The Columbia Anthology of Modern Japanese Literature (Modern Asian Literature Series)

by Неизвестный

  THE MAN (going toward a man): I see, you’re looking for the Acme of Salvation, are you? You came to the right place. Folks’round here also call it Rest Haven. But how the hell did you find your way here, anyway?

  A MAN: I boarded the wrong train, meant to take another one. Then I realized I was headed in the wrong direction, but never mind—it was right I came this way after all. To be sure I went the other way, but you might say it was lucky I did.

  THE MAN: Lucky?

  A MAN: Am I wrong to say that? Wouldn’t you say I was lucky? The lucky truth is I made a lucky mistake.

  THE MAN: Where exactly were you headed to begin with?

  A MAN: Fact is, my sister told me about it—what was it called now? Twilight Town? Something like that. . . . Meant to board the train at Platform 3 but I guess I got my digits mixed up, hah, hah, hah. . . .

  THE MAN (also laughs): That was mighty careless of you!

  A MAN: Odd how you don’t hear any voices here, just laughter.

  THE MAN: Well, this is the instant nirvana everybody’s been looking for.

  A MAN: Now you mention it, uh, you know, I could hear people laughing, ever since I set foot in this place—two, three people in all, maybe. At first I thought they were close by, but then one voice seemed real far away. I had no trouble getting here, but then it was as if I hadn’t arrived at all yet, like somebody’d posted a sign saying No Entry.

  THE MAN: Not at all. The train brings everybody here. All sorts these days, if you catch my drift. . . . This is the end of the line.

  A MAN: Maybe you know, but I was searching for something, for a new, a better life. Like, money. . . . Just joking! (Laughs feebly.) —For years now, the weather’s been just brutal. Foul air, a cold wind blowing. The man in the street, folks at home, the whole town, even folks you can’t tell are unhappy just by looking at them—just everybody’s been bloody miserable.

  THE MAN: No one’s got any miserable memories in this town.

  A MAN: Well, well! Now what kind of lifestyle do folks practice here then?

  THE MAN: No magic, I assure you. Folks just climb that there tower. Then they fall . . . asleep.

  A MAN: I believe I was telling you that I was searching for something new, a better life for myself. And quite by chance I ended up here. I was on the point of throwing it all away, the dreary commute, the abacus at the workplace. Then my little sister told me I ought to go to Twilight Town. She urged me to go back there and find myself. So on two, three days’ holiday I had coming to me, I took off, just like I was making a short trip to the country. But, well . . . I thought to myself, when I get to Twilight Town, damned if I won’t remember nothing but lousy memories of how poor we used to be there. Good thing I came here. City of Joy—no, of Laughter. . . . That’s not it, either. Acme of Salvation, did you call it? . . . Spa for the Soul. But something’s bugging me. So folks climb to the top of that tower to laugh, but where does everybody go after that?

  THE MAN: They just laugh, and then . . .

  A MAN: And then?

  THE MAN: Then . . . you forget everything.

  A MAN: My old life? You’re quite the lyricist, aren’t you? (Gazes up at the tower.) You can hear their voices from down here, can’t you?

  THE MAN: Up on the tower there.

  A MAN: What did you say that tower was for?

  THE MAN: The Tower of Deliverance. Or. . . . In any event, all my job entails is taking you to the top.

  A MAN: You’re most kind. You must be from City Hall.

  THE MAN: Tch!

  The two exit.

  The old woman and her son appear in a spotlight. The guitar plays “Memories.”

  SON: Let’s go back to Twilight Town, mama.

  OLD WOMAN: Away on a moon shiny sea. Across the sea to the sea on the other side. Now, what kind of sea would that be? Just what kind of sea d’you think that’d be? Got any idea?

  SON: Someplace as far as you can go. If you don’t go as far as you can, you’ll never get there.

  OLD WOMAN: If you don’t go as far as you can, you’ll never get there?

  SON: Like, we go bumpety-bump, bumpety-bump, all the way to that town. There, kindness. . . . —Mama, next time I’m gonna take the stairs.

  OLD WOMAN: You’re going to take the stairs.

  SON: Yes, I’m going to walk down.

  OLD WOMAN: I see, you’re going to walk down.

  SON: Today’s the first Thursday in September. Hey, mama! Did’ya see that?! Halley’s comet, just shot across the sky!

  OLD WOMAN: Eh? Where?

  SON: To the west, way across the sky over there!

  OLD WOMAN: To the west, way across the sky over there . . .

