BY THE SIDE OF THE CRAPE MYRTLE

BY THE SIDE OF THE CRAPE MYRTLE [1]

“What are you doing here?” a man in blue overalls said to Takashi.
Startled, Takashi hid a bag of ashes behind his back automatically.
“What are you hiding? You were scattering something white on the ground, weren’t you?”
“Oh, no, no, I wasn’t. I was just….”　
“Why then, did you step over the fence? And what is that stone by your foot?”
Takashi was standing inside the fence that surrounded a Crape myrtle in the Higashiyama Botanical Gardens. There was a lunchbox size of stone near his foot. The man in overalls was an employee for the gardens.
“Well, ah… This tree is very big, and gorgeous. So, I just wanted to touch it.”
“That's the lamest excuse I've ever heard. What are you hiding from me?”
Saying this, the employee strode over the fence and came near Takashi. He looked as old as Takashi, around sixty. Takashi gave up and showed the bag to the man. The employee looked inside the bag and said,
“What is this white substance?”
He put his hand in the bag. Then he picked up some of the substance by his thumb, forefinger, and mid finger, lifted it to his eyes, and looked at it.
“These are ashes from the crematory, aren’t they?”
“Ah, well, yes. They are.”
“Were you scattering the ashes?”
“Yes, I’m sorry, but….”
“This is the Higashiyama Botanical Gardens. It’s prohibited to scatter ashes here. This is not a mountain or a river. And what is that stone?”
Reluctantly Takashi picked up the stone and handed it to him. On the stone was inscribed in black letters: “Here lies Fumiko Shimizu. Departed September 10, 2008. Aged 82.”
“What on earth is this? It’s small, but a tomb stone. Are you going to make our botanical gardens your family graveyard? Incredible!”
“I’m sorry, but I have no intention to do such a thing. I just wanted to…”
“No intention? Why then are you scattering the ashes?”
“Sorry, but that was my mother’s will.”
“Your mother’s will?”
“Yes.”
“What a trouble maker! It is prohibited to scatter ashes except on your own property, you know. I have to take you to the office. Come along with me. I’ll keep the bag and the stone.”
Takashi was taken to a pick-up truck. He sat on the front passenger seat. When the truck was heading to the garden office, Takashi heard an announcement:
“Thank you for visiting our botanical gardens. We hope you have enjoyed them. We are closing soon. Please visit the gardens again.”
Then, Auld Lang Syne started up over the speaker. The early November sun was just about to set behind a cluster of trees.

About thirty minutes earlier, Takashi had been sitting on the veranda of a gassho-zukuri farmhouse[2] looking at the Crape myrtle in the front garden. Around 4:40 p.m., a botanical garden employee had come to the house and said, “We are closing now,” and began to close the amado sliding shutters with a rattling noise. After he went away, it became quiet. There was nobody as far as Takashi could see.
Thinking, “The time is opportune,” Takashi stepped over the fence of the Crape myrtle. He put the tiny tombstone near the tree and began to scatter his mother’s ashes around it.

About five minutes later, the truck arrived at the garden office. There were four desks on the right side of the room and a sofa and a table on the left side.
　Finding the curator of the gardens was not in the office, the employee telephoned him.
“Yes, I have confiscated the ashes and the stone. I have brought him to the office. Yes, please. I’ll be waiting for you.”
Ten minutes later, the curator came to the office. Takashi was looking out of the window with his back against the entrance of the office.
Looking at Takashi’s back, the curator said to the employee, “So that’s the man you were talking about on the phone, Nishiyama-san?”
“Yes. These are the bag of ashes and the stone,” Nishiyama pointed his finger at them on the table. Looking at Takashi, he said, “Hey, man, turn around. Here is the curator.”
Takashi hesitated to turn around but was just looking out of the window.
“What an impolite man! Turn around and face the curator. Takashi reluctantly turned around and his eyes met with the curator’s.
