Read The Samurai's Garden: A Novel Online
Authors: Gail Tsukiyama
The Samurai's Garden: A Novel (26 page)
The low sounds of murmuring voices woke me. It took a few moments to realize that it wasn’t a dream, but the soft hum of Matsu and Fumiko whispering in the kitchen. It was very early and still dark outside. I lay quietly as the warm, sweet smell of cooking drifted into my room, slowly drawing me out of a half-sleep. By the time I dressed and joined them in the kitchen, I could see that they must have been up for hours, preparing food to bring to the graves of Tomoko and their parents. On the table were bowls of pickled vegetables, deep-fried tofu, rice balls filled with red beans, and salted fish.
“I was just about to wake you,” Matsu said, when he saw me standing in the doorway. “We have to leave the house very soon.”
“I’m ready,” I said. I wiped the sleep from my eyes.
“Here, Stephen-san, drink this,” Fumiko said, handing me a cup of steaming tea.
I sipped it slowly, watching the two of them work side by side. I could see there was a warmth between them. It was the same way I felt with my brother or sisters, the kind of calm familiarity that comes from having grown up together. It felt good to see Matsu in this morning light, so unlike himself. Sometimes they spoke in whispers, or not at all, their hands slicing and wrapping, moving in perfect rhythm.
We left the house just as the sun rose a red-orange. My thoughts drifted to Sachi and what she might be doing for
O-bon
in
Yamaguchi. There were already many others making their way down the dirt road, carrying
furoshikis
filled with food for the graves of their family members. We joined the long procession which grew as we entered the village and lengthened down the road which led to the temple. The village itself seemed lighter, cleaner, as preparations for the festivities had begun. Long thin wooden poles about six feet tall or more stood every three feet down the length of the dirt road. Small hooks which protruded from the top of the poles awaited the lanterns to be hung on them. I looked around and felt relieved at not seeing Keiko and her family. Her father had made his feelings toward me clear the last time we were at the temple, and I didn’t want either Keiko or myself to be embarrassed like that again.
O-bon
in
Yamaguchi. There were already many others making their way down the dirt road, carrying
furoshikis
filled with food for the graves of their family members. We joined the long procession which grew as we entered the village and lengthened down the road which led to the temple. The village itself seemed lighter, cleaner, as preparations for the festivities had begun. Long thin wooden poles about six feet tall or more stood every three feet down the length of the dirt road. Small hooks which protruded from the top of the poles awaited the lanterns to be hung on them. I looked around and felt relieved at not seeing Keiko and her family. Her father had made his feelings toward me clear the last time we were at the temple, and I didn’t want either Keiko or myself to be embarrassed like that again.
By the time we reached the cemetery, there were already bowls of food and clay cups of tea and
sake
left at the graves. In Hong Kong, we also used to make the yearly pilgrimage to honor our ancestors during the Ghosts’ Feast: first Ba-ba’s side, then Mah-mee’s. While the gravestones here in Tarumi were plain and simply engraved, many of those in Hong Kong were large and elaborate, most of them containing small photos of the deceased embedded in the stone. I had always enjoyed walking slowly down the crooked rows of gravestones, somehow moved by the faces staring back at me. They were images of youth and glamor, age and wisdom. It didn’t matter. I walked away each year taking these faces with me, as if in that short time I had somehow come to know them.
sake
left at the graves. In Hong Kong, we also used to make the yearly pilgrimage to honor our ancestors during the Ghosts’ Feast: first Ba-ba’s side, then Mah-mee’s. While the gravestones here in Tarumi were plain and simply engraved, many of those in Hong Kong were large and elaborate, most of them containing small photos of the deceased embedded in the stone. I had always enjoyed walking slowly down the crooked rows of gravestones, somehow moved by the faces staring back at me. They were images of youth and glamor, age and wisdom. It didn’t matter. I walked away each year taking these faces with me, as if in that short time I had somehow come to know them.
So I felt let down by the time we came to Matsu and Fumiko’s family plots. They were distinguished only by gray stone markers with names and dates written on them; there was no trace of personality surviving. I realized then I had never seen what Tomoko looked like. All I knew was that she had been beautiful as a girl. I wondered if Matsu had a photo of her tucked away somewhere.
