Garden of Evening Mists by Tan Twan Eng

Author:Tan Twan Eng [Eng, Tan Twan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781471216701
Publisher: Wf Howes
Published: 2012-10-02T04:00:00+00:00

Returning to Yugiri an hour later, I find Tatsuji at the katsunigi-ishi, the stone where guests are required to remove their shoes before entering the house. He is tying his shoelaces, and he looks up when he senses my presence. “I was just going back to my hotel. I need to talk to you about the ukiyo-e.”

“What is that book you’re always reading?”

Straightening up, he hesitates, then removes the book from the pocket of his linen jacket and gives it to me. I look at an anthology of Yeats’s poems, surprised.

“You were expecting something else?” he asks.

I shrug and return the book to him.

“A friend read me one of Yeats’s poems when I was a young man,” he says. The sense of loss in his voice is old, as though it has been a part of him for most of his life, and for some reason I am struck by its similarity to my own.

“Come with me,” I say.

His face brightens when he realizes I am taking him into the garden. The leaves on the maple by the house are rusting, the branches pushing out from behind the thinning foliage. I lead him deeper into the trees, following the path to the waterwheel. Red bromeliads straining to bloom spike the slope. Since coming back to Yugiri I have not gone to look at the waterwheel. I am relieved to see it is still there. But it no longer turns, no longer grinds the water with the patience of a monk. Lichen daubs the sides of the wheel and two of its paddles are missing. The waterfall is now a trickle, and the pool is choked with algae and drowned leaves and broken-off branches.

If Tatsuji is appalled by the state of neglect, he does not show it. “The emperor’s gift,” he announces. From the rigid way he holds himself I suspect he would have bowed to it if I were not present. “How many turns has this wheel made since it was built, I wonder?”

“As many as the earth has made around the sun,” I say, humoring him.

“Emperors and gardeners.” Tatsuji shakes his head. “Do you know what happened to the Chinese emperor after the communists took over? They rehabilitated him. He ended his days as a gardener.”

The inscriptions beneath the remaining paddles are grouted with moss; the writing is fragmented, the prayers garbled and weakened, and I realize that a day will come when they will be silenced completely.

“Shobu,” Tatsuji says, pointing to the plants along the banks. He breaks off a leaf and holds it up. “They are a symbol of courage for us because they are shaped like swords.” He crushes it and the burst of scent flings me back to the first time Aritomo brought me here. I take the broken leaf from Tatsuji and inhale deeply. I can see it all so clearly in my mind, that morning. I must remember to add it to what I have written down.

“I was chatting to some hikers in the hotel lobby this morning,” Tatsuji says.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.