Jill Rutherford - Cherry Blossoms, Sushi and Takarazuka: Seven Years in Japan

Copyright 2015 Jill Rutherford

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Takarazuka, western Japan, 1999.

I first saw them standing in front of a cigarette kiosk. Obviously, I couldnt tell what the two ladies in kimono were thinking. Im not a mind reader. However, I am intuitive.

The incongruity of seeing these two traditionally and exquisitely dressed Japanese women, who exuded money and elegance, outside a soulless modern cigarette kiosk stays with me still, as does the image of their totally expressionless faces. However, I could feel the tension between them; within them - and tangible, at least to me. Something was amiss.

I watched them as I walked towards the kiosk, it was a matter of seconds but felt much longer. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion, my mind totally absorbed by them, each nuance accentuated by my curiosity and fascination. They had seen me also, but in true Japanese style, they gave no indication of having noticed this foreigner in a town where foreigners are as rare as kimono on a London street.

My eyes never left them as I got closer; its easy to stare when people dont acknowledge your existence. They were of different generations and the younger woman, attractive and aged around thirty, said something briefly to the older one and without waiting for a reply turned and walked away towards the doors of the department store a few yards ahead. My instinct told me they were mother-in-law and daughter-in-law, as their demeanour suggested the ice of a relationship which should be intimate, but had failed.

The younger woman walked several yards ahead of me and went through the glass doors. She walked on traditional zouri sandals, an inch high, like elegant flip flops. To me, they seemed like an implement of torture. But this lady was a master as her smooth movements made clear. Her kimono only allowed her to take tiny steps but they became gliding, gracious miniature footfalls of infinite grace and beauty, like the smoothness of a humming bird hovering over a flower. Without effort she had moved quickly and I caught a glimpse of her face as she turned slightly towards me as she went through the doors. Again, I felt the tension of a woman close to breaking point, her face not so passive now that her mother-in-law couldnt see her, but only a tiny frown gave any indication of her feelings. It was the tension coming from within her I could feel, vibrations in the air which I absorbed.

During these few seconds, I was also passing close to mother-in-law who was buying several packs of cigarettes. Her kimono was exquisite, her figure slim and elegant, but her face was impassive and hard, accentuated by the ultra bright red lipstick on her long, thin lips, making her look like a badly made puppet. Stiff, unattractive and un-lifelike.

That evening, my friend and I had decided to eat in our hotels restaurant. We were studying the menu when I felt, rather than saw, someone being sat at the next table. It was some distance away, and as I turned my head slightly to confirm my feelings, they sat down, still exquisite in their kimono, mother-in-law with her reapplied gaping wound of lipstick and daughter-in-law looking even more fraught.

It was during this meal that I developed to a fine art, the act of watching someone without seeming to (a well practiced custom in Japan). My eyes swept over the room regularly but only saw the two ladies in kimono, as I monitored their meal. They didnt speak to each other once during it. Their tension was now so tangible to me that my own stomach tensed and became uncomfortable.

The older woman spoke to the waiter and after he had cleared their dishes, I saw the younger one put her elbows on the table, cup her hands and rest her forehead in them her face looking down into the stark white and unforgivingly clean tablecloth. She stayed like that for at least ten minutes, no movement discernible, while the older woman sat impassively looking nowhere, at no one, not even her daughter-in-law. But she did light a cigarette. So, the cigarettes were for her! Suddenly, I had a vision of a kimono thrown on a bed smelling strongly of cigarette smoke, stale and sad looking. But this woman looked strong, hard, unforgiving. And absolutely silent.

Without a word, the younger woman got up and left the table. I watched her glide elegantly through the restaurant, her movements still humming bird smooth, her face blank as she left her companion sitting straight backed and expressionless. My heart went out to the departing woman; I felt her pain and unhappiness as I wondered why she felt this way?

What had happened to her? Or, what had she done? What sort of life did she have with this stone statue of a woman for a mother-in-law? Was she really her mother-in-law? If she was, then it was not a question of disliking each other but of hating each other.

Sadly, I will never know the truth. I didnt see them again, but their impression and little vignette will stay with me forever.

That true story for me, stands as a metaphor. I saw those ladies and wrote about them some ten years ago while on holiday and since then have come to realise that their vignette stands as a metaphor for Japan itself. For the country is a secretive place, tight lipped, blinkered and often cruel, and these things go hand in hand with the most exquisite beauty of sight and manners, and incredible kindness. Secrets and personal views are kept to oneself, even at great cost, while elegance of person and manners and the face presented to the outside world is more important than personal happiness, efficiency and money. At the same time, it engenders fascination and mystery for foreigners looking in.

What made two ordinary British women in late middle age cash in their lifes savings and go to Japan for one year and stay for seven?

We were two independent and responsible women who had worked hard all our lives in traditional jobs; administration and the book trade. Not usually the type of person one envisages taking a jump into the unknown without any resources or much hope of achieving our goals. The only things we had on our side were our strong wills, determination to succeed, courage, that we had to continually dig deep for, and a strong desire to live our dream.

How did all this come about? What had pushed us in such an unexpected direction? It may sound odd, but it was an interest in a Japanese theatre group that opened the way to a life change so drastic; so unexpected; and at an age so advanced; that I sometimes wonder whether it happened at all. I was a sensible intelligent woman, living an ordinary British style life, and apart from a general interest in theatre, there was nothing to warn me that an unexpected theatre visit in London would change my life unrecognisably. It was like an epiphany tied up in sequins, feathers, top hats and tails. I seemed to have no control over the events that spiralled me into an unknown world: one in which I had no qualifications to succeed.