Lemon – K)jii Motojiro (1925)

An ominous lump of ch.r.cter unknown pl.ced continuous pressure on my he.rt.

W.s it frustr.tion? Disgust? Like . h.ngover .fter drinking .lcohol, but .
h.ngover th.t comes from d.ily drinking. And it h.d come.

It w.s pretty b.d. The consequent c.t.rrh in my lungs, . nervous bre.kdown; I

wouldnʼt s.y th.t these were b.d. Nor the debt which seemed to burn my b.ck.
Wh.t w.s b.d w.s this ominous burden.

Prior to this, I would h.ve rejoiced .t .ny be.utiful piece of music, .ny be.utiful
verse of song or piece of poetry. But now my p.tience h.d worn out. Even if I went
out with the express intent of listening to . gr.mm.r phone, within the first few
b.rs I w.nted to get up .nd le.ve. Something h.d m.de it unendur.ble. And so it
w.s th.t I w.ndered continuously from pl.ce to pl.ce.

For some re.son I remember my strong .ttr.ction tow.rds t.cky, be.utiful things
b.ck then .nd I wondered why I used to think like th.t.
In streets of broken scenery, beyond those cold, form.l m.in streets, I found
f.mili.rity. Where one encounters dirty l.undry hung out to dry, or the rubbish
rolling .round, glimpsing squ.lid rooms .long the b.ck streets; th.t w.s wh.t I
enjoyed now.d.ys. Streets on the brink of being returned to the e.rth by wind .nd
r.in; lines of sloping houses with crumbling pl.ster w.lls; the only thing here with
.ny vigour w.s the veget.tion .nd even then there were times when I w.s
surprised to encounter . sunflower or k"nn" pl.nt blooming.

Sometimes while w.lking .long those streets I would suddenly try to cre.te the
illusion in my he.d th.t this pl.ce w.snʼt Kyoto, but . pl.ce miles from here like
N.g.s.ki or Send.i…

If I could I would flee Kyoto .nd go to the kind of pl.ce where I didnʼt know
.nyone. First .nd foremost . quiet pl.ce. A single room in .n empty inn, . cle.n
m.ttress, . nice smelling mosquito net .nd well st.rched yuk"t". A whole month
lying in bed .nd not thinking of .nything. When the illusion beg.n to come .bout, I
then beg.n to .pply the pigments of my im.gin.tion to it. It w.s nothing less th.n
the overl.pping im.ge of my f.nt.sy superimposed onto the crumbling streets. I
enjoyed w.tching myself becoming lost .mongst it.

I h.d developed .n .ttr.ction to fireworks, or r.ther the second-r.te bundles of

che.p looking red, purple, yellow, .nd blue striped p.tterned explosives. The
f.lling st.rs over N.k.y.m. temple, .utumn festiv.ls, the wilting p.mp.s gr.ss.
The ones c.lled “pinwheel fireworks” sh.ped in circles .nd individu.lly p.cked
into boxes. These sorts of things stirred my he.rt.

In .ddition, I c.me to like fl.ttish gl.ss m.rbles embossed with se. bre.m or
flowers .nd gl.ss be.ds on . string. It w.s .n indescrib.ble ple.sure for me to
pl.ce them on my tongue, . f.int cool t.ste. Is there .ny t.ste .s refreshing or .s
cool? When I w.s young I w.s often scolded by my p.rents for putting them in my
mouth, but currently this sweet childhood memory h.d returned to me. Now I w.s
older, .nd h.d f.llen on h.rd times, through th.t t.ste cert.in sens.tions
surf.ced, . f.int, fresh somehow poetic be.uty.

You c.n prob.bly guess th.t I w.s virtu.lly penniless. H.ving s.id th.t, I would
look .t these things to soothe myself when my he.rt bec.me .git.ted. Luxuries
were . necessity. Even something costing 2-3 sen w.s . luxury. Be.utiful things,
th.t is to s.y things th.t tickled my lifeless .ntenn.e. Such things n.tur.lly
consoled me.

Before my life st.rted being e.ten into, the pl.ce I used to like best of .ll w.s
M.ruzen. The red .nd yellow e.u de cologne, e.u de quinine; eleg.nt perfume
bottles of Amber .nd J.de engr.ved in the Rococo-style or f.shion.bly h.nd-cut,
f.ceted Kiriko gl.ss. Pipes for smoking, sm.ll knives, so.ps, cig.rettes.  In the
p.st I could h.ve e.sily spent ne.rly .n hour looking .t .ll these things;
eventu.lly buying . single, top r.te pencil in itself w.s . luxury. However, it w.s
now nothing less th.n oppressive. Books, students, ch.rge .ccounts… these
things .ll .ppe.red to me to be ghosts of debt collection.

