Episode 31 - All That Jazz

[Slow fade into Club Noir. It's evening, and the place is almost full. Many people are talking, but it's impossible to distinguish any words, as they merge into constant noise. A jazz band is setting up their instruments on the stage. Ayukawa, Kasuga, Kimura, Sakurai, Hayashibara, Saito, Miyasato Yoko and Yuko, and Oda Kumiko sit around a table. Ayukawa starts to speak, just as the band starts playing.]

Ayukawa:
Where should I begin?

Sakurai:
As a certain king once said, begin at the beginning and go till the end; when you reach the end, stop.

Oda:
I think the beginning is easy. It's the ending that's hard.

Kimura:
Well, it depends on what are you talking about. In math, you know where you begin and where do you want to get, so it's the middle that's hard.

Hayashibara:
What if you don't know where to begin?

Saito:
Or what if you don't know your goal?

Yoko:
Hmpf. Once in a blue moon, we manage to get out with some friends to a club, and then they start arguing.

Yuko:
Well, arguments can be interesting, too.

Saito:
[Trying to sound comforting.] Well, you both might be right. [Yoko pulls down her eyelid and sticks out her tongue at him.] Hey!

Yuko:
[Whispering to Yoko.] Now would be our chance to ask Hayashibara-san for an autograph.

Yoko:
[Whispering back.] It'd be too be embarrassing in public.

Kasuga:
So, Ayukawa? Listen, you promised to tell us about jazz.

Ayukawa:
[Looks around.] Ok. Listen!

[Pause.]

Yoko:
Yes?

Yuko:
You're silent.

Ayukawa:
Shh! Listen to the music.

[Everyone listens to the music, where the saxophone player steps forward and starts the elaborate melody. Other instruments are mostly silent, providing only some accompaniment.]

Ayukawa:
So, where should I begin? At the beginning, I guess. A piece, like everything else, has to begin from something - a theme. You know, all instruments are playing at the same time, they are equally important. It's like a friendly get-together, and everyone speaks at once. After this, it's time for separate instruments to play variations, which is the main part of the piece. These variations don't stand alone - they connect with the other ones, and have to work together.

Kimura:
So they just add on top of one another? Neat!

Ayukawa:
[Nods.] You can say that. But there's a lot of things good jazz musicians can do. They don't have to do variations alone; sometimes, two instruments can play one variation, and they can either support, you know, play off each other - or they can fight with each other. Sometimes, instruments introduce new themes, which get developed later; sometimes, they take an accompaniment and make it into melody; there're no limits to what can be done. You just have to free and creative, and, most importantly, don't hurry, because sometimes it can be hard to find the connection between different fragments of the music; the whole is much bigger than the sum of its parts. The listener has to let go and have the musicians choose the road.

Saito:
Road to where? What comes in the end?

Ayukawa:
I don't know; what comes in the end of every piece of art? End credits? A paycheck? Realization that all this was just a waste of time? The understanding of the meaning of life? [Shrugs.] If there was a simple point to art, it would have been much easier just to say, or write, this point and get done with it.

Kasuga:
How do they pick up the main theme?

Ayukawa:
Well, there's a lot of them written. They can pick more or less anything. The funny thing is that the final result doesn't even depend much on the theme; it more depends on how good the musicians are, and how well they work with each other. If they're good, both as individual players and a group, you might get something interesting. But it's not where you begin - it's where you get and how you get there that's important. So, if you know jazz, you know mostly performers, rather than composers. I've started playing saxophone myself when I heard Ben Webster.

Yuko:
Webster? Ahh... umm... all those foreign names are hard to remember - but wasn't he an American politician?

Yoko:
You dummy, he wrote a dictionary!

Ayukawa:
[Smiles.] No, no, that's a different Webster. Ben Webster played baritone saxophone, and when I heard him, that was it. I heard "Gone With the Wind", and "All the Things You Are", and "My One And Only Love", and I knew I had to do it. So - that's when I started to play jazz; that was the beginning for me.

