The Samurai’s Garden

The thick, sweet smell of the late summer blossoms drifted through the air. I walked down the road to see some houses still asleep behind their bamboo fences […] Through the cracks between the bamboo I could see a servant or two moving about. Many of the houses were already empty, or with only a servant like Matsu left to care for them. I wondered if Matsu had any contact with the other servants, or did he simply keep to himself? I tried not to think that it would be almost a year before Tarumi came alive again with families returning on vacation. Meanwhile, I’d have to adapt to the silence, put away my family and friends in Hong Kong and Canton. It’s harder than I imagined, to be alone. I suppose I might get used to it, like an empty canvas you slowly begin to fill.

Matsu continues to surprise me. Usually he listens to pieces by Mozart or Chopin, which remind me of Pie and her White Russian piano teacher, or to the high female voice of a newscaster declaring “Shanghai’s foolishness at not accepting the good intentions of the Imperial Army.” Only once have I had the courage to ask Matsu what he felt about his country’s victories in China. He was in the kitchen reading a magazine, as his radio played from his room. He looked up at me, and simply said, “Japan is like a young woman who thinks too much of herself. She’s bound to get herself into trouble.” Then he looked back at his magazine and continued to read. I remained silent. Unlike me, he doesn’t seem to need anything more.

The garden is a world filled with secrets. Slowly, I see more each day. The black pines twist and turn to form graceful shapes, while the moss is a carpet of green that invites you to sit by the pond. Even the stone lanterns, which dimly light the way at night, allow you to see only so much. Matsu’s garden whispers at you, never shouts; it leads you down a path hoping for more, as if everything is seen, yet hidden. There’s a quiet beauty here I only hope I can capture on canvas.

“Many years ago, when I first came to Yamaguchi, the possibility of having a life had all but vanished. Matsu was the one who insisted I have a garden.”

“And you created this?”

“With Matsu’s help. He showed me that life is not just from within, it extends all around you, whether you wish it to or not. And so, this garden has become a part of my life.”

I wanted to say something back to Sachi, but the words were caught in my throat. Her garden was a mixture of beauty and sadness, the rocks and stones an illusion of movement. What could she have possibly done to deserve such a fate?

Matsu cleared his throat, slowed down, and turned to me. “[Sachi] hasn’t left Yamaguchi in almost forty years. In the beginning, I tried to get her to come down, but she was too ashamed.”

“Didn’t her family care what happened to her?”

“Her family gave up on Sachi a long time ago.”

“They disowned her because of the disease?” I asked, flushed with anger.

Matsu shook his head, then said, “It wasn’t so simple. It was a question of honor. Once she became afflicted with the disease, it was Sachi who chose not to dishonor her family any more than she had.”

“What?”

“It was her choice.”

“But why?”

“She saw no reason for them to suffer her shame.”

Keiko smiled. “It’s a reminder of the strength we all have within us. Many years ago, my parents told me of a storm that had destroyed much of the original Tarumi village. The villagers argued over where to rebuild, afraid that another storm would simply destroy the village again. Only one fisherman stood up and refused to move anywhere else. He said that each storm would only serve to make them stronger if they carried the memory of its strength in them and used it to prepare for the next storm. Tarumi has stood here ever since.”

“Have you always lived in Tarumi?”

“Mika and I were born right here. My older brother was born near Kobe.”

[…] “Where is your brother now?” I asked.

Keiko looked away, hesitated a moment, then said, “He is with the Japanese army in China.”

Then we both kept silent.

“To think I wasted all these years on a monster,” Kenzo yelled, backing away from Matsu. “Now I understand everything! She’s all yours, Matsu, no one else would want her!”

Matsu didn’t say another word as he shielded Sachi, who stood behind him. She was crying softly, as she pulled the scarf tighter across her face.

I quickly stepped back into my room and leaned heavily against the wall, as if I had just taken the blows given to Kenzo. I didn’t want Sachi to know I had witnessed her shame. If she did know, she might never be able to face me again. I wanted nothing more than to tell her how beautiful she was, to let her know she didn’t have to hide from anyone, especially not from someone as cruel as Kenzo. But I knew my words would be a waste of time.

[Sachi] stood perfectly still for a moment, then, without saying a word, pulled the scarf down and away from her face. She turned the damaged side of her face to me as her left eye strained to open wider. The scars appeared like a matted white web, stretched from her chin to her eye. […] If Sachi was trying to shock me then she was in for a surprise. I had known from the moment I met her that she was very attractive. But it wasn’t until I came to know Sachi that I began to see how beautiful she really was.