  SON: Sh! Be quiet! I can hear it, way off to the west, a kind of rumbling—the Ineffable Universe.

  OLD WOMAN: I can hear it! I can hear it!

  SON: Be careful! Mind that kid on the bike.

  OLD WOMAN: Mind that kid on the bike. Whoa! Be careful!

  SON: The tofu man’s blowing his bugle.

  OLD WOMAN (smiling): The tofu man’s blowing his bugle.

  SON: Ah! Fireworks!

  “Boom, boom! Kaboom! Boom, boom! Kaboom!”—This sound is provided either in the form of sound effects, or alternately, the old woman and her son can make the noises themselves.

  SON: That was the Mauve Feathered Mantle.

  OLD WOMAN: There’s another one! The White Narcissus, that one.

  SON: The White Narcissus, was it?

  OLD WOMAN: Looks like a festival they’re having here.

  SON: It’s a festival they’re having here, all right.

  OLD WOMAN: Ah! There goes another one! Look! There, over there! Shinji.

  SON: Shinji. Why, that’s my name. Shinji.

  OLD WOMAN: Be careful! Mind that kid on the bike.

  Enter the man, from stage left.

  THE MAN (irresponsibly): In this town, everybody climbs the tower laughing. In this town, everybody laughs as they climb up. (As if put out, he hurries them along.) OK, time for you to climb, and this time I want to hear you laugh. Up there on the tower there’s no moon, it’s as black as night, but don’t you worry, I’ll tell you where to put your feet. Right now, let’s be on our way. No need to talk, nothing you need to remember neither. So long as you prepare yourself for a good long sleep, before you know it, you’ll be splitting your sides with laughter. And then, you take off. You put a spring in your right big toe and leap into a dark so dark it’s like the darkness in a picture from the dark ages. You’ll be a citizen of a world of silence. In that place, every living thing goes hard and cold and turns into some kind of mineral or other, like those ferns or dragonflies squashed in layers of red mud or granite. That’s right, you’ll turn into a citizen of a world of silence. Right you are, then! You’re almost there, all you have to do is make it to the top of that tower. Forget your sweet memories, forget the past. Any time now, you’ll start laughing, full of the joy of a good sleep! And I, I’ll watch over you, witness to your laughter. The last laugh. (He pulls apart the old woman and the son. The old woman falls over, leaving the son as he was.)

  OLD WOMAN: Shinji, let’s go back again. To that town. It was summer, wasn’t it? A summer evening. When you came back from the bath, the wind chimes were tinkling—when was that, anyway? How many days before the ambulance came took Gran away?

  SON (kicks the old woman): Get lost, you fucking hag!

  OLD WOMAN (disappears into the gloom until we can only hear her voice): I was raising the blinds when you said “Good evening!” to the lady next door. Just like that, “Good evening!” in a small voice.

  THE MAN: Why, tell me, do we need to go back to all that, when we know memories have a way of repeating themselves as something miserable? Right, now. Get outa here! (To son.) And you, climb!

  OLD WOMAN (voice only): That night, I recall, was the night of the day the morning glory market started. Yoshio was crying with the mumps, but you dragged me out, saying “Let’s go! Let’s go!”<
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  THE MAN: Soon you won’t need to speak. You won’t need no memories neither.

  From up on the tower there is a peal of laughter.

  WOMAN’S VOICE ( from offstage right): Brother!

  With the sound of her voice, both the old woman and the man disappear completely from view. All we can see in the dim light is the silhouette of the son and the cart. The woman is standing, holding an open umbrella.

  WOMAN: Wait! Didn’t you forget your umbrella? It rains in that town, you know. Until the first Thursday in September, a really cold, sleety rain that makes you go all numb. So cold you can’t feel your hands. That’s what I told Mama, and she said, Go fetch the collapsible umbrella, but I said you oughta take the nice big one with the bamboo handle instead. I was really insistent. Remember? Then you forgot to take the marble. What a twit you were, forgetting your marble when you knew you had to show it instead of your ID when you entered town. What train did you get on, anyway? You must’ve caught the wrong one. Where on earth did you go? Show me a sign, brother! I’d feel a whole lot better if you did. Anybody here heard an oboe? When you got to the other side. You said you’d blow me a note or two.

  A tramp is seated at her feet—this man is actually the man who was pulling the cart in disguise—but she hasn’t addressed her inquiry to him.

  TRAMP (a bit drunk): “As the parrot said to Silver” . . . No, that’s not it. How’s it go, then?

  WOMAN: (noticing the tramp crouched under her): Did you say something?

