Japonica (September)

Aileen and Alec opposite grew one. In our childhoods in the streets where Edwardian pomp turned to California bungalow turned to triple-fronted Cold War, there was a place for a little piece of Japan. A stand could grow at a strategic position on nature strip, driveway, or corner near the wall. They always required a space of lawn. Its eruption of dark branches, tough as Teflon, helped claim its own space. The explosion of radials from out of the ground spread and spread as more shots went direct for the sky and daylight. Our architecture was the demographic of democracy, but there had to be a touch of Japan. The people across the street became folklore, like the rest of us, Aileen and Alec Opposite. Conversations were amiable but back in our kitchens it was, who is the emperor, what do they think, and can we expect Pearl Harbour. It was guessed they voted for the wrong party. One was sociable and the other prone to melancholy. But we had this in common, a little piece of Japan. Like a Noritake cup. Or a piece of cloisonné in the Show Cabinet. They could imagine Japan was there without having to take the trip. It was a mass of branches, it was raw and well Zen, hmmmmmmm, om. They staved off the year with quiet stoicism, or holidayed in Eden. One day there was only Aileen Opposite. She became more talkative than we remembered, even started asking after people. Come September she would snap off dark branches of Japan, where red petals lined the bark, take them inside for a vase. Some things get on your quince, Alec would say. Other things simply come into flower, no fuss. The new neighbours rampage about the house, at least at night. Their conversation is a manga cartoon, but it calms down after lunch. They’ve thought about the garden, maybe a practical no-spiders barbecue landscape (it was in a catalogue cut price) but agree, whatever, the Japonica must stay.