“Worried as I was about Matsu’s disappearance that evening, Michiko had my attention. I lay there listening, trying to imagine those women pearl divers, gleaming white on the glassy surface of the sea. Michiko’s voice filled the small room like magic.
“‘Sumiko was married at fourteen to a village boy named Akio, whom she had known all of her life. Their families were happy and so were they, especially when Sumiko became an
ama-san.
The water was so cold that day, but the moment she dived deep into the water and pulled up her first shell, she felt as if the sea were part of her. She dived again and again, filling not one bucket, but three. Akio had to threaten to jump in and pull her out before she would stop. Sumiko thought she couldn’t have been happier—until the day she discovered she was expecting her first child. When she told Akio, they both laughed with joy.
“‘But as with all life, things don’t often turn out as planned. As Sumiko grew bigger and bigger with child, Akio began to worry and asked her to stop diving.”When our baby is big and strong, you can dive again,” he said. Sumiko knew it was a reasonable request and reluctantly agreed.
“‘But, being an
ama-san
was in her blood. After a week of not diving, Sumiko became ill. She grew so weak she could barely get out of bed. The village doctor was summoned, but he couldn’t find anything wrong. Sumiko seemed perfectly healthy and the baby was doing fine. Yet, Sumiko grew weaker each day that she didn’t dive. Akio’s heart grew heavy. If he didn’t do something soon, he would lose both Sumiko and the baby.
“‘One night Sumiko grew faint and cold. Akio was barely able to detect her heartbeat. Out of sheer desperation, he carried his frail wife down to the sea. As he braved the cold waters, Akio feared this would be their last chance. He lowered Sumiko into the cold water, holding her up in his arms. Like a miracle a great warmth surged through her body, warming the water around them. Very slowly Sumiko’s eyes opened wide and she regained her strength. Akio called out her name with happiness, but Sumiko only looked at him with blank eyes, then turned away and dived into the sea. Akio tried to stop her, but in a moment Sumiko had disappeared. He watched for hours, hoping she would return, but the calm, dark water held no sign of her.
“‘For three months Akio mourned his loss. Then one night as he was preparing for bed, he heard a strange voice singing. Rushing outside, he was delighted to see Sumiko standing beside their
house. She was completely dressed in the white clothes of an
ama
-
san
, and she was thin again. “Where have you been?” asked Akio, but before he could embrace her, she lifted toward him something wrapped in a white blanket: Their baby! Akio was filled with joy as he held his little daughter, but when Sumiko turned back to the sea, he cried out for her to stop. At the water’s edge of the sea, she called out to him,”I must return to the sea now. My life as I knew it is over now. See that our child lives well.” And with that, Sumiko vanished forever.
“‘Though he never knew where she had gone, Akio seemed to know that some mysterious blessing had allowed his wife to bring his daughter back to him. He raised his little Kuniko to be a fine young woman, who looked so much like her mother his heart often ached looking at her. And when she expressed a wish to be a pearl diver like her mother, Akio never said one word to stop her, knowing that somewhere in the dark depths of the sea, Sumiko would always be there to protect her.’
“When Michiko finished telling me this story, I felt I’d been awakened from a dream. All night long I lay in bed thinking of Sumiko the pearl diver, and how she had managed to give her daughter life, knowing that she couldn’t stay and watch her grow. What bargain had she struck with the sea that allowed Sumiko to return her daughter to her husband? These thoughts turned around and around in my head until I fell into a deep sleep.
“When Matsu finally returned the following day, he appeared pale and thinner. I learned that he had been very ill and wasn’t able to make the journey up the mountain. I felt every bit the fool I was. I never stopped to think how much effort and energy it took him to travel back and forth to Tarumi. He had always seemed indestructible.
“‘Are you feeling better?’ I bowed.
Matsu nodded his head. ‘Much better.’
“‘I was worried that something might have happened,’ I said, timidly.
“Matsu smiled. ‘Were you all right here with Michiko?’
“‘She helped me through a difficult time,’ I admitted.
“‘What happened?’ Matsu asked, concerned.
“‘It’s not important now,’ I answered, getting up and putting on some water to boil.
“I could feel Matsu’s eyes watching me intently. I was becoming very uncomfortable under his gaze when he said softly, ‘You’ve changed.’ Then he quickly asked, ‘What did you talk about with Michiko? Did she tell you she was once a pearl diver?’
“I stopped short, surprised, then asked Matsu, ‘Do you know if she had a little girl?’
“At first Matsu was quiet, his forehead creased in remembering. ‘Yes,’ he finally said. ‘She did have a daughter.’
“You see, Stephen-
san
, that day I learned that there were greater losses than mine. Every man and woman in Yamaguchi had a life before coming here. From then on I could never look at any of them without asking myself: ‘Whom did they leave behind? How much did they give up? What bargains did they try to make?’ If I hadn’t learned humility before then, from that day on I knew what the word meant. Here in Yamaguchi I learned that beauty exists where you least expect to find it.
“Very slowly, Matsu and Michiko taught me how to live with the others. And with myself. Gradually the thought of ending my life left my mind. As if I were a child learning to walk again, Matsu enticed me to take one step at a time: Bringing me first to Yamaguchi, then building me a house, and finally, creating this garden for me to tend.
“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.