Chapter Two

Max signed the papers that same day.

And he also began an unlikely friendship with Tadeo Suzuki, who insisted on skipping escrow and other costs in a deal that was between gentlemen. A handshake was what Tadeo Suzuki used to bind the bargain.

He and Elizabeth had sold all their furniture in New York, ready to start a new life in California. In a way, this made it simpler—no long-distance movers to wait for. But it also made for complications. San Ignacio was a friendly little town, the sort of place you felt you could leave doors unlocked at night. But not exactly a shopper’s paradise, as Elizabeth had been quick to point out to Max.

“When we summered here, we’d be sure to bring suitcases packed with our favorite New York things—for Teddy that meant bagels and plenty of them. Of course, they’d go stale before he finished them, but he still refused to share. Served him right. Daddy had to have his Antonio y Cleopatra cigars, and the Mater insisted on silk threads for her embroidery. Things you’d never find in San Ignacio. You’d have to go to Monterey.”

“And you?” Max asked. “What was your treasure trove?”

“A fresh supply of Winsor and Newton oils, of course.”

So, it was to Monterey and San Francisco they traveled in search of new furnishings. And with each trip they would bring back some new prized piece—or pay for its delivery if too large for their Oldsmobile wagon. Tadeo Suzuki invariably would arrive not long after to show his approval of their purchases, to cajole Max into a game of chess, to advise Elizabeth on the best places locally for meats, vegetables, hardware.

If in New York, Max would have felt uncomfortable at these continual unannounced visits.

But this was San Ignacio and Max was finding a new rhythm. The temperature had lowered now into November, trees surrounding the house were actually taking on autumn foliage, and Tadeo Suzuki had become a friend and helper rather than a nuisance. Each time, he came bearing a gift: the perfect work stool for Elizabeth once he learned she was an art restorer; a pair of cherry-wood handle secateurs for Max in hopes of turning his black thumb green. Another time, a ball of fluff under his arm turned out to be a yellow lab pup so cute and cuddly that even Max, whose only pet ever had been a gold fish, wanted to hug it.

“For the lady of the house,” Tadeo pronounced. “A house is not a home without such an animal.”

He held the pup out and now Max and Elizabeth saw its large paws which foretold an equally large dog when full-grown.

Elizabeth, whose family had horses and dogs, teared up at the gift.

“Tadeo, you sweet man. How did you know?”

It was the only time Max saw him at a loss for words, touched by Elizabeth’s response to his handsome gift.

“Looking at those feet, ‘Tiny’ seems a good name for him,” Max said.

“Her,” Elizabeth corrected. “And I agree. A sense of irony is needed here.”

As they got to know Tadeo, they also slowly learned of his life, arriving in California from Japan in1902 at the age of twenty-two and going to work in the fields as other Japanese men of his generation did. A hard life and Tadeo told them he was determined to make something of himself. He soon married, then three children: older son James, then Hiro, and finally the daughter, Miriam.

“I am worried about her,” Tadeo confided. “Still no husband. I do not want her to sacrifice her happiness to take care of aging parents.”

But his ambition paid off.

On another visit he told Max of his gradual rise in the world.

“We Japanese were welcomed here at first. The Chinese had been excluded and industries and farms needed new workers. But then, as more of us arrived, we became the new danger. The yellow peril not to be trusted.”

“And immigration from Japan was cut off,” Max said. “In 1907.”

Tadeo nodded. “Correct. It is a pleasure to talk to someone who has a sense of history. And because I was not born here, I am unable to become a citizen. But I and other Japanese were able to lease land. We did so cooperatively and often we had the need of white landowners as intermediaries. In this way, I and a man named Arthur Pinkus built a successful strawberry business, PurGro Strawberries. It became known throughout the state.”

Tadeo fell suddenly silent, contemplative.

“But?” Max asked.

“Yes, my friend, there is a ‘but.’ Most of the profits went to Mr. Pinkus. Still, I stayed with him, awaiting my chance. And it came when my oldest son, James, who was born here and is a citizen, reached legal age. Then we could begin to buy our own land.”

And buy it they did, as Tadeo went on to relate. “First, we purchased twenty acres by Pulgades Creek. That’s about a dozen miles south of here. We were finally able to farm independently, the Suzuki family farming Suzuki land and keeping the profits of our labor. It wasn’t easy, of course. Long days in the fields, back-breaking work, but it was worth it. It was ours. Can you imagine the satisfaction we felt working our own land, finally? And after the first successful harvest, we were able to buy thirty more acres south of the main water tower.”

