Kintsukuroi

• Alexandra Garrett, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2015

I first met Mr Hayashi on a school excursion. We were sent to spend the day at the botanical gardens with the residents of Blue Mountain Retirement Home. He sat apart from the others.
“Hello Mr Hayashi”
“…”
“My name is Kiyomi. I am here to keep you company”
“…”
“…”
I noticed his hands were bandaged and shaking.
“What’s that in your hair?” he asked.
“It’s a cherry blossom.”
“Did it grow in your head?”
“No, it’s from a tree which grows in my garden”
“Then why did you steal it?”
A nurse came and placed a medicine tablet and a glass of water next to him.
He drank his water but without the tablet. With difficulty, Mr Hayashi lifted his hand to shoulder height and began drawing random patterns in the air.
“What are you doing Mr Hayashi?”
“Do you like the green I used for that water lily?”
I looked in the direction his hand was moving and saw the green water lily, sitting in the pond.
“Yes, it captures the light well”.
“You paint the White Eye bird for me.”
I see the White Eye bird on the pond bridge. I lift my finger and begin to trace its wings.
“Too rough Kiyomi; the feathers must be placed gently. That’s better. Wait until you see the beautiful Lace Leaf Maple tree, it will be so orange the sunset will be jealous.” I looked around at the garden; grass, a giant Lace Leaf Maple and the pond with water lilies. Everyone can see this too. Why does Mr Hayashi think we can’t?
…
The next time I visited the gardens (without any flowers in my hair), Mr Hayashi was sitting in the same place, his eyes glazed and hands shaking slightly.
“Does something look different to you Kiyomi?”
I looked across the pond and saw the remains of the Lace Leaf Maple; it had been cut down after one of its branches had fallen during a lightning storm.
“Something does look out of place”
“Not out of place, just missing. Do you know what it is?”
“The tree has been cut down Mr Hayashi.” His eyes lowered to his hands. He took a large breath through his nose, stood up and began walking towards the pond bridge.
We walked over and observed the wooden ripples of the stump.
“I’m sorry Mr Hayashi.”
He reached into his pocket and took out a small vial which I always thought kept the pills he never consumed. He took something tiny out and placed it into my hand.
“This one will be even better. If you plant this now, you will be able to see what I saw.”
…
The seed grew steadily, sprouting tiny sunburnt leaves which hung heavy like Christmas decorations and over time, the bare space where the Lace Leaf was slaughtered became smaller; but it never disappeared.