The Samurai's Garden

by Patricia Kiyono

  "Yes. Apparently he took several items with him when he left the office, including an official signature stamp, some forms, and the enclosure ribbon. He has used them to send tax notices to people who will not question authority — widows, small business owners — anyone he thinks will take him seriously. The directives instruct the poor victims to send the 'taxes' to his own address." He took the vegetables out of the pan and added the meat to the sizzling fat.

  "He kept the money himself? How terrible. But how did you know that the bill was not official?"

  "I wasn't sure, but I became suspicious when I read the message and saw the money was to be sent to him, at an address that was not near the government offices. I paid a visit to my cousin, who is with the Department of Justice. He was able to get an edict for Ishikawa-san's arrest."

  "So I don't have to pay the fines and taxes? What a relief that would be!"

  "You do have to pay some taxes, since your husband did not pay them before he died, but they are not nearly as high as the amount Ishikawa demanded of you."

  "How much will I owe?" A knot of unease started to grow in the pit of her stomach.

  "The amount was so minimal, I paid it. It will be easier for you to repay me than to send the payment to them." He tested the vegetables to be sure they were done, and then added the beef.

  Her unease flared into irritation. How could he be so arrogant as to pay her bills and demand payment? "Repay you? How can I do that? You know I won't have any money until the harvest!" Agitated, she rose and paced the short length of the hut. "I already owe you more than a year's harvest for the animals. And you've been working for no wages. Now my debt is increased even more!"

  He waited patiently for her tirade to end. He answered in a voice so deliberate Hanako felt he was treating her as an impatient child. "You don't owe me for the animals. They were given to you as compensation for your losses from last year's raid. As for my wages, you are paying me by teaching me a new profession, as well as feeding me and giving me a place to stay." He pulled a bottle of dark brown liquid from his bottomless pack and poured some of its contents over the mixture.

  "Nonsense. You could afford to stay in the finest hotels and learn about farming from a wealthy landowner."

  "But the wealthy landowner would not be able to show me the pleasure of working with the soil, of creating something from nothing. He would not show me the beauty of the sunrise, the wonderful fresh smell after a spring rain, or the musical melodies of the insects in the evening. If I stayed in a fine inn, I would not understand all the difficulties you face, and see how you manage in spite of them. You are a far better teacher than any moneyed landowner, and your lessons are worth far more than the money I have paid for your livestock and taxes."

  He stopped speaking then, as if he realized he had said more than he intended. He stirred his culinary creation, pulled two new bowls from a package she hadn't seen and scooped a generous portion into one. Then he brought it to her, along with a pair of chopsticks.

  Hanako was stunned, both at the novelty of having a man serve her, as well as the poetic way Hiro had described her life. Could it be he understood why she stayed here, despite all the hardships and advice against it? Was it possible a man who had been raised to destroy could actually embrace a life celebrating growth? Could she trust him? But no, he wasn't offering a lifetime. His stay here was only temporary. Soon he would pack his swords and leave. If he wanted to continue farming, he would purchase his own land, and she would go back to her dreary existence.

  She simply nodded and said, "I'm glad you're pleased with your experience here. I will work hard to make sure you learn enough to make it worth your investment. But I insist that when the harvest is in, you must share in the profit."

  He regarded her silently for a moment then turned to fill his own bowl. He took his time pouring himself some tea, and carefully brought his food and drink to her futon. Then he settled himself on a cushion and began to eat. Hanako wondered if he planned to ignore her and was about to repeat herself. Finally, he answered.

  "There is one way we can settle the matter of money owed and profit shared."

  "How is that possible?"

  "We could marry. Then our possessions and our fortunes would become one."

  Chapter Four

  Hiro saw his suggestion had caught Hanako by surprise. Turning an honest look inward, he had surprised himself. He had been reluctant to pledge himself to any woman. Remembering the pain in his mother's eyes when his father had been killed had always been enough to make him avoid that complication in the past. But now his life as a samurai was over, and if he wanted to be a farmer, he needed a strong farmer wife. Who better than a woman who was already accustomed to that life?

