The Youth of Things: Life and Death in the Age of Kajii Motojiro

Under the Cherry Trees

206 Under the Cherry Trees Under the cherry trees, corpses are buried! You can be sure of that. How else to explain such an unbelievably magnificent display of blossoms? I’ve been feeling uneasy these past couple of days, unable to trust their beauty. But now, finally, I’ve come to an understanding . Under the cherry trees, corpses are buried. You can be sure of that. Why is it that, of all the implements in my room, it’s the tiny thin blade ofmysafetyrazorthatcomestomindeveryeveningonthewaybackhome, as if I were gifted with second sight? No idea, you say. The truth is, I don’t know either. But there has to be some connection there, I’m sure. When the blossoms of all the trees reach that state of full glory, they disperse a mysterious ambience into the surrounding air. Like a top spinning serenely at its point of total stillness, like the fantasy that inevitably accompanies a fine musical performance, like the halo of light conjured up by a torrid bout of lovemaking. It’s a strange and animated beauty that just can’t fail to move the human heart. But yesterday and the day before, beauty was the very thing that plunged my heart into gloom. It felt as if something about it couldn’t be 207 trusted. I reacted by becoming uneasy and dispirited. I felt empty. But now, I’ve finally understood. Just try for a moment to imagine that corpses are buried beneath every one of those cherry trees, their blossoms a riot of blazing profusion. That will help you understand what made me so uneasy. Corpses everywhere: of horses, of dogs and cats, of humans. All the corpses are decomposed and seething with maggots, the stench unbearable . Yet still they manage to squeeze out droplets of crystalline liquid. The tree roots embrace them like a rapacious octopus, their tiny hair roots clustering like sea anemone tendrils to suck up the fluid. What is it that makes such petals, what produces such stamens? It’s as if I could see those crystalline droplets absorbed by the hair roots rising dreamily up in a quiet procession through the vascular structure of the trees. Why such a pained expression? I’m gifted with beautiful insight, wouldn’t you say? Now, I can finally look at the cherry blossoms without averting my eyes. I’m freed from the mystery that made me uneasy yesterday and the day before. A few days ago, I came down into this valley and was clambering over rocks. From every direction I saw ant lions coming to life like Aphrodite emerging from the watery spray and dancing upward into the valley sky. I’m sure you already know, but that’s where they perform their beautiful nuptials. Walking on for a while, I came across something strange. It was the water of a small pool left behind in the valley’s dried-out riverbed. Something lustrous floated over its whole surface, as if from an accidental oil spill. I bet you’re wondering what it was. It was the bodies of countless thousands of ant lions. Their overlapping wings, crinkling in the light, covered every inch of the water’s surface and spread like an oily sheen. They had laid all their eggs, and this was now their graveyard. The sight touched me profoundly. I savored the pitiless joy of the pervert who violates a grave in order to relish the corpse. There’s nothing in this valley that gives me pleasure. Bush warblers, great tits, even young buds on trees that blur the white sunlight in a bluish haze; they’re nothing more than that, obscure images in the mind. I need tragedy. Without that to balance things, there’s no clarity in what my mind disgorges. My heart thirsts for melancholy as if it’s an evil spirit. My heart needs to overflow with melancholy before it can soften. Under the Cherry Trees 208 Kajii Motojirō Looks like you’re wiping under your arms. Breaking into a cold sweat, are we? I’m just the same. It’s nothing to feel uncomfortable about. Just think of it as sticky semen. So, our melancholy is complete. Ah, under the cherry trees corpses are buried! I have absolutely no idea where this fantasy comes from, but now it’s as if the corpses and cherry trees are one and the same thing. No matter...