“During those first years the village grew slowly, taking on a strange life of its own. We planted vegetable gardens which soon grew lush in orderly rows as clean and straight as the flight of a heron—so different from the gardeners’ spreading scars, ragged and splotched. The terrible rotting smell was made bearable with fresh bandages and eucalyptus leaves. More shelters were built to house the displaced who found their way to Yamaguchi. The kindness of these villagers soon made me see how wrong I was in thinking they were monsters. They brought me rice and what little they could spare to help me feel more comfortable. In turn, I began to work in the vegetable garden, gather wood for the fire, and carry water up from the stream.
“But the fourth year brought me more grief. Michiko grew increasingly weak. The smallest thing would tire her, so that even the simplest cooking and cleaning became my responsibility. We had switched places and I was the one nursing Michiko. I remember those days so vividly. By then her body was a mass of rotting flesh. She could only lie down in excruciating pain, her nerves invaded by the disease. Near the end she became completely blind and unable to move. I could only pray to the gods to let her go quickly, freeing her from her suffering. But never once did Michiko curse the life she had been given.
“On the morning of her death, after she had had a terrible night of pain, I was awakened by Michiko calling out the name ‘Kuniko’ in one labored breath. By the time I reached her side, she was already gone. I stroked her ravaged, almost featureless face, feeling a great relief that she had at last found peace. I will never forget the calm dignity with which she always lived and that she carried into death.
“In the stillness of the early morning, I bathed her wasted body one last time. I needed to be alone with Michiko for just a little longer before I let the others know of her death. I ached inside at the thought of never hearing another story from her. I wanted her voice to fill the silence. I keenly hoped that in the split second before her death, Michiko really did believe she had found her daughter Kuniko again. That thought gave me comfort, along with knowing that she was once again happy, diving into the cool sea, bringing up handfuls of pearls.
“After Michiko-san passed away, another part of my life in Yamaguchi began. Matsu started building me this house so I would have a place of my own away from the others, yet close enough to the village in case I needed help. Whenever he stayed in Yamaguchi, Matsu was at work on the house before I rose each morning. I helped him as much as I could. And it was in the simple act of driving a nail into wood or putting a shoji screen into place that I’d end each day too tired to feel sorry for myself. I think it was also a way for Matsu to communicate with me. He has always felt more comfortable working with his hands. And I have never seen him so relaxed as he described each step of building the house. ‘Sachi,’ he told me, ‘the windows should be placed here so that the warmth of the sun will stay into the evening. We could plant a silk tree there later if it becomes too much.’ It was only natural that Matsu would want to plan for a garden.
“‘Please, Matsu-san,’ I told him, not long after the house was completed. ‘I don’t wish to have any flowers.’
“Never once did he question me. I needed my life to be simple, without any beauty to remind me of all I had lost. And though I had not told him that, Matsu must have seen it in my eyes. ‘Don’t worry, Sachi,’ he said, ‘there will be no flowers.’
“He left early the next morning after the house was completed, saying he would be back sometime in the afternoon. I slowly tried to adapt to my new home in Yamaguchi, yet I kept to myself. With Michiko gone, the thought of being alone still frightened me. I couldn’t yet bring myself to be with anyone else. Even the thought of my own family seemed distant, belonging to another life.
“And you have seen what kind of garden Matsu made for me. He returned that afternoon carting two bags of gray, palm-sized, flat stones. The next weeks were spent clearing the land and planning what would be placed where. I have never seen Matsu so excited as the day we began to lay the stones down carefully side by side, until we had formed a rippling pattern. ‘It will be a garden created from your imagination,’ he said, urging me to rearrange the stones any way I wanted them to be.
