Impressions of Izu Ōshima (Novella) Part 4
Inspired by Raymond Roussel and Lun*na Menoh
The one major complaint about this island and this specific school is that there is no air conditioning. I have purchased numerous electric fans and placed them in every classroom, Ballroom, and even in the bathrooms, and still, it’s just wet, steaming hot wind flowing from one end to the other. I was going to put in a good air conditioning unit, but the structure will not be able to support such a system. The walls are already insect-filled and seem hollowed out due to their eating the very source of these walls. After a while, I felt no difference between the outside landscape and the interior world. We all slept in mosquito tents. Usually enough room for just one, but I had Aiko rest on top of me, so in a sense, she used me as a mattress or futon. I didn’t want her out of my sight for even a moment.
A crew member brought their child to me in hopes that I could perhaps put her in the production. Usually, these requests drive me batty, but at the same time, I must admit that she was cute. Then and there, I decided to make her character Aiko’s younger sister. Both would be dancing with the octopus on the stage. My idea was to put a purple/blue/green color wrap covering the stage, and the audience would see the background through this surface. If you are looking at the scene via the eyes of the public, it represents or looks like one is in a body of water. Electric fans blowing on the wrap will give the movement, for instance, like one being in the water. I was also toying with the idea of closing all the windows and stopping the electric fans for the audience, so they get the feeling of the heat and humidity and the sense of the air being sucked out of the gym. It would cause an unusual reaction to the scenes underneath the ocean. Also, the gym has a second-level walkway where one can throw water onto the audience. I gave the crew, the production, and yours truly, thirty days to finish this and have a presentation ready for a live audience.
No insult to the crew that sometimes serves as an audience, but one that is not only invited but also pays for a ticket. So far, the child is a lot trickier than the octopus. She follows instructions, but only if I have a piece of candy attached to the teaching. She already has a star’s attitude towards the theater in many ways. Even Aiko, in her fashion, is laid-back. Her mother was kind enough to supply me with the name of the candy (ABBA-ZABA) she desires and the distributor who handles that product. Because we’re on an island, I had to contact the candy-makers to guarantee that we would always be supplied with the sweet tool of progress. It seems without the candy, she doesn’t perform or take instructions.
The things I have to do for my art, which is a gift to humanity, are shocking. I had my novel printed at high expense, yet I still have a New Jersey warehouse full of my labor of love. I remember when I had numerous copies printed up, and I took a box (30 in a box) to Book Soup with my man-servant at the time, and with great shock, they refused to take the books on hand. Although I initially insisted on full payment with a slight discount, I gave them a massive deal with pay when the books were sold. They agreed to that, but they only took two copies for stock. I, for sure, thought that they would take the whole box of books - and I even took the trouble to write out a receipt or invoice for that box. So with great embarrassment, I made a new invoice out for the two books, with the 50% discount - and all I could think was that I was so discouraged.
The first thing I did when I finished my manuscript for “Impressions of Izu Ōshima” was rush to the Random House building on Broadway in New York City to hand-deliver my book to an editor there. I thought they would want to see me immediately - although, in hindsight, they may have never heard of me or seen my work. But in such a great moment, you must show it to someone when you finish a masterpiece. They even refused to keep or look at it was shocking to me. The author shouldn’t be shamed for bringing such beauty to the world. Eventually, I had to sell my book from the author to the reader. I purchased a fold-up card table with a fold-up chair and placed it near the front entrance of the bookstore.
I had a stack of my books in front of where I was sitting, with a sign on the table announcing that I was the author of this title and was willing to sign books for the buyer or customer. No one stopped and purchased a book. Impressions of Izu Ōshima, it seems, was a total failure as an object that sells. As literature, I knew I wrote a masterpiece, but alas, an indifferent reading public will not have the final comment on my book. I believe it was while I was sitting at the card table that the first thought of making the book into a stage spectacle came into existence.
Many months later, here I’m, looking at Aiko’s ass. Due to the weather, Aiko likes to hang out at my office naked. She does her stretching here or in front of me daily. I’m not allowed to talk, touch, or comment while she is doing her exercise, which borders on a meditation practice. When I watch her, I get so much inspiration. I sometimes want to re-write my book, but that would be crazy. It’s perfect as it is. The production, on the other hand, is a work-in-progress, and as I look at the crack of her ass, my hand gets signals from my brain to write a word or two. On a good day, a paragraph may come out of it. Due to the outfits, she wears on stage, and at times in the nude, she decided to shave her pubic hair. As she told me repeatedly, it’s like feeling a love doll when you touch that area of her body.
