SansSoleilScript

SansSoleil/SunlessThefirstimagehetoldmeaboutwasofthreechildrenonaroadinIceland,in1965.Hesaidthatforhimitwastheimageofhappinessandalsothathehadtriedseveraltimestolinkittootherimages,butitneverworked.Hewroteme:onedayIllhavetoputitallaloneatthebeginningofafilmwithalongpieceofblackleader;iftheydontseehappinessinthepicture,atleasttheyllseetheblack.Hewrote:ImjustbackfromHokkaido,theNorthernIsland.RichandhurriedJapanesetaketheplane,otherstaketheferry:waiting,immobility,snatchesofsleep.Curiouslyallofthatmakesmethinkofapastorfuturewar:nighttrains,airraids,falloutshelters,smallfragmentsofwarenshrinedineverydaylife.Helikedthefragilityofthosemomentssuspendedintime.Thosememorieswhoseonlyfunctionhadbeentoleavebehindnothingbutmemories.Hewrote:Ivebeenroundtheworldseveraltimesandnowonlybanalitystillinterestsme.OnthistripIvetrackeditwiththerelentlessnessofabountyhunter.AtdawnwellbeinTokyo.HeusedtowritemefromAfrica.HecontrastedAfricantimetoEuropeantime,andalsotoAsiantime.Hesaidthatinthe19thcenturymankindhadcometotermswithspace,andthatthegreatquestionofthe20thwasthecoexistenceofdifferentconceptsoftime.Bytheway,didyouknowthatthereareemusintheÎledeFrance?HewrotemethatintheBijagósIslandsitstheyounggirlswhochoosetheirfiancées.HewrotemethatinthesuburbsofTokyothereisatempleconsecratedtocats.IwishIcouldconveytoyouthesimplicity—thelackofaffectation—ofthiscouplewhohadcometoplaceaninscribedwoodenslatinthecatcemeterysotheircatTorawouldbeprotected.Noshewasntdead,onlyrunaway.Butonthedayofherdeathnoonewouldknowhowtoprayforher,howtointercedewithdeathsothathewouldcallherbyherrightname.Sotheyhadtocomethere,bothofthem,undertherain,toperformtheritethatwouldrepairtheweboftimewhereithadbeenbroken.Hewroteme:Iwillhavespentmylifetryingtounderstandthefunctionofremembering,whichisnottheoppositeofforgetting,butratheritslining.Wedonotremember,werewritememorymuchashistoryisrewritten.Howcanonerememberthirst?Hedidntliketodwellonpoverty,butineverythinghewantedtoshowtherewerealsothe4-FsoftheJapanesemodel.Aworldfullofbums,oflumpens,ofoutcasts,ofKoreans.Toobroketoafforddrugs,theydgetdrunkonbeer,onfermentedmilk.ThismorninginNamidabashi,twentyminutesfromthegloriesofthecentercity,acharactertookhisrevengeonsocietybydirectingtrafficatthecrossroads.Luxuryforthemwouldbeoneofthoselargebottlesofsakethatarepouredovertombsonthedayofthedead.IpaidforaroundinabarinNamidabashi.Itsthekindofplacethatallowspeopletostareateachotherwithequality;thethresholdbelowwhicheverymanisasgoodasanyother—andknowsit.HetoldmeabouttheJettyonFogo,intheCapeVerdeislands.Howlonghavetheybeentherewaitingfortheboat,patientaspebblesbutreadytojump?Theyareapeopleofwanderers,ofnavigators,ofworldtravelers.Theyfashionedthemselvesthroughcross-breedinghereontheserocksthatthePortugueseusedasamarshalingyardfortheircolonies.Apeopleofnothing,apeopleofemptiness,averticalpeople.Frankly,haveyoueverheardofanythingstupiderthantosaytopeopleastheyteachinfilmschools,nottolookatthecamera?Heusedtowritetome:theSahelisnotonlywhatisshownofitwhenitistoolate;itsalandthatdroughtseepsintolikewaterintoaleakingboat.TheanimalsresurrectedforthetimeofacarnivalinBissauwillbepetrifiedagain,assoonasanewattackhaschangedthesavannahintoadesert.Thisisastateofsurvivalthattherichcountrieshaveforgotten,withoneexception—youwin—Japan.Myconstantcomingsandgoingsarenotasearchforcontrasts;theyareajourneytothetwoextremepolesofsurvival.HespoketomeofSeiShonagon,aladyinwaitingtoPrincessSadakoatthebeginningofthe11thcentury,intheHeianperiod.Doweeverknowwherehistoryisreallymade?Rulersruledandusedcomplicatedstrategiestofightoneanother.Realpowerwasinthehandsofafamilyofhereditaryregents;theemperorscourthadbecomenothingmorethanaplaceofintriguesandintellectualgames.ButbylearningtodrawasortofmelancholycomfortfromthecontemplationofthetiniestthingsthissmallgroupofidlersleftamarkonJapanesesensibilitymuchdeeperthanthemediocrethunderingofthepoliticians.Shonagonhadapassionforlists:thelistofelegantthings,distressingthings,orevenofthingsnotworthdoing.Onedayshegottheideaofdrawingupalistofthingsthatquickentheheart.NotabadcriterionIrealizewhenImfilming;Ibowtotheeconomicmiracle,butwhatIwanttoshowyouaretheneighborhoodcelebrations.Hewroteme:comingbackthroughtheChibacoastIthoughtofShonagonslist,ofallthosesignsonehasonlytonametoquickentheheart,justname.Tous,asunisnotquiteasununlessitsradiant,andaspringnotquiteaspringunlessitislimpid.Heretoplaceadjectiveswouldbesorudeasleavingpricetagsonpurchases.Japanesepoetrynevermodifies.Thereisawayofsayingboat,rock,mist,frog,crow,hail,heron,chrysanthemum,thatincludesthemall.NewspapershavebeenfilledrecentlywiththestoryofamanfromNagoya.Thewomanheloveddiedlastyearandhedrownedhimselfinwork—Japanesestyle—likeamadman.Itseemsheevenmadeanimportantdiscoveryinelectronics.AndtheninthemonthofMayhekilledhimself.TheysayhecouldnotstandhearingthewordSpring.HedescribedmehisreunionwithTokyo:likeacatwhohascomehomefromvacationinhisbasketimmediatelystartstoinspectfamiliarplaces.Heranofftoseeifeverythingwaswhereitshouldbe:theGinzaowl,theShimbashilocomotive,thetempleofthefoxatthetopoftheMitsukoshidepartmentstore,whichhefoundinvadedbylittlegirlsandrocksingers.Hewastoldthatitwasnowlittlegirlswhomadeandunmadestars;theproducersshudderedbeforethem.Hewastoldthatadisfiguredwomantookoffhermaskinfrontofpassers-byandscratchedthemiftheydidnotfindherbeautiful.Everythinginterestedhim.HewhodidntgiveadamniftheDodgerswonthepennantorabouttheresultsoftheDailyDoubleaskedfeverishlyhowChiyonofujihaddoneinthelastsumotournament.Heaskedfornewsoftheimperialfamily,ofthecrownprince,oftheoldestmobsterinTokyowhoappearsregularlyontelevisiontoteachgoodnesstochildren.Thesesimplejoyshehadneverfelt:ofreturningtoacountry,ahouse,afamilyhome.Buttwelvemillionanonymousinhabitantscouldsupplyhimwiththem.Hewrote:Tokyoisacitycrisscrossedbytrains,tiedtogetherwithelectricwiresheshowsherveins.Theysaythattelevisionmakesherpeopleilliterate;asforme,Iveneverseensomanypeoplereadinginthestreets.Perhapstheyreadonlyinthestreet,orperhapstheyjustpretendtoread—theseyellowmen.ImakemyappointmentsatKinokuniya,thebigbookshopinShinjuku.ThegraphicgeniusthatallowedtheJapanesetoinventCinemaScopetencenturiesbeforethemoviescompensatesalittleforthesadfateofthecomicstripheroines,victimsofheartlessstorywritersandofcastratingcensorship.Sometimestheyescape,andyoufindthemagainonthewalls.Theentirecityisacomicstrip;itsPlanetManga.HowcanonefailtorecognizethestatuarythatgoesfromplasticizedbaroquetoStalincentral?Andthegiantfaceswitheyesthatweighdownonthecomicbookreaders,picturesbiggerthanpeople,voyeurizingthevoyeurs.Atnightfallthemegalopolisbreaksdownintovillages,withitscountrycemeteriesintheshadowofbanks,withitsstationsandtemples.EachdistrictofTokyoonceagainbecomesatidyingenuouslittletown,nestlingamongsttheskyscrapers.ThesmallbarinShinjukuremindedhimofthatIndianflutewhosesoundcanonlybeheardbywhomeverisplayingit.HemighthavecriedoutifitwasinaGodardfilmoraShakespeareplay,“Whereshouldthismusicbe?”LaterhetoldmehehadeatenattherestaurantinNishi-nipporiwhereMr.Yamadapracticesthedifficultartofactioncooking.HesaidthatbywatchingcarefullyMr.Yamadasgesturesandhiswayofmixingtheingredientsonecouldmeditateusefullyoncertainfundamentalconceptscommontopainting,philosophy,andkarate.HeclaimedthatMr.Yamadapossessedinhishumblewaytheessenceofstyle,andconsequentlythatitwasuptohimtousehisinvisiblebrushtowriteuponthisfirstdayinTokyothewordstheend.IvespentthedayinfrontofmyTVset—thatmemorybox.IwasinNarawiththesacreddeers.Iwastakingapicturewithoutknowingthatinthe15thcenturyBashohadwritten:“Thewillowseestheheronsimage...upsidedown.”Thecommercialbecomesakindofhaikutotheeye,usedtoWesternatrocitiesinthisfield;notunderstandingobviouslyaddstothepleasure.ForoneslightlyhallucinatorymomentIhadtheimpressionthatIspokeJapanese,butitwasaculturalprogramonNHKaboutGérarddeNerval.8:40,Cambodia.FromJeanJacquesRousseautotheKhmerRouge:coincidence,orthesenseofhistory?InApocalypseNow,Brandosaidafewdefinitiveandincommunicablesentences:“Horrorhasafaceandaname...youmustmakeafriendofhorror.”Tocastoutthehorrorthathasanameandafaceyoumustgiveitanothernameandanotherface.Japanesehorrormovieshavethecunningbeautyofcertaincorpses.Sometimesoneisstunnedbysomuchcruelty.OneseeksitssourcesintheAsianpeopleslongfamiliaritywithsuffering,thatrequiresthatevenpainbeornate.Andthencomesthereward:themonstersarelaidout,NatsumeMasakoarises;absolutebeautyalsohasanameandaface.ButthemoreyouwatchJapanesetelevision...themoreyoufeelitswatchingyou.Eventelevisionnewscastbearswitnesstothefactthatthemagicalfunctionoftheeyeisatthecenterofallthings.Itselectiontime:thewinningcandidatesblackouttheemptyeyeofDaruma—thespiritofluck—whilelosingcandidates—sadbutdignified—carryofftheirone-eyedDaruma.TheimagesmostdifficulttofigureoutarethoseofEurope.Iwatchedthepicturesofafilmwhosesoundtrackwillbeaddedlater.IttookmesixmonthsforPoland.Meanwhile,Ihavenodifficultywithlocalearthquakes.ButImustsaythatlastnightsquakehelpedmegreatlytograspaproblem.Poetryisbornofinsecurity:wanderingJews,quakingJapanese;bylivingonarugthatjestingnatureiseverreadytopulloutfromunderthemtheyvegotintothehabitofmovingaboutinaworldofappearances:fragile,fleeting,revocable,oftrainsthatflyfromplanettoplanet,ofsamuraifightinginanimmutablepast.Thatscalledtheimpermanenceofthings.Ididitall.Allthewaytotheeveningshowsforadults—socalled.Thesamehypocrisyasinthecomicstrips,butitsacodedhypocrisy.Censorshipisnotthemutilationoftheshow,itistheshow.Thecodeisthemessage.Itpointstotheabsolutebyhidingit.Thatswhatreligionshavealwaysdone.Thatyear,anewfaceappearedamongthegreatonesthatblazonthestreetsofTokyo:thePopes.TreasuresthathadneverlefttheVaticanwereshownontheseventhflooroftheSogodepartmentstore.Hewroteme:curiosityofcourse,andtheglimmerofindustrialespionageintheeye—IimaginethembringingoutwithintwoyearstimeamoreefficientandlessexpensiveversionofCatholicism—buttheresalsothefascinationassociatedwiththesacred,evenwhenitssomeoneelses.SowhenwillthethirdfloorofMacysharboranexhibitionofJapanesesacredsignssuchascanbeseenatJosen-kaiontheislandofHokkaido?Atfirstonesmilesatthisplacewhichcombinesamuseum,achapel,andasexshop.AsalwaysinJapan,oneadmiresthefactthatthewallsbetweentherealmsaresothinthatonecaninthesamebreathcontemplateastatue,buyaninflatabledoll,andgivethegoddessoffertilitythesmallofferingthatalwaysaccompaniesherdisplays.Displayswhosefranknesswouldmakethestratagemsofthetelevisionincomprehensible,ifitdidnotatthesametimesaythatasexisvisibleonlyonconditionofbeingseveredfromabody.Onewouldliketobelieveinaworldbeforethefall:inaccessibletothecomplicationsofaPuritanismwhosephonyshadowhasbeenimposedonitbyAmericanoccupation.Wherepeoplewhogatherlaughingaroundthevotivefountain,thewomanwhotouchesitwithafriendlygesture,shareinthesamecosmicinnocence.Thesecondpartofthemuseum—withitscouplesofstuffedanimals—wouldthenbetheearthlyparadiseaswehavealwaysdreamedit.Notsosure...animalinnocencemaybeatrickforgettingaroundcensorship,butperhapsalsothemirrorofanimpossiblereconciliation.Andevenwithoutoriginalsinthisearthlyparadisemaybeaparadiselost.IntheglossysplendourofthegentleanimalsofJosen-kaiIreadthefundamentalriftofJapanesesociety,theriftthatseparatesmenfromwomen.Inlifeitseemstoshowitselfintwowaysonly:violentslaughter,oradiscreetmelancholy—resemblingSeiShonagons—whichtheJapaneseexpressinasingleuntranslatableword.Sothisbringingdownofmantothelevelofthebeasts—againstwhichthefathersofthechurchinvade—becomesherethechallengeofthebeaststothepoignancyofthings,toamelancholywhosecolorIcangiveyoubycopyingafewlinesfromSamuraKoichi:“Whosaidthattimehealsallwounds?Itwouldbebettertosaythattimehealseverythingexceptwounds.Withtime,thehurtofseparationlosesitsreallimits.Withtime,thedesiredbodywillsoondisappear,andifthedesiringbodyhasalreadyceasedtoexistfortheother,thenwhatremainsisawound...disembodied.”HewrotemethattheJapanesesecret—whatLévi-Strausshadcalledthepoignancyofthings—impliedthefacultyofcommunionwiththings,ofenteringintothem,ofbeingthemforamoment.Itwasnormalthatintheirturntheyshouldbelikeus:perishableandimmortal.Hewroteme:animismisafamiliarnotioninAfrica,itislessoftenappliedinJapan.Whatthenshallwecallthisdiffusebelief,accordingtowhicheveryfragmentofcreationhasitsinvisiblecounterpart?Whentheybuildafactoryoraskyscraper,theybeginwithaceremonytoappeasethegodwhoownstheland.Thereisaceremonyforbrushes,forabacuses,andevenforrustyneedles.Theresoneonthe25thofSeptemberforthereposeofthesoulofbrokendolls.ThedollsarepiledupinthetempleofKiyomitsuconsecratedtoKannon—thegoddessofcompassion—andareburnedinpublic.Ilooktotheparticipants.Ithinkthepeoplewhosawoffthekamikazepilotshadthesamelookontheirfaces.HewrotemethatthepicturesofGuinea-BissauoughttobeaccompaniedbymusicfromtheCapeVerdeislands.ThatwouldbeourcontributiontotheunitydreamedofbyAmilcarCabral.Whyshouldsosmallacountry—andonesopoor—interesttheworld?Theydidwhattheycould,theyfreedthemselves,theychasedoutthePortuguese.TheytraumatizedthePortuguesearmytosuchanextentthatitgaverisetoamovementthatoverthrewthedictatorship,andledoneforamomenttobelieveinanewrevolutioninEurope.Whoremembersallthat?Historythrowsitsemptybottlesoutthewindow.ThismorningIwasonthedockatPidjiguity,whereeverythingbeganin1959,whenthefirstvictimsofthestrugglewerekilled.ItmaybeasdifficulttorecognizeAfricainthisleadenfogasitistorecognizestruggleintheratherdullactivityoftropicallongshoremen.Rumorhasitthateverythirdworldleadercoinedthesamephrasethemorningafterindependence:“Nowtherealproblemsstart.”Cabralnevergotachancetosayit:hewasassassinatedfirst.Buttheproblemsstarted,andwenton,andarestillgoingon.Ratherunexcitingproblemsforrevolutionaryromanticism:towork,toproduce,todistribute,toovercomepostwarexhaustion,temptationsofpowerandprivilege.Ahwell...afterall,historyonlytastesbittertothosewhoexpectedittobesugarcoated.Mypersonalproblemismorespecific:howtofilmtheladiesofBissau?Apparently,themagicalfunctionoftheeyewasworkingagainstmethere.ItwasinthemarketplacesofBissauandCapeVerdethatIcouldstareatthemagainwithequality:Iseeher,shesawme,sheknowsthatIseeher,shedropsmeherglance,butjustatananglewhereitisstillpossibletoactasthoughitwasnotaddressedtome,andattheendtherealglance,straightforward,thatlastedatwenty-fourthofasecond,thelengthofafilmframe.Allwomenhaveabuilt-ingrainofindestructibility.Andmenstaskhasalwaysbeentomakethemrealizeitaslateaspossible.Africanmenarejustasgoodatthistaskasothers.ButafteracloselookatAfricanwomenIwouldntnecessarilybetonthemen.HetoldmethestoryofthedogHachiko.Adogwaitedeverydayforhismasteratthestation.Themasterdied,andthedogdidntknowit,andhecontinuedtowaitallhislife.Peopleweremovedandbroughthimfood.Afterhisdeathastatuewaserectedinhishonor,infrontofwhichsushiandricecakesarestillplacedsothatthefaithfulsoulofHachikowillnevergohungry.Tokyoisfullofthesetinylegends,andofmediatinganimals.TheMitsukoshilionstandsguardonthefrontiersofwhatwasoncetheempireofMr.Okada—agreatcollectorofFrenchpaintings,themanwhohiredtheChâteauofVersaillestocelebratethehundredthanniversaryofhisdepartmentstores.InthecomputersectionIveseenyoungJapaneseexercisingtheirbrainmusclesliketheyoungAtheniansatthePalaistra.Theyhaveawartowin.ThehistorybooksofthefuturewillperhapsplacethebattleofintegratedcircuitsatthesamelevelasSalamisandAgincourt,butwillingtohonortheunfortunateadversarybyleavingotherfieldstohim:mensfashionsthisseasonareplacedunderthesignofJohnKennedy.Likeanoldvotiveturtlestationedinthecornerofafield,everydayhesawMr.Akao—thepresidentoftheJapanesePatrioticParty—trumpetingfromtheheightsofhisrollingbalconyagainsttheinternationalcommunistplot.Hewroteme:theautomobilesoftheextremerightwiththeirflagsandmegaphonesarepartofTokyoslandscape—Mr.Akaoistheirfocalpoint.IthinkhellhavehisstatuelikethedogHachiko,atthiscrossroadsfromwhichhedepartsonlytogoandprophesyonthebattlefields.HewasatNaritainthesixties.Peasantsfightingagainstthebuildingofanairportontheirland,andMr.AkaodenouncingthehandofMoscowbehindeverythingthatmoved.YurakuchoisthepoliticalspaceofTokyo.OnceuponatimeIsawbonzesprayforpeaceinVietnamthere.Todayyoungright-wingactivistsprotestagainsttheannexationoftheNorthernIslandsbytheRussians.SometimestheyareansweredthatthecommercialrelationsofJapanwiththeabominableoccupieroftheNorthareathousandtimesbetterthanwiththeAmericanallywhoisalwayswhiningabouteconomicaggression.Ah,nothingissimple.OntheothersidewalktheLefthasthefloor.TheKoreanCatholicoppositionleaderKimDaeJung—kidnappedinTokyoin73bytheSouthKoreangestapo—isthreatenedwiththedeathsentence.Agrouphasbegunahungerstrike.Someveryyoungmilitantsaretryingtogathersignaturesinhissupport.IwentbacktoNaritaforthebirthdayofoneofthevictimsofthestruggle.Thedemowasunreal.IhadtheimpressionofactinginBrigadoon,ofwakinguptenyearslaterinthemidstofthesameplayers,withthesamebluelobstersofpolice,thesamehelmetedadolescents,thesamebannersandthesameslogan:“Downwiththeairport.”Onlyonethinghasbeenadded:theairportprecisely.Butwithitssinglerunwayandthebarbedwirethatchokesit,itlooksmorebesiegedthanvictorious.MypalHayaoYamanekohasfoundasolution:iftheimagesofthepresentdontchange,thenchangetheimagesofthepast.Heshowedmetheclashesofthesixtiestreatedbyhissynthesizer:picturesthatarelessdeceptivehesays—withtheconvictionofafanatic—thanthoseyouseeontelevision.Atleasttheyproclaimthemselvestobewhattheyare:images,nottheportableandcompactformofanalreadyinaccessiblereality.Hayaocallshismachinesworldthezone,anhomagetoTarkovsky.WhatNaritabroughtbacktome,likeashatteredhologram,wasanintactfragmentofthegenerationofthesixties.Iftolovewithoutillusionsisstilltolove,IcansaythatIlovedit.Itwasagenerationthatoftenexasperatedme,forIdidntshareitsutopiaofunitinginacommonstrugglethosewhorevoltagainstpovertyandthosewhorevoltagainstwealth.Butitscreamedoutthatgutreactionthatbetteradjustedvoicesnolongerknewhow,ornolongerdaredtoutter.Imetpeasantstherewhohadcometoknowthemselvesthroughthestruggle.Concretelyithadfailed.Atthesametime,alltheyhadwonintheirunderstandingoftheworldcouldhavebeenwononlythroughthestruggle.Asforthestudents,somemassacredeachotherinthemountainsinthenameofrevolutionarypurity,whileothershadstudiedcapitalismsothoroughlytofightitthattheynowprovideitwithitsbestexecutives.Likeeverywhereelsethemovementhaditsposturesanditscareerists,including,andtherearesome,thosewhomadeacareerofmartyrdom.Butitcarriedwithitallthosewhosaid,likeChéGuevara,thatthey“trembledwithindignationeverytimeaninjusticeiscommittedintheworld.”Theywantedtogiveapoliticalmeaningtotheirgenerosity,andtheirgenerosityhasoutlastedtheirpolitics.ThatswhyIwillneverallowittobesaidthatyouthiswastedontheyoung.TheyouthwhogettogethereveryweekendatShinjukuobviouslyknowthattheyarenotonalaunchingpadtowardreallife;buttheyarelife,tobeeatenonthespotlikefreshdoughnuts.Itsaverysimplesecret.Theoldtrytohideit,andnotalltheyoungknowit.Theten-year-oldgirlwhothrewherfriendfromthethirteenthfloorofabuildingafterhavingtiedherhands,becauseshedspokenbadlyoftheirclassteam,hadntdiscoveredityet.Parentswhodemandanincreaseinthenumberofspecialtelephonelinesdevotedtothepreventionofchildrenssuicidesfindoutalittlelatethattheyhavekeptitalltoowell.Rockisaninternationallanguageforspreadingthesecret.AnotherispeculiartoTokyo.Forthetakenoko,twentyistheageofretirement.TheyarebabyMartians.IgotoseethemdanceeverySundayintheparkatYoyogi.Theywantpeopletolookatthem,buttheydontseemtonoticethatpeopledo.Theyliveinaparalleltimesphere:akindofinvisibleaquariumwallseparatesthemfromthecrowdtheyattract,andIcanspendawholeafternooncontemplatingthelittletakenokogirlwhoislearning—nodoubtforthefirsttime—thecustomsofherplanet.Beyondthat,theyweardogtags,theyobeyawhistle,theMafiaracketsthem,andwiththeexceptionofasinglegroupmadeupofgirls,itsalwaysaboywhocommands.Onedayhewritestome:descriptionofadream.MoreandmoremydreamsfindtheirsettingsinthedepartmentstoresofTokyo,thesubterraneantunnelsthatextendthemandrunparalleltothecity.Afaceappears,disappears...atraceisfound,islost.AllthefolkloreofdreamsissomuchinitsplacethatthenextdaywhenIamawakeIrealizethatIcontinuetoseekinthebasementlabyrinththepresenceconcealedthenightbefore.Ibegintowonderifthosedreamsarereallymine,oriftheyarepartofatotality,ofagiganticcollectivedreamofwhichtheentirecitymaybetheprojection.Itmightsufficetopickupanyoneofthetelephonesthatarelyingaroundtohearafamiliarvoice,orthebeatingofaheart,SeiShonagonsforexample.Allthegalleriesleadtostations;thesamecompaniesownthestoresandtherailroadsthatbeartheirname.Keio,Odakyu—allthosenamesofports.Thetraininhabitedbysleepingpeopleputstogetherallthefragmentsofdreams,makesasinglefilmofthem—theultimatefilm.Theticketsfromtheautomaticdispensergrantadmissiontotheshow.HetoldmeabouttheJanuarylightonthestationstairways.Hetoldmethatthiscityoughttobedecipheredlikeamusicalscore;onecouldgetlostinthegreatorchestralmassesandtheaccumulationofdetails.AndthatcreatedthecheapestimageofTokyo:overcrowded,megalomaniac,inhuman.Hethoughthesawmoresubtlecyclesthere:rhythms,clustersoffacescaughtsightofinpassing—asdifferentandpreciseasgroupsofinstruments.Sometimesthemusicalcomparisoncoincidedwithplainreality;theSonystairwayintheGinzawasitselfaninstrument,eachstepanote.Allofitfittogetherlikethevoicesofasomewhatcomplicatedfugue,butitwasenoughtotakeholdofoneofthemandhangontoit.Thetelevisionscreensforexample;allbythemselvestheycreatedanitinerarythatsometimeswoundupinunexpectedcurves.Itwassumoseason,andthefanswhocametowatchthefightsintheverychicshowroomsontheGinzawerethepoorestoftheTokyopoors.SopoorthattheydidntevenhaveaTVset.Hesawthemcome,thedeadsoulsofNamida-bashihehaddrunksakéwithonesunnydawn—howmanyseasonsagowasthatnow?Hewroteme:eveninthestallswheretheysellelectronicspareparts—thatsomehipstersuseforjewelry—thereisinthescorethatisTokyoaparticularstaff,whoserarityinEuropecondemnsmetoarealacousticexile.Imeanthemusicofvideogames.Theyarefittedintotables.Youcandrink,youcanlunch,andgoonplaying.Theyopenontothestreet.Bylisteningtothemyoucanplayfrommemory.IsawthesegamesborninJapan.Ilatermetupwiththemagainallovertheworld,butonedetailwasdifferent.Atthebeginningthegamewasfamiliar:akindofanti-ecologicalbeatingwheretheideawastokilloff—assoonastheyshowedthewhiteoftheireyes—creaturesthatwereeitherprairiedogsorbabyseals,Icantbesurewhich.NowherestheJapanesevariation.Insteadofthecritters,theressomevaguelyhumanheadsidentifiedbyalabel:atthetopthechairmanoftheboard,infrontofhimthevicepresidentandthedirectors,inthefrontrowthesectionheadsandthepersonnelmanager.TheguyIfilmed—whowassmashingupthehierarchywithanenviableenergy—confidedinmethatforhimthegamewasnotatallallegorical,thathewasthinkingverypreciselyofhissuperiors.Nodoubtthatswhythepuppetrepresentingthepersonnelmanagerhasbeenclubbedsooftenandsohardthatitsoutofcommission,andwhyithadtobereplacedagainbyababyseal.HayaoYamanekoinventsvideogameswithhismachine.Topleasemeheputsinmybestbelovedanimals:thecatandtheowl.Heclaimsthatelectronictextureistheonlyonethatcandealwithsentiment,memory,andimagination.MizoguchisArsèneLupinforexample,orthenolessimaginaryburakumin.HowoneclaimtoshowacategoryofJapanesewhodonotexist?Yestheyrethere;IsawtheminOsakahiringthemselvesoutbytheday,sleepingontheground.Eversincethemiddleagestheyvebeendoomedtogrubbyandback-breakingjobs.ButsincetheMeijiera,officiallynothingsetsthemapart,andtheirrealname—eta—isatabooword,nottobepronounced.Theyarenon-persons.Howcantheybeshown,exceptasnon-images?Videogamesarethefirststageinaplanformachinestohelpthehumanrace,theonlyplanthatoffersafutureforintelligence.Forthemoment,theinseparablephilosophyofourtimeiscontainedinthePac-Man.IdidntknowwhenIwassacrificingallmyhundredyencoinstohimthathewasgoingtoconquertheworld.Perhapsbecauseheisthemostperfectgraphicmetaphorofmansfate.Heputsintotrueperspectivethebalanceofpowerbetweentheindividualandtheenvironment.Andhetellsussoberlythatthoughtheremaybehonorincarryingoutthegreatestnumberofvictoriousattacks,italwayscomesacropper.Hewaspleasedthatthesamechrysanthemumsappearedinfuneralsformenandforanimals.HedescribedtometheceremonyheldatthezooinUenoinmemoryofanimalsthathaddiedduringtheyear.Fortwoyearsinarowthisdayofmourninghashadapallcastoveritbythedeathofapanda,moreirreparable—accordingtothenewspapers—thanthedeathoftheprimeministerthattookplaceatthesametime.Lastyearpeoplereallycried.Nowtheyseemtobegettingusedtoit,acceptingthateachyeardeathtakesapandaasdragonsdoyounggirlsinfairytales.Iveheardthissentence:“ThepartitionthatseparateslifefromdeathdoesnotappearsothicktousasitdoestoaWesterner.”WhatIhavereadmostoftenintheeyesofpeopleabouttodieissurprise.WhatIreadrightnowintheeyesofJapanesechildreniscuriosity,asiftheyweretrying—inordertounderstandthedeathofananimal—tostarethroughthepartition.Ihavereturnedfromacountrywheredeathisnotapartitiontocrossthroughbutaroadtofollow.ThegreatancestoroftheBijagósarchipelagohasdescribedforustheitineraryofthedeadandhowtheymovefromislandtoislandaccordingtoarigorousprotocoluntiltheycometothelastbeachwheretheywaitfortheshipthatwilltakethemtotheotherworld.Ifbyaccidentoneshouldmeetthem,itisaboveallimperativenottorecognizethem.TheBijagósisapartofGuineaBissau.InanoldfilmclipAmilcarCabralwavesagestureofgood-byetotheshore;hesright,hellneverseeitagain.LuisCabralmadethesamegesturefifteenyearslateronthecanoethatwasbringingusback.GuineahasbythattimebecomeanationandLuisisitspresident.Allthosewhorememberthewarrememberhim.Hesthehalf-brotherofAmilcar,bornashewasofmixedGuineanandCapeVerdeanblood,andlikehimafoundingmemberofanunusualparty,thePAIGC,whichbyunitingthetwocolonizedcountriesinasinglemovementofstrugglewishestobetheforerunnerofafederationofthetwostates.Ihavelistenedtothestoriesofformerguerrillafighters,whohadfoughtinconditionssoinhumanthattheypitiedthePortuguesesoldiersforhavingtobearwhattheythemselvessuffered.ThatIheard.Andmanymorethingsthatmakeoneashamedforhavingusedlightly—evenifinadvertently—thewordguerrillatodescribeacertainbreedoffilm-making.Awordthatatthetimewaslinkedtomanytheoreticaldebatesandalsotobloodydefeatsontheground.AmilcarCabralwastheonlyonetoleadavictoriousguerrillawar,andnotonlyintermsofmilitaryconquests.Heknewhispeople,hehadstudiedthemforalongtime,andhewantedeveryliberatedregiontobealsotheprecursorofadifferentkindofsociety.Thesocialistcountriessendweaponstoarmthefighters.ThesocialdemocraciesfillthePeoplesStores.MaytheextremeleftforgivehistorybutiftheguerrillasarelikefishinwateritsabitthankstoSweden.Amilcarwasnotafraidofambiguities—heknewthetraps.Hewrote:“Itsasthoughwewereattheedgeofagreatriverfullofwavesandstorms,withpeoplewhoaretryingtocrossitanddrown,buttheyhavenootherwayout,theymustgettotheotherside.”Andnow,thescenemovestoCassaque:theseventeenthofFebruary,1980.Buttounderstanditproperlyonemustmoveforwardintime.InayearLuisCabralthepresidentwillbeinprison,andtheweepingmanhehasjustdecorated,majorNino,willhavetakenpower.Thepartywillhavesplit,GuineansandCapeVerdeansseparatedonefromtheotherwillbefightingoverAmilcarslegacy.Wewilllearnthatbehindthisceremonyofpromotionswhichintheeyesofvisitorsperpetuatedthebrotherhoodofthestruggle,therelayapitofpost-victorybitterness,andthatNinostearsdidnotexpressanex-warriorsemotion,butthewoundedprideofaherowhofelthehadnotbeenraisedhighenoughabovetheothers.Andbeneatheachofthesefacesamemory.Andinplaceofwhatweweretoldhadbeenforgedintoacollectivememory,athousandmemoriesofmenwhoparadetheirpersonallacerationinthegreatwoundofhistory.InPortugal—raisedupinitsturnbythebreakingwaveofBissau—MiguelTorga,whohadstruggledallhislifeagainstthedictatorshipwrote:“Everyprotagonistrepresentsonlyhimself;inplaceofachangeinthesocialsettingheseekssimplyintherevolutionaryactthesublimationofhisownimage.”Thatsthewaythebreakersrecede.Andsopredictablythatonehastobelieveinakindofamnesiaofthefuturethathistorydistributesthroughmercyorcalculationtothosewhomitrecruits:Amilcarmurderedbymembersofhisownparty,theliberatedareasfallenundertheyokeofbloodypettytyrantsliquidatedintheirturnbyacentralpowertowhosestabilityeveryonepaidhomageuntilthemilitarycoup.Thatshowhistoryadvances,pluggingitsmemoryasoneplugsonesears.LuisexiledtoCuba,Ninodiscoveringinhisturnplotswovenagainsthim,canbecitedreciprocallytoappearbeforethebarofhistory.Shedoesntcare,sheunderstandsnothing,shehasonlyonefriend,theoneBrandospokeofinApocalypse:horror.Thathasanameandaface.Imwritingyouallthisfromanotherworld,aworldofappearances.Inawaythetwoworldscommunicatewitheachother.Memoryistoonewhathistoryistotheother:animpossibility.Legendsarebornoutoftheneedtodeciphertheindecipherable.Memoriesmustmakedowiththeirdelirium,withtheirdrift.Amomentstoppedwouldburnlikeaframeoffilmblockedbeforethefurnaceoftheprojector.Madnessprotects,asfeverdoes.IenvyHayaoinhiszone,heplayswiththesignsofhismemory.Hepinsthemdownanddecoratesthemlikeinsectsthatwouldhaveflownbeyondtime,andwhichhecouldcontemplatefromapointoutsideoftime:theonlyeternitywehaveleft.Ilookathismachines.Ithinkofaworldwhereeachmemorycouldcreateitsownlegend.Hewrotemethatonlyonefilmhadbeencapableofportrayingimpossiblememory—insanememory:AlfredHitchcocksVertigo.Inthespiralofthetitleshesawtimecoveringafieldeverwiderasitmovedaway,acyclonewhosepresentmomentcontainsmotionlesstheeye.InSanFranciscohehadmadehispilgrimagetoallthefilmslocations:thefloristPodestaBaldocchi,whereJamesStewartspiesonKimNovak—hethehunter,shetheprey.Orwasittheotherwayaround?Thetileshadntchanged.HehaddrivenupanddownthehillsofSanFranciscowhereJimmyStewart,Scotty,followsKimNovak,Madeline.Itseemstobeaquestionoftrailing,ofenigma,ofmurder,butintruthitsaquestionofpowerandfreedom,ofmelancholyanddazzlement,socarefullycodedwithinthespiralthatyoucouldmissit,andnotdiscoverimmediatelythatthisvertigoofspaceinrealitystandsforthevertigooftime.Hehadfollowedallthetrails.EventothecemeteryatMissionDoloreswhereMadelinecametoprayatthegraveofawomanlongsincedead,whomsheshouldnothaveknown.HefollowedMadeline—asScottyhaddone—totheMuseumattheLegionofHonor,beforetheportraitofadeadwomansheshouldnothaveknown.Andontheportrait,asinMadelineshair,thespiraloftime.ThesmallVictorianhotelwhereMadelinedisappearedhaddisappeareditself;concretehadreplacedit,atthecornerofEddyandGough.OntheotherhandthesequoiacutwasstillinMuirWoods.OnitMadelinetracedtheshortdistancebetweentwoofthoseconcentriclinesthatmeasuredtheageofthetreeandsaid,“HereIwasborn...andhereIdied.”Herememberedanotherfilminwhichthispassagewasquoted.ThesequoiawastheoneintheJardindesplantesinParis,andthehandpointedtoaplaceoutsidethetree,outsideoftime.ThepaintedhorseatSanJuanBautista,hiseyethatlookedlikeMadelines:Hitchcockhadinventednothing,itwasallthere.HehadrununderthearchesofthepromenadeinthemissionasMadelinehadruntowardsherdeath.Orwasithers?Fromthisfaketower—theonlythingthatHitchcockhadadded—heimaginedScottyastimesfooloflove,findingitimpossibletolivewithmemorywithoutfalsifyingit.InventingadoubleforMadelineinanotherdimensionoftime,azonethatwouldbelongonlytohimandfromwhichhecoulddeciphertheindecipherablestorythathadbegunatGoldenGatewhenhehadpulledMadelineoutofSanFranciscoBay,whenhehadsavedherfromdeathbeforecastingherbacktodeath.Orwasittheotherwayaround?InSanFranciscoImadethepilgrimageofafilmIhadseennineteentimes.InIcelandIlaidthefirststoneofanimaginaryfilm.ThatsummerIhadmetthreechildrenonaroadandavolcanohadcomeoutofthesea.TheAmericanastronautscametotrainbeforeflyingofftothemoon,inthiscornerofEarththatresemblesit.Isawitimmediatelyasasettingforsciencefiction:thelandscapeofanotherplanet.Orratherno,letitbethelandscapeofourownplanetforsomeonewhocomesfromelsewhere,fromveryfaraway.Iimaginehimmovingslowly,heavily,aboutthevolcanicsoilthatstickstothesoles.Allofasuddenhestumbles,andthenextstepitsayearlater.HeswalkingonasmallpathneartheDutchborderalongaseabirdsanctuary.Thatsforastart.Nowwhythiscutintime,thisconnectionofmemories?Thatsjustit,hecantunderstand.Hehasntcomefromanotherplanethecomesfromourfuture,fourthousandandone:thetimewhenthehumanbrainhasreachedtheeraoffullemployment.Everythingworkstoperfection,allthatweallowtoslumber,includingmemory.Logicalconsequence:totalrecallismemoryanesthetized.Aftersomanystoriesofmenwhohadlosttheirmemory,hereisthestoryofonewhohaslostforgetting,andwho—throughsomepeculiarityofhisnature—insteadofdrawingpridefromthefactandscorningmankindofthepastanditsshadows,turnedtoitfirstwithcuriosityandthenwithcompassion.Intheworldhecomesfrom,tocallforthavision,tobemovedbyaportrait,totrembleatthesoundofmusic,canonlybesignsofalongandpainfulpre-history.Hewantstounderstand.Hefeelstheseinfirmitiesoftimelikeaninjustice,andhereactstothatinjusticelikeChéGuevara,liketheyouthofthesixties,withindignation.HeisaThirdWorlderoftime.Theideathatunhappinesshadexistedinhisplanetspastisasunbearabletohimastothemtheexistenceofpovertyintheirpresent