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “I’m moving rather slowly today.”
“There’s no need to hurry,” Matsu said, squinting at the sun. “I was just going to ask how you are feeling?”
“I’m all right,” I answered, though I’d been feeling a tightness in my chest which I knew would go away once I had a chance to rest. There was no reason for Matsu to have to worry about one more thing.
“You can lie down when we get back,” he said, as if he knew my thoughts. Perhaps that’s how it was when two people live in the same house for a long enough time. You begin to read each other’s minds.
Matsu was quiet, slowing his pace to mine as we walked down the path. “You were up early this morning?” he suddenly asked.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Neither could Sachi?” he asked.
“No,” I answered, amused that he was, in his subtle way, trying to find out what we’d been talking about. “I just wanted to see her garden. I wasn’t certain she would be up, but she was.”
“She didn’t used to be an early riser,” Matsu said. Then suddenly embarrassed by how he might know, added, “When they were girls, she and Tomoko would have slept until noon, if they had been allowed.”
“Were you very close to Tomoko?” I asked. Even though it it was obvious from Sachi’s story how different they were, I was still curious as to how Matsu felt.
He seemed surprised at first, but then he cleared his throat again and answered. “Tomoko and I were very different; like fire and rain. I think I only began to know her better just before she took her life.”
“What do you mean?”
“That she became more alive to me during those difficult times,” he said, picking up his pace as his words spilled out. “Before then, she was a silly young girl who didn’t care for anything except herself. But in the days before she took her life, she began to see the nonsense of it all, even if it was too late. I won’t forget the night she came to ask for my help. Until then, she had locked herself in her room for days after the whitish rash was discovered on the side of her face.
“‘
Ani
,’ Tomoko whispered, bringing me out of a deep sleep. I thought I was still dreaming. But when I felt her cold hand on my
cheek, I sat right up. At first I thought it was my mother kneeling beside me, but the small, smooth hand and the dark, thin outline told me it was Tomoko.
“‘Is everything all right?’ I asked, thinking something had happened to our parents.
“‘I need your help,’ she said.
“I leaned over and tried to light the oil lamp, but Tomoko stopped me. ‘Leave it dark,’ she whispered.
“‘What is it?’ I asked.
“‘I need you to help me do something.’
“‘What is it?’ I repeated, annoyed to have been awakened by her. I thought it was just another one of her foolish ideas.
“Tomoko hesitated. She was quiet for what seemed a long time. Even as a baby she was noisy and outgoing, very different from any of us. I waited. I could feel her shifting her weight from one knee to the other.
“She finally bent close to my ear and whispered, ‘Can you get me father’s fishing knife?’ Ever since she was little, she was forbidden to go near it.
“‘What for?’
“This time she did not hesitate answering. ‘I don’t want to live like this.’
“‘Like what?’ I asked.
“I waited for Tomoko’s answer. Through the
shoji
walls the light from the moon allowed me to see her clearly. She looked like a different girl from the one I’d always known, pale and serious. Her eyes stared blankly at me.
“‘With this disease.’
“At the time, we were still hoping it wasn’t leprosy. No one else in the village had come down with any signs of it. But Tomoko grew frantic when it spread to her face. She went into hiding. ‘It will get better,’ I remember trying to reassure her.
“‘No,’ she shook her head. ‘I know it won’t.’
“‘You know you aren’t to touch father’s knife,’ I whispered. I was still not fully awake, and this solemn young girl didn’t seem anything like the Tomoko I’d always known.
“‘Then you won’t get it for me?’ Her eyes suddenly flashed alive.
“‘No,’ I answered.
“Tomoko stood up and walked out of my room, her hand covering the side of her face. Each day after, I tried to talk to her. I wanted to tell her about Yamaguchi, but she remained closed up in her room. ‘I won’t live like this,’ she repeated over and over again in a chant. It was as if she already knew what would become of her. Three days later when I went to check on Tomoko, my sixteen-year-old sister had found my father’s fishing knife and ended her life.”
 
