The Samurai's Garden: A Novel (3 page)

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Authors: Gail Tsukiyama

BOOK: The Samurai's Garden: A Novel
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It was so warm last night I had a hard time sleeping. The moon was unusually bright, keeping the room awash in a hazy white light. Today I tried to draw, but nothing that made any sense found its way onto the paper. It was as if the dark charcoal lines were simply interrupting the whiteness of the sheet. I threw several away before I gave up in frustration. I tell myself I’ll have much better results when I work with oil paints, but the canvases my father promised to send me from Kobe haven’t arrived yet. He did send word that he wouldn’t be able to come see me until next week. There also hasn’t been any word from my mother and Pie in Hong Kong. I know it’s been less than a week since I arrived, but it feels longer.
Matsu seems more receptive to my attempts at conversation, but we never get farther than what is already known. He acknowledges me with a slight bow of his head when we see each other during the day. At night, he spends most of his time back in the kitchen, or listening to the static sounds of his radio in the small room he sleeps in next to the kitchen. 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 blared 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. I guess all his years alone have left him comfortable with himself. We are slowly learning to live with each other.
There has been no sign of the two girls I saw my first day here. Every morning I go for a swim, hoping by chance another similar situation might bring them out. But it’s been fruitless. Sometimes the house is so quiet I feel like the only noise that fills my mind is what I’ve created myself. Remembered conversations come back to me as if my friends and family were right here in the room.
For the past week, I’ve endured all the quiet and loneliness like a blanket covering me until I’m well again. So I’ve simply resolved to become healthy through rest, exercise, and my painting.
Then this morning when I returned from my swim, I entered the garden gate to find Matsu carrying two wooden buckets of water to the silk tree. Instead of just giving me his usual quick bow, he paused and said, “A package came for you.”
I don’t remember if I said anything back to him. I ran into the house to find a large brown package of canvases leaning against the wall of my room, along with a letter from my mother and Pie lying on top of a stack of Japanese magazines. I grabbed the letter
and a few magazines, then headed back out to the garden, but Matsu was no longer there. The garden was definitely Matsu’s domain and I felt his odd lingering presence in it. Every part of the garden seemed to have a sturdiness about it, even with its quiet grace.
It was a warm day, so I sat down near the pond to read my letter. The green moss was like a soft blanket. I felt like a child opening a long awaited present. The thin, blue papers went limp in my hands as I unfolded the pages to see the quick, strong strokes of my mother, followed by Pie’s large, neatly written Chinese characters.
My mother spoke mostly of my health. Was I feeling better? Was I getting enough to eat? She would come to visit me as soon as possible. Anne and Henry would be returning to Hong Kong from school in Macao when the term was over in December. We would all be reunited then. She didn’t believe the Japanese would ever have the nerve to enter Hong Kong. After all, it was under British sovereignty. Still, as I read her words I couldn’t help but feel troubled.
Pie’s words gave me much more comfort. She was first in her class, and was currently designing her own dresses for the dressmaker, inspired by
Poor Little Rich Girl,
the last Shirley Temple movie she had seen. The bulk of her letter was devoted to Anne’s having fainted in Macao during one of the blackout procedures. Anne’s teachers had to revive her with smelling salts and a shot of brandy. Pie said she would try it next blackout, just for a taste of brandy.
When I put down the letter I felt more homesick than I had in days. It was difficult to keep up with the war news so far away from everything. I had only been able to hear bits and pieces of the Japanese version from Matsu’s radio. I was beginning to feel trapped behind this bamboo fence, which kept me separated from my family and the rest of the world.
I lay down on the cool blanket of moss and closed my eyes. I might have fallen asleep, but sounds outside the fence revived me. At first I thought it was Matsu, so I lay my head down again. Though he was nice enough to leave me some of his magazines, I was tired of trying to get the simplest conversation out of him.
But the sound of whispering voices grew louder. I sat up to see
two shadows moving around on the other side of the fence. I tried to make out what was being said, but they spoke in hushed, hurried tones. I was about to get up when I felt something brush the top of my head. I looked up to see a shower of white petals fall in my direction, scattering on the ground around me, dropping like little boats into the pond. I jumped up and could hear two girls laughing aloud as I rushed to the gate. But by the time I swung the gate open, they were already running down the dirt road away from me. I yelled for them to stop. I only wanted to speak to them, but they continued to run, never turning back.
Yesterday morning my father arrived from Kobe. He came unexpectedly, walking from the train station without telling us of his arrival. Matsu, who was outside tending his garden, greeted him first. When I heard Matsu’s voice, which was unusually loud and excited, I wandered out from my room to see what was going on. At the front door, the brightness of the sun blinded me a moment before my sight adjusted to the figure of my father standing there, wiping his glasses. I ran up and threw my arms around him, almost knocking him down I was so happy.
“Ba-ba, why didn’t you let me know you were coming? I would have met you at the station.”
My father put his glasses back on and smiled. “I only knew myself at the last minute. There was so much work at the office, I barely made the train. Now, stand back and let me see what this fresh air has done for you.”
I took a few steps back and stood up straight. “What do you think?” I asked.
“You still look too thin,” he answered. Then, looking at Matsu, my father said teasingly, “Matsu, aren’t you feeding my boy enough?”
Matsu walked over to my father rubbing his hands against his soiled pants. “He eats like a bird,” he answered, picking up my father’s suitcase and walking into the house.
 
