by Arturo Silva
But of fire and its horrible effects we have spoken enough.
***
Why this sudden spiritual crisis? Why does the young woman suddenly hear the names Kukai, Dōgen and others? Why this dream of the sacred giant dragonfly under her pillow?, the dream of the fat woman who saved her from embarrassment (and saved the insect from the viper who lay under the absent lover’s pillow)?, the dream of the religious leader’s convention where they all entered with their heads completely covered, swathed in endless cloths, covering their own never-cut hair, even their eyes covered, a bit of gauze to see through, these signs of the ego’s denial, why, the woman wonders, at this time above all, why this burst of spirit?
***
Our bodies sets of lips, chests, drifting, imploding into one another, all tongue and penetration, a single blood-stream, cum-stream.
***
–Here you are.
–Mugi-cha! Makes the summer almost bearable. Shame they don’t export it.
–I knew a pregnant woman who spent her summer in department stores for the air-conditioning.
–She didn’t shop too, did she?
–Oh no, just kept cool. How do you manage?
–I was born cool, Cafferty, haven’t you noticed?
–Inside-out.
–Well, that’s what people think, so why disillusion them? That is true of you too, isn’t it?
–I would like to think so, but alas.
–Alas what?
–Alas, I am of your party.
–I knew we had something similar.
–Probably more than you suspect.
–Oh, I hope not.
–Whatever for? What could you mean?
–Oh, Cafferty, you would not like to be like me. Trust me.
–Well, I certainly do trust you. And I like you – how you carry yourself, your conversation, your –
–My conversation? My weird talk, you mean.
–Call it what you like, it is fascinating.
–Incomprehensible. Hell, I even confuse myself much of the time.
–You’re not after lucidity, are you?
–In my own weird way. It would not be unwelcome, believe me.
–But you are lucid, Marianne – in a weird sort of way.
–Thanks, I think.
–No, I mean it.
–I think of lucidity as being in some way reasonable, communicative.
–Not me, I think of it as illuminating. A flash of light, a beam thrown on something that had hitherto been opaque.
–Oh, comeon now.
–No, I’m serious. That other kind of lucidity is just rational talk that makes the days go by, makes us ignore the slings and arrows. It’s convenient.
–Cafferty, I do not pretend to poetry. And if you call my talk poetic, I’ll deny it – poetic only in the worst sense. A car crash in a movie that takes place on a beach.
–Have I seen that movie?
–No, I just made it up. And believe me, it’s a bad movie.
–But there’s a lot of poetry in the movies.
–And a lot of bad dialogue that some people believe is poetry.
–True. But do you really confuse yourself so?
–Oh, I don’t know if that’s the right word, really. I certainly surprise myself. I often say to myself, “Did I just say that?” Confusion, surprise – I provide my own amusement.
–And ourselves with wonder.
–Well, it’s a wonderful world.
–You do think so, don’t you?
–Of course. You don’t?
–Let me respond later. Back to you.
–What’s on your mind?
–Wonder.
–Ok, I will.
–No, I mean your sense of it.
–Oh, yes. The branches of a tree. How they hold up. How do we? All the punishment, outrageous fortune. A child on his bicycle. How his father teaches him. Bread rising in an oven. A woman at a window. What does she gaze on? Is she turning away from something? Waiting for the bread to finish, expecting some word? The telegram that releases her? That will doom her?
–Are these movie references?
–Oh a couple, I suppose. Does it matter?
–No, I was just wondering.
–Watermelon. Do you remember that scene in Late Chrysanthemums, the actor and the maid who is the only person who tells him the truth, that he stinks on stage?
–Vaguely, yes. Why?
–I don’t know, it just occurred to me. I love that scene. Maybe because it’s summer.
–You’ll stay in town?
–Haven’t decided yet. Maybe I’ll go on an inspection tour.
–Of your islands?
–Yes, I haven’t seen them in a couple of years.
–But you’ll still be in the city, you know?
–Of course, I couldn’t bear to leave, you see.
–Nor I. I used to go away every summer, unbearable.
–Did you see the fireflies?
–Oh yes. You still can, in pockets here and there, you have to know where though.
–And I assume you do?
–I’m not keeping it a secret. Why don’t we go sometime?
–Oh, Cafferty, I’d love to. What an honor, thank you. The fireflies of summer. Dragonflies. What are bluebells, by the way, insects or flowers?
–Does it matter? They sound like both, don’t they?
–Do they sound deadly, poisonous?
–Blue, bell. No, not at all.
–We should make them the official Tokyo flower-insect.
–I think we just have. But let’s not tell anyone just yet.
–Ok. But are there any in Tokyo?
–Does that matter? There are now.
–Yes, yes, there are.
–What else is there in Tokyo that only you and I know about?
–People like you and I, Marianne.
–Ha ha. True. But I hardly know you.
–Better than you think, I’m sure.
–I’m not so –
–Try me.
