The Samurai's Garden

by Patricia Kiyono

  Ginjiro looked down at the tiny hand still cupping his elbow, then up to the still unlined face of its owner. "I would like that very much."

  Chapter Seventeen

  It was a cold, wintry night when little Yasahiro Tanaka made his entrance into the world. His ecstatic parents presented him in the temple, where the priests proclaimed the child had indeed chosen a fortunate day to arrive. He would be strong, brave, and trustworthy.

  The family spent the snowy days getting acquainted. Hiro went outside to tend to the livestock, and sometimes visitors braved the weather to bring gifts for the village's newest citizen, but most of the time the family stayed cocooned in their home.

  Hanako wished the world would stand still and they could stay like this. She had nothing to do but tend her child and husband. But time stops for no one, and the days grew longer, bringing the promise of spring.

  One day, soon after the snows melted, an elderly couple came to visit. It was early afternoon, and Hiro had gone out to the field. The baby slept, and Hanako worked on yet another tiny sweater. The knock at the door took her by surprise. She didn't know the couple, but the woman looked vaguely familiar. Her fears faded when she noticed Ginjiro, the ever vigilant guard, watching from his own home.

  The man bowed and introduced himself.

  "Good afternoon, Tanaka-san," he began. "I am Takahashi. I have come from Sapporo, and I represent the northern branch of the Nanbu clan. We have received word that you have married, and we wish to offer our congratulations."

  "You represent my mother's family?" Hanako's eyes widened. "I didn't know any of her relatives — other than a nice lady who told me to call her Obasan. I went to visit her with my father, but her husband threw us out when we asked for help."

  The man's face turned red, and his wife turned her face away. Hanako took a closer look at woman's cowering posture and remembered.

  "You're the lady! It was your house we visited. I remember we walked for days to get there. You were so kind, and gave me a nice cool drink. I loved your beautiful home — it was so peaceful. I kept that memory for years."

  "Perhaps we should return the kindness by inviting her into our home." Hiro suddenly appeared behind them. He bowed and introduced himself to the visitors. "Forgive me for not being here when you arrived."

  The four went into the house, and Hanako prepared refreshments. Hiro and Takahashi-san sat at the table, and Hanako poured tea for the men then took the woman to an adjoining room. As soon as Hanako slid the door closed, the lady bowed low and spoke in a trembling voice.

  "I am so sorry to come to you like this, but my husband insisted. He read about your marriage in the newspaper and had to come and see for himself if you were the same girl who came to visit us so long ago. He was afraid you would influence your husband to retaliate against us for not taking you in when you were struggling so. He insisted we come and make amends."

  Hanako's jaw dropped. "Why would he think I would want to retaliate?" she asked when she found her voice.

  "Since the samurai are no longer fighting for daimyos, many are taking up individual causes. And we were afraid your husband, being a former samurai, would want to punish us for slighting you."

  "But that was years ago! And my father owed debts to your husband as well as many other people. He wasn't the only one who refused to help him."

  "Perhaps not, but you were family. You were the only child of my cousin. We should have looked out for you at least, for my cousin's sake. Perhaps we could have offered to adopt you."

  Hanako thought about the lovely home and wondered how different her life would have been if she had lived there. She would never have gone hungry, and would have had nice clothes to wear. But would she have been happy? Remembering her uncle's temper, she doubted it.

  She reached over and squeezed her aunt's hand. "I would have loved living in your home. But I had some good years with my father, and I would have worried about him. He needed me to take care of him."

  The woman sighed. "I thought about you often. I wondered what had happened to you. Two years ago, we heard about the raid in this area, and I sent a servant to inquire about you. He told me your fields had been burned and there were many deaths. He couldn't find you." She grasped Hanako's hand tightly. "I am so glad you are safe, and have a good husband to provide for you. We will not ask anything of you, except your forgiveness."

  "There is nothing to forgive. I am glad to claim you as my obasan."

  ****

  The spring planting began, and soon Hanako, under Hiro's watchful eye, ventured out to the fields to oversee the day workers who would do most of the manual labor. Hanako missed the feel of earth on her hands and the sun on her face, but she appreciated her husband's concern. Besides, she loved having the opportunity to spend time with her son. Strapped to her back, the baby accompanied her to the field, both of them protected by her wide parasol. After inspecting the morning's work, she and the baby would return to the house, and Hanako kept herself busy with housework or knitting while the baby slept.

  Evenings were her favorite time. Hiro would return from the field, and eat his dinner. As he did on his first evening, he insisted Hanako sit with him as he ate. They would discuss the day's progress. He still valued her opinion and deferred to her when it came to major decisions, including the hiring of laborers, crops to be planted, and livestock to be purchased. Hanako appreciated having a role in running the farm, even though she wasn't actively working it.

  After Hiro finished his meal, it was playtime with little Yasa. Hanako ate while she watched them interact. Her heart warmed as she watched her tall, muscular husband hold the tiny infant. He would talk to his son about the people he had met, the things he wanted for Yasa, and the dangers he might face. And then the games would begin — the tickles, the teasing.

