“And on our right, we have the East Gardens of the Imperial Palace. Originally the site of Edo Castle’s innermost circles of defence, built in 1457 by the Uesugi Clan back when Tokyo was still known as Edo and it could barely be considered a village. It later passed to Tokugawa Ieyasu, the soon-to-be first ruling Shogun of the Edo Period, in the late sixteenth century, who rapidly developed the town using what has been described as ‘revolutionary city planning’ for the period, transforming it from a minor town of the Kanto Area into the social and political centre of Japan that we see today…” The tour guide rattled his words off in English to the ensemble of tourists following at his heel.
Emiko is supposed to meet me here soon. At least that’s the plan, the gardens surrounding Edo Castle act as a decent halfway point between Chuo City, where she lives, Minato City where I’m currently staying with Nao, and whatever place Emiko has decided is our destination for this Sunday midday.
I’m not sure what task we’ll be doing that’s warranted leaving Hanako Hall behind, she’s kept that secret close to her chest, but regardless of the day’s itinerary, she’s already missed our original meeting time by a fair amount. I had received a hastily typed text message from her roughly ten minutes ago telling me to expect her soonish, but honestly, I was fine with the waiting, and sacrificing a few minutes doesn’t bother me.
Besides, there was more than enough to see here.
“Once Tokugawa Ieyasu became Shogun in 1603, Edo became the de facto capital of Japan, and to solidify his rule, Ieyasu mobilised a large portion of the Japanese workforce from all across the country to expand upon the castle, creating an outer moat of fifteen kilometres in four months, and an inner moat of five kilometres in a fraction of that time, both of which connect to the Sumida River to the east; traces of its remains can still be found all over Tokyo to this day. All in all, Edo Castle held a total of thirty-six gates, and six compounds that have changed purpose over the years, with the First, Second and Third compounds becoming the East Gardens of the Imperial Palace we can see now, while the Western and Fukiage Compounds are now the modern day Imperial Palace, and finally the North Compound houses the Budokan Event Hall and three of Tokyo’s museums; the National Museum of Modern Art, the Tokyo National Museum of Modern Art- yes, they’re separate museums, and finally, the Museum of Science and Technology.”
The tour guide continued down the tarmac road lined with flat greenery and hedgerows on the left with a moderately sized moat behind it, and the thick forest-like brush of the East Gardens of the Imperial Palace on the right.
He took a left at the first junction we came across and followed the path that led up a small incline flanked by the remains of a large greyish-black wall built with bricks the height of a man’s torso that was elegantly stacked atop each other in an almost impossible way.
The path opened up into an expansive well-maintained plain, leaving the surrounding trees and wall behind us as we stepped into the tenderly managed lawn that sat before another stacked foundation of bricks.
“And this is what remains of the old castle tower where the innermost buildings of Edo Castle once stood proud, including the former palace buildings that have since been relocated to the Imperial Palace just over the moat to our west. At its completion in 1638, it was the tallest tower in Japan but held that record for only a brief period as in 1657 the majority wooden structure was destroyed by the Great Fire of Meireki which destroyed around 70% of Tokyo. So the stonework you see before you is over 400 years old, and has not only survived a great fire but also the countless earthquakes that Japan faces each year, all thanks to the expertly constructed brick fit together with mortar by outstanding craftsmanship focused on providing a level of flexibility that has ensured it still stands to this day. Now, does anyone have a question?” He asked, his Japanese accent almost inaudible even to these English-speaking tourists not yet accustomed to this foreign land.
The only question I had was why I was still following this tour group, it wasn’t one to ask aloud, though that should be obvious to even the most inert of minds. So it was avoided, and I instead thought back to how this happened. When I slipped into the rearguard of this group as it waded through the castle grounds, random pieces of information slowly filtered down like a spring river through a mountain.
I think it's the language, it's been a while since I’ve heard English be used so openly in conversation like this. The sentences and words are all pointless, coos of how nice the gardens look, where the nearest toilet is, or the closest bench to rest their sunset year legs on.
