The Samurai's Garden: A Novel (9 page)

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Authors: Gail Tsukiyama

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Every day Sachi comes down from Yamaguchi so early she’s already hard at work in the garden by the time I’ve gotten up and eaten. She must start out when it’s still dark, arriving here just as
the morning light fills the sky. She doesn’t leave again until the sun goes down and she can disappear into the hazy gray just before dark. Matsu usually accompanies her back up the mountain. When he returns, there’s a calmness to him I know only Sachi can give.
Sachi and I are becoming good friends as we work in Matsu’s garden. Yesterday and today we replanted some pines and cleaned the pond. Matsu finished building a new bridge for the pond, then went to the village for some new fish to fill it. I asked him to mail a short, noncommittal letter I had written to my mother. I told her briefly about the storm, my relapse, and how I would write her a more complete letter soon. The only thing I let my mother know for certain was that I needed to rest in Tarumi a while longer, and that I would try to speak to my father soon. But just the thought of facing my father made me feel sick to my stomach.
 
 
Each day I work in the garden with Sachi, I feel stronger. The headaches lose their urgency once my hands dig deep into the cool, dark soil and I smell the damp dirt and pine. Even the cold wind of approaching winter makes me feel more alive.
“How does it feel to be here?” I asked Sachi this morning.
She was on her knees planting moss by the pond. Matsu’s newly built wooden bridge sat to the side. Its fresh cedar smell filled the chilly air. She pulled her scarf closer to her face and turned toward me. “It feels like a dream to be living this life,” Sachi answered. “I’m always waiting for the moment I wake up.”
“I wanted to ask you to visit us,” I said, digging a hole large enough to fit a small pine Matsu wanted us to replant.
“It took a storm to bring me down from the mountain,” Sachi continued. She turned back to her work and started digging the hole I’d begun deeper.
“Did you ever think of coming down before?”
Sachi hesitated. “Matsu had asked me before.”
“But you never came?”
“I didn’t have the courage.”
“Why now?” I asked. I continued to work, not daring to look in Sachi’s direction.
“It was for you and Matsu that I came, not for myself.”
I could feel my heart beat faster. “I’ll never forget your kindness,” I said, as I glanced over at her.
Sachi smiled and remained silent.
“Don’t you ever miss your family, or your old friends like Kenzo-
san
?” I blurted out after a long pause. Even as I said the words, I immediately regretted asking her such a personal question.
Sachi slowly stood up and dusted off her dark brown kimono. She pulled her scarf closer to her face and looked at the gate. I imagined Matsu coming through the gate right at that moment, angry and dishonored by my rudeness.
But before I could say anything else, Sachi turned and looked directly at me. “So you have met Kenzo,” she said, pausing again in thought. “He was a difficult friend to lose, but the time for missing has long passed. I have many new friends in Yamaguchi. And there has always been Matsu.”
“I’m sorry for asking.” I quickly stood up and bowed to her. “I know it must have been difficult.”
“I am honored that you cared enough to ask,” Sachi said. Then she turned and pointed to Matsu’s newly built wooden bridge. It was an exact replica of the original, its ascending and descending curves forming a perfect arch. “Matsu once told me the bridge represented the samurai’s difficult path from this world to the afterlife. When you reach the top of the bridge, you can see your way to paradise. I feel as if the past few days have given me a glimpse of that. To simply live a life without fear has been a true paradise.”
I touched the bridge which stood half the height of my body. Suddenly I couldn’t wait to see it back in its place over the restored fish-filled pond. I didn’t know what to say.
We stood a moment in awkward silence until Sachi sighed, and pointed to a pine tree lying on the ground. “Let me help you with that tree,” she said.
Together we carefully lifted the uprooted pine and placed it gently back into the hole we had dug. I shovelled the dirt back in, while Sachi dropped to her knees and patted the loose earth back into place.
“Do you think it will live?” I asked.
“No one knows this garden better than Matsu,” Sachi answered. “It won’t be long before it looks just like your painting again.”
“You’ve seen the painting?”
“It was the first thing Matsu showed me. He is very proud of you.”
“He never said a word about it to me,” I said.
Sachi looked up and smiled. “With Matsu, everything is in what he does not say.”
 
