The Teahouse

Her kimono rustled softly as she made her way across the tatami floor, delicate silk slippers leaving no trace of their passing in the thick woven mat... Mariko was very old, yet age was the only real dignity afforded a woman of her time and position. Wife and mother had been her lifelong task and now... Grandmother. How she loved the title Grandmother. Wife and mother had been a long, passive struggle with duty, knowing very little of respect or affection from either husband or children. Wife and mother had been the lowest rung on the Japanese family ladder for thousands of years, but Grandmother was a position of great honor and Mariko thanked the Gods for the sweetness of time and the peace that it brought. Mariko spent much of her morning quietly meditating in the tokonoma, reflecting on the family scroll and, as always, reveling in the honor of a life well spent. It was a sob which brought her. Soft, distant, and barely audible though it was, Mariko’s keen sense of home and family brought her instantly back from a dream-like trance. As she made her way through the home, the sobbing grew slightly in volume though the queer acoustics of rice-paper panels would not betray it’s direction. Mariko stopped... paused rather, straining ancient ears to discern the source, then mesmerized by the soft strumming of the muffled sobs, slipped unconsciously into the past. The sound, though wrought with despair, was surprisingly soothing to Mariko.... as though an old and dear friend had come to visit. It was a sound she had heard before, it’s very resonance stored and forgotten. With the sound came a flood of overwhelming emotions; A sudden and complete memory of the senses. Sights, sounds, tastes, and feelings burst from long forgotten chambers of her mind and converged on her consciousness sending her back in time for the briefest of moments. Suddenly before her hung the most exquisite near-enlightenment. Mariko felt for that moment that she could reach out and touch it, hold it as it begged to be held, yet, as soon as she made the attempt, evaporated like a puff of smoke wafting to it’s own oblivion. For that moment Mariko remembered her youth. Not youth with specific happenings but rather a feeling of the total sum of youth. One moment of all that was good and all that was painful mixed furiously into a state of emotion that rose to a crescendo of confusion and ecstasy, and then ....gone. Consciousness came slowly. Mariko fought it all the way back trying desperately to hold on to that briefest of raptures, but when the emotion passed it was as though she had never truly experienced it. The soft sobs brought her completely back. She felt an overwhelming kinship to those sounds as they seemed torn from a familiar heart; A heart drowning in loss and despair. Perhaps she had heard them before, perhaps a friend she had known? Drawn irresistibly, she made her way through the home, the sobbing drifted this way and that, refusing to betray it’s origin, but becoming increasingly familiar. “Kumiko?” she asked gently. “Kumi? ls that you?”

The sobbing weakened suddenly and stopped, as though swallowed by some immense vacuum. “Yes Grandmother, I’m in the garden.” The answer came sweetly back but not beyond it’s youthful ability to mask the heart which sent it. “l’ll be there in a moment.” Mariko folded her wrinkled old hands and waited. When Kumi entered, she bowed slightly before Mariko, but then did not raise her head as she tried to shuffle past. Mariko reached out and caught her elbow gently but Kumi kept her head bowed and looked away even as Mariko tenderly touched her cheek.

“Kumi, Kumi,” she said softly, raising her granddaughter’s head firmly, yet lovingly. “My lovely Kumiko, what is it that has my beautiful granddaughter so upset?” As Mariko looked on her face, red eyes and the stain of tears on golden skin betrayed the emotions that engulfed her beautiful granddaughter. She was beautiful. Mariko had known few woman more beautiful. Large dark eyes, more oval than most, flawless skin with full lips and a slight, yet very pretty figure, given away by the western style of dress that most young Japanese girls preferred, and Mariko had learned to endure.

“Nothing, grandmother,” She answered sheepishly, “At least nothing you could possibly understand.”

“Come, Kumi,“ Mariko said as she pulled her granddaughter to her side and motioned to the entrance. “It’s well past time for my fresh air. Come spend a few moments in the garden with an old woman, who was not always so, and see what she may or may not understand.”

