The Samurai's Garden: A Novel Read online

  Sachi shook her head. She turned a bit more to get a good look at me with her one good eye. “I don’t have many visitors, only Matsu-san. Often years will go by without my seeing a new face. I am honored to have you visit.”

  Then I was the one who seemed shy, not knowing what to say to this very beautiful woman. It seemed we already had something in common in our loneliness. I tried to imagine what Pie would do in my situation, but realized she might just ask to see what was under the black scarf.

  Sachi must have sensed my discomfort, because she was the one to continue the conversation. The words flowed from her with ease. “The last time Matsu came, he told me you were staying at the beach house for a while,” she said.

  “I haven’t been well. My parents thought it might be better for me to be away from Hong Kong and my younger sister while I’m recuperating. They’re hoping the fresh air of Tarumi will help me.”

  Sachi pulled the black scarf tighter across her left side. “Yes, Tarumi can be a cure for some, and a refuge for others.”

  “What’s a refuge?” Matsu asked, walking heavily out of the kitchen, carrying a pot of tea.

  Sachi looked toward him and smiled. “The beauty of Tarumi,” she answered. She quickly rose from her cushion and bowed her head. “Matsu, let me see if I need anything for the garden.”

  We both watched in silence as Sachi slid open the shoji door and disappeared.

  By the time we were ready to leave Sachi’s house, it was late afternoon. I was filled with tea and crackers, happy that Sachi had relaxed and grown comfortable in my presence.

  “I would be honored if you would come and visit me again,” Sachi said. She stood at the door and pulled her scarf closer to her face.

  “I will,” I smiled. I glanced toward Matsu.

  “There’s no need to wait for Matsu,” she said. “You are always welcome.”

  I bowed, and said, “Dmo arigat gozaimasu.”

  Matsu watched us and smiled. Then before he turned to leave, he gently touched Sachi’s arm.

  Matsu and I walked through the village saying very little. The same villagers sat playing cards or smoking in small, scattered groups. They were less interested in us this time, though Matsu lifted his hand and gestured to several of the men along the way. Our walk back down the mountain was quick and quiet. Only when we reached the beach road that led back to the house did I gather the courage to speak.

  “Sachi-san is very nice,” I said.

  Matsu nodded his head in agreement, then added, “She was once one of the most beautiful girls in all of Tarumi, perhaps all of Japan!”

  “How did she catch it?” I asked hesitantly.

  “The leprosy?” Matsu shook his head. “It was like a wildfire back then. It couldn’t be stopped once it began.”

  “When did it happen?”

  Matsu slid his hand through his short gray hair. I watched his brow wrinkle in thought, as sweat glistened and slowly made its way down the side of his face. “It must have been at least forty years ago or so when it first appeared in Tarumi,” he finally answered. “I don’t know what brought the cursed disease to us. We had never seen it before, but maybe it was always incubating, waiting like a smoldering fire to spread out. One day, it began to show its ugly face and there was nothing we could do. The disease chose randomly, infecting our young and old.”

  “My father never told us anything about it.”

  “He never knew,” Matsu continued eagerly, as if it was a story he’d long held inside and could finally unleash. “It was kept quiet among the local villagers. After all, Tarumi was a place for outsiders to come on holiday. If they’d heard about the disease, no one would return. We didn’t want to frighten anyone away until we knew more about it. At first, no one had any idea what was happening, then a few more became infected with the scaly patches. It first appeared like a rash, only it wouldn’t go away. Within months, it began to eat up the victim’s hand or face.” Matsu paused and swallowed. “Fortunately, there was a young doctor visiting Tarumi who tried, without much success, to reassure us that the disease couldn’t be spread by simple touch. We wanted to listen and learn, but those first few months were like a bad dream. Every day people awoke, afraid the leprosy would claim them. Some of those suffering from the disease quickly left the village, while others ended their lives, hoping not to dishonor their families.”

  “Was your family all right?”