 
Last night at dinner, my father drank
sake
and seemed relaxed as we ate rice, chicken, and pickled turnips in my grandfather’s study. I was happy just having someone to speak to again.
“How are you feeling, Stephen?” my father asked. He lifted the small cup of
sake
to his mouth, so that just his eyes watched mine.
“I’ve been feeling well. The chest pains have disappeared and I’m coughing less,” I answered.
My father brought down his cup and smiled. “And you’re enjoying your stay here?”
“Yes, for the most part, but I miss everyone. It’s rather lonely here.”
“I know, Stephen, but it won’t be for much longer. When you’re well again, this period of your life will simply be a quiet memory.”
I looked hard at my father, his graying hair and kind eyes, only to realize it had been a long time since I had so closely felt his presence. After Pie was born, she seemed to dominate my parents’ attention. Then in Hong Kong, and even in Kobe, there were always family or business problems to keep us from really speaking to one another. But here in Tarumi it’s different. Even the light is revealing; you can’t miss the smallest nuance, the slightest sound. It’s as if the world were concentrated into just these small rooms. I wonder if it appears the same for him.
Today my father and I went down to the beach. It was still warm enough, so I swam while he sat on the sand in a wooden chair under a large yellow umbrella Matsu had set up. Wearing white slacks, a white shirt and hat, he looked nothing like the father I’m used to, dressed in severe, dark business suits. He appeared more like an acquaintance of our family, someone I hadn’t seen in a long time.
I didn’t swim very long before I was back sitting beside him on the beach. I felt like a small child again. We spoke of how it was when I was a young boy, and how I had always loved the water.
“Did you swim much as a boy?” I asked.
My father laughed and said, “I was afraid to put my head in the water. It was never easy for me as It is for you.”
“You can’t swim?” I asked, astonished at the fact that I didn’t know. Usually when we came to Tarumi, it was Ching who brought us to the beach. She would sit on the sand screaming for us to be careful, hot and uncomfortable in her dark cotton tunic always buttoned up to her neck.
“I can float, just long enough for someone to come and save me,” he then added.
“I’ll teach you.”
“Perhaps on my next visit,” my father smiled.
I felt sad knowing our time together was coming to an end. He would have to be back in Kobe the following day. I fought back the sharp sting of loneliness returning as we sat in a comfortable silence.
“What’s the situation like in Shanghai?” I asked, hungry for any news. “I don’t hear much here.”
“It’s not good,” my father answered, his face becoming serious. “Warplanes have bombed Shanghai incessantly. What the bombs don’t destroy, the fires they start do. So many innocent lives have been lost.” He paused, shaking his head. Then he looked at me and said, “I’ll have some newspapers sent to you.”
“What do you think will happen after they capture Shanghai?” I persisted.
“They will most likely keep moving south.”
“Do you think they’ll ever get as far as Hong Kong?”
My father lifted his hat and wiped his brow. “It’s possible,” he finally answered.
We stayed quiet for a while, each of us lost in our own thoughts.
“Can you tell me something about Matsu-
san
?” I suddenly asked.
My father squinted down at me. “What do you want to know?”
“Why has he stayed alone in Tarumi for all these years?”
“Tarumi has always been his home.”
I spread my legs out on the warm sand. “But when he was young, didn’t he ever want to see other places, raise a family of his own?”
My father laughed. “I can see you haven’t gotten much out of Matsu, have you?”
“He doesn’t say much,” I answered.
“He never did. Even when I used to come here as a boy I remember Matsu always keeping to himself, only at ease talking with his sisters. One of his sisters, the younger one, Tomoko, was very pretty and had caught the eye of many a boy.”
“Did she catch your eye?”
“I was too shy to do anything.” He smiled to himself. “Besides, I was the owner’s son, and we were kept apart by class and custom. Your grandfather and grandmother had other plans for me in those days.”
“So you never had anything to do with Matsu and his sisters?” I asked, burying my foot in the sand, where I could still feel some coolness.
“We were children. Sometimes we’d play together when they came to help their father with the garden. Most of the time, they stayed at the house they lived in near the village.”
“What was Matsu like at my age?”
My father leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment before answering. “Matsu was like a bull, his energy pent up, as if he was ready to break out at any moment. Why he never did, we’ll never know. There were rumors that he loved a girl in town. She moved away, or married someone else. I’m not sure which. Then his sister Tomoko suddenly died, and Matsu seemed to lose all his steam.”
“You don’t know what happened?” I asked, eager for answers.
My father shook his head. “I believe his sister had some kind of accident. By then, I was coming to Tarumi less and less and had only heard scant rumors of what happened.”
“His other sister lives in Tokyo now,” I said.
“She married and moved there.”
“But why didn’t Matsu leave here? What would keep him alone here all of his life?”
My father laughed at the urgency in my voice. “If you can get anything out of Matsu, I’ll say you’ve accomplished quite a feat. He isn’t the kind who will likely tell you his thoughts. Let’s just assume he has found some sort of peace here in Tarumi, and leave it at that.”
I kicked some sand away from me and remained silent. Matsu scared away most people with his aloofness, but I saw something more. He seemed to have a story no one had bothered to discover.

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