As I rounded the corner into the farmyard I was jolted from my brooding by a wholly unexpected sight that had the effect of immediately lifting my spirits.
A young woman was standing by the mud hut in the sunlight, holding a basket of bright yellow flowers. She had a beautiful pale face and long black hair that was tied in tresses down her back, and she was wearing a pale blue kimono. She looked just like one of the pretty country girls that are depicted in the classical prints.
Behind her, at the main entrance to the farmyard, stood a magnificent snow-white mare, hitched to a trap. Standing next to the trap was a stout young man, clearly the driver, and sitting on the passenger seat was an austere-looking elderly woman draped in a shawl, her arms folded neatly on her lap.
Only the snow-white horse had noticed me. She watched me through her solemn, pink-rimmed eyes, jerkily raising her right foreleg and flicking her mane.
I was just about to step out of the trees and into the farmyard when the farmer, carrying a large box of fruit and vegetables, suddenly appeared through the farmhouse door. The sight of him instantly made me feel ashamed of my thoughts of only moments before.
The peaceful labour of the farm, the constant fresh air and sunshine, his frugality, but above all the purity of his soul gave him a kind of aura of vitality that instantly worked to restore my faith. Confused, I stayed back, half hidden behind the fronds of a citrus tree.
I watched in fascination as he presented the box to the young woman, laying it at her feet. They were both smiling warmly and he was gently explaining something to her. It was a touching scene completely out of kilter with my mood of despair, and it occurred to me that perhaps I was wrong; perhaps a portion of the farm was bound to die when such a revolution occurred. After all, the farmer was trying something never before attempted. He was pioneering a new way of living with nature; what it depended on for success, more than anything else, was the faith to persevere against setbacks. My own faith had been tested and I had failed.
Just then the young woman noticed me. Without moving at all, she lowered her dark eyes and whispered quickly to the farmer. I must have been a most unexpected sight. I doubt that many foreigners had ever been seen coming in from the fields of Ehime before. The farmer spun round urgently, but when he saw me he laughed and hailed me in his gentle voice.
“Aha! Pilgrim! It is you! You are frightening my guests!”
I stepped out of the trees and into the farmyard and a wave of affection for the farmer filled my heart. He had turned back to the young woman and was clearly explaining to her who I was and that she should not worry. I walked over to join them. As I crossed the yard I felt the old woman’s eyes following my every move.
The farmer had changed his clothes since I had last seen him. He had on a clean blue-cotton work shirt and an unblemished pair of cloth shoes. His tanned muscle-bound forearms were waving around excitedly as he spoke first in English then in Japanese.
“James! Please, I would like you to meet Masumi. She is from the village down by the shores of the Inland Sea.”
I bowed low. Now that I was close to the young woman I could see how strikingly beautiful she was. Her skin was completely perfect and her crimson lips glowed with good health. I was so surprised by her beauty after weeks of rugged countryside that I blushed like a schoolboy, and it was only the coaxing of her sympathetic gaze and kind smile that made me recover my senses.
“And this is her mother, Madam Kimiko,” said the farmer.
Tearing myself away from the gaze of the young woman, I turned to face the old lady across the yard and bowed low. She looked on unmoved.
The farmer was talking again. I had not seen him like this before. The presence of the young woman had transformed him. All his energy and attention seemed to be directed towards her. I could not help chuckling to myself and noting that, for all his single-mindedness, even he wasn’t immune to human beauty.
“Masumi and Madam Kimiko visit every week and I give them the best fruits and vegetables from the orchard. Today they will have some pomegranates and some apples.”
His hands were in the box, sorting through the contents.
“The shopkeeper in Fumimoto tells me that my apples taste just like sherbet. They fizz on the tongue when you bite into them.”
Like a magician he held up an apple, and then a second later it had turned into an orange, then a pomegranate. The young woman smiled at him affectionately, and then she turned her soft, intelligent eyes onto me and to my great surprise she spoke to me in English. Her voice was warm and kind.
“Do you like it here on the farm?”
Once I had recovered from the shock I stammered a reply.
