Some lives are full of light, while others have a dark shadow cast across them. Sometimes the reason for the shadow or light is clear, yet sometimes it is a mystery. Sakura was thinking about her life, and she knew why her life was in shadow. But night always turns into day, and her life was about to change. The winter of 1823 was severe, and life in the small mountain village in Akita in northern Japan was harsh on both the skin and the soul.
At fifteen years of age, Sakura was already married. Her husband, Tanaka the forester, was a widower, and was fifty-three years old. His first wife had died after breaking her leg, and left him childless, and Sakura's parents offered her to him as a new companion. He offered them firewood, timber and security for their only daughter in return. Thankfully, Tanaka was kind and seldom bothered Sakura during the night. She wasn't sad about the course of her life, but it was a life without light, and in the middle of winter, the shadows were long and deep.
Ayumi kept her I-Pod on as the bullet train pulled into Kakunodate station exactly on time. She picked up her bag and got off the train. The air was cold and dry in the windy station. After checking the departures board, she changed platforms and waited patiently for the local train that would transport her deep into the heart of the mountains. While she was waiting, she took a book of poetry out of her bag and found her favourite poem: 'Shadow and Light'. She read the haiku to herself, although she already knew the words by heart.
Ink dries in shadow
hot soup on a charcoal stove
a wife's silhouette
It was written by a low-ranking samurai when he was a young man, and was one of a series of his poems that were only published long after his death. Ayumi had travelled to Akita prefecture to visit some of the places mentioned in his poems. Her life was deep in shadow and she needed to find direction after her recent divorce. For comfort, she found solace in the love poems of a long-dead samurai to his muse - a young woman whose name is never mentioned in the poems.
On a crisp February morning, Sakura prepared to walk down the mountain into the village. There were taxes to pay to the local daimyo and it was a chance to see some other people. She hadn't been to the village since late December and was desperate for some conversation with her friends, and to see her parents again. It took over an hour to reach the village in the heavy snow, but it was such a beautiful and serene landscape, dark green trees covered with white snow, all below a clear blue sky. Today, Sakura felt alive and full of energy. At the edge of the village, she saw there were a group of soldiers and three samurai collecting taxes from the local people. One samurai was young and handsome, with high cheekbones and intense black eyes. He had the look of an eagle, but his face also had a tenderness about it that made Sakura's heart sing.
The young samurai noticed
Sakura straightaway and tried to ignore her beauty. But it was too late
- he was
smitten. The sight of her
made his heart leap
with joy. But
who was this girl?
Sakura saw the way the warrior looked at her and she turned her eyes to
the ground and tried to look calm. But inside, her heart was racing.
When it was her turn to pay tax she didn't look at him, and he didn't
look at her. She was a married woman and she felt guilty feeling this
way.
Later, after speaking to her parents and paying her regards to other
villagers, Sakura only had a few minutes to speak to her friend Ma-chan.
Ma-chan politely asked Sakura if she had enjoyed her visit to the
village. Sakura told her that she would return to her husband, as was
her duty, but was looking forward to visiting the village again in late
spring. Ma-chan smiled knowingly.
Two months later Sakura discovered
she was pregnant with her husband's first child and she knew her life's
direction was decided. But she was happy to have a baby, and her heart
was also filled with light whenever she pictured
his face: his high cheekbones and intense black eyes.
After the high speed of the shinkansen, the local train seemed like a snail in comparison, slowly making its way up into the mountains. The landscape was so beautiful, with deep snow all around and a clear blue sky. Ayumi searched her I-Pod's menu for some suitable music to listen to. Today, she felt more alive than for many months, although the memories of her failed marriage were still vivid. Finally, she arrived at her stop and got off. She was the only person standing on the platform. It was a perfectly quiet, old wooden station, but still had an electronic ticket machine. Ayumi put her ticket into the machine, waited for the green light, and walked out onto an empty street. Across from the deserted station was a noodle bar. It looked closed but the welcome curtain was in place, and feeling hungry, she slid open the old wood and glass door and entered the tiny restaurant for a steaming bowl of ramen.
