The
Japanese term waka refers to
a type of poem that has its origins in classical Japanese literature.
A waka and its
collateral forms consist of at least three phrases the first of which
has five characters and the second two with seven characters each.
The longer forms simply vary the phrase pattern and then uses
repeated patterns to lengthen the poem.. The most common form of waka
is known as tanka. It
has five phrases of 5-7-5-7-7 characters. Commonly, the first three
phrases pose a problem, and the last two phrases resolve the problem.
Novels
often are plotted, roughly speaking, on an existing framework. The
scheme of Joyce's Ulysses,
obviously, alludes to the Greek classic of the wandering Aeneas; and
Joyce's character 'wanders' through equivalent adventures. Lewis
Carroll, in Through The Looking-Glass, used
a chess problem to structure his plot.
The
Blind Geisha uses the waka
format for structure. Three parts of five sections each allude to
the classic poem format. Problems presented in the first three
sections of each part are resolved in the final two sections (each of
these begins with '... Elizabeth wrote ...')
The
novel is published sequentially beginning with the post of May 21, 2018.
Mincing
Elizabeth
wrote:
The short prose introduction that
Ikkyu added to his poem Pai-chang's hoe poses more problems
then it solves. He addresses Mori, in most translations, as my
blind attendant, Mori; but the characters he uses offer many
opportunities for variation. Literally, the characters from the first
line translate as 'blind', 'woman', her name 'Mori',
'samurai' or 'one
who serves', 'feelings',
'love' and a
marker that indicates that a
person is the subject of the phrase or sentence. There is one other
character that we have had difficulty with. Grace suspects we have
selected the wrong radical. The image of the ideograph is smeared and
unclear. We have an inkling, but would like to be sure.
The first consideration is this: If
Mori is professing her love for him, surely their relationship is
beyond that bland naming. "Mori, my blind friend' or 'my blind
companion' might be more appropriate. Ikkyu was never one to stand on
ceremony.
If the dating of the poem
places the composition during the calamity of the Ōnin War, then
much is explained. Kyoto was the battlefield for that conflict. The
city was devastated. Those who could flee, did so. Ikkyu and Mori
were, for a time, in Takigi; but the war found them there and they
fled to Sumiyoshi.
And what of her refusal to eat. She
has attempted and failed at suicide once before (or so says Ikkyu).
They are short of both money and food. The war rages on (The Ōnin
War---need more on this); and all the horrors and deprivations of
such a conflict do not spare this odd couple. Is this why she refuses
to eat? What food they have, she wants Ikkyu to eat. Does she feel
that she has become a burden? There are characters for pain and
grief, for anxiety, for bitterness. Suicide, in 15th century Japan,
did not bear the onus or reprobation that our culture brings to that
act. More honorable than not. So
Mori's attempt must be seen as noble and selfless. Ikkyu certainly
must have viewed it as such. Were they on the run?
Another
consideration is this: Seppuku,
or ritual suicide, had already become the accepted means of
discharging the debt incurred by one's misdeeds or failures. Jigai,
Japanese for suicide, is made up of two characters: 自害.
(Need more on this business. Another bit of research for Grace.)
Elizabeth
removed her glasses, rubbed her eyes. And where was the nobility and
selflessness of Michelle's death? Sordid, it seems, more desperate
than otherwise. Or so I thought at the time.
"Still
think so. A waste, such a waste."
Something
you might should want. Such nonsense.
Elizabeth
pushed herself away from the desk and stood. Another early morning,
candlelight and quiet. She didn't particularly care for the scent of
vanilla that the candle in her old brass lantern gave off. Exuded.
That's the word. Had Grace given her that one? Somebody. She turned
and walked the length of the room; peered out the window that looked
onto the carport and beyond, the tiled roof of her neighbor's summer
home. Rather large people. Name forgotten. No doubt I'll dredge it up
later.
She
turned and walked back to her desk. Twenty steps. Mincing? Was that
the word? Hercule Poirot's walk. With his little gray cells. Not one
to mince words. Or onions. She made a note on her post-it pad to
check with Mr Skeat on 'mince.' Have some mincemeat pie for lunch.
The
incessant chirping, almost yapping, like a small dog, of her Douglas
squirrels brought her to the window. There they were, circling the
trunk of the pine. So territorial. Must be males. They both shared
the small wooded corner of her property. The adjacent lot had a few
cedars, but mostly a sizable wood of stunted scrub pine, specie's
name actually appropriate: pinus contorta.
Elizabeth
snubbed out the taper in the dancing frog, puffed twice at her
lantern. She would take a walk before lunchtime. Grace this
afternoon.
"We
need to finish that translation," she said. And that errant
kanji. Must be somewhere. Must be.
A
neap tide, gulls and whimbrels, plovers and the oddly named killdeers
all feeding across the wide apron of sand. Kelp strands littered the
far end of the beach, and just beyond were the tide pools where
Elizabeth spent so many afternoons poking with her stick.
