The Samurai's Garden

by Gail Tsukiyama

  “I was worried about you and Matsu-san,” Sachi continued. She turned around and glanced shyly at Matsu.

  “I’m very honored by your visit,” I managed to say, lowering myself gently back down. I strained to keep sight of Sachi. I breathed in the pleasure of having her so close by, knowing it was the first time she had left Yamaguchi in forty years. I mumbled something about how long she was going to stay, hoping she would never leave, but my head began to pound so hard I could barely keep my eyes open.

  “Do you think we should send for the isha?” I heard Sachi whisper.

  I suddenly wondered if Tarumi even had a doctor. I wanted to say something more, but it took too much energy to tell them I just needed to close my eyes for a little while.

  “He needs to rest,” was the last thing I heard Matsu say.

  When I woke up again, a white light came through the shoji windows and filled my room. My eyes strained against the brightness. The house was quiet. I looked around slowly until all the past events filled my mind. My vivid recollection of the storm quickly gave way to the letter from my mother, my father’s infidelity, and finally, Sachi’s visit. I suddenly wondered if Sachi’s presence had been a hallucination. If it wasn’t a dream, had she already returned to Yamaguchi? Or was it possible that she was still here? With a sudden burst of energy, I sat up.

  A tray with cold tea and crackers sat by my bed. I was so thirsty I reached for the cup and drank down the tea, wanting more. I still felt a bit dizzy and my face was hot and flushed, but the pounding in my head had stopped.

  Slowly, I stood up and stretched. My back felt sore from lying so long on the futon. I pulled on a pair of pants and a shirt and walked slowly to the kitchen, but no one was there. I wondered if Matsu was in the garden, or if he had gone to town. Maybe he had taken Sachi back to Yamaguchi. I only hoped she had really come.

  The bright sunlight hurt my eyes as I stood in the genken and looked out. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I was shocked to see that Matsu’s beautiful garden was now only a memory. Seaweed and sand covered everything, while debris and branches lay everywhere. The wooden bridge that stood over the pond was nowhere to be seen, and most of his best pines were torn from the ground, lying lifeless in the muddy mess. A thick, pungent smell of salty fish and earth filled the air.

  While I surveyed the garden in disbelief, I heard a movement and looked up to see Matsu carrying two wooden buckets from around the back. The once-clean bandage on his left cheek was now soiled a dingy brown.

  “Ah, you’re finally up,” Matsu said. “I thought you might sleep another day away.”

  “How long have I been out?” I asked, rubbing my head and feeling the throb of the bump.

  “It’s almost the end of the second day. You came around once or twice, but most of the time you’ve been unconscious. Sachi wanted me to get the isha, but he has been tending to other injuries farther down the coast.” Matsu put down his buckets and said seriously, “You had us very worried.”

  “It’s just a bump,” I said, reassuringly. “Is Sachi still here? I thought maybe she was just a figment of my imagination.”

  Matsu laughed. “Sachi-san,” he yelled, “look who has finally risen from the dead!”

  In the next moment, Sachi appeared from around the back of the house. She pulled her dark scarf tighter around her face and happily bowed several times upon seeing me.

  “Stephen-san, I am very happy to see you are feeling better,” she said.

  “I thought you were just an illusion,” I said.

  Sachi smiled. “As you can see, I’m really here. I came again this morning, hoping you would be better.”

  “Thank you, I’m very honored.” I bowed my head, but stood straight up again when I felt the throbbing return.

  Sachi looked away, embarrassed. “Matsu has also needed help with his garden.”

  “The storm has destroyed it,” Matsu said. He pointed to his favorite silk tree which lay uprooted.

  “I’m sorry,” I said hoarsely.

  “It’s nothing that can’t be replaced,” Sachi said quietly.

  “Can I help?” I asked. I took a step down and leaned weakly against the genken.

  “Don’t worry about the garden,” Matsu answered. “The first thing you need to do is get your strength back.”

  “What better way to get my health back than to work in the fresh air,” I argued.

  Then Sachi turned to Matsu and softly said, “I remember a time when you told me working in the garden would give me back my life.”

  Matsu glanced over at Sachi, scratched his head in thought and said, “Only light work then, until you’re better.”

  NOVEMBER 30, 1937

  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 t
o 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. “Dmo arigat gozaimasu. Won’t you come in?”

  Keiko shook her head. “No, dmo, 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.

  DECEMBER 1, 1937

  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.

  “Ohaygazaimasu,” 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.
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br />   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.