“Yes … Yes, it’s a lovely place.”
The farmer watched us silently and with interest. The young woman hardly moved, but there was a maturity and wisdom in her thoughtful eyes that went far beyond her years.
“Yes. It’s very peaceful here.”
Suddenly, the farmer stood up again.
“James, I must go up to the orchard and pick some choice vegetables. Perhaps you could show Masumi and her mother the spiders’ webs. I think that they would like to see them. I will join you in a moment.”
Whilst the farmer disappeared up the hillside into the trees, I helped the old lady down from the trap and led her and her daughter through the farmhouse and out into the back garden where the view of the fields below was at its best.
I hadn’t forgotten about my crushing discovery of only minutes before, but the young woman was so captivating that it was only when we stepped into the garden and I noticed out of the corner of my eye the black lands of failed rice and the slopes of dead and dying trees that the sense of despair returned.
The dead lands were not easily visible from the back of the farmhouse. That must have been why I hadn’t noticed them earlier that morning. But instead of pointing out the dead lands, I found myself feeling protective towards the farmer and his dream – I don’t know why. I pointed the young woman and her mother in the opposite direction. I didn’t want anyone to know the truth until I had first confronted the farmer. But they were staring in wonder at the dazzling, shimmering, silver-clad fields that flashed like a giant mirror in the down below. Even the old lady could not suppress her awe and, for a second, the expression on her face became one of almost childlike joy.
Standing in the garden at the back of the farmhouse I told the story of the spiders’ mysterious appearance and even more mysterious disappearance to the young woman, and in turn she translated my explanation for her mother. By now the old lady had regained her composure and severity and, as she listened to her daughter, a look of disdain marked her ancient features.
I explained how no one knows where the spiders come from or where they go, and I explained that they were lucky to see such a sight today because since people had started to use pesticides almost all such natural cycles had been destroyed.
The young woman listened with interest until after a few minutes she stopped translating for her mother and looked at me directly. Her mouth had the first hints of a knowing smile.
“How do you know all these things?”
I blushed.
“The farmer taught me. I did not know them until this morning.”
She studied my face for a moment with her beautiful eyes and then her expression slowly turned from humour to anxiety.
“So you believe what he says about the world and nature? Do you believe also in what he says about ploughing and chemicals? Do you believe then that the farm will work?”
It was the first time that I had seen beyond the calm composed face and into the mind of this woman, and for whatever reason she clearly cared a great deal about the fate of the farmer and his work.
For a moment I was too confused to answer. I thought of the dead trees and the black field, but then I thought too of the golden rice plants and the magical orchard with its profusion of life, and then I thought of the farmer and the extraordinary power of his will.
“Yes. It will work.”
She lowered her eyes. She was so completely in control of even her smallest gestures that her body language provided no insight into her real thoughts. Nevertheless, I sensed that she seemed somehow comforted by my answer, although it was impossible to know for sure.
We stood in silence for a minute or so, contemplating the wonderful natural scene, until finally the old lady muttered something in Japanese.
Masumi turned to me and said with a kind smile: “It is time for us to return home now. Thank you very much for showing us this beautiful sight.”
As we stepped back into the farmyard the farmer appeared down the path from the orchard, carrying a bamboo box filled to the brim with fresh vegetables of every kind. He was smiling happily and he greeted the two women in Japanese before passing the box to the driver who loaded it onto the trap.
I said goodbye to the young woman and she wished me a safe journey home and then I lingered in the doorway of the farmhouse, not wanting to get in the way of the farmer’s farewells. The driver helped the old lady back up into the trap whilst the farmer and the young woman stood in the centre of the farmyard saying their goodbyes.
As I stood in the doorway watching the young couple talk, the truth of the situation suddenly revealed itself to me in a blinding flash and I felt foolish for not having understood it sooner. The farmer and the young woman were deeply in love.
They were standing facing each other, yet they were closer together than two people who were just friends would ever stand. I could not hear what they were saying but it did not matter for in such situations words only serve to obscure the truth.