Poking
the little gray cells, she thought, considering a rather large
anemone. "Fat little fellow, you are," said the woman. The
tentacles are living organisms. How did they work that out?
Nematocysts. Like a barbed arrow, piercing and poisonous. Just a
polyp, a sac that eats.
She
was squatting on her haunches; as Grace walked down the beach towards
her the young woman called out and waved the envelope that she held
in her hand.
"A
problem solved," Grace said.
"Oh
good," said with a grunt as Elizabeth pushed herself to her
feet.
"That
kanji we couldn't translate?" Grace said.
"Yes."
"Just
as we thought. 'Very' covers it, but it seems to me that something a
bit more intense is needed."
"Then
just use 'intense'." And Elizabeth quoted the line: "Mori,
my blind friend, has such intense feelings of love ..."
Grace
nodded. "That will do nicely." They entwined arms walking
the hard sand at water's edge. "The radical is number 99, amai,
with a meaning of 'sweet' or ''slightly sugared'. The compound we
were looking for is Jin, meaning 'exceedingly' or 'severe' or
'intense'. Some others."
"Ah."
Said softly. Elizabeth shuffled along, stopped, sighed.
"Are
you all right, Bess?"
"Just
the whirlies, dear."
She
disliked this feeling of dizziness. Happens all too often these days,
she thought. Vertigo. Turning in Latin. Turning ... "Just
getting old. Stood up too quick," she said. And afflicted.
Benign paroxysmal positional vertigo. Ever since my bad ear.
"Shall
we sit?"
"No
no. It passes." She nodded down the beach. "We'll walk to
the creek."
A
small stream ran off the hillside, cut the low dunes, and fanned
across the beach to the sea. A path followed the creeks meander
through the dunes and brought the walker back to the gravel road that
led to several houses built along the bluff. The loop from beach to
road to home was just short of two miles and Elizabeth managed it
daily.
She
said, "Have you noticed, the smell of the tides, how distinct
they are?"
"You
have the nose, Beth. I'm immune."
"Had
a fellow down visiting me. Fisherman, he was, biologist. Started in
on sulfate-reducing bacteria, critters feeding on sulfur ... no, not
'fur', 'fates' ... sulfates. Said that was what caused that funky
tang like rotten eggs. Decomposers at work. How he did go on."
"And
not so much when the tides in. Yes?"
"That's
right. Sweeter then. Amai, desu ne."
Grace
laughed.
"The
eyes fail, the nose compensates," Elizabeth said. "Though
the vastness of the horizon is clear enough, bright enough, to stun
my reason." She stopped and turned to the sea. "The
sea-glim. Nothing there, nothing not there. Not an original thought,
that. Some poem. Forgotten. Most people miss that empty enormity.
They watch waves or gulls. The more observant might see a boat or
ship, passing. The prescient few might be found by the whale's misty
spout. Or earth's elegant arc. How odd that the most profound is
hidden by such simplicity." She patted the young woman's hand.
"I'm sorry, dear. I ramble. Saying nothing. Just a maudlin old
woman today. What's our latitude and longitude here? Do you know? We
need a little science for ballast."
"44º
north, 124º west." Grace smiled.
"Now
why in the world would you know that?"
"You
forget Bernard."
A
vacant look, a dawning. "The sailor," Elizabeth said. "And
Tahiti?"
"17º
south, 149º west."
"You
miss that fellow, don't you?"
Grace
shrugged. "He was good company."
They
stood quietly as the swish of wave, a bit of white foam, began to run
up the beach and surround them.
"If
one could truly see," said Elizabeth, "there he'd be on his
little boat out riding the big ocean."
"If
one could truly see."
"And
Ikkyu. Him, too. Wandering the streets, Mori in tow."
"With
her shamisen."
"Yes,
she must have had one. Was there ever a mention?"
"We'll
look again. Perhaps when they were in Sumiyoshi. He was down with
dysentery again. Then there was something about earning some money
begging on the Taika Bridge; but perhaps it wasn't begging at all.
Perhaps it was entertaining. We'll check the kanji."
"We
shall. But enough. Let's be home. Crackers and cheese, I think, and
some of that Beaujolais you brought down."
"No
work this afternoon?"
"Oh,
we'll find something to do. Still need a timeline for Iccky. Maybe
do that? Or make up a life for our friend, Mori."
"Fiction
truer than life."
"Often
think life is a fiction."
Hand
in hand now, the two women angled across the dry soft sand, trudging
to the creekside path that led to the road. Head down, Elizabeth's
breathing became labored.
"Ah,"
she said.
"Rest?"
asked Grace, slowing.
"No, no.
No matter."
"Sure?"
"Sure."
Robin
song; in the distance, a barking dog raised the shrill cry of a small
child.
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