Matsu and Fumiko unpacked the
furoshikis
and placed bowl after bowl of food on the three graves in front of them. Then came another surprise: Matsu stepped forward and began chanting something under his breath, almost in song. His voice was surprisingly soft and melodious. When he had finished, he and Fumiko bowed low toward the graves, and from where I stood a few feet
behind, I did the same. Afterward, Matsu suddenly excused himself and began to walk across the cemetery. He carried another
furoshiki
with him.
furoshikis
and placed bowl after bowl of food on the three graves in front of them. Then came another surprise: Matsu stepped forward and began chanting something under his breath, almost in song. His voice was surprisingly soft and melodious. When he had finished, he and Fumiko bowed low toward the graves, and from where I stood a few feet
behind, I did the same. Afterward, Matsu suddenly excused himself and began to walk across the cemetery. He carried another
furoshiki
with him.
“Where is he going?” I asked Fumiko, who was busy washing the dirt off the gravestones with an old rag and a can of water.
Without looking up from her work, she answered, “To see Kenzo-
san.
”
san.
”
I wondered what Matsu had told her about Kenzo’s death. Did she know he had hung himself? Could she have any idea of the cause? I watched Fumiko silently scrub the stone, then glance up just in time to see Matsu turn around the corner of the temple.
By the time we returned to the village, it had come alive with people and laughter. Large and small paper lanterns hung from the thin poles, lighting the way for the ghosts to arrive and depart. The lanterns came in all shapes, some resembling the figures of animals and houses, while others were simpler, painted colorfully in red, black, or white. Each dangled from its pole like an ornament. The smell of frying fish,
mochi
in soy sauce and sugar, and red bean cakes made my stomach growl. Music flowed through the air. It was time to entertain the spirits, to dance and rejoice at their return. The street was filled with people eating and drinking, people who had traveled hundreds of miles to be in Tarumi. There were so many new faces in the village, I felt as if I were somewhere else. Groups of women and children lingered in the street. Old men mingled, trying to remember names and faces from the past. The one thing all these people had in common were the dead they returned every year to honor.
mochi
in soy sauce and sugar, and red bean cakes made my stomach growl. Music flowed through the air. It was time to entertain the spirits, to dance and rejoice at their return. The street was filled with people eating and drinking, people who had traveled hundreds of miles to be in Tarumi. There were so many new faces in the village, I felt as if I were somewhere else. Groups of women and children lingered in the street. Old men mingled, trying to remember names and faces from the past. The one thing all these people had in common were the dead they returned every year to honor.
I looked over at Kenzo’s teahouse which stood dark and empty. I could almost imagine seeing him last year during
O-bon,
his trim figure rushing back and forth, carrying trays of drinks to thirsty customers. He might have slapped Matsu on the shoulder and invited him in for a beer. Only this year he was gone, leaving Matsu to honor him with food and drink. And what must Sachi be feeling this
O-bon?
I wondered if they were celebrating the dead in Yamaguchi?
O-bon,
his trim figure rushing back and forth, carrying trays of drinks to thirsty customers. He might have slapped Matsu on the shoulder and invited him in for a beer. Only this year he was gone, leaving Matsu to honor him with food and drink. And what must Sachi be feeling this
O-bon?
I wondered if they were celebrating the dead in Yamaguchi?
It was hard to imagine what the future would bring to any of us.
All over Japan they were celebrating the dead, even as more and more Chinese were being slaughtered. There would be no one left to celebrate them. I looked around at all the smiling faces, at Matsu and Fumiko who moved slowly beside me, and wished that one of them could explain to me what was going to happen.
All over Japan they were celebrating the dead, even as more and more Chinese were being slaughtered. There would be no one left to celebrate them. I looked around at all the smiling faces, at Matsu and Fumiko who moved slowly beside me, and wished that one of them could explain to me what was going to happen.
T
he first signs of fall have already made themselves noticed in the garden. The smells were first to change, the perfumes sweeter and heavier. Next will be the colors as they turn to the reliable shades of crimson, saffron, orange, and scarlet. There’s something more serious about the fall than any other season. Maybe it’s the light that gradually grows darker, making everything seem less trivial, forcing you to look harder to find your way.
he first signs of fall have already made themselves noticed in the garden. The smells were first to change, the perfumes sweeter and heavier. Next will be the colors as they turn to the reliable shades of crimson, saffron, orange, and scarlet. There’s something more serious about the fall than any other season. Maybe it’s the light that gradually grows darker, making everything seem less trivial, forcing you to look harder to find your way.
Most of the summer crowds had departed by the last week in August, leaving Tarumi quiet again. When I walked outside this morning I was overcome by a feeling of nostalgia, a memory of being younger and knowing I would have to return to school soon. And though passing another autumn in Tarumi wasn’t exactly like going back to school. It felt the same as returning to something I had lived before.
