by Julie Caplin
For a moment the silence between them hung heavy as they were both lost in their own thoughts.
Finally, Gabe tossed the sugar sachet aside. ‘Tomorrow we’ll start again. Have you any idea where you’d like to go?’
This was as much of an olive branch as she was going to get.
‘I’d like to see something a bit more traditional.’
‘Okay.’ He nodded and then unexpectedly, as if he wanted a real answer and not a general platitude, asked, ‘Any particular reason why?’
She narrowed her eyes, considering for a second. ‘I’m thinking about the photographer as a voyeur of tourists. So rather than taking pictures of the tourist places, I’m taking pictures of the tourists’ reaction to them.’
‘Go on.’ He sounded bored but those blue eyes met hers in a shrewd, assessing examination, as if he was reluctantly interested. She ducked hers as her pulse picked up. His eyes had always fascinated her. Fringed with dark lashes, bright and attentive – or rather they had been, once. Then they had missed nothing, constantly roving as if on the lookout for the perfect shot and then they would suddenly stop as if arrested by something. Her teenage hormones had supplied plenty of examples of his eyes resting on her face, softening with admiration, interest, even passion. Those teenage hormones had been fanciful, duplicitous and unreliable.
Ignoring her dry mouth, she forced herself to speak. ‘For example, when we were at Shibuya. Everyone was looking up. Today at the tower on the glass floor. Everyone was looking down.’
‘A contrast.’ He nodded approvingly.
Her face lit up with a sudden smile, thrilled that he’d immediately connected with her idea. She hadn’t even had to explain. And then caution told her to temper her enthusiasm. You made a fool of yourself once before.
In a calmer, more professional voice, she explained her idea in more detail.
‘Clever,’ observed Gabe. ‘Watching the watchers. But you might find voyeurism has been done to death.’
His laconic shrug infuriated her.
‘So you don’t think it’s a good idea,’ she said, deflating faster than a punctured balloon.
‘I didn’t say that, exactly. Just that it’s been done before. Like I said, that’s why I don’t like teaching. I’ve done enough soul searching for one day. If you want any more culture, the Edo Tokyo museum is nearby. I can drop you there if you want.’
‘No, it’s fine,’ she muttered, tucking her hands beneath her thighs. The urge to strangle him was almost too much to resist. He was the most infuriating man on the planet. He hadn’t heard a word she’d said and had damned her big idea with faint praise. She was so disappointed she could cry.
‘Tomorrow you can decide where you want to go.’ And with that he stood, indicating the day was over.
Chapter 9
‘How was the Skytree?’ asked Setsuko with one of her gentle smiles when Fiona returned late in the afternoon. She was seated at the table in the centre of the room, her dainty figure coiled around a seat and her legs tucked underneath. ‘And where is Gabriel san?’
‘He had things to do,’ said Fiona flatly, following Setsuko’s beckoning to take a seat at the table, immediately grateful for the lovely warmth. ‘It was very … interesting.’ There was something about the calm, serenity of Setsuko that encouraged her to tell the truth rather than offer the expected conventional tourist praise. ‘Busy.’
‘Hmph,’ said Haruka, making no pains to hide her disapproval as she bustled in, laden down with a large tray. Fiona wasn’t sure if the derisive snort was aimed at the tower or at Gabe. Setsuko jumped up and tried to take it from her mother who responded with a harsh clicking of her tongue and said something in Japanese. Giving her daughter a tart look and whirling out of reach, she placed it on the kotatsu table.
‘And did you take some photos?’ asked Setsuko, rearranging herself at the table as if the exchange with her mother hadn’t happened.
‘Some,’ said Fiona, sensing, despite the placid enquiry, more than polite interest from Setsuko. ‘Would you like to see?’ At least someone was interested in her work. Her fingers clenched under the table, the only indication she allowed herself of how annoyed she was with Gabe.
The other woman nodded and while Haruka arranged the tea things to her satisfaction, Fiona showed her the pictures she’d taken.