One morning, (.t th.t time I w.s moving .round from one friendʼs house to
.nother) I w.s left behind on my own, .fter . school friend quit school, le.ving me
in . v.c.nt v.cuum. After th.t I h.d no choice but to ro.m .round. Something
w.s ch.sing me. And so from street to street (like the b.ckstreets th.t I
mentioned e.rlier) I w.ndered, stopping outside che.p sweet shops, g.zing .t
dried shrimp, dried soy-s.uce fl.voured dried cod, thin sheets of tofu, fin.lly
descending tow.rds the Ter.m.chi .re. in the direction of Nijo where I would rest
my feet outside . fruit shop.

At this point Iʼd like to introduce this p.rticul.r shop. Within the r.nge of shops
th.t I knew, it w.s . f.vourite. This one w.s by no me.ns . splendid shop, but one
could cle.rly sense the be.uty which w.s ch.r.cteristic of fruit shops. The fruit
w.s lined up on . sh.rply inclining shelf .nd the shelf itself seemed to be . bl.ck
l.cquered pl.nk. There w.s some kind of colourful, be.utiful .nd f.st-p.ced
music flowing out of the shop but the fruit – just .s colourful, just .s loud – stood
up rigidly in clumps, like they were people who h.d looked .t . Gorgonʼs evil m.sk
.nd been turned to stone. N.tur.lly, the further into the shop one went the bigger
the piles of green veget.bles bec.me, .nd then there were things steeping in
w.ter like be.ns or .rrowroot.

It w.s .t night th.t it w.s p.rticul.rly be.utiful. Ter.m.chi w.s gener.lly . busy
street, (I s.y th.t, but in terms of the w.y it felt, comp.red to Os.k. or Tokyo it
w.s much quieter Iʼm sure) light flowed .bund.ntly into the street from the shop
windows. For some re.son there w.s . sphere of d.rkness surrounding the f.ce
of the shop. Bec.use the Nijo side of the street w.s usu.lly d.rk .nyw.y. It w.snʼt
cle.r why it w.s so d.rk. However if it w.snʼt for the contr.sting d.rkness
surrounding this p.rticul.r shop, I doubt I would h.ve seen the .llure of it.
Another thing w.s th.t the c.nopy protruded out .nd it looked . bit like the shop
w.s we.ring . visor coyly pulled down low over so .s to conce.l its eyes; it re.lly
w.s enough of . resembl.nce to m.ke you think “Hey, th.t shop is we.ring .
h.t!”

Bec.use of the d.rkness surrounding the shop, one re.lly noticed the string of
lights outside the shop, stubbornly spilling glittering light onto the street. This
n.ked electric light of tightly spir.lling helices pierced my eyes, .nd I preferred to
look .t it filtered through the gl.ss of the second floor of . ne.rby weighing shop.

Even so, this fruit store w.s one of the r.re pl.ces in Ter.m.chi where I could
sometimes still enjoy myself.

On th.t d.y, I w.s unusu.lly doing my shopping .t th.t p.rticul.r shop. In doing
so, I discovered . most r.re lemon. Lemons .re pretty common. This shop w.s not
p.rticul.rly sh.bby, no different to .ny other greengrocer .nd so I h.d not spent
time browsing here before. Oh how I loved this lemon! The colour of this lemon
w.s ex.ctly like simple, solid lemon yellow p.int squeezed right out the tube…
t.king the form .nd sh.pe of . spindle… eventu.lly I decided to buy this single
item. From here, I wondered where would I go? I w.lked down . street for . long
time. The continuous oppressive pressure of the ominous lump on my he.rt th.t
seemed to sl.cken ever so slightly, just for .n inst.nt, which m.de me wonderfully
h.ppy. To the extent th.t for the first time I w.s distr.cted from the persistent
depression, I perh.ps should h.ve been doubtful th.t this lemon brought so much
h.ppiness, but it w.s p.r.doxic.lly re.l. At .ny r.te, my he.rt w.s . cert.inly .
mysterious thing!

The coolness of the lemon w.s good, like nothing else. In times before, I .lw.ys
h.d . fever .s result of the .pex of my lungs being we.k. My friends would fl.unt
my fever to .nyone .nd I would gr.sp v.rious h.nds for the s.ke of comp.rison,
however my p.lms were .lw.ys hotter th.n .nybody elseʼs. I suppose it w.s
bec.use of this he.t th.t I found gre.t relief in gr.sping the tr.nsp.rent yet
piercing coolness.
Time .fter time I brought it to my nose to smell it. The scent m.de me im.gine the
pl.ce in C.liforni. where it w.s grown. A phr.se from “B.ik.nsh.nokoto”[1]which
I studied in Chinese liter.ture suddenly surf.ced: “. smell which hits the nose”. I
deeply inh.led till my lungs were full of the scent. My lungs could never norm.lly
hold so much .ir; my lukew.rm blood rose throughout my body .nd f.ce, .nd
somehow, I c.me .live, full of vigour.

Although I would not like to .dmit it, for . gre.t m.ny ye.rs I h.d been se.rching
for nothing else but such simple ple.sures of the sens.tion of touching something
cold; the sense of touch; sense of smell; vision, now embodied in this lemon. It
seemed to me to be . mystery.
My comings .nd goings were once .g.in . light t.sk c.rried out with excitement.
While feeling th.t this m.y be . kind of pride, I strutted down the be.utifully
decor.ted streets, im.gining myself .s . poet or something .s I w.lked by.