  Each time he went into the village, Hiro would return with a new toy or article of clothing for the baby. Many of the gifts were given to him by grateful locals — tiny robes and blankets hand-sewn from the finest fabrics people owned, little toys handcrafted with care. Hanako was overwhelmed by the high esteem. Only a few years ago, these same people viewed her with pity and disdain.

  Reiko continued to be a frequent visitor. Besides acting as an honorary grandmother, she became Hanako's teacher in the new endeavor of learning to read and write. The lessons were kept secret from Hiro. Hanako wasn't sure she could succeed, and she didn't know what Hiro's reaction would be. But she realized an entire world existed for those who could interpret the swirls and slashes that made up the written language. Even Sato-san had only a limited understanding of some of the characters, enough to recognize the labels on some of the packages at the market.

  At first the lines all looked the same, but Reiko was a very patient teacher, introducing only a few characters at a time. Painting the characters correctly was much more difficult, and wielding the brush proved to be much more troublesome than using an axe or hoe. Finally, she was able to form a reputable imitation of the flowing strokes Reiko produced.

  ****

  Reiko smiled as she walked out of the Tanaka home. It had been a good day; Hanako was making progress learning to read, and the baby was growing strong and healthy. She enjoyed her time with the young family. The love and laughter in the house reminded her of similar times with her own husband and sons.

  A servant had brought her in a rickshaw, but she had sent him back to her farm, telling him she would walk home. It was a lovely sunny day, and a recent rainstorm had freshened the air. The young man had protested, but at his mistress's insistence, he had bowed and left.

  About halfway home, Reiko began to regret her decision to walk. The distance was much farther than she remembered, and navigating the ruts in the road was difficult with her legs confined in the light summer kimono she wore. But she had always loved walking through her gardens and wanted to get more exercise.

  She had gone only a few steps along the dusty road when the hairs on her neck rose. A sixth sense told
her someone walked behind her. A glance down at the road confirmed it — a second shadow following behind hers. Her first reaction was fear. Was it the ronin? But instinct told her this was not an evil presence. She turned to face her follower then schooled her features to hide her pleasure when she saw who it was.

  "Is there something I can do for you, Yamada-san?" she asked.

  Ginjiro stopped and bowed. "No, Nakamura-san. Forgive me if my presence alarmed you. I merely wished to make sure you arrived at your own home safely. If the ronin are in the area, it would be dangerous for you to be alone on this road."

  She returned the bow. "I am grateful for your concern and protection, Ginjiro-san. Normally one of my sons accompanies me, but today they were all occupied in the fields. However, it is unseemly for you to walk behind me like a servant." She kept her eyes lowered, a sign of respect. "You are a samurai, and I am merely the widow of a farmer. I should walk behind you."

  Ginjiro wanted to argue but held his tongue. He took a few steps toward Reiko's farm, but soon realized this wouldn't work. He stopped and turned.

  "I can't watch you if you are behind me!"

  The widow hid her smile. "Then perhaps we should walk together."

  ****

  Hiro cringed at the wails coming from his tiny son. It was nearly crippling, this sudden wave of panic at the responsibilities of parenthood. He knew he could provide for the boy's physical needs. His son would never want for anything. But he was now responsible for shaping a life. He thought of the things he had learned from his own father. How had Yukio Tanaka taught his sons to become men? There was, of course, the Bushido — the Way of the Warrior. The eight virtues of the Bushido were the framework for his life, and he wanted to pass these on to his own son.

  He watched as his wife brought the child to her breast. The baby settled in, content to take his nourishment from her. Hiro felt a temporary envy at Hanako. This was something only she could do. He knew the jealousy was unfounded; there would be other things he would be able to do for his son later on. But this first connection, this intimacy between mother and child was something he could only imagine.

  Hanako separated little Yasa from her breast and brought him up to her shoulder, patting his back until the tiny burp came out. She switched him to her other side, settling him down on the ofuton and lying next to him. The change required her to lie facing away from Hiro, shielding his son from his sight. Hiro sighed and turned to leave.

  "Hiro."

  He turned back toward her.

  "Yes?"

  "When Yasa is done, would you mind taking him for a walk? I am very tired and would love to rest. He likes to watch the stars at night. Perhaps you could teach him a few things about them."

  Hiro nodded solemnly, though his heart leaped with joy. "I could do that. Call me when he is finished."

  ****

  Masao took his time getting back to the camp. For almost a year, he had followed Kato-san and had come north to this frozen land so far from civilization. He had been eager for the chance to prove himself as a samurai. But so far, the only flesh his sword had met was that of the farm animals he slaughtered for food.

  Kato-san had promised glory and honor. He promised a return of the old order, the renewal of the Bushido. What empty promises! Perhaps he should have joined the Imperial Guard when he'd had a chance.

  Now, they were encamped near this tiny backwoods town, where Kato-san had decreed they would refuel and continue recruiting. If it weren't for the possibility of payment, he would leave the bothersome man here to shrivel up and die. The ferret-faced man was a mouse, totally helpless without his valet who had died during the harsh winter. The town was small, but the tavern served decent food. The people outside the village had nothing worth taking. A band of ronin had come a few years before and had burned or taken almost everything of value, and the farmers still struggled to get their fields producing again.