What they really thought and felt was there for all to see. Their bodies yearned to be together. The farmer’s open hands were frozen in front of him, as if he wanted only to clutch her by the waist and draw her to him, whilst her head was bowed as if she longed more than life itself to lie upon his chest.
Their lips must have moved, but all I could see were two motionless statues forever unable to consummate their love.
So strong was the sense of passion and intimacy that I felt forced to avert my gaze altogether, as if I was staring directly at the sun. I thought of the line from the poet Issa who described the parting of two lovers as being more painful than a fingernail being pulled from a finger.
As soon as I sat down by the fire, my thoughts took a very bleak turn. The folly of the farmer’s revolution against the modern world seemed suddenly all the more enormous, for I was sure now that the success of the farm was somehow linked to his prospects of living a happy life with the young woman.
Of course it was only my suspicion, but I knew enough about Japanese life to believe that this was the case and besides, my instincts told me that I was right. I recalled the anxiety with which the young woman had asked me for my opinion on the chances of the farm’s success, and I recalled also the steely and suspicious gaze of the old lady who had overseen the young woman’s trip.
For the first time I was angry with the farmer. I was angry with him because I did not want to see someone who was plainly so good suffer such a tragic fate. His attempt to live a truer life now seemed cavalier.
It was one thing to risk his own livelihood in pursuit of a noble dream, but to squander the love of this beautiful woman as well was utter madness, particularly as he was clearly every bit as much in love with her as she was with him.
Now that heartbreak seemed to be the likely outcome of his radical experiments, I wanted to beg him to stop. The worst thing of all was that it was the farmer’s very purity of spirit that had got him into this predicament. He believed that he had been shown the way to the truth and he was prepared to make no compromises at all to get there. I shook my head in frustration. I needed to talk to him straight away and the first thing I had to know was the truth behind the dead fields and trees.
When the farmer finally came inside he was clearly troubled and deeply preoccupied with his own thoughts. He smiled at me, but his brow remained furrowed and as he arranged the vegetables for lunch I thought I heard him sigh more than once. Seeing him like this I once again felt unable to challenge him. I didn’t want to heap more pain upon his head.
Instead I offered to help him prepare lunch. He refused my offer of help and instead he asked me to relax and enjoy the peace of the day. I sat back to sip my tea and tried to make myself as unobtrusive as possible. I felt like a dog that senses that his master is troubled and so sits quietly in the corner until the dark mood passes.
The farmer finished cooking and handed me a bowl of delicious food and then sat down himself and began to eat. He seemed a little happier now and so I could contain myself no longer, but when I finally opened my mouth I spoke almost in a whisper, as if half hoping that he wouldn’t hear what I had to say.
“I ran into one of the neighbours this morning,” I began.
The farmer didn’t look up. He continued to chew his gruel and study the smouldering embers in the fire grate.
I pressed on.
“He said that last year the rice and barley harvests were down. That they were lower than before, when your father had been in charge.”
I felt as if I was plunging a dagger into the farmer’s heart and then turning it one way and then the other.
“And so I went to look myself and I counted more than four hundred dead trees on the northern slopes and I saw the rotten fields …”
He stopped chewing and at that moment I wished that there had been someone else in the room, someone with whom I could share the burden of making these terrible accusations. The farmer’s face was impassive. He glanced up from his food and looked me in the eye.
“And he is right.”
In that one awful instant that it took him to utter those words, my heart sank. How could it be? How could he be telling me that his natural method was the best when all along he had known that it was failing?
“And he said that your farming doesn’t work.”
The farmer sighed and put down his bowl and then spoke again.
“And do you believe him?”
“I don’t know …”
I saw his chest rise and fall. He shook his head in disappointment and then summoned the energy to try to explain.
“When nature is trained and tampered with over generations it becomes hard to return it to its proper course. The reason that you see those dead trees is because the first year I did what I thought was natural. I left the orchard to its own devices. I did no pruning and I barely set foot under the trees. The branches became tangled, branch overlapped branch and some leaves were cast into shadow where they became infected or were attacked by insects. Many trees died.