–Love life.
–I’ve had one. Or two or three.
–Or four or five?
–Or six or more.
–But you’re not telling.
–Oh, I don’t mind telling you. But it would be nothing new to you, I’m afraid.
–Really?
–I’m sure. I think that I love like you – full-speed ahead, and then things get sloppy.
–Slip on your tongue and all that.
–The whole rigmarole.
–Work life.
–Various. Editing, PR, office work of many kinds, private secretary. Nothing special but it enabled me to drift through and pay the bills along the way. Not at all like your experience, I’m sure.
–Not unlike if you count waitressing, hostessing here, some office work there, barely paid the bills, though.
–No, not unlike, I suppose.
–Friend life.
–Blessed.
–Very like. Benevolent bluebells.
–Hummingbirds.
–Irises.
–Cafferty, you’re a dear.
–Marianne, you’re a charm.
–Merely?
–In the other sense.
–Do I have antlers?
–In the other spelling.
–I accept.
–Japan life.
–Where’s that?
–Here.
–Where here? I see no Japan here.
–What –
–Improve the question.
–Tokyo life.
–There you go.
–Tokyo life.
–A charm – in both senses. No, I’m positive I would not be anything like me had I not come here.
–Then I’m not wrong.
–About what? Me?
–No, the city. The city and I. It does that to one, doesn’t it?
–If what I’m thinking is what you’re thinking, then yes, yes it does do that
to one, doesn’t it?
–I think you’re thinking what I’m thinking. And yes it is, it is doing it to me, isn’t it?
–Seems to be so, yes.
–Again. Tokyo life.
–Personality, anonymity.
–Oh, I love that answer. More.
–As they say, skinship.
–That too. More.
–To be anyone you want. To finally have a chance to create that.
–Like paper that dissolves in water, or those kids’ bathtub toys that flower in water.
–Both, yes.
–Another.
–Mugi-cha.
–Oh, that’s not specifically Tokyo.
–Sure it is, if we say it is.
–Ok, I do.
–I do too.
–Does that mean we’re married? I’ve always wanted to be married. No, I don’t mean that, not that way – but married to you sounds like fun.
–Well, it wasn’t in the past.
–But I thought – ?
–None of your guesses are wrong.
–How do you do, Mrs. Cafferty?
–Believe me, you’d be the only one now. You’ve the imagination for marriage.
–Is that what it takes? I’ve always thought so. But most of the world seems to think it’s bicycle lessons, and baking homemade bread.
–Well, for most of the world it is. And that’s why most marriages are so decidedly dull.
–Dull, dull, dull.
–Dull, duller, dullest.
–Betrothal, death throttle.
–Speaking of marriage –
–Oh, let’s leave them for later. This is too much fun for Mrs. Cafferty.
–Ok, ok.
–Marriage life.
–My past?
–No, my future.
–Uhm, alright, let me see. Mugi-cha in the summer certainly.
–You sweet man.
–I get up early, so you can count on a good breakfast.
–Can you get muesli in Tokyo?
–I have my sources.
–Oh I’m sure.
–Well, that means two breakfasts.
–I’m sorry.
–No, no, I’m pleased. Maybe we’ll meet in the middle in time.
–I hope so, I’d like to meet your middle.
–Uh-hum. Now then, as you know, I know every variety of restaurant, tempura, soba, sushi …
–Is this going to be an eating marriage?
–Wait, wait, I’m just getting started. Lots of movies, of course.
–You bet.
–The best friends.
–Spread our love, the light, the bluebells.
–Tokyo at night.
–Tokyo in the morning?
–Dawn.
–Will you give me the wintry sky, that blue, that clarity?
–I’ve just signed it away to you. You’re clarity itself, Marianne.
–You’re the only one who thinks so.
–Why would I any longer need the wintry sky when I would have you? – my bluebell.
–Cafferty, I’m devoted.
–Marianne, I’m … I’m enthralled.
–So marriage can work, can’t it?
–Oh, if people can talk, walk. It only takes imagination.
–Only, yes. I’ll bet I can out-walk you.
–Bet’s on.
–Shall we?
–How? Walk and talk? Walk in silence? Or linger a bit more here, talking?
–Here, it’s far too hot outside.
–…
–I used to live by a rose-garden. I used to live by a tofu-seller. I used to live by a yard filled with kids’ bicycles. I used to live by a street where the traffic noise never stopped.
–I used to not live in Tokyo.
–Horrors!
–I could never leave. That would be my doom. I used to live in the countryside.
–Oh, you poor man, you.
–By rice-paddies. Never been so depressed. Women permanently bent at ninety degree angles. Men with leathery faces. Cheap saké their only relief. Bicycles.
–We’re in the big city now, Dear, we’ll make our way.
–That sounds like the kind of copy I used to write.
–Is that what you do?
–On occasion. It more than pays the bills. Allows me a bit of travel, some indulgences. How about you?
–Like I said, bouts of hostessing, save the cash, lay low for a while, then back to the willow world.
–And – ?
–Oh, it’s alright, really. A woman needs to know how to handle it, that’s all. I don’t agree with all the criticism of it, it’s taught me a lot of how things work here.
–I’ll bet it has.
–Art life.
–What? Oh, yes. Uhm, movies mostly, trying to read Chinese classical poetry, I was here during the heyday of Mono-ha, what tremendous art, what a breath of fresh air, Lee, Suga, Sekine. Those artists should be better known.
–Actually, I meant your own art.
–What art?
–I thought you … that you wrote or …
–Or painted or composed? Oh no, never even tried. Well, I may have tried in a certain manner, but no.
–But all this talk of the imagination, of conversation like sparkling movie dialogue?
–Marianne, that’s for living. No, no, I’m no artist. Sparkling movie dialogue? Well, I’ve dubbed a few movies, but nothing you or I would want to see more than once. No, I recognized quite early on that I did not have that in me.
–Why?
–Well, the dedication, the ambition, maybe even the ruthlessness. No, I wanted to enjoy life. Cultivate friendships. Converse, congress.
–I’m surprised, I really am. Now I’m maybe even more enthralled by my new husband. Really?
–Really, Dear.
–And all this talk about imagination?
–That’s not the sole property of artists. I’d go even further – it’s our nature.
–!
–But you’re an artist, aren’t you?
–I hope you’re enthralled now. No, I’m not, not really. I’ve posed, I’ve been in a few movies because I walk well I’m told, strike a certain presence, seem “mysterious,” but no, I’m no artist, no actress.
– But I thought you – ?
–No, Dear. A lot of people think so. But that’s just their projections, their wishes. I wouldn’t presume.
–Presume what, to be an artist?
–Well, yes.
–No presumption involved. They’re just doing what we are all capable of, given the chance.
–Given the society?
–I’m not sure, really. I suppose so, but I wouldn’t care to get into a debate about it.
–What-you-do life.
–As I said – talk, walk. Love, occasionally.
–Me?
–Forever and always.
–That’s a country song.
–Is it? I had no idea. Can’t say I like the stuff.
–Our first argument.
–Forgive me. I’m old enough to learn new tricks.
–I don’t insist. “Hear the lonesome whippoorwill.” Lonely bluebell. Music life.
–Classical. And Duke Ellington.
–Well, I’m young enough to learn new licks. Ouch. Life life.
–As you see me. As I am.
–As we will be?
–As we will.
–Oh, Cafferty, why didn’t I –
–Let me finish: why didn’t I meet you decades ago?
–So, why?
–Well, you weren’t even born, Dear, not even –
–Let me finish: imagined. But you are an artist –
–Well, it depends on how you define the term.
–By your standards.
–Then perhaps I am, but I wouldn’t apply the epithet myself.
–Epithet, is that all?
–Why want more?
–You’re too modest.
&nbs
p; –No, too sure of myself.
–Are you?
–By now, yes.
–Will I ever be sure?
–I think you already are. That’s what makes you so special, Marianne.
–But next to you –
–If only … decades, you know.
–The brush of a wing, sound of a bell, firefly. Dodecahedron plus.
–But you are sure, I can sense you are.
–Can you? That makes me happy. I don’t know. I sometimes wish I could change, but then I always wonder, change into what? When I think of the possibilities, there’s no one, no way I’d like to be but the one the way I am now.
–The one way.
–Well, mine. For now, I suppose.
–So there might be change?
–There always is, I suppose, but I force nothing. For all the weirdness I’m thought to be, I am not discontent to be myself.
–Nor should you be, you’re radiant, really you are. You have no idea of your wonder, qualities.
–Confusion.
–Is that bad?
–Well, it can get in the way in a job interview.
–I imagine. But you manage.
–I do, yes, I suppose.
–But are you genuinely confused? After all, you do manage.
–Oh, confused only in that others think me strange and I only wish people could understand the curious things that I say. But that’s just truly the way I have to articulate what I see.
–Well, we’re having no problem. And obviously, you have strong friendships, and people like Lang and Roberta and the others seem to understand you, seem not to be confused by whatever you may say.
– I suppose you’re right, yes. See, I don’t really think of myself as confused; nor do I think of them as confused. Just that –
–That it doesn’t measure up to the world’s rational definitions of human discourse.
–Well, that may be one way of looking at it, not exactly the terms I would use.
–And, don’t forget – we are talking, now, and haven’t missed a beat.
–No, we’re each other’s rhythm section alright.
–Marianne and the Bluebells. But are they insects, or flowers?
–I really don’t know, Marianne, and I hope I never find out. I only want them to be what you want them to be.
–Well, maybe in the summer they’ll be insects, and I’ll keep them in little bamboo cages. And the rest of the time they’ll be flowers.
–Perennials.
–Oh yes, like the way you and I must talk, perennially.