Hayashibara:
But aren't your parents musicians? They taught you music before, right?

Ayukawa:
[Nods.] Yeah. But, you know, that was classical music, and it feels a bit too... inflexible and limited to me. Don't get me wrong, I love listening to it; but not playing. So, I think I'm very lucky I heard that recording. If not for it, I'm not sure I'd be playing now. Maybe that's because my parents were away and couldn't force me to play.

Kimura:
[Thoughtfully.] Lucky you.

Ayukawa:
[Slowly.] Lucky? Well, I don't think so. Yes, I know, parents can be... misguided, but there's also love and affection they give you. It's... hard when you don't know how to express your feelings. People need to be emotional and creative, as much as they need love and inspiration. Maybe that's why I'm playing jazz. Maybe that's how it all begun. Ah - listen!

[After a coda, the saxophone ends the melody, and the piano starts its variation.]

Kimura:
[Shakes her head.] I still think you're lucky, Madoka-san. It's kind of hard to explain what I mean. Where should I begin? Well, at first, what you're saying about parents - I agree, of course, it's nice to have someone to love you - but, you know, they can be too... inflexible and controlling. Like, people keep telling me that they just want the best for me - but sometimes it feels like... too much of it, you know? I don't even know why are they doing it.

Hayashibara:
[Almost to himself.] Maybe they just don't know what's best for you?

Kimura:
Maybe. But, you know, because of this it's very hard to be open with them. It just feels like they don't understand me, or maybe I don't understand them. But I agree with Madoka-san, everyone needs some human contact - somebody to be open with. [Smiles.] I, for one, am looking forward to finding someone special! I think it would be so wonderful to have a person who just takes me for who I am!

Ayukawa:
[Glances at Kasuga and smiles.] You're right, Keiko-san. It *is* wonderful. [Kasuga smiles back at Ayukawa.]

Kimura:
Maybe he'll also like me for what I'm doing, too - you know, my parents don't really understand what I do, and I can't explain it to them. So it would be wonderful if this "special someone" would appreciate my creativity - because, you know, it's just so neat - to sit and make something from nothing!

Kasuga:
From nothing? I don't know if you can make something from nothing; you have to start with something.

Kimura:
Well, yeah; in what I'm doing you never start from just nothing. At first, you know what you're working on; like the main theme of your research. For example, I'm working on Tanyiama conjecture, and we're trying to prove it. The conjecture has been known for more than thirty years, it's a classic, and many people tried to prove it. Nobody has succeeded, but there's a lot of really neat ideas, and the real proof should be somewhere close. You just need to connect those ideas, the ones that were suggested by the people before you, and you need maybe one creative spark, and then you will see the connection. You should work carefully, because sometimes it can be hard to find this connection between different ideas, but that's what makes math so much fun!

Oda:
Math - fun? I don't really like math that much.

Kimura:
Oh, but if you take some advanced stuff, you might like it! I love it - I'm working on something that's really cool and neat, and I feel like I'm building on top of what was done before me. The great thing is that I can build like that forever - there is no end, I can invent more and more wonderful things! Listen, isn't it great?

Yuko:
I still don't see how you can be creative in science.

Yoko:
Well, I dunno. My... friend tells me that sciences can be creative too.

[The trombone picks up the piano's line.]

Saito:
To begin with, your friend is absolutely right! I keep telling the same thing to a friend of mine! You know, if you're writing a program, it feels really good - like you are creating something! They say when a writer works on a novel, or, say, a poet writes a poem, they experience this joy of creating something. I feel the same when I write a program. There was nothing before - well, almost nothing, just an idea. Let's say, I know what kind of a program I want to write - and then I sit down, and start working on it. And I open a new file, and at first all I see is the blank screen. And, you know, it's the most awesome feeling - because it's not just a blank screen - it's a space where soon will be lines upon lines upon lines of code.

