第十二章

11 March 2011 10:30

The walk outside in the sunshine was just what I needed to clear my head and get ready for the next lesson which was Japanese. Kinoshita-sensei wanted us to practice our kanji characters and to help we would be writing them using traditional ink and fude calligraphy brushes. I went to get my writing set from the cupboard at the back of the classroom whilst two volunteers gathered up sheets of newspaper onto which we would practise until it was time to write on the thin washi paper that would be hung around the classroom to dry once complete.

‘OK, class 4-A, have you all got you brushes and ink ready?’ Kinoshita-sensei asked.

The class responded with a uniform Yes although this was followed by the voice of a boy called Rikimaru who sat close to the window.

‘I’m very sorry Kinoshita-sensei, I think that I have run out of ink,’ Rikimaru said holding up the empty bottle as evidence. 

‘It’s OK, Rikimaru-kun, don’t worry,’ Kinoshita-sensei reassured him. ‘Does anyone have any spare ink that they can lend to Rikimaru for today’s lesson?’

On account of him not being a particularly popular boy, the offers were not immediately forthcoming although I felt sorry for him so put up my hand.

‘He can use some of my ink, Kinoshita-sensei,’ I said.

‘Thank you, Kimiko-chan. Rikimaru-kun, could you come and get Kimiko’s ink bottle once she has finished?’ Kinoshita-sensei suggested.‘Hai!’ came the solitary affirmative reply from Rikimaru who, stood up and, with head down embarrassed about the attention he had brought upon himself, started to make his way across the classroom.

I loved the smell of the ink that we used for shūji and savoured the moment as I removed the blue cap from the bottle and squeezed gently as the deep rich black liquid flowed into the suzuri ink stone. I had watched Okāsan doing calligraphy at home and she still favoured the traditional way of making the ink using a stick that was gently ground into the water held at the deep end of the stone until it was the same thick consistency as the pre-mixed type in front of me. The smell was very pure and natural, almost earthy, which I guessed was because the soot used to make the ink was itself made from living things that had been squashed for millions of years underground.

‘Thank you very much,’ Rikimaru said as he took the ink bottle that I was holding out to him. ‘I’ll bring a new bottle next time and you can use some of my ink.’

‘Don’t worry, Rikimaru,’ I said. ‘I’ve only just opened this one so there’s plenty left.’

I knew that if his mother found out about him having to borrow from me, she would probably replace the small amount of ink I had just given to him with an entire bottle but I hoped that he didn’t mention it to her as I really didn’t want her to go to such trouble.

I finished my preparations by placing a felt mat under the piece of practice newspaper and then laying a paper-weight across the top to keep it firmly in place.

‘The kanji that we are going to be practising today are minato as we are going to be visiting the port later on this afternoon and yō as we will be able to see the ocean from there,’ Kinoshita-sensei explained.

On the blackboard, he drew the characters for port 港 and ocean 洋 making a point of talking us through the order of the strokes that we needed to follow as well as the importance of the shape at the start and finish of each of the lines, which was more difficult for him to do with chalk than it would be with the fude brush.

‘OK, children, now it’s your turn to try,’ Kinoshita-sensei said. ‘Don’t forget to take your time and move the brush in a single flowing stroke. Think of the character that you are writing and try to put some of your thoughts into the lines and the overall shape. Oh, and don’t overload your brushes with ink or they will drip.’

I checked that my paper was nice and straight and then picked up the fude in my right hand holding it close to vertical as we had been taught to do. Concentrating, I dipped the tip into the liquid that had pooled at the bottom of the stone and watched as the ink moved slowly up the bristles and turned them from greyish-brown to night-sky black. I then withdrew the brush and lightly pushed the end down on the flatter end of the ink stone and watched as the excess ink streamed down the slope of the stone to pool again at the bottom.

I thought of the port, of the concrete, of the ships, of the metal containers and took a couple of breaths to prepare myself. Then, as best as I could, I lifted the brush over the paper and started with the three strokes on the left-hand side called mizu-hen or water radical  氵 the third stroke with an upwards movement leaving a tail that got narrower as I lifted the brush off the paper. The next group of six strokes  共 formed the top right hand part of the kanji and was written in an across-down-down-across movement followed by diagonally down the to the left and then diagonally down to the right. Finally was the onore part 已 that finished off the character with three further strokes and an upwards flick right at the end. I looked at what I had just written and was pretty pleased with the results. I had always been good at learning kanji and was enjoying writing the characters in this way.

‘Kimiko-chan, that’s looking very good,’ Kinoshita-sensei praised me. ‘Just take care not to make the final stroke too long at the bottom or you’ll upset the overall balance of the character.’ 

He took his teacher’s brush and, using some light orange ink, wrote over my character as if it wasn’t there to show me how my lines compared with his. 

‘Can you see the difference?’

‘Yes, I can. Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome. Now keep practising.’

I wrote the character for minato about ten more times on newspaper before deciding that it was accurate enough to write on the washi paper. Going through the same ritual, I tried to let my mind go clear and not think too much about what I was doing so that my hand could move by remembering the strokes that I had drawn previously. It felt good and the brush moved across the paper taking little jumps like an ice skater to show distinction between the different parts of the character. Having completed this, I wrote my name on the left hand side of the paper using the hiragana phonetic script; my parents when they gave me the name Kimiko, itself rather old-fashioned and popular in the 1920s, did not want to use any kanji as they held the view that by giving meaning to my name people would make judgements about the type of person I was before they had even met me.‘How is everyone getting on?’ asked Kinoshita-sensei. ‘Have you all finished writing minato? If you have, then please hang up your sheets to dry and make a start on yō.’

I went through the same process for the next character and found myself completely zoning out from everyone else in the classroom. Writing kanji this way was like meditation, which is just how Okāsan had described it when I asked her why she continued to practise at home even though she knew her kanji and was no longer studying. As she put it, ‘I like to clear my mind every once in a while and concentrate on one specific thing without the clutter of everyday concerns such as what to cook for dinner, paying the gas bill and remembering to talk with our neighbour about that tree that is growing through the fence.’

Over by the window, Rikimaru gave a shout and as I looked across I saw he had spilt his ink and that it had spread over his paper like a wave breaking on the beach.

‘I don’t believe it,’ he said slapping his palm down onto the desk. ‘That was my best go yet and now look at it. Completely ruined.’

‘Can somebody get me some paper towels please?’ Kinoshita-sensei requested before saying to Rikimaru, ‘Don’t worry, these things happen.’

One of the other boys in the class brought a small stack of paper towels over to Rikimaru’s desk and started to help Kinoshita-sensei mop up the spilt ink.

‘Sumimasen,’ said Rikimaru apologising for causing a commotion.

‘Don’t worry, it’s nothing. Have you got any on your clothes?’ Kinoshita-sensei asked.

‘No, I don’t think so,’ Rikimaru said as he inspected his lap and sleeves for signs of stray ink.

‘Right, that’s all done. Let’s throw away these sheets of paper and you can keep going.’

Panic over, everyone got their heads down for the remaining ten minutes before we had to stop to wash out brushes, throw away practice sheets and pack everything away.By the time the chime played, all the sheets of paper hung around the classroom demonstrating our hard work. Kinoshita-sensei’s choice of kanji was clever as it only served to heighten our excitement about the trip after lunch.

***

…now that’s more like it…

…half of my head is out…

…got to be easier from here on in…

…no sign of him yet…

…this’ll be a surprise when he returns from wherever the hell he is…

…not that I care…

…as long as he stays away for long enough…