  Matsu was silent. The road had become familiar again, with bamboo-fenced houses and trees. We were almost home. I could smell the salt from the ocean and feel its mist on my face. I waited for him to go on.

  “It took my younger sister, Tomoko,” Matsu finally said.

  I hesitated, remembering what my father had said about her accident. I wanted to know more, but Matsu had quickened his pace as we neared the house. Instead, I asked, “Why did you take me with you to Yamaguchi?”

  Matsu slowed, then turned to face me before he answered, “So you would know that you’re not alone.”

  OCTOBER 21, 1937

  Everything has changed between Matsu and me since we’ve visited Sachi. It’s as if the awkwardness has disappeared and we share some precious secret. It’s not that we speak a great deal more, but the silence no longer seems intimidating. Once in a while, I even catch Matsu glancing my way, a smile just barely visible on the corners of his lips.

  Last night after I’d finished eating in my room, I walked back to the kitchen to find Matsu still sitting at the wooden table. A high, scratchy voice coming from his radio had just declared another Japanese advancement in their struggle against Shanghai. Matsu leaned over and played with the dial until a Bach concerto filled the room. He seemed oblivious to my presence.

  After I listened for a while, I softly said, “Excuse me,” to let him know I was there.

  Matsu turned to me, startled for a moment.

  “Will you be going to Yamaguchi soon?” I asked.

  Matsu laughed and relaxed. “So you want to see Sachi-san again, do you?”

  “Yes,” I quickly answered, embarrassed that my curiosity was so apparent.

  Matsu laughed and rubbed his thick hands together before he said, “I suppose it does Sachi good to see a young, handsome face now and then. Unfortunately, she has had only mine for too long.”

  “You have a strong face. A face someone doesn’t forget.”

  “Like a monster,” Matsu added.

  “Like a samurai,” I said.

  Matsu opened his mouth as if to say something, but quickly swallowed the words before they came to his lips. I waited a few moments, then turned to leave. I already knew from the month I’d been here, Matsu had little more to say. It was always the same, conversations would simply end as they began. Matsu felt most comfortable when he spoke about his garden, and was most abrupt speaking of himself.

  I was barely out of the kitchen when I heard Matsu’s voice rise above the music. “We’ll go again at the end of the week.”

  “Thank you,” I said, happily.

  I was grateful that Matsu understood. Sachi was definitely someone I wanted to know better. From the moment I met her, she had instilled a sense of richness and mystery in Tarumi. Her once-beautiful face had even appeared in my dreams, the sadness half-hidden under her black scarf. I wondered how long she’d been living alone in the mountains. Had Matsu always loved her? Did Sachi love him? These questions occupied my mind, and made her all the more enticing.

  This morning I decided to paint the view of the garden from my grandfather’s study. When I first arrived in Tarumi, I wondered how Matsu could spend so much time in the garden. But the more time I spend here, the easier it is to see there’s something very seductive about what Matsu has created. Once, when I asked him to name a few blossoms for me, the words “Kerria, Lespedeza, Crepe Myrtle” seemed to flow from his lips in one quick breath.

  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.

  After breakfast, Matsu went to work in the back garden behind the house, so I carried my paints, a canvas my father had sent, and a makeshift easel into the study. I carefully pushed my grandfather’s desk aside, then slid open the shoji doors that faced the front garden. The bright white light filtered in through the trees, leaving a sway of ghost shadows on the walls. I felt a burst of energy in my body as I ran across the hall to the main room and slid open its doors, so that the entire front of the house opened up to the garden. I breathed in the sweet air without coughing, filled with an urgency to paint. It was the first time in so long that I had felt any real energy return to me. From one full tube of oil paint and then another, I squeezed out large daubs of blue and yellow onto a wooden tray that served as my palette. The sharp, tinny smell filled my head. I looked outside to the quiet beauty, won dering how it would fill the blank canvas. My brush had just touched the white surface when I heard Matsu’s quick, shuffling footsteps come from the back of the garden. He stopped abruptly when he’d seen what I had done.

  “What are you doing?” Matsu asked accusingly.

