That’s why I used the word festival. That was honestly how it looked to me.
Of course, I’m aware people disapproved of me choosing The Forgotten Festival as the book’s title. But ultimately it’s fiction, although it is based on facts and research. It was all a kind of festival, that’s what I honestly think.
Non-fiction? I’m not keen on the word. No matter how much a writer tries to adhere to the truth, the notion of non-fiction is an illusion. All that can exist is fiction visible to the eye. And what is visible can also lie. The same applies to that which we hear and touch. Fictions that exist and fictions that don’t exist – that’s the level of difference, in my opinion. Do you see what I mean?
Oh, this heat.
The sweat’s running into my eyes. And my shirt’s soaked as well – it’s most unattractive.
This section of the garden is for cherry trees, but you’d never know at this time of year.
That’s the odd thing about cherry trees. Other trees keep their identity all year round. It’s easy to tell whether they’re a ginkgo, or camellia, or maple, or willow. Only cherry trees seem to become inconspicuous. When not in bloom, they’re just nameless trees. Everybody remembers where they are only when the blossom season arrives. Otherwise, they’re forgotten. At least that’s my impression.
Every section of this garden has a different theme. Long ago it would have been the equivalent of an amusement park.
In one section apparently someone decided to put together a collection of unusual things, since there was so much space available.
Bring together lots of unusual trees and stones in the one place – that was the idea. When you see it, the word singular comes to mind.
Yes, singular, and conjuring up mysterious vistas.
This is just my opinion, of course, but the concept of singular is a subtle but important factor in much of Japanese culture. It implies taking a step back to admire something that might be slightly deviant, or unsettling in some way. To coolly observe something repellent and unpleasant and appreciate it as a form of beauty for entertainment. I find that psychology fascinating. Take the ideogram for “singular” for instance, which also contains the meaning of “suspect and unusual”. I see in that a kind of warped humour. With echoes of a sadistic joke, a brutal awakening, or a detached gaze.
I wanted to write that book from the perspective of a singular gaze. I’m still not sure if I succeeded or not.
That’s right, I have no desire to write another. People said I was a one-hit wonder, but from the outset I only ever intended to write the one book. The storm it caused when it was released took me completely by surprise. But I knew if I kept my head low and stayed quiet, it would soon be forgotten. Those were the days before the internet, and it was harder to get hold of personal information than it is now. The media were more laid-back too. I had several strategies that helped me get through that period.
I feel satisfied at having written it. Nobody knows what the truth is. It never even occurred to me to wonder if what I wrote was the truth.
V
What do I do now? Nothing in particular. I’m a housewife, I have a daughter who started primary school this year. I’d like to go out to work again soon but don’t have any special skill, which makes it hard to find a job in this day and age. My husband never reads books, only newspapers. We first met sometime after all the excitement over the book had died down and he doesn’t even know that I wrote it. That’s fine by me. I don’t think he’s ever noticed it on my bookshelf.
It’s easy to tell this is the top of a hill. This garden was originally once part of a castle. Over there is Mount Utatsu, with the teahouse district at its base.
My goal in life? For my daughter to grow up safely into adulthood, I suppose.
I don’t have any great ambitions for myself. It’s enough for me if the three of us can lead safe, healthy lives. A peaceful life is best. But such a modest ambition is becoming more and more difficult to achieve. People may try to live quiet, retiring lives, but things can happen. They might get caught up in a crime, or ill from food additives. The way society works or businesses operate can change in a flash, and even as you wish things would stay the same, a giant wave engulfs everything. It’s tragic when people think the wave won’t reach them but get swept away by it anyway. The wave takes everything with it, you hurt all over, and you’re left holding on to nothing.
I wasn’t swept away by the wave. It simply lapped at my feet. That was the extent of it. Even so, up until I wrote The Forgotten Festival I could see its white foam in the depths of night and could not escape its persistent roar.
After the book came out I received a lot of correspondence.
Many letters were critical, of course, and some were even threatening. But most were insightful and sympathetic. As I read them, I could hear the bewilderment and doubts of the writers. I sensed their struggle to process the experience of being caught up in the wave resonating from between the lines. Those letters confirmed my feeling that my work was done with this one book.
No, I don’t mean that. It was anything but over, but the weight of those letters was more than enough to be burdened with in one lifetime.
VI
That’s the famous two-legged Kotoji stone lantern. It’s shaped like the bridge of a koto.
This particular scene often appears in travel brochures and on postcards.
The pines are wrapped up in winter to protect them against the snow. Yukitsuri, it’s called. It’s very beautiful, I’m sure you’ve heard of it. Bundled cones of radiant lines point skywards with a geometric beauty.
There’s a concentration of spectacular pines and unusual trees in this area. Isn’t the view magnificent?
This garden is more like a backgammon board than a theme park. Square one is the spindle tree slope. Then there’s the cherry tree garden, and a curving river, and a bridge. I wonder where upstream is?
You’re a curious person too, aren’t you? What do you want to know?
I wrote down in the book everything I learned from my research. Frankly speaking, anyone who’s interested in that book – which literally has been forgotten – must have time on their hands. Even if I do say so myself as the author.
It’s all very much over and done with now. The suspect, although dead, was charged. A lot was never made clear, but it’s all in the past. The investigation finished a long time ago.
Although I use the word research, all I did was listen to people connected with the case talk about their memories. That’s the only approach I could think of, and realistically speaking, all I was able to do.
That said, I can see in retrospect how rash, insensitive and heedless I was.
The only reason I could do it was because I was a foolish university student who had the time. People still remembered my older brothers and me, and I guess my earnestness and general ineptness must have worked to my advantage.
Ten years had passed by then, which I think had given people enough time to put some distance between themselves and events. Enough, even, for some of them to recall that period with nostalgia.
Many of the people I interviewed told me that at the time they had felt extremely pressured by the media and curiosity seekers when all they wanted was to be left alone. But over time they had become more able to look back and reflect on everything that had happened. Some people told me that the more time passed the more they felt the need to talk things over again and express their opinions. But by then the affair was old news, forgotten by the world. Others, however, wished they could forget about it, but were too afraid to.