kor大學版31
※ [本文轉錄自 Edward 信箱]
作者: g873254@oz.nthu.edu.tw
標題: 來自 g873254@oz.nthu.edu.tw
時間: Wed Sep 30 16:49:25 1998
Episode 31 - All That Jazz
[Slow fade into Club Noir. It's evening, and the place is almost full. Many
people are talking, but it's impossible to distinguish any words, as they
merge into constant noise. A jazz band is setting up their instruments on
the stage. Ayukawa, Kasuga, Kimura, Sakurai, Hayashibara, Saito, Miyasato
Yoko and Yuko, and Oda Kumiko sit around a table. Ayukawa starts to speak,
just as the band starts playing.]
Ayukawa:
Where should I begin?
Sakurai:
As a certain king once said, begin at the beginning and go till the
end; when you reach the end, stop.
Oda:
I think the beginning is easy. It's the ending that's hard.
Kimura:
Well, it depends on what are you talking about. In math, you know
where you begin and where do you want to get, so it's the middle
that's hard.
Hayashibara:
What if you don't know where to begin?
Saito:
Or what if you don't know your goal?
Yoko:
Hmpf. Once in a blue moon, we manage to get out with some friends to a
club, and then they start arguing.
Yuko:
Well, arguments can be interesting, too.
Saito:
[Trying to sound comforting.] Well, you both might be right. [Yoko
pulls down her eyelid and sticks out her tongue at him.] Hey!
Yuko:
[Whispering to Yoko.] Now would be our chance to ask Hayashibara-san
for an autograph.
Yoko:
[Whispering back.] It'd be too be embarrassing in public.
Kasuga:
So, Ayukawa? Listen, you promised to tell us about jazz.
Ayukawa:
[Looks around.] Ok. Listen!
[Pause.]
Yoko:
Yes?
Yuko:
You're silent.
Ayukawa:
Shh! Listen to the music.
[Everyone listens to the music, where the saxophone player steps forward
and starts the elaborate melody. Other instruments are mostly silent,
providing only some accompaniment.]
Ayukawa:
So, where should I begin? At the beginning, I guess. A piece, like
everything else, has to begin from something - a theme. You know, all
instruments are playing at the same time, they are equally important.
It's like a friendly get-together, and everyone speaks at once. After
this, it's time for separate instruments to play variations, which is
the main part of the piece. These variations don't stand alone - they
connect with the other ones, and have to work together.
Kimura:
So they just add on top of one another? Neat!
Ayukawa:
[Nods.] You can say that. But there's a lot of things good jazz
musicians can do. They don't have to do variations alone; sometimes,
two instruments can play one variation, and they can either support,
you know, play off each other - or they can fight with each other.
Sometimes, instruments introduce new themes, which get developed
later; sometimes, they take an accompaniment and make it into melody;
there're no limits to what can be done. You just have to free and
creative, and, most importantly, don't hurry, because sometimes it can
be hard to find the connection between different fragments of the
music; the whole is much bigger than the sum of its parts. The
listener has to let go and have the musicians choose the road.
Saito:
Road to where? What comes in the end?
Ayukawa:
I don't know; what comes in the end of every piece of art? End
credits? A paycheck? Realization that all this was just a waste of
time? The understanding of the meaning of life? [Shrugs.] If there was
a simple point to art, it would have been much easier just to say, or
write, this point and get done with it.
Kasuga:
How do they pick up the main theme?
Ayukawa:
Well, there's a lot of them written. They can pick more or less
anything. The funny thing is that the final result doesn't even depend
much on the theme; it more depends on how good the musicians are, and
how well they work with each other. If they're good, both as
individual players and a group, you might get something interesting.
But it's not where you begin - it's where you get and how you get
there that's important. So, if you know jazz, you know mostly
performers, rather than composers. I've started playing saxophone
myself when I heard Ben Webster.
Yuko:
Webster? Ahh... umm... all those foreign names are hard to remember -
but wasn't he an American politician?
Yoko:
You dummy, he wrote a dictionary!