‘Better places to go,’ said Haruka as she poured the tea. She smiled at the framed photo Fiona had taken of her, Setsuko and Mayu under the cherry blossom. Fiona had decided to keep the picture of her and Setsuko under wraps for the time being. She hoped they would be happy for her to exhibit it.
Setsuko hid a smile. ‘My mother doesn’t approve of the modern eyesores in Tokyo.’
‘Where is the grace and beauty in a big modern tower? The wabi sabi? There is no dignity, no humility in this. It is all man-made.’
Haruka laid a warm hand on hers. ‘Come, drink tea, and I will tell you much more about nature and Japanese culture.’
Haruka took her time fussing with the delicate porcelain cups until they were arranged to her satisfaction before pouring the very pale-green-tinged tea. ‘This is genmaicha.’ She pushed one of the steaming tea cups towards Fiona, with a dip of her head towards her daughter.
‘Genmaicha tea is a blend of sencha green tea with roasted rice and popcorn,’ explained Setsuko with a wry smile. ‘It is also known as peasant’s tea because in the old days, rice was added to make the green tea go further.’
‘Hmph,’ sniffed Haruka. ‘It has a good flavour and has many health benefits. Good for you and’—she dipped her head and inhaled the fragrance—‘for a foreigner is a good tea. It is mild in flavour and not too intense.’
They all sipped the tea, Fiona copying the way the other two women clasped the porcelain bowls between both hands. She felt the clean freshness of the flavour as the hot liquid slipped down her throat. There was a soothing quiet as all three women savoured their tea, and the comforting warmth of the china clasped between her hands made her feel grounded and somehow connected to the other two women.
They sat in peaceful silence for ten minutes and Fiona let the cleansing tea wash away the ups and downs of the day, although disappointment and frustration sat heavy on her shoulders. Gabe just didn’t seem to understand how important this exhibition was.
Then Haruka sat up abruptly. ‘Wabi Sabi.’ With that she rose from the table, said something in Japanese to Setsuko, and disappeared through the shoji doors.
‘She’d like to take you to the garden.’ Setsuko’s face filled with fond affection. ‘She’s very proud of her gardens. When we first came here from America, there was nothing and she made the garden herself. I think it was hard for her at first there because it was so different, and although she adapted, when she came back she embraced the things she’d really missed, like the tea and nature.’
Dressed warmly in a borrowed, padded down coat, Fiona followed Setsuko downstairs and through the teashop to a wooden veranda in dark wood running the whole way across the back of the building. With the grace of a deer, Setsuko walked swiftly around the balcony, which she explained was called an engawa, to where Haruka sat on a cushion looking out over a lush green garden. Next to her, two more cushions were lined up, ready and waiting. Fiona hid a smile at the sight; Haruka did like things done properly. She followed suit as Setsuko sank down onto one of the cushions beside her mother, although perhaps not quite as gracefully.
Haruka didn’t acknowledge them; instead she remained focused on the garden in front of her, her legs curled to one side breathing slow deep breaths. Setsuko immediately took up a similar pose. There was a stillness to the early evening and Fiona could smell the scent of pine and cedar in the quiet air. Copying her hosts, she began to take slow deep breaths, drawing in all the different elements of the beautifully planned garden. It was a landscape in miniature, she realised, studying the neatly trimmed and shaped shrubs that formed the core of the garden which was then enhanced by a series of bonsai trees
in pots providing striking, elegant profiles. In the background, a pair of weeping cherries, just coming into bloom, swept their willowy branches to the floor like the limbs of ballerinas while in the foreground a gravel path wove in and out of the many burnished copper pots curving around a tiny pond, which reflected the deep green of the shrubs around and was fed by a tiny fall of water coming from a terracotta pot on its side.
You could sit here for hours, thought Fiona, absorbing the incredible detail of the garden. It was a living work of art and she realised that was the intent behind the garden. Her fingers itched for her camera to take a close up of a nearby bonsai spruce. It looked as if it had been honed by a windswept moor, leaning slightly to one side with its ancient, thick, gnarled trunk and tiny, dark green needles. She focussed on the detail of the bark and let the rich green of the needles blur slightly. A light wind rustled at the weeping cherries and the ripple of movement made her think of the corps de ballet dancing in perfect unison.
