"So up here is the garden I was telling you about. Did you pass it on the way in?" Maruko asked looking back over her shoulder to where Connor had lagged a half a step behind. She just needed to break the deafening silence.
"I didn't see it, I was sorta on a mission," Connor replied with a clever grin and a raise of the eyebrows. God, don't let her see through this, he prayed as they walked.
"Ooh, on a mission, I like that a lot!" She slowed and tossed her elbow into his and looked up at him. Good, we're back in the now, she thought to herself.
Before them was a lake surrounded by a magical and otherworldly arrangement of small bushes and hedges. The water was crystal clear, but appeared mossy from the amount of greenery reflecting into it. The season was fall, but these bushes were more alive than anything Connor could recall. The entire backdrop behind the lake could have been one bush, and looked as such when Connor stared lazily and let all the colors bleed into one. In fact, there were a countless number of tiny and perfectly manicured brambles, all above a floor of coarse leaves and grass. In the center of the lake stood a diminutive island with a small, though stout stone pagoda. It stood no more than three feet high and may have stood in memoriam of someone or something.
"This is awesome. So much work must go into this," was all Connor could offer in an overly-simple way. "It must have..."
"Yeah, this is someone's Zen," Maruko, ever the leader, interjected, "keeping this garden, this serenity in the midst of everything else here. The difference between Zen and other paths," she continued, "is that it holds that enlightenment can be achieved through meditation and direct experience, not piety. With Zen, worship is in the practice and so for this gardener, this is church. This is his alter. Sure, the castle is quite beautiful too, but still, people enter it, they leave. Some mornings there are groups of hundreds and other days, there are barely a few. All through that, there is a need for a constant. Maybe, this garden can be that for someone. I don't think that the people here at the castle ask this man to make his garden a moment of constancy. I do however think that he relishes this chance to explore the dynamic of this one corner of this one area in Osaka. He is probably grateful for this one area, this one thing that he can make stable in this world especially. Our world, Japan, is keenly aware that this is a world which is changing so, so fast."
Maruko looked off into nowhere as she spoke. Her country was changing as if in a whirlwind. These developments, one precipitating another, happened so fast; too fast, she often thought. Then again, she had to allow, anyone who isn't on board always feels left behind. Therefore, while perhaps there was nothing wrong with Japan's momentum, she still longed to know where it was that she fit into it all.
"Oh, hey, have you been to Kyoto at all?" Connor cut in, it was his turn to summon her back. "I'm not sure what made me think of that just now." In truth, while Connor had just remembered that he'd wanted to ask her this, he also needed to get his schedule on the table as a way to ask Maruko if he could see her again before... no, not before, he chided himself, just if he could see her again. He didn't even like to say to himself what was coming.
"Yeah, sure, many Japanese make the trek there, it is a living history museum for us in so many ways. Why do you ask?"
"Oh, I've got a client to see there, or a client who would like to see me there, I guess, it all came out of left field."
"Wow, well, if you are going to Kyoto, why in the world are we staring at this little thing?" she asked while gesturing towards the lake and garden.
"Well, for a few reasons. Most importantly of which, unless you are coming to Kyoto with me, then this is the lake I got to see with you, so that makes it..."
"Makes it...?" Maruko prodded him to go forward.
"Makes it different maybe," the same broad grin returned to his face, "I don't know, but seeing things with you around; I've enjoyed this."
Maruko blushed and looked away, though she quickly returned to meet Connor's eyes with a nod and a pressed, restrained smile.
"I can't believe you can just miss your conference." She spoke these words, but knew that this wasn't the case. That meant only one thing. It had wrapped up, and with it, his time in Japan must've been beginning to come to an end.
"Oh, no, it ended this morning; for me at least. The rest of the trip is just..." He stopped short and forced a short breath after a pause where it was him whose eyes did the darting to and fro.
"Well you should love Kyoto," she began again. She needed to find a way to keep this moving forward, for if given a moment to contemplate, she might've burst into tears. "Thank Goodness you'll get to see it. I mean it's really what we have to offer here. It's our showcase. Sure, go to Tokyo for the fashion and neon, shopping and clubs, but as far as culture, the temples, shrines and just that feeling of Japanese history frozen in the moment, that's Kyoto. Wow, I envy you for sure, you will just adore it."