Ayukawa:
[Smiles.] No, no, that's a different Webster. Ben Webster played
baritone saxophone, and when I heard him, that was it. I heard "Gone
With the Wind", and "All the Things You Are", and "My One And Only
Love", and I knew I had to do it. So - that's when I started to play
jazz; that was the beginning for me.
Hayashibara:
But aren't your parents musicians? They taught you music before,
right?
Ayukawa:
[Nods.] Yeah. But, you know, that was classical music, and it feels a
bit too... inflexible and limited to me. Don't get me wrong, I love
listening to it; but not playing. So, I think I'm very lucky I heard
that recording. If not for it, I'm not sure I'd be playing now. Maybe
that's because my parents were away and couldn't force me to play.
Kimura:
[Thoughtfully.] Lucky you.
Ayukawa:
[Slowly.] Lucky? Well, I don't think so. Yes, I know, parents can
be... misguided, but there's also love and affection they give you.
It's... hard when you don't know how to express your feelings. People
need to be emotional and creative, as much as they need love and
inspiration. Maybe that's why I'm playing jazz. Maybe that's how it
all begun. Ah - listen!
[After a coda, the saxophone ends the melody, and the piano starts its
variation.]
Kimura:
[Shakes her head.] I still think you're lucky, Madoka-san. It's kind
of hard to explain what I mean. Where should I begin? Well, at first,
what you're saying about parents - I agree, of course, it's nice to
have someone to love you - but, you know, they can be too...
inflexible and controlling. Like, people keep telling me that they
just want the best for me - but sometimes it feels like... too much of
it, you know? I don't even know why are they doing it.
Hayashibara:
[Almost to himself.] Maybe they just don't know what's best for you?
Kimura:
Maybe. But, you know, because of this it's very hard to be open with
them. It just feels like they don't understand me, or maybe I don't
understand them. But I agree with Madoka-san, everyone needs some
human contact - somebody to be open with. [Smiles.] I, for one, am
looking forward to finding someone special! I think it would be so
wonderful to have a person who just takes me for who I am!
Ayukawa:
[Glances at Kasuga and smiles.] You're right, Keiko-san. It *is*
wonderful. [Kasuga smiles back at Ayukawa.]
Kimura:
Maybe he'll also like me for what I'm doing, too - you know, my
parents don't really understand what I do, and I can't explain it to
them. So it would be wonderful if this "special someone" would
appreciate my creativity - because, you know, it's just so neat - to
sit and make something from nothing!
Kasuga:
From nothing? I don't know if you can make something from nothing; you
have to start with something.
Kimura:
Well, yeah; in what I'm doing you never start from just nothing. At
first, you know what you're working on; like the main theme of your
research. For example, I'm working on Tanyiama conjecture, and we're
trying to prove it. The conjecture has been known for more than thirty
years, it's a classic, and many people tried to prove it. Nobody has
succeeded, but there's a lot of really neat ideas, and the real proof
should be somewhere close. You just need to connect those ideas, the
ones that were suggested by the people before you, and you need maybe
one creative spark, and then you will see the connection. You should
work carefully, because sometimes it can be hard to find this
connection between different ideas, but that's what makes math so much
fun!
Oda:
Math - fun? I don't really like math that much.
Kimura:
Oh, but if you take some advanced stuff, you might like it! I love it
- I'm working on something that's really cool and neat, and I feel
like I'm building on top of what was done before me. The great thing
is that I can build like that forever - there is no end, I can invent
more and more wonderful things! Listen, isn't it great?
Yuko:
I still don't see how you can be creative in science.
Yoko:
Well, I dunno. My... friend tells me that sciences can be creative
too.
[The trombone picks up the piano's line.]
Saito:
To begin with, your friend is absolutely right! I keep telling the
same thing to a friend of mine! You know, if you're writing a program,
it feels really good - like you are creating something! They say when
a writer works on a novel, or, say, a poet writes a poem, they
experience this joy of creating something. I feel the same when I
write a program. There was nothing before - well, almost nothing, just
an idea. Let's say, I know what kind of a program I want to write -
and then I sit down, and start working on it. And I open a new file,
and at first all I see is the blank screen. And, you know, it's the
most awesome feeling - because it's not just a blank screen - it's a
space where soon will be lines upon lines upon lines of code.