  TRAMP (as before, paying her no attention): “As the parrot said to Silver” . . . No, that’s not it. How’s it go, then?

  WOMAN: Have you been here long? Happen to hear an oboe?

  TRAMP: Uh uh. Heard nothing. —Hoowhee! —As the parrot said to Silver, Why, I don’t hate you. But that eye of yours ain’t gonna get better. —Nope, ain’t heard a thing.

  WOMAN: In that case, you didn’t happen to see a man, did you? Nobody on the train?

  TRAMP: No money, did ya say? I’m loaded. . . . But that eye of yours ain’t gonna get better, and that hook of yours, why, it don’t bleed.

  WOMAN: My brother wasn’t there?

  TRAMP: Your brother? We-e-ll. As the parrot said to your brother. . . . Shit, am I drunk! (Slaps his cheeks with the palm of his hands.) Nope. Ain’t got a clue. Never seen your brother.

  WOMAN: He’s my brother.

  TRAMP: Your brother, is he? I see. Nope, can’t say I seen your brother. Seen no-body but perverts here. “As the parrot said to Silver”—now, what the hell did the parrot say to Silver, anyway? —Shit, I’m coming down. Nope, ain’t seen him, your brother, that is. Seen nobody but perverts here.

  WOMAN: What kind of perverts you talking about?

  TRAMP: The kind who climb up that tower in the town yonder.

  WOMAN: Tower? What town?

  TRAMP: As the parrot said to Silver, Why, I don’t hate you. Yeah, that’s it! I re-member now. —Why, I don’t hate you . . .

  WOMAN: What tower where!?

  TRAMP: But that eye of yours ain’t gonna get better, and that hook of yours, why, it don’t bleed. As the parrot said to Silver . . . As the parrot said to Silver . . .

  The tramp disappears into the gloom, leaving the woman with the umbrella standing alone in the spotlight, gazing up at the imaginary tower.

  At right, the two old men can be seen slowly ascending the staircase.

  OLD MAN B: I’ve fulfilled all my duties and responsibilities as a citizen of Tokyo.

  OLD MAN A (with grave emphasis): Duties and responsibilities.

  B: That’s right. As a citizen of Tokyo.

  A: A humanist—what’s that mean, anyway?

  B: Someone who’s . . . radiant.

  A: Radiant. . . . Who’re we talking about here?

  B: Why . . . me. That’s who.

  A: Like when was this?

  B: Oh, a long time ago. I was a young lad then. Didn’t I tell you? how I stopped that fire from spreading? One quick call saved the day.

  A: You sure you told me?

  B: I never told you? Is that so. —They sure were grateful. Said I was (with grave emphasis) a great man.

  A: Great? Who was great?

  B: Why . . . me, of course.

  A: What’s so great about you?

  B: Everything.

  A: Yes, but just what, exactly?

  B: Well, my sense of social duty, for starts. Said I was a veritable guardian of humanism.

  A: Humanism?

  B: That’s right. Humanism.

  A: Humanism . . . now what the hell would that be?

  B: Well, a humanist is someone who’s . . . radiant.

  A: Radiant? Who’re we talking about here?

  B: Why, me, of course.

  A: Like when was this?

  B: Oh, a long time ago. I was a young lad then. Didn’t I tell you? how I stopped that fire from spreading? One quick call saved the day.

  A: You sure you told me?

  B: Whoops-a-daisy! Grab hold me shoulder. Mind you don’t fall.

  A: Whoops-a-daisy! Grab hold me shoulder. Mind you don’t fall.

  B: So! I never told you . . .

  A: Not a word. You never tell me anything.

  The two slowly disappear into the gloom.

  B (voice only): Almost there now.

  A (voice only): Yup, almost there.

  B: Quite the trooper, ain’t you?

  A: You’re quite the trooper, too.

  Their voices completely fade away.

  OLD WOMAN (voice only, heard faintly in the darkness): Shinji, come back. It’s Twilight Town. Way off, way, way off, on the other side . . .

  The son appears, and begins to climb the staircase.

  SON: Away on a moon shiny sea. Across the sea to the sea on the other side. Now what kind of sea would that sea be? Hey, mama? What would a canary do over there? That’s where I’d like to go.

  VOICE: Shinji, let’s go back to that town on the other side. Twilight Town.

  SON: The cold sea is the color of lead. The cold sea is the color of lead. Canary, canary, forgotten her song. What’s to be done? Cat got her tongue? Shall we whip her with a willow cane? . . .

