Tokio Whip (39 page)

–
Well, by your terms, maybe my partners couldn't see the imagination behind my clarity, and only saw it as a certain dullness.

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Then they were the dull ones.

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In a way, I have to admit that they were.

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Left you?

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Yes, and that's what I can't understand. Not that they left me, but that all my friends always thought that I had undermined the relationship. I never left anyone, always wanted to stay. They left me. I was not the problem. They were their own problems. Probably still are, with whatever exciting dullards they've wound up.

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You're not in touch with them still?

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No, I've never had that gift. Goodbye has always meant goodbye to me. Besides, they'd written me off.

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Poor souls.

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Perhaps. Perhaps they're actually better off now.

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Their loss.

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Who's to say?

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I am. My gain.

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Marianne, you flatter me.

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You flatter me.

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Is that an order?

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No! Yes, ok, yes it is.

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You're a sweetie. You're my clarity.

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And you're a bluebell.

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See what I mean?

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Clearly.

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Blearingly.

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Endearingly.

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Ikkyu. Sesshu.

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Is the museum still open? Should we go?

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See the Sesshu? It's incredible, isn't it?

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Ikkyu's face.

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How he must have talked!

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And walked. How many sandals?

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How many brushes? Do you think he turned some of those sandals into brushes when none were available?

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And where did the ink come from when that ran out?

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The blood of bluebells, of course. How else could he have written such poetry?

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And the winter poems?

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Poets can draw blood from flowers too, you know.

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Mizoguchi kept a portable toilet on his sets.

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Lang had thermoses of soup on his.

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Ozu kept records of the bottles of whiskey drunk as he worked on his scripts with Yoda.

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Joan Fontaine was born in Tokyo.

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Cary Grant's last film took place here.

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Ophuls admitted his Yoshiwara was his worst film.

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Still, it has its moments.

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Buster Keaton rigged a portable toilet to surprise unwanted users; the walls would flap down and embarrass them.

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Buster Keaton went to China. Proved every child's dream.

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Oh god, Cafferty, you're talking my talk!

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Should we go to China?

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Whatever for? We have Tokyo.

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We'll always have Tokyo.

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Will we always have had Tokyo?

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You mean like Rick and Elsa?

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I mean like Rick and Elsa.

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You don't plan to leave, do you?

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Whatever for? Clarity? I have you.

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Then no, we'll never leave. Whatever for? I have no plan to leave, do you?

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Whatever for? It's home. I am possible here, understood.

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And I can invite confusion finally.

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Better to be confused …

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Better to be clear …

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Than clear or confused …

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In any other city.

[Much later]

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But weren't we supposed to talk about something else today?

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What matter? No, oh yes, you're right. Roberta and Lang. Haven't you heard?

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No, what?

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Lang had to return to Vienna for a few months, there was no choice, an unfinished job or other, a previous commitment, I forget what but there was no choice– we all felt sorry about it, not knowing what would develop– Roberta “seemed” to take it alright – apparently they wrote and spoke regularly … but she was never sure if he'd return – and then she surprised us all, she visited him, they got away and were together, were happy being together –
wherever
they were.

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No!? Really?!

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Yes!

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Are they're both back here, now?

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I'm not sure. I hope so. Or at least I hope they're together wherever they may be. But together. Tokyo or no.

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But they'll always have Tokyo.

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Yes, yes they will. Like you and I, Cafferty. We have our bluebells, they have theirs, bluebells or whatever else they choose.

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This is great news. Roberta and Lang, together again.

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That's also a Country song.

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I'm beginning to like it already.

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Roberta and Lang. I can hardly believe it.

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Cafferty and Marianne, imagined at last, I can –

–
– believe it.

***

Rich and strange, Van Zandt thinks to himself, for all my wanderings, even in my own room, or my neighborhood, hell, the whole city, nothing changes – what's the rest of the line? – wandered Paris, wandered Amsterdam, now I am wandering Tokyo, wandering girls. Changes, changes.

***

The sea we turn into salt-seed moon-rise.

***

It cannot be comprehended, seen whole as one. As I walk in one direction across the city, someone else moves in the opposing direction, burying my tracks. This guy will do the same again tomorrow. That woman will be sleeping with another man. That shop will become a park (yes, we can reverse history). The only way to comprehend it all, to perceive the whole city entire, to fully express my boundless love is total acceptance of that shop, woman, man, and so see ourselves completely one multiple heart, an onmi-directional love. And so we survive, perceive, whorls within.

***

R'n'L!!!!!!!!!!!

I wish I could do hand-shadows.

During my first few months in Tokyo I was taken for a Jew, an Arab, a a Greek, a Sicilian, but never for what I am.

There is so much
shit
in the air. You must swear to me that when I am on my deathbed (assuming I will have one) that some Wolf or Hawk or Debussy will be playing. I could not abide going across the river, as Stonewall put it, and having some pop crap as the last thing on earth I hear. The thought horrifies me.

I remember when I first met Elfi, I asked her if her name was the German form of Elvis.

The annual survey. If you had a magazine, what kind would it be? If you had a publishing house, what would you call it? (Me: Eight Dogs Press, even though I hate dogs.) And a record label? And a restaurant? And, of course, a band?