“The same happened down in the fields. I left the rice plants to their own devices thinking that without interference they would be free to grow up tough and hardy. But much of the rice crop was too addicted to the chemicals and it had forgotten how to cope without the nitrogen and phosphates, and its natural defences that had been made unnecessary by the years of pesticides had broken down …”
He leant forward and put another small piece of wood on the summer fire.
“I was foolish. I thought that I could return this farm to its natural state overnight. Of course it was never going to be that easy, no more than one can quickly restore a human being who is dependent on all the crutches and supports of modern urban civilization to natural health.”
He looked up at me again and I could see in his eyes a sincere desire to convince me.
“Nature is so sturdy and yet she is so delicate. The trees in the orchard can survive frost and floods and battery by wild storms. The bough of a citrus tree is as strong and unbreakable as a leather whip. Can the wind and rain hurt a whip? No. But if a man goes into the orchard with a pair of scissors and chooses a young tree and cuts down a single bud from that tree, then that alone will be enough to change the course of the life of the whole plant. That bough will grow short and will be buried by the other limbs of the tree. It will fall into shadow and it will become the prey of insects and disease. One day the disease may grow to take over the whole tree. And so because one year we made just one cut, we are obliged forever more to trim and cut all the branches to compensate and try to return the tree to its natural state. Surely, it is better never to cut at all?”
I was so confused. I didn’t know whether to believe what he was saying or not. All I knew was that his farm appeared to be on the brink of total failure.
“But will the farm survive? Can you ever bring it back in line with nature?”
“The first year was bad. I lost three hundred trees, half an acre of rice and half an acre of barley. The second year it was much worse. But last year was only as bad as the first year. I lost three hundred more trees in the northern end of the farm and rice blast carried off half an acre, but some of the trees that almost died in the first year have now begun to return to full health and these new trees are so strong and vigorous you would be amazed to see them. After three years I have studied the natural shape so carefully that I can now keep my pruning to the minimum and next year I will hardly have to prune at all.”
I inhaled deeply in shock. Over one thousand trees destroyed. This ancient orchard, tended by hand since the days of the samurai, decimated in three years. And more than an acre and a half of rice and barley lost to disease that could be prevented so easily with a regular dose of poison. I shook my head in awe at the destruction.
“But what if the harvest is down again next year? I am sorry to ask you this, but what if you still haven’t got it right? What if the farm shrinks even further? How will you survive?”
“That won’t happen, but even if it did I need little to survive. I gave away all the family savings as alms for the poor. I sold all the farm machinery and gave the profit away too. Nature will provide for me, she will fill my belly and the barn as well. No one comes to the farm to rob me, for I have nothing. It is the commercial farmers who need money. Their plants are addicted to the expensive chemicals. They need machinery and fuel and spare parts. I need only my own good health.”
As he spoke I thought of Masumi the young woman, waiting patiently. I had to struggle to suppress my rising sense of disbelief at this gentle man’s seeming inability to engage with the modern world, but when I thought of her I could suppress my horror no longer. Slowly and deliberately, I framed my question. Although I feared his answer, I had to know the truth.
“Please, forgive me for asking, but who is Masumi and why does she really come every week?”
For the first time since I’d met him, the farmer looked embarrassed and a blush coloured his ruddy cheeks.
“Masumi and I grew up together in the village and used to play in the meadows and woods. She was my childhood sweetheart …”
He paused and stared at his hands on his lap.
“Masumi was engaged to be married to a rich young man, but he died in the war…”
He looked up at me and for the first and only time I sensed that he was seeking my understanding in a different way.
“Next spring, just after the barley harvest, we plan to marry. Her father was a rich merchant. He is dead now, but her mother and brothers will only allow the marriage to go ahead if the farm is successful and I have prospects. You see, they do not understand. They regard what I am doing as madness and so they withhold their permission but I am confident that by next spring I will be able to show them that they are wrong.”
I could scarcely believe my ears. It was all far worse than I had feared. Although I had only known this man for a few hours, I felt completely bound up in his fate.