  VOICE: Say it’s summer. A summer evening . . .

  SON: Or dump her out back in the bamboo lane? Oh, no, that wouldn’t do, that would be wrong. . . .

  VOICE: There’s a festival there, in that town. . . .

  SON: But if that canary, who’s forgotten her song, could sail away on a moon shiny sea. . . .

  VOICE: Be careful! Mind that kid on the bike.

  SON: Pluck her feathers and naked she shall be. And puke up blood for you and me!

  VOICE: For God’s sake be careful! Mind that kid on the bike!

  SON: Pluck her feathers and naked she shall be. And puke up blood for you and me! (Disappears.)

  A man proceeds to climb up the steps.

  A MAN: 9901, 9902, 9903, 9904, 9905, 9906, 9907 (Gazes around briefly, then once again looks down and continues to climb.) 9908, 9909, 9910, 9911, 9912, 9913 . . . (Stops.) 9913, 9913, 913 . . . 13, 13, 13. It was the train on platform 13 I boarded. Shit! Who was it told me to catch the train bound for Twilight Town? The one that was leaving at four in front of that doughnut shop. Who was it told me now? 9913, 9914, 9915. But how come it’s so dark here? Surely, after climbing all this time . . . 9916, 9917, 9918. . . . Hang on. I seem to have forgotten something. What the hell was it, then? I know, I know, I said. What did I say I knew? 9919, 9920, 9921, 9922. . . . (Suddenly.) I got it. I was searching for something, for a new, a better life. I’m sure that’s what I said. Searching for a new, a better life! Huh! (Pleased with himself, he repeats the phrase.) I was searching for a new, a better life! Hah, hah, hah, hah, hah, hah, hah. . . . Ain’t that something. (Joyfully resumes his climb.) 9923, 9924, 9925 . . . 9926. . . . So, that train leaving from the doughnut shop at four o’clock—what was its destination, anyway? I was told to catch that train. So where was that train headed? Where was I sup
posed to be going? . . . 9927, 9928, 9929. Hang on. That train was leaving from the doughnut shop at what time? Where was it headed? Who told me? Who? (Angrily.) Nobody told me! 9930 . . . 9931, 9932, 9933. . . . Nah, nobody told me nothing. 9934, 9935, 9936, 9937 . . . (He disappears, leaving behind only a voice counting numbers.)

  Sinister guitar music drifts down from on top of the tower. Suddenly, metallic-sounding laughter is heard, followed by the hoarse laughter of the two old men, sounding like a duet that trails off, leaving only the sound of the guitar. About the time that a man disappears, the woman and the man appear in a spotlight at stage left. The man is gazing up at the imaginary tower. The woman is standing slightly off to the side and facing the audience.

  WOMAN: Did you hear that? Did anybody hear an oboe?

  THE MAN (still gazing aloft): Just like those ferns or dragonflies, squashed in layers of red mud or granite—

  WOMAN: He should’ve blown it by now.

  THE MAN: Shut up. Just . . . shut up—

  WOMAN: So, you didn’t see him catch the train here either then. The four o’clock, platform 3—

  THE MAN: In pursuit of something, giving up on life—

  WOMAN: He was supposed to have gone to that town.

  THE MAN: Leaving all memory behind—

  WOMAN: Took time off work.

  THE MAN: To go climb the tower.

  WOMAN: His boss was really persistent, he said. Kept asking Where you going? Don’t waste your time.

  THE MAN: Climb up the tower and laugh. Just laugh—

  WOMAN: I’ll go find what I’ve lost. I’ll run as far as I can go, I’ll take that train. That’s what he said, my brother.

  THE MAN: That tower ain’t no mirage, you know. That town neither.

  WOMAN: Somebody, please. Somebody blow the oboe for my brother. He said he would when he got to the other side. He was going to take the train on platform 3.

  She disappears, all but for a silhouette holding an umbrella.

  THE MAN (abruptly turning to address the audience in familiar tones): I live there. Have done so for years. —Guess you might call me a civil servant. Take the train from platform 13 in front of that doughnut shop in Takebaya. The one at 24:53 is the emptiest, but anytime’s fine, just call me and I’ll give you a helping hand. —But if you don’t call me with all your heart and soul, I’m afraid you’ll never see me. The quickest way is go to City Hall. They’ll give you a letter of reference, with a certificate of resident status. (As if struck with a wonderful idea.) Hey folks! We’re accepting tour groups, so step this way! Let’s all climb together! (Pointing.) See the tower? Up we go!