Max could see the pride in Tadeo’s face as he told of this.

“And so it went throughout the 1920s,” Tadeo continued. “America fell into the Great Depression, but people did not stop eating strawberries. We became S and Sons Strawberry Farm and were able to buy more and more land, becoming the largest strawberry farm on the central coast of California.”

His face lit up as he said this.

“How’d you ever save up enough money for the original purchase?” Max asked.

Tadeo shrugged. “We Japanese are quite inscrutable, or haven’t you heard?”

Which explained nothing, but Max did not press. It did make him curious, however. Made him feel his new friend was keeping something from him. Tickled the dormant curiosity of the former police detective. The problem with being an honorable man; you can’t lie worth shit.

“Invisibility, Mr. Byrns,” Tadeo added. “That is what I aim for. That my white neighbors do not notice me and become jealous.”

Several weeks later, Tadeo came with a roll of paper in hand which, when spread out on the kitchen table, displayed the plans for a garden.

Tadeo looked at it proudly. “You spoke of the beautiful gardens at this place in New York—”

“The Cloisters. Yes. Beautiful medieval gardens.”

“Well, this is medieval in a way, too, my friend,” Tadeo said. “Medieval Zen. It was what I had planned for that wasteland out there.” They looked through the kitchen window at Tiny doing her business in the scorched earth.

“I can see a quiet and peaceful preserve there.”

“This looks fabulous,” Elizabeth said, surveying the plans.

Max agreed, but hesitated, wondering how he would ever find time or strength enough to build it.

“I would feel honored if I could work with you on this,” Tadeo said.

“You and me?” Max asked.

“That’s a wonderful idea, Tadeo,” Elizabeth said. “But we can’t be taking advantage of you like this.”

“Nonsense,” Tadeo said. “It gives an old man purpose. It is I who should be thanking you. Kyoko thinks so, too. So I am no longer underfoot every day.”

Elizabeth smiled at this. “Please tell your wife that I am of the same mind.”

Tadeo arrived several mornings later, shortly after a delivery of three yards of 3/8th inch pebbles from Mancusi Landscaping. He was driving a flatbed truck with “S and Sons Strawberries” painted on its doors. From it emerged a good-looking young man dressed in chinos and sweatshirt, tall and powerfully built.

“I have brought a helper,” Tadeo announced. “My grandson, Jimmy. Hiro’s son. Home now from San Jose State, on his way to Hawaii. But I have enlisted his aid for the day. Not without an argument, I add.”

Jimmy rolled his eyes at this, then smiled. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. Byrns.”

Max and he shook hands. “What’s happening in Hawaii?” Max asked.

“Football. The San Jose State team is playing a charity event.”

“What position?”

“End.” He quickly added, “And no, Grandfather. Not end of the bench.”

“They become too quick for you, have you noticed?” Tadeo said, smiling.

“That’s the way it is with Philip, as well. Too big to tease.”

“This is news,” Tadeo said, his eyes sparkling. “I had no idea you are a father.”

“You didn’t ask. But yes. And he’s about your age, Jimmy.”

“Where does he go to school?” Jimmy asked.

Max felt his usual anxiety bubble up. “Actually, he’s left school. He’s in the Army Air Corp.”

Tadeo nodded at this. “You look concerned.”

“Well, these are uncertain times.”

“It won’t come to war, I am sure of that,” Tadeo said.

Jimmy smiled but looked as if he did not agree.

A moment of awkward silence before Tadeo asked, “Where is your lovely wife?”

“In the studio. A restoration commission from an art dealer in Carmel and she’s quite happily at work.”

“Then I suggest we also get happily to work. Jimmy, the wheelbarrows, please.”

Tadeo had brought tools and equipment strapped onto the flatbed and while Jimmy got them down, Tadeo again checked their work on the garden area where they had already staked down landscape fabric as a weed barrier.

Tadeo rubbed his hands together. “Now for the hard work.”

Next several hours were a blur of activity for Max, as he manned one of the wheelbarrows, filling it with pebbles and wheeling it to the position Tadeo indicated and then dumping. As he left for another load, Jimmy would come with his load and Tadeo would spread the rock with a bamboo rake.

