Читать книгу Restless Wave - Ayako Tanaka Ishigaki - Страница 12

New Year’s

“HOW MANY days before the New Year?” Each night as I went to bed I asked the question, putting down another finger for the passage of the day.

This was the liveliest time of the whole year. In Japan, one is a year older at the beginning of the New Year, regardless of the day of birth. I was born in September, but when New Year’s came I was already two years old. A Japanese baby is considered one year old at birth.

As the festive time approached, the appearance of our street was changed. The Kadomatsu, or pine decoration, was set up before each gate. It was made of pine tree and long bamboo trunk bound together, the pine signifying hardiness and long life, the bamboo virtue and steadfastness. In the business section the streets were full of shoppers. On the sidewalk in front of shop windows, men were busy pounding out dough in a large wooden mixing bowl, in preparation for the holiday supply of O-mochi, a kind of special rice patty.

At home I hated to go to bed early. The whole house had to be re-done, clothes put in order, and bills paid, so that the new year could truly begin with a clean slate. On New Year’s Eve each room was given a final sweeping, for sweeping the house on New Year’s Day would mean sweeping out the God of Fortune. The sacred Shimenawa-straw was hung outside of every entrance to keep out the God of Devils.

At midnight the bell of New Year’s Eve rang in the Buddhist temple near our house. For many years I had wanted to stay awake and hear it, but not until this year, my ninth, was I permitted to do so. The long vibrating sound rumbled into the night, and its reverberations seemed not to die away but slowly to recede, farther and farther away in the distance.

In the morning the whole family arose before sunrise and dressed in formal style. Father donned his habutai-silk kimono, with loose silk trousers and a crested gown. Younger Brother was dressed exactly like him. Elder Sister and I wore long-sleeved kimonos with broad heavy obi tied behind. We were uncomfortable, but happy to wear these clothes. We gathered in the drawing room and exchanged the formal New Year’s greetings. Kneeling on the tatami-mat on the floor, I solemnly bowed my head, and pressing my hands on the floor I said, “Honorable Father, congratulations on the New Year.” Father acknowledged the greeting with a nod. After the salutations were over, we seated ourselves on the cushions and were served the special New Year’s dinner.

Behind Father was the Tokonoma, an exquisite alcove, the most prized place in a Japanese room. In the Tokonoma hung the special New Year’s scroll. It was made of white silk mounted on gold tapestry; pine tree, bamboo and plum blossom were painted on it, and in the upper comers was a Chinese poem (Japanese culture originally came from China) wishing everyone a happy and peaceful New Year. This scroll had been handed down from our remote ancestors, and had been painted by a famous Japanese artist.

On the Tokonoma stood a square tray holding deep green seaweed, white round rice patty, a red lobster, and a dai-dai orange. The lobster was the symbol of long life, of living long enough to have one’s back bent like a lobster’s; the bitter orange signified a generation.

Father and Younger Brother sat on their cushions in front of the Tokonoma; Mother, Elder Sister and I faced them. The serving maid entered to pour the wine which opened the New Year ceremony. First she offered the red, shallow, lacquered wine-bowl to Father. He held it in both hands and drained it. Then, pouring a few drops into it, she handed it to Younger Brother, next in rank. Mother came next, then Nobu, and then I, sitting stiffly waiting for my share.

The sun was rising when the individual ozen-trays were placed before us. On the trays was the traditional New Year’s dinner. Kinton, sweet chestnuts mashed into sweet potatoes, was served on the same porcelain plate as Kamaboko, fish paste with bright red crust. Funa, silver carp, was served head and all on a dish of its own. Kobumaki, rolled seaweed of deep translucent green, was tied with a thin yellow strip cut from the peel of squash. In the center of the tray was a small round bowl holding a salad of thin strips of carrots and turnips. At one side was a small bowl of orange caviar, and opposite it was the soup containing O-mochi, in a lacquered bowl. This was covered by another bowl decorated with the crest of the house.

I liked all the food, but I liked Kinton best, so I saved it for last. Elder Sister, noticing this, said, “Haru, you have not eaten your Kinton. Will you exchange it for my caviar? I do not like caviar.”

“Honorable sister,” I said, “you ate up all your Kinton. I like it too, but I am saving mine for the end. And you must eat your caviar or you cannot bear children. Kimi told me that if I ate up all my caviar I would have a thousand babies.”

“I don’t like caviar, and I won’t eat it even if I don’t have any babies.”

Father interrupted, “It won’t keep you from having children if you do not eat caviar on New Year’s Day. That is merely superstition. Since caviar is eggs of the fish, it is simply a symbol of beginning life. It is a reminder to Japanese women to bear as many children as they can. I am pleased, Haru, that you wish many children when you grow up. But eat your caviar, Nobu. It will help you digest your O-mochi.”

“You see, honorable sister,” I said, “Father advises you to eat your caviar. I will not exchange it for my Kinton.”

Mother, who had been silent until now, placed her chopsticks on her tray and said, “Haru and Nobu, today is the New Year, a sacred day. Be nice to each other, and do not engage in argument. If you quarrel on the sacred New Year’s Day, you will quarrel throughout the year.”

Father turned his attention to Younger Brother, who was flushed with having eaten so much food. He said, “Soon you will start school. You are old enough to make a New Year’s resolution.”

Elder Sister broke in, “Honorable Father, I have made my New Year’s resolutions. I shall not tease my brother any more, and I shall write in my diary every day.”

“That is excellent, Nobu,” Father said. “We must try to overcome our faults in the New Year, but it is also proper to determine on some new accomplishment.”

“Honorable Father,” said Younger Brother, “when I grow up I want to be a brave general. And wear lots of decorations.”

“Then, Taro,” Father said, “you must also resolve not to fear the dark.”

He beamed at his son, then looked at us. “I shall reveal to you my resolution,” he said. “This year I resolve to go to Germany to study.”

I looked at Father in awe. To go abroad—that was what I would like, too. Perhaps if I became learned like Father I could go to foreign countries some day. I determined to study diligently, but I did not voice my resolve.

Father did not realize his goal that year or for many years, for the following summer the World War broke out, and Japan took her stand on the side of the Allies.

After the feast Elder Sister Nobu and I quickly changed from formal clothes to ceremonial school kimono. Although we had a two weeks’ holiday, we had to attend a special assembly on this day to be reminded of our national duties. The principal made his customary short speech, telling us of our good fortune in being under the protection of the Emperor. He said that affirming our love for the Emperor and our loyalty to his reign would keep us from harm throughout the year.

When I returned home, Younger Brother was flying his kite. The kite was bigger than he was, and had a picture of a warrior painted on it. We girls played badminton with beautifully painted Hagoita-rackets for the rest of the afternoon. In the evening we played the Hyakunin-Isshu, poetry games. From my earliest years I had memorized many poems, most of which I did not understand. In these games, cards were dealt to all the players, who placed them on the tatami floor in front of them. One person recited the first few lines of a poem, and the first player to recognize the remaining lines on his own card won the game. Father, who had a good voice, was usually the reader. The verses were old and beautiful. One of my favorites was:

The peaceful spring day

With the sun beaming far away,

Why must blossoms fly

With calmless heart . . .

—Kino Motonori

During the week of New Year’s festivities we visited many friends and relatives, always traveling in the riksha. When we traveled down the slopes at great speed, I held my breath and shut my eyes. On the seventh day the pine decoration was taken away from the gate. I leaned against the gatepost and watched the gardener remove bamboo and pine. Many days would pass before the next New Year.