Of course, all these thoughts dissolved when Matsu called me over to the back of the garden to take a look at something.
“Look,” he said, pointing down to a globe-shaped plant he called “
Kerria
.”
Kerria
.”
I looked down to the yellow-orange flowers, their five-petalled blossoms resembling small chrysanthemums. “They’re beautiful,” I said, trying to share in his enthusiasm.
Matsu squatted down and fingered the small petals. “They’re more than that,” he said. “They usually only bloom one week in the spring. It is a sign of good luck to see blossoms this late in the year.
“Do you think we’ll have any good luck?” I asked.
Matsu looked up at me, then back down at the blossoms. “As long as we don’t have any bad luck,” he answered.
I went down to the beach this morning. It was the first time in weeks that there haven’t been crowds of people. Somehow it feels as if it belongs to me again, that I’ve stayed away all these weeks waiting for an empty stretch of sand. Just as I’ve been expecting Keiko to return again. I found out not long after the
O-bon
Festival that she and her family had gone to Osaka to visit her mother’s family. Actually, it was Matsu who returned from the post office one afternoon and casually mentioned that they were away. First, he handed me a postcard from Pie, sent from Macao where she and Mah-mee finally went to visit Anne and Henry. Then he said, “That pretty friend of yours went to Osaka with her family. She’s due back in a few weeks, according to Yoshida-
san
.” I nodded my head, then thanked him for the mail. Even when I turned to walk away and had begun to read my postcard, I could feel his eyes follow me.
O-bon
Festival that she and her family had gone to Osaka to visit her mother’s family. Actually, it was Matsu who returned from the post office one afternoon and casually mentioned that they were away. First, he handed me a postcard from Pie, sent from Macao where she and Mah-mee finally went to visit Anne and Henry. Then he said, “That pretty friend of yours went to Osaka with her family. She’s due back in a few weeks, according to Yoshida-
san
.” I nodded my head, then thanked him for the mail. Even when I turned to walk away and had begun to read my postcard, I could feel his eyes follow me.
Everywhere on the beach there are still remnants of people having been there. Carelessly dropped paper wrappers, a plastic shovel partly embedded in the sand, small mounds of what used to be castles and moats still stand. I felt lonely seeing these things, not for those who’d left them, but for all the things I’ve had to leave. The worst part of being sick was the fatigue, a weakness that set me apart from the rest, which left me nothing more than a spectator. At school I could only watch friends swim, play basketball and cricket. While convalescing at home, I was always a room away from the laughter. But after a year in Tarumi I finally felt stronger than I had in the past two years. Now I couldn’t help but wonder how long it would be before I had to leave Tarumi behind also, and begin to participate in my other life again.
Lately, the news about the war in China had been sporadic, which simply meant no large Japanese victories, but the silence didn’t fool me any longer. Sometimes I felt as if we were all just suspended in time, waiting.
I walked along the beach, until a flash of light caught my eye. It came from above the dune, and at first I thought it was just the sun playing tricks on me. But when I saw it flash again, I slowly
began to distinguish someone walking through the waves of heat to the beach. I stood there and waited, until the slim figure disappeared again behind the dune. The soft crunching of the sand grew louder as Keiko finally rose up and over the dune.
began to distinguish someone walking through the waves of heat to the beach. I stood there and waited, until the slim figure disappeared again behind the dune. The soft crunching of the sand grew louder as Keiko finally rose up and over the dune.
“Keiko-
san
!” I waved to her.
san
!” I waved to her.
Keiko saw me and waved back. She tried to move faster, but her wooden sandals made it difficult to run. She stopped for a moment to take them off, then carried them in her hands, freeing herself to run to me.
“I had hoped to see you,” she bowed. Around her neck was a silver chain and pendant I hadn’t noticed before. It must have been what had flashed in the sunlight.
“So was I.” I bowed back. “I heard you were away with your family.”
“Yes,” she said, “we went to Osaka to visit my grandparents.” She looked down toward her feet, then up and away from me toward the sea.
“Is everything all right?”
Keiko hesitated at first, then said quickly, “I won’t be able to see you anymore, Stephen-
san
.”
san
.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. It felt like she had just slapped me across the face.
“I’m sorry, but it must be this way,” she said, looking me in the eyes. “I have to go now.”
Keiko quickly turned around and began to walk back in the same direction from which she came. I wanted a better explanation, and instantly followed her back toward the dune. I reached out and grabbed her arm just as she was about to make her ascent. She still carried her wooden sandals in her hands, and as she swung around, they hit me in the chest.