When I touch her “there, ” and she’s moist, I like to take my hand full of “her” and put it through my beard and hair. I want to have her scent as part of my body. If she ever dies, I want to make her into soup, and I would eat her. If I die, I wonder what she wants from me. I will not ask her that question while she’s working out. She’ll get mad at me. So I go back to my blank screen on my computer and try to project some images on it.
Upstairs in the music room is a pump organ and grand piano. I decided to write the music for the show, which will likely be a musical. I have never written a song before, but I did have piano lessons as a child. I was thinking of basing the “Izu Ōshima” score on Chopin’s “Chopsticks.” If nothing else, it was the first piece of music I learned on the piano keyboard. And it’s a melody that I never tire of. I had Aiko put on a dress, and she came upstairs with me. I sat her down on the piano bench and started playing “Chopsticks.”
After I had finished, I asked her what she thought of the piece. Aiko told me that was the first piece she learned on the piano, so she hates it. On the other hand, she said that I played it well. Then, I told her that the score for the theater spectacular would be based on “Chopsticks, ” Therefore, she must think of a dance to do with the Octopus using that music. She looked at me with an utterly blank look on her face. She said “, i.e.,” which means no in Japanese. I asked her why, and she told me that no one wants to hear a score based on Chopin’s “Chopsticks.” She explained that many in the audience would be forced to practice that music piece as children, usually against their will. So they came to a spectacular stage show and faced that melody, hell will break loose. Sitting there, I thought, “yes, but isn’t that what I want?” To break the wall between the stage and the audience. Perhaps through the power of music, I can crush the wall that separates us in the theater. For me, it’s not enough for them to stand and cheer but also to serve me as an artist. Inspiration is all I have, yet looking at Aiko; it will remain the case.
I'm often in the middle of the night in the music room, going over the “Chopsticks” till inspiration hits. It hasn’t yet, primarily due to the crew downstairs telling me to shut up. Assholes don’t know who’s paying their bill. Nevertheless, Aiko came up to the music room and sat by me on the bench, and then she started to remove one piano string after another. At first, I was angry with her, but then I noticed the sound she was making by removing the wire. I immediately grabbed her and kissed her on the lips, and in turn, she turned her head in another direction and spat out my saliva.
Whenever Aiko finds me disgusting, I find myself more attracted to her. They say opposites attract, but in a way, I feel like she’s my mirror. When I look at her, I’m looking not at Aiko but me through her eyes. Her blinding hatred or, even worse, her disinterest in me is a turn-on. Throughout my life, I wanted acceptance, and being turned down by a woman is very much an act of eros on their part. Even now, I want her to touch me in a naughty area, but I can see that will be impossible. Her dress is concise, and she’s not wearing panties. Crossing her legs, she tends to sit on the seat, including this piano bench. If I'm lucky, I can view her cunt, but she quickly puts the fabric between her legs. She does this knowing that I want to see her in that light. Aiko doesn’t do it to mean there is playfulness in her facial expression when she does this. She can read my desire, like the open book that I am.
After she had left the room, with her dress still on, I might add, I looked over the piano strings in the piano. I gently struck them. The “plank, plank” sound appealed to my senses, and in my head, I saw Aiko dancing with the octopus. No melody, just the rhythmic strings being plucked. The tension in the sound, but with the beauty of Aiko dancing with the sea beast, I think will equal pure delight.
The show's theme should be a human abandoned by their senses and coping on an island hostile to one’s sense of placement in this world. In my head, I hear Yoshi Fujiwara’s song of “Izu Ōshima.” I found a 78 rpm record player in the room, and of course, the only record they have here is the original recording of the song by Fujiwara. As I wind up the record player and play the disk, I fall into another world. It’s not my existence now. It’s a memory of a life that doesn’t exist anymore. It is outdated and scary as the collection of class photographs of the students who used to come to Haru Elementary School. How many of them are alive now? At that moment, the idea of getting the original students to come here to be part of my production of Impressions of Izu Ōshima.
The combination of the art (the song of Izu Ōshima) and the sensuality (Aiko) gave me the idea of using the piano strings and the original students again. I imagined that we would get these senior citizens back to their old location and make them wear their class uniforms. The horror of such an image of seeing more aged men and women wearing their school uniforms is inspiring the music I’m writing at the moment. I ran down to the science lab, which also serves as our kitchen, to get some forks, and knives and then went to the main office to get a screwdriver and hammer. I left every second step like I was a youngster again. Aiko and this new idea of altering the piano make me feel like a young man.
