Shadows and fleeting light, flickering on and off in a
staccato rhythm perpetuating infinitely. The clandestine darkness; black silk is
the colour of the nights and it weaved around all. The raw blackness is vivid
and striking. The tall rising buildings, from the earth and up into the sky.
The gardens had long since been built over, and the houses divided, the world
expanding vertically rather than horizontally and still there is almost no
space for a steamy breath.
The skyscrapers of Shinjuku stark against the indigo night
sky, west of central Tokyo; silver flowers pointing towards heaven, faithful as
ever to the greater powers; some magical hand had cast some illusion of
ikebana, however simplistic. A light dusting of silvery rain and the cemented
streets became lanes paved with silver, gleaming and boldly shimmering; neon
blues, purples and greens . It has rained almost constantly this autumn. I
didn’t mind the rain; it’s light feathery touch was caressing.
‘Toshiya,’ Shinya had an inquisitive expression on his face.
‘There’s a cupboard here full of jelly, instant pasta, bottled orange juice and
strange little packets of tea.’
‘Oh, that. I almost forgot I had that. Let’s get it out. That’s western black and herbal tea, Shinya.’
My roommate watered the plants tenderly. I watched the water
dribbled from the spout. They wanted to introduce me to the adored plants. The
plants have been christened; a new jasmine plant was named after me; my
gardener made me kiss it and say good morning.
‘Toshiya, meet my daffodil flower, Lenora. Lenora, this is
Toshiya.’
I’ll never get over the little intimate discourses she had
with the plants.
‘It’s probably a myth, but they say that if you talk to
them, they grow better.’
‘Aren’t you old for that sort of idealism?’
‘Well, they say age doesn’t matter unless you’re a western
food called cheese.’
There was a dahlia flower, called Dahlia. I would have just
preferred if my balcony was used for growing pretty weeds, like dandelions. I
liked dandelions; charismatic and alluring.
‘They’re a weed, Toshiya, so don’t blow.’
‘Why not? They’re beautiful riding the wind.’
‘The beautiful stuff is the seed. When you blow, you’re
endorsing their growth.’ My dear professor sounded so righteous and upright,
guardian-of-botanical-gardens that I blew anyway just to spite her, self
proclaimed mother of the earth.
Daphne and deadly nightshade were in their own decidedly
endearing pots with their own little bit of earth, as was the lavender plant
and the assorted bonsai; diminutively delightful.
‘The Daphne plant is called Belle Daphne; can you see the
little bell-shaped flowers? Belle sounds like the way the English word for bell
sounds.’
‘Yes, but why all the western names?’
‘A western plant deserves a western name, I suppose.’
I tried to touch the nightshade plant. Hands reached out and
halted my caress.
‘It’s called deadly nightshade for a reason, you know. It’s
poisonous; the purple flowers and black berries are warnings, Toshiya, not
gothic aesthetics.’
I pinched her nose and grinned, ‘Just tell me what it’s
called!’
‘Helena of the Moon. As in Helena of Troy, you know, the
Greek story I told you, the ‘face that launched a thousand ships’. Deadly
nightshade is pretty to look at, but it’s poisonous.’
The room for my gardener was filled with books and plants.
My patient teacher liked to read; much more patient than me. A connoisseur who
wanted to savour; I wanted to swallow but I learnt the art. It was summer, and
we were surrounded with a fragrant and drowsy heat on this alcove of wilderness
in the jungle of steel, cement, brick and mortar.
‘How I wish for a star-lit garden, but a square box of
elevated dirt is all I can buy in Tokyo.’
Then why do you stay, I wanted to ask. You could have left
for the foreign lands where the gardens were still open, where land was
plentiful and nature was free to roam in the cities. Even the Japanese country
side where skeletal cherry trees still stood and the fireflies still came out
to play on midsummer nights.
‘Don’t be stupid. A garden can be replaced with a clever
mimic, a person cannot.’
The stranger standing in my false garden was beautiful, more
beautiful than I could hope to be. Pretty people are good friends, but
beautiful friends are amazing. Such
beauty was bound by mortality, like the kind that glassware had. Beautiful but
easy to break; so easily tarnished.
“I’m either becoming predictable or you’re stalking me.
Which one is it, do you think?”
I turned around; Kaoru walked up next to me and stared at
the mesmerising nightscape.
“Oh, hello. I didn’t notice you standing there.”
“It’s alright, you were troubled; I could hear the
churning.”
I smiled, “That is so true.”
“So, Toshiya Hara, why are you awake in the middle of night
again? I thought I told you that sleeping late was bad for you?”
“I was just thinking. It’s becoming a typical thing. I sleep
a lot, Kaoru, so I think I’m allowed to be awake at strange hours. You know how
hard I’m to wake.”
“Yes, I’m bringing two coffins next time and some nails.”