“What’s wrong with you?” I asked, squeezing her arm harder than I had intended to. “Has your father changed your mind about us?”
“There can never be any ‘us,’” she answered.
Then Keiko pulled away from me, and for a moment I thought she was going to strike me with her sandals again. But she simply stepped away from me, as she fingered her silver chain with one hand and cradled her sandals in the other.
“Not without an explanation,” I said.
“Don’t you see, nothing could ever come of our friendship now.” She looked behind her, checking again to see if anyone were watching us. “My brother was killed at Hsuchowfu. We just received word when we returned from Osaka.”
At first I was stunned. Hsuchowfu! That meant that her brother had been killed back in May. I couldn’t imagine what it must mean for her family to lose their only son. I pulled Keiko close to me and held on tight. I could feel her body choking back her tears, moving up and down in small hiccups. We stayed like this for a long time, until she pulled away just enough that I could see her face was wet. I assumed her tears were for her dead brother, but then she lifted her hand to touch my cheek, pressing her warmth there for a few moments. I thought about kissing her, but I was afraid she might pull away and leave me even faster. When at last I released her, Keiko looked into my eyes but said nothing. She simply turned quietly around and made her way back up the dune. This time I didn’t follow her. I stood there and waited for something, the slightest nod of her head, the light of the sun on her necklace, any small sign for me to follow. But Keiko never once turned back. I watched her climb to the top, then little by little disappear beyond the sand dune.
I haven’t been able to sleep. I got up to write this all down, hoping I could purge myself of Keiko and the ghost of her brother. I wondered how many Chinese he had killed before his own death? I suppose the question held no relevance to a Japanese family who had lost their only son. But what of all the Chinese civilians killed during the last year? Did Keiko and her family grieve for those sons and daughters, mothers and fathers? The madness of war destroyed much more than just the soldiers fighting in it. It picked apart everything in its way, so that no one escaped its clutches. Not even someone as decent and humane as Keiko would be left without scars.
I dreamed of Keiko last night. She was running to me on the beach, but no matter how fast she ran, she could never get any
closer to me. I’m not sure what I was doing in the dream, just standing there or running toward her. All I know is, when I woke up, I was sweating profusely, my futon and pillow damp, so I must have been running.
closer to me. I’m not sure what I was doing in the dream, just standing there or running toward her. All I know is, when I woke up, I was sweating profusely, my futon and pillow damp, so I must have been running.
Matsu knows something has changed between Keiko and me, but he hasn’t asked any questions and I haven’t volunteered any information. I’m not sure what to tell him, since we had barely gotten started before our friendship ended. I’ve tried not to be too sullen, but like not having enough to eat, there’s always that longing for more. Once or twice I thought I’d seen her at the beach, but it was only my “imagination playing tricks,” as Mah-mee would say.
The things you remember about a person when they’re gone are funny. No two people will feel the same way, though usually it has to do with scent, or expression, the sound of a voice, an unusual gesture. For me, I can still see the colors of Keiko; the black of her hair against creamy pale skin, her dark blue kimono with white circles, the deep orange persimmons falling from the brown basket she carried. The ache in my heart grows larger every time I think of these colors, and how as each day passes they continue to fade from my eyes.
It has rained for the past week. Then today, the first day of autumn, the rain stopped as if on cue, producing one of the most beautiful days. The sky this morning was a cloudless pale blue. The air was fresh with the damp salty smell of earth and the sea. It was a perfect day to celebrate
Shubun No-Hi
, the Autumn Equinox, with Sachi.
Shubun No-Hi
, the Autumn Equinox, with Sachi.
We left for Yamaguchi in the morning. I hadn’t been there in a long time and was anxious to see Sachi again. It wasn’t a very pleasant hike up the mountain with the earth saturated and muddy. I slipped on several occasions and by the time we arrived, both Matsu and I were splattered from head to toe, our shoes and the cuffs of our trousers caked with mud. Sachi simply looked at us, covered her mouth, and began to laugh when she saw us sloshing up to her doorstep.
We went around the back of the house to the garden, the
stones still dark and shiny, steamy from all the rain. We took off our shoes and carefully rolled up the cuffs of our pants before stepping up to the back door. Sachi was waiting with two
yakata
robes for us to change into.
stones still dark and shiny, steamy from all the rain. We took off our shoes and carefully rolled up the cuffs of our pants before stepping up to the back door. Sachi was waiting with two
yakata
robes for us to change into.