“Does Matsu need this?” she whispered, the dark scarf gathered around her shoulders.

I never took my eyes away from her scarred face.

“Yes,” I answered.

Sachi bowed her head and said nothing.

“I’ve spent my life doing what I thought was the right thing to do. I’ve never tried to hurt anyone, not in my business dealings and certainly not with my own family. I’ve always followed my judgment in everything, weighing one decision against the other. But in this matter, I didn't have any choice but to follow my heart. We are all here to live out our own fates. I just hope you can try to understand what has happened. The most important thing is that you know I love you all very much.”

[…] As his mouth softly formed the words, I knew the sense of integrity I had long admired in him had died, and that I was already grieving for its loss.

“So now what?,” I asked, after an uncomfortable silence between us.

“We go on living,” he answered.

Matsu lowered Kenzo’s body from the wooden beam. He wouldn’t allow anyone else to touch his friend. I could hear the low thud of Kenzo’s body as it fell to the counter. Stunned, I stepped closer to see his blank, bulging eyes and the bluish skin of his face, which looked waxy and unreal. I turned toward Matsu, who stared hard at his friend and didn’t move for a long while. Then he bent down toward Kenzo, whispered some inaudible words into his ear, and carefully closed his eyes. Without saying another word, Matsu turned around and walked slowly out of the tea house, through the waiting crowd, and down the road to home.

“The next thing I knew, Sachi had stumbled, while the crowd kept pushing forward. […] I had just a moment to grab Sachi from behind and lift her to her feet. She was so light, it took so little effort. By the time she turned around, I had disappeared into the crowd […] When the festival was over, Tomoko spread the rumor that it was Kenzo who had saved Sachi, even though he had been carrying the shrine all the time.”

“Didn't Sachi or Kenzo say anything?”

“Sachi never mentioned it, until now. It’s sometimes easier to believe what everyone else believes. Besides, they were sweet on one another, and what could be more romantic?

“And now that she knows the truth?” I asked.

“Sachi only said, ‘Sometimes you can't see what is right in front of you. I’m sorry, Matsu-san.’”

“‘Those years are like another lifetime,’ I told her.”

“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 often after all these years I would have the good fortune to find a new friend such as you.”

If I had been brave like some of the others, I would be in the other world now. I still remember the salty ocean water, stained red with blood that morning so many years ago. And I often recall my father’s voice telling me how the samurai maintain their honor by committing seppuku. […]

My father had hoped that by ending my life, he could retain the honor of our family. And in the end, I didn’t even allow him to have that. It would have simply been doing ko, submitting to his wishes. It was an obligation, the supreme duty of a child to adhere to one’s parents, but I failed my father. Only now, as I move toward the end of my life, can I begin to understand the enormous task that was asked of me, and to forgive myself for not completing it.

“How did you know I was here?”

“Tomoko,” he whispered.

“What about Tomoko?” I asked, swallowing the last of the bitter tea.

Matsu gathered up what little was left of the food and wrapped it back up in the furoshiki. “I followed you and the others down to the beach yesterday morning. I wondered if you might try to find your way to peace as she did.”

“I couldn’t,” I began to cry, turning away in shame. Then Matsu leaned over close to my ear. He smelled of sweat and the earth as he whispered, “It takes greater courage to live.”

You see, Stephen-san, that day I learned that there were greater losses than mine. Every man and woman in Yamaguchi had a life before coming here. From then on I could never look at any of them without asking myself: ‘Whom did they leave behind? How much did they give up? What bargains did they try to make?’ If I hadn't learned humility before then, from that day on I knew what the word meant. Here in Yamaguchi I learned that beauty exists where you least expect to find it.

I remember I turned to Matsu as we stood looking at the rock garden and asked, “Did you know it would be so simple and beautiful?”

“I knew its beauty would appear if we worked hard enough,” he answered.

“But I never expected it to be like this.”

Matsu smiled. “Beauty can be found in most places.”

I turned to face him, really looking for the first time at his thick, strong features. They were so different from Tomoko’s, I thought again that they couldn't really be related. After a moment I said, “I thought I no longer had any desire for beauty. I’ve had it all my life and look what it's done for me!”

