In my travels through Japan, among the most amazing stories I heard was one of a farmer from Miyazaki. Katsuo was his name, and he grew some of the most beautiful and coveted mangoes in his hothouses. Each precious piece of red and gold fruit commanded a great price and were always in demand.

One snowy winter day, his wife Aiko failed to return home from her daily trip to the market. The police were called and a search commenced. On the second day, her sweater was found half-covered in snow at the rail of a bridge that crossed one of the larger rivers in the area. When the authorities returned the sweater to Katsuo, they told him their suspicion was that she had jumped to her death in the raging waters.

Katsuo was refused to believe the police and continued searching the wooded area near the bridge for days. Prospective buyers for his mangoes were dismayed to find a closed sign on his door and his friends were even more concerned that he was letting his crop spoil.

You see, these mangoes required special care. Each hanging fruit was carefully wrapped in a special plastic bag that encouraged consistent ripening. Every day Katsuo inspected the crop and made sure that every branch was propped sufficiently and that the fruit never touch another. It was this special care that made his mangoes not only delicious, but beautiful as well.

One evening, his neighbor Kenji brought him dinner.

“Would you like me to keep you company while you eat?, said Kenji.

Katsuo, lifted his weary eyes and said, “If you want. It makes no difference.”

“Katsuo. If you don’t tend to your mangoes, you will lose your crop”, said Kenji.

“What does it matter? Aiko is gone.”

Kenji had always thought of Katsuo as a reasonable man who worked hard for the honor that his business success brought to him and the town.

“How can you throw away everything? Your wife may be gone, but they haven’t found a body. She could easily have left and returned to her family in the north”, said Kenji.

At this, Katsuo stood suddenly, upturning the boxed meal as he staggered to his feet.

Katsuo’s eyes grew small as he turned his glare towards Kenji.

“Never presume to know what is in the heart of a man. What I feel and what I have lost are beyond your understanding.”

Kenji opened his mouth to protest, but shut it just as quickly. He saw the dark cloud that had come over Katsuo and knew further discussion was futile. With a slight bow, he turned and left wordlessly.

As Katsuo tended to the mess he had made, he noticed that Kenji had not closed the door. As he approached, a Kitsune (fox) appeared in the gap.

“You’ve made quite a mess”, said the Kitsune.

Katsuo looked at the Kitsune who blinked and nodded toward the food on the floor.

“What do you want?”, said Katsuo. “Either come in or stay out. It’s cold enough in here already”.

“Your home looked much warmer than my burrow”, said the Kitsune as Katsuo closed the door.

Katsuo knew that Kitsune were mostly benevolent and that welcoming them was supposed to bring good luck.

“My neighbor was visiting and he insulted me”, said Katsuo.

“Well, being insulted certainly calls for mess”, said the Kitsune who shot a wink at Katsuo.

“He suggested that my wife was missing because she had left me to return to her family. That man has no idea what he is talking about”.

“Your wife is missing?”

Katsuo shrugged.

“Tell me”, said the Kitsune as it approached, “If you don’t think she has left you, what has happened to her?”

Katsuo’s eyes narrowed as he locked eyes with on the Kitsune. He wanted to shoo the creature out, but he thought that would only bring him more bad luck.

“My wife jumped into the Oyodo river and was swept away by the current.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Who knows? She never said anything to me and I made a very comfortable home for her here.”

The Kitsune slowly turned its head to take in the entire room. Everything was functional and monochrome.

“It certainly looks cozy. I don’t see any photos of the two of you? Maybe she took them and went to her family as your neighbor said.”

Katsuo’s face turned red and has about to explode, but he realized that the Kitsune had a point.

“There were no pictures for her to take.”

“It’s probably none of my business, but most women add personal touches like flowers or pictures to make the place more lively. It seems to me that a woman who didn’t do those things couldn’t have been very happy.”

Katsuo stiffened his back, and in a brusque tone, said, “It was my duty to make a living and provide a roof over our heads. I spent nearly every waking hour in my hothouses ensuring that our small crop would recoup the expenses. I had no time and no money to waste on frivolities.”

Just then, the Kitsune’s ears twitched.

“Katsuo. Who are you talking to?”, Kenji said from outside the front door.

Katsuo looked to the Kitsune who had disappeared. He opened the door.

“Nobody Kenji. I was just talking to myself. Sorry about my outburst earlier.”

“It’s okay Katsuo. I know you are suffering.”