"What you have to offer," Connor repeated back in an impressed tone. "See, for me that would have been the baseball diamond." He let the words hang for a moment before raising his hands in mock protest, "but really, I'm serious. My country hasn't created much. We are great at adopting things from others and adapting things to ourselves. As far as American novelty, wow, that isn't as long a list. We have hamburgers and, to some degree, our form of democracy. As far as sexier things, well jazz and baseball are the two I always think about. I've actually heard some great jazz while here, just the other night…"
"I'm a bit young for jazz, I think." Maruko seemed to ignore the gasp Connor shot her through clenched grin before continuing, "But baseball? Yes, sir! Thank you U.S.A." She looked back at Connor and then added in a dramatic voice, "America's past time, a game created by the most powerful land on the planet," Conner looked back as if to acknowledge the heavy sarcasm in her tone, "But," here she proceeded with a fake frown and drooped eyes, "that all changed in 2001, didn't it gaijen?"
"Oh did it?" Connor quickly inquired. What was 2001 (surely she didn't mean September 11)?"
"Foolish foreigner," Maruko continued in an amusing tone, "2001 was the year which saw the coming of the great Suzuki Ichiro. He changed the game forever. We allowed you to control baseball for, well, a long time, but with Ichiro," she paused, "it has begun, my friend. 2001! Look at his 2001 season! 127 runs, 242 hits and an OBPS of .838!" She was rolling once again as she rattled off these statistics.
OBPS? OBPS was a calculation which stood for a player's on base percentage plus slugging percentage. Connor could not believe she had just brought up OBPS, who was this girl? "He's great, but wow, a bit of a fan, are you?"
"Ha, a bit!" as she said this, Connor wondered if her eyes were actually wider than his at the moment. "And I even like the game a little, too," she tried to suppress a guilty grin. "But Ichiro-san, no one uses his last name, is so very important to us; not only to me, but to us even more so. That season he went to America, Japan was awake with every pitch he took. Every at bat was shown in public squares on massive movie screens. Every hit was talked about openly whether that person had been a baseball fan before that season. Ichiro was far more to us and an athlete playing a sport much of this country loves. There had been Japanese players in America before that, Nomo Hideo who pitched for the Dodgers, for example, but never an every day player."
"You're right there," Connor was in heaven, as a child, he had often prayed to God for a girl who would care about baseball. "And Nomo, he had that kinda weird delivery and everyone would always say..."
"Right! Sorry to interrupt," she was so excited that she couldn't hold it all in, "they always said that it was the unorthodox windup. And it was, maybe to an extent. He was so unique and the pitches looked different when he threw them. But then again, to the Japanese fans, when Nomo won the rookie of the year," Maruko shook her head in disbelief, "we were so proud and all anyone wanted to say was that it was because he had confused the major league hitters, not that he had dominated them. I think Americans felt threatened."
"Well, baseball purists did for sure, yeah." Of course, Connor thought, this had often been the case. He thought immediately of Jackie Robinson's debut for Brooklyn or Henry Aaron's assault to topple Babe Ruth; America had often felt threatened when what it perceived as the homogeneous makeup of its game was put in danger. That the game, any game really, was almost without exception always better for these moments of diversity and innovation went without saying. Still, those moments of initial introduction could often be tense.
"But Ichiro," Maruko continued, "he played every day. He faced the uniqueness and the strength, whichever a pitcher brought at him. He saw and hit it all. He was rookie of the year, but also the M.V.P. His team won more games than any other had before in one season and it isn't as if the media spotlight wasn't just tremendous."
Connor knew she was right, Ichiro had faced a constant David Beckham-like media presence, initially from Japanese reporters of every kind and, eventually, from western press as well. His rookie year had been truly amazing.
"And then there was the prejudice," Maruko continued, "I mean still, no one wanted him to succeed."
"Well I don't know," not wanting to argue, but suddenly defensive nonetheless, Connor still felt a need to stand up for the American dream that he felt foreign ballplayers were given to follow. "Do you think it was that bad for him? I think America was really excited." Connor stopped himself short as his recollection corrected his words.
That season, his beloved Yankees had faced Ichiro's Mariners in a playoff series. During the games in New York, Connor had seen a few occurrences which were of note. These games were played in the weeks following 9/11 and Connor had rejoiced at how the Yankees had taken to representing America's fighting resolve. Nonetheless, as Seattle was eliminated from the playoffs the fans had serenaded Ichiro with 'Sayonara, sayonara, hey, hey, hey, goodbye' chants. In another game, a fan in the hyper-passionate bleacher section had come dressed as Godzilla and chanted, 'eeeeeeee-chiro, eeeeeee-chiro' at the diminutive superstar from the Far East. At the time these things had brought a smile to Connor's face, a few giggles perhaps, but maybe they had meant something else to those who saw Ichiro as a representative of their Japanese heritage. Finally, Connor relented to Maruko's accusation, "Yeah, I guess there were moments; I mean he was unstoppable, people got passionate about it."
