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| 197 | RONIN OF LAFCADIO HEARN | 13 Ronin of Lafcadio Hearn Oshima continued his stories at the museum residence that night. His miseries were overcome by humor and the honor of memorable stories. The chrysanthemums at the leprosarium are his most wretched memories, but his new stories traced the spirits of those who nurtured the giant blooms. He created a sentiment of liberty. The spirit of his friends became lepers of survivance, not victimry. Miko spread the futons around my mounds of notes in the study. The shoji screens were open wide and the sounds of the garden rushed into the room. The crickets created a natural chorus in the old samurai house. Lafcadio Hearn sat in the very same room and wrote about the same sounds, the crickets in the garden. Miko told the roamers that the songs of crickets summon the dead to return. ‘‘Listen,’’ she said, ‘‘the crickets convene in the name of the author.’’ Yes, we listened for almost an hour to hear the name of Lafcadio Hearn. Ginkgo said she heard his name, and so we tried to mock the cricket songs. Lafcadio, rafucadu, rafukadu. The ‘‘Japanese tree crickets are much more extraordinary singers than even the wonderful cicadae of the tropics’’ he wrote in Glimpses of Unfamiliar Japan. The tree crickets ‘‘are much less tiresome ’’ because there are various species. Hearn fancied the tsuku tsuku boshi because ‘‘this creature can have no rival in the whole world of cicadae: its music is exactly like the song of a bird.’’ Margarito Real was the first to search the mounds of my notes and episodes. He selected a few scraps of paper, read several notes in silence , and then returned the papers to the mound. Clearly, he was interested in my stories, but not in random scenes. Bogart, curious about my practice, reached into a mound, picked a movie advertisement, and read the notes on the back. Ginkgo, on the other hand, selected scraps of paper from several mounds and shouted out each episode. The scenes, by force of her voice, seemed to be connected at least by sentiment. Three old women, formal kimonos, tabi, and getas, come out of theatre. Music of Roy Orbison. ‘‘Pretty woman, walking down the street,’’ caught by surprise. Uncertain about beat of music, cau- | RONIN OF LAFCADIO HEARN | 198 | tious, men in black van, but clearly pleased, embarrassed by the words. ‘‘Pretty woman, give your smile to me’’. Ginkgo beat her brow, heard ‘‘Rock and Roll Music’’ and ‘‘A Boy Named Sue’’ that night. Imperial Hotel and Hibiya Park. Ronin, that was some other woman. Ginkgo continued the stories. The ocean, another chance, lasting presence in world. My heart beats with waves, bony clouds race to sea. Nearby, four ravens strutted the beach, teased me, garrulous croaks. Sun warms the sand, my hands, drew me to natural pocket of solace stories. Suddenly, strange animal, mongrel, webbed feet, soft, stole my sword right out of my hand. Ran down beach to trees. There, mongrel changed, sandy coat to shades of pale green, vanished in luscious blues, hues of the forest. The ravens borrowed your sword. Ginkgo was a generous reader. Virga, eternal shadow, tricky trace, motion, natural reason. Could be my mother, always a distance, never escape. Reached out many times to touch, heal, secret wounds, slight and separation. Circled back once, catch my shadow, chance, she constantly evades me. Virga bear at dusk, hafu shadow, always, same mongrel by morning . Virga barked at the reader. Ginkgo was so pleased with the response to her selections that she wanted to read more and shout a tribute to the Imperial Hotel and Hibiya Park. Bogart, Kitsutsuki, and others, however, were eager to read their selections. Oshima was their inspiration that night. Bogart read my note about death. Death, morning vision. Master said, We are separated from sense of presence because, fear of death. Consider instance, nuclear wounds, morning, fear of death vanishes. Samurai warrior never shamed by fear, death. My first death chance, high fever, orphanage. Huge ravens crash windows, burst of light. Suddenly, feathers, turned black, soared over paddy, circled Fuji. Second death seven years later, visions of ravens, night after night. Could not resist, lust and wonder, ran away to Tokyo. Shanties gone, streets cleared. New buildings obstruct Mount Fuji. Camped three nights, memory of parents. Appeared in death dream as raven. Many soldiers, bugi dancers, moat that night. [18.118.145.114] Project MUSE (2024-04-24 15:27 GMT...

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