The Samurai's Garden: A Novel by Gail Tsukiyama Page A

since the argument with Kenzo. The garden has once again become his refuge, the only place he seems to feel any comfort. It’s there that Matsu becomes the artist; adding and mixing colors. Yet, even as the garden regains its former appearance, something is missing. Sachi’s presence, which had held us and the garden captive is gone, leaving an emptiness that can’t be filled.
     
     
    This morning I made up my mind to visit Sachi, despite Matsu’s wishes. I struggled with whether I should tell him or not, but in the end decided to keep it a secret. I was afraid Matsu wouldn’t let me go, or worse, would want to go along with me. I needed to see Sachi alone.
    For the first time since I arrived in Tarumi, I was up before Matsu. The house creaked in the stillness. I could hear the sounds of Matsu’s restless sleep come from his small room as I stepped quietly into the kitchen. I grew warm writing the note in which I lied that I couldn’t sleep and was out for a walk. Then I signed it quickly, and left it on the wooden table.
    Outside, the sun had just risen, lighting up the sky a pale gray. Matsu would be up shortly. I closed the bamboo gate behind me and quickly walked down the dirt road that led to Yamaguchi.
    The cold morning air stung my lips and fingers. My legs felt weak with anxiousness. It was the first time I’d made the journey to Yamaguchi without Matsu. What if Sachi didn’t want to see me? Should I turn away quietly, or should I force her to listen to what I had to say? What was it that I wanted to say? These
thoughts ran through my mind as I began the gradual climb up the mountain.
    By the time I reached Yamaguchi, I was short of breath and had warmed into a sweat. Since the storm, I’d done nothing more vigorous than help to clean up Matsu’s garden. I stopped for a moment to catch my breath. Every time my lungs ached, it was a reminder that I was also hidden away. Most of the time these thoughts clutched at me right before I fell asleep, in the semidarkness of my room, watching the shadows of the pine trees dance against the shoji windows.
    When my breathing calmed again, I walked through Yamaguchi to Sachi’s house. The sun shone weakly as the village stirred out of sleep. There was a pungent smell of boiling herbs which reminded me of Ching’s bitter teas. I could hear voices and see shadows within the houses as I hurried along. When Sachi’s small house came into sight, I decided to tell her that I’d become concerned when I heard she could no longer come down to visit us. It was a flimsy excuse, but one I hoped Sachi wouldn’t question.
    I climbed the steps of her house and knocked lightly on the door. When there was no answer, I knocked again and waited. It never occurred to me that Sachi wouldn’t be at home. Then I heard a muffled noise from within the house and the front door opened a small crack.
    “Who is there?” Sachi’s voice asked, meekly.
    “It’s Stephen- san ,” I answered.
    The door opened wide, and Sachi pulled her scarf closer to her face and bowed toward me. “Ohaygozaimasu, Stephen- san , I am very happy to see you,” she said, obviously surprised.
    “Ohaygozaimasu.” I bowed.
    “Is Matsu-san with you?” Sachi asked. She stepped forward and looked past me.
    “No, I came alone. He told me you weren’t coming down to the house for a while, and I was wondering if you might be ill, or if there was anything I could do.”
    Sachi looked away. She stepped back and opened the door wider. “Come in, Stephen- san ,” she said.
    When I stepped into the warmth of her house, the sweet smell of congee filled my head.
    “Please sit,” Sachi said, pointing to the cushions by the low
black lacquer table. Then she disappeared into the kitchen, only to reappear a few moments later carrying two cups of tea. “You must be cold and thirsty after your long walk.”
    I took the small clay cup from her and sipped from it. The warm, slightly bitter tea soothed my dry throat. I