A thousand years ago in the distant land of Japan there served in the employ of the emperor a devoted gardener named Kaoru.  Each day before dawn he rose from his pallet and began the rounds of his lord's vast estates.  With unstinting diligence he tended to the flowers and the shrubs that bloomed everywhere about him.  But his greatest delight was in the tall trees that grew in the sacred groves devoted to Kwannon, the Buddhist goddess of mercy. In particular, Kaoru found himself drawn to a great oak several hundred years old which towered far above all the other trees. In his brief hours of free time he sat on the moss which covered the gnarled old roots and stared upward to where the leaf shrouded branches swayed in the soft summer air.  Being very lonely and without companions or a wife, he came to think of the oak as his friend and grew as fond of it as if it were human.

One day Kaoru was busily pruning the emperor's prize roses in the private section of the gardens nearest to the large stone castle.  In the distance he heard a delicate laughter that sounded to his ears like the tinkling of a thousand tiny silver bells. Turning, he glimpsed in the distance the emperor's beautiful daughter strolling through the chrysanthemums which Kaoru had planted only the month before.  Dressed in a gaily colored kimono and surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting, she appeared a butterfly floating through the afternoon sunlight.

Although Kaoru saw the princess for no more than a few seconds before she entered the castle and disappeared from his view, nevertheless he felt sure that he had fallen in love for the first time in his life.  But then his joy turned to sadness.  He well knew that his station in life was far too low ever to allow him to aspire to the hand of the emperor's daughter.  His heart filled with bitterness, he ran to his favorite tree and encircled its trunk with his arms.  “Why was ever I born into this floating world,” he cried, “only to have sorrow fill my days?”  His tears fell freely upon the grass and seeped into the ground at the base of the tree.

Now the emperor of Japan at this time was a wise old man who had ruled in peace over his country for many years.  Lately, however, as his daughter had come of age and had approached the time for marriage, he had grown troubled in his mind.  He knew that no matter which noble he chose to become his daughter's husband, the other lords of the land would grow jealous and would angrily accuse him of favoritism.  Discontent would spread among them and strife would quickly overtake his household.

This was how the emperor came upon the idea of a contest for his daughter's hand.  Although she cried at his feet and begged her father to choose for her a noble who was worthy of her love, the old man remained adamant.  He sent messengers throughout the empire to announce that his daughter would be given in marriage to whomever among his subjects could paint for him the most beautiful landscapes of his beloved country.

At once the land was thrown in turmoil.  Everywhere nobles rushed to find tutors who could instruct them in the use of the brush.  Servants were dispatched throughout the provinces to discover those vistas most worthy of artistic endeavor.  Painters with fine brushes at once sought to capture on paper the grandeur of mountains and waterfalls and the delicacy of cherry blossoms.

Through all this the gardener Kaoru sat in despair beneath the great oak.  “What chance have I to compete in this contest?” he asked himself one afternoon several weeks after the emperor had made his announcement.  “I have never studied art and own neither brush nor paper.”

At once there appeared beside him a young woman whose loveliness surpassed all that he had ever seen, even that of the princess with whom he had fallen in love.  Although he could never recall having seen her before, Kaoru knew at once that she was a noblewoman of the highest rank.  Her simple white kimono was made from the most expensive silk and the comb she wore in her hair was of mother-of-pearl inlaid with turquoise.  More than these, however, it was her aristocratic bearing and her exquisite beauty which most truly betokened her noble origins.  Her almond-shaped eyes were black as a starless night and her long lustrous dark hair hung in great waves from her shoulders.  So pale was her fine white skin that Kaoru fancied he could see rays of sunlight filtering directly through her body.

The unknown lady placed her fingers to his lips to forestall any questions Kaoru might put to her.  “Ask me not who I am,” she instructed.  “Know only that I have come to help you learn to paint.”  With that, she pulled from beneath her obi a lacquered box marvelously inlaid with gold leaf and filled not only with brushes but also with an assortment of paints which contained every color in the rainbow.