Ayukawa:
I think the most awesome sight is the blank music paper. When there's music written upon it, it can be great music - but nothing beats the blank page - because *any* music can be written there.

Saito:
[Nods.] Yeah, that's what I mean. You start with just two things: you know what kind of program you want to write, this is the main idea. Then you also have the computer for which you're writing - the blank page. And then you can start building, based on the main idea you have, and you can build just about anything you want. The important thing, of course, is not to rush, and think carefully about what you are doing.

Oda:
Are you still talking about computers? This certainly applies to journalism as well. And, you know, to writing in general.

Saito:
Well, you know, my mom is a writer. She also wanted me to become one, and spent a lot of effort trying to teach me the skill of writing. I guess, she just wanted me to be - how shall I put it? - an even better writer than she is, you know, a kind of improved version of her. I don't really think she succeeded, although I knew she wanted that a lot. But she did one wonderful thing - made my dad give me a laptop, when I just entered high school. So my dad gave me the one and only computer lesson I ever got. He told me how to turn the thing on and where the manual was. That was it - this was the main thing he taught me, and everything else I know about computers I taught myself.

Kasuga:
What about writing?

Saito:
[Shrugs.] Well, some people still tell me that I write pretty well, you know, when I just sit down and carefully write down what I want. When I'm speaking, it's different, there's a lot of things I want to say, and I think them up much faster than I can say them, so when I speak, it comes out kind of jumbled, you know? [Everyone nods.] See, you understand me, and that's what counts. In any case, I love doing it.

Hayashibara:
When... did you realize you do?

Saito:
I do what? Love doing computer stuff? [Hayashibara nods.] Umm... when did it begin? Hmm... maybe, it was when I was a kid and got a construction set for my birthday. I thought it was the neatest thing ever, and played with it, like, a lot. No, more like all the time. I became better and better, and one thing started to really annoy me. Just when I would need another, say, wheel, I would realize I already used up all of them. So, when I started to learn computer stuff, I saw that it's the same - but you never run out of parts. The loop statement is not like the wheel - if you need another one, you always have another one to use. You never run out.

Kimura:
Yeah, I understand. It's very similar in math - you can always use another function, another variable, if you need them. You never run out.

Oda:
Same in writing. You never run out of words.

Ayukawa:
In music you never run out of notes, either.

Saito:
Yeah, I guess that's true. And each statement is very simple, but they can add to really anything, the whole which is much greater than just the sum of its parts. I also still think it's the neatest thing ever. Listen, it's just... right for me.

[Trombone echoes of, and the trumpet picks up the melody.]

Oda:
This just proves that all people are different. I can't even *imagine* myself doing something like this. To begin with, I think it's boring, removing yourself from reality. You're forcing this toy to do whatever you want, but this doesn't apply for anything else. It feels too... inflexible and limiting to me, you know. For example, how many words are in, whatchamacallit, that you are using?

Saito:
You mean, computer language?

Oda:
Yeah. Let me guess, twenty or so, right? [Saito nods.] See? There are hundreds of thousands of words in every human language, and they can convey every details and nuances of anything you can think of. You can describe feeling and emotions of human beings, and isn't that what is so important?

Ayukawa:
[Shrugs.] In music there's only seven notes - well, flats and sharps, too.

Oda:
But music's different. I wouldn't call what music does "describing", because it's never precise. You can have marvelous musical pieces, and the person who listens to them can feel joy, anger, elation. But play the same piece of music to another person, and that second listener will feel something different! In this way, the music is just like a mirror - what you hear in it just reflects who you are. It will never tell you *why* is that so. Where do you come from? Where did it all began? Each person is so very different from anyone else, more different than a violin is different from a drum. But why is it so? And is there a common core, something that all people have in common? And why is it that we are what we are?

Kasuga:
Can writing let you know that?