.Naturallyhellfail.Theunhappinesshediscoversisasinaccessibletohimasthepovertyofapoorcountryisunimaginabletothechildrenofarichone.Hehaschosentogiveuphisprivileges,buthecandonothingabouttheprivilegethathasallowedhimtochoose.Hisonlyrecourseispreciselythatwhichthrewhimintothisabsurdquest:asongcyclebyMussorgsky.Theyarestillsunginthefortiethcentury.Theirmeaninghasbeenlost.Butitwasthenthatforthefirsttimeheperceivedthepresenceofthatthinghedidntunderstandwhichhadsomethingtodowithunhappinessandmemory,andtowardswhichslowly,heavily,hebegantowalk.OfcourseIllnevermakethatfilm.NonethelessImcollectingthesets,inventingthetwists,puttinginmyfavoritecreatures.Iveevengivenitatitle,indeedthetitleofthoseMussorgskysongs:Sunless.OnMay15,1945,atsevenoclockinthemorning,thethreehundredandeightysecondUSinfantryregimentattackedahillinOkinawatheyhadrenamedDickHill.IsupposetheAmericansthemselvesbelievedthattheywereconqueringJapanesesoil,andthattheyknewnothingabouttheRyukyucivilization.NeitherdidI,apartfromthefactthatthefacesofthemarketladiesatItomanspoketomemoreofGauguinthanofUtamaro.Forcenturiesofdreamyvassalagetimehadnotmovedinthearchipelago.Thencamethebreak.Isitapropertyofislandstomaketheirwomenintotheguardiansoftheirmemory?Ilearnedthat—asintheBijagós—itisthroughthewomenthatmagicknowledgeistransmitted.Eachcommunityhasitspriestess—thenoro—whopresidesoverallceremonieswiththeexceptionoffunerals.TheJapanesedefendedtheirpositioninchbyinch.AttheendofthedaythetwohalfplatoonsformedfromtheremnantsofLCompanyhadgotonlyhalfwayupthehill,ahillliketheonewhereIfollowedagroupofvillagersontheirwaytothepurificationceremony.Thenorocommunicateswiththegodsofthesea,ofrain,oftheearth,offire.Everyonebowsdownbeforethesisterdeitywhoisthereflection,intheabsolute,ofaprivilegedrelationshipbetweenbrotherandsister.Evenafterherdeath,thesisterretainsherspiritualpredominance.AtdawntheAmericanswithdrew.Fightingwentonforoveramonthbeforetheislandsurrendered,andtoppledintothemodernworld.Twenty-sevenyearsofAmericanoccupation,there-establishmentofacontroversialJapanesesovereignty:twomilesfromthebowlingalleysandthegasstationsthenorocontinuesherdialoguewiththegods.Whensheisgonethedialoguewillend.Brotherswillnolongerknowthattheirdeadsisteriswatchingoverthem.WhenfilmingthisceremonyIknewIwaspresentattheendofsomething.Magicalculturesthatdisappearleavetracestothosewhosucceedthem.Thisonewillleavenone;thebreakinhistoryhasbeentooviolent.Itouchedthatbreakatthesummitofthehill,asIhadtoucheditattheedgeoftheditchwheretwohundredgirlshadusedgrenadestocommitsuicidein1945ratherthanfallaliveintothehandsoftheAmericans.Peoplehavetheirpicturestakeninfrontoftheditch.Acrossfromitsouvenirlightersaresoldshapedlikegrenades.OnHayaosmachinewarresembleslettersbeingburned,shreddedinaframeoffire.ThecodenameforPearlHarborwasTora,Tora,Tora,thenameofthecatthecoupleinGotokujiwasprayingfor.Soallofthiswillhavebegunwiththenameofacatpronouncedthreetimes.OffOkinawakamikazedivedontheAmericanfleet;theywouldbecomealegend.TheywerelikeliermaterialforitobviouslythanthespecialunitswhoexposedtheirprisonerstothebitterfrostofManchuriaandthentohotwatersoastoseehowfastfleshseparatesfromthebone.Onewouldhavetoreadtheirlastletterstolearnthatthekamikazewerentallvolunteers,norweretheyallswashbucklingsamurai.BeforedrinkinghislastcupofsakéRyojiUebarahadwritten:“IhavealwaysthoughtthatJapanmustlivefreeinordertoliveeternally.Itmayseemidiotictosaythattoday,underatotalitarianregime.Wekamikazepilotsaremachines,wehavenothingtosay,excepttobegourcompatriotstomakeJapanthegreatcountryofourdreams.IntheplaneIamamachine,abitofmagnetizedmetalthatwillplasteritselfagainstanaircraftcarrier.ButonceonthegroundIamahumanbeingwithfeelingsandpassions.Pleaseexcusethesedisorganizedthoughts.Imleavingyouarathermelancholypicture,butinthedepthsofmyheartIamhappy.Ihavespokenfrankly,forgiveme.”EverytimehecamefromAfricahestoppedattheislandofSal,whichisinfactasaltrockinthemiddleoftheAtlantic.Attheendoftheisland,beyondthevillageofSantaMariaanditscemeterywiththepaintedtombs,itsufficestowalkstraightaheadtomeetthedesert.Hewroteme:Iveunderstoodthevisions.Suddenlyyoureinthedesertthewayyouareinthenight;whateverisnotdesertnolongerexists.Youdontwanttobelievetheimagesthatcropup.DidIwriteyouthatthereareemusintheIledeFrance?Thisname—IslandofFrance—soundsstrangelyontheislandofSal.Mymemorysuperimposestwotowers:theoneattheruinedcastleofMontpilloythatservedasanencampmentforJoanofArc,andthelighthousetoweratthesoutherntipofSal,probablyoneofthelastlighthousestouseoil.AlighthouseintheSahellookslikeacollageuntilyouseetheoceanattheedgeofthesandandsalt.CrewsoftranscontinentalplanesarerotatedonSal.Theirclubbringstothisfrontierofnothingnessasmalltouchoftheseasideresortwhichmakesthereststillmoreunreal.Theyfeedthestraydogsthatliveonthebeach.Ifoundmydogsprettynervoustonight;theywereplayingwiththeseaasIhadneverseenthembefore.ListeningtoRadioHongKonglateronIunderstood:todaywasthefirstdayofthelunarnewyear,andforthefirsttimeinsixtyyearsthesignofthedogmetthesignofwater.Outthere,eleventhousandmilesaway,asingleshadowremainsimmobileinthemidstofthelongmovingshadowsthattheJanuarylightthrowsoverthegroundofTokyo:theshadowoftheAsakusabonze.ForalsoinJapantheyearofthedogisbeginning.Templesarefilledwithvisitorswhocometotossdowntheircoinsandtopray—Japanesestyle—aprayerwhichslipsintolifewithoutinterruptingit.BroodingattheendoftheworldonmyislandofSalinthecompanyofmyprancingdogsIrememberthatmonthofJanuaryinTokyo,orratherIremembertheimagesIfilmedofthemonthofJanuaryinTokyo.Theyhavesubstitutedthemselvesformymemory.Theyaremymemory.Iwonderhowpeoplerememberthingswhodontfilm,dontphotograph,donttape.Howhasmankindmanagedtoremember?Iknow:itwrotetheBible.ThenewBiblewillbeaneternalmagnetictapeofatimethatwillhavetorereaditselfconstantlyjusttoknowitexisted.Asweawaittheyearfourthousandandoneanditstotalrecall,thatswhattheoracleswetakeoutoftheirlonghexagonalboxesatnewyearmayofferus:alittlemorepoweroverthatmemorythatrunsfromcamptocamp—likeJoanofArc.ThatashortwaveannouncementfromHongKongradiopickeduponaCapeVerdeislandprojectstoTokyo,andthatthememoryofaprecisecolorinthestreetbouncesbackonanothercountry,anotherdistance,anothermusic,endlessly.Attheendofmemoryspath,theideogramsoftheIslandofFrancearenolessenigmaticthanthekanjiofTokyointhemiraculouslightofthenewyear.ItsIndianwinter,asiftheairwerethefirstelementtoemergepurifiedfromthecountlessceremoniesbywhichtheJapanesewashoffoneyeartoenterthenextone.Afullmonthisjustenoughforthemtofulfillallthedutiesthatcourtesyowestotime,themostinterestingunquestionablybeingtheacquisitionatthetempleofTenjinoftheusobird,whoaccordingtoonetraditioneatsallyourliesoftheyeartocome,andaccordingtoanotherturnsthemintotruths.ButwhatgivesthestreetitscolorinJanuary,whatmakesitsuddenlydifferentistheappearanceofkimono.Inthestreet,instores,inoffices,evenatthestockexchangeonopeningday,thegirlstakeouttheirfurcollaredwinterkimono.AtthatmomentoftheyearotherJapanesemaywellinventextraflatTVsets,commitsuicidewithachainsaw,orcapturetwothirdsoftheworldmarketforsemiconductors.Goodforthem;allyouseearethegirls.ThefifteenthofJanuaryiscomingofageday:anobligatorycelebrationinthelifeofayoungJapanesewoman.Thecitygovernmentsdistributesmallbagsfilledwithgifts,datebooks,advice:howtobeagoodcitizen,agoodmother,agoodwife.Onthatdayeverytwenty-year-oldgirlcanphoneherfamilyforfree,nomatterwhereinJapan.Flag,home,andcountry:thisistheanteroomofadulthood.Theworldofthetakenokoandofrocksingersspeedsawaylikearocket.Speakersexplainwhatsocietyexpectsofthem.Howlongwillittaketoforgetthesecret?Andwhenallthecelebrationsareoveritremainsonlytopickupalltheornaments—alltheaccessoriesofthecelebration—andbyburningthem,makeacelebration.Thisisdondo-yaki,aShintoblessingofthedebristhathavearighttoimmortality—likethedollsatUeno.Thelaststate—beforetheirdisappearance—ofthepoignancyofthings.Daruma—theoneeyedspirit—reignssupremeatthesummitofthebonfire.Abandonmentmustbeafeast;lacerationmustbeafeast.Andthefarewelltoallthatonehaslost,broken,used,mustbeennobledbyaceremony.ItsJapanthatcouldfulfillthewishofthatFrenchwriterwhowanteddivorcetobemadeasacrament.Theonlybafflingpartofthisritualwasthecircleofchildrenstrikingthegroundwiththeirlongpoles.Ionlygotoneexplanation,asingularone—althoughformeitmighttaketheformofasmallintimateservice—itwastochaseawaythemoles.AndthatswheremythreechildrenofIcelandcameandgraftedthemselvesin.Ipickedupthewholeshotagain,addingthesomewhathazyend,theframetremblingundertheforceofthewindbeatingusdownonthecliff:everythingIhadcutinordertotidyup,andthatsaidbetterthanalltherestwhatIsawinthatmoment,whyIhelditatarmslength,atzoomslength,untilitslasttwenty-fourthofasecond,thecityofHeimaeyspreadoutbelowus.AndwhenfiveyearslatermyfriendHarounTazieffsentmethefilmhehadjustshotinthesameplaceIlackedonlythenametolearnthatnatureperformsitsowndondo-yaki;theislandsvolcanohadawakened.Ilookedatthosepictures,anditwasasiftheentireyear65hadjustbeencoveredwithashes.So,itsufficedtowaitandtheplanetitselfstagedtheworkingoftime.Isawwhathadbeenmywindowagain.Isawemergefamiliarroofsandbalconies,thelandmarksofthewalksItookthroughtowneveryday,downtothecliffwhereIhadmetthechildren.ThecatwithwhitesocksthatHarounhadbeenconsiderateenoughtofilmformenaturallyfounditsplace.AndIthought,ofalltheprayerstotimethathadstuddedthistripthekindestwastheonespokenbythewomanofGotokuji,whosaidsimplytohercatTora,“Cat,whereveryouare,peacebewithyou.”Andtheninitsturnthejourneyenteredthezone,andHayaoshowedmemyimagesalreadyaffectedbythemossoftime,freedoftheliethathadprolongedtheexistenceofthosemomentsswallowedbythespiral.Whenspringcame,wheneverycrowannounceditsarrivalbyraisinghiscryhalfatone,ItookthegreentrainoftheYamanotelineandgotoffatTokyostation,nearthecentralpostoffice.EvenifthestreetwasemptyIwaitedattheredlight—Japanesestyle—soastoleavespaceforthespiritsofthebrokencars.EvenifIwasexpectingnoletterIstoppedatthegeneraldeliverywindow,foronemusthonorthespiritsoftornupletters,andattheairmailcountertosalutethespiritsofunmailedletters.ItookthemeasureoftheunbearablevanityoftheWest,thathasneverceasedtoprivilegebeingovernon-being,whatisspokentowhatisleftunsaid.Iwalkedalongsidethelittlestallsofclothingdealers.IheardinthedistanceMr.Akaosvoicereverberatingfromtheloudspeakers...ahalftonehigher.ThenIwentdownintothebasementwheremyfriend—themaniac—busieshimselfwithhiselectronicgraffiti.Finallyhislanguagetouchesme,becausehetalkstothatpartofuswhichinsistsondrawingprofilesonprisonwalls.Apieceofchalktofollowthecontoursofwhatisnot,orisnolonger,orisnotyet;thehandwritingeachoneofuswillusetocomposehisownlistofthingsthatquickentheheart,tooffer,ortoerase.Inthatmomentpoetrywillbemadebyeveryone,andtherewillbeemusinthezone.HewritesmefromJapan.HewritesmefromAfrica.HewritesthathecannowsummonupthelookonthefaceofthemarketladyofPraiathathadlastedonlythelengthofafilmframe.Willtherebealastletter?