The curator was taken aback and said, “Sensei, what a surprise! You are Mr. Shimizu. It’s been ages since I saw you last.” He looked at Nishiyama and said, “Nishiyama-san, this is my teacher in my high school days. He taught me mathematics.”
“Oh, really? I didn’t know that. I am sorry,” Nishiyama said bowing his head lightly to Takashi. “You should have told me that you were his teacher.”
“That’s all right. It is I that should apologize,” Takashi said.
The curator said to Takashi, “I am glad to meet you, Sensei. Please sit down. Ah, Nishiyama-san, thank you for the trouble. I’ll handle the matter. So, why don’t you continue the dry flower campaign program? We are behind the work schedule, you know.”
Nishiyama went to one of the desks, switched on the computer, and began to work.
Sitting on the sofa, the curator said, “You haven’t changed at all, Mr. Shimizu. You look great.”
“No, I have become a white-haired old man. So, how old are you now?”
“Fifty. If I remember correctly, you are ten years older than I.”
“Right. I am sixty, and next March I am going to retire.”
“But you don’t look as old as sixty. Look at my bald head. Probably I look older than you, Mr. Shimizu,” the curator chuckled. “So, what has brought you here? I heard you were scattering ashes and put a tombstone on the premise.”
“Yes, I feel ashamed of myself. I am sorry. I knew you were the curator of the Higashiyama Botanical Gardens. I could have asked you, but it would have troubled you. I didn’t want to put you to any trouble. So, I decided to do it by myself, but was caught in the act by the…,” Takashi quickly glanced around at Nishiyama, who momentarily stopped typing the keys.
“I am happy to help you in any way I can, Sensei, but scattering ashes is, as you know, prohibited. Why were you scattering ashes?”
“That’s my mother’s will. While she was alive, she wanted me to scatter her ashes by the side of the Crape myrtle in the garden of the gassho-zukuri farmhouse.”
“But why by the side of the Crape myrtle?”
“Well, it’s a long story. My mother was 82 when she died. She had lived in Shirakawa-mura Village since she was born. You know gassho-zukuri farmhouses in Shirakawa-mura?”
“Yes, I’ve visited the village twice.”
“Three years ago, her husband died.”
“You mean your father?”
“Yes, my father died three years ago, and so she began to live alone in her gassho-zukuri. I was worried about her living alone, so I suggested to her to come to Nagoya and live with my family at my condominium. But she refused. She earnestly wanted to continue to live in the gassho-zukuri. I can understand her feelings.”
“Yes, I understand. Your mother lived in her gassho-zukuri for so many years and it’s quite a change to live in a condominium in such a large city as Nagoya.”
“Yes, that’s true, but about a year ago she tumbled over the edge of a tatami mat and broke her leg. So, I hospitalized her in Nagoya.”
The sky became dark and it began to shower. The rain hit the windows hard. The wind brought wet soil smell into the room through the open windows. Nishiyama stood up and began to close the windows. Takashi and the curator halted the conversation temporally and their eyes followed him as he shut the windows one by one. The tall trees were bending toward the same direction heavily dripping. Nishiyama closed all the windows and sat at his desk.
Takashi said to the curator, “Where did I leave off?”
The curator said, “Your mother was hospitalized in Nagoya.”
“Yes. So, after three months’ stay in the hospital, my mother left the hospital and began to live in my apartment though she insisted to live in Shirakawa Village. I told her that she might again injure herself or become seriously ill living alone in the village. She reluctantly consented to living in Nagoya. But, you see, she didn’t easily get accustomed to life in Nagoya. I felt sorry for her that she had to give up life in Shirakawa Village after living there for eighty years. But, I had no choice. It was impossible for my family to move to Shirakawa Village.”
The curator said with a sigh, “I understand. My mother is living in Toyama alone. She is 76 years old.”