Oda:
[Uncertainly.] I... don't know. I'm... trying to find out. Maybe that's why I'm in journalism - you go and interview someone, for example, [Glancing at Hayashibara.] a famous baseball player. You ask questions, and questions cause other ones. You can play off the answers, or ask contrasting questions. Sometimes, you can develop new themes; sometimes, you take an aside and elaborate on it; there're no limits to what can be done. You just have to be free and creative. So, in the end, you might learn at least something, if not the meaning of life. By the way, I read your answers to Kasuga-kun's interview, Hayashibara-san, and I feel I know more about you now.

Hayashibara:
[Seriously.] Do you know why I am what I am?

Oda:
[Shakes her head.] It takes more effort than that. I'm not even sure I know why *I* am what I am. I mean, it certainly seems that I am the most qualified person to find out what makes me behave the way I do - but I find it much harder than discovering it about other people.

Kimura:
Well, that's because of Bohr's complementarity law. You know, it's the same thing as Heisenberg's uncertainty - the observer is part of the process, and distorts the observation.

[Everyone rolls their eyes.]

Oda:
Um, yeah. Maybe. I know why I write - that's for sure. When I was in the hospital after my operation, you know, shortly after I met Ayukawa-san and Kasuga-kun, I was not sure if I would survive at all; the chances were fifty-fifty. And then I just realized that it would be horrible if I died.

Yoko:
No kidding.

Oda:
Yeah, well, let me explain what I mean. On one side, it is a very selfish thing - I realized I never been to another country, never went scuba diving, [Pauses for a second.] never had a real boyfriend. So I decided then and there, if I survive I will start trying all the new things - to make sure I will miss as little as I can. Life's too short to go through living with regrets of what might have been.

Yuko:
No kidding.

Oda:
In any case, as I was saying, there was another regret. If I were to die, there would be nothing left behind me, for other people to remember me by. So I started writing. It's very easy - you start with a blank page, and a sharp pencil, and you put those marks on the paper - and then it starts to live by itself, without you. Listen, isn't this awesome?

[Trumpet ends on the high note.]


[COMMERCIAL BREAK.]

[Cut to a dangerous-looking alley. Stacked garbage cans, broken windows. Two girls in WWWA uniforms, a redhead and a brunette, are cautiously walking down the alley. Then, suddenly, a dozen of heavily-armed assassins are upon them.]

Kei:
Yuri, we're in trouble!

Yuri:
I see THAT!

[Yuri removes a flat credit-card sized object from her pocket and hurls it at the mob; she and Kei duck as the Bloody Card flies around.]

Voice Over:
Have you ever used your card with a built-in microprocessor to behead a horde of attackers?

[Kei and Yuri jump up and see that most attackers are dead - but more are coming at them.]

Yuri:
We gotta get OUTTA here!

Kei:
Just a sec! [She plugs a pocket transmitter into an outlet at the base of her skull and concentrates.]

VO:
Have you ever screamed in panic through your neural interface?

[Kei and Yuri try to stop the attackers, but are almost overwhelmed - when they hear a whooshing sound, and see a helicopter hovering above. They climb up the rope ladder and see Mughi at the console.]

VO:
Have you ever genetically engineered your pet so he can perform simple tasks, like piloting helicopters?

[The helicopter soars above, carrying Kei and Yuri away from the dangerous place.]

VO:
You WILL! And the company that will bring it to you - AT&T.

[Writer's note: standard disclaimer.]

[END COMMERCIAL BREAK.]

[Clarinet picks up the melody in a rapid passage.]

Sakurai:
This *does* sound kinda like fun, but, to begin with, isn't it boring? You sit, and you sit, and you *sit*, writing different stuff, but, come on, how much *different* kinds of stuff can you write? You can write only what you know, or what you're interested about, and such.

Oda:
Well, I learn new things all the time; I can write about them, too.