"Absolutely," Maruko was not looking to cross-examine Connor or America. She showed no intention of pursuing any apology for history which she saw simply as reality, not necessarily offensive or benign.
"I think you are right," she continued, "He was just, wow. We were proud of some of the harassment he suffered, really; it meant that he was getting to you guys. It meant that people saw his talent."
"Exactly, yeah"
"I fell in love with him that year," she continued in an awe-struck whisper. "Not just me; we all did. All of Japan stirred with passion and admiration for Ichiro. Men looked at him as the foremost example of Japanese precision, while every girl's heart fluttered with the vibrancy of a schoolgirl crush. Still, there was more to it than that. The papers called Ichiro an ambassador, but to me, he was hope. He carried Japan wherever he went. What was more, he wasn't succeeding in a traditionally Japanese medium. He excelled, and excels still, in an arena that is undeniably yours. He plays by America's rules and simply takes what he is given and plays at an even higher level than others. As I watched him, I felt that something that was not traditionally Japanese might be an acceptable way to express my love for Japan."
"For you, that's dancing?" Connor was fascinated by how important this world was to Maruko. There were things that others took for granted every day that she lived and died with.
"Ha ha, not so fast; don't go trying to see all of my secrets in one try," she tugged at his sleeve before noticing that his reaction seemed slower than it should.
"Hey, did I lose you?" She looked up at him, waiting for whatever he was confronting to pass.
"No, sorry, I'm here. Just, there are so many things that I don't know." He looked over her head and to the right, not focusing on anything in particular.
"Oh, I know," she responded quickly. "Sure, there's a longer list of what we don't know than of what we..."
"But wait Maruko, it's not that I don't know, it's that I really want to learn it; all of it." Though the sun was sinking, her eyes sparkled as he spoke these words to her.
"I'm in Kyoto for a few days," he began again slowly, not sure what her reaction might be. "I leave for there tomorrow morning and am back the next afternoon. Could I see you that night? What would that be, Saturday? Let me take you out, maybe even be the guide for some of it," he watched to see if this was eliciting any reaction, and it was.
She looked as she felt: stunned. Perhaps, she had been ready to say goodbye. If not ready, perhaps she'd at least understood that she might soon need to be. However, instead of recognizing what was on the horizon and running from it, this was an entirely different occurrence. Connor seemed to want simply to glide towards the sunset, not in denial of, but in rhythm with it all. Maruko wasn't sure. She wanted to see him again. She knew that there was so much still not said; so much not yet shared. However, she also knew that it had to all be ending soon; he'd said so much just minutes before. There were so many reasons to say no. She had the control right now; this hadn't gone anywhere that she wouldn't be able to repair herself from. She could walk away and this would be another fantastic moment, something to build on. Then again, she hated how everything was to be built on. She wondered when she would get to enjoy the fruits of all these experiences.
Connor could tell that she was going to say no. Damn it, he began to berate himself, he didn't want this to be it. Certainly, this was a great opportunity to say, 'Yeah, we met, we laughed, and we had one afternoon that was just great.' Maybe this had been their date. Here he was asking for another, maybe she had taken that to mean that he hadn't truly loved today. Well, if this had to be it, he was grateful. She had shown him something, even if it would live on in the space she'd left, that he knew he could look for again in his future. He shouldn't have pushed her. Connor began to belittle himself. It was dumb to even ask, he thought.
"I'd love to," Maruko broke the silence. "OK, call me when you get in. In fact, if you'd let me offer a suggestion, there is an art exhibit I'd love to see. It's a little more Zen, pretty amazing. It won't have any baseball," she looked up with a grin, "but I think you will like it. As for the rest of the evening, it'd be yours to guide away as you will." Maruko smiled on, though she was terrified. She had just betrayed every safety net that she'd ever erected inside her. But then, what was the use of a safety net if one never took a chance and walked out above it?
Connor was stupefied by his misread on which way Maruko had been leaning. Still, he was thrilled that he'd have another chance to see her.
"Now, sadly," before any silence could set in, Maruko spoke once again, "I need to run actually. Tomorrow is jammed and there will be another big rehearsal and you have your trip to prepare for."
"I do," he was almost relieved to end this day right at that moment. There was no reason to dance around the fact he was leaving, but if it didn't have to come up again before he saw her once more, all the better, he figured. He walked her back to their train station and they said goodbye with gentle touches on one another's arms; contact which they each hoped might conceal their common longing for the unknown. He had her number and would call her as he got in from Kyoto. The museum sounded great, even without any baseball.