  Marriage to Hanako would certainly be pleasant. He had long ago admitted to himself that he was attracted to her natural beauty. But he had been unwilling to give in to that attraction because of his respect for her. Several times he had gone into the village, with the goal of releasing that pent-up longing, but although the women in the tavern were willing, they did not interest him the way the beautiful woman at the farm did. If they married, he would not have to hide that attraction.

  But perhaps she did not see him as a suitable husband. She had not said a word since he uttered his suggestion. Was it because she did not trust a man who had once been a samurai? Did she require more stability? Perhaps she saw him as a threat to her way of life. He remembered his mother declaring that she would never remarry because she was too set in her ways.

  The meal continued in an uncomfortable silence. Without a word, Hanako rose and took their plates to the washbowl, never looking at Hiro, never giving an indication of her thoughts.

  Unable to bear the tension, Hiro went outside. He needed to do something to get his mind off his obsession. The woodpile was low again, so he decided to release some of his energy by replenishing it. He had purchased a proper axe on a previous trip to the village, and now he swung it with vigor. The tree he had selected came down with a crash and was soon cut up into pieces for the fire. How he wished he could mow down all of Hanako's reservations so easily.

  He had bent to gather the wood into a neat pile when he heard the singing. An unsteady voice, rendering a wobbly version of an old drinking song, came from deep in the woods. Occasionally the voice would stop, as if unsure of how the song should continue. Hiro stood still, watching the woods, trying to place the voice. It was a familiar song, sung by someone he felt he knew. Finally he saw him — a bent, haggard shadow of a man, weighted down by his pack and his swords. Judging from his posture, it seemed he also carried the weight of his world. He staggered along the path, losing his footing and bumping against a tree. The offending tree was duly cursed and punished by an ineffectual swipe with the short sword.

  Hiro grimaced.

  Ginjiro Yamada had fought with him in many battles, but his weakness for drink and women had prevented him from becoming a samurai of the first rank. When the feudal system was discontinued and samurai were forced to find other careers, Ginjiro had limited choices. The older man had not been a great scholar, and his unfortunate habits prevented him from succeeding in business. Hiro suspected Ginjiro had become one of the ronin, the displaced samurai. While some ronin had found respectable new occupations, many wandered the country and caused trouble for innocent citizens.

  Ginjiro's winding path took him past the woods where Hiro stood, and he teetered as he noted Hiro's presence. His eyes scrunched as he tried to focus. "Friend, could you help an old soldier?" he slurred.

  "You are not so old, Ginjiro, and I see your habits have not changed. Why do you continue to drink yourself into a stupor? You can hardly walk. Sit down and stop weaving about before you hurt yourself."

  The inebriated man started in surprise. "You know me?" He tottered forward and squinted again. "Tanaka-san, is that you? What are you doing so far from the mainland? I thought you would have a successful career as a merchant or a politician in Tokyo."


  "We will not talk about me. You need to sleep off your drink."

  "No, I need to fill myself with the ale. It will dull the pain."

  "Why are you in pain? You don't appear injured."

  "I'm talking about the pain of my sword when I perform seppuku."

  Hiro's eyes widened, and he stepped toward his former comrade. "No!"

  "Yes, my friend. You are smart. You have the mind and the money to become anything you choose. But I am a warrior. Perhaps not a very good one, but I am a soldier. It is all I know. I cannot do anything else. I have looked all around trying to find a noble to take me on as a guard, but I am too small, too weak, too — stupid. I even worked for some disreputable men, but I was not able to stay. I am a failure as a samurai. I must die."

  "Ginjiro, do not speak of yourself this way. You can find honest work. I can help you. Please — you must not kill yourself."

  Hiro had fought in countless battles, but nothing had brought him the horror he had once experienced watching a childhood friend disembowel himself in the name of honor. Hiro himself had taken the code of the Bushido, but he failed to understand the need for the awful ritual required of the samurai soldiers for crimes real or imagined. It was the primary reason he had left the mainland in search of another calling. He could not face his former comrades who had become politicians and merchants, vocations as cutthroat as the life of a samurai. He needed to find a more peaceful life. Ginjiro's words had recalled the violence he had tried so hard to escape. He could not bear to watch another comrade take his own life.