 
Sometimes, when Sachi is at work and not paying attention, her scarf slips just enough so I can see the white, puckered scars on the side of her face. I find myself wondering what these scars must feel like; the translucent lines spreading like a map across the side of her face. It seems the more I see them, the less effective they become in their power to frighten and repulse me. She’s still very beautiful. I want to tell Sachi this, but I’m afraid it will only embarrass her, send her back into hiding.
Matsu’s definitely happier with Sachi around. There’s a gentleness about him when he’s with her. They speak in low tones, and he’s always making her laugh. “Little
hana
,” he calls Sachi, when she laments that he has lost all his autumn blossoms. She’s the only flower that matters to him. Sometimes, I wonder how their lives would have been if the disease hadn’t claimed Sachi. Would they be married and living happily in Tarumi? Would Sachi be married to Kenzo? Would Sachi have left Tarumi like so many others and found a new life elsewhere? Perhaps Sachi is right, the door to the past should be closed.
The news of the present continues to hang heavy. While we were happily eating lunch in the kitchen, the music from Matsu’s radio was abruptly interrupted by an announcement: “Japan’s most honorable Imperial Army has finally succeeded in convincing Shanghai to accept its protection.”
Matsu looked over at me and I could see his smile slowly leave, as he pressed his lips tightly together. Sachi looked down and remained silent. It felt as if the noodles I’d just eaten were lodged at the bottom of my throat and I had no voice.
 
 
My spirits were lifted this evening when I saw Keiko again. After Matsu left to walk Sachi back to Yamaguchi, I tried to keep my thoughts off the war in China by working in the garden. I first saw shadows between the slats in the bamboo fence. Then I heard low whispers, which stopped at the front gate. I stood perfectly still, and waited to see what they would do next. There were more whispers and then I heard the shuffling sound of someone leaving. I was just about to open the bamboo gate, when a tapping sound came from the other side. I swung it open to find Keiko alone, standing there in a blue kimono and padded coat.
“Konnichiwa,”
she bowed.
“Konnichiwa,
Keiko-
san
,” I said. “Where is Mika?”
“She had to return home,” Keiko said timidly. “We heard that you were not well, and wanted to bring you something.” Keiko handed me a black lacquer box tightly wrapped in marooncolored cloth.
I bowed.
“D
mo arigat
gozaimasu.
Won’t you come in?”
Keiko shook her head. “No,
d
mo,
I must return home.”
She turned to leave, but before she did, I asked, “Can we meet again to talk? We never seem to have enough time.”
“Tarumi is very small, I’m sure we will see each other again,” Keiko answered. She kept her gaze directed toward the ground.
“I thought maybe we could set up a time,” I continued.
Keiko looked up shyly. “Perhaps tomorrow morning, down at the beach where we first spoke,” she said. Then she bowed quickly and started down the dirt road to town.
“What time?” I asked.
Keiko stopped and turned around.
“Ju
-
ji,”
she called back. She hesitated a moment, gave a small wave, and continued walking.
“I’ll see you at ten o’clock,” I said, but I wasn’t sure if she had heard me as she hurried down the road.
 