“Stephen-san, I spent hours rearranging those stones, as if they held some strange, mesmerizing power that brought me calm. Day after day Matsu carried bags of pebbles and stones of different shapes and sizes up here with the help of a borrowed mule and cart. I anxiously awaited them as if I were trying to fit each piece together into a complicated puzzle I needed to finish. I felt as if I had fallen into a trance which I couldn’t come out of until the garden was completed. With Matsu’s help and patience, I had created something from the most common elements, and when the garden was finally finished, I realized for the first time in my life that I had accomplished something. What I had thought would be barren and distant was instead filled with quiet beauty. I remember I turned to Matsu as we stood looking at the rock garden and asked, ‘Did you know it would be so simple and beautiful?’
“‘I knew its beauty would appear if we worked hard enough,’ he answered.
“‘But I never expected it to be like this.’
“Matsu smiled. ‘Beauty can be found in most places.’
“I turned to face him, really looking for the first time at his thick, strong features. They were so different from Tomoko’s, I thought again that they couldn’t really be related. After a moment I said, ‘I thought I no longer had any desire for beauty. I’ve had it all my life and look what it’s done for me!’
“Matsu then shook his head, looking out toward the garden. ‘Sachi-san, you’ve only known the ordinary kind of beauty which appears on the outside. Perhaps you now desire something deeper.’
“I wanted to say something back to him, and I knew deep down that he was right, though I didn’t have the words yet. Until that disease chose me, I had lived a charmed life of grace and ease, while Matsu had always to work hard for what he desired. He has always known where beauty comes from. Later on, when the disease spread over the left side of my face, I tried to accept the burden placed on me, to tell myself that real beauty comes from deep within. But I’m afraid sometimes I reverted back to my spoiled ways. But, Stephen-san, can you imagine what it was like to watch your own face slowly transformed into a monster? Have you ever awakened in the morning from a series of nightmares, fearing what you might have turned into during the night? I will not lie to you and tell you that it was easy. There were times when I thought I could actually feel my skin shrinking, pulling against my bones and muscles, slowly suffocating me. Matsu comforted me as much as he could by having me work on the house, or in the garden, but no matter how much pleasure I found in them, they were still cold and inanimate. I longed for my past life. Matsu always knew that the peace of mind I needed could only be found within myself.
“About the same time, Kenzo suspected something was going on because of the supplies Matsu constantly needed. He began to send food and messages to me. Yet, tins of pickled cabbage or a chicken couldn’t replace the fact that Kenzo would never be able to face me again.
“I was in my early twenties by the time the garden was completed. I remember it being the end of summer and Matsu had to return to Tarumi for several days to help his father. I missed him terribly and found myself unable to sleep. We had become so close. I began pacing the floor like a caged animal. Each day I grew increasingly filled with anger and rage at this disease which was consuming my life. How could I stand the loneliness of Yamaguchi? How could I continue to live as an outcast? Dark thoughts of ending my life again entered my mind.
“Then something strange occurred. A strong wind began rattling the house, and I was suddenly compelled to go out into the garden, the wind calling me. I opened the shoji screen and stepped out into its embrace, soothed by the still, gray rocks. I remember how I stood there in my bare feet, the dull sensation of the stones pushing and crackling beneath my feet. It was like a dream to think I had worked for months to create
it, only to finally realize what was in front of me. In that moment, it all came to life. Suddenly, I could hear the water flowing and see the soft ripples on its surface. But most of all, I could now relish the fact that its beauty was one that no disease or person could ever take away from me. I stood there for a long time until I felt like I was no longer myself at all, but part of the garden.”
Then Sachi’s voice stopped. She turned her head away from me toward the garden, listening. A few seconds later I heard the soft sound of footsteps, realizing what she had already known, that someone was entering the gate to the garden.
APRIL 22, 1938
I can’t forget Matsu’s face when he found me at Sachi’s house last week. It wasn’t a look of surprise, but one of happy satisfaction, as if he had already placed me sitting at the table with her and his intuition had been confirmed. I remember being annoyed at first by his interruption. I wanted to hear more of Sachi’s story, but I knew the minute Matsu entered the house, her lulling voice as I had known it would have to stop.