“Really? You’ll have to think about taking your mother under your care some day in the future. Anyway, after my mother had her leg cured completely and began to walk by herself, she wanted to go back to Shirakawa Village and live in the gassho-zukuri farmhouse. She hated life in Nagoya. She hated an apartment life, and the pollluted air, and the noise in Nagoya. She missed the clean air full of ozone, birds, and quiet atmosphere. Almost every day she said she would like to return to her gassho-zukuri. My wife and I were at a loss what to do with her. Then, one day, my wife hit on a good idea. She remembered that there was a gassho-zukiri farmhouse in Higashiyama Botanical Gardens. She suggested that we take her there.”
The gassho-zukuri farmhouse in the Higashiyama Botanical Gardens was relocated from Shirakawa-mura Village in 1956 so that the visitors of the gardens could enter and appreciate the traditional thatched farmhouse. Many people, mostly middle-aged, visit the gasso-zukuri, look around it, and take a rest sitting at the veranda commanding the beautiful scenery of Nagaike Pond in front of the farmhouse.
“So, one fine warm day we took her to the gassho-zukuri. When she saw the roof of the farmhouse above the thick trees from a distance, she thought she was dreaming. Coming near the house, she became so happy and overwhelmed that tears stood in her eyes. Her delighted tears touched my heart. I felt sympathy for her. Gassho-zukuri was her life. She had missed them very much. I wished I could let her live in Shirakawa-mura Village.”
Takashi’s voice became feeble and his eyes seemed to be moist with tears. The curator was listening to Takashi’s story attentively. Nishiyama stopped typing and glanced at Takashi.
Takashi continued, “But, you know, I can’t let her live alone in Shirakawa Village. It can’t be helped. This is the tragedy of nuclear families. As you know, gassho-zukuri is a symbol of a big family. So, it’s a 180 degree change. Since then, my wife and I began to take her to the gassho-zukuri farmhouse as often as possible. At least once a month. It was the best I could do to her.”
“If I had known you were visiting here so often, I could have been of some help, Sensei.”
“Yes, I know, but you have a lot of things to do as the head of the gardens. Anyway, she loved coming to the gassho-zukuri. Whenever we came here, her otherwise tense countenance turned soft and relaxed. Her voice became peaceful and cheerful. I think every cell in her body revived here. The air here is good; birds are singing; and there are many trees and beautiful flowers. Everything soothed her. She felt at home here.”
Takashi momentarily stopped talking and looked out of the window. The rain had stopped. It had grown dark. Dark tree tops were swaying in the breeze. The hands of the clock on the wall pointed to six o’clock. All the visitors to the botanical gardens had left.
“The rain has stopped,” Takashi said to the curator.
“Yes, the trees have been washed and refreshed,” the curator said looking at the top of the tree silhouettes.
Then he turned to Takashi and continued, “So your mother felt at home here. That’s very nice. The mere sight of the gassho-zukuri farmhouse comforted her. I understand her feelings.”
“But, you see, soon, my mother began to get senile, and was not able to distinguish the gassho-zukuri here and the one she lived in in Shirakawa-mura. She began to regard the gassho-zukuri here as her own house. Coincidentally, there was a big Crape myrtle in front of the gassho-zukuri in her home village just like there is one in front of the gassho-zukuri here. My mother brought a young Crape myrtle when she married my father. They planted it in front of their house. She married at the age of 20. So she lived with the tree for about sixty years. Whenever she looked at the crape myrtle in front of the gassho-zukuri here, she would talk about the day when she and her husband planted and watered it.”
Takashi abruptly stopped talking and asked, “Oh, is it all right for me to keep talking? You must be busy, aren’t you?”
“No. You don’t have to worry. I’ve finished today’s work. I have no meetings today.”
The curator turned to Nishiyama and said, “Nishiyama-san, please bring some tea. I’m sorry, Shimizu Sensei. I haven’t served tea yet.”
“Oh, okamainaku that’s all right,” Takashi said. Nishiyama stood up and went to an adjoining kitchen.
The curator said, “So, your parents planted the Crape myrtle and watered it.”
