The Samurai's Garden (19 page)

****

Since the Nakamura home was the farthest from the village, most people passed the Tanaka land on their way back to their own homes. Everyone wanted to thank Tanaka-san personally for his role in saving their lives and their homes. Hiro was uncomfortable with the praise, but graciously acknowledged each admirer, insisting that it was their own bravery, as well as assistance from his friends, that caused the victory.

As people left the Tanaka home, their mood was lighter and voices became louder. Their mourning was done and there was sure to be a celebration in the village tonight.

Hanako moved to the rear of the house. Little Yasa had become fussy, and it was time for him to sleep. She gently placed him on his
ofuton
, stroking his downy head as he settled into slumber. If the gods were willing, Yasa would grow into a fine, strong man like his father. He would not be a samurai, for that way of life was gone. But with a father like Hiro, he would learn the values of the
Bushido
, "the Way of the Warrior". He would be a noble, disciplined man.

She continued to kneel there beside her son, softly humming a lullaby tucked into the deepest recesses of her memory. Had her mother knelt beside her like this, humming softly, praying for her future happiness?

The light outside the windows began to fade. It was past time for her to prepare the evening meal. She gave Yasa's chubby cheek one final caress, stood, and slid the door closed before going to the kitchen.

She found Hiro there, making tea. Aware of her presence, he looked up. "Yasa-chan is asleep?"

"Yes. He's had a full day. He's always happy to see other people. I was afraid he would disrupt the funeral this morning, but he was content."

He poured a cup of the fragrant brew and passed it to her. "He is an intelligent young man. He sees no one else speaks, so he remains silent, too."

Hanako dipped her head toward her cup, hiding her smile.
How like a man, to see the child's silence as a measure of his intelligence, rather than a show of contentment.
Nevertheless, it was pleasing to see Hiro so proud of his son. She prayed father and son would continue to have a strong relationship.

"Do you want to go into the village tonight?" she asked.

He cast a curious look at her. "Why?"

"It looks like a celebration has begun."

They both looked toward the open window at the fireworks lighting the sky. "I can cook something quickly if you want to join your friends."

He turned to her, his look melting her. "Everything I want to celebrate and everyone I need to celebrate with are here in this house."

Dinner preparations were forgotten as a different hunger was fed.

****

Reiko stood at the doorway of her home, watching the fireworks light up the night sky. Noburo had always loved fireworks, she remembered. He would have enjoyed the celebration. The memories brought a bittersweet smile to her face, even as the pain of losing him squeezed her heart. How she would miss him. It had been torture, placing his bones in the urn that now rested in his home. She didn't begrudge them to Noburo's wife, but wished she could have kept a part of her son with her.

A movement to her left had her turning sharply. All the relatives who had not gone to the celebration were in their own homes. "Who comes here?" she called out.

Ginjiro stepped out from behind a tree and bowed deeply. "Forgive me, Nakamura-san," he began. "I did not mean to alarm you."

Reiko's heart lifted. "Are you hungry?" she asked. "There is much food remaining from today's funeral service
.
The village women were very generous with their gifts."

In the city, gifts of money were traditionally given to the bereaved. But people in remote villages such as this showed their support by giving what they had. And for the esteemed Nakamura family, the gifts had been plentiful.

"It was not my intention to take anything from you," Ginjiro said. "I merely wished to make sure you were — safe."

"Of course," Reiko assured him. "But I have much more food here than my sons and I can eat, and I would like to offer some to you, as thanks for your service to the village." She paused, looking down as she added, "And your presence here is a great comfort to me."

The man's stature increased at the compliment. "I would be honored to take a meal in your home."

****

Hanako wondered if she should follow her husband. Whatever the message was, it had upset him. Inwardly, she cursed the messenger who had brought such pain to him. Her husband had been so happy when he came home from his errands in the village, and now he looked as if his world had crumbled. She had spent the entire day preparing for his return. The walls and floors had been washed, the most beautiful and fragrant flowers from the garden had been artfully arranged throughout the house, a special meal had been painstakingly prepared — and she had a special surprise for him.

But the unveiling of her surprise had been delayed by unwelcome news from his family. She had watched his face grow pale as he had read the message. Perhaps something terrible had happened to someone in his family. She wished she knew more about his people, but whenever she had asked, he had answered vaguely and changed the subject.

She had never seen her husband so agitated. How she wanted to comfort him! He had been so patient and loving all through her pregnancy. But she had learned he was a private person. He had not told her much about his past, and he did not offer much insight into his own thoughts.

Turning to the messenger, she offered him tea and supper, which he gratefully accepted.

"Will you be here long?" Hanako asked.

"I have been instructed to wait for a response from Tanaka-san before I return."

"You will have a long journey back to Tokyo. I will prepare a room for you. Please have some more tea."