“Would you like to bathe?” Sachi asked, eyeing us up and down.
Matsu looked at me, then shook his head. He gestured to the side of the house. “We’ll just rinse and take off these clothes.”
Sachi bowed in agreement, handing him the two robes as she quickly turned back into the house. Matsu led me to the other side where there was a barrel of water. Nearby was a large wooden tub in which to bathe.
“Take one of these,” Matsu said. He handed me a robe, which I could immediately tell was too large for me. Matsu removed his clothes, rinsed them off, and slipped on the robe which fit him perfectly. I did the same, no longer embarrassed by my nakedness. I had gained back some weight over the year, and with all the swimming I’d been doing, I was in better shape than ever before. But when I put on the robe, I could still easily have wrapped it twice around me.
By the time we stepped into Sachi’s house, she had hot tea waiting for us. The table was already set, with covered lacquer dishes neatly arranged in the middle.
“D
mo arigat
,
” I said, as I accepted the tea. The robe hung loosely from my body and almost fell open as I bowed.
mo arigat,” I said, as I accepted the tea. The robe hung loosely from my body and almost fell open as I bowed.
Sachi smiled.
“How have you weathered all this rain?” I heard Matsu ask. He stood by the back
shoji
door and stared out into the garden. There was something different about his manner that I couldn’t quite pinpoint.
shoji
door and stared out into the garden. There was something different about his manner that I couldn’t quite pinpoint.
“It has been fine,” Sachi answered.
Matsu walked around the house and looked up at the ceiling, checking for any signs of leaking. When he found none, he smiled to himself, went over to the table, and sat down with an ease that comes from knowledge and assurance. At that moment I saw him for what he was: the master of the house. I realized for the first time that he’d never had a place of his own. Matsu had spent the entirety of his adult life living and taking care of my grandfather’s beach house. Before then, he lived with his parents. But I could
see that this house, lovingly built with his own hands for Sachi, was just as much his. And suddenly, all the years of service fell away. He sat at the table with his dark robe on, looking happy and content as he motioned for us to join him.
see that this house, lovingly built with his own hands for Sachi, was just as much his. And suddenly, all the years of service fell away. He sat at the table with his dark robe on, looking happy and content as he motioned for us to join him.
I sat back and watched as Sachi served Matsu marinated eel, fried tofu, and rice. Then she stood quietly to one side, and watched him take his first mouthful, chew, then nod his head approvingly as her lips curved upward just slightly into a smile.
It was something I’d seen hundreds of times when I was young and my father was home. It became a nightly ritual. Though my father wore a mask of indifference on his face as Ching stood by his side, waiting for him to taste the food and give his approval, she appeared as anxious as a small child. Every evening she planned our dinner, mumbling to herself if something wasn’t to my father’s liking. I’d always felt uncomfortable being waited on, even by Ching, who has worked for my family ever since I can remember. But it was evident that after so many years Ching had a certain power over our family. My father trusted her with his food and his children. My mother told Ching secrets, then listened to her like a wise older sister, never daring to scream too loud at Ching when she was angry, for fear she might go to work for another family. It was easy to see that without Ching, my mother would be lost.
And with my mother and father so often away for business and pleasure, Ching stayed behind, raising all of us children as if we were her own. She brewed us bitter teas when we were sick, and scolded us when we were bad. And in many instances, it was Ching whom we all turned to instead of my mother with our skinned knees and broken hearts. She served us all the time, and in so many ways. I remember once asking her if she had any children of her own. “I have all of you,” she said, “no one else.”
After that I felt better, as if we also served some purpose, because without us, she might have simply drifted away with nothing to hold her down.
Matsu raised his bowl up and asked Sachi for some more rice. She rose before he even finished his sentence. At the same time he poured more tea into her cup and there seemed to be a perfect balance. I knew neither of them would ever drift away from the other.
“Would you also like more rice, Stephen-
san?”
Sachi asked me.
san?”
Sachi asked me.
“Yes, please,” I answered, lifting my bowl up toward her so she wouldn’t have to reach.
Other books
Figure Eight (Celtic Knot Book 2) by Cassy Roop
The Railway Police and the Last Trolley Ride by Hortense Calisher
Lost Angel (The List #1) by N K Love
The Death at Yew Corner by Forrest, Richard;
Landslayer's Law by Tom Deitz
Agatha Christie by The Love Detectives (SS)
Turquoise Girl by Thurlo, David
Shelter Me by Mina Bennett
Agnes Grey by Anne Bronte
Mystery of the Pantomime Cat by Enid Blyton