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Authors: Gail Tsukiyama

The Samurai's Garden: A Novel (18 page)

BOOK: The Samurai's Garden: A Novel
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“I’ve never seen such bravery,” I added.
Sachi looked up and smiled. “It is not an act of bravery to try to save your own village. It is an instinct to protect what you possess. Bravery is when you step in to help when you have nothing to lose.
Matsu-san
and you, Stephen-
san
, are the brave ones.”
“We had more to lose than you could know,” Matsu said. I watched Sachi look down and blush.
I quickly drank the rest of my tea and stood up. “I think I’ll go out and see what’s going on,” I said, glancing down at the two of them.
“Be careful, Stephen-san,” I heard Sachi call out as I closed the door behind me.
 
 
When the smoke had finally cleared, the oil lamps glowed a hazy yellow in the darkness. The thick smell of smoke and scorched trees would linger much longer. The villagers, whom I guessed numbered near a hundred, gathered close by the burned area to pray and offer their many thanks to the
kami-sama
of the village at a makeshift altar.
We decided to spend the night at Yamaguchi. It made no sense to walk all the way back to Tarumi, only to return the next day to help clean up. Those who had lost their homes moved in with others in the village, their crowded shacks a welcome shelter. Matsu and I stayed at the home of a male villager, Hiro-
san.
He and I had already become fast friends carrying buckets of water from the water barrel to the fire. As soon as he heard that Matsu and I were staying, he was the first to volunteer to put us up for the night.
 
 
“We’ve had tougher times than this,” Hiro-
san
later told me. “No one can tell Mother Nature what to do. We are powerless in her hands.” He swung his deformed arms in front of me and smiled a toothless grin. We were sitting on the floor of his small two-room house. It was clean and spare, devoid of even the simplest luxuries and possessions. “Years ago, back in 1923, we had an earthquake which didn’t leave a house standing.”
“Was anybody killed?”
“We buried some,” he answered, pointing out the window toward another clearing. “Over there, behind those trees. It might have been worse if we had stronger housing. Fortunately, our lightweight materials took fewer lives when they collapsed.” Hiro knocked lightly on his thin walls, which were mainly pieces of
shoji
and wood scraps nailed together.
“How did you get the materials up here?” I asked. It was the first time I realized that everything had to be carried up to Yamaguchi.
Hiro pointed to his other small room where Matsu was preparing our bedding. “Mainly Matsu-
san,
” he said, in a loud clear
voice. “In the beginning, we could not have survived without his help. He is the true
kami
of Yamaguchi, which is what must have brought him here today.”
I nodded my head proudly. “He never ceases to surprise me.”
Hiro shifted his legs under his
zabuton,
then lowered his voice. “I’ve known Matsu-
san
for more years than I can remember, and he has never been a man you could take at face value.”
“I guess you could say that about everyone here in Yamaguchi,” I added.
Hiro laughed. “And what about you, Stephen-
san
? What does your perfect face tell us?”
“That I have a lot to learn,” I answered, leaning over and filling his cup with tea.
 
