
ALT layer of moss. The garden had been weeded, the azalea bushes neatly trimmed. No one had lived in the house for half a year, and a couple of days before they'd had a gardener come to whip the yard into shape. "Maybe this wasn't necessary, but around here, gardens are quite significant," Mr. Komatsu said. "Of course," I said, making the expected reply. "One other thing is that the persimmon tree bears wonderful fruit, but it's way too tart to eat, sad to say. But at least then the neighborhood children won't sneak into your garden to steal the fruit." "You're saying that everybody knows that? That the persimmon tree here might look nice but the fruit's too tart?" Mr. Komatsu nodded several times. "That's right. People around here know everything going on around here. Up to and including a single fruit on a permission tree." From “The City and its Uncertain Walls” by Haruki Murakami, translated by Philip Gabriel, Harvill Secker, London, 2024.















