The Bonsai Tree – 1983

John Murray (Publishers) Ltd

Extract

From Chapter Seven

Itsuko sat like a small nesting bird on the floor of the bare matted room.  Shadow dissolved the beams of the ceiling, before her the garden swindled to evening landscape.  At this time the smell of moss and wood reflected the past warm day.  It was unseasonably mild.  There was the sweetness of damp undergrowth, somewhere in the dusk Fumi watered the garden; a wet patterning upon dry leaves in the fading day, the paleness square of her apron could be seen beyond the trees, from the pool came the rhythmic clack of the mortar.  Itsuko stirred and touched her hair;  she felt a restful strength in the absence of the bitterness that had consumed her these past month. 

The glass doors of the veranda were drawn back, the garden seemed to fill the room.  Beyond bamboo thickets the moon hung huge, red as blood, close enough to touch.  Itsuko stared at it unswervingly and knew it was an omen.  She had no doubt that present events were the arrangements of the Gods.  Why else was the child dead?  She was certain now of what she must do; at last she saw the way.