 
I woke up earlier than Hiro or Matsu, my muscles tight and sore from fighting the fire. I slowly got up from the futon, pushing through the dull ache in my arms and legs, then quietly dressed and slipped out the front door before they awoke. The sun had just risen, with most of Yamaguchi still asleep. I took a deep breath, my throat dry and sore. The heavy smell of smoke lingered in the air, while the black, burnt scar left by yesterday’s fire looked naked and raw in the gray morning light. I could faintly hear the dull stirrings of someone already awake inside one of the fragile shacks. I began to walk slowly toward Sachi’s house, though I knew it was too early to bother her. Still, I had the strange urge to see her rock garden again, to sit amidst its quiet and think about how I was going to face all the noise of Hong Kong again.
I walked around to the side of the house toward the sleeve gate, just as we had done the day Matsu and I came to visit. The gate made a soft, creaking sound as I swung it open and gently closed it. When I turned around, the bright light of the morning sun had just filled the garden. It left the rushing stream of rocks aglow. I stood watching the way the light played off the rocks, knowing that in a few moments the sun would shift its position, and again the garden would appear different.
“
Ohay
gozaimasu,
Stephen-
san
.”
I jumped when I heard Sachi’s soft, unexpected voice. When I
turned around, she had just stepped out of the house in a blue cotton kimono and slid the
shoji
door closed behind her. Sachi appeared so thin and small, but her presence immediately filled the garden with a life of its own. It was as if she had suddenly lifted the garden from stillness and given it a soul. Then she came closer to me and bowed, rising slowly and completely removing the dark veil which covered her head and hid her scars. She smiled and said, “I thought I heard someone out here. You are up very early, Stephen-
san.”
“
Ohay
gozaimasu
,” I bowed. “I couldn’t sleep anymore.” When I stood straight again, Sachi’s hand was raised, shielding her eyes against the bright morning light.
“I find I don’t sleep very much anyway,” she smiled. “I become too anxious lying there. It makes much more sense to get up and begin doing something.”
I breathed in the warm, smoke-tinged air, feeling both happy and sad in the quiet garden with Sachi. The same nagging thoughts of having to leave Tarumi came back to me. Each day as the war escalated in China, the faceless voice on the radio called on more Japanese young men “to fulfill the wishes of His Imperial Majesty,” or to “dispel all the anxieties of your Emperor.” Pie’s letter and the large number of refugees who flooded into Hong Kong let me know it was only a matter of time before I’d have to leave Matsu and Sachi. But I tried to hold back these disturbing thoughts, so I wouldn’t lose one precious moment of our morning together.
“And Matsu-
san
?” Sachi asked.
“He’s still asleep.”
Sachi nodded. “He must be exhausted. I often wonder where he gets all his energy.” She glanced around her immaculate garden, then touched my arm lightly. “Come, Stephen-
san
, I would like to show you something.”
I followed her to the back of the garden, where larger rocks naturally formed a small mountainside. I could see where Matsu had lent his special touch, filling crevices with a cascading stream of rocks, lined with patches of green moss along the edge. Sachi walked up a narrow path, quick and steady. Halfway up she stopped and turned to make sure I was still behind her. Sachi then kneeled and looked down among the rocks. I followed her smiling
gaze to see what she had discovered. There, between two large rocks, grew a neat cluster of blooming flowers, startlingly beautiful, a splash of blue-purple rising out of a green patch of leaves, somehow thriving among the muted, gray stones.
“How are they able to grow here?” I asked, amazed that anything so delicate could grow among rocks.
Sachi smiled. “One of the small miracles of life,” she said. “As Matsu would say, you cannot change the will of the gods once it is set.”
The bubble-shaped buds sprouted up on tall, thin stems like sticks of incense.
“They’re beautiful,” I said.
“And persistent,” Sachi laughed. She held a bud gently between her fingers. “They’re called balloon flowers. You see how the buds are shaped like small balloons?”
I nodded happily, then leaned back against a rock and watched Sachi carefully tend to the sprouting buds. I could see in her face, what I had seen a hundred times in Matsu’s when he worked in his garden: a perfect calm. I also began to wonder if the balloon flowers were really a miracle, or had Matsu secretly planted the seeds, knowing that Sachi would soon discover their beauty?
Then, as if she knew my thoughts, Sachi stopped, looked up at me, and said, “Time does change some things. I remember when I couldn’t stand the sight or scent of a flower. They brought me nothing, neither beauty nor calm.” Sachi pointed down to her garden. “I wouldn’t allow Matsu to plant any flowers in this garden, because it was too difficult. They reminded me of the past, of Tomoko, and everything that came into my life only to leave after a short, beautiful burst.”
“And now?” I asked.
Sachi brushed her hands together, and still kneeling, sat back against her legs. “And now, Stephen-
san
, I am thankful for any kind of beauty that may find its way to Yamaguchi. I never dreamed that after all these years I would have the good fortune to find a new friend such as you.”
I paused in thought and ran my fingers through my hair. “I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be staying in Tarumi. The war seems to be dictating my future.”
Sachi nodded her head sadly. “You see, Stephen-
san,
even in
Yamaguchi we can’t hide from it; we are all touched by the madness of it.”
I didn’t know what to say. It was hard to imagine our countries were at war, and that Sachi and I should be enemies. I felt Sachi’s gaze upon me. “No matter what happens, I know we’ll always be friends,” I simply said.
Sachi smiled. “I would never think otherwise, Stephen-
san
.”
I suddenly remembered Kenzo, something I’d almost forgotten about in all the excitement of the fire. “I’m sorry about the loss of your old friend, Kenzo-
san
.”
Sachi looked down at her balloon flowers, then back at me with a pained expression. “I had always hoped we could find a way to live the rest of our lives in some kind of peace. I prayed to the gods for it, but it wasn’t to be.”
“I thought I was dreaming when I saw you at Kenzo-
san’s
burial,” I said. I had no idea what Sachi’s response might be and didn’t want to embarrass her.
Without hesitation, Sachi answered, “I wanted to make sure Kenzo’s spirit would be at peace. I knew it was important for me to say good-bye. I didn’t decide to go until the very last moment, so Matsu had no idea I was there. He would have only worried needlessly.”
“I never told Matsu I saw you,” I quickly added, grateful now I had kept her presence a secret.
Sachi bowed low toward me.
 
 
We sat back in the silence as if it were a warm hand closed around us, protecting us. It didn’t last for long. The day was beginning, and the distinct sounds of an awakening village could be heard in scattered voices and heavy pots of water put on the heated stones to boil for tea or rice.
I wanted to ask Sachi so many questions, the distant voices giving courage to mine. “You never wanted to live with the others in the village?” I asked.
Sachi took a deep breath, taking her time to answer. “I don’t remember ever having made the choice. It was Matsu who built this house for me away from the village. At the time, he knew I couldn’t face being so close to the others. He was the one who
carted every piece of wood and stone up the mountain, when no one else would come within sight of us. In many ways, it was Matsu who built Yamaguchi. Many of us would have simply perished without him.”
BOOK: The Samurai's Garden: A Novel
10.29Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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