  In my excitement, I hadn’t thought to ask his permission before opening up the rooms. “I wanted to paint the garden. I hope it’s all right—” I answered.

  Matsu stood silent for a moment. His mouth remained slightly open, as if surprised to see the two rooms in such a different light.

  “Do as you wish,” Matsu finally said, disappearing around the side of the house.

  After Matsu left, I began to paint. I didn’t want to lose the light which had already begun to change. I painted with a vengeance, and might not have stopped at all if Matsu hadn’t returned with a covered tray of lunch. I wanted to apologize for not asking him earlier if I could use the study to paint, but I was so involved I just kept working. He set the tray down on my grandfather’s desk without saying a word. The next thing I knew he was gone.

  When I finally lay down my brush, I stepped back to see that the garden was slowly emerging on the canvas. I felt happier and healthier than I’d been in months. My eyes wandered from the canvas to the tray Matsu had left on the desk. Under the lacquer cover was a bowl of noodles sprinkled with green onions and thin slices of fish, a rice cake, and tea. I was so hungry I picked up the bowl and began slurping up the noodles. It took a few minutes before I realized there was something else lying on the tray. A long, slim, black-lacquered box lay next to my cup of tea. I swallowed another large mouthful of noodles before investigating the black box. I lifted off the shiny lid to find three very expensive sable paintbrushes. Picking up one, I fingered its smooth, soft tip, thinking how well it would stroke against the canvas. I wondered where Matsu could have found such beautiful brushes. I examined the other two before placing them all back into the black box. When I finished my noodles, I picked up the lacquer box and went to look for Matsu. He wasn’t in the kitchen, so I stepped outside. I found him in the back garden, carefully planting a small black pine. His thick body was bent over, so he couldn’t see me watch him pat the dirt in place, then mumble some inaudible words to the plant. He was as gentle with it as with a small child.

  “These are beautiful brushes,” I said, as I held the black box out toward him.

  Matsu turned around and raised his hand against the sun to see me. “I thought you might like them,” he said. “They belonged to your oj-san.”

  I lifted the lid off of the box. “They’re new. Didn’t my grandfather ever paint with them?”

  Matsu laughed. “Your oj-san had more brushes than he knew what to do with. He often painted when he came to Tarumi, but he only used one or two old brushes. He would usually sit half a day away looking through art books and catalogs. He liked to buy beautiful things simply to have them. I found those in his desk many years ago. I thought you might make better use of them.”

  “Thank you,” I said, “I’ll try.”

  I stood gazing down at the young pine he’d just planted. When I looked back up, our eyes met for just a moment before Matsu turned away.

  OCTOBER 29, 1937

  I painted a little today, then stopped. The painting’s almost complete and part of me wants to save it, savor the last few strokes like precious drops of water. The thought of water was a reminder that it’d been days since I’d gone down to the beach. Since we visited Yamaguchi and I began to paint again, I’d barely left the house.

  I went to tell Matsu I was going down to the beach, but I couldn’t find him anywhere. For a moment I thought he might have gone to visit Sachi without taking me along as he promised, but I knew he was nearby when I saw his garden tools still spread out in the garden. I left a note for him on the kitchen table.

  The path down to the beach felt like a familiar friend. I kicked off my shoes and walked slowly across the white sand and over the dune. Everything seemed in perfect focus. The air carried a sharp coolness to it, awakening me. The sky was a pale blue with small patches of clouds that resembled islands. Even the sea was calm. Small waves lapped in and out mechanically, clear as glass.

  I fell limply onto the sand. As always the beach appeared to be all mine, so I began to undress for a quick swim. I had just taken off my shirt when I heard the sounds of laughter I’d been waiting for weeks to hear. In the near distance, I saw the two girls slowly walking toward me. The nearest I had come to them was when they had thrown flower petals into Matsu’s garden. As they approached, I remained sitting on the sand, half-hidden behind the tall beach grass. My heart was pounding, yet I didn’t move a muscle, hoping to blend in to the sand like a chameleon. I decided I’d only show myself when they were too close to run away. I suddenly thought back to Canton, back in school where so many girls had been afraid to approach me. They would whisper and giggle, never daring to speak to me. My friend King had his own explanation.

