“I see,” Mrs. Koga said. “And now they say you’re planning to reveal this sordid ancient history as part of a public performance in a school auditorium? I’ve heard that your little play tells the story of the woman who led an uprising among the local farmers many years ago. But what on earth does that ancient history have to do with what you’ve told us here today?”
“The woman you mentioned was known as Meisuke’s mother, and she and her son led a ragtag group of women from this area to fight in an uprising,” Unaiko replied calmly. “They emerged victorious, but after the battle Meisuke’s mother was raped and her child was killed. I’ll be in costume as Meisuke’s mother, and I’ll act a scene in which she is gang-raped by a bunch of wayward samurai. Some of the teachers and mothers of students have banded together to scheme against me and try to undermine the play, and they’ve blown things way out of proportion, telling everyone the rape scene is going to go on and on at great length. Because of that, I’ve had to modify my approach. Originally, I wasn’t sure how to convey the full extent of Meisuke’s mother’s suffering and sadness. But then I realized that I had to own my personal truth, publicly, and declare through the medium of this role I’m playing that I, too, was raped, and I really did have my unborn child killed. I want to say, ‘Look at me — this actually happened. And this kind of thing is still going on in this country, even today.’ I think my personal testimony will get through to the teenage kids in the audience. I mean, we’ve all seen historical dramas where actresses in insanely elaborate period costumes pretend they’re being thrown to the ground and forced to have sex, sobbing the whole time, but does that kind of stylized charade hit home for anyone who’s watching? On the other hand, if an actual person stands on a stage and says, ‘Listen, people, I myself was raped in real life,’ the audience will be taken by surprise, and maybe then the flesh-and-blood truth will get through to them. That kind of visceral connection is the essence of our dog-tossing style of theater, except in this case we’ll be throwing words back and forth instead of the usual soft toys. In the ideal scenario, I would say something to my uncle and he’d respond, the way my aunt is doing right now, by cross-examining me. I would give him a chance to throw terms like ‘abundant secretions’ and ‘mutual masturbation’ at me, as if they were ‘dead dogs.’”
“But what’s the point? I mean, what good could possibly come of that type of public display?” Mrs. Koga said, abruptly scrambling to her feet and drawing herself up to her full height. She truly was an imposing figure.
“At any rate,” she went on, “my part in this seems to be at an end, and now it’s time for my husband to take center stage, so to speak. As I understand it, your dramatic method would involve having you share your testimony, followed by a sort of cross-examination by my husband. You know, your uncle isn’t as young as he used to be, and these days he’s just kind of a doddering old buffoon, so he would probably respond by simply echoing those unseemly terms you mentioned in a gravelly voice, and he’d insist you were a willing participant. Since Mr. Choko here is such a strong proponent of the democratic process, I assume we can rest assured that no one would be censoring my husband’s remarks?”
Turning to look directly at Unaiko, Mrs. Koga went on: “Even before you got involved in the world of theater, Mitsuko, you were always an unusually expressive person. By the way, I recently got to see you in a play on one of the cable TV stations. You were playing the role of a medium who was trying to appease the vengeful spirit of an aristocratic lady, and I was impressed by your passionate, fiery performance. I was also struck by the eloquent way you moaned and groaned, and it occurred to me that I had heard those same sounds before, many times, emanating from the room where you and my husband were supposedly ‘relaxing’ together …”
4
The protest movement against Unaiko and her forthcoming play appeared to be gathering momentum with every passing day. However, when those activities were reported on the theater-group website Ricchan maintained, the majority of responses — rather than siding with the protesters — voiced strong support for the upcoming show. Ricchan, who was always cautious and prudent about everything, started saying things like “This play of ours is generating a lot of buzz, and I’d like to harness the energy productively. There’s no way everyone who’s interested will be able to squeeze into the theater for the actual performance, so Unaiko and I were thinking we might put on a separate event, up at the Saya, the day before.”
By chance, I ended up playing a small role in implementing the plan, with an assist from fate, or happenstance. Asa had been on better terms with Sakura Ogi Magarshack than anyone else who worked on the doomed movie about Meisuke’s mother, but she and Sakura had fallen out of touch in recent years. First there were problems with the international opening of the movie, followed by the death of Tamotsu Komori, the producer of the film. Some months later, we had each received a letter from Komori’s office saying that while it wasn’t a done deal, there was a chance the movie might get a premiere after all. That, too, came to naught, and Asa subsequently lost contact with Sakura.
Years later, a national newspaper ran an article about the organized opposition to Unaiko’s upcoming play about Meisuke’s mother. The reporter mentioned Sakura Ogi Magarshack by name, and as a result, a younger friend of hers was galvanized into getting in touch with me and then stopping by. The man taught English and American culture at a university on Kyushu, and while studying abroad at a college in Washington, DC, he had become obliged to Sakura’s husband, a college professor whose field was Japanese studies. Professor Magarshack had since died, but the young instructor from Kyushu had stayed in touch with Sakura, who had been so kind and supportive when he was a student in a strange land.
Last year he’d had an opportunity to return to Washington, and when he paid a visit to Sakura (now living the quiet life of a pensioner) she had happened to remark that she missed hearing from Asa and me. During his brief visit to the Forest House I asked the instructor whether he could share Sakura’s contact information, and he promptly provided her addresses. He explained that while Mrs. Magarshack (as he called her) was still hale and hearty, it had become increasingly difficult for her to read letters in Japanese, and as a natural consequence her contact with friends and acquaintances in Japan had diminished over the years.
I wrote Sakura a letter in English, which Ricchan scanned and emailed from her computer. In the message I explained that I was currently working with a group of friends and colleagues, including Asa, on creating a stage version of Meisuke’s Mother Marches Off to War. We knew the film’s public release had been plagued with a series of problems (I wrote), but if the circumstances had changed — if, for example, there was now a DVD of the film we could take a look at — it would be incredibly helpful to the actress playing Meisuke’s mother onstage (the role Sakura had played on film) to have a chance to study the DVD, especially the battle-chant scenes. I received an almost instantaneous email reply from Sakura, also in English, offering to assist us in any way she could.
At that point Ricchan took over and began corresponding directly with Sakura. They exchanged a flurry of emails, and the situation evolved quite rapidly. Sakura told Ricchan that at the present time, she held the exhibition rights for the film. She would be happy to dispatch a DVD of it right away, but she suspected the village probably didn’t have a movie theater suitable for showing a feature film. The movie had never been shown publicly in Japan, and since so many local women had participated in the filming, as extras, Sakura said she hoped as many of them as possible would have a chance to see the finished product. After giving the matter some thought, Sakura came up with the idea of putting on a free public screening of the film as an adjunct of the stage performance. The showing would take place up at the Saya, where some of the film had been shot. Of course, in order to screen a movie outdoors in the middle of a meadow, we would need some special equipment, including a large portable screen. Sakura said she had all the necessary gear at her house, and since she suspected that Komori had probably never gotten around to paying Mr. Choko a penny for writing the screenplay for the film (she joked), she would be happy to send those items to us by air freight, at her own expense.