 
I could barely wait until Matsu returned home. I was already lying in bed when I heard him come into the
genken.
Before he reached the kitchen, I slid open my door and handed the black lacquer box to him.
“What is it?” he asked, surprised.
“A get-well present from Keiko-
san
, one of the girls I told you about. I’m going to meet her tomorrow morning. Would you like some?”
Matsu opened the box and smiled. “Homemade
yokan.
You must be quite special to this girl,” he teased.
“She’s just one of many,” I laughed.
Matsu picked up one of the rectangular red bean cakes and put it entirely into his mouth. He chewed it slowly and swallowed. “Very good,” he said with a wink.
“Has Sachi ever made you
yokan?”
I asked.
Matsu laughed. “I think you should ask if I have ever made Sachi
yokan?”
“Have you?”
“I would not have dared.”
“Why?”
“Sachi might have given it back to me then.”
“Then, but not now,” I added.
Matsu smiled. He quickly snatched another
yokan
from the box and handed it back to me. “You better get some rest for your big date tomorrow.”
All of a sudden I remembered Sachi would be coming down. “What about Sachi?” I asked.
“I think she can stand my company for one morning,” Matsu reassured me.
“Maybe for just one morning.” I smiled, closing the black lacquer box.
Matsu and Sachi were already at work side by side in the garden when I woke up this morning. With their backs to me, I stood in the
genken
watching them as they moved up and down in their own rhythm. Sachi seemed to be struggling with something in front of her, as her scarf slowly slipped down from her head to her neck and shoulders. For the first time I could see the streaks of gray that ran through Sachi’s dark hair and a hint of her pale, white neck. Matsu leaned over to help her, then whispered something that made Sachi laugh. I realized how good she must feel, to
live a normal life and not have to hide among the wounded. It seems unfair that so much time had passed with their being apart.
I stepped down from the
genken
and quickly surveyed the garden. It was slowly returning to its former beauty. Many of the pine trees had been replanted, most of the debris cleared away, and Matsu had replaced the new cedar samurai bridge over the pond. But this time it felt different. Sachi provided a deep richness that made the garden almost hum.
“Ohay
gazaimasu,”
I called out to them.
Matsu turned around. Sachi quickly stood, covered her head, and bowed before she returned my greeting. Matsu lifted his hand as if to wave, then pointed to the house to tell me my breakfast was in the kitchen.
“I’m not hungry,” I said, as I walked toward them.
“Ah, too many
yokan,
” Matsu teased.
“Yokan?”
Sachi repeated.
“A get-well present from the girl he’s meeting this morning,” Matsu said, before I had a chance to say anything.
Sachi nodded her head and smiled. “A young man like Stephen-
san
should have many such friends.”
“I won’t be very long,” I said.
Sachi bowed again. “We will be here,” she said.
Matsu smiled and returned to work. He motioned for Sachi to hold on to a young silk tree as he unwrapped the burlap around its roots, and together they placed it into the earth. It was only then that I realized they might enjoy not having me around.
 
 
I was down at the beach before Keiko arrived. It had crossed my mind more than once that she might not show up, but I pushed the thought away and waited patiently. The air was sharp. For the first time in a week, the sun struggled weakly through the gray clouds. It left a strange bright light on the sand, still littered with remnants of the storm. I began to walk, sidestepping pieces of seaweed, branches, and large depressions still filled with saltwater. The air smelled of salty, dried fish. The waves came in calmly, slapping the sand so lightly it seem impossible they could have ever caused so much damage. I turned and looked out to the sea,
shading my eyes from the glare. The blue-gray water mirrored the sky, and like it, went on and on.
A distant crunching sound caught my attention. When I looked up in the direction of the sand dune I saw Keiko, dressed in a dark blue kimono with light patterns on it. Her wooden sandals kicked up white sand and the wide sleeves of her kimono flapped in the air as she hurried to me. I was relieved to see that Mika wasn’t with her.
“Konnichiwa,
Stephen-
san
,” she said, bowing. Her waist-length hair was tied back to expose her delicate, flushed face. The patterns on her kimono were white circles.
I smiled and bowed.
“Konnichiwa,
Keiko-
san
. I hope you didn’t have to rush.”
Keiko brushed some sand off her kimono, bowed again, and said, “I am very sorry to be late.”
“I’m glad you could come.”
“I had to make sure Mika …” she began.
“I hope Mika is well,” I said, realizing that it was probably rare for them to be apart.
“She is very well,” Keiko said, suddenly laughing. She raised her pale hand to cover her mouth.
“What’s so funny?”
“Mika is at home doing the laundry. This morning I made a bet with her that she wouldn’t be able to keep quiet for five minutes, and she’d have to do the wash alone.”
“And she spoke?”
“Only a moment later,” Keiko laughed. “It was my one chance to get away alone.”
 