Max had not worked this hard in years, and soon his chest wound was pounding with pain. But he did not want the others to notice. Tadeo, however, was observant.

“Perhaps a break for lunch. I have a grumbling in my stomach that demands attention. I know just the place.”

They fetched Elizabeth and after introductions between her and Jimmy Suzuki, they all piled into the Olds and Max followed Tadeo’s directions to the Town and Country Café. They devoured tuna sandwiches and burgers and gulped down several cups of coffee, joking as they did so about their Medici Zen garden taking shape.

After an unsuccessful attempt by Tadeo to pay for the lunch, they delivered Jimmy at a friend’s house, went back to work on the garden, and let Elizabeth get back to her restoration job.

By three, the rocks were mostly laid and raked into swirling designs by Tadeo. They’d still need flagstone pathways and larger boulders as well as some greenery, but Max now could see light at the end of the tunnel, and was surveying the garden with delight.

Though already early December, the day was mild and Elizabeth came out with a tray holding two beers. Max gladly took his and then noticed Tadeo glancing at the other in discomfort.

“Would you rather have tea?” he asked

“That would be good of you, yes. I do not wish to be a difficult guest, but you see I do not drink alcohol. Not a drop in forty years. But that is another matter.”

“One day you must tell me about these other matters of yours,” Max said.

“Yes, and one day you must tell me why a man of your age and reputation should retire.”

“Reputation?”

“As I told you the first day we met, news of the Markham kidnapping was reported even here. You did a brave thing, Max. It is nothing to try and hide.”

Max nodded, said nothing. Part of his past. But mention of the kidnapping set him off again. He felt a surge of panic, but managed to squeeze it back into its black box.

The next two days they put on the finishing touches, with visits to Mancusi for larger boulders and low shrubbery for the periphery. The final day Tadeo arrived with a bonsai pine he had grown himself as a centerpiece to the garden.

“This is too much, Tadeo. Too generous.”

The older man shook his head. “Generosity is nothing more than good will, Max. It does not bind you.”

They sat on two low birch stumps they’d found at the landscaping yard and appreciated the serenity. Tiny came wiggling up to Tadeo, licking his hands.

“About my other matters—”

“You don’t need to tell me,” Max interrupted.

“I know that, and that is why I would like to. It has to do with why I came to America. How one incident changed my life. I had a friend in Japan. A man I thought was my true friend. I have not allowed myself another such friend since that time. Not until we met, Max.”

Max felt his throat catch. “That is good of you, Tadeo. I look on you as a true friend, as well.”

“But a mediocre chess player.”

They exchanged smiles.

Tadeo went on.

“You remind me of him. He was like you in many ways. A big man. And a thoughtful person. A man I felt I could trust, a schoolmate at the Normal School. But this person—I called him Basho, a nickname, you see…”

“The poet.”

Another smile from Tadeo. “Yes. I wanted to be the poet then, but to my friend I gave the honor of that name, hoping he would help me convince my parents against their wishes for me. They wanted me to become a soldier, you see, but I was not made of that stuff.”

“Where was this?” Max asked.

“Japan, of course.”

“I mean where in Japan.”

“Oh, sorry. Yokohama, my former home.” He paused, looking up into the blue afternoon sky. “But Basho betrayed me. Instead of interceding on my behalf with my parents, he let my father convince him to become an informer for the military police, the Kempeitai. It all came to a head one night when I was having dinner with Basho and his parents at their home high above Yokohama harbor, a place they call the Bluff. I had been drinking heavily since my father told me of Basho’s involvement with the Kempeitai, chiding me that I did not have my friend’s ardor. And that night, again drinking too much sake. Suddenly I had to have air and fled, going to the very edge of the Bluff, and when Basho came looking for me, we got into a terrible fight. I was much smaller, not a fighter at all. But that night I had a savage fury, knocking him to the ground and beating him unconscious. I feared I may have killed him. Next day I took ship for America, and I vowed never to touch alcohol again and to live my life in atonement for what I did to Basho.”

He sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Not a pretty story, is it, my friend.”

Max was about to respond when Elizabeth came out. “There’s a call for you, Tadeo.”

It was his son to talk about a business matter.

After Tadeo left, Elizabeth said, “For a man with a new garden, you’re looking damn sad.”