She felt Haruka’s warm hand come to rest on top of hers, a light, careful touch, her breath still deep and steady, but on her face there was an expression of utter peace.
Fiona turned back to the garden and took her own deep breaths, aware of the anchor of Haruka’s hand on hers.
She could hear the gentle flow of the fountain, water on water, could see the outward ripples of circles as though an insect had landed on the surface, the dappled shade on the path as the sun peeped through the trees. Her shoulders lifted as if a weight had been pulled away and she felt it, a magical lightness, the sensation that she could float away, yet at the same time she felt rooted and connected. This was tranquillity. It seeped into her bones, a lovely sense of peace and calm. She was aware of the scent of the trees, the touch of the breeze caressing her face, the colours and shapes of nature. When she closed her eyes briefly and then opened them, she was struck by the vividness of the greens, the delicate prettiness of the pale pink blossom and the contrast of the dark wood of the balcony. In a sudden moment of understanding she was glad she didn’t have her camera and the obligation to capture the scene. When was the last time she’d felt such ease with herself, or this floaty sense of contentment, or that all her senses had been unlocked and left to do their own thing?
‘Wabi Sabi,’ murmured Haruka. ‘It is part of Japanese culture. It is an appreciation of things that aren’t perfect or finished, and that is their attraction. It’s accepting the value of things – an old pot, an old person – and understanding that those things have wisdom, that they have seen things. They have a value in being.’ From underneath her navy tunic she pulled out a small pot and held it up. It was pretty but had been broken – at some point a large triangular piece had broken away – but it had been repaired. The repair was very obvious, outlined in a vein of gold which highlighted the defect rather than hiding it. ‘This is old; it was my grandmother’s grandmother’s.’ With a slender finger she pointed to the golden seam. ‘We value the old, so we repair things, but we embrace the repair. This is kintsugi; it celebrates the imperfection. The blemish is celebrated, made in gold because beauty is found in the uniqueness of its imperfection. An old face is lined with years of happiness, sorrow, and achievement but those lines have been earned. Wabi Sabi is to value the imperfections because they are a reflection of our reality.’
Fiona’s gaze traced the golden vein outlining the jagged edge of the repair against the pale blue china and took it from Haruka’s outstretched hand. ‘It’s lovely.’
‘Wabi Sabi is also a recognition that nothing is permanent and we must appreciate things for the here and now. The cherry blossoms are celebrated as much for their beauty as for their transience; tomorrow they may be gone and the beauty is in the moment of seeing them. That is why in Japan the seasons are so important, because nature is beautiful but you can never capture it forever.’
Fiona nodded. These were lovely sentiments and she was charmed by them.
Haruka spread out a hand towards the garden. ‘Taking time to be with nature is vital. It is our lifeforce. It recharges the batteries and it grounds us. It takes us back to the simplicity of life and away from the stresses of modern life. In Japan, work can be stressful. People work very long hours and have very little holiday, so taking this time to find oneself and appreciate nature is something important.’
‘That’s a lovely philosophy,’ said Fiona gently, ‘and I can feel the calming influence of the garden. It’s very beautiful.’ The seething irritation and annoyance that had festered under her skin earlier had been soothed away by the quiet, beautiful garden and the gentle philosophy that Haruka had expounded.
‘Thank you. Now I must go and cook dinner but Setsuko will show you around the garden.’ With that she rose with ease whereas Fiona knew that she would be a little stiff when she uncurled her legs to stand.
Setsuko led Fiona along the little gravel path to stand by one of the weeping cherries and they looked back at the teashop.
‘It is beautiful, especially the bonsai trees; they fascinate me. Do they need an incredible amount of work?’
‘Yes, and I would be terrified to touch one. They are my mother’s babies.’ Setsuko’s dramatic shudder made Fiona laugh. ‘One leaf trimmed that should have been left and I would be in so much trouble. Haha designed and created the garden herself,’ said Setsuko. ‘It is a real labour of love. She wanted the perfect setting for her tea ceremonies. Those are her real passion.’
‘And something I want to learn more about.’