  Ginjiro ignored Hiro's pleas. "I left the tavern to find someone to be my second. Now that you are here, I can finish the job. At least I can die with honor."

  He took out his dagger and raised it. Hiro reached him in an instant and grabbed his arm before he could lower it. With his free hand, Hiro disarmed the man, tossing away the dagger, and unsheathing the larger sword before Ginjiro could react. The older man struggled ineffectively, weakened by his drink, until his limited strength ebbed, and he slumped to the ground, sobbing.

  "How can you dishonor me like this? I cannot even kill myself properly!"

  Hiro took a moment to catch his breath, making sure Ginjiro would not try again to harm himself. He took both blades into one hand and held the other out to Ginjiro. "Come with me. We will have some tea and some decent food, and when your mind is clear we will talk."

  ****

  Hanako knelt at her wooden basin, rinsing the new dishes and cups Hiro had brought. Never had she held such lovely things before. She was afraid of handling them, knowing how easily they could break. Rather than chance washing the delicate dishes in the stream, she had carried the water back to the hut.

  What had made Hiro purchase such finery? He claimed he was happier here than in the city, but perhaps he missed some of the niceties there. Her crude wooden bowls and utensils looked so shabby next to the finely painted china, and she felt some embarrassment seeing them.

  Long ago, when she was very young, she had found an old trunk hidden in the back of the hut, behind her father's ofuton. Overcome with curiosity, she had opened the trunk and found a treasure chest of memories. A tiny silk purse, a beautiful silk fan, two golden combs inlaid with coral and a pair of china teacups. The items must have belonged to her mother. Delighted with her find, she had taken the teacups out, wanting to use them with her father. But she had tripped, dropping the delicate cups on the hard wooden floor. One cup had shattered, and she had moved quickly to sweep up the mess and dispose of it before her father returned home. The box had been replaced in the corner, and for months, Hanako had lived in fear that her father would open the box and discover the missing treasure.

  She was never sure if her father hadn't ever looked in the box, or if he didn't want to confront her and admit to harboring the keepsakes, but he had not mentioned the missing cup. After he died, she took the box out of the dark corner, and found another hiding place for it. Her husband would have had no use for the keepsakes, but she suspected his consuming need for alcohol would have led him to sell the treasures.

  If she were to marry Hiro, he would probably expect to use finery like this every day. She would have to learn to behave like a lady, perhaps learn to walk and speak like a noblewoman. Could she live up to such expectations? Or would he tire of her clumsiness, the rough accommodations, the quiet pace of life in the country?

  She finished cleaning the china and carefully set them in a lacquered box Kenji had once used to store his art supplies. Looking out through the lone window in the front of the hut, she saw Hiro making his way back from the woods, half carrying and half dragging someone she didn't recognize. The other man was much smaller and older than Hiro. Hiro carried two weapons in his free hand. Samurai swords. Her heart stopped. Had Hiro and this other samurai been engaged in a fight? Was he injured?

  She hurried out of the hut. "What happened? Who is this man? Are you hurt?"

  Hiro shifted his load so he could greet Hanako. "This is Ginjiro Yamada, my former comrade. He is in need of a place to rest and some food to eat. May I bring him in?"

  Hanako took a closer look at the smaller man. He opened his brown eyes and made an attempt to focus on her. The fuzzy look became an appreciative leer, and she cringed inwardly.

  "Tanaka-san," he slurred, "you did not tell me you had taken a wife. You are luckier than ever; she is a beautiful woman. How did you manage to talk such a fine lady into coming to live here, in the middle of nowhere?"

  The man's speech revealed the true nature of his condition. Years of depending on no one but herself told her that she should block the door and keep him out. But Hiro had said this man was his friend. It would not do to refuse him hospitality. Hopefully, the newcomer would not take advantage of her if he thought she belonged to Hiro. She looked back at Hiro and bowed. "Certainly, a friend of yours is welcome here. I will serve what is left of this evening's meal."