“Ah, yes. My mother often told me that she and my father would often talk over a cup of tea sitting on the veranda looking at the tree full of beautiful pink flowers. One day when we visited the gassho-zukuri here, she said to me looking at the tree, ‘This tree reminds me of To-chan, my husband. When I see the tree, I can see his face, and hear his voice. This tree is To-chan.’ I guess, this is a symptom of her auditory and visual hallucinations. Anyway, the tree and my father were one for her.”
Listening to Takashi talking, the curator was thinking of his mother. She was living alone in Toyama, but she might some day get senile. What would he do if she began to get senile, he wondered.
“You are thinking about your mother, aren’t you? How’s she doing?”
“She is doing fine, but…. Sensei, you can understand what I am thinking about?”
“Yes, your face tells me what you are thinking about. It’s my profession to guess what a student is thinking about.”
“That’s great.”
Nishiyama came back with two cups of tea on a tray, and put them on the table beside the bag of ashes, and returned to his desk.
“Thank you, Nishiyama-san. Sensei, please help yourself.”
“Thank you,” Takashi said, and picked up the cup and sipped some tea.
“So what happened to your mother?” asked the curator, sipping the tea, too.
“Then comes her will. She told me to scatter her ashes around the Crape myrtle here so that she could be with her husband again. I understand her. She believed that the tree was her husband. When she was saying this, her eyes were serious. About a week ago, her 49th day hoji, Buddhist memorial service, was held. And I have brought her ashes today. Well, that’s about all. Thank you for listening to my tedious talk.”
“Not at all. It might be my own problem sooner or later,” the curator said. He then looked at the table and asked, “May I look at the stone?”
“Of course.”
The curator picked up the tombstone and looked at the inscribed letters.
“So, this is the tombstone, Sensei?”
“Yes, I brought it from the garden of the gass-hozukuri in Shirakawa-mura Village. I wanted to put it beside the Crape myrtle. I was planning to bury two thirds of the tombstone in the ground so that it would not catch the garden visiors’ attention while they were looking at the tree.”
It became dark outside. The wind had stopped blowing and the dark leaves of the trees were motionless. No birds were heard.
“To tell you the truth,” Takashi continued. “I was wondering what to do with the ashes. Should I obey the will of my mother and scatter her ashes around the Crape myrtle here? Or, should I just follow the traditional way? That is, to put her ashes in the Shimizu Family’s tomb in Shirakawa-mura? I remembered her serious eyes when she asked me about her ashes. In the end, I decided to divide the ashes into two parts. I would put one half in the family tomb and scatter the other half around the Crape myrtle here.”
“I see. I am sorry to say, but as you know, these botanical gardens belong to Nagoya City and are not private property,” the curator said. “I hear that scattering ashes in a private land or in the sea or rivers is legally allowed. I want to do anything you ask of me, but I am sorry I can’t help you this time.”
Takashi said, “I know you can’t help me in this. That’s why I was scattering the ashes without your permission. I didn’t want to involve you. It would have caused you a lot of trouble. I am sorry it worked out this way. You see, a teacher is supposed to be a good citizen, but I was doing an illegal act. I feel ashamed of myself. I have to thank the man over there,” Takashi turned and glanced at Nishiyama, who looked up from the key board and glanced back at Takashi, too.
Takashi continued, “Now, I understand what I was doing. I am sorry. I shouldn’t have listened to my feebleminded mother. I will put all her ashes in the grave in Shirakawa-mura Village. These days, I tend to do things in a self-satisfying way. I am afraid I have become a little week-headed due to my old age,” Takashi said wryly. “Sorry to have troubled you. Thank you for sparing your time for me.”
In the bottom of his heart, however, Takashi still wanted to fulfill his mother’s last wish. Her eyes were truly serious, he remembered. If there were any way to meet her wish without troubling the curator or anybody, he would do it. Yet, since he apologized for what he had been doing, he couldn’t do it again. If he should try it the next time, it would bring disgrace to the curator and to himself. After all he was just about to retire. And it would be a big embarrassment for him if his illegal act was made public.
“I am sorry not being able to help you, Sensei. Here are the bag and the tombstone,” the curator picked them up and handed them to Takashi. “Please visit me anytime. You are always welcome.”
