Read The Samurai's Garden: A Novel Online

Authors: Gail Tsukiyama

The Samurai's Garden: A Novel (4 page)

OCTOBER 8, 1937

My father returned to Kobe yesterday. Matsu remained at the house, allowing me to accompany him to the station alone. As we waved good-bye at the train station, he was again the father I recognized in a business suit. Walking back to the house, I felt such an emptiness, I wanted to cry.

Matsu was in the garden. He was stooped by the pond grumbling to himself as he picked up the wet flower petals which had showered the garden every few days. I still hadn’t had any luck meeting the two girls who threw them over the fence, but I knew it was just a matter of time.

Matsu looked up when he heard me close the gate. He was almost shy as he bowed and spoke. “Your
o-t

san
is safely on his way back to Kobe?”

I nodded, then whispered, “Yes.”

Matsu straightened. “I’m going to visit a friend who lives in a small mountain village near here,” he said, his eyes avoiding mine. “I wondered if you would like to come with me?”

I looked at him and smiled, unable to conceal my surprise. “I would be happy to go with you!” I quickly answered before he had time to change his mind.

“Good, then we’ll go after lunch,” he said.

I watched Matsu turn around and walk back to the house, still clutching a handful of wet flower petals.

Yamaguchi was a small village in the mountains, Matsu said. He often visited to deliver supplies to a friend. We walked the two miles or so up a narrow, rocky, brush-lined dirt road. Ahead of us I could see the hilly slopes and large pine trees, which could easily cover up any signs of life.

“Yamaguchi is also called the Village of Lepers,” Matsu said, as we walked slowly up the road. “When some of those who had the disease were no longer wanted by others in town, they took what few belongings they had and went up into the mountains, hoping to die peacefully. Away from the cruelties of the healthy.”

“Aren’t you afraid to go there?” I asked hesitantly.

Matsu walked straight ahead. I thought he wasn’t going to answer,
when he suddenly looked right at me and said, “The first time I went, I wasn’t sure what to expect. After all, lepers from all over Japan found their way to Yamaguchi, simply hoping to be accepted, to be swallowed up by the mountain.” Matsu looked down at the path again and then walked on. “I began to visit a friend there—someone from my youth. No one knew. I was young and healthy. And I remember being told long ago by a visiting doctor that there was nothing to fear. Leprosy wasn’t a disease that could be spread by simple contact.”

When Matsu’s voice stopped, I realized he was several steps ahead of me and had turned to wait for me to catch up. I felt a shortness of breath as I drew in more air and let out several long sighs. “I’m fine,” I said, increasing my pace and moving past Matsu up the hill.

“Maybe we should visit another day,” Matsu said, raising his voice to make sure I heard.

I stopped and turned back to him. “I’m really fine!” I said, with such conviction that Matsu caught up, then continued up the path alongside of me.

The village of Yamaguchi stood in a clearing on the gradual slope of the mountain, hidden away by tall pine trees. Small wooden houses sat in a cluster like any other village. I stopped at the outskirts and let my eyes wander over the tranquil sight. From the distance, the villagers appeared just like Matsu and me. Men were gathered in small groups sipping tea and talking, while others worked in small gardens, and women sat mending clothes. Only with closer scrutiny did I begin to see that the houses were painstakingly pieced together with mismatched scraps of wood. And while some villagers had their heads and hands bandaged, others freely displayed their raw scabs and open wounds. I felt a strange curiosity, rather than fear. In China, lepers had always been feared and shunned. I had heard stories of how they were forced to live on the streets, left to beg or eat rats, while they simply rotted away.

I stood a long time taking it all in. When I finally came out of my trance, Matsu was studying my face with an unusual intensity. He continued to watch me and finally said, “You don’t have to
be afraid. I wouldn’t have brought you here if there were any danger.”

I smiled at his concern. “I’m afraid for them,” I said, quick to cover my cough.

Matsu laughed, then pointed toward the far end of the village. “My friend’s house is that way,” he said.

We walked slowly through the village. There was a distinct smell of eucalyptus and something else medicinal. For the first time in my life I saw what it meant to be a leper, a disgraced one. They seemed to watch me with just as much curiosity. I tried not to stare, but I couldn’t take my eyes off their wounds; the missing fingers and toes, the large, gaping holes in the sides of their faces, the mangled features that had once been noses and ears. It looked as if they were all wearing monstrous masks that I kept waiting for them to remove.