Ayukawa:
I think the most awesome sight is the blank music paper. When there's
music written upon it, it can be great music - but nothing beats the
blank page - because *any* music can be written there.
Saito:
[Nods.] Yeah, that's what I mean. You start with just two things: you
know what kind of program you want to write, this is the main idea.
Then you also have the computer for which you're writing - the blank
page. And then you can start building, based on the main idea you
have, and you can build just about anything you want. The important
thing, of course, is not to rush, and think carefully about what you
are doing.
Oda:
Are you still talking about computers? This certainly applies to
journalism as well. And, you know, to writing in general.
Saito:
Well, you know, my mom is a writer. She also wanted me to become one,
and spent a lot of effort trying to teach me the skill of writing. I
guess, she just wanted me to be - how shall I put it? - an even better
writer than she is, you know, a kind of improved version of her. I
don't really think she succeeded, although I knew she wanted that a
lot. But she did one wonderful thing - made my dad give me a laptop,
when I just entered high school. So my dad gave me the one and only
computer lesson I ever got. He told me how to turn the thing on and
where the manual was. That was it - this was the main thing he taught
me, and everything else I know about computers I taught myself.
Kasuga:
What about writing?
Saito:
[Shrugs.] Well, some people still tell me that I write pretty well,
you know, when I just sit down and carefully write down what I want.
When I'm speaking, it's different, there's a lot of things I want to
say, and I think them up much faster than I can say them, so when I
speak, it comes out kind of jumbled, you know? [Everyone nods.] See,
you understand me, and that's what counts. In any case, I love doing
it.
Hayashibara:
When... did you realize you do?
Saito:
I do what? Love doing computer stuff? [Hayashibara nods.] Umm... when
did it begin? Hmm... maybe, it was when I was a kid and got a
construction set for my birthday. I thought it was the neatest thing
ever, and played with it, like, a lot. No, more like all the time. I
became better and better, and one thing started to really annoy me.
Just when I would need another, say, wheel, I would realize I already
used up all of them. So, when I started to learn computer stuff, I saw
that it's the same - but you never run out of parts. The loop
statement is not like the wheel - if you need another one, you always
have another one to use. You never run out.
Kimura:
Yeah, I understand. It's very similar in math - you can always use
another function, another variable, if you need them. You never run
out.
Oda:
Same in writing. You never run out of words.
Ayukawa:
In music you never run out of notes, either.
Saito:
Yeah, I guess that's true. And each statement is very simple, but they
can add to really anything, the whole which is much greater than just
the sum of its parts. I also still think it's the neatest thing ever.
Listen, it's just... right for me.
[Trombone echoes of, and the trumpet picks up the melody.]
Oda:
This just proves that all people are different. I can't even *imagine*
myself doing something like this. To begin with, I think it's boring,
removing yourself from reality. You're forcing this toy to do whatever
you want, but this doesn't apply for anything else. It feels too...
inflexible and limiting to me, you know. For example, how many words
are in, whatchamacallit, that you are using?
Saito:
You mean, computer language?
Oda:
Yeah. Let me guess, twenty or so, right? [Saito nods.] See? There are
hundreds of thousands of words in every human language, and they can
convey every details and nuances of anything you can think of. You can
describe feeling and emotions of human beings, and isn't that what is
so important?
Ayukawa:
[Shrugs.] In music there's only seven notes - well, flats and sharps,
too.
Oda:
But music's different. I wouldn't call what music does "describing",
because it's never precise. You can have marvelous musical pieces, and
the person who listens to them can feel joy, anger, elation. But play
the same piece of music to another person, and that second listener
will feel something different! In this way, the music is just like a
mirror - what you hear in it just reflects who you are. It will never
tell you *why* is that so. Where do you come from? Where did it all
began? Each person is so very different from anyone else, more
different than a violin is different from a drum. But why is it so?
And is there a common core, something that all people have in common?