With Mariko’s arm tucked into Kumiko’s they stepped out into the family garden. The sweet scent of early summer swept over them and the intoxicating aroma of the lotus and cherry blossoms gave Mariko a moment of forgetfulness that she was long in overcoming. They came to the old wooden bench next to the small pond that was Mariko’s favorite spot and Kumiko helped her sit. Long silent moments passed as Mariko looked out over the garden and watched the tiny birds flitting and chattering about. Kumiko turned away for a moment, wanting desperately to avoid what was coming, but finally, with great reluctance and a fourteen year-old sigh of resignation sat next to her grandmother.

“Grandmother, I do not understand boys.” Kumi began bluntly, hoping the subject alone would cut the conversation short. Mariko turned her tired old eyes on Kumiko who kept her chin buried in her chest as her own nervous eyes were busily searching the ground. “Is it a boy that brought tears to your eyes and sobs from your throat, Kumi?” Mariko asked. “A boy, yes grandmother, a boy from school. A very nice boy and he wants to be my friend,but,” Kumi paused, searching for the right words, and feeling even more uncomfortable, “He says we can never be more than friends.” “Never is a very long time Kumi. And you wish more than friendship?” Mariko asked. “Yes Grandmother, I think I am in love with him and my heart breaks every day that it is not returned.” Kumi’s voice cracked as despair seemed to color the embarrassment of her confession.

Mariko was surprised by the candidness of her granddaughter and had no experience with such talks. Even though she had two daughters of her own it was a different time, when love was much less important than convenience and, at first, she became very uncomfortable.

“I know little about boys myself, Kumi. In my time,” She paused a moment, her mind trying to organize long forgotten thoughts. “In my time, young women were offered, by their fathers, for marriage to the sons of men who would be beneficial to the well-being of the family. Young men and women were very seldom, almost never, allowed to choose mates for themselves. Indeed women were not even allowed to look on the faces of men and were severely admonished if they were caught looking up with a man present.” “Not even look at them, Grandmother? Is that how you married Grandfather?” Kumiko seemed surprised. Even though she knew of the ancient traditions, she never quite believed they were actually practiced. “It was a different time, Kumi.” Mariko said. “It was an ancient tradition that was necessary to the order of things, and seemed to work well, at least.” “And Grandfather..?” asked Kumi. “Yes.” Mariko answered. “Your Grandfather and I were betrothed at six and married at sixteen. I have spent my life in service as mother and grandmother in the fashion of my own mother and her mother before her.” “That’s very sad, Grandmother.” Kumi said refexively, without thought, then quickly added “I’m sorry, Grandmother. I didn’t mean that your life was sad, I’m sorry.”

The words were earnest and sincere, but Mariko felt the sting anyway. “My life has been long and productive, Kumi, anything but sad. Your Grandfather was a good and kind man who provided well for his family, loved us in his own fashion and was respected as husband and father.” Mariko thought for a moment, then added, “There is always some sadness in this life, Kumi, without sadness how would a person know when happiness came? Is it not you who are sad now, Kumi. Was it not your eyes that could not hold on to their tears?” “Yes Grandmother.” came the sheepish reply. Friendship,” Mariko said almost casually, “Family and friendship, a person with family and a few good friends can never be truly sad.” And then she remembered parts of an old story she had forgotten. It was a story she could barely remember, it’s origin was totally lost, and she even questioned it’s bearing, but, for some long lost reason, telling it seemed urgent to her.