Sakurai:
Yes; but I don't think what you're interested in - why human beings are what they are? - is that hard to find out. If your father tells you fairy tales when you're a kid, then you will like writing when you grow up. If a construction set was your favorite toy, you will become some sort of an engineer. I like jigsaw puzzles when I was little, so I'm doing math - but applied math, which can be used in business, and not that kind of theoretical, impossible to understand stuff that Keiko-san is working on. I think it's boring, too.

Kimura:
It's not!

Sakurai:
Wait, wait, all I'm saying is that it's boring *for me*. Different people like different stuff, of course; and it's funny how there're people who like to do science, people who are in arts, people who make cars, you know, cooks, and so on. I think it's interesting to see the way the society works, with the whole being greater than the sum of the parts. [Coughs.] Anyway, as I was saying, kids are very easy to impress, so everything that happens to them shapes their personalities.

Ayukawa:
Only kids? I believe that important events can change us even when we're adults. [Kasuga nods.]

Sakurai:
Oh, that's certainly true. I actually agree with Oda-san here. Human beings love experiencing new things, and it would be a shame to let those experiences go by. Look at me, for example. I spent a year in Great Britain, and I had marvelous time. *That* changed me at least as much as anything that happened to me when I was a kid. It's a different culture; things I haven't seen before, even haven't thought they were possible.

Kasuga:
Like?

Sakurai:
Oh, all sorts of stuff. Culture, people, you know. All of this is really different from what we have in Japan. Do you know, for example, that British girls like go to the beach topless?

Kasuga:
Really?! [Ayukawa glares at him.] Urk.

Kimura:
[Blushing.] Wow! Really?

Sakurai:
[To himself.] It's good her mom isn't here. [Aloud.] Yeah, they do. [Pause.] I met quite a few girls there. Oh, no, nothing serious. You know, come and go. I've visited quite a few places in Great Britain - London, York, Dublin, so on, so I could never stay for long in one place; at least, not for long enough to have a real relationship. It's good, from one point of view; as I said, it's lots of fun to meet a lot of different people, and to have many new experiences. On the other hand, I had a lot of acquaintances there; but no friends. It takes some time to make friends, and I didn't have that time.

Oda:
[Raises her eyebrows.] Speaking of understanding why people are they way they are - you must be a girl-chaser.

Sakurai:
I didn't say that! In any case, I enjoyed experiencing the Western culture very much. One weird thing is to find common ground; something that is the same in Western and Japanese culture. For example, medieval lords in Britain weren't that much different from Japanese shoguns; people there like to drink tea as much as we do; and we listen to the same music. After all, we're all here listening to jazz, which is really not a Japanese thing. Still, we like it. I met a lot of people over there who like to watch anime; and people here watch American movies.

Hayashibara:
Too much, perhaps. Japanese culture is losing the battle.

Sakurai:
[Shrugs.] I wouldn't call it the battle; and not losing. Our country's culture has both weaknesses and strengths; when another culture interferes, it can feel like a threat to our national identity. But we must change and make an effort to understand - not comply with, you see, just understand - the rest of the world; and maybe we can turn it to our advantage, and learn from it. Our culture works wonders to preserve the traditional Japanese arts, which center on collective - just go and watch Kabuki any time - but, you see, there're other, more individual, kinds of art.

Ayukawa:
Like jazz.

Sakurai:
Yeah, I guess that too. Maybe that's why so many musicians and painters and such are traveling to study abroad. But by doing so, they bring Japanese culture with them. You see, it's both cooperation and competition; one culture penetrates the other, and makes it richer and more varied; builds on top of it, so to speak. And, listen, this is good for everyone.

[The vibes player begins the melody with two mallets simultaneously.]

Yoko:
This is an interesting thing you said about competition and cooperation. Something that feels like one can, actually, be another. For example, if a yard bully tries to steal your toy when you're five years old, and you *hit* him, right in the face, and he starts crying, and you suddenly see him reduced from a towering monster to an insecure six-year-old, and you feel *good* about yourself after this - well, then you won't really be ever afraid anymore. So the bully, who wanted to attack you really *helped* you. And you should be really grateful to him; after all, he didn't mean to, but he taught you something: hit back when you are hit, and you will never be attacked again.

