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ICHIGENSAN by David Zoppetti
My Rating *****
"Boku," a foreign student studying at a university in Kyoto, loves Japanese literature but is treated coldly by his teachers and neighbors. His relationship with Kyoko, a blind Japanese woman, brings him closer to Japan, but he eventually decides to leave. Most foreigners living in Japan will be able to relate to the protaganist's feelings of being excluded. I strongly recommend this book to Japanese who want to understand how many Westerners living in Japan feel.
EXCERPT Translated by Paul Sminkey
On the train home, Kyoko fell asleep. I gazed at her sleeping face, not thinking of anything, when suddenly, without warning, it finally occurred to me why I always felt so at peace with her.
If you think about it, the reason was very 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 is not an unusual phenomenon. But in Kyoto things were subtly different. The process whereby they look at someone and based on appearance instantly decide something about the person, and then determine that this is someone whose feelings they will ignore (to a degree you cannot 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 a kind of creepy feeling. 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 could not define. There was no sound, clash, or pain in the confrontation, but in the process of being dodged and eluded many times, 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 did not 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 very 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 is how I felt. If Kyoko could see me, our relationship probably would have been completely different.
That there is one person in this town who cannot 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 somehow suspect it would invite misunderdstanding, so I have not mentioned it.
She continued sleeping soundly until the small train reached the final station.
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