“Huh?”
“For you and Kyo. When you’re feeling sleepy, give me a call and I’ll nail you in a coffin.”
“I’m not into kinks like that, but the offer is appreciated. I like thinking sometimes, okay.”
“And you’re not even startled by me now.”
“I suppose it’s not much fun for you if I’m not scared
shitless every time you creep up on mleh?” I shook my head, “Blaew, blah, bleh!
Sorry, tongue twist; sentence too long.”
He smiled, “Learn to speak and pause.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever.” I smirked and waved his
comments away, “You need to learn to salivate; you sound like you’re cracking
up. So, what are you doing awake to be here with me, Kaoru Niikura? Shouldn’t
you be in bed?”
“Same as you, thinking, feeling restless.”
“I feel like that sometimes. We have a lot in common, don’t
we? But then, I think we knew that already . . . did we ever . . .”
“Yes, but not quite. Tell me what you were remembering.”
“Eh, it’s not important, really, just a silly memory.”
“If you remember it, then it’s probably not silly.”
“I don’t really want to talk about it. It’s kind of . . .
complicated.”
“I see.”
“Well, that was certainly an overbearing tone.”
“I didn’t mean it like –.”
“It’s okay – I know; I was just bitching around.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.”
“So . . .”
“Yeah, so one part of me is . . . it’s eating me away and . . . I don’t really want to talk about it . . . and then at the same time I want to scream as loud as I can, do you get that?”
“Like something nudging at you?”
“Yeah, and consuming me whole.”
“You make it sound like a virus.”
“It is a virus . . . actually, I wish it were then all I
have to do is down some tablets.” I fidgeted a bit and flicked black strands of
stray hair out of my eyes, “Fuck, I want some tablets. Shinya has like hundreds
of them.”
“People feel like that all the time.”
“Really? Well it sure as hell doesn’t feel like it. I was
fine before, but it seems lately . . . all the mistakes I’ve made, the stupid
silly things I’ve done . . . it’s all coming back to me. It’s hard to explain.
I keep reliving memories over and over again and it’s . . .”
“You mean like karma? Is there something you regret?”
“Yeah, like karma. I . . . maybe I should go pray or
something . . .”
“Well, we all regret things. It’s one of those things. I
can’t see you being silent.”
I tried to smile, “Yes, you’re probably right. But Kami-sama
is everywhere . . . it’s a nice insurance blanket, isn’t it?”
+
Kaoru: If you became a devil, you could live.
Toshiya: You become a zombie and you would be able to live
forever.
Kaoru: But it would be unfortunate to live forever as a
zombie.
Toshiya: And it must be very unfortunate to live forever by
yourself . . .
+
They sat at the table in the kitchen, staring into the dark pools
of their tea cups, with the intensity of a pair of fortune tellers deciphering
the future. One of them was smoking, fiddling with the light and slim cylinder.
They were drunk; the bottles were in the trash. The other signed, leaning his
chin on his folded arms like a bored student.
“I think I’m lonely. Are you lonely, Kaoru?”
“Yes.”
“Did you have someone?”
“You mean besides meeting . . . you all those years ago?”
“Yeah . . . besides little old me.”
“Sort of, but it was a pretty bad match.”
“What happened?”
“A relationship of . . . had problems with intimacy.”
“Tell me about it.”
Fiery in temperament. Five previous relationships; no
marriage; no children. Degree in . . . never did say. Explicitly minded; world
class cynic; emotionally insensitive; humorous; cheerful; pleasant; easily
irritated. Arms, legs, mouth, nose, eyes, ears, hands, feet, two thumbs and
eight fingers.
Cheerful and open, displayed the world with two closed
hands. Hands with sharp long nails laced with poison ivy. Demonic joker who
gave kisses with lips covered in blood.
“I wanted to stay. It filled up all the silences. I guess I
sort of owe everything to . . . the hard work put into the band and everything,
because I wanted revenge . . . and I needed to love something else in my life .
. . focus . . . you know what I mean right?”
The most vibrant individual he had ever met. The ability to
make him forget the world. Scorching in brashness, extremely cynical and
shallow; selfish. He cared; the demon could be so wonderfully witty. He
confessed; he had placed all his hopes and aspirations; rejection. The next
day, poison ivy came smiling, an invitation out.
“And I realised how insensitive the whole relationship was.”
“Sad, but I suppose it turned out alright, right?”
“Yes, well, it doesn’t hurt anymore, if that’s what you
mean.”
“If it doesn’t hurt anymore, than it’s okay.”
“Yes, I’ve even learnt something from all the pain; people
who are constantly happy are usually weak. They are in denial, cutting out all
the pain in their life. I like optimism . . . but blankness to the trials of
life isn’t it.”
“Pain. That is such an important thing for us, eh? Is that
why you thought I was shallow? My happiness? I’m not so happy now, am I?”
“. . . I suppose I was wrong; as Ame, you could never be shallow. You know, when I didn’t know who you were, a little ghost of Ame followed me everywhere and talked to me.”
“. . .”
“What’s wrong?”
“You really had me as a kid following you?”
“You’re not a little kid.”
“Yes, I know that but . . . you really imagined Ame to be there?”
“Yes, I did. Anything wrong?”
“Uh, it’s nothing, keep talking.”
“Well, I’m
finished. So . . . did you have . . .? No? I suppose I’m wrong.”
“Suppose? You’re wrong in pretty much every subject on me.”
“Sorry for my ignorance.”
“Oh, I feel more sorry for your sarcasm. And yeah, I did
even if I don’t know what to call it anymore. She was a great friend but . . .
really nothing else went on . . .”
“What happened?”
Born on the 10th of June, 26 years old. Not
married; no children. Intellectual perfectionist; practical; idealistic;
emotionally receptive; profound; calm; pleasant; patient. Arms, legs, mouth,
nose, eyes, ears, hands, feet, two thumbs, eight fingers and a brain. Cultured;
the world was peeled for him and displayed for it’s inner glory. The hands were
fine and nimble.
“What was the problem with that?”
“Cancer. Terminal cancer . . .”
Born on the 10th of June, 26 years old. Imminent
death.
“Don’t cry.”
One of them kneeled in front of the other, his thin hands
squeezing shaking ones.
“ . . . makes me realise what a sham life really is . . . you know, I’m not sure if there’s a point . . . to living that is . . . it just sorta ends . . . what is my fucking michi anyway? What is her fucked michi?! Isn’t she supposed to have one or something?! It makes me so-!”
One of them splashed a glass of water in the other’s face.
“. . .”
“I’m sorry . . .”
“It’s okay . . . I was gonna end up with a wet face anyway.”
Mortality followed like a cursed shade. It hounded, chased,
and hunted; it was determined to capture the prey with the peachy limps. The
perfume bottle filled with youth and vitality begins to empty itself out
through the crack; the fragrance diminished.
There was no refill; the bottle is empty.
+
The beach is only a short drive away from Tokyo. When we got there by taxi, it was late evening and the sun was beginning to set. He paid the taxi driver to stay with us. I stared at the soft rolling waves and I just wanted to walk into the ocean, I wanted to see how far this reality went, how far this green and blue silk dream ran for. Toshiya’s hand in my mine stopped me.
He stared at the sky, “When I stare hard enough at the sky, I can see it moving over me, and sometimes, I can almost feel like the whole earth is moving under my feet.”
I thought about nature programs and the distant call of whales in water. The cry, mournful, low, haunting and distant in the watery bubbles. Toshiya could cry like that. I don’t know how he does it but when he cries, it seems so real. I disagree with him when he’s in an unguarded stance and he’ll sprout tears. By the end, he doesn’t even know why he cried.
“I’m psychosomatic.” He cradled his hand, “My hands ache and feel like they’ve been pierced when I get upset. And the thing is, I get upset really easily. I have to cry, Kaoru, if I don’t, I feel like I’m choking and my heart is contracting. My chest hurts and it’s like I’ve having a heart attack.”
I touched his hand; the most sensitive part of the body. We took off our clothes and we went to frolic around in the water. It was warm, from the sun beating down on it all day. We swam. I don’t have a penchant for swimming but I adored the insensibility of direction and space when you’re floating. Toshiya agreed. I relaxed my body while he lied on his back.
I felt my body sinking in the water. I felt my muscles soften. I felt my breathing stop. I looked up in my shadowy cage. The liquid silvery surface of the water, the difference between life and death, between air and water, between reality and dreams. Such a thin division, I thought. I held my hands out in front of me and looked at the white skin with blue and green shadows.
I blinked against the salty fumes entering my eyes and looked up again. The shining ripples of light and shafts of pure sunshine bliss through the murky ocean. Violent waves and splashes of Toshiya’s feet as he looked around for me. I was going to drown if I stayed down here; the salty brine in my mouth. His voice was ineffective in water, but I still heard him calling my name.
I’m not going to drown. I refused to drown. And so I kicked, harder and harder. I could see the surface of the water. I screamed through the water, the bubbles tickling my skin just as the salt was scratching away at it. This was not how I was going to die. My michi, my path was not death. Sprinting through water, rising with the air inside my lung and blood stream, higher.
I kicked my feet and reached out with my hands, the airy reality on the other side of this mirror. I could get there. I know I could. I shot through the watery surface and snapped my head back to see the sky. Blue and clear. Elevated watery reality. Diluted. Toshiya grabbed me by the hair and dragged me back to the shore. That hurt more than drowning ever could; he should cut his nails.