Saito:
[Mostly to himself.] That's a good start - beating up six-year-olds. And she wants to be a teacher.

Yoko:
[Glares at Saito.] Yes, I do! People warmly remember their parents, grade school teachers, and such, but the people who you don't know much - strangers, who you meet just for a short time - and even people who you *hate*, even they teach you a lot. What I'm saying, is that every day, all the time, you learn new stuff - not because it's being lectured to you, but just because it's there to learn. I'm majoring in education, and I think the best way to teach something is to tell students to think for themselves. Tell them to keep their eyes open.

Ayukawa:
Their ears, too.

Yuko:
[Nods.] Yeah. You know, Oda-san, I find it strange that you want to try lots of new things, and yet you do something as limiting as writing.

Oda:
Writing is NOT limiting!

Yuko:
But it's the same all the time! Putting words on the paper, all the time - maybe something you can express better if you paint it? Or compose a music piece? Or a play? Take me, for one. I'm doing liberal arts - I can do whatever I want, express myself in any way. It's much less limiting. You use your knowledge of one area in the other - for example, you write a poem as if it was a painting. Or you do a painting, where different objects are interacting like characters in a play. Or you do a play, where the people interact like musical themes. You have all this knowledge, and you build up on it - something that is greater than the sum of its parts.

Oda:
[Shrugs.] You will end up knowing almost nothing about a whole lot of stuff.

Yuko:
Still better than knowing a whole lot of stuff about almost nothing.

Yoko:
Actually, there is one area where you have to know a lot of different things. It's teaching, especially grade-school. That's why it's so interesting. The kids don't know much, and because of this they can ask the most interesting questions. They're discovering the connections between the things that surround them - for example, the fire is nice to look at, but it can destroy things, and it hurts a lot if you try to touch it. Then the kids grow up, and start to think they know all there's to it, and stop making those connections, and that's wrong, because there's much more to it, and more connections between things. It's just that people don't see them.

Yuko:
Wait, I don't understand what you're saying. You said that people need to discover those things for themselves - and yet you're trying to teach them? People should be self-reliant.

Yoko:
Well, you can be that, and you lose.

Yuko:
Lose what?

Yoko:
[Smirks.] I would say, the right question is "Lose WHOM?"

Yuko:
Oh.

Kimura:
Listen, I have no idea what you two are talking about.

Yoko:
[Hesitating.] Well, this is whole dreary business about Nakamura Sho. He was my boyfriend -

Yuko:
No way, he was *my* boyfriend -

Yoko and

Yuko:
Well, *our* boyfriend -

Yoko:
...when we were in high school. I guess, we were really immature then, but we both dated him, pretending to be each other, and we thought it was a lot of fun, you know, cooperating in something like this. Then he found out, and we got into really hot water.

Yuko:
[Nods.] Yeah. Cooperation turned into competition - you know, there's two of us, we used to be best buddies, and here we are, fighting for a man. This sounds ridiculous, I know.

Kasuga:
[Seriously.] No, it doesn't.

Hayashibara:
So, what happened in the end?

Yoko:
[Shrugs.] He dropped both of us.

Yuko:
He though we were being mean and copping out of having any sort of commitment. [Sighs.] So that's how it ended. Tough?

[Bass player takes on the next variation.]

Hayashibara:
Tough. He who chases two rabbits will catch none. But I think you're taking this "self-reliant" thing too far. You're proud and independent, and you'll end up having many acquaintances and no friends. The thing is that one person can rarely accomplish anything. Like, for example, in baseball, you need to have the pitcher, the catcher, and the guys in the field. Each of them is very good just at one specific task, but when they are all out there, they cooperate, and the result is certainly more than just the sum of the parts.

Ayukawa:
[Quietly.] How about the batter? He is alone, with the whole world against him.

