the narrow road to the deep north

xmas eve first in sugamo, scrubbing a stone woman clean with a cloth. pulling out the thorns of the fast-fading year. thorns and sins, gone. in japan, end of year parties are called 'year-forgetting parties.' washed clean. in ginza later, in a vampire-themed restaurant drinking blood-wine and stealing kisses in the shadows. lights, love.

the following morning misaki and i went to st. mary's cathedral in mejiro. built in the shape of a crucifix; to be seen by god above, or people browsing google earth. inside the morning mass had finished, and we were almost alone in the vast chamber, while the organist continued playing; an immense beautiful sound of atonal ecstatic droning. moved to tears, i prayed.

later we wandered through kagurazaka and finally caught up with the watados for xmas dinner. first an exclusive family-run restaurant; sushi and nihon-shu; later a chinese/vietnamese place. 紹興酒



31st we headed to misaki's homeland of akita, a tiny blue one-carriage train, a narrow road to the deep north. snow. chasm-like valleys. ridges of pines and firs. cobalt blue lakes, cold and bottomless. white rice fields; geometric patterns of canals and irrigation channels. torii of plain white and grey, weather-worn wood. crows, geese, swans. rumors of bears. natural hot springs. steam and cracking bones.

on the night of the 31st we got wrecked with misaki's friends; a great bottle of scotch + umeshu = headache; the next morning a hot bath and then to the shrine for the first visit of the new year. suekichi. 'luck-at-the-end.' i stopped for a while to watch a man burn his hamaya; literally, 'demon-slaying arrow.' he then purchased a new one, to absorb the evil of another seasons' turning.



aunt miho was gracious and her food magnificent. we stayed in a room lined with a thousand videos and books on dancing, of her late husband, a dancer of the nihon-buyo. misaki's extended family gathered, four generations deep, from 90 to 4. kiritanpo, kurikinton, morokoshi. menkkoi and 'dabe.

later we travelled by train north along the misty coast of the japan sea. stone beaches and shattered cliffs. seagulls and the ice-shrouded peaks of the shirakamisanchi world heritage area. we visited the house of dazai osamu, the great japanese novelist. i was fascinated with a framed quotation he had in an upstairs room:

"J'ai l'extase et j'ai la terreur d'être choisi." from Paul Verlaine's Sagesse (wisdom.)

still later, in the old preserved samurai-town of Kakunodate i came across a picture of a soldier laying his spear on the ground as he delivers an urgent message to his commander. his standard, a long-legged centipede, and the balanced lines of his weapon, his arm, his gaze, stayed with me all that day and the next.