“But, Fumimoto-san, you can’t do this. You can’t go on like this. Why not go to the agricultural co-operative and ask for some pesticide, just for this one year at least? Let someone else follow your dream, or do it in some years’ time when you are married and have a family and the farm is prosperous. You will be wealthy then and you can devote a small corner of the land to experiments.”
The farmer interrupted my desperate pleadings.
“James, that would never work. I would become a different person if I did what you advised. In life you can either choose to follow your heart or not. There is no middle way. You cannot follow your heart a little bit, just in the evenings, or only at the weekends.
“It is like the women who dye the clothes in the village. Every day they wash the cotton in the vats of blue dye, and after ten years their hands are stained for ever. If I did what you say and became a commercial farmer, I would be rich and prosperous, maybe, but I would for ever more be a commercial farmer. I would forget the insight that I have had and no one would ever know that all mankind’s ideas of progress are mistaken and that the world doesn’t have to be like this.”
He paused again and looked up at the ceiling and sighed.
“Sometimes I lie awake at night in the mud hut, with only the moon as my companion, and I wonder to myself. If it were possible to pass this cup to someone else then maybe I would.”
He turned his face to me again and his eyes were burning with passion. He raised the palms of his hands to the heavens.
“But look around! There is no one else – not on this farm, not in Yokohama, not even in the whole of Japan, not even perhaps in the world. So it falls on me to do it. Humanity must learn that it knows nothing, or its arrogance will only bring more death and destruction and unhappiness. And words alone will never convince people so I must demonstrate that this is true and the only way I can do this is through farming …”
We fell into silence again.
Finally, I said: “But how can you bear to carry on, with the risk of losing her hanging over your head? Doesn’t your rational mind tell you that this is madness?”
“James, it is often the fate of lovers that they have to suffer difficult trials. I simply think that Masumi and myself are no different. And you are right, my rational mind does panic and it does try to take control of my life, but that is not the way.
“I think of the tale of the brave archer Yoichi who was challenged to shoot a single fan suspended over a boat drifting offshore. He drew back the string and took aim with his mind, but his eyes watered and his fingers shook. Luckily, he was wise, he let his heart, not his mind, take aim and loose the arrow, and he hit his mark.
“So you are right: sometimes, my mind tries to deceive me and tell me there are other ways, but in my heart I know this is not so. And if you do not do what you know in your heart of hearts to be right, then all else is lost, all else will unravel.
“If I take one step back down the road from which I have turned, my heart will shrivel up into dust and in a single night I will become like an old man. I have seen the truth of the world and now I can never betray it. If I do I will lose my spirit itself and if that happens I will also lose Masumi …”
I shook my head in wonder. I was now so confused that I could not even recognize the emotions I was feeling. Was it despair? Or was it hope? Or was it simply incredulity at the courage of the farmer who was making this lonely, foolhardy stand against the modern scientific world and the arrogance of foolish and childish mankind?
The farmer was looking at me with pity.
“Have you forgotten that you have also seen the healthy orchard and that you have walked amongst the sturdy rice plants that are ripening in the fields below? You are like a child who has lost both his parents and doesn’t know what to believe. Or like the lamb who has been separated from the flock and doesn’t know where to turn.
“I tell you that, within seven years, even the barren field that we worked this morning will bring forth great fruit and not one drop of poison will have sullied its earth. This farm will be reborn. The summer is on its way. You must have faith.”
“And what about Masumi?”
“Masumi is dearer to me than all the world. I will never allow her to become a lonely spinster. We will marry next year when the cherry blossoms are in full bloom. The seven herbs of spring will adorn her bridal gown and the children from the village will be her bridesmaids.”
He rose to his feet.
“But it is time now for me to go back out. One man’s life on earth is nothing more than an echo resounding through the mountains and off into the empty sky. If I am to leave my mark here so that others can find inspiration, then I must work hard day and night. Will you join me or not?”
I looked down at my hands. Miraculously, the blisters seemed to have healed completely.
“Yes. Even if I can’t use the scythe any more, I can at least walk behind you and sow the seeds.”
