Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters plots of the movies Sayonara (1957) or Seven Samurai (1954), and I don't intend to profit from them in anyway.
A note from the author:
I wrote this fic in about 20 minutes after watching Sayonara, in which Marlon Brando plays an Air Force man in Japan after World War II who falls in love with an entertainer named Hana-ogi, and she chooses to marry him rather than stay with the people to whom she owes her life. It got me thinking about Kurosawa's classic Seven Samurai, in which the peasant girl, Shino, abandons her love for the samurai Katsushiro to return to her father and her village, choosing to honor her duty to her family and village over her duty to her own heart.
Seven Samurai is a Japanese film, and Sayonara is an American film. The differences in the values of the two cultures are thrown into stark relief by the way these two movies end. But in both cases I felt dissatisfied. In Shino's case, I admired her courage and honor, but pitied her loss of her true love. As for Hana-ogi, while I was happy she found happiness, I couldn't help but wonder how much it weighed on her conscience to leave behind the Mabayashi dancers, who had freed her from slavery and to whom she owed everything.
So in this story, I imagined that Shino and Hana-ogi, who would have lived about 500 years apart in time, might have been the same woman, whetherreincarnated in two different eras or simply sharing kindred spirits, and, by virtue of their shared spirit, reached each other through time to give each other the strength to carry on, all the while maintaining their pride as Japanese women.
I also wanted to incorporate Mono no Aware. According to Japanese scholars of the Edo period (I think—I'm bad at dates) the thing that separates the Japanese as a people from the rest of the world is Mono no Aware, the essence of the Japanese soul. There's no exact translation, but the closest would be a sympathetic sadness, a recognition of beauty in the world accompanied by the sadness that it will eventually pass. Sakura, or cherry blossoms, often represent this feeling, since the beautiful Sakura only last for a short while each year before they wither and fall. (Any anime fan out there can attest to the fact that every so often, for no apparent reason, during an emotional scene, there will be Sakura petals in the wind, even if there are no Sakura trees to be found. This is a visual representation of Mono no Aware, a brief, beautiful moment that captures the essence of the Japanese soul.) Hopefully I do it some form of justice!
Okay,I'm done prattling,on with the story! Please enjoy!
Ageless Reflections
Hana-ogi stared hard at her reflection in the mirror. Lloyd's father and mother were flying in to meet her, and she had deigned to stay at home and prepare for their arrival. It was her first time meeting them, and she wanted everything to be perfect. It was important for Lloyd's parents to like her. It had been hard for both of them being on the receiving end of so much ridicule and scorn from both their peoples. She wanted Lloyd's parents to love her, to love them, so that Lloyd could find some solace in it.
But now as she was making herself look presentable, she had caught her own reflection in her mirror and something made her stop and look closer. Her eyes traveled from her knees where she knelt before the mirror, up to her slender waist bound by an obi, then up to the curve of her breasts to the smooth exposed skin of her neck. She traced her jawline up to her round ears to the sleek shine of her jet black hair. Finally she settled on her face, her full lips painted red, the gentle protrusion of her nose and finally her dark, thickly lashed eyes. Her refection stared back intensely.
Not for the first time since she'd left Mabayashi, she felt an uneasy tug of guilt. She had turned her back on everything she was to be with Lloyd. Not that there had been much to her life before him—she had been an exceptional dancer, and nothing more. Now she had Lloyd, and she was a wife, and someday she would be a mother. She could not regret her decision. Nevertheless, she could not forget the ones she'd left behind, the people who had saved her from slavery, molded her into a living work of art and given her a comfortable and stable life. Comfortable, but empty, she reminded herself sternly.
Yet she could not stop staring into her own eyes. They were strange to her, as though she was looking into the eyes of another woman. As this occurred to her, she thought perhaps the woman that gazed back was someone else. She fancied she saw herself differently. Her long black hair was cut short and uneven around her shoulders. Her skin was dark and ruddy from long days under the sun. On her body hung threadbare rags, muddy from work in the rice paddies. She was this woman, but she also was not.
Of all the that she fancied she saw, it was her eyes that stunned her most. Fierce, proud eyes, so sad and solemn and full of dignity, despite her humble state. This was not a woman of privilege or stature. She was a peasant, destined to scratch a living out of the earth and then die covered in it. Yet she was strong, not only of body, but of spirit. She had lost, not just possessions. Hana-ogi understood that look in her eyes. She had seen it reflected in her own eyes when she believed she would never seen Lloyd again. Mono no Aware. The sympathetic sadness, the passing of the sakura blossoms. Resigned acceptance that all that is beautiful must pass.
