Ichigensan (excerpt)
by
David Zoppetti
translated by
Paul Sminkey
INTRODUCTION: David Zoppetti’s Ichigensan tells
the story of “Boku,” a foreign student studying at a
university in Kyoto, and his relationship with Kyoko, a blind
Japanese woman. The following excerpt, from late in the novel, is a
good summary of how the protaganist feels about living in
Japan.
On
the train home, Kyoko fell asleep. I gazed at her sleeping face,
not thinking of anything, when suddenly, without warning, it
finally dawned on me why I felt so at peace with her.
If you think about it, the reason was quite simple, but precisely
because it was so obvious, for a long time it never occurred to
me.
She couldn’t see me.
People in town always stared at me. Their attitudes and way of
acting towards someone were always determined by the outward
appearance of the person, and for that reason, I was always made to
feel unpleasant. Judging people by appearances—to varying
degrees—is something that people in every country do, and
it’s not an unusual phenomenon. But in Kyoto things were
subtly different. The process whereby they look at someone and
based solely on appearance instantly decide something about the
person, and then decide that this is someone whose feelings they
will ignore (to a degree you can’t help but admire) is
extremely unique.
This is not a simple problem that can be explained by commonplace
words such as “discrimination” or
“closedmindedness.” Connected to the attitude there
exists a subtle mechanism for making distinctions, which at first
you think you can pin down, but which turns out to be invisible,
and which gives you the creeps. Even if you can physically feel the
mechanism at work, it has no clear shape. Whenever I tried to
confront the problem, I found myself being eluded by something I
couldn’t define. There was no sound, clash, or pain in the
confrontation, but in the process of being dodged and eluded, I
ended up feeling beaten up physically and mentally.
Of course, all of this begins from outward appearances. I wondered
if perhaps I was just extremely tired of being looked at by people.
I was disgusted with constantly being made to play the role of the
gaijin buffoon.
When I was with Kyoko, however, this sort of thing naturally never
occurred. It goes without saying, of course, but for her, outward
appearances didn’t exist. From the beginning, our
relationship was based on the mediums of voice, body, and words.
What bound us together were words and physical contact. In other
words, the ties were a way of communicating that which lies behind
outward appearances, and were at the core of what is important.
That is what I suddenly felt.
That’s right. Even if I made a mistake or used an
inappropriate turn of phrase, Kyoko looked at me based on the
content of what I was trying to communicate to her. She had
transcended nationality and race, and interacted with me as a
fellow human being. That’s how I felt. If Kyoko could see me,
our relationship probably would’ve been completely
different.
That there’s one person in this town who can’t see me
and who can interact with me normally brings me great peace of
mind, more than I can express in words. I considered talking to
Kyoko about this, but I suspected it would invite misunderstanding,
so I haven’t mentioned it.
She
continued sleeping soundly until the small train reached the final
station.
Paul Sminkey's Home
Page
Japanese
Literature Page