Ways I might die. Well, the first, obviously, is being hit by a car here (they can't walk, can't drive). The other day a woman was making a left turn and looking right; almost hit me. She blithely drove on, smiling at me. The second is from a knife wound – I'm always dropping them. I'm cutting vegetables, drop the weapon, it goes through my foot and into the floor. Bravely, I lift the whole, call the hospital, but too late, gangrene sets in, the foot is amputated, then the rest, part by part. Most probably though I'll fall down a flight of stairs in some station because I can't keep my eyes off some looker.

How do they get the cranes up there, on top of buildings when they're building them? Do they first build a ground floor or a roof and assemble a crane at the same time, or somehow drive one up there and then continue building, 'cos otherwise they gotta have an even taller crane to lift another one up there, right? Or am I wrong? Do you know, or is it one of the mysteries?

So, do you guys think life is disappointing? I mean, I know it's a wreck sometimes, but after all, we got you and I – or is it me? – nah, it ain't a disappointment ... yeah, maybe it is. I don't know – and anyway
Tokyo Story
happens in Kamakura.

“I opened my eyes to the whole universe and I saw it was loving.” What a pretty line. Here's another: “I could be in love with almost anyone. I think that people are the greatest fun.” Ah, the California sun!

The waiter had a shirt just like the one Carrie brought me from Hong Kong.

Pascal was right you know – about leaving home. (I also like what his father told his daughter, Blaise's sister that is, when she remarked that she preferred poetry to geometry: “To be human, one must be both delicate and exact.”)

I was just glancing around my room and realized that I have five images of James Joyce on display: the
L'Arc
cover, the Svevo book, a copy of a Freund portrait, the JJ playing cards, and the picture Marianne took of me at the grave. And the King?

One of the regrets of my youth: I never saw Chiyonofuji – did you? Oops, gotta go, there's a Velázquez in town.

***

Our bodies the name of god, every letter, syllable, character signed in the world in our arms.

***

IN THE CITY

There are women, she knows, there's a friend.

There were men, she knew, is there a man?

There are lies, she knows, there'd been a truth.

There is the loneliness sometimes, but it passes.

There were children, she recalls (and one was lost).

There's a mother, she calls every other weekend, there was a father.

There was love, she thinks, there is him.

There were dreams, she dreams, and now there's this
situation
.

There were words, she says to herself, two or three remain in her bones.

There was Lang, Roberta remembers, now there is me.

***

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But it doesn't stop here, you know.

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There's a Marui in Koganei, yes, but that's not the end of it, not at all. If we keep walking west. We've still to come to Kokubunji, Tachikawa, and more yet.

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So, where's it stop?

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What's the next prefecture?

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Does that matter?

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Sure, doesn't it?

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Why? It's just an extension of Tokyo.

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So, where's it stop, the border of the Kanto Plain?

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Why should that stop the city?

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Kobe then, where it drops off into the water?

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No, they'll build a bridge.

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Well, it's gotta stop somewhere! Shanghai sure ain't no part of Tokyo!

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Who says it isn't?

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A billion Chinese, for one, I'm sure.

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Ok, ok, let's say it does stop somewhere.

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Yes, that'd be nice.

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But why should it stop?

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Oh comeon, you mean that Tokyo should just keep expanding until it just swallows up everything?

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Would that be so bad?

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Well, I believe a few or more people would feel some discomfort.

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I feel some right now, just thinking about it.

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But there have to be boundaries to the city.

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Oh, alright, I suppose, but in Tokyo's case, I think they're harder to define.

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No, you get mapmakers and other people and you draw lines. Here's Tokyo, there's outside of Tokyo.

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But don't those people perhaps feel like Tokyoites?

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See, hard to define.

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So, do you think there are a bunch of Shanghai-ites who feel like Tokyoites?

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Could be.

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Oh, comeon!

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Ok, ok, maybe not, but we have to be open to the possibility.

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Ah ha! – now that's a different story.

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No, it's not.

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Why not?

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Everything's still fluid, open – like a good story.

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Well, I, for one, have no idea what you guys are talking about.

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I don't either.

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Well, the subject's open, we can go back to it another time.

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Or not.

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Well then, someone will – of that I am sure.

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Well, I for one am sure that right now, or real soon, we're going to be seeing the sun. That's all I need to know.

***

The breathing ear listening to the petals come to rest.

***

Ah, this city, Arlene feels, you exasperate me, excite me, frustrate me, delight me, talk to me, fuck me, cry to me (isn't that a song? – did VZ play it once?), oh, you make me want to stay and leave. Oh, To-ki-yo: you make me want to learn again how to make love.

***

Roberta hadn't wanted to go shopping, especially in the second biggest department store in the world. But she needed new clothes. That was a fact. New clothes certainly never made her feel particularly better – as they obviously did Lang and Arlene. Roberta was one of those light, arbitrary shoppers, and a lucky one at that. She figured January would be a good time to shop: The bonus season, Christmas and New Year's over; money, energy spent. She had not counted on, was wholly unaware of, the sales. Nonetheless, she was a lucky shopper.