Saturday, April 12, 2014
Hidemi’s Rambling No.511
Inside a cabinet in the old house where I grew up and spent much of my
childhood, there was a beautiful music box. It stood out by its glamour
and westernized style among other articles of Japanese folk art in the
cabinet. My mother took it out once or twice a year for me, solemnly and
carefully as a special occasion. She would wind up, open the lid slowly
and let me listen to its heavenly melody. It was the first gift she
received from my father when they were young. The tune was ‘Truimerai’
by Schumann. I asked my father what the title meant and he told me it
meant ‘rosy happiness’ although I later learned it actually meant
‘dreaming’. I imagined that he felt rosy happiness when he was marrying
her. Since the music box was expensive, my mother strictly forbade me to
touch it. I wasn’t allowed to play it on my own. My parents were
usually out for work and I was suffering from auto intoxication when I
was little. I often fainted while I was playing alone at home and my
grandmother had to call a doctor each time. In those days, my secret
remedy was sneak open the cabinet and take out the music box. While my
mother believed it was a once-or-twice-a-year occasion, I listened to it
almost every day. Although by then I had already known that my parents
got married by an arranged marriage for each family’s convenience and my
mother especially married money, it helped me delude myself that my
parents loved each other. By listening to the tune, I felt hopeful and
had fewer blackouts from auto intoxication. When I lived in the city
before moving in here, I had an idea that I would play ‘Truimerai’ on
the piano for my parents on their wedding anniversary. I practiced
playing it by listening to a Schumann’s CD. But my rare respectable
attempt never materialized after all for a strange reason. Every time I
practiced ‘Truimerai’, a cockroach appeared from somewhere as if it was a
cue. It was impossible to continue practicing because I have a strong
phobia about roaches…