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Authors: Gail Tsukiyama

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BOOK: The Samurai's Garden: A Novel
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I haven’t written in weeks. Matsu and I have spent most of our time in Yamaguchi rebuilding the two houses lost in the fire. It felt like we were far away from the real world. I barely saw Sachi during those days since she and the other women were busy pounding
mochi
, getting ready for the celebration in honor of the newly built houses. It was their way of thanking us for all our help, but just to see the burst of energy that the village had taken on was thanks enough. While the women prepared for the celebration,
Hiro-
san
and most of the men who no longer had the fingers and hands to help build happily gave advice, bringing us water and food at regular intervals.
As I watched Matsu work, I began to see what Sachi meant when she said that he was most at home working with his hands. He thrived fitting and nailing in every piece of wood, maintaining the same concentration he had working in his garden. Matsu worked with skill and confidence, as he first visualized, then created walls and rooms until both of the houses were completed.
 
 
The celebration was one of the best nights of my life. The center of the village was surrounded by yellow lanterns, forming a perfect circle of light. Matsu and I sat in the middle as honored guests, drinking
sake
and eating sushi, or
mochi
dipped in soy sauce and sugar. Sachi never looked happier as she talked and laughed, and Hiro-
san
sang and told stories. It seemed as if our laughter could be heard miles away, perhaps even drift down into Tarumi—ghost voices carried by the wind.
By the end of the evening I fell into a
sake
-induced sleep that had me dreaming of Yamaguchi. Only instead of being in Japan, the village was in the midst of a bustling Hong Kong, the cars and crowds going about their daily business. And in the center of it all, I could see Pie passing out warm clothes and wrapping white bandages around Sachi and Hiro’s eaten-away limbs.
T
he warmer, brighter days of summer seem to get me up and out earlier. I walked into Tarumi with Matsu this morning. I hadn’t been to the village since Kenzo’s burial two months ago, though it feels longer. Kenzo’s teahouse remains closed, the black mourning material taken down, the doorway still boarded. The bad spirits of his suicide seem to linger. When we passed by the teahouse on the way to the post office, Matsu glanced over to it as if he still expected Kenzo to walk out and greet him. But when there was nothing more than the sound of our own dull footsteps along the dirt road, he turned quickly away and stared straight ahead.
I went to the village to mail two letters I’d written to Mah-mee and Pie. A few days earlier, my father had wired me that he would be coming to visit the following weekend. I wanted to write to my mother again before I saw him. The letters essentially said I was fine, but because of my mother’s letter, I no longer mentioned my return to Hong Kong. While I felt more at ease to know I would be staying in Tarumi, I also knew it would just be a matter of time.
As we were leaving the post office, I saw Keiko across the road coming in our direction. Unlike our previous meeting in the village, Keiko didn’t shy away at all. Instead she moved directly toward Matsu and me, and bowed low in a friendly greeting.
“
Ohay
gozaimasu
, I am honored to see you here this morning,” she said.
I could see Matsu try to suppress a smile, as he bowed back, then quickly found an excuse to leave us alone.
I really missed seeing Keiko. With all the work we’d been doing in Yamaguchi, there was little time for anything else. But seeing her again right in front of me, with her dark eyes and strong scent of jasmine, brought back the rush of desire I’d felt at our last meeting.
“How have you been?” I asked.
“Very well,” she answered, timid again.
“I’ve been very busy. I haven’t had much time to come into the village.”
At first Keiko remained quiet, then all in a rush, she said, “I thought perhaps you might have left Tarumi and gone back to Hong Kong.”
“No, what would make you think that?”
Keiko glanced down at my feet. “I managed to walk by your house once, but no one was there.”
“I was helping Matsu do some work elsewhere,” I quickly answered.
“I see.” Keiko stood silent for a moment, then looked up at me and asked, “Can you meet me tomorrow afternoon around three o’clock at the Tama Shrine?”
“Of course,” I said.
I could see she wanted to smile, but held it back. She looked around to make sure no one was watching, then reached out and touched me lightly on the hand before she bowed and turned to leave.
 
 
While we walked home, Matsu respected my silence as I remained quiet with thoughts of Keiko. By the time we returned to the house and stepped through the gate into the garden, neither one of us was prepared to find Sachi there waiting, dressed in a dark kimono and veil.
“What’s wrong?” Matsu said, even before he bowed.
“It’s Hiro-
san,”
Sachi answered. “He passed away in his sleep last night.”
 