I stood up and followed the farmer through the door and out into the warm embrace of the late afternoon sun.
There once was an Emperor who owned a night-coloured pearl. No one who had asked had ever been allowed to see this pearl and even the Emperor himself had never laid eyes on it, for it was such an ancient heirloom that it was kept locked away in a box. But the Emperor often explained that the smooth-running of the empire depended entirely upon the night-coloured pearl’s safekeeping.
One day the Emperor went wandering to the north over the cold mountains and across the dark sea and when he got to the edge of the world, he looked over to see what lay beyond.
When he returned home he realized that the night-coloured pearl had gone. The people, who had previously been as honest as the deer in the woods, had become greedy and unruly. The trustworthy men now knew that there was a value to their trustworthiness and the virtuous men, who previously had been as meek as the lambs in the fields, knew that they were virtuous and secretly they puffed up their chests.
The Emperor shook his head in despair. The whole empire was beginning to crumble. “I should never have gone to look over the edge of the world. I must find the night-coloured pearl.”
First, he sent out scientists to find it. They invented microscopes and telescopes and all sorts of machines, but the more they looked, the bigger the world became. No telescope could see far enough and no microscope could see small enough; there was always something further away or something smaller to see. Finally, they threw up their hands in despair and sighed, “this way will never work.”
So the Emperor turned to the philosophers, but the more they thought and argued the more confused they all became.
Finally, in desperation, he turned to his generals. “You have to help me. Go into our neighbours’ lands and do whatever you have to do to bring me back the night-coloured pearl.”
Soon there were war horses and soldiers camped in the suburbs, and slaves marched in chains through the streets.
The Emperor retired to bed in despair but when he fell asleep he had a dream and in the dream he saw a small child playing in a meadow. The Emperor walked out into the field and the child stopped her game and spoke.
“Why do you look for it when it cannot be seen? Why do you listen for it when it cannot be heard? Why do you reach for it when it can never be grasped? If you approach it, it will recede. If you draw away from it, it will come. Softly it flows, like water, and yet it destroys the hardest things. It dwells in the low places that people disdain and all the rivers of the world pour into it. It does not stand in front of the crowd, it sits behind. It does not shout out loud from rooftops, it whispers in the dead of night.”
On hearing these words the Emperor became even more desperate.
He fell to his knees before the child and begged: “But I have to have the night-coloured pearl. I want it more than life itself.”
The child looked at the Emperor very solemnly.
“Move as cautiously as someone crossing a tightrope over a ravine. Be as courteous as a guest in a stranger’s house and as alert as a spy in an enemy camp. Be as fragile as melting ice and malleable as a lump of clay. Be as clear and still as a glass of water. But never, ever, try to possess the night-coloured pearl.”
The Emperor woke up in terror. He was exhausted and he had gone past the point of despair. He sank back into his bed in a fever and remembered his dream, and then he realized that he would never find the night-coloured pearl.
Finally, his mind cleared and even despair had left him and there, in the middle of nothingness, was the night-coloured pearl.
The Emperor shut his eyes and smiled to himself.
“Nothingness, whom I never bothered to ask for help, all along had the night-coloured pearl.”
And so the following morning we parted company. We had worked till late in the fields the night before and the moon was up as we made our slow way back to the farmhouse. After dinner I had collapsed exhausted into my bed by the fire. I was not used to farm work, but more exhausting than the farm work itself had been the experiences of the day.
The farmer’s entire life and work had the effect of opening up great new vistas to me that left me filled with hope but which also left me feeling overwhelmed from the effort of trying to understand everything I was seeing.
The next morning after breakfast, the farmer gave me back my shirt. It was shining white like the robes of a king. He handed me some rice wrapped in a banana leaf and filled my water bottle with fresh water. I gathered together my handful of belongings and set about tidying my bedclothes. I folded up the blue work shirt that he had lent me and arranged the slippers neatly next to the grass pillow.
I stepped into the farmyard for the last time to find the farmer talking quietly to an old man who was also dressed in the straw shoes and blue-cotton work clothes of the traditional farmer. A brown farm horse was tied to the wooden gate. When the farmer saw me he broke off from his conversation and, looking around at the beautiful day, he smiled.
“It is a fine morning for a departure. Even the last spiders have decided to go.”
He turned to the old man and said something in Japanese and then ushered me over.
“Come and meet Mitsuo. He has come up this morning to help me with some delicate work. I think that I am skilled in the orchard but, if I watch Mitsuo for even one minute, I always learn something new.”
Whilst I bowed to the old man and muttered a few phrases in my halting Japanese, the farmer walked over and unhitched the horse from the post and led it back over.
“There are hundreds of crossroads in the wood. A stranger like you will definitely go astray – but I think you already know that. This horse knows the way. He will lead you safely to the village where you can rejoin your path. When you reach the first house, take him by the bridle, turn him round and pat him on the flank and he will come back here.”
He adjusted the reins and tightened the saddle belt under the horse’s belly and then turned to me for one last time.
“You are sure you won’t stay? Perhaps you should rest for one more day? You could join us in the orchard. It is not such hard work as out in the fields. Or you could just stretch your legs in the wood.”
I smiled and shook my head.
“Yes. I’m sure. But thank you. It’s time I pressed on. Besides, I would only slow you two down.”
“You are too hard on yourself! You saved me many hours of work. I only hope that one day you will come back here and see the fruits of your labour.”
I smiled in gratitude as I struggled to suppress a tear. Forgetting the customs of rural Japan I stepped up to the farmer and hugged him warmly and grasped his right hand firmly in my own.
“Thank you for all your hospitality. I’m so grateful to you for sharing this time with me. I cannot find the words.”
The farmer placed his hand on my shoulder and smiled.
“There is no need for words.”
He helped me up into the saddle and then, taking the horse by the bridle, he led us to the farmyard gate and patted the horse on its flank.
“Farewell, Pilgrim. Until we meet again!”
And so it was on horseback that I finally left this marvellous place. As I gently swayed from side to side, enjoying the rocking motion of the horse’s patient steps, I looked back up towards the top of the orchard to where I had first entered this strange world, only one day and a lifetime before, and in the distance I could see the orange glow of the citrus fruits hiding in the healthy trees.
Enjoying the experience of being a passenger, I soaked up the morning sun. The track climbed the hill and bent slowly round the top of the farm before plunging back into the wooded slopes above, but before we disappeared into the shade of the trees I turned to look down the hill one last time.
I could see the farmer and Mitsuo wending their quiet way through the misty orchard, two shepherds amongst their ever-trusting flock. As they walked they stopped and touched the trunks of the trees as if they were patting the flanks of their favourite horses. They reached up and pulled upon the outstretched boughs, as if they were shaking hands with old friends. I watched the farmer bend down and forage amongst the ground cover, inspecting leaves and searching for the friendly pests that he prized so highly and holding them up to show Mitsuo before replacing them on the same leaves from which he had just taken them.
The two men didn’t seem to be in a hurry. They looked like connoisseurs of some sort, as indeed they were, taking a leisurely stroll through a living art gallery.
Would the seed of a new kind of life, scattered here by the wind, take hold? If it were a question of purity of heart and purpose then I did not doubt it. The farmer was relying on his belief that the modern world was quite wrong and that mankind knew little about the true workings of nature. Only time would reveal if this conviction was enough.
All I could do was offer my friends one last silent prayer as the horse carried me through the low-hanging branches and slipped into the shadows of the wood. Was he a genius or was he a madman? And would I ever see him again? A verse of Basho floated into my mind and I bowed my head to its mournful power:
Forever, my friend,
Like the wild geese
Lost in the clouds.
I dearly hoped it would not be so but even if it were I was not leaving empty-handed, for although at the time I only partially realized it, I was carrying away with me back to Europe something almost as precious as friendship itself: the seeds of a new life.
As I finally lost sight of the farm and settled back into the rocking motion of the horse’s gait, I realized that I no longer needed to continue my pilgrimage and that it was time now to head for home.