Trees and Bushes (Part 3)

This is a photo of the photo. It was the last beautiful bloom in 1997. It lasted a week or so. It was gorgeous, but I had to turn on light even daytime.


Mother was still in the hospital. She was under morphine. Another man came and recommended me to replace a panel upstairs of the apartment. The apartment is old and not a pretty site. (But I appreciate it so that I can still remain in Japan and write and research and enjoy the things I cannot in the U.S.) So, I asked around for advice.

“Your place is old. You can’t help, but to fix it,” my cousin said. She was right about it.

“But, what about the price, 100,000 yen! Isn’t that too expensive?” I said.

“I don’t know. If you have to pay, you have to pay,” she said.

I guessed so. I asked my sister in law for the same advice. It was worse. I probably shouldn’t have asked her for advice, but I couldn’t help it.

“Anything costs much nowadays. It’s probably okay to pay it,” she said.

So, I paid it. Again, I had no reason to doubt this man either. After Mother’s funeral, the man made a visit to me at night.

“Your place is old. You have a lot to fix. I can help you,” the man said. His face was very red. He was probably drinking. I was a bit frightened, but if I yelled hard, my next door neighbor probably could hear me.

By this time, I looked at the work he had done, and it looked to me the panel was painted over it. I used to think he replaced it and painted over it. Now, I think he just only painted it. And I wondered what kind of business he had to go upstairs of the apartment in the first place. He had none. Only a postman and other delivery people would go upstairs. My post box is upstairs because solicitors keep throwing ads into my tiny post box and make the area trashy.

“I don’t need your help anymore,” I said.

“But, but, your brother bowed to me at the funeral and his wife said, ‘Yoroshiku onegaishimasu.’”

“Anyone would say that for greetings,” I said. “I don’t think they meant anything by it.”

He repeated what my sister in law said.

“Please. Please do not come to this house anymore. Tell your wife not to tie her cat to the gate or come into the garden,” I said in a firm voice.

Mother had complained to me before the cat woman came into the garden often. Mother said, “Once, I was taking a nap with the window open. When I awoke, my eyes met her eyes.”

I stared into his eyes.

“I thought your family needed my help. I was only trying to help,” he said.

“No, we don’t. It’s late. Please go home,” I said.

I’m like Mother, but in some way, I’m like my father. Once, my junior high school teacher made a visit to my house and kept drinking sake and didn’t leave. My father lifted him and pushed him to the door to say goodbye. Next morning, Mother said,

“What a bad thing to do! Your father lifted the teacher out of the house!”

I was probably in my room studying or listening to the Beatles the night before. A few weeks later, the teacher called Mother at night and asked her if he could borrow 20,000 yen. That was probably the average salary of a college graduate then. Father and I didn’t know about it until much later. She said she handed him 10,000 yen and apologized that that was all she could afford. Gee. Father was a public servant, and she was a house wife. She taught ocha, but all her tuition money went to buy more tea utensils and kimono.

The following year after Mother died, I got the house. The land is rented. I’m not the land owner. And my older brother received her savings. Then, I invited some of my friends and Mother’s students for tea and to watch cherry blossoms. From the glass door, the sky was pink. Flowers cascaded like a giant umbrella not only onto the roofs and the garden but onto the lane. It almost reached the roof of Electro’s house. I felt alarmed.

To be continued.

Trees and Bushes (Part 2)

Yes, we can kill trees. And I’ve been trying to kill a tree. I am a murderer of the weeping cherry tree. I’ve been trying to kill the tree in slow death. I’ve contracted out the killing in three occasions during 12 years because that tree kept showing new growth. Wait. The tree hasn’t died yet completely. You can see a bit of its life still. See the bottom photo. On top right, you can see a part of a good branch.



So, the mystery to this story I’m writing is not who the murderer is. That’s the mystery. It all started when Mother was lying on her death bed in the hospital.


A man came to me. I was staying at her house where I was born and reared for nineteen years. I name the man, Electro, after Electra of a Greek tragedy. There is no meaning to the naming except for convenience in writing this story. After we exchanged a brief greeting, Electro said,

“I came over because of your cherry tree problem.”

“What problem?” I said.

“The city paid the other half…,” he said. He had a smile on his face with the eye lids drooping down.

“Half of what? What is it?”

“This is the bill for your mother’s portion,” he said. He handed me a bill.

I looked at it. It was about 20,000 yen.

“The problem is the tree disturbs the electricity line. I volunteered to fix it. Your mother knows about it.”

“I see,” I said. “She is still in hospital.”

I probably should have asked Mother before I paid him if she authorized him the job, but she was in the hospital. I didn’t want to bother her with such problem. Besides, she had tendency to pay such costs without asking questions. So, I paid it from her money. Electro went on talking about how the tree had been causing problems, and he had to do this or that for Mother. She was 76, but her mind was quite sharp. She wouldn’t ask people’s help without returning her favors. She was quite generous. Sometimes, too generous.

I thought the amount too expensive, but I was unsure. I couldn’t compare the costs fairly because I had been living in the U.S. for the past 26 years. Besides, I had no idea about what he did to fix and for what problem exactly. I didn’t see any document from the city approving or paying him the same amount. But I didn’t have any reason to doubt him. The tree was large after all.

The weeping cherry tree was Mother’s joy. Her friends and students and everyone who had seen it wanted to see it bloom every spring. Just to see the tree, many people made their visit to her house. But I hadn’t seen the flowers because I went back every Thanksgiving week. For the four years prior to her death, I went back twice a year, but I guessed I missed the flowering periods. I only saw the flowers in her photos.



This is the current view from my window.

To be continued to Part 3. Don't miss it!