Hayashibara:
[Pauses for a second.] Yes, this is true. But the game won't be any fun to watch otherwise, would it? There has to be some competition. The thing is that each player doesn't have much possible moves; but when you have many players, there is an infinite numbers of possibilities, and an infinite number of games.

Oda:
All of them boring. I still don't understand what you people see in baseball. It's so... uncreative.

Hayashibara:
[Pauses again.] I wouldn't agree with that. All of you, of course, create something, be it programs, or mathematical ideas, or whatever. I, on the other hand, do one and the same thing; but I don't see any difference between sports and music - [Glances at Ayukawa.] we're just getting better and better at it all time, if we practice, of course. No, this is not a problem. [He's silent for a moment.]

Kimura:
*Is* there a problem?

Hayashibara:
Well... I don't know. Let me see, I play baseball for a while, maybe even become really good at it - but then I'll be supposed to retire from pro baseball, and become some kind of an executive in my dad's company. I'm not sure I want to do that for my whole life, until I die. My father wants it, but I'm not sure he's right. Of course, parents give love and affection, but they also can be... tyrannical, you know. It's been... hard to communicate with him.

Kasuga:
How about your mom?

Hayashibara:
[Quietly.] My mother died sixteen years ago, when I was four. [Silence. Kasuga looks at Hayashibara with his eyes wide open. Ayukawa glances at Hayashibara and then looks at Kasuga. Hayashibara shakes his head.] It's ok; I don't really remember her. Coming back to baseball - I used to really like it, a lot. Now it's... different. I know a lot of stuff, and it's no fun to practice anymore. I don't feel... free and creative; the spark is gone, and I don't know how to get it again. If only I could play it again, with no pressure on my back, just when I did when I was twelve... then, maybe.... [Sighs.] I'm not sure what else can I say. It's hard to express myself.

[The drummer, who was mostly providing background, starts his solo.]

Kasuga:
Um, that's a good question, and I also want to know the answer, if anybody has it. Where do you get the spark? You know, this inspiration, the seed, something that you begin from? It doesn't have to be something that important, and the final result might not depend much on what you started with; it might more depend on how good you are. I agree it's not where you begin - it's where you end up, and how you get there, that's important. But, in any case, you have to start from something.

Saito:
Are you talking about writing?

Kasuga:
Mostly, yes. It's easy when I'm doing an interview; I just need to drop by Doko-sempai's office, and he always has a list of questions for me to ask. Then, of course, I start with those, and then veer off, you know, improvise. But I don't know where to start when I'm writing! I understand why you, Oda-san, are writing; as for me, I signed for my major just because I thought it'd be fun. You know, everyone has lots of stuff they can write about, and I like reading, so I thought... well, you know. Now I see that I have to start somewhere, and I don't know where.

Oda:
Joining a newspaper was a good start.

Kasuga:
But I don't do anything creative there! I get an assignment; I ask questions that somebody else wrote for me, and maybe ask some of my own. Then the interview gets published, and - so what? Nothing. I enjoy the interview itself, but it doesn't *get* me anywhere. And I don't learn anything. There's no feeling, you know, of one experience building up on the previous one. Well, I thought, maybe I'm just doing the wrong thing, maybe I should really write something of my own, something simple at first. I like to read science fiction, and mysteries - you know, spy novels - so I thought I can write something like this.

Kimura:
Maybe you should write a romance novel! Will you show me what you've written when you're done?

Kasuga:
[Shakes his head.] I'm not sure anything will be written. I don't know where to *start*, so I don't know what to do. And even if I did, so what? I have this feeling, I don't know how to explain it, that the beginning is the easy part. Yes, it's important, and yes, it will influence everything that will come after it - but I suspect that it's relatively simple. For that, you only need this magical moment - something unusual which intrudes on the ordinary, like when you're walking along and there you see it, hovering like a UFO above your head. Then the only thing you have to do is leap and catch it, and that's easy - if you only jump, it will fall into your hand like it always was *supposed* to!