“Gracious lady,” answered Kaoru when he had at last overcome his amazement, “I cannot thank you enough for the kindness you show me, but never in my life have I held a brush and I fear that now I have not enough time to learn.”

“What matters only is that your heart is pure and filled with kindness.  When you hold it before you, you will see that it becomes a mirror in which the image of the Buddha is reflected.  From such a heart the most wondrous art will pour forth as water from a spring.”

And so the mysterious lady began to instruct Kaoru in the art of painting.  Each day at the appointed hour he would come to the tree and she would materialize beside him as though from thin air.  She taught him the proper way to hold his brush and to prepare the surface of the delicate rice paper.  Then she put her fingertips to his forehead and instantly his imagination filled with landscapes of unutterable beauty where gossamer wisps of fog clung to lonely mountaintops and hoary dragons gazed with fiery eyes from behind veils of clouds.  When Kaoru looked down to the paper in his lap he gasped to see his brush recreating each of these scenes in the most minute detail.

 Some days the two wandered side by side across the gardens to the spot where the ruins of a summer pavilion had for decades stood untended until the vines and creepers had almost completely overgrown it.  Upon entering, Kaoru was astonished to see that the interior was bright and spotless.  Priceless paintings hung from the walls and luxurious furnishings bearing the imperial crest crowded all the rooms.  The beautiful lady served Kaoru exotic foods from lacquered trays and in a sweet voice read to him long passages from The Tale of Genji.  At other times, with a wistful smile upon her lips, she played music for him upon an ancient biwa until at length he felt his heart would break from the beauty of it.  Gradually Kaoru forgot his love for the princess and the reason which had brought him there.

Finally came the day when the competition was to be judged.  Kaoru gathered all his beautiful paintings into his gardener's pouch and prepared to leave them at the castle.  At the last moment, however, he turned back and approached his patroness whose name he had never learned.  On impulse he fell to his knees before her.  “Oh, kind lady,”  he murmured, “this contest means nothing to me anymore, for I find that it is you I truly love and not the princess whom I saw for only a moment.”

The lady looked tenderly on Kaoru and gently stroked his hair.  “That can never be,” she replied.  “Do you not know the fate of those who would give their heart to a ghost?”  She watched as the startled Kaoru pulled himself back in terror.  “I am the spirit of a long dead princess,” she explained, “who now inhabits this tree which you have cared for so well.  When the all-merciful Kwannon saw your distress she permitted me to enter for a short while this floating world.  Now  that my task is done I must return to the land of the dead where my soul belongs.”

Kaoru summoned his courage and once again approached her.  “Then take me with you,” he begged.  “This life holds for me nothing but loneliness and sorrow and I would be all too glad to leave it behind me.”

The ghost princess smiled sadly.  “Poor man, do you not know that in this world of dreams, joy and sorrow alike are as fleeting as the morning dew?  But if you do indeed find this life so barren of all happiness, then you may after all follow me back among the dead.  For my heart too has been filled with loneliness these many centuries, and I too long for the love of another.”  Then, smiling again, she stretched her pale white hand out to him.

And so it was that the next day when the emperor and his court were passing through the sacred grove, they came upon a great pile of paintings whose unearthly beauty was such that, connoisseurs though they were, they fell to their knees in wonder.  All agreed that without question these clearly deserved to win the competition for the princess's hand, but not one of the court could hazard a guess as to who the author might be.  Certainly no one thought to connect them with the lowly gardener who had disappeared the day before and who had not been seen since.

After much discussion, the nobles gathered up all the paintings and made ready to carry them back to the castle.  As they walked away in puzzlement, the emperor and his retainers paused at the edge of the grove for a last look back.  Never after were they able to explain the strange sight that met their eyes.  For although there was no wind that day, even as they watched they saw the branches of the great oak entwine with one another and sweep low to the earth as if in a gesture of final embrace.

Mermaid Parade

This is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

All photos and text, except where otherwise attributed, copyright (c) 2007 - 2008 by Frank McAdam.  All rights reserved.