Matsu had come to tell me that we would have to return to Tarumi. He had much-needed supplies to buy to rebuild the two burned houses, and wanted to return to Yamaguchi with them as soon as possible. He exchanged a few words with Sachi, too quick and low for me to understand, but whatever he said, she seemed pleased and bowed low several times to him.
We left Sachi’s house so quickly I felt cheated by the fact that I hadn’t thanked her properly, hadn’t told her how grateful I was that she trusted our friendship. Instead, I only thanked her for the rice and vegetables, simply saying, “Saynara,” as she stood by the door watching us go.
We walked back down the mountain saying very little. I imagined that Matsu was keeping a mental list of everything he needed to buy and bring back to Yamaguchi—nails, boards, blankets, the most essential things. My own thoughts drifted back to Sachi’s flawless childhood, which had been irrevocably set apart by the suffering she endured as a young woman. I couldn’t imagine how terrible it must have been for her; dead in the eyes of her family and then having to live a life with lepers, knowing that it would soon become her own fate. It must have been worse than looking in a mirror, to see your own destiny in the faces of those walking right in front of you. All of a sudden I remembered something that Mah-mee had once told Pie when she had complained of not winning a drawing contest she’d entered. “It’s better this way. If you have too much good luck when you are young,” Mah-mee said, “there won’t be any luck left for when you are old.”
Just then I heard Matsu cough and clear his throat. I looked up to see that he was stopped ahead on the dirt path, waiting for me to catch up to him. I had lagged behind quite a bit, slowed by my own daydreaming and my sore muscles, which made themselves felt as the path grew steeper down the mountain. As I approached him, I took a good look at his thickset body and his strong, powerful arms and legs, wondering what it might have been like to know him as a young man. He hadn’t physically changed so much over the years. Even as a young boy I remembered Matsu’s same strong features as he worked around my grandfather’s garden. There was always a mystery about him, the way he flew in and out so quickly, as if he were always racing to be somewhere else. I wonder now if he had been on his way to see Sachi. But as the distance closed between us, I could also see that the years had softened him, his body heavier, his short hair completely gray.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “I’m moving rather slowly today.”
“There’s no need to hurry,” Matsu said, squinting at the sun. “I was just going to ask how you are feeling?”
“I’m all right,” I answered, though I’d been feeling a tightness in my chest which I knew would go away once I had a chance to rest. There was no reason for Matsu to have to worry about one more thing.
“You can lie down when we get back,” he said, as if he knew my thoughts. Perhaps that’s how it was when two people live in the same house for a long enough time. You begin to read each other’s minds.
Matsu was quiet, slowing his pace to mine as we walked down the path. “You were up early this morning?” he suddenly asked.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Neither could Sachi?” he asked.
“No,” I answered, amused that he was, in his subtle way, trying to find out what we’d been talking about. “I just wanted to see her garden. I wasn’t certain she would be up, but she was.”
“She didn’t used to be an early riser,” Matsu said. Then suddenly embarrassed by how he might know, added, “When they were girls, she and Tomoko would have slept until noon, if they had been allowed.”
“Were you very close to Tomoko?” I asked. Even though it it was obvious from Sachi’s story how different they were, I was still curious as to how Matsu felt.
He seemed surprised at first, but then he cleared his throat again and answered. “Tomoko and I were very different; like fire and rain. I think I only began to know her better just before she took her life.”
“What do you mean?”
“That she became more alive to me during those difficult times,” he said, picking up his pace as his words spilled out. “Before then, she was a silly young girl who didn’t care for anything except herself. But in the days before she took her life, she began to see the nonsense of it all, even if it was too late. I won’t forget the night she came to ask for my help. Until then, she had locked herself in her room for days after the whitish rash was discovered on the side of her face.