  “They’re afraid of you,” he once said. “You’re too good-looking. They don’t trust someone as good-looking as you, which is a lucky break for us ugly ducklings!”

  I was determined to prove King wrong. I sat perfectly still, watching them bob back and forth against one another as they walked. They reminded me of my own sisters as they talked and shook their heads in laughter.

  It was the shorter of the two girls who first caught sight of me. She wavered a bit, then tugged anxiously on the sleeve of the taller girl. They stopped. I quickly put my shirt back on and stood up, waving in their direction. After a moment’s hesitation, the taller girl began to walk toward me, closely followed by the other.

  I searched my mind for all the right Japanese words with which to introduce myself, but simply bowed and said, “Konnichiwa,” when they were close enough to hear.

  My greeting was returned with giggles. The two girls glanced at each other, before they turned back to me and bowed quickly.

  I could see the taller girl was the older of the two, her face narrower and her giggling more controlled. She eyed me with a shy, yet inquisitive glance. They shared some resemblance, but the shorter girl had a fuller, younger face. She probably wasn’t much older than Pie, who at twelve always seemed much older than her age.

  “Hajimemashite. How do you do. My name is Stephen Chan,” I said, bowing deeply again, careful not to do anything that might frighten them away.

  The taller girl returned my bow and said, “Hajimemashite. My name’s Keiko Hayashi, and this is my sister Mika.” Mika looked away from me to her sister, then began to pull on Keiko’s arm.

  “I wonder if I could have the honor of speaking with you for a moment,” I said quickly, hoping they wouldn’t run off so soon this time.

  Mika had apparently made up her mind to leave, but Keiko hesitated, then planted her feet i
n the sand against her sister’s urging.

  “Do you live around here?” I asked, my Japanese halting but polite.

  Mika giggled.

  But Keiko nodded her head, and in a clear, high voice answered, “Yes, we live in the village.”

  “I think I’ve seen you around here before,” I said, focusing my attention on Keiko.

  “Yes, it’s possible, we often walk out to the beach,” Keiko answered. She shook off Mika’s grip. She had a pleasant, pretty face and spoke with assurance.

  “Are there lots of young people around here now?” I continued.

  “Not many. A few families in town,” she answered. “Most of the young men have joined the army, while the others move to the city as soon as they can.”

  Mika began tugging at her arm again, then whispered something quickly to Keiko, who nodded her head.

  “We must go,” Keiko said, glancing shyly up at me.

  “Can we talk again?” I quickly asked.

  Keiko bowed but said nothing more. In the next moment, she and Mika were running back to the dunes and away from me. I waited until they were completely out of sight and their voices had faded in the cool, calm air. Then I turned around and ran to the water, forgetting to take off my clothes.

  Once I was safely back in the garden, I took off my wet clothes and left them in a heap by the front steps. By the time I put on dry clothes, I found Matsu in the kitchen cleaning a fish and humming to himself in a relaxed, happy manner I was unaccustomed to. It wasn’t far from what I felt myself after finally making contact with Keiko and Mika. At least I knew they weren’t a figment of my imagination. During the height of my illness in Hong Kong, I would sometimes see spirits that couldn’t be explained or identified. I was frightened by these apparitions, though they always approached me as harmless young children. I wanted an explanation as to why they stood quietly by, watching me. I would be in my room or sitting in the warm sun of the courtyard. These spirits would be there one moment and gone the next. I felt them waiting, and I wondered if it could be true that they would soon take me with them. Ching said it was the fever, and my mother blamed it on the tricks of a creative mind. “You’re more sensitive,” she would say. “The spirits are more alive for you.” She told me to ignore them and they would soon go away. I tried not to pay attention to them, but the spirits only left when my health improved. Until now, I didn’t dare let myself think that these ghosts had returned.