“Once there was a beautiful woman. Easily the most beautiful woman in the village. Almost as beautiful as you, granddaughter. Mariko looked with pride at Kumiko’s large eyes and Kumiko promptly cast those eyes back to the ground. “ln fact we shall call her Kumiko, for I have forgotten her real name. “Mariko thought a while, trying hard to remember, then continued: “When Kumiko was very young she was betrothed to a young man of great importance. As she flowered into womanhood she became a great source of pride to that young man who would visit as often as was proper to explain what would be expected of her as his wife. When he would visit she was not allowed to look at him as was custom in that time. She had only a vague idea what this young man looked like, though she did know his voice and did not think that she would like him.“

“Why didn’t she like him, Grandmother?” Kumi tried hard to seem interested, but her voice was beginning to betray weariness with a story that seemed to have little to do with her own experience. “That’s not important, Kumi. What is important is that she did not, but she trusted that her father had made the right choice for her and did not question her lot.” Mariko answered and then added the only explanation she could think of: “lt was a different time, Kumi.” Losing touch with her thoughts for a moment, then, telling the story only as she remembered it, Mariko continued. “For the last year before the wedding date, Kumiko was sent to offer service to the village teahouse. There she was to learn the Tea Ceremony, a very elaborate ritual which requires precise movement and much practice to master. There also would she learn other ways of a woman.”

“Ways of a woman?” asked Kumi, in a much less than interested voice. “Like Geisha, but not as you know Geisha.” Mariko said. Again, not quite knowing how to answer, she added “It was a different time, Kumi.” Mariko continued. “Kumiko learned well, and after a time, was allowed to serve guests at the teahouse. Every afternoon a man, a merchant who sold wooden carvings and decorations, would come for tea and to talk business. He was not a wealthy man but he made a decent living, he made that living honestly, and he had a son.”

“Was the son handsome, Grandmother, and did he save the beautiful Kumiko from her fate? “Kumi chimed in believing she already knew the ending to this tired old story. Mariko looked out over the garden and up into the sky studying a billowy white cloud as it passed overhead. To her tired old mind it seemed to shift into a vague likeness of the teahouse in her story. “Watch the clouds as they pass, Kumi. See how they shift and change before your eyes. One cloud may pass one set of eyes in the shape of a fish and moments later another pair of eyes will see a swan. Stories are like that, Kumi, if you have the patience to study them and not turn your eyes away with the first recognition”. Kumiko was nervously tapping her heels against the stones of the walk and feeling ashamed for having interrupted her oldest living ancestor.

“l’m sorry, Grandmother, I’ll listen to the rest of the story, I promise.” Once again, Mariko continued with a story that became familiar to her only as she spoke. “One day the merchant brought his son to the teahouse. On that day, and every day after, the son came and Kumiko served him without ever looking upon his face. When she approached the table where the son knelt, she did so with her head properly bowed and she would see only his strong hands crossed in front of him and hear his soft, resonant voice as he excused her. As the days passed Kumiko found that she looked forward to his visits and felt more and more a sense of loss when he left. Then, one day, she discovered that she loved him. She lived only for his visits and dreaded her own upcoming marriage. She decided one day that she would look at him. She knew that, if she was quick, no one would see her and she would know that this man to whom she had given her heart was indeed as handsome as she imagined. On only two occasions did she attempt to look up, and when she couldn’t break the custom, she also decided that it mattered little. She believed that she loved this son of a merchant, but, as a dutiful and obedient daughter, resigned herself to her fate, and prepared herself to marry another. What purpose would it serve to allow her mind to torment her unmercifully. Better, she thought, to begin to forget. ”

To Kumiko, the story had turned to one which seemed impossible even in a culture as rigid and disciplined as her Grandmother’s had been. As Mariko paused, Kumiko watched curiously as her Grandmother bowed her head and seemed to study her tired old hands folded delicately in her lap. After a moment she looked up as though under a great strain. Her face was lined with age, and a pain which Kumiko could almost feel but not comprehend. Mariko’s face suddenly seemed to relax and she managed to continue. “Then finally the day came, one short of her wedding day and the last time she would ever be near him.” Again there was a pause as the story grew in Mariko’s mind.