  But despite their hardships, there was a positive energy among the townspeople. He heard that Tanaka-san, a former samurai from one of the more prominent Tokyo families, lived nearby. Several of Tanaka's former fellow samurai had also come to live here. They stood out among the residents — their proud, erect bearing proclaimed their station, even without the deferential treatment they received from the people. If it hadn't been for Emperor Meiji abolishing the samurai class, he, Masao Akira, would now be as important as they were.

  What enticed these warriors to come to this out-of-the-way town? There is nothing here to fight for, no fierce warlord to defend. Are they passing the time here until their next opportunity?

  Ahead of him, a man stumbled and fell. Masao recognized him as one of the older members of the group. Ito-san was not a soldier, but he had no place to go as his home and business had burned to the ground. With the little money he had left, he had bribed his way into the group, but his skills with weapons were practically nonexistent, and the would-be warriors teased him mercilessly. Masao watched to see what the others would do. As he expected, they kicked him, spat on him, and left him by the side of the road.

  Masao's stomach roiled to see such needless violence. While he was eager to see combat, the callous way these men treated Ito-san went against many of the Bushido codes, especially benevolence and respect. While he didn't condone their actions, he knew he couldn't interfere. They were hungry, bored, and unhappy with their leader. If he were to step in, he would only add fuel to their discontent.

  Ito-san moaned in pain, lifted his head to turn pleading eyes toward Masao, and then closed them for the last time.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Yoshiro Nakamura ran as fast as his eleven-year-old legs would carry him. His vision blurred from the tears running down his cheeks, but he kept going. He had a mission, and he could not fail. The safety of the entire region depended on his success.

  He tried to block from his mind the picture of his eldest brother coughing up his life's blood as he urged Yoshi to go to the family home and sound the alarm. Help was needed, fast. There was no time for sad good-byes or tending of wounds. He had to alert the townspeople. The day they had all dreaded had arrived.

  The path through the woods was overgrown, and anyone not familiar with the area would be unable to follow it. Finally, he reached the house and dashed to the wooden box next to the doorway. He carefully placed three flares in the ground, struck the flint, and lit them one by one. Each flare traveled upward, lighting the sky with streams of red light. This was the agreed signal for help needed at the Nakamura land. Hopefully assistance would arrive soon enough to save the rest of the family. Even now his other brothers were working on various sections of the farm, unaware of the tragedy.

  Shinobu, the second eldest, arrived quickly.

  "What happened? Did you set off the flares? You know those are only to be used for—"

  Yoshiro's cry of anguish cut off Shinobu's tirade. The older brother stood in stunned silence then slowly, awkwardly opened his arms. Yoshi flew into them, needing the warmth, the verification of life.

  Finally, Yoshi's sobs began to subside, and as the youngster choked out his message, Shinobu used his sleeve to wipe his younger brother's face, desperately holding back his own tears.

  "The others will be here soon. You must stay at the house and protect Mother."

  Yoshi sniffed and looked up. "But I want to help."

  "I know you do. But what if some of them come here to the house? We can't leave her here alone. You have done really well at target practice. There is an extra gun behind the family obutsudan. Load it and be ready to use it, if necessary."

  Reluctantly, the boy nodded. Hearing a commotion in the woods, they quickly stepped into the house until they saw their friends and neighbors arrive. Hiro and Ginjiro, coming from the closest farm, were the first. The brothers stepped outside to greet them, and Yoshi was asked to explain again what had happened.

  Though it was clearly painful, the boy cooperated, bravely answering questions, his voice quivering only slightly
as he described the ambush. Noburo had been killed by a barrage of arrows. The ambush had come from the east, a sparsely wooded area next to the field where he and Yoshi had been harvesting the crops. No, he hadn't seen how many there were. No, he hadn't heard any gunshots, only the swish of arrows as they had pierced his brother. No, they hadn't made demands or threats. One moment, he and Noburo had been checking the crops for ripeness, the next moment his brother had been on the ground, mortally wounded.

  ****

  Reiko Nakamura stood by the doorway of her home, listening to her youngest son describe the death of her eldest. Her left hand gripped the doorway, supporting her, and her right hand clutched at her heart. Her face was wet with tears, her mind's eye seeing him as a little boy, so earnest, so loving.

  Ten years ago, she'd thought she couldn't possibly endure any more pain than what she had felt at the death of her husband, her soul mate. But this — the death of her firstborn — was almost too much to bear. Noburu had taken his responsibility seriously, shouldering the weight of manhood at such an early age. Now, he was gone as well. The ronin had taken him from her. Perhaps, before the day ended, she would lose another son.

  Her heart ached, knowing Noburo still lay in the field alone. Perhaps she should go—

  "Okaasan?"

  Her third son, Takaro, stood before her, avoiding her eyes. Knowing the teenager was uncomfortable seeing her cry, she hastened to dry her tears. "What is it, son?"

  "Tanaka-san and his friend have gone to search out the ronin camp. Shinobu and I—" His voice wavered, and he swallowed, visibly summoning the strength to continue. "We will go to the field and take care of onisan — our older brother. We do not want you to go there."