Matsu then shook his head, looking out toward the garden. “Sachi-san, you’ve only known the ordinary kind of beauty which appears on the outside. Perhaps you now desire something deeper.”

I remember how I stood there in my bare feet, the dull sensation of the stones pushing and crackling beneath my feet. It was like a dream to think I had worked for months to create it, only to finally realize what was in front of me. In that moment, it all came to life. Suddenly, I could hear the water flowing and see the soft ripples on its surface. But most of all, I could now relish the fact that its beauty was one that no disease or person could ever take away from me. I stood there for a long time until I felt like I was no longer myself at all, but part of the garden.

My heart felt heavy knowing I wouldn't be able to see my mother or Pie anytime soon. And hard as I tried, I couldn't remember any Uncle Sing.

A sudden, high scraping noise coming from the garden startled me from my thoughts. I jumped up and hurried outside to see what it was. There in the far end of the garden was Matsu, sharpening something on a spinning grindstone.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

Matsu waited until the last turn of the wheel slowed, then came to a complete stop. He held up the knife so I could clearly see its ivory handle and honed blade. “It was my father’s fishing knife,” he said.

After [Matsu and Sachi] 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 surging through my body, the dull ache of being pulled in other directions.

The thickness of age showed on her body, and like Matsu’s, there was a certain strength in it. But it was Fumiko’s face that captured my attention. It was one I would have loved to paint. She was beautiful, not in the way that Tomoko must have been, nor did she have the roughness of Matsu. Her attraction wasn’t in the form of perfect features, but from the deep wrinkles, age spots, and eyes that have seen much of what life has to offer. Fumiko had a face that had been enriched through time.

“I’m very happy to meet you,” I bowed again.

“You are just as Matsu described you,” she said, looking toward him.

“And how did he describe me?” I asked, speaking louder, above the noise of the crowd.

“That you looked just like your oji-san.”

I looked over at Kenzo’s tea house which stood dark and empty. I could almost imagine seeing him last year during O-bon, his trim figure rushing back and forth, carrying trays of drinks to thirsty customers. He might have slapped Matsu on the shoulder and invited him in for a beer. Only this year he was gone, leaving Matsu to honor him with food and drink. And what must Sachi be feeling this O-bon? I wondered if they were celebrating the dead in Yamaguchi?

It was hard to imagine what the future would bring to any of us. All over Japan they were celebrating the dead, even as more and more Chinese were being slaughtered. There would be no one left to celebrate them.

I haven’t been able to sleep. I got up to write this all down, hoping I could purge myself of Keiko and the ghost of her brother. I wondered how many Chinese he had killed before his own death? I suppose the question held no relevance to a Japanese family who had lost their only son. But what of all the Chinese civilians killed during the last year? Did Keiko and her family grieve for those sons and daughters, mothers and fathers? The madness of war destroyed much more than just the soldiers fighting in it. It picked apart everything in its way, so that no one escaped its clutches. Not even someone as decent and humane as Keiko would be left without scars.

The things you remember about a person when they’re gone are funny. No two people will feel the same way, though usually it has to do with the scent, or expression, the sound of a voice, an unusual gesture. For me, I can still see the colors of Keiko; the black of her hair against creamy pale skin, her dark blue kimono with white circles, the deep orange persimmons falling from the brown basket she carried. The ache in my heart grows larger every time I think of these colors, and how is each day passes they continue to fade from my eyes.

“Keiko isn’t a pine tree,” I said, annoyed at the comparison. “Her brother was killed at Hsuchowfu.”

Matsu shook his head. “The stupidity of it,” I heard him mumble. Then after a moment, he said, “We aren’t so different, human beings and plants. We are all a part of nature and from each other we learn how to live.”

“Even as one person destroys another?”

[…] “Take that flower,” he said, pointing to the crepe myrtle. “It has a short lifespan, but you know just what to expect of it. The leaves are turning yellow orange, so you know within a week they’ll fall. […] In the end, Stephen-san, you can only look back, hoping everything that happens in your life is for a purpose. Whether you see Keiko-san or not any more won’t take away from your having known her. If she is important, she will stay with you.”

“So we’ll write. And you’ll take care of Sachi?” I asked, my voice sounding high, much younger as it searched for reassurance.

“As always,” he answered.

I thought of what a fine father he would have been. “I hope the war…” I began, trying to say something about it, but not finding the right words.

“It is another life. It will never have anything to do with us,” he finished. “I wish you a safe journey, Stephen-san.”