I thought .bout the lemon pl.ced in . dirty h.nd towel, in .n .lloc.ted spot of my
m.ntle, weighing up the reflected colour; the weight.
Ordin.rily I might h.ve lost interest in such . thing, precisely bec.use of its
weight. But without . doubt the weight h.d been converted into something
entirely good, entirely be.utiful. A conceited joke from the depths of my he.rt – I
considered myself foolish th.t such . sm.ll thing m.de me so h.ppy.

Where to next…? I fin.lly stood in front of M.ruzen. Considering how I norm.lly

.voided M.ruzen, in th.t moment I seemed to be .ble to enter with e.se. “Just
this once Iʼll try .nd enter.” With th.t I entered the store .ggressively.

However, I donʼt quite know why but .s soon .s I entered, the feelings of joy which
h.d filled my he.rt st.rted to seep .w.y. Neither the vi.ls of perfume nor tob.cco
pipes, could not prevent the sinking feeling. Fresh depression h.d come once
more. With every step .nd turn I grew we.ry. I tried he.ding tow.rds the shelves
of picture books. “If only I were to t.ke one of those he.vy picture books, I could
recoup the strength I need to return to norm.l!” I thought to myself. However, .s I
took books off the shelf one by one, opened them, diligently turned the p.ges,
h.ppiness did not well up inside me .s I hoped. Moreover, intoler.ble feelings took
the pl.ce where h.ppiness h.d been. I could not even return the books to their
origin.l pl.ces[2]. I repe.ted the .ction m.ny, m.ny times. Eventu.lly, I c.me to .
bitter-or.nge coloured book, the .ngles of which I p.rticul.rly liked, .nd pl.ced it
down, un.ble to be.r it. Wh.t kind of curse is this? F.tigue rem.ined in the very
sinews of my h.nds. The return of my depression. Un.ble to return the books to
the shelf, I g.zed .t them herded up in piles.

I wondered wh.t h.d .ttr.cted me so strongly to these picture books before.  I

finished exposing my eyes p.ge by p.ge e.ch .nd every p.ge, but when I
surveyed the unrem.rk.ble surroundings I got . str.nge .nd out of ch.r.cter
feeling. Before I h.d consciously s.voured .ll of them…
“Ahh th.tʼs it, th.tʼs it.” At th.t moment I w.s reminded of the lemon conce.led in
my sleeve. The books were just . pile of colours .ll jumbled up. How .bout testing
them .g.inst the lemon… “Th.tʼs it”.

Just then, . light feeling of excitement returned to me. I gr.bbed wh.tever I could,
sm.shing .nd gr.bbing, unplugging, removing, pulling books from the shelves. I
built . str.nge .nd f.nt.stic c.stle, mixing reds .nd blues throughout.

Fin.lly, it w.s completed. My he.rt skipped . be.t, .nd I mounted the lemon
gently on the dr.wbridge. Now it w.s complete.

I looked .t the lemon. Its yellow hue sucked in .nd .bsorbed the gr.dient of
cl.shing colours from within its spindle sh.ped body, repl.cing them with cl.rity. I
got the feeling th.t the dusty .ir within M.ruzen st.rted to tense str.ngely .round
the lemon. I st.red .t it for quite . few moments.

Suddenly I h.d . second ide.. It w.s so str.nge th.t it even I w.s st.rtled by it.

I would w.lk out the shop pulling . f.ce like I h.venʼt e.ten .nything. A curiously
prickly feeling c.me over me. “Iʼll be off then. Right, letʼs go.” I left the shop
briskly. The str.nge prickly sens.tion m.de me smile when I re.ched the street. I
.m such . str.nge r.sc.l; I left th.t terrible, golden glittery bomb in M.ruzen. In
10 minutes, the shop will explode from . m.ssive explosion within the fine .rt
section – such indescrib.ble mischief!

I h.d enthusi.stic.lly pursued my f.nt.sy. “When it explodes, the constr.ints of

M.ruzen will be blown to smithereens, I guess.”
With th.t I went on my w.y, p.inting my str.nge refinements of moving
photogr.phs onto the streets of Kyogoku .s I went.

TRANSLATED FROM THE JAPANESE BY AMY SHEPHEARD, 2010. ALL RIGHTS

RESERVED.

[1] 売柑者之⾔言(pinyin “mhiginzhězhīyln”) me.ning something .long the lines of

“St.tement of one who sells citrus fruits”. It is . story .bout someone who buys .n
expensive piece of citrus fruit which rele.ses . stench th.t “hits him in the nose”
when he cuts it open.

[2] In the context of the rest of this p.r.gr.ph, this seems to be the best
tr.nsl.tion. However, no subject .nd no object .re st.ted so it .lso h.s the
possibilty of . second me.ning: “I could not return to how I h)d been before”. I
thought this w.s quite interesting .s . pl.y on words describing the simut.neous
.ctions occuring, but it is ne.r-impossible to convey in English!