And why is it that we are what we are?
Kasuga:
Can writing let you know that?
Oda:
[Uncertainly.] I... don't know. I'm... trying to find out. Maybe
that's why I'm in journalism - you go and interview someone, for
example, [Glancing at Hayashibara.] a famous baseball player. You ask
questions, and questions cause other ones. You can play off the
answers, or ask contrasting questions. Sometimes, you can develop new
themes; sometimes, you take an aside and elaborate on it; there're no
limits to what can be done. You just have to be free and creative. So,
in the end, you might learn at least something, if not the meaning of
life. By the way, I read your answers to Kasuga-kun's interview,
Hayashibara-san, and I feel I know more about you now.
Hayashibara:
[Seriously.] Do you know why I am what I am?
Oda:
[Shakes her head.] It takes more effort than that. I'm not even sure I
know why *I* am what I am. I mean, it certainly seems that I am the
most qualified person to find out what makes me behave the way I do -
but I find it much harder than discovering it about other people.
Kimura:
Well, that's because of Bohr's complementarity law. You know, it's the
same thing as Heisenberg's uncertainty - the observer is part of the
process, and distorts the observation.
[Everyone rolls their eyes.]
Oda:
Um, yeah. Maybe. I know why I write - that's for sure. When I was in
the hospital after my operation, you know, shortly after I met
Ayukawa-san and Kasuga-kun, I was not sure if I would survive at all;
the chances were fifty-fifty. And then I just realized that it would
be horrible if I died.
Yoko:
No kidding.
Oda:
Yeah, well, let me explain what I mean. On one side, it is a very
selfish thing - I realized I never been to another country, never went
scuba diving, [Pauses for a second.] never had a real boyfriend. So I
decided then and there, if I survive I will start trying all the new
things - to make sure I will miss as little as I can. Life's too short
to go through living with regrets of what might have been.
Yuko:
No kidding.
Oda:
In any case, as I was saying, there was another regret. If I were to
die, there would be nothing left behind me, for other people to
remember me by. So I started writing. It's very easy - you start with
a blank page, and a sharp pencil, and you put those marks on the paper
- and then it starts to live by itself, without you. Listen, isn't
this awesome?
[Trumpet ends on the high note.]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[COMMERCIAL BREAK.]
[Cut to a dangerous-looking alley. Stacked garbage cans, broken windows.
Two girls in WWWA uniforms, a redhead and a brunette, are cautiously
walking down the alley. Then, suddenly, a dozen of heavily-armed assassins
are upon them.]
Kei:
Yuri, we're in trouble!
Yuri:
I see THAT!
[Yuri removes a flat credit-card sized object from her pocket and hurls it
at the mob; she and Kei duck as the Bloody Card flies around.]
Voice Over:
Have you ever used your card with a built-in microprocessor to behead
a horde of attackers?
[Kei and Yuri jump up and see that most attackers are dead - but more are
coming at them.]
Yuri:
We gotta get OUTTA here!
Kei:
Just a sec! [She plugs a pocket transmitter into an outlet at the base
of her skull and concentrates.]
VO:
Have you ever screamed in panic through your neural interface?
[Kei and Yuri try to stop the attackers, but are almost overwhelmed - when
they hear a whooshing sound, and see a helicopter hovering above. They
climb up the rope ladder and see Mughi at the console.]
VO:
Have you ever genetically engineered your pet so he can perform simple
tasks, like piloting helicopters?
[The helicopter soars above, carrying Kei and Yuri away from the dangerous
place.]
VO:
You WILL! And the company that will bring it to you - AT&T.
[Writer's note: standard disclaimer.]
[END COMMERCIAL BREAK.]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Clarinet picks up the melody in a rapid passage.]
Sakurai:
This *does* sound kinda like fun, but, to begin with, isn't it boring?
You sit, and you sit, and you *sit*, writing different stuff, but,
come on, how much *different* kinds of stuff can you write? You can
write only what you know, or what you're interested about, and such.
Oda:
Well, I learn new things all the time; I can write about them, too.