The restaurant's owner was an
elderly gentleman with a short white beard and thick black-rimmed
glasses. 'Welcome'
he called out loudly as she took a seat at the counter. Ayumi switched
off her I-Pod.
'Good day,' she said. 'Ramen, please.'
'Coming
right up,' replied the cook.
As Ayumi slurped
her bowl of noodles noisily, the old man asked her why she had come to
the
area. She told him about her painful divorce after discovering her
husband was having an affair with a girl from his company. And she told
him about the book of poetry that had given her the hope that some men
knew
the meaning of true love. It was no surprise when the noodle bar owner
told her that several
women had come
in search of the places in the poems, and came in search of answers to
their own lives. Ayumi could understand what was in their hearts.
Sakamoto Ryota finished his
business in the village and returned to the lord's stronghold.
It had
been a successful week, with little trouble and his lord was pleased
with the young samurai's work. After his bath, Sakamoto relaxed and
thought about the young woman who had captured his heart. He was
in a
wistful
mood and couldn't hear his wife calling him for
dinner. 'What were you thinking about?' she asked him. 'Oh! Nothing,'
he replied, 'only tax collecting, nothing more.'
Sakamoto's wife served him his food. She felt something was different
about him that night, but it wasn't her business to ask. She loved him dearly,
but
she knew his heart was never hers to keep. That night, by candlelight,
Sakamoto ground
some ink and wrote a poem.
When the ink was
dry, he rolled
the paper into a small scroll
and sealed
it with wax. He
then carefully placed it in a wooden box. He kept the key to the box
around his neck - always.
As the years passed Sakamoto only had the opportunity to return to the village a few times, and sadly he never met the young woman again. After making subtle enquiries, he discovered she had given birth to a son and then a daughter. He hoped she was happy and healthy in her life and yet he wished they could be together. Sometimes, in the cool of a spring evening, when cherry blossoms were falling silently in the moonlight, he would remember her face and feel the need to express his love for her. The poetry flowed from a place deep inside him and stained the white paper inky black. Each poem was carefully locked away. When Sakamoto was forty-two years old, he heard that Tanaka the forester had died and left his wife a widow. He could imagine Sakura in her mountain home, looking after her children. He could imagine the lines on her pretty face and her hands hardened by country life. He knew he would still be entranced by her, whatever her age.
Ayumi's new hiking boots were rubbing her feet and had caused a blister, and she was sweating despite the cold. However, her thoughts were focussed on reaching the small guesthouse in the heart of the mountains. She thought it was funny that even this tiny guesthouse, miles from anywhere, had a website and online booking service. She wondered how anyone had managed in the old days before the internet. It must have been impossible to go anywhere! She also wondered why she had packed so many clothes, as her bag was far too heavy for a city-girl like herself. But she had to reach the guesthouse before dark and was looking forward to a hot bath and some regional food.
Kobayashi Kenji
stopped
chopping firewood and looked down the path that lead up to the
guesthouse. Coming up the mountain was an exhausted-looking girl in a
cherry-pink jacket. she was struggling
with a heavy backpack and looked
like she needed some help. He put down his axe and hurried down the
path to greet her. She was around twenty-five - the same age as him,
and he guessed she must be the guest they were expecting. 'Good day,'
he said warmly, 'Are you Sato-san?'
'Yes, I am.'
'I'm Kobayashi Ken. Nice to meet you. I am the son of the owner of the
guesthouse. I am studying literature at university, but I
am here for a few weeks vacation. Welcome. I hope you enjoy your stay
with us.'
'Are you a writer?' Ayumi asked.
'Well... I'm not so good, but I enjoy writing poetry.'
Ayumi looked up into his eyes and smiled, 'Perhaps you will
allow me to
read them after dinner?'