None of it matters but the language. It brings me back a few years, to those childhood days in English class, sitting beside Mei, her voice expert not at building walls but at tearing them down, distracting and comforting in equal amounts, a jokey excuse given when I’d ask her why, her teasing that there was no need for me to focus so intently when I was already fluent.
She didn’t understand that the reason I was fluent was because I refused to lose focus.
No, more accurately, it's because I was never given the choice of being distracted.
“Yes, would we be able to see the inside of the Imperial Palace? I’m quite curious about it.” A tourist asked the guide, earning an apologetic look from him, “Unfortunately, as the Imperial Family themselves live within the palace, we’re unable to provide tours of the inner grounds.”
With that I broke away from the tour group, leaving their words bound towards memory lane behind and heading back the way I came, down the incline with the greyish-black brick walls on both sides of the path, as I returned to the main road that ran between the East Gardens of the Imperial palace, and the Edo Castle Ruins where I just left.
Directly opposite the path to the Edo Castle on the other side of the junction was another tarmac path that headed east into the gardens. So with nothing else to do but kill time, I ventured down it, the sky quickly disappearing behind the tree leaves layered above me like a thousand overlapping fans, allowing only the tiniest amount of light in.
The Ninomaru Grove and Garden were the places that held the majority of the greenery within the East Gardens of the Imperial Palace. Stone paths traced themselves through the beds of roses, bundles of bamboo, gathering of tea trees, twisting maples, and the vibrant yet fleeting cherry blossom trees, all wrapped between ponds of tranquil green, no ripple or alarm to disturb its sereneness.
It all reminds me of walks through the woods, untamed forest wet with rain that continues to drip off the branches above the child that was me- is me.
We would chart the muddied trails, my mother and I, back when she still viewed the title of ‘mother’ as something to be proud of, a thing of weight, or perhaps it was an idealisation of what little of herself she saw in me, back when she desired to protect it instead of enhance like a cancerous growth.
I remember the rain would pool along the paths, settled into puddles built with heavy-footed boots, rather than anything purpose-made. We avoided them as if they were plague-riddled pits, her focus on appearances, the very thought that my mirrored reflection of her could be marred by dirt outrageous.
Maybe it was folly of me to hope otherwise, the childish thought that out alone in the midst of the untamed forest, where no eyes can behold us, she would allow me to at least experience the illusion of freedom. That I would be granted the childhood pittance of mess, the choice of life over confined convention.
But it was not so, even in the ancient and wild forest I was not allowed to run free, the birdcage I was trapped within had not even gaps between the bars, replaced with a mirror to show only what she wants to see when her gaze finally divines to descend on me.
A part of me wonders why we went on those trips into the wildness that exists beyond the borders of Tokyo. It was only ever just us two, a few short hours spent hidden while my father was away at work. I doubt he ever knew, it was unlikely Mother would tell him, especially as his response could be unpredictable.
It was on these excursions that she began teaching me Finnish, it started small, as it always does. A quick point at an object, a tree, a plant, an animal, and then a word was said to me in Finnish, then repeated in Japanese, soon individual words turned into sentences, and then it blossomed from there and the roots of the language followed us home to improv classrooms where she began to teach me in earnest.
She still struggled with Japanese back then, I think that’s what drove her to teach me. Something to bridge the gap between us, or maybe another shard to create the mirror?
I’ll never know what she was thinking, and she’ll refuse to recall it either way. It's how it usually is, adults forget, children remember. And a single word from a parent can shape a mind far more intricately than a chisel to a block of marble.
I don’t want to say it doesn’t matter, because it does. Yet at the same time, it doesn’t matter.
If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
A duck quacks at me, clearly impatient that I was selfishly focusing on me rather than it. The hunger in its eyes is all too telling of what it desires most, yet I cannot provide, so I leave it disappointed and annoyed.
I step back from the pond and turn around. All across the path are puddles left over from the nighttime rain, scattered around like miniature lakes, the floating leaves atop them the little boats that sail to and from these portless seas.
When I was a child, she would always make me wear these expensive boots, silly little things far too eye-catching for a kid. Yet if I so much looked at a piece of mud, or approached a puddle, her mouth would begin to scold me for the crime of daring to laugh.