Sakurai:
Yes; but I don't think what you're interested in - why human beings
are what they are? - is that hard to find out. If your father tells
you fairy tales when you're a kid, then you will like writing when you
grow up. If a construction set was your favorite toy, you will become
some sort of an engineer. I like jigsaw puzzles when I was little, so
I'm doing math - but applied math, which can be used in business, and
not that kind of theoretical, impossible to understand stuff that
Keiko-san is working on. I think it's boring, too.
Kimura:
It's not!
Sakurai:
Wait, wait, all I'm saying is that it's boring *for me*. Different
people like different stuff, of course; and it's funny how there're
people who like to do science, people who are in arts, people who make
cars, you know, cooks, and so on. I think it's interesting to see the
way the society works, with the whole being greater than the sum of
the parts. [Coughs.] Anyway, as I was saying, kids are very easy to
impress, so everything that happens to them shapes their
personalities.
Ayukawa:
Only kids? I believe that important events can change us even when
we're adults. [Kasuga nods.]
Sakurai:
Oh, that's certainly true. I actually agree with Oda-san here. Human
beings love experiencing new things, and it would be a shame to let
those experiences go by. Look at me, for example. I spent a year in
Great Britain, and I had marvelous time. *That* changed me at least as
much as anything that happened to me when I was a kid. It's a
different culture; things I haven't seen before, even haven't thought
they were possible.
Kasuga:
Like?
Sakurai:
Oh, all sorts of stuff. Culture, people, you know. All of this is
really different from what we have in Japan. Do you know, for example,
that British girls like go to the beach topless?
Kasuga:
Really?! [Ayukawa glares at him.] Urk.
Kimura:
[Blushing.] Wow! Really?
Sakurai:
[To himself.] It's good her mom isn't here. [Aloud.] Yeah, they do.
[Pause.] I met quite a few girls there. Oh, no, nothing serious. You
know, come and go. I've visited quite a few places in Great Britain -
London, York, Dublin, so on, so I could never stay for long in one
place; at least, not for long enough to have a real relationship. It's
good, from one point of view; as I said, it's lots of fun to meet a
lot of different people, and to have many new experiences. On the
other hand, I had a lot of acquaintances there; but no friends. It
takes some time to make friends, and I didn't have that time.
Oda:
[Raises her eyebrows.] Speaking of understanding why people are they
way they are - you must be a girl-chaser.
Sakurai:
I didn't say that! In any case, I enjoyed experiencing the Western
culture very much. One weird thing is to find common ground; something
that is the same in Western and Japanese culture. For example,
medieval lords in Britain weren't that much different from Japanese
shoguns; people there like to drink tea as much as we do; and we
listen to the same music. After all, we're all here listening to jazz,
which is really not a Japanese thing. Still, we like it. I met a lot
of people over there who like to watch anime; and people here watch
American movies.
Hayashibara:
Too much, perhaps. Japanese culture is losing the battle.
Sakurai:
[Shrugs.] I wouldn't call it the battle; and not losing. Our country's
culture has both weaknesses and strengths; when another culture
interferes, it can feel like a threat to our national identity. But we
must change and make an effort to understand - not comply with, you
see, just understand - the rest of the world; and maybe we can turn it
to our advantage, and learn from it. Our culture works wonders to
preserve the traditional Japanese arts, which center on collective -
just go and watch Kabuki any time - but, you see, there're other, more
individual, kinds of art.
Ayukawa:
Like jazz.
Sakurai:
Yeah, I guess that too. Maybe that's why so many musicians and
painters and such are traveling to study abroad. But by doing so, they
bring Japanese culture with them. You see, it's both cooperation and
competition; one culture penetrates the other, and makes it richer and
more varied; builds on top of it, so to speak. And, listen, this is
good for everyone.
[The vibes player begins the melody with two mallets simultaneously.]
Yoko:
This is an interesting thing you said about competition and
cooperation. Something that feels like one can, actually, be another.