 
We took a walk along the empty beach. At first, Keiko was anxious that Mika might find us, but it wasn’t long before she relaxed enough to stop looking over her shoulder. When she did look away, I stole a glance or two at her smooth, pale skin, straight nose, and dark eyes. Keiko was quite tall and, when she wasn’t bowing or looking down, stood somewhere between my chin and nose. If King could only see me now, he would be more than glad to trade places with me.
“I really enjoyed the
yokan,”
I said.
“I hope you are feeling better, Stephen-
san
,” Keiko said, her eyes focused on the sand in front of us.
“Yes, much better. I’ve been helping Matsu in his garden.”
“I have heard that Matsu-
san
is a master of gardens.”
“Yes, he is,” I said, proud that Matsu was known in the village for his art.
After a moment of silence, Keiko glanced shyly in my direction and asked, “What is it like to live in a big city like Hong Kong?”
“It’s noisy and crowded, but between the movie theaters and restaurants, there’s always something to do.”
“Do you miss being there?”
I looked at her and smiled. “Sometimes, but not right now.”
Keiko looked away, embarrassed. In our silence, I could hear the measured squawking of the sea gulls. We walked along the beach until she stopped and asked, “Can we sit for a moment?”
“Of course,” I said.
We sat down on the white sand that was still damp and cool. I threw aside large pieces of tubular seaweed, and wished I’d thought of bringing something to offer her to sit on.
“Are you comfortable here?” I asked.
Keiko nodded her head and gazed out to the sea. “It’s always very beautiful after a storm. So calm and serene after all the destruction. We were very fortunate this time. The storm barely touched the village.”
“We don’t have much control over nature,” I added, remembering some of the typhoons that had pounded Hong Kong. They swept in gradually, only to leave uprooted trees, debris, and even fragments of makeshift squatter houses scattered across the island.
Keiko smiled. “It’s a reminder of the strength we all have within us. Many years ago, my parents told me of a storm that had destroyed much of the original Tarumi village. The villagers argued over where to rebuild, afraid that another storm would simply destroy the village again. Only one fisherman stood up and refused to move anywhere else, believing the best fishing was right here. He said that each storm would only serve to make them stronger if they carried the memory of its strength with them, and
used it to prepare for the next storm. Tarumi has stood here ever since.”
“Have you always lived in Tarumi?”
“Mika and I were born right here. My older brother was born near Kobe.”
“You have an older brother?” I asked, surprised by the fact.
“Yes,” she smiled. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“I have two sisters and a brother. My older sister and younger brother are studying in Macao, and my youngest sister is in Hong Kong. Mika reminds me of her.”
Keiko suddenly turned around and looked behind her. “I should be going back now. My family will be wondering where I am.”
We got up and brushed the sand from our clothes. The damp sand had left a wet stain on the seat of my slacks that I hoped Keiko wouldn’t notice. I stepped back and let her walk ahead of me.
“Where is your brother now?” I asked.
Keiko looked away, hesitated a moment, then said, “He is with the Japanese army in China.”
Then we both kept silent. I wondered if her brother was in Shanghai, celebrating their victory after months of fighting. I turned to see if there were any signs that Keiko might have felt the same thing. I thought I saw her shudder, but she simply wrapped her arms around herself for warmth. Then she gradually picked up the pace, her face serene, her eyes focused in front of her, giving me no hints as to what she thought.
 
 
I walked Keiko halfway back to the village until she stopped, bowed to me, and said,
“D
mo arigat
gozaimasu,
Stephen-
san
, but I will walk the rest of the way from here.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“I think it would be wise,” she smiled.
“Are you afraid to be seen with me?”
“My father is very old-fashioned,” Keiko answered.
I quickly asked, “Can we meet again?”
“I imagine we will,” she answered. Her eyes avoided mine.
“I look forward to it,” I said, bowing.
Keiko glanced up for a moment, smiled shyly, then said,
“Sayonara,
Stephen-
san
.”
Before I could say anything else, Keiko quickly turned around and continued down the road that led back to the village. At that moment, I realized how much I wanted to see her again. I bit my lip to stop myself from calling out her name. Instead, I watched Keiko disappear down the road, a small cloud of dust rising up behind her.
 
 
By the time I walked back to the house, it was past lunch and my stomach was rumbling with hunger. I was eager to tell Matsu and Sachi about my morning with Keiko. I expected to find them both hard at work in the garden, but when I entered the gate, the garden was empty. There was a breath of quiet before I heard loud voices coming from the house.
I knew something was wrong when I reached the
genken.
There was a voice other than Sachi and Matsu’s coming from the kitchen. I could barely catch all the words, spoken in obvious anger. I moved quietly down the hall and stopped in front of my room.
“What other lies have you been telling me?” the voice shouted.
Then Matsu’s voice answered, “We never lied to you, Kenzo.”
“You never spoke the truth!”

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