“Thank you for all the troubles. Well, see you again. I’ve had a good time talking with you.”
“Oh, please wait a moment,” the curator said. “We are going to offer tulip bulbs to the first 500 visitors tomorrow. They will bear beautiful big tulip flowers.”
The curator asked Nishiyama to fetch some bulbs. Nishiyama stood up and disappeared to the next room.
The curator said to Takashi, “I belonged to the gardening club in my high school days, do you remember? The members took care of the flowerbeds and grew a lot of beautiful flowers. That was the beginning of my interest in botany.”
Takashi said that the gardening club had always presented one of the best exhibitions in the school festival.
Soon, Nishiyama brought a bag of tulip bulbs and gave it to Takashi.
“Thank you. My wife likes tulips,” Takashi said and, looking around the table, remembered having left his knapsack on the bench in front of the gassho-zukuri.
“Oops, I have forgotten my knapsack.”
“Really? Where did you put it?” the curator asked.
“Probably, on the bench in front of the gassho-zukuri”
“All right, then, Nishiyama-san, please take Mr. Shimizu to the gassho-zukuri in the truck.”
“Certainly,” Nishiyama answered.
“I am sorry to trouble you so often, Nishiyama-san,” Takashi said bowing his head.
Takashi said to the curator, “Well, then, good-bye now. See you soon.”
“Good-bye, please take care of yourself.”
Takashi and Nishiyama rode on the truck and headed for the gassho-zukuri. An eerie darkness surrounded them. The headlights of the car lit the narrow wet road. Nothing was heard except the noise of the truck.
“Nishiyama-san, thank you for troubling yourself,” Takashi said.
“That’s all right. I am sorry for my rude behavior. I didn’t know you were the curator’s former teacher,” Nishiyama said. They were silent for a while.
Then, Nishiyama said as if he had remembered something important, “Actually, my mother’s name is Fumiko, too. I was surprised when I read the inscription on the tombstone. It’s an unbelievable coincidence. Fu-mi-ko, the same three Chinese characters. Fu, Wealth; Mi, Beauty; and Ko, Child. She is 82 years old. She lives with me, but has become very feeble these days.”
“Oh, the same Fumiko kanji characters? It really is a coincidence. It’s good that your mother is still healthy and alive at the age of 82. My mother died when she was 82.”
“Yes, I know, the inscription said so. Well, Shimizu-san, to tell you the truth, I was eavesdropping on your conversation with the curator. Your story about your mother sounded like my mother’s. I’m sorry for eavesdropping.”
“That’s all right.”
The truck passed Okuike Pond, and then a watermill, and finally reached the gassho-zukuri. Nishiyama turned off the engine. All of a sudden weird darkness and silence spread around them. Insects were heard chirping. Before getting out of the truck, Nishiyama took a flashlight from the box at the driver’s seat, and turned it on. He lit the path to the gassho-zukuri, and Takashi followed him. They came to the bench. Nishiyama put the light on the bench, where there was a knapsack. It looked wet and glared in the light.
“Shimizu-san, it’s on the bench.”
“Thank you. Thank you very much,” Takashi went to the bench and picked it up.
After a moment’s pause, Nishiyama said in a hesitating manner, “It may sound rude, but may I ask a question about the ashes?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Are you really going to give up scattering the ashes?”
“Yes, but why?”
“I guess you still want to scatter them around the tree.”
“Well,…yes, actually, I do want to do so, but, you know, it can’t be helped.”
“Then, I will help you. It’s dark and nobody is around here. Please follow me.”
Saying this, Nishiyama went to the Crape myrtle and stepped over the fence and lit the ground by the tree.

The End

[1] Japanese sarusuberi-no-ki(百日紅)
[2] a traditional Japanese farmhouse with a steeply peaked thatched roof that resembles a face-down half opened book. Such houses are very rare even in rural areas today. You can see them in Shirakawa-mura Village in Gifu Prefecture, a World Heritage site.