Matsu must have understood my thoughts. He suddenly stopped, turned to me, and said, “Most of them came to this village as young men and women. Now they are too old and set in their ways to move. Even though the Japanese government has acknowledged their situation and would gladly move them to better facilities. Good or bad, Yamaguchi has been their home.”

I watched as Matsu then nodded and exchanged pleasantries with several of the villagers.

From some doorways I could also smell the strong, sweet aroma of tea which filled me and my parched throat with longing.

“Who is the handsome young man, Matsu?” one man asked, taking a few steps closer. His right arm was a gnarled raw stump which looked like it had been eaten away.

“The son of my
Danasama,
my master,” Matsu answered, walking on without a pause.

I smiled at all of them self-consciously, then followed Matsu as if he were the master.

We walked to the far end of the village, where there were few houses and the pine trees thickened. Matsu slowed down as we approached a small, sturdier-looking house almost hidden among the trees.

“Who lives here?” I asked, catching my breath.

“A friend,” Matsu answered. As he led me toward the house, I noticed how his steps lightened, his body relaxed, and he seemed almost young again.

I stood behind Matsu as he tapped three times on the door and waited, blowing air through his teeth to create a small whistling sound. I’d never seen Matsu so exuberant and was curious to see who lived there. Within moments the door opened just enough for a head, veiled in black, to peek out.

“Sachi-
san
, it’s me,” Matsu said, gently.

The woman stepped back and opened the door wider, allowing the sunlight to brighten the clean, spare, white room behind her. She looked away from Matsu toward me and held her place behind the door. “Matsu?” she said softly, watching me closely.

Matsu glanced back at me, then said, “This is Stephen-
san
, he’s a friend.”

“Konnichiwa,”
I said, smiling and bowing, trying to put her at ease.

The woman stepped back and bowed humbly. Matsu entered the small house, and with a slight wave of his hand urged me to follow. I did, anxious to know more about the timid woman who lived within it. The room smelled of the pine branches which sat in a vase on a low table in one corner. Next to the vase were two small, shiny black stones. Other than the table and a few cushions neatly stacked to the side, the room was bare.

“I didn’t know you would come today, Matsu,” the woman said, keeping her head bowed so low I couldn’t see her face under the black scarf. Her voice was soft and hesitant.

“It was a nice day to take a walk. Anyway, since when do I need an invitation to visit you, Sachi?” Matsu said, teasingly.

Sachi laughed, looking down and away from Matsu.

“I will bring some tea,” she then said shyly. She adjusted the black scarf so that it covered her face as she turned to leave the room.

“Is she?” I asked, without completing my sentence.

Matsu walked to the window and looked out. “Yes,” he said softly, “she’s a leper.”

We stood so quietly for a few moments that the muted sounds coming from the kitchen filled the room. It was strange to be standing in a different house with Matsu, seeing him for the first
time in a new light. He seemed gentler, less in command.

“This is a nice house,” I finally said.

Matsu nodded his approval.

Sachi returned carrying a tray of tea and crackers. When we were seated on the cushions, I looked up to examine the face of our hostess. She was older than I had first thought, with a slender build and quick movements. When Sachi leaned forward to serve the strong green tea, her black scarf slipped a little from the left side of her face. Underneath I could see where the ulcers had eaten away her flesh, leaving white, scaly scabs, creating a disfigured mass as her half-closed left eye strained to open. When she saw my gaze, Sachi quickly looked down and re-covered the side of her face. As far as I could see, only her face and left hand seemed affected by the disease; her smooth, white right hand and fingers were untouched.

“More tea?” she asked, beginning to rise.

“Please,” I answered, my face flushed and embarrassed.

Matsu rose quickly before her and said, “Let me get it,” disappearing into the kitchen before Sachi had time to say anything. Very slowly, she lowered her body back down onto the cushion and turned just enough so that only the right side of her face was exposed to me. While the left side of her face had been devastated, the unblemished right side was the single most beautiful face I’d ever seen.

“I hope we’re not disturbing you,” I said, my voice sounding young and eager.

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,
“D

mo arigat

gozaimasu.”