This woman had done what she could not. She had sacrificed her heart for the sake of her duty. Hana-ogi shuddered, humbled. This lowly peasant woman had more honor than she. Tears prickled at her eyes, but she blinked them back, not wanting to ruin her make-up. Then, though her lips didn't move, she fancied the woman spoke to her. Follow your heart, she said, but never forget who you are, what you are and where you come from. Remember the essence of your soul, the passing of the sakura. There you will find strength where others are weak.
There was so much she wanted to tell the woman, but she couldn't find words. Instead, she folded her hands in front of her and lowered her head, pressing it to the tatami mat on which she knelt. As she rose to face the mirror again, the fantasy woman was gone. All that was left was her own reflection, her eyes bright with unshed tears and determination. She felt as though a burden had been lifted from her shoulders. Just as Lloyd sought the blessing of his elders, she realized also had she desired absolution.
Silly as it was, she felt a wave of joy and relief. But she reigned it in, tucking it into herself to treasure. All things pass away with time, and so she would treasure the happiness of the moment, knowing one day it may be gone and loving it all the more for that fact.
A contemplative smile graced her lips as she rose from the mirror to await Lloyd's return. As she reached the door she paused and glanced back, then turned and went to her old jewelery box. Opening it, she pulled out a hair comb. Attached to it were cords with tiny silk Sakura petals dangling from them. She regarded them for a moment, letting the soft pad of her thumb stroke the petals absently, then, returning to the mirror, tucked the comb into her hair so that the sakura cascaded down her cheek, gently framing her face.
Satisfied, rose once more. The paper screens over one of the windows had been left ajar and a slight breeze drifted through the room as she slid the shoji door open. Tiny zephyrs played with the trailing Sakura, tickling her cheek pleasently as she tended her home.
"Shino! Come along, the day is wasting away!" Manzo shouted back into the hut at his daughter.
Shino turned away from the bucket of water she'd been washing in. "Yes father, I'm coming!" she replied.
As she turned back, she gazed at her reflection in the still water. She had been lost in daydreams about Katsushiro, wondering where he was, and if he was thinking of her, and as she'd stared at herself, she'd seen the change in her own reflection. She had long shining hair, pale, smooth skin and clean, lovely clothes. And she had free, fearless eyes. Now the strange fancy was gone, but the effect remained with her. She dipped her fingers into the bucket, cupping the cool liquid in her hands, and threw it against her face. The rush of water over her skin was invigorating, and goose bumps dimpled her flesh as a few drops trickled down her back.
Katsushiro had left with the remaining samurai and was gone, probably back to his rich father's family. Perhaps he would continue as a samurai, or perhaps his father would marry him off to some other rich man's daughter and he would have many fat rich children. She, on the other hand, might marry someday, if her father ever loosened his iron grip on her, and she would bear that man's children and raise them, and she would plant and harvest and plant and harvest over and over again, year after year until her body was so bent from stooping in the fields that it would break and her life would leave her. Yet no matter who she married, she would never love them like she loved Katsushiro.
She wondered if he felt the same, if he would love the soft, pale rich woman he married as he had loved her. She would never know. But as she remembered the soft sakura drifting on the wind, the way Katsushiro had looked as he walked through it, it didn't matter. Though her time with Katsushiro had come and gone, her feelings never would. Time would weather her body, but her heart would remain steadfast. If his feelings changed, hers never would. She would lock them away in her heart and keep them safe. She would keep them alive by feeding them her hopes and dreams, one by one until they were gone. Not for him, but for herself.
She had to, because she had glimpsed her future. Someday, in another time, in another place, she would find the one who gave that feeling new life, and she would be able to follow him as she couldn't now. She would live for that day, far from now, in another life, when she could throw open the doors of her heart and set free these feelings. She would live this life gathering the essence of her soul, the sympathetic sadness of beautiful things that wither away with time, so that when she loosed her heart to the wind, her soul would remember its roots.
Lifting the bucket, Shino dumped the water over her head, washing the dust and mud and filth from her skin and clothing. Pulling on her tattered sandals, she stepped through the door to her father's hut into the dusty streets of the village. Most of the villagers were down in the fields. With a sigh, she straightened her shoulders. One day she would be a bent old woman, but she would not let the cares of the world push her down into the mud without a fight. As she started towards the fields, a sudden wind rushed down off the mountains that bordered the village on one side. She gasped with delight at the rush of fresh air and the sweet scent that accompanies it.
A single pink petal caught in her still dripping hair. Shino reached up and plucked it out. Resting it on her forefinger, she let the callous of her thumb caress its silky surface. Then she raised it to her lips and kissed it softly before tossing it into the wind once more. Breathing deeply, she continued down her path.
End