 
Matsu wouldn’t allow me to return to Yamaguchi with them. I knew he was right to think the uphill walk would be too tiring so soon after our return from Tarumi. I didn’t argue with him. As always, Sachi was kind and wise. “Stay here, Stephen-
san
. Hold on to your last memory of Hiro-
san
, the night of the celebration when he was happiest and most alive.”
After they left, I sat in the garden for the longest time. I tried to
comprehend what it meant to die, to move on to an eternal sleep and never wake up again. Ever since I had come to Tarumi, I’d seen more deaths than in all of my life in Hong Kong. Everything before me was changing. I knew I would never be able to step back into my comfortable past. Ahead of me lurked the violent prospect of war, perhaps bringing the deaths of people I knew and loved, along with the end of my parent’s marriage. These were terrors I’d somehow escaped until now. And as I sat among the white deutzia blossoms, I felt a strange sensation of growing pains surge through my body, the dull ache of being pulled in other directions.
Matsu didn’t return from Yamaguchi last night. I stayed up late, then couldn’t sleep. I waited all day until I had to meet Keiko at the Tama Shrine, but there was still no sign of him. I left Matsu a note on the table, and when I finally began the walk to Tarumi and the shrine, I was late and already exhausted.
Keiko was pacing back and forth in front of the first
torii
gate when I arrived. She wore a plum-colored cotton kimono and carried a beige parasol. When she saw me, she stopped as if suddenly paralyzed. By then I was hot and sweaty from the uphill climb, my shirt sticking to my back, my face hot and flushed. I couldn’t help but wish we had met somewhere closer.
“
Konnichiwa
.” Keiko bowed.
I waited until I was close enough to reach out and touch her before I stopped, bowed, and returned her greeting. “
Konnichiwa
, Keiko-
san,
I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
“Not long at all, Stephen-
san
,” she answered.
We both stood awkwardly for a moment before Keiko turned away. “I must not forget,” she said. I watched her go toward the shade of some trees, and from behind them retrieve a
furoshiki
and return to me. “I thought you might be thirsty after the long walk.”
“I am,” I smiled.
We walked away from the shrine, to a slope covered with tall, thick pines. I could almost taste the rich perfume of pine resin, mixed with Keiko’s jasmine scent. She stopped in a small clearing
and sat down, then carefully untied the
furoshiki
and spread out its contents. It felt as if we were in a small, cool room surrounded by a wall of trees. I sat beside Keiko and quickly drank down the sweet, cold tea she handed me. Then she gave me bean cakes and rice crackers which I ate heartily, though she did not taste a thing. I leaned back on a bed of pine needles and allowed myself to relax, closing my eyes.
 
 
It’s just then that the scent of jasmine grows stronger. I open my eyes to find Keiko watching me, her face so close to mine we must be breathing one another’s air. I want to say something, but instead I raise my face up to kiss her. She doesn’t pull away. Instead, she lets the weight of her body fall against mine, a warmth I welcome at once. I place my hands around her waist and hold her tightly against me, kissing her harder. And still she doesn’t pull away, except to loosen her hair, letting it fall down her soft, pale shoulders. I’ve never felt skin so soft. It’s only then that I untie her sash, my mouth finding her breasts, her hands reaching down to what has already become hard and lost, seeking somewhere soft to hide.
 
 
It was the simple rustling of wind through the trees that woke me. For a moment I was dazed trying to climb out of the dream. When I fully opened my eyes, I saw Keiko sitting across from me, smiling. I’m not sure how long I was asleep, but I remained silent with embarrassment as I lifted myself up and sat against a tree.
“Do you feel better, Stephen-
san?”
Keiko asked.
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t able to sleep very well last night,” I answered.
She leaned over and handed me a cup of tea. “You must be very tired.”
I nodded my head. “How long have I been asleep?”
“Less than an hour,” she answered, wrapping her arms around herself. In the shade of the trees, the temperature had dropped considerably.
“I’m so sorry,” I said again.
“I’m only sorry to have disturbed you.”
“I wish you had earlier.”
“No,” she said, “you should never pull someone away from his dreams.”
“How do you know I was dreaming?” I asked.
“How could you lie in a place like this and not dream?” she asked me back.
Then Keiko sat up on her knees and politely changed the subject as she packed up the
furoshiki
. She told me she loved the quiet of Tarumi, and dreaded the hordes of summer visitors who would descend upon the village by the end of the next month. “While they’re here, I only want to leave,” she said. Her greatest wish was to go to a university to study architecture. Even as a little girl, design had always fascinated her. As I listened to Keiko’s soft, melodious voice, I longed to possess her certainty, and to hold her slender fingers in mine as we began our slow descent toward Tarumi.
 