For example, if a yard bully tries to steal your toy when you're five
years old, and you *hit* him, right in the face, and he starts crying,
and you suddenly see him reduced from a towering monster to an
insecure six-year-old, and you feel *good* about yourself after this -
well, then you won't really be ever afraid anymore. So the bully, who
wanted to attack you really *helped* you. And you should be really
grateful to him; after all, he didn't mean to, but he taught you
something: hit back when you are hit, and you will never be attacked
again.
Saito:
[Mostly to himself.] That's a good start - beating up six-year-olds.
And she wants to be a teacher.
Yoko:
[Glares at Saito.] Yes, I do! People warmly remember their parents,
grade school teachers, and such, but the people who you don't know
much - strangers, who you meet just for a short time - and even people
who you *hate*, even they teach you a lot. What I'm saying, is that
every day, all the time, you learn new stuff - not because it's being
lectured to you, but just because it's there to learn. I'm majoring in
education, and I think the best way to teach something is to tell
students to think for themselves. Tell them to keep their eyes open.
Ayukawa:
Their ears, too.
Yuko:
[Nods.] Yeah. You know, Oda-san, I find it strange that you want to
try lots of new things, and yet you do something as limiting as
writing.
Oda:
Writing is NOT limiting!
Yuko:
But it's the same all the time! Putting words on the paper, all the
time - maybe something you can express better if you paint it? Or
compose a music piece? Or a play? Take me, for one. I'm doing liberal
arts - I can do whatever I want, express myself in any way. It's much
less limiting. You use your knowledge of one area in the other - for
example, you write a poem as if it was a painting. Or you do a
painting, where different objects are interacting like characters in a
play. Or you do a play, where the people interact like musical themes.
You have all this knowledge, and you build up on it - something that
is greater than the sum of its parts.
Oda:
[Shrugs.] You will end up knowing almost nothing about a whole lot of
stuff.
Yuko:
Still better than knowing a whole lot of stuff about almost nothing.
Yoko:
Actually, there is one area where you have to know a lot of different
things. It's teaching, especially grade-school. That's why it's so
interesting. The kids don't know much, and because of this they can
ask the most interesting questions. They're discovering the
connections between the things that surround them - for example, the
fire is nice to look at, but it can destroy things, and it hurts a lot
if you try to touch it. Then the kids grow up, and start to think they
know all there's to it, and stop making those connections, and that's
wrong, because there's much more to it, and more connections between
things. It's just that people don't see them.
Yuko:
Wait, I don't understand what you're saying. You said that people need
to discover those things for themselves - and yet you're trying to
teach them? People should be self-reliant.
Yoko:
Well, you can be that, and you lose.
Yuko:
Lose what?
Yoko:
[Smirks.] I would say, the right question is "Lose WHOM?"
Yuko:
Oh.
Kimura:
Listen, I have no idea what you two are talking about.
Yoko:
[Hesitating.] Well, this is whole dreary business about Nakamura Sho.
He was my boyfriend -
Yuko:
No way, he was *my* boyfriend -
Yoko and
Yuko:
Well, *our* boyfriend -
Yoko:
...when we were in high school. I guess, we were really immature then,
but we both dated him, pretending to be each other, and we thought it
was a lot of fun, you know, cooperating in something like this. Then
he found out, and we got into really hot water.
Yuko:
[Nods.] Yeah. Cooperation turned into competition - you know, there's
two of us, we used to be best buddies, and here we are, fighting for a
man. This sounds ridiculous, I know.
Kasuga:
[Seriously.] No, it doesn't.
Hayashibara:
So, what happened in the end?
Yoko:
[Shrugs.] He dropped both of us.
Yuko:
He though we were being mean and copping out of having any sort of
commitment. [Sighs.] So that's how it ended. Tough?
[Bass player takes on the next variation.]
Hayashibara:
Tough. He who chases two rabbits will catch none. But I think you're
taking this "self-reliant" thing too far. You're proud and
independent, and you'll end up having many acquaintances and no
friends. The thing is that one person can rarely accomplish anything.
Like, for example, in baseball, you need to have the pitcher, the
catcher, and the guys in the field. Each of them is very good just at
one specific task, but when they are all out there, they cooperate,
and the result is certainly more than just the sum of the parts.