 
When we arrived back at my grandfather’s house, I felt as though we’d been gone for weeks, not just one day. The cherry blossoms had bloomed overnight. Even the smallest tree’s branches were fully dressed with pink blossoms. Everything in the garden smelled sweetly remote, and felt so distant, I thought I would have to reacquaint myself with it all over again. I longed to be back in Yamaguchi instead, sitting warmly in Sachi’s house listening to her story.
After he spoke of Tomoko, Matsu had become quiet again, returning to his garden. He did insist I stay put and rest, especially if I expected to return to Yamaguchi again to help him rebuild.
We’ve made several trips back to Yamaguchi carting supplies. Matsu hopes to begin building tomorrow. This morning he went into the village for the last of the supplies, while I stayed home to rest. I tried to lie down, only to get up and move restlessly through the house. The empty white canvas sitting in my grandfather’s study stared at me blankly. The hardened dollops of paint on the wooden tray reminded me of my last attempt at painting. Down the hall, the kitchen felt scrubbed and faded with use. I wandered freely into Matsu’s small, back bedroom. It was spare and devoid of any luxuries, except for the stack of magazines he received from his older sister in Tokyo and the radio beside his bed. I clicked on Matsu’s radio and the static hum of the real world entered my life again. The voice was high and scratchy as it announced proudly that Hsuchowfu, an important railway junction between Nanking and Peking, had been taken by the Japanese. I
felt my blood suddenly rise. The Japanese had succeeded in paralyzing much of the northern and southern parts of China. Now there was nothing left to stop them from taking Canton, and it was evident that they would leave little untouched along the way. I choked at the sudden realization that Hong Kong might be next.
I quickly returned to my grandfather’s study, sat down, and began to write two letters, one to my mother and another to Pie while I still had the strength. Every time I thought about having to leave Matsu and Sachi I felt a dull ache. I told Mah-mee that I continued to grow stronger, and considering how aggressively the Japanese were moving through China, it might be wise if I returned to Hong Kong as soon as possible. I essentially told Pie the same, only I began to tell her again about Yamaguchi and how proud I was of her and her work with the Red Cross.
When Matsu returned from the village, I sealed the letters, then went to tell him of my decision to return to Hong Kong. But before I was able to say anything, Matsu slipped off his shoes in the
genken
, then handed me a blue envelope addressed to me from my mother.
Dear Stephen,
I received your last letter. Don’t worry, I am feeling better. My health is slowly returning. Ching has been brewing me soups made of Chinese yam roots, astragalus roots, and the fruit from the matrimony vine. “It strengthens the blood,” she says. I do feel warmer now. For a while, I felt as if a cold wind blew through my body.
Do you remember Uncle Sing? He is the friend of your Ba-ba’s from his Canton days. We met one day down in Central and he has joined in on several of our mah-jongg games. As a young man, Uncle Sing was also sickly. He reassures me you will grow out of it. It lightens my heart.
As for you, it would be better if you stay in Tarumi a bit longer. To get stronger. At least through the summer. Hong Kong is already suffocating. You must have fresh air to recover fully. You will be close to your Ba-ba there, and he will let you know if things become more difficult. Even if the Japanese devils should capture Canton (which they may not), don’t forget that we in Hong Kong are under British sovereignty.
I think it is better if Penelope and I do not come to Tarumi as planned this summer. Not while your father and I are still sorting everything out. I hope you understand. We might go to Macao to visit Anne and Henry. Or perhaps—No matter, I don’t have the strength to think of such things now.
Ching reminds you to rest. I will write again soon.
 
Love,
Mah-mee
I crumpled my mother’s letter in my hands and again felt unsettled. It was true, after almost a year in Tarumi I had adapted to the Japanese way of life, from the quiet gardens to the mountain village of Yamaguchi, but unlike my father, I was still pulled home by the scents and sounds of my other life. I picked up the letters I’d just written and laid them in the bottom drawer of my grandfather’s desk. My heart felt heavy knowing I wouldn’t be able to see my mother or Pie any time soon. And hard as I tried, I couldn’t remember any Uncle Sing.
A sudden, high scraping noise coming from the garden startled me from my thoughts. I jumped up and hurried outside to see what it was. There in the far end of the garden was Matsu, sharpening something on a spinning grindstone.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
Matsu waited until the last turn of the wheel slowed, then came to a complete stop. He held up the knife so I could clearly see its ivory handle and honed blade. “It was my father’s fishing knife,” he said.

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