“Kumiko approached the table with her head bowed and her eyes fixed on the floor. Her peripheral vision told her that, for the first time ever, he was alone. A tingle of excitement washed over her and hard-won resolve wavered. The urge to quickly look into his eyes consumed her and she had to fight hard to suppress it. As Kumiko knelt with her head bowed and reached to set the bowl in it’s place, her eyes fell, as they had fallen a hundred times before, on his strong, beautiful hands. This time however, those hands held something..... a glass container, and in the container, masterfully carved from cork, stood a replica of the very teahouse in which she knelt. Her eyes were fixed on the beauty of the work as one strong hand reached out and tenderly came to rest on her arm. The touch sent waves of pleasurable sensations throughout her body and that sudden sense if awareness surprised her, causing her to pull back abruptly, when his soft voice stopped her.

“Please, wait.... hear me.” he paused as Kumiko froze to listen, still bowing her head and keeping her eyes fixed on the carving. “I have brought you this gift which I have carved with my own hands. It is as though I have known you all my life. I have visited you every day for one hundred and fifty days, and have loved you since the very first day. Each day since I have loved you twice as well as the day before. Each evening I have carved one leaf, or one pillar of this teahouse in honor of the only love I will ever know. On the bottom of the container I have written the word friendship, for friendship is the most I may offer you as a wedding gift. In this teahouse I have placed my heart for I will have no further need of it.”

The story came to Mariko smoothly now and she told it as if she had rehearsed it for weeks. “Kumiko shook noticeably. As she accepted the gift, his hand hesitatingly left hers and she rose. Still not looking upon his face, she turned and walked toward her station slowly, as if a great wind held her back. Once across the room she stopped, still staring at the teahouse in her hands. Down her gold and ivory cheeks tears turned red as they mixed with makeup, looking as though her own heart had burst and was pouring it’s life down her face. At that moment custom and tradition no longer held sway and she turned and looked, eager to see the man that she had come to love so completely. He was gone. Only the table, bowl and tray remained.”

Mariko turned to look on Kumiko. Huge tears were welling up in her eyes and deep anguish set her pretty jaw.

“Did she ever see him again, Grandmother?” Kumiko’s voice shook as surely as the girl’s in the story. Mariko put her arms around her granddaughter and held her head tight against her breast, looking up again at a passing cloud. The cloud shifted and once again she saw the faint outline of the teahouse in it’s shape and a single tear rolled down her wrinkled old cheek.

No, Kumi, she never saw him again.”

There was a long pause as Grandmother held Granddaughter and rocked gently in the warmth of the garden. In those moments understanding came for both and the space of generations that had always existed between them disappeared for a lifetime. Mariko touched Kumi’s chin and she raised her wet eyes to meet her grandmother’s.

“The story is real isn’t it Grandmother.” Kumiko stated knowingly rather than questioned.

“Yes Kumi, but it is not really as sad a story as it first seems. Kumiko married and found that she respected her husband after all. She lived a very long time, and had many beautiful children and grandchildren. She had a very complete life with just enough happiness to make it worthwhile, and she lived to see a very different world. From time to time she even forgot all about the teahouse, and when she did remember, it brought only comfort. She was even glad that she had never seen the face of the only love she had ever known, for in her mind, he could live as handsomely as her image of him lived.”

When the tears dried, Grandmother and Granddaughter finished the first of many wonderful talks to come. Before they rose to wander home, Mariko took her granddaughter’s beautiful face in her wrinkled old hands, kissed her gently on the forehead and said: “lt is a different time now, Kumi, and never is a very long time indeed.”

Kumiko ran on ahead, and Mariko’s step was a little quicker than it had been before. Her wrinkled old face seemed to glow as she made her way back up to the house. The story had been for her after all.. and the memories. Tomorrow she would open the panel on the family altar and in the recess she would find a glass container and in that glass container would be a tiny cork teahouse and in that teahouse she would spend the day.

The End