Ayukawa:
[Quietly.] How about the batter? He is alone, with the whole world
against him.
Hayashibara:
[Pauses for a second.] Yes, this is true. But the game won't be any
fun to watch otherwise, would it? There has to be some competition.
The thing is that each player doesn't have much possible moves; but
when you have many players, there is an infinite numbers of
possibilities, and an infinite number of games.
Oda:
All of them boring. I still don't understand what you people see in
baseball. It's so... uncreative.
Hayashibara:
[Pauses again.] I wouldn't agree with that. All of you, of course,
create something, be it programs, or mathematical ideas, or whatever.
I, on the other hand, do one and the same thing; but I don't see any
difference between sports and music - [Glances at Ayukawa.] we're just
getting better and better at it all time, if we practice, of course.
No, this is not a problem. [He's silent for a moment.]
Kimura:
*Is* there a problem?
Hayashibara:
Well... I don't know. Let me see, I play baseball for a while, maybe
even become really good at it - but then I'll be supposed to retire
from pro baseball, and become some kind of an executive in my dad's
company. I'm not sure I want to do that for my whole life, until I
die. My father wants it, but I'm not sure he's right. Of course,
parents give love and affection, but they also can be... tyrannical,
you know. It's been... hard to communicate with him.
Kasuga:
How about your mom?
Hayashibara:
[Quietly.] My mother died sixteen years ago, when I was four.
[Silence. Kasuga looks at Hayashibara with his eyes wide open. Ayukawa
glances at Hayashibara and then looks at Kasuga. Hayashibara shakes
his head.] It's ok; I don't really remember her. Coming back to
baseball - I used to really like it, a lot. Now it's... different. I
know a lot of stuff, and it's no fun to practice anymore. I don't
feel... free and creative; the spark is gone, and I don't know how to
get it again. If only I could play it again, with no pressure on my
back, just when I did when I was twelve... then, maybe.... [Sighs.]
I'm not sure what else can I say. It's hard to express myself.
[The drummer, who was mostly providing background, starts his solo.]
Kasuga:
Um, that's a good question, and I also want to know the answer, if
anybody has it. Where do you get the spark? You know, this
inspiration, the seed, something that you begin from? It doesn't have
to be something that important, and the final result might not depend
much on what you started with; it might more depend on how good you
are. I agree it's not where you begin - it's where you end up, and how
you get there, that's important. But, in any case, you have to start
from something.
Saito:
Are you talking about writing?
Kasuga:
Mostly, yes. It's easy when I'm doing an interview; I just need to
drop by Doko-sempai's office, and he always has a list of questions
for me to ask. Then, of course, I start with those, and then veer off,
you know, improvise. But I don't know where to start when I'm writing!
I understand why you, Oda-san, are writing; as for me, I signed for my
major just because I thought it'd be fun. You know, everyone has lots
of stuff they can write about, and I like reading, so I thought...
well, you know. Now I see that I have to start somewhere, and I don't
know where.
Oda:
Joining a newspaper was a good start.
Kasuga:
But I don't do anything creative there! I get an assignment; I ask
questions that somebody else wrote for me, and maybe ask some of my
own. Then the interview gets published, and - so what? Nothing. I
enjoy the interview itself, but it doesn't *get* me anywhere. And I
don't learn anything. There's no feeling, you know, of one experience
building up on the previous one. Well, I thought, maybe I'm just doing
the wrong thing, maybe I should really write something of my own,
something simple at first. I like to read science fiction, and
mysteries - you know, spy novels - so I thought I can write something
like this.
Kimura:
Maybe you should write a romance novel! Will you show me what you've
written when you're done?
Kasuga:
[Shakes his head.] I'm not sure anything will be written. I don't know
where to *start*, so I don't know what to do. And even if I did, so
what? I have this feeling, I don't know how to explain it, that the
beginning is the easy part. Yes, it's important, and yes, it will
influence everything that will come after it - but I suspect that it's
relatively simple. For that, you only need this magical moment -
something unusual which intrudes on the ordinary, like when you're
walking along and there you see it, hovering like a UFO above your
head. Then the only thing you have to do is leap and catch it, and
that's easy - if you only jump, it will fall into your hand like it
always was *supposed* to!