Setsuko let out a light tinkling laugh. ‘Don’t you worry, she is dying to show you but … the moment has to be right and the ceremonies are not held every day, but perhaps tomorrow you’d like to come and visit the shop again.’
‘I’d like that. Although I will be going out with Gabe.’ She scowled.
‘You like him again.’ Setsuko gave Fiona an uncharacteristic nudge in the ribs and for a moment it was as if they were two teenagers.
‘I-I …’ The blush deepened and she tucked her hands into her pockets and hunched into the coat, hoping to hide the flare of colour.
‘He’s very attractive. I didn’t tell you before but I had a terrible crush on him when I first met him.’ Setsuko giggled. ‘I don’t think I ate anything the first week he stayed with us. Then my mother told me off for being a silly girl. And I realised, when I got used to him, that he’s just a man. When I met my Miro, I knew what …’ It was Setsuko’s turn to blush. ‘I couldn’t even speak to Miro. Luckily, he felt the same way. It was …’ There was her quiet smile again. ‘The way he looked at me, the very first time …’
Fiona swallowed. ‘Yes. Well, Gabe’s very attractive. But he’s not my type,’ she said hurriedly. ‘We have nothing in common. He seems … quite bored with life. Not very interested in things. And certainly not interesting in being a mentor.’ She pursed her lips thinking of their conversation earlier in the day.
‘He’s changed,’ observed Setsuko with a wistful sigh. ‘It is very sad. He used to be … quite charming. Arrogant as well.’ Fiona nodded. She knew that side of Gabe. But then, he’d been at the top of his profession and he’d earned the right.
Tightening her mouth, Setsuko added, ‘But he has been troubled for a long time. Mother says he is blind to the beauty of the world. He has lost his way.’
It sounded a little fanciful to Fiona. Gabe had become jaded and cynical. Too much success too early on.
‘Yumi. She was bad news.’
‘Why?’ Fiona asked out of politeness rather than real interest.
Setsuko’s lips twisted. ‘She’s a very famous model in Japan and she was Gabe’s muse for a long time. They had a very passionate affair and it was a little bit infamous. She was a Japanese treasure, everyone loved her and she was an icon … but to be with a foreigner … it is not always seen as a good thing by the more traditional people. My grandmother was horrified that I married an American even though his parents are Japanese. Our culture was very isolated for many years. I think Yumi l
iked that she shocked people, perhaps more than she liked Gabe. But he was very much in love.’ She clasped her hands behind her back and continued to walk through the garden. ‘When she suddenly married Meiko Mitoki, it was a great shock to everyone … especially Gabe. He took it badly.’
‘I can imagine,’ said Fiona, trying not to show too much prurient interest.
‘He is a flawed man but he has a good heart.’
‘Mmm, I’m not sure even he’d believe that.’
‘He feels deeply but he hides it well. When Yumi ran away to get married, she didn’t tell him. He was in love with her and he didn’t know anything about Meiko until after the wedding. It was on the news. He is very wealthy. An important businessman. It was a big story.’
‘Oh.’ Her heart clenched at the betrayal. ‘That must have been awful. Especially when it was so public. I didn’t know.’
‘He was in a very bad way for a little while. Drinking too much whisky and sake. My mother saved him.’
Fiona whipped her head around.
‘He didn’t eat. He didn’t take care of himself. Mother left him to feel sorry for himself for a while but he stayed sad for too long. She bullied him into eating. To coming to the house for meals.’ She chuckled. ‘She raised his rent so high that he had to go out and work. She stole his clothes at night so he had to put clean ones on. She filled his bottles of whisky with tea.’
Fiona laughed. ‘She sounds evil.’
‘That’s what Gabe thought; they had many big fights but he didn’t leave. I think he likes fighting. And then one day he came into the garden with her. I don’t what she said to him but after that he started living again. Going out, not getting drunk all the time, taking pictures again. That was three years ago.’
‘But he’s still in love with Yumi.’
‘He thinks he is. It’s a habit. That’s what my mother says. She never liked Yumi. My mother tries to look after him.’ Setsuko smiled. ‘She loves to take care of people. Take them under her wing. You are her new project.’