 
By the time I arrived home, it was late afternoon. Matsu had finally returned from Yamaguchi looking pale and tired. He sat on the steps of the
genken
, barely raising his head when I came through the gate.
“We buried Hiro-
san
this morning,” he said, as I approached him.
“I’m sorry.”
“His heart gave out. He went peacefully in his sleep,” Matsu said, rubbing the top of his cropped head with the palm of his hand. “He deserves to be in a better world now.”
“I’m sure he is,” I said, awkwardly.
“Hiro was in Yamaguchi from the beginning. He was originally from the north, somewhere near Hokkaido. How he ever came so far, I’ll never know now. He always said he would tell me one day.”
I stood there silent, and looked down at the top of Matsu’s gray head. I tried to imagine the terrible pain he must feel, to have lost both Kenzo and Hiro in such a short time. And as I watched him, I could suddenly see small cracks in his armor, grief in the curve of his back and shoulders. For so long, he had been the strength
of both worlds, the unlikely hero. And as if he knew my thoughts, Matsu looked up at me trying to calculate why death had subtracted another person from his life. I saw something in his eyes that made me think he wanted to speak, so I waited patiently. But he only breathed deeply and sent the palm of his hand over the top of his head again. In the end, Matsu said nothing more. He stood up slowly. When I looked into his eyes all I could see was how they were dulled, glazed by tiredness. He went in and began dinner.
My father has come and gone again. Every time I see him, it’s with new eyes. This time he seemed to have aged, but otherwise he was as immaculate and handsome as always. I didn’t mention the letter from my mother and he didn’t volunteer any information. He tried to pretend everything was the same, and perhaps it was in his mind. After all, there would be little, if any, change to his life in Kobe.
At first I easily adopted my father’s tranquil mood, and we spent most of the two days he visited in a state of calm. Neither of us wanted to disrupt this tranquility, so we stayed away from any subject that might be the least bit antagonistic. Thus, my mother was rarely mentioned. Mostly we focused on what a mild winter it was, and what a wonderful warm spring we had enjoyed. Because of it, my father believed that we might have a wet summer season. And when we had finally exhausted all safe topics, we talked of more important issues, such as the war and whether it would affect my stay in Tarumi.
“Has the war changed anything in Kobe?” I asked him.
We had walked down to the beach after lunch on his second day back. My father dressed in white slacks and a pale blue shirt. For the first time, he took off his loafers and walked in the sand barefoot.
“There is a kind of excitement in the air,” he answered. “They are advancing toward Canton every day, you know. There are few obstacles left in their way which they won’t just destroy.”
I noticed how my father always referred to the Japanese as “they,” as if it made them farther removed from him. But as I
watched him walking slowly beside me, I realized that in many ways he was more Japanese than Chinese now. He had so easily adapted to the restraint and simplicity of Japan, and had always hated the crowds and noise of Hong Kong.
“I’ve been thinking, Ba-ba. Maybe I should return to Hong Kong sometime soon,” I said.
My father looked toward me, shading his eyes with his open hand. “Perhaps you should stay here through the summer, then return in the fall,” he said. “I don’t foresee any problems.”
“What about Mah-mee and Pie?” I asked. It was one of the few times I had mentioned them during his visit.
“We have already spoken and have agreed that you should stay a while longer,” he answered blandly. “There is no immediate danger of any fighting reaching Hong Kong.”
I kept walking. It was evident that he and Mah-mee had found some time in between their problems to discuss my staying in Tarumi. Their joint decision somehow still surprised me, even after Mah-mee’s calm letter. Everything was more dignified and logical than I thought. There was a distinct finality to it that caught me off balance. I felt a heaviness in my chest that had nothing to do with my illness, and everything to do with the regret I felt. Even if it meant leaving the life I had in Tarumi, I couldn’t help but hope my father had changed his mind, that he had really come to get me and we would soon return to Hong Kong.
“If you think it’s for the best,” I finally managed to say.
I could see my father relax. “Stephen, perhaps you would like to come to Kobe for the
O-bon
Festival? It would be a nice change for you.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “I think Matsu mentioned a celebration here in the village,” I lied. I didn’t want him to see how I felt. I looked down and began to unbutton my shirt. “I think I’ll go for a swim. Do you want to come?”
My father smiled. “No, you run along, I’ll watch you from here.”
BOOK: The Samurai's Garden: A Novel
5.55Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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