  She backed into the house and sighed with relief when Hiro took the man into his own hut rather than into hers. She reheated the water and the food, then reached for one of the china cups Hiro had brought. Before she could fill it with tea, she felt his warmth as he came up behind her.

  "It is not necessary to use good china for Ginjiro. He is in no condition to safely handle such finery. A wooden teacup and bowl will be sufficient."

  The warm breath on her neck and the deep, resonant voice, so close to her ear, sent a shiver down her spine. She felt his solid presence and again, she caught a glimpse of what it would be like to be protected and cherished. Her heart pumped soundly against her ribs, and she put a hand to her chest to calm the chaos there. Never had she experienced such a reaction to a man's nearness.

  The dream ended when Hiro backed away and returned to his friend, leaving her to complete her task. Apparently, Yamada-san was not an important visitor who needed to be impressed by nice things. Setting the china cup back down, she scooped the leftover food into a wooden bowl and took it to Hiro's hut.

  Hiro sat on the edge of his futon, talking quietly to Ginjiro. Hanako was struck by the contrast between the two men. The newcomer had carried the two swords of the samurai class, and his clothing was similar to what Hiro had worn when he first appeared in the village. But there the similarities ended. It wasn't just the obvious difference in size. Hiro's bearing and confidence made him a man who demanded and received respect.

  Hiro thanked her graciously and took the bowl from her. Ginjiro refused at first, but finally accepted the meal and tore into it enthusiastically. Another difference between the men, Hanako noted as she returned to her place. When Hiro ate, he did it quietly, sitting upright, and he displayed manners she had seen in people of wealth and nobility. This comrade of his crouched over his food and reminded her of the unkempt men in the taverns her father had frequented. Hiro kept himself clean and well groomed; this man looked as if his last bath was a distant memory.

  She wondered why Hiro had brought him here, rather than simply giving
him money to buy food. Did he owe the man a debt of honor? Were they somehow related? She would have to wait for her answers.

  Hiro brought the dishes back to her hut when his friend had finished eating. She washed them and finished tidying the hut and prepared for bed. Her mind was brimming with questions about Hiro's friend. They had probably not seen each other for a long time. Perhaps Ginjiro had come bearing an important message.

  Surely Hiro would tell her eventually. Meanwhile, she needed her rest. The sun had set, and thanks to Hiro's wonderful food, she could sleep soundly. She ignored the nagging voice in her head telling her the real reason she would sleep well was because Hiro had returned. He had suggested marriage, but did he mean it or was it a passing notion? The men in her life did not stay permanently or, if they did, they could not be relied on. She warned herself it would not be wise to depend on him.

  ****

  Morning brought dark, dreary skies and driving rain. Hanako awakened to find several freshly caught fish cleaned and ready for cooking. Apparently she had overslept, but Hiro had been busy for quite some time. She wondered why he and his guest had not stayed to eat the fish. She looked outside and nearly chuckled at the sight of the two men, dripping from the rain, erecting a crude shelter for the animals.

  His presence was reflected in every corner of her life, from the sturdily repaired home to the manicured fields. She had more energy than she remembered ever having before, due in part to his contributions from hunting and fishing. His willingness to share in the physical labor around the farm took much of the burden off her shoulders, and she slept better, not overwhelmed by exhaustion and hopelessness. She was ashamed by her reaction to his short trip to the city, her appetite plunging, her attitude becoming lethargic. Now that he had returned, so had her appetite, not only for food, but also for life.

  The men would be hungry for the fish they caught. She lit the fire in her stove and seasoned the fish with herbs from her garden. In the past, most of her herbs went to the market to help pay for necessities until the fall harvest was in. But since Hiro had begun to share the workload, she was able to spend more time preparing nutritious and filling meals. She chose a few spicy greens she hoped Hiro and Ginjiro would enjoy, and prepared a salad. There was no rice, but finding some leafy spinach and green onions near the hut, she decided that a robust soup would complement the fish.