It's a stupid thing when I look back on it. Maybe she just didn’t want to deal with the hassle of cleaning the mud off my clothes, or perhaps she viewed it as a pointless and immature act that was better suited for the rowdy and uncouth boys that she warned me away from.
Unladylike, vulgar, ill-mannered, disrespectful, vile, impolite.
There’s always a reason not to jump in that puddle, yet never one for.
She tells us it's better this way, and with a stern look, we agree.
But there is no stern look this time.
So I jump.
A trail of water droplets runs up the pale tights covering my legs, stopping before my knees. Unnoticeable unless someone is looking to notice, they’ll be dry within the hour, and no mud will be left to dirty my clothes either.
I pulled my greyish-black jacket a little tighter, it wasn’t cold beforehand. And really, it still isn’t, but with only a white skirt and now wet tights below the waist, I’d rather not take chances with the cold.
Regardless, it's nice to choose a smile over appearances.
Ninomaru Garden really is beautiful, pristine and well tended to, but even with this cherished uniformity, I still prefer the forest, wild and free with all it has to give, given boundlessly.
My phone buzzes, I check it and am greeted with a message from Emiko. She’s here, waiting at the Y-junction that connects to the road I followed the tour guide down.
So I go to meet her, the sister I must perceive her to be.
The area where she was waiting for me was at one of the central points of the Edo Castle. To its north lay the remains of a watchtower, a pink food van set up right in front of it selling all sorts of frozen foods, though it leaned more towards ice cream and crepes judging from the people loitering around it.
To the south sat two old guardhouses on either side of the main path that carried pedestrians and the rare vehicle up from the Ōte-mon Gate, to either deeper into the compound or towards the Sakashitamon Gate, the jointly-shared road easily large enough to fit a bus sideways, and with a fair amount of leeway.
Emiko was off to the side, leaning up against the old foundations of the castle watchtower parallel to the pink food truck. Her green eyes were hidden beneath her black fringe as she stared down towards her phone screen, the occasional finger slipping out from the sleeve of her hoodie to swipe another app onto it.
She hadn’t noticed me, surrounded as I am by the tide of people that rises and falls as they’re filtered down the roads that snake through the Edo Castle grounds, accompanied by walking dogs, families, or simply their thoughts.
A pair of girls stood in line for the pink food van, one clearly older than the other. They whispered teasing words to each other, secrets held between them and them alone, clutched so tightly within knowing glances and talking eyes that what they were saying might as well have been in another language, as not even the most astute Japanese scholar could decipher their meaning.
I left my concealed position within this ocean of faces, and stepped into Emiko’s view. She moved to look at me, her big eyes watching me from behind the window planes of those black rimmed glasses of hers, the clogs within her surprised brain turning as she thought of what to say.
“Seina, you’re here! Sorry, for being late… I got held up at home, and y’know my parents were a little confused about today, so I had to explain it to them too, fortunately…” Emiko continued, her excuses turning into rambling as her mind kicked itself into overdrive.
“Emiko, it's fine. Breathe.” I offered with a smile, the same kind I believe a loving mother would have as she speaks to her daughter, or perhaps it is more closer to the face a older sister has when calming the younger?
I hope it is one of them, at the very least. Though I will never be sure, as I have had neither.
“Right, ok, thank you.” She paused, gathering her dispersed emotions, “The plan for today- we’re going to my high school. I didn’t get to speak with you about it after your performance yesterday, I tried to find you but couldn’t. We can talk more as we walk, but we do have to get going, we’re going to be late as it is.” She finished, her eyes glancing towards the gatehouse up the road and presumably the one on the way to our destination.
The pair of girls took a step off to the side of the pink food van, each of them with a crepe bundled up in a paper wrapper that they held closely almost as if the cold treat was a heat pack and they were stranded explorers in an Arctic snowstorm.
Their words were muted to me, more of an enigma than any cypher humanity could put together. It's because they were sisters, the language they shared far more eccentric than English, vastly more logical than Finnish, and undoubtedly more poetic than Japanese.