I got to the keyboard and placed the forks and knives between the piano strings. I also notice that if you put the paper between the strings, it causes a particular sonority. Some say the sound may be harsh, but for me (and this production), its ugliness will contrast with the beauty they see on the stage. As a child, I remember looking at an image of a massacre that took place in Vietnam, and there was a picture of a Vietnamese woman holding, what we presume, is her dead or dying baby. What struck me at the time was not the death around the mother but how beautiful she looked. At a moment of crisis, beauty somehow rears its head out of the sand, or in this case, a town being slaughtered.
I now wondered if Aiko could show her beauty on stage, especially with my music and her co-star, the octopus. I have not previously expressed this either by talking out loud or just keeping the thought in the back of my head, but what would Aiko look like if she died on the stage? For instance, what happens when someone drowns? If they are drowning, the first thing that happens is that they panic, which will consume more oxygen that they need to remain alive. As the water gets to the lower airways of the body, the throat spasms, attempting to seal off the path to the lungs. Water will eventually get to the stomach. Once the throat relaxes after the person passes out, the water will fill the lungs, and then bingo, death.
I now have a vision of Aiko floating through the water dead and the octopus trying to capture her as she flows up to the ocean’s surface. With that image in my head, I start to finish off the music piece. By dawn, I finished “The theme to The Impressions of Izu Ōshima.”
I was awakened by the sound of the loudspeakers that are placed all over this island. They announced that no boats would arrive or leave due to the weather. As I stuck my head out of the window, I got soaked. Not liking to waste any of the resources, I put shampoo on my head, and once again, I stuck my head out the window. I heard a knock on the door and said: “Come in.” My costume designer wanted to show me her design for Aiko’s underwater outfit. It was a bodysuit that, once worn will, looked like a second skin. There are two holes in the upper part for her breasts to stick out and a spot for the crotch area. She has no public hair, so one can see her cunt entirely or just the outline from the audience’s distance. The suit is aqua- Blue in color, which will match the stage set and give it that underwater feeling.
As I gave myself a head shampoo, I tried not to have the soap drip onto the clothing drawing that the costume designer brought me. She also got me the top hat for the octopus, and I only made a slight suggestion of perhaps putting a mirror on the top, so once we project light onto the hat, it will cause it to sparkle. As we were talking, I put my head out of the window to wash out the soap. I brought my head back in and asked her if she had made any costume designs for Nakata. She did and showed me some sketches she made. I looked at them and told her “no.” He needs something that will make him look more feminine on the stage. I then expressed my wish to see my costume. I requested a body suit with a six-pack stomach and muscular arms and legs. Also, I expressed concern about the crotch and asked if she could put padding to make it look bigger.
After she had left, I made a phone call to the piano player who I found on the island. He is living here after playing in a Tokyo piano bar for over thirty years. He came to the island to retire, but I convinced him he should do this one gig as a farewell one. It will be the show that will stay in his memory, but also the world will always know that it was he who played for Impressions of Izu Ōshima. Hikaru Hayashi, it seems, wrote over 30 Japanese operas but was mainly known for his piano work in a Shinjuku watering hole not far from the train station.
The opera he is most known for is “I Am a Cat, ” which is based on the novel by Soseki Natsume. Even that didn’t guarantee a weekly paying check, so I had to play the piano in a bar for tips and food. This means fish crackers, peanuts, and on Friday with some grilled fish. Now that he’s retired, he doesn’t even own a piano anymore. So he was intrigued with the school’s piano but didn’t fully understand what I did with the piano wires in that piano. He sat down in front of the piano keys and started playing. He said to me, “This is horrible.” And I told him, “yes, it is horrible because the 21st century is ugly and horrible, and I wrote music to express that point.”
He looked at me, then at the piano keyboard, and said: “do you really need me?” I told him, “yes.” I then pointed out that the music will need an excellent piano player to convey the horror of the world I’m trying to reproduce for the stage.
“Beauty is simple, but ugly is intellectual.” He thought about it for a minute and then said, “no.”
“No? ” “No.”
I have read in a travel guide about Japan that sometimes when the Japanese say “no,” it means “yes.” So I took his hand, shook it up and down, and told him, “I know we can work together.” I then told him (very politely) that he must leave because I had to go back to work to figure out other things for the production. He looked confused as I gently shoved him outside my office. Before I closed the door on him, I said I would be in contact. The door is shut. Now I have to start working on the spectacular performance narration.
Part 4 ends, and then Part 5 shortly.