Tree Spirits Grass Spirits by Hiromi Ito

Author:Hiromi Ito [Ito, Hiromi]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Nightboat Books

THE MIRACULOUS WELWITSCHIAS OF BERLIN

What I witnessed in Arizona was the cactus way of life—a way of life that sits side by side with death. There, death was cheerful and indifferent. The smell of death even attracted animals that would eat the rotting flesh.

I had begun thinking seriously about “winter” while visiting Oslo and Toronto, and I continued thinking about it until I went to Arizona, where my thinking was completely interrupted. While still in this state of interruption, I went to Berlin. It was the middle of December. Berlin’s in the north, and it’s inland, so I thought surely it must be cold, and prepared accordingly. Sure enough, it was really cold. It dropped below freezing, and snow fell, turning everything bright white. The wind blew right through the down jacket I had bought in Southern California, and the gloves I had bought at a 100-yen store in Japan were completely useless in the face of the freezing snow. Having no choice, I wore what I had and walked around outdoors all bundled up.

I had looked forward to this: visiting Berlin and seeing all the plants in the middle of a true winter. Everything dying out ruthlessly, with no signs of life anywhere to be found. In the fields of Toronto at the beginning of November, I had seen trees and grasses that were destined for such ruthlessness, like the sumacs (which belong to the Anacardiaceae family) that had gone to seed and stood there all dried out, and the white birches that had turned completely white, as if to say: “Look, look! This is my bark!” There was a sense of approaching death that hung around these plants that pointed, without fail, to them be swallowed up by winter, freezing through and dying off, corpses strewn all over the place … I had hoped for this.

I lived in Poland a long time ago. It must have been cold, but I don’t remember. I was young, so maybe it wasn’t cold to me. I would walk steadily along a dark snow-covered street to a bus stop, ride the bus to my place of business, then walk steadily along a dark snow-covered street, and get back on the bus and head home. Dawn just didn’t seem to break, and the sun would set early. No sunlight whatsoever would shine through the winter season. Every building had a door inside of the door that served as the entrance from the outside, where a bulky curtain would hang that would block the outside air from coming in. Before going inside, you would take off everything you had in front of the curtain and hand it over to the sullen-faced person working the coat check, and when you would leave, you’d hand them some small change and they’d retrieve your mountain of clothing, and then you’d start over from square one, putting everything back on, and then head out. I do remember all of these things.

But what I remember even better than all

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