I loved the fact he was right there, and I could drag him out to wherever it was that I wanted to be. Selfish or not, it doesn’t matter. I could do everything with him. I wouldn’t eat alone, I wouldn’t breath alone, I wouldn’t think alone, I wouldn’t be happy alone. We sat in the car, and ignored each other, each plugged into their own music system.
I tapped the car window and he touched my wrist, inspecting the little skulls I wore around it.
“I like you.” I said.
He nodded. “What’s for dinner?”
The taxi drove on towards the lights of Tokyo, Tokyo, from here to Tokyo, the bullet train.
Elastic bands snapping and I’m back on kitchen floor, his eyes bleeding salt. I wrapped my arms around him and he breathed into the crook my neck. Little moist and hot breaths. The cold tiles under me and his hot fingers on my shoulder seemed to make everything out of focus. His wet lashes prickling the skin of my neck as he blinked. It was a salty moment.
“Are you going to stay?”
“Maybe. Do you want me to stay?”
“Please . . . sorry for crying on you.”
“It’s okay. It’ll dry.”
“I . . . I’m not usually like this.”
“Yeah, I know. I’ve known your sarcasm long enough to know this isn’t.”
“. . . I never mean to be sarcastic . . . I just am sometimes . . .”
“And you can be very nice sometimes too . . . it’s okay, really.”
“Don’t you think it’s embarrassing sometimes expressing emotions?”
“Yes . . . of course, but don’t feel that way around me. I’m family.”
“I like . . . I like your hands.”
“Huh?”
“They’re very comforting.”
“. . . uh, um . . . thanks, Toshiya.”
“You’re welcome. Are we sleeping on the kitchen floor?”
“Are we?”
“Well, I’m asking you.”
“You don’t want to sleep in your bed?”
“Well, I can’t exactly get up. I’m basically lying on you and if I let go of your neck, I’m going to just slip and fall. I don’t really want to hit my head.”
“Right. We’ll get up together on the count of three. Ready?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. One, two, three . . .”
“. . .”
“There. Come on, let’s put you to bed.”
“What about you?”
“I’m sleeping too, but I’m the one putting you down.”
“Okay. Hang on, you have something stuck on you.”
“What is it?”
“There. Just a piece of cabbage leaf.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem . . .” Clear, intense eyes. “What are we . . . going to do?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, are we going to sleep with each other?”
“You’re a little drunk.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Don’t ask questions when you’re out of it, Toshiya.”
“Answer the question.”
“No, we’re going to be friends.”
“We’re already friends.”
“Go to sleep Toshiya.”
“Where?”
“The bed, Toshiya. Come on, take my arm.”
“Okay . . . uh . . . thanks.”
“There, now just go to sleep.”
“What about the dead? What about her?”
“Sleep on it.”
“Okay. Goodnight, sweet dreams.”
“Goodnight.”
+
They asked me in an interview what I liked to say.
‘Goodbye’
I want to turn back time.
“Hello! HELLO! IT’S THE BEGINNING! NOT THE END!” I screamed.
But it doesn’t matter that my throat is raw and blistered.
My voice will never carry backwards in the streaming endless flow that is time.
For all the fame in this world, for all wealth I acquire, for all the power I have;
even gods cannot do this, why should I? Surely, it won’t reach you. I’d gotten
my letter back. It’s under my pillow. I could see my scar. 1 cm by 8 cm, ugly
and gross.
The Tokyo Biennale couldn’t hold my interest. I wandered through
the halls with the high ceilings, watching the coming and goings of foreigners,
gathered in hushed excitement around this work or that. Foreigners who didn’t
understand Japan, yet enthralled, happy, mesmerized.
‘Maybe they’re showing a film where people fall in love and
live happily ever after.’
‘They don’t make films like that now. In this year’s films,
young lovers get garrotted with barbed wire, or it ends happily, except one of
them was married and the other had a major sexual disability.’
I saw a blank wall when I stared at the gleaming surfaces.
The paintings, the artworks, the installations, the prints, the short videos;
all of that which was art. They existed on a different dimension to the one I
belonged to.
I saw hospitals and sterile sheets filled with starch.
And Kaoru . . . tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow and
forever and forever and forever, endlessly infinite and infinitely endless . .
. again.
“It doesn’t exist. You don’t know what you’re feeling.”
“But that feeling is the feeling, it’s how you define that feeling after you have felt it that matters.”
“So what, infatuation can become love?”
“Yes, it can.”
“Oh, please. Don’t bullshit me. It’s like a trend, there one day, gone the next.”
“It doesn’t have to be like that.”
“Whatever.”
“Can’t you admit that you can love?”
I laughed dryly, “A quick confession commonly follows a
crime of passion.”
In the meantime, I am well and truly fucked.
Arna.