Cajun Justice(69)

Christmas 2004, in Thailand. He’s standing in four-foot-high water and furiously banging on his hotel door to break it open in order to rescue his family. He bangs harder and harder and collapses in the water, gasping for air but sucking in the contaminated salt water. His eyes are open, but he can’t see through the muddy water. His lungs fill with water as he screams for help. He’s drowning. Everything slowly goes black. Then complete silence. No more sounds of rushing water or banging.

Cain awakened, coughing for air. He was on the tatami mat looking up. Standing over him were two monks. The sensei continued swinging his bamboo staff, but the sound was inaudible. Cain saw one of the monks speaking but could not hear anything. Slowly the sounds came back into range. The monk had a set of kind eyes that sparkled. Cain sensed a humanity from this old man who comforted him. Then all the sound came back when the monk placed his hand on Cain’s shoulder.

“Mountains exist for you to climb,” the monk said slowly in English, “not for you to carry.”





Chapter 54



Umiko ran up to Cain and kneeled beside him. “Are you okay?”

She appeared blurry in his vision. “Yeah, I think so. I must be a little dehydrated.” He massaged his right temple. “I got a migraine. It blurs my vision sometimes. Not sure if it’s from the migraine or from the dehydration.”

“Sensei just gave us one hour personal time for tea.”

“That sounds great right now.”

“I agree,” Umiko said. “He was training us very hard today.”

Umiko and Cain walked the flat stone path toward a more private area near the garden.

“Please sit and relax,” she instructed. “I will be back with the tea.”

As Cain waited for Umiko, he looked around the Zen retreat. Perfectly manicured bonsai trees, raked granite, and a man-made pond with koi fish were nearby. He had a panoramic view of Mount Fuji towering over Japan’s sacred landscape. This is such a tranquil place, he thought. I’ll come back someday, without the sensei.

Umiko returned, holding a wooden tray with the tea-making essentials. She kneeled in a seiza position and began the ceremonial ritual of preparing the tea. She placed a spoonful of matcha green tea powder in his ornate bowl. She poured about four ounces of hot water into the bowl. She used a bamboo whisk brush to vigorously stir the powder and water together until the green tea became frothy.

Cain watched her closely, impressed by her level of perfection and attention to detail. He felt that she was honorable and someone who would never betray his trust.

She cupped the bowl with both hands and presented it to Cain.

Cain wanted to chug it, but it was too hot. So he sipped it as quickly as he could. He felt himself getting better with each gulp. “Thank you, Umi. Your tea is a lifesaver. My vision is getting sharper and I can tell my headache is fading.”

Umiko smiled while performing a half bow. “Matcha green tea has special powers to heal the body,” she said. “It’s very good for you.”

“The only tea we drink back home is sweet tea, loaded with the power of sugar.” Cain smiled. “You remember that tea I had at Nawlins—the one you tasted?”

“Yes. Sweet tea is good”—Umiko paused—“for dessert.”

Cain laughed, and Umiko covered her mouth and looked nervously around the Zen garden—mindful not to disturb the other retreaters.

“The garden, the landscape, the topography—it’s all magical here,” Cain said. “It looks exactly like it does in the magazines.”

“I can’t wait to show you this place in March or April, when the sakura—the cherry blossoms—bloom.”

“Sakura,” he repeated. “I look forward to coming back with you.”

“Sakura also means to smile, because you always smile when you see the beauty of the cherry blossoms.”

Cain smiled. “Then your parents should have named you Sakura.”

Umiko blushed and turned away for a brief moment before looking back at Cain. “I’m sorry to be so nosy,” she said.

“No,” Cain replied. “Ask me anything.”

“I heard you speak to the monk.”

Cain sighed, embarrassed. “I’m sure I was rambling from the dehydration.”

“We have a popular saying in Japan: Au wa wakare no hajimari.”

“Does it mean to drink plenty of water before doing kendo for two hours in the wilderness with a stick-wielding sensei?” Cain asked, deflecting her question.

“It means ‘Meeting is the beginning of parting.’ We remember the past, but live for the present, because even the present will be the past someday.” After a moment, she said, “Would you like to tell me about what happened?”

Cain paused for a beat. “Normally, I would say no. But if there were ever a time and place”—he inhaled and exhaled slowly—“and a person to share this with, it’s now and with you.”

Umiko prepared him another cup of tea, and one for her. She sipped hers as she listened to him talk.

“Ever since I was a child, I have loved the water. Year-round, after school, friends and I would swim the lakes near my home. They were a lot like the lakes here, but our lakes had catfish instead of koi.” He smiled. “Instead of being lined with rocks, they were lined with dirt and mud.