The Dream of the Foxes Parasol
Sometimes you have dreams that are fraught with symbolism or rich with particularly vivid imagery. I had one of those dreams last night. I dreamt that I was wandering a street marker in the industrial portion of a city - a collection of vendor booths and tables scattered among warehouses and light industrial buildings. It was a gray day, overcast, and though the day and the location had a gritty feel the mood of the people was light and friendly. It reminded me of the floating market in Neil Gaiman's "Neverwhere" (or at least it reminded me of how I had always visualized it).
As I wandered among the booths I found a table that was selling the remnants of an estate sale. As I prowled through the assorted boxes and containers I discovered a rather dingy looking gray parasol. After a bit of negotiation with the seller, I bought the parasol for $50.00. I spent the rest of the day wandering the street market and then wondered home. Once I was home I settled in at the kitchen table and carefully opened the parasol. It was very grimy, coated with what appeared to be thick black dust. It opened fine and I carefully inspected the mechanism. It all appeared to be in very good shape - just dirty.
I prepared a bowl of warm soapy water and laid out an array of cleaning tools - small tools, small brushes, different types of cleaning cloths and began to patiently clean the parasol. I discovered as I cleaned that it was a far nicer piece than I had initially imagined - the was a layer of detail completely covered beneath the grim on the handle and shaft and, after a careful application of soapy water, I discovered that the parasol itself was made of good quality silk. I patiently coaxed the grim away and unveiled what lay beneath.
I had initially thought it was an English parasol but, as I cleaned it, slowly came to the conclusion that it was mostly likely Japanese - from the materials, from the art work. The shaft and handle of the parasol was delicately carved with a scene depicting the Foxes Wedding* (a classic Japanese folktale and No drama, you may have seen a variation of it if you happened to Akira Kurosawa's "August Rain"). The silk of the parasol, which I had originally thought was a light gray, turned out to be a shade of blue, like a birds feathers, that shimmered depending on how the light struck it.
In the dream I spent the entire evening working on the parasol, through the evening and into the night, lost in the timeless zen concentration of the delicate cleaning that is required to restore something. When the morning sun shined brightly into the kitchen I stopped and stretched, my back sore for sitting, semi-hunched over, all night. I rolled the chair back so I sat in the full light of the golden morning sun and opened the parasol. As it was opened the sunlight cascaded across the silk like a ripple of lightning. The visual effect was surprising and unexpectedly delightful. I opened and re-opened the parasol to watch the lighting flow like a sheet of water.
Finished and excited by what I had found I carefully wrapped the parasol and drove to the shop of a friend who specializes in Asian collectables. (California has a very large Japanese population, several generations, and has a significant market in japanese cultural artifacts, due to long ties with Japan.) I exchanged small talk with my friend, the owner of the small shop, and then opened the parasol so he and his wife could get a good look at it. Their reaction was immediate and excited. After a careful examination they decided to call an associate at the Japanese embassy.
We sat in the shop, chatting and eating pizza (there is a small pizza place around the corner from the shop) until the representative arrived. He quickly examined the parasol, comparing it to notes in a small book he carried. He measured it. He checked craftsman marks. He counted foxes. He inspected the mechanism. He found the craftsman stamp on the handle. He counted the threads per inch.
Finally finished, he sat down, took a slice of the pizza, and confirmed that the parasol had been a gift from the Japanese Ambassador to the wife of the governor of California in the late 1800's, and was one of two matching parasols, the other of which resided in a museum in Japan. The parasol had been reported lost in a fire at the Japanese consulate in San Francisco. He advised me that he was prepared to offer me a finders fee of $5,000 for the return of the parasol. I immediately returned it and declined the finders fee. He then offered to return my original $50, which I also declined. I did accept another slice of pizza.
After returning the parasol, I drovehome. When I got home I walked up to my department to discover, sitting on the steps, was a small japanese gift box. In the box was a tanto style knife of exquisite craftsmanship, wrapped in a red silk scarf with the kanji symbol for fox (kitsune**) in black. I saw a movement out of the corner of my eye and turned to see a flash of red as a fox disappeared in the hedgerow.
I woke from the dream, impressed with it's vividness and jotted down the notes surrounding it.
*Kitsune (Fox). In Japanese folklore the Kitsune are magical creatures of great wisdom and mischief. They often have multiple tails and can shapeshift into human form. The multiple tales and the shapeshifting are what differentiate between the Kitsune and the regular fox.
**The Foxes Wedding. Like many folktales, the Foxes Wedding appears in literally dozens of variants. Kurosawa, in August Rain, tells a variant of the core tale. The core tale can be found in Algernon Betram Freeman-Mitford's "Tales of Old Japan" and involves the wedding and life of Fukuyemon, a white fox. In Kurosawa's tale a young human boy, wandering the woods, comes upon the Foxes Wedding and spies upon the ceremonies. When he is spotted he flees home to his mother and tell her what he witnessed. His mother, shocked and frightened by his behavior, gives the boy a lunch box and a knife and sends him back into the woods to find the foxes and apologize for dishonoring them by spying on the wedding. The purpose of the knife is that the apology will take the form of the classic japanese apology for dishonoring someone - seppuku.
No comments:
Post a Comment