As he closed the door, all Katsuo could think about was how unfair life had been. He worked to lovingly nurture each mango from bud to ripe fruit. He was the one who placed the braces under the branches to ensure that the fruit never touched a branch or the ground. He was the one who watered each tree with just the specific amount of water every day. He wrapped each fruit in the special cellophane to keep the color bright and consistent. Aiko never had any idea how much work he put in. Now, she was gone and he had no one to make his meals, shop for groceries, or mend his clothes.

Katsuo, fell into a dark depression. All he could think about was how miserable his life was and how it was all Aiko’s fault. Every time he went to the hothouse, he seethed at the thought that he spent all their savings to improve the dilapidated farm into what it now was. “She never appreciated this”, he said to himself.

Days passed where Katsuo did not leave the house. Mangoes that were ready for harvesting lay rotted and shriveled. He turned away neighbors and only ordered food for delivery.

One day, while picking his way across the debris discarded take-out boxes strewn about the place, Katsuo came across the sweater that Aiko had left on the bridge. In six months, Katsuo had grown to hate Aiko. Part of him wanted to throw it away, but a stronger urge was to keep what was likely the only personal item Aiko had left behind.

He sat at the kitchen table lost in thought when he heard a scratching at his door.

He opened the door to investigate and there was the Kitsune that visited him before. He knew it was the same from the beautiful reddish-brown fur and white-tipped tail.

“Come in”, said Katsuo.

The Kitsune went directly to the chair Katsuo had draped the sweater over.

“This looks too small for you.”

Katsuo snapped up the sweater and said, “If you must know, it was my wife’s.”

“Why do you keep it?”, the Kitsune said, looking around at the mess. “You have nothing in your house to remember her by. “

Katsuo put his face into his hands and sobbed, “Why are you bothering me?”

The Kitsune hopped up onto a kitchen chair and said, “Kitsune are empathetic and know when a soul is in torment. “

Yes!”, said Katsuo, “When Aiko killed herself, everything became my fault. I can’t go into town without people staring at me behind my back or whispering their insinuations. The neighbors are worse with their sympathy food and condescending nods.”

“Perhaps you could try to view things from Akio’s perspective”, said the Kitsune, “Women can be indirect. Did she never tell you that you spent too much time with you crop? Did you ever hear her tell you that the house was lonely when you spent so much time in the hothouse?”

“She was always telling me that I spent too much time on the crop, but how else would they bring in any money?”

“I walked past the hothouse on the way here. You don’t seem to be taking care of them now”, said the Kitsune.

“ One crop lost isn’t going to ruin me. I just don’t feel like putting in the work right now.”, said Katsuo.

“So, you could have spent more time with Aiko and it wouldn’t have ruined your business?”

Katsuo let out a long sigh and his shoulders sagged.

“So, this was all my doing?”

The Kitsune said, “It isn’t a matter of one person taking the blame for the failure of a marriage. When you hoard all the suffering, you can never see how the other suffers.”

“Follow me outside”, said the Kitsune.

“What is this patch of weeds on the side of the house?”, said the Kitsune.

“That was Aiko’s garden when we first moved in”, said Katsuo.

“If my wife was missing and I wanted her back, I would replant her garden.”

Katsuo stared at the spot where the beautiful suzuran (lilies of the field) had once been. He remembered the fragrance wafting into the house on a cool spring morning. The thought of Aiko busy making breakfast filled his heart.

“I remember…”, he said, turning to find the Kitsune gone.

Katsuo immediately set off to town to purchase the suzuran bulbs. As walked into the garden shop, a slack-jawed Kenji could only manage a nod. Upon returning home, he spent the next hours clearing the weeds and planting the bulbs.

The winter that year was brutally cold and Katsuo spent the long months thinking on the suffering he had caused Aiko. Snow covered much of Yamazaki until late February. One day, in early spring, Katsuo woke to the sweet smell of the suzuran blooming. He hurried outside and found the Kitsune waiting for him.

“You’ve done well Katsuo. Is this just how you remembered the suzuran? Aiko?”

Katsuo nodded.

The Kitsune stood on its haunches and began to grow taller. Its formed shifted. The beautiful fur turned into an orange kimono and there stood Aiko.

Unsuccessfully trying to hold back his tears, Katsuo hoarsely whispered, “I missed you”.

Aiko replied, “If we suffer, we should suffer together. If we respect each other, we grow like this garden.