“‘Ani,’ Tomoko whispered, bringing me out of a deep sleep. I thought I was still dreaming. But when I felt her cold hand on my cheek, I sat right up. At first I thought it was my mother kneeling beside me, but the small, smooth hand and the dark, thin outline told me it was Tomoko.
“‘Is everything all right?’ I asked, thinking something had happened to our parents.
“‘I need your help,’ she said.
“I leaned over and tried to light the oil lamp, but Tomoko stopped me. ‘Leave it dark,’ she whispered.
“‘What is it?’ I asked.
“‘I need you to help me do something.’
“‘What is it?’ I repeated, annoyed to have been awakened by her. I thought it was just another one of her foolish ideas.
“Tomoko hesitated. She was quiet for what seemed a long time. Even as a baby she was noisy and outgoing, very different from any of us. I waited. I could feel her shifting her weight from one knee to the other.
“She finally bent close to my ear and whispered, ‘Can you get me father’s fishing knife?’ Ever since she was little, she was forbidden to go near it.
“‘What for?’
“This time she did not hesitate answering. ‘I don’t want to live like this.’
“‘Like what?’ I asked.
“I waited for Tomoko’s answer. Through the shoji walls the light from the moon allowed me to see her clearly. She looked like a different girl from the one I’d always known, pale and serious. Her eyes stared blankly at me.
“‘With this disease.’
“At the time, we were still hoping it wasn’t leprosy. No one else in the village had come down with any signs of it. But Tomoko grew frantic when it spread to her face. She went into hiding. ‘It will get better,’ I remember trying to reassure her.
“‘No,’ she shook her head. ‘I know it won’t.’
“‘You know you aren’t to touch father’s knife,’ I whispered. I was still not fully awake, and this solemn young girl didn’t seem anything like the Tomoko I’d always known.
“‘Then you won’t get it for me?’ Her eyes suddenly flashed alive.
“‘No,’ I answered.
“Tomoko stood up and walked out of my room, her hand covering the side of her face. Each day after, I tried to talk to her. I wanted to tell her about Yamaguchi, but she remained closed up in her room. ‘I won’t live like this,’ she repeated over and over again in a chant. It was as if she already knew what would become of her. Three days later when I went to check
on Tomoko, my sixteen-year-old sister had found my father’s fishing knife and ended her life.”
When we arrived back at my grandfather’s house, I felt as though we’d been gone for weeks, not just one day. The cherry blossoms had bloomed overnight. Even the smallest tree’s branches were fully dressed with pink blossoms. Everything in the garden smelled sweetly remote, and felt so distant, I thought I would have to reacquaint myself with it all over again. I longed to be back in Yamaguchi instead, sitting warmly in Sachi’s house listening to her story.
After he spoke of Tomoko, Matsu had become quiet again, returning to his garden. He did insist I stay put and rest, especially if I expected to return to Yamaguchi again to help him rebuild.
MAY 15, 1938
We’ve made several trips back to Yamaguchi carting supplies. Matsu hopes to begin building tomorrow. This morning he went into the village for the last of the supplies, while I stayed home to rest. I tried to lie down, only to get up and move restlessly through the house. The empty white canvas sitting in my grandfather’s study stared at me blankly. The hardened dollops of paint on the wooden tray reminded me of my last attempt at painting. Down the hall, the kitchen felt scrubbed and faded with use. I wandered freely into Matsu’s small, back bedroom. It was spare and devoid of any luxuries, except for the stack of magazines he received from his older sister in Tokyo and the radio beside his bed. I clicked on Matsu’s radio and the static hum of the real world entered my life again. The voice was high and scratchy as it announced proudly that Hsuchowfu, an important railway junction between Nanking and Peking, had been taken by the Japanese. I felt my blood suddenly rise. The Japanese had succeeded in paralyzing much of the northern and southern parts of China. Now there was nothing left to stop them from taking Canton, and it was evident that they would leave little untouched along the way. I choked at the sudden realization that Hong Kong might be next.