The young soldier, happy to find a comfortable place to rest, eagerly settled in to eat. Hanako waited for him to finish his meal then led him to an extra room at the back of the house.

Finally, it was her turn to eat. She was glad she had made extra food, since the messenger had been quite hungry. The aroma of the grilled chicken and vegetables had piqued her appetite, and she had grown hungry waiting for Hiro to finish eating, but the arrival of their male guest had delayed her meal.

The message lay where Hiro had left it. She took her bowl to the table and knelt on her cushion. She ate her entire meal staring at the scroll, deciding whether to open it or wait for Hiro to return and explain. The scroll seemed to stare at her in return, calling to her. A year ago she would not have considered reading it, as the painted characters would have made no sense to her. But she and Reiko had been working on both reading and writing. She had planned to surprise Hiro tonight by reading a short poem she'd written for him. This document was much longer. Would she recognize enough characters to make sense out of the markings on the page?

Finishing her meal, she took her dishes to the washbowl. Hiro had been gone for quite some time — she had no idea when he would return. Perhaps she could be of comfort to him if she knew why he was upset. Carefully drying her hands, she knelt again at the table and unrolled the rich, thick paper, then concentrated on the figures before her.

The paper contained many characters she didn't understand, but she recognized a few — "mother" and "family" stood out. She recognized the symbols for Tokyo, the capital city. She frowned. So many symbols! She had been a fool to think she had learned enough in the months Reiko had tutored her. No wonder priests dedicated themselves to years of study.

She concentrated and reminded herself what Reiko had said: many characters were combinations of smaller ones. If she could only recognize the parts — here, a symbol for "death", and over there, the symbol for "person." Had someone in Hiro's family died? The handwriting was bold and striking; so unlike the flowing lines Reiko produced with her brush. Perhaps there were some other words she could recognize. There, at the end, a symbol she remembered from last week's lesson. The character was
kaeru
— "to return home."

Had Hiro been commanded to return to Tokyo?

If so, he would have to leave. It would be his duty, and she could do nothing to stop him. There would be no room for her in his world. She would be out of place and rejected, more of a detriment to him than a help. Her perfect world would come to an end.

She re-rolled the document and cleared away the remains of their interrupted dinner. It would serve no purpose to dwell on it. If he left, she would go on. She had always managed to survive, no matter the obstacle. She would do so again. She took a small comfort in knowing Hiro, too, had seemed upset by the contents of the message. But he must be loyal to his family as well as the emperor.

At least she had their son. She prayed Hiro would not take Yasa from her. Life without either of them was inconceivable. But the memory of father and son playing on the tatami mat just moments ago confirmed the close bond they had already formed. Perhaps Hiro would insist Yasa be educated in the finest schools and train for a respectable profession. If he did not allow her to come with him, how worthless her life would be! Her hands trembled at the possibility, and a fragile cup slipped out of her hand. It fell awkwardly onto the edge of the wooden washbowl and shattered.

It was, to Hanako, symbolic of her life with Hiro. The shattered pieces of the beautiful cup represented the joy she had experienced in the brief time she had known him. Her first impulse was to gather the shards and try to put them back together, but the first piece she touched tore through her skin. Hardly aware of the pain, she watched as her crimson blood mixed with the clear water, swirling around in a circular pattern before fading into pale pink. Time lost all meaning as she watched, entranced. The candle beside her burned itself out. Still, she knelt, her injured hand immersed in the liquid.

Hanako knelt on a plush cushion in a sumptuous
tatami
room, dressed in the finest silk. Attendants fixed her hair in an elaborate knot, dressing the coiffure with jeweled combs. She held out her hand as another attendant smoothed exotic creams on it. Across the room, a nursemaid played with the baby. She was cocooned in wealth and security.

What an honor to be the wife of a noted samurai, now a respected general in the Imperial Army. How lovely to reside in an elegant mansion, with servants bustling about, ready to see to her every whim. Wives of such important men did not need to worry about successful harvests or rising costs. Their only concern was to keep themselves beautiful.

She felt, rather than heard, him enter the room behind her and call her name. Curiously, the attendants melted away, and the luxurious surroundings faded into darkness.
What happened to the light?
She saw his shadow creep across the room and tried to call out to him, but no sound came. A flame leapt to life beside her as he lit one lantern and then another, and she recognized the specter as her husband. She looked down at the hand that had been extended toward the maid and found the lotion covering her hand had turned red. She lifted her hand to look more closely and stared at the jagged cut crossing her fingers. What had happened?

Hiro's hands held hers, and he murmured something. She felt him lift her, settle her on his lap, and wipe her injured hand. He checked it for stray pieces of broken china and wrapped it in a soft cloth. His strong arms surrounded her, holding her close. How amazing to feel such security, to give up all worries and concerns, and let someone else deal with them.

Vaguely, she heard the sounds of a fussing baby. Should she do something? Her arms felt heavy, her eyelids lowered, and the world faded away.