The Samurai's Garden: A Novel (6 page)

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Authors: Gail Tsukiyama

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I was up early this morning, too excited at the thought of seeing Sachi to sleep. I lay in bed and waited for the first sounds of Matsu preparing breakfast in the kitchen before I got up, and dressed in a clean white shirt and my beige cotton slacks. When I slid open my door, the delicious smells coming from the kitchen were not those of our usual salted fish or pickled vegetables.
The doorway of the kitchen had become my usual place to stand since the kitchen wasn’t large and I didn’t want to get in Matsu’s way.
“What smells so good?” I asked.
“Bacon and eggs,” he answered, without looking up from his frying.
“How do you know how to make bacon and eggs?”
Matsu turned to me and smiled. “How do you want your eggs, scrambled, sunny-side up, or over-easy?”
“Scrambled,” I quickly answered. It seemed like a long time since I’d eaten bacon and eggs. Before my illness, when all of us were home from school on vacation, my parents would often take us to Western hotels for brunch. The long tables held something special for each one of us. Pie would race through her entrees so she could get to the miniature cream puffs and puddings, while Henry and I concentrated on the bacon and sausages, and Anne nibbled on the salads.
“Your
oj
-san
always had his over-easy.”
“My grandfather liked to eat eggs?” I asked.
“When he was here, he’d have three eggs every morning, and strong European coffee he brought with him from Tokyo.”
“How old were you when you began working for my grandfather?”
“I wasn’t much older than you are now. My family has always taken care of this house. Even when we were young, my sisters and I ran little errands and I helped my father take care of the garden. When my parents became too old, I took over for them,” Matsu answered.
I watched as he cracked two eggs into a clay bowl, mixed them thoroughly, and poured them into a hot skillet.
Then while the eggs were cooking, he laughed hoarsely and continued, “The first time I made your
oj
-san
his breakfast, I was afraid I couldn’t make his eggs the way he liked. I must have gone through half a dozen eggs before he came into the kitchen and showed me how he wanted them cooked.”
“I never knew much about my grandfather. He died before I had a chance to really know him. I only remember his carved cane and the tall hats he wore.”
“Your
oj
-san
was a very good-looking, intelligent man. He knew what his assets were and sometimes liked to flaunt them.” Matsu paused, then quickly added, “But never in a way that offended anyone. Everyone in Tarumi liked your
oj
-san.
He was a very generous man.”
“Did he come here often?” I asked, thinking of my own father’s infrequent visits.
“Once a month, or whenever the import business brought him back to Japan. Unlike your
o-t
san,
who is more serious about his work, your
oj
-san
seemed to relax immediately once he was here.”
Matsu scooped up some scrambled eggs, laid three pieces of bacon beside the eggs, and placed the plate on the wooden table.
“Eat,” he said.
I pulled out a wobbly wooden stool from under the table and quickly sat down as ordered. Matsu filled a plate for himself and sat down next to me. He leaned toward the counter and brought back a pot of tea, filling the two cups in front of us. Then he
waited for me to begin to eat first. I picked up a strip of bacon and took a big bite.
“It’s very good,” I said, savoring its smoky taste. “How did you get it?”
“I have a friend who can get me anything I need, including bacon,” Matsu laughed.
“It’s delicious.”
Matsu nodded, then began to eat his own food with pleasure. At first it felt strange to be eating in the small, crowded kitchen with Matsu, but it didn’t take more than two mouthfuls before I was perfectly at ease.
It seemed like a good time to bring up another subject that had been on my mind. “Would it be all right if I took something to Sachi-
san?
” I asked. “Just a small gift to show my appreciation.”
I watched Matsu chew his food in thought. It felt like forever until he looked up and said gently. “It isn’t necessary. It would only embarrass her.”
“It’ll just be something small,” I said.
Matsu cleared his throat and didn’t say anything more. I took the gesture to mean yes, but knew better than to stress the point.
 
 
Matsu said very little during our walk to Yamaguchi. I wasn’t sure if he was upset at my bringing something to Sachi, but he had smiled his approval when I showed him the charcoal sketch I’d drawn down at the beach after breakfast. I had hoped to run into Keiko and Mika again, but the beach remained empty.
When the road ended, we followed a dirt path that gradually wove its way up the mountain. Since the path was too narrow for two to walk comfortably, I followed Matsu, who remained lost in his own thoughts. Nothing seemed to deter him, while I jumped over rocks and overgrown shrubs along the way. Matsu walked ahead, sure-footed, turning back only once to see if I was still there. Under one arm, he carried several newspapers and magazines. And in the other, a package wrapped in brown paper. He never even noticed when I stopped to catch my breath.
When we reached Yamaguchi, the village was relatively quiet. Most of the villagers were inside eating lunch. I could see shadows move about darkened doorways as we walked by.
Once in a while, a gruff, loud voice acknowledged our presence with a spirited hello.
“Konnichiwa,
Matsu-
san
, come join us for something to eat!”
Matsu lifted his arm to wave his regrets as we continued walking.
I felt a twinge of nervousness when Sachi’s house came into sight. I carried the rolled-up charcoal sketch in my sweaty hand. It wasn’t my best work, but I thought I’d captured some endless, serene quality about the sea which I hoped Sachi might appreciate.
Matsu knocked on the door and waited. I expected to see the same shy smile greet us from under her black scarf, but a few moments passed and no one answered. Matsu took a step back and knocked louder. When there was still no answer, he turned to me and said calmly, “She must be in the garden.”
I followed Matsu as he walked down a stone path which led around the side of the house to the back. He swung open a tall bamboo gate and stepped to the side, allowing me to enter first. In place of the greens, browns, and flashes of color which punctuated Matsu’s garden, the spareness of Sachi’s garden stunned me. There were no trees, flowers, or water, only a landscape made of sand, stones, rocks, and some pale green moss which covered the shaded areas. I took a few minutes to take it all in. On the rugged, sloping earth, Sachi had created mountains from arranged rocks, surrounded by gravel and elongated stones flowing down like a rocky stream leading to a lake or the sea. The flat surface of water was formed by smooth round pebbles, raked in straight and encircling lines to suggest whirlpools and waves.
“A dry landscape,” I whispered aloud.
“It’s called
kare sansui,”
Matsu suddenly said. Only then did I even remember he was behind me.
“It’s beautiful,” I said, amazed at how the different light and dark stones could create such texture and illusion.
“Where did Sachi go?” Matsu asked, talking more to himself than to me. “She would have liked to have shown you the garden herself.”
“I’m sure she’ll be back soon,” I answered. It was the first time I saw him so disturbed.

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