Hayashibara:
[Smiles.] A home run.

Kasuga:
[With intensity.] But what if I do? It's only a beginning, the first step, on the very bottom of a VERY long staircase, and it's the journey that matters. No matter what it is - it can be something you do for life; it can be writing a work of fiction or composing a piece of music, from that very first word or note; it can be someone you just met. It's relatively easy to make an acquaintance; but it's much harder to make a friend. It's easy to sign for a major, but what do I do next? As you are ascending that winding staircase, it gets harder and harder; each steps builds on the ones you made before. At every step you have to consider every other step that you already made, and maybe the ones you're *going* to make in the future. Listen, I don't even know how many steps are there in a staircase - or what is at the end.

[The drummer ends with a smash, and now all the instruments are joining again for the conclusion.]

Ayukawa:
[Quietly.] You just make memories one by one, Kasuga-kun. Note by note. Page by page. Step by step. It doesn't really matter where you end up; or, at least, it doesn't matter much. What is important is the journey, what you do on that journey, who you meet, and all that jazz.

Saito:
The journey is important, of course - but then so is the destination; at least as important as the beginning. You will get nowhere if you don't know where you are going.

Sakurai:
As a certain cat once said, if you go without turning away, you will definitely get somewhere. Not turning away does it.

Hayashibara:
But what if I don't want to get where I'm going? What if what waits for me in the end is not the understanding of the meaning of life, not the roar and applause of an appreciative crowd, not even a paycheck - but a withered grim old hag with a razor-sharp scythe? The statue of Il Comendatore, who came for the foolhardy Don Juan?

Oda:
[Shakes her head.] Dying is much less scary than being forgotten. You leave something behind yourself. Like...

Yuko:
Like art. Create something truly inspired, which will survive you, or...

Yoko:
Or teach somebody else something that you know, for example...

Kasuga:
For example, your kids. Maybe that's why parents want their kids to succeed in life? Maybe it's the way humans want to become immortal: by having children that are just like them, only better, and...

Ayukawa:
And then there will be no end. The end is as important as the beginning because the end *is* the beginning. You ascend the staircase, only to find yourself on step one.

Kimura:
[Dreamily.] ...Or you fall in love.

[Pause. Everyone is suddenly silent and looks at Kimura. She smiles and blushes.]

Kimura:
Well, that's what I read in novels. They say when you're in love, you feel invincible and immortal. Listen, isn't this awesome?

[There's a final chord on the piano, and the music stops. Silence.]

Ayukawa:
[Stands up and stretches.] Well, it's time for me to go. I'm next.

Kasuga:
What are you playing?

Ayukawa:
It's one of the songs Ben Webster used to play. "My One And Only Love".

[She waves and leaves towards the cast entrance, taking the saxophone case with her. In a minute she appears on the stage, with her instrument. There's a moment of silence, and then she begins her solo.]

Kasuga narration:
The music surrounded me, with the shimmering wave of melody hitting me like the surf, with each single note sparkling like a star in the darkness. I forgot where I was, and felt again as a kid, with the whole world new and open in front of me; just like I felt, long time ago, when I first heard her voice, and stood there, entranced and dazzled, clutching in my hand a red straw hat.


END CREDITS

New Character Designer Stephen Tsai Writer Vladimir Zelevinsky Pre-readers Stephen Tsai Robert Carragher Herbert Fung Very special thanks to Hitoshi Doi

A tip of the hat and a deep bow to Matsumoto Izumi for starting the whole thing

If I left anyone off, my apologies. Any mistakes/embarrassing faux pas are entirely my own. If there is anything here you must flame, mail them to stsai@netcom.com.

Thank you for taking the time to read this episode of my series. I have the next episode in the works.

Hope you enjoyed it and thanks again!


Previous Episode Next Episode
Back to KOC Summaries


This page has been visited by people

Mailbox
Changes last made on: Wed Jan 28 13:22:04 1998