Wuhan, China conference on literature and environment

I had a great, meaningful trip to and conference in Wuhan, China a few weeks ago.After presenting part of the plenary address (click here for transcript) I found a lot of interest in her work and some people in Asia already know of her work.

Lake of Heaven excerpt - by Ishimure Michiko

Lake of Heaven excerpt - by Ishimure Michiko

Community destroyed by dam building in Japan.

This section of Lake of Heaven is from Chapter 5, “Secret Song”:

Villagers have gathered by the shores of the dam-constructed lake which has submerged their old town, Amazoko. An older woman, Ohina, is helping her daughter Omomo to take over the sacred ritual responsibilities for the village, including singing and dancing, thus hoping to preserve the ancient traditions that had been in danger of being lost when Sayuri, the former miko shrine maiden, died recently. Masahiko is a young man who has recently come from Tokyo to the countryside by Amazoko for the first time. He had simply planned to spread the ashes of his deceased grandfather, Masahito, on the lake and then return. He ends up, however, staying on, drawn into the culture and land of his ancestral village and realizing how much of his own spiritual existence had been cut off.

*

Omomo’s body was swaying back and forth gently. She was holding a rather long set of light red prayer beads hanging from her hands. Two older women nodded to each other as if exclaiming, “Ah!” This was because this string of beads - beads that Sayuri had used when she recited her prayers - was the very same string of coral beads that had come from Oki no Miya shrine. Omomo fingered the beads, holding them to her breast as she chanted something, and then turned toward the elders to greet them. Ohina, standing at the back of the room, signaled Kappei with her eyes. Then she pointed to the entrance of the straw hut. Kappei nodded in understanding. He went to the entrance holding a carpet and spread it out at the feet of the elders. Then he smoothed out the carpet with his big hands, as if looking for sharp stones or twigs. Finally, he signaled silently to the elders to sit.

“How comfortable,” the elders commented politely. They sat down quietly and once again gave their attention to Omomo and Ohina in their white robes. Just then the wind gusted and Omomo’s hair swayed to the side. With the sky not yet yielding its last rays of light, the tips of her long hair fluttered gently, as if expressing a sign of the coming twilight.

The first voice sounded.

On hearing it, the thought came to Masahiko of those sal trees faintly lit up amidst the mountain dew. He had seen these trees for the first time in this mountainous land. Their trunks were smooth and golden, with flecks of red. Omomo’s song conveyed the impression of those trees murmuring, off in the distant mist.

In the moonrise
Of the autumn equinox,
From Oki no Miya
Already your servant
Has come.
Already your servant
Has come.

Omomo looked out with half-opened eyes. With the prayer beads hanging from the opening of one sleeve, she raised them slowly to her breast in a just-barely perceptible movement. Her manner was entirely different from the flashy movements of the singers on TV. Her voice and the motions of her body were like the spirit of a tree, or of a thing answering to a faint, distant wind.

The elders sat up straight to welcome the arrival of the servants of Oki no Miya.

Here at the
Meeting place
At the base
Of heaven,
Welcome the new moon.
Over the mountains
Come flowers
And pampas grass,

The blue shell princess
From Oki no Miya.

The god of the mountains.
The master of the cave under heaven.
The lord of the oceans.

If you pass
Down the road
Of a thousand leagues,
A thousand grasses
And vines too
Shall turn red
And become
Beautiful woven silk.
Let us take
One stem of the
Thousand-year pampas grass
And make an offering.

Oshizu and Chiyomatsu’s eyes moistened as if they had already entered the darkening surface of the water. Thinking back on the story Chiyomatsu had just told about the lake in the womb of the mountains, Masahiko tried to hold on to the fragments of his grandfather’s words that came to mind. Yes, he used to speak of a lake of a “divine wedding.” Masahiko remembered his mother’s casual-sounding voice, after she had put him in the mental hospital.

“The nurses talk about him, you know. They say that Grandfather often talks to himself. And he goes on about some sort of ‘divine wedding lake.’ I suppose his memories of his youth must have been quite happy. It seems the nurses hear him talk about how good the old days were - but then he says we ruined his life and pushed him into the hospital. As he got older your grandfather often talked about that divine wedding lake. He must have spent some pretty romantic days at that lake where he had his honeymoon, don’t you think? That lake - I wonder, just which lake do you suppose it was he went to?”

Kiyohiko, his father, had answered in his usual expressionless voice, “I didn’t hear anything about it, but it doesn’t matter, does it? It didn’t hurt anyone, did it?”

“But I…”

Machiko had started to speak, but cut herself short with an unnatural-sounding laughing voice. Masahiko remembered the conversation well.