The Way of the Warrior - Chris Bradford [43]
‘Good morning, Jack-kun.’
Uekiya the gardener had shuffled up and was bowing low by Jack’s side.
‘Good morning, Uekiya-san, what are you doing up so early?’
‘Jack-kun, please accept this humble gift.’
The old man handed him a small wooden carrying case, opening up the lid to reveal a tiny potted plant within.
‘What is it?’ asked Jack.
‘It is bonsai,’ explained Uekiya, ‘a miniature sakura tree, just like the one you sit under in this garden.’
Jack examined the little plant. It was a perfect cherry blossom tree, yet not much larger than the span of his hand.
‘Sakura bloom in April,’ explained Uekiya with tenderness. ‘The blossom is brief, but beautiful. Like life.’
‘Arigatō, Uekiya-san. But I don’t have anything to give you in return.’
‘That is not necessary. You have given me great pleasure every day you have enjoyed my garden. That is all an old gardener could wish for.’
‘Jack-kun! Jack-kun!’ beckoned Hiroko, scurrying out of the house. ‘You must hurry. It is time to go.’
‘In Kyoto, look upon this bonsai and remember old Uekiya and his garden?’
‘I will,’ said Jack, bowing his gratitude. He realized that he would miss everything in this garden, the wooden bridge spanning the stream, the trickle of the waterfall, and most of all the shade and shelter of the cherry blossom tree itself.
Hiroko ushered him towards the front of the house. Jack glanced back over his shoulder one last time and saw the old man bow low, holding it to mark respect. He was so still it was as if he grew out of the very earth itself.
‘How do I look after bonsai?’ called Jack.
Uekiya looked up. ‘Prune it and water a little every day, but not too much…’ he began, but the rest of his words were lost as Jack turned the corner.
Hiroko led him through the front gate, where a troop of samurai and their horses was gathered. Final preparations were being made for the journey and Jack could see Yamato mounting a horse at the head of the column, next to Masamoto.
‘Just a moment, Jack-kun,’ said Hiroko, disappearing back into the house.
She returned almost immediately with a neatly wrapped kimono made of a deep burgundy-coloured silk.
‘You will need this for ceremonies and festivals. It bears the phoenix kamon, the family crest of Masamoto,’ she said, small tears welling in her eyes at his departure. ‘You will be safer under Masamoto-sama’s watchful eye in Kyoto than you can be here.’
‘Arigatō, Hiroko-san,’ said Jack, taking the gift with both hands and admiring it. ‘It is truly magnificent.’
A heavyset samurai, with dark, bushy eyebrows and a large moustache that appeared to grow directly out of his nostrils, approached on a horse. He was dressed in a dark-brown kimono and riding coat. As he drew closer, Jack recognized him. It was Masamoto’s trusted samurai. Kuma-san.
‘Jack-kun! You are to ride with me,’ he commanded, patting the back of his saddle.
Jack placed the new kimono in his shoulder bag, together with the bonsai tree, and secured them in an empty saddlebag. Kuma-san offered his hand and Jack mounted the horse. He passed Jack a thick cloak to ward off the cold.
‘And remember to bathe!’ admonished Hiroko, giving the departing Jack a rueful smile.
As they trotted to the front, Jack’s eyes suddenly burned and he had to blink back tears. He would be sad to leave Toba. This had been his home since arriving in the summer. He had no idea when or if he would ever return. He waved goodbye to Hiroko, who bowed back. Then he realized he had not seen Akiko. Where was she? He had to say farewell. Jack desperately looked around, unable to get down from the horse.
Eventually he spied her behind a group of mounted samurai. She was riding her own white stallion, the same one Jack had seen her with that first morning in Japan.
‘Akiko!’ called Jack, ‘I was