Hayashibara:
[Smiles.] A home run.
Kasuga:
[With intensity.] But what if I do? It's only a beginning, the first
step, on the very bottom of a VERY long staircase, and it's the
journey that matters. No matter what it is - it can be something you
do for life; it can be writing a work of fiction or composing a piece
of music, from that very first word or note; it can be someone you
just met. It's relatively easy to make an acquaintance; but it's much
harder to make a friend. It's easy to sign for a major, but what do I
do next? As you are ascending that winding staircase, it gets harder
and harder; each steps builds on the ones you made before. At every
step you have to consider every other step that you already made, and
maybe the ones you're *going* to make in the future. Listen, I don't
even know how many steps are there in a staircase - or what is at the
end.
[The drummer ends with a smash, and now all the instruments are joining
again for the conclusion.]
Ayukawa:
[Quietly.] You just make memories one by one, Kasuga-kun. Note by
note. Page by page. Step by step. It doesn't really matter where you
end up; or, at least, it doesn't matter much. What is important is the
journey, what you do on that journey, who you meet, and all that jazz.
Saito:
The journey is important, of course - but then so is the destination;
at least as important as the beginning. You will get nowhere if you
don't know where you are going.
Sakurai:
As a certain cat once said, if you go without turning away, you will
definitely get somewhere. Not turning away does it.
Hayashibara:
But what if I don't want to get where I'm going? What if what waits
for me in the end is not the understanding of the meaning of life, not
the roar and applause of an appreciative crowd, not even a paycheck -
but a withered grim old hag with a razor-sharp scythe? The statue of
Il Comendatore, who came for the foolhardy Don Juan?
Oda:
[Shakes her head.] Dying is much less scary than being forgotten. You
leave something behind yourself. Like...
Yuko:
Like art. Create something truly inspired, which will survive you,
or...
Yoko:
Or teach somebody else something that you know, for example...
Kasuga:
For example, your kids. Maybe that's why parents want their kids to
succeed in life? Maybe it's the way humans want to become immortal: by
having children that are just like them, only better, and...
Ayukawa:
And then there will be no end. The end is as important as the
beginning because the end *is* the beginning. You ascend the
staircase, only to find yourself on step one.
Kimura:
[Dreamily.] ...Or you fall in love.
[Pause. Everyone is suddenly silent and looks at Kimura. She smiles and
blushes.]
Kimura:
Well, that's what I read in novels. They say when you're in love, you
feel invincible and immortal. Listen, isn't this awesome?
[There's a final chord on the piano, and the music stops. Silence.]
Ayukawa:
[Stands up and stretches.] Well, it's time for me to go. I'm next.
Kasuga:
What are you playing?
Ayukawa:
It's one of the songs Ben Webster used to play. "My One And Only
Love".
[She waves and leaves towards the cast entrance, taking the saxophone case
with her. In a minute she appears on the stage, with her instrument.
There's a moment of silence, and then she begins her solo.]
Kasuga narration:
The music surrounded me, with the shimmering wave of melody hitting me
like the surf, with each single note sparkling like a star in the
darkness. I forgot where I was, and felt again as a kid, with the
whole world new and open in front of me; just like I felt, long time
ago, when I first heard her voice, and stood there, entranced and
dazzled, clutching in my hand a red straw hat.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
END CREDITS
New Character Designer Stephen Tsai
Writer Vladimir Zelevinsky
Pre-readers Stephen Tsai
Robert Carragher
Herbert Fung
Very special thanks to Hitoshi Doi
A tip of the hat and a deep bow to Matsumoto Izumi for starting
the whole thing
If I left anyone off, my apologies. Any mistakes/embarrassing faux pas are
entirely my own. If there is anything here you must flame, mail them to
stsai@netcom.com.
Thank you for taking the time to read this episode of my series. I have the
next episode in the works.
Hope you enjoyed it and thanks again!
------------------------------------------------------------------------
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