It was the exact same language I had to learn, the language of familial love.
“Let's have some crepes.” I said aloud, gaining a shocked look from Emiko.
“Huh? We’re already going to be late, and we have so much to do today…” Her words trailed off as she saw the unnegotiable glint in my eye.
“We’ll be fine, and besides, I’m hungry, I did miss breakfast to make sure I got here in time.” I lied, placing a bet that her guilt over being late would cause her to relent to the demand of crepes.
“I suppose it’ll be alright, it shouldn’t take too long either way.” She capitulated upon seeing there was no queue at the pink food van, though it might have been the remorse of setting a meeting time so early, then ending up being thirty minutes late regardless.
I took hold of her hand and gently pulled her towards the pink food van, prompting a faint sound of surprise and confusion to come from Emiko.
It's what a pair of sisters would do, I hope.
The shopkeeper regarded us with a nod as we approached, his voice smooth with the practised method of polite customer service, “Hello, what can I interest you in today, girls?”
“Two crepes.” I responded, taking out my purse and fishing a few yen coins into my palm.
“Flavour?” He asked with a raised eyebrow, already setting out to prepare the crepes, picking up the waiting pancakes and wrapping them around like a cone before dropping them into the paper wrapping.
I looked to Emiko, awaiting her far more interesting answer as whatever flavour I was going to have was irrelevant to the purpose of this act, situated on this stage that resides in reality.
“Emm- choco banana?” She replied, her tone indicating that she wasn’t absolutely sure whether he’d shock one of the most popular flavours.
The man gave another nod and began to prepare the rest of the crepe, mixing chopped banana in with chocolate pieces and sauce, all while Emiko tapped my arm and gave me a glance that seemingly asked what flavour I wanted.
“I’ll have the same.” I informed the man, earning another nod as he added more ingredients to create a second portion for me.
It didn’t take much longer for him to finish and hand them over to us, to which I merely placed a little over a thousand yen in coins on the counter and slid them over to the man, before Emiko and I wandered off to the side, not too far away from another pair of sisters, though they weren’t as one-sided as this performance.
“What do you think?” Emiko spoke between bites, though her focus quickly switched to the next mouthful of crepe she took, clearly far more hungry than even I alluded I was.
I bit into the desert, “It's good.” I offered, not really feeling too particular about it one way or another.
She replied with a hum of delight, whether towards my answer or the crepe already half vanished, I do not know.
My eyes wandered away from her and towards the pair of girls, now finished with their meal they seemed set to continue their day. The older one smiled, spoke a few words in a tone unrecognisable to me, and reached down with a napkin to wipe something off the younger girl’s cheek.
With a giggle and a tease, the older girl made light of the younger girl’s messiness, to which she spat back an insult that came out with far more tenderness and love than it ought to if it were meant to result in pain rather than the laugh it caused.
“Okay, I’m finished.” Emiko announced, hastily wiping away any mess left behind on her face and throwing the wrapping in the nearby bin, “That was nice, but we really need to get moving, can you finish that on the way?” She asked her gaze on my barely touched crepe.
“Sure,” I answered, my eyes surveying the girl who is currently my loving sister, the blemish of chocolate sauce just hiding on the edge of her mouth, “One moment, hold still…” I told her with a smile, perhaps a little more real thanks to the silliness of Emiko making the same mistake as a girl half her age.
She didn’t move out of instinct, and allowed me to wipe off the sauce without a second thought, “There, all done.”
“Great, let's go. We’re so gonna be so late, shit…” She whispered under her breath as she marched off, her back turned to me without a single worry of me doing anything else but following her eagerly.
It was coming together, slowly, yes, but gradually the building blocks of this language of familial love were being elegantly stacked far more impossibly than any greyish-black wall built so far back that the faces of the craftsman who constructed it are long lost to history.
Castle Edo may have defined an entire country, yet to me, what I am building will determine something far more important.
Me.
Or more specifically the actress I strive to be.
I tossed the napkin into the bin, then without a second thought, followed it up with the rest of my barely touched crepe.
After all, props lose their purpose once the actor has left the stage.