Alexander Ulanov. An attempt at wordlessness

Yukio Mishima. Thirst for love. - St. Petersburg: Hyperion, 2000.

“ Where can I find a person who has forgotten the words in order to talk to him?” - Zhuangzi asked. But if he had met such a person, what would the conversation have led to? What if a person did not forget the words, but simply did not know them?

"September, 21. Wednesday. The last days of summer. It has become easier to breathe. The whole yard is waxing with the voices of insects. In recent days, I, too, have become aware of the serene mood that the peasants experience at the end of heavy suffering. I am enveloped in generous fatherly love." The diary of a young widow, Etsuko, who lives in the village with Yakichi Sugimoto, her husband's father. "September, 21. Wednesday. Another painful day has ended. I can only wonder how I managed to survive it. The Sugimoto family are boastful, weak-willed, corrupt little people. Because of them, life in the village has turned into complete torture." This is also Etsuko's diary, the same day. Is the first diary fake, to divert prying eyes? But the second one is not sincere either.

Instead of words - instant impulses. From an unknown feeling of happiness that came from nowhere, Etsuko wants to run through the streets wherever her eyes look - but while descending the stairs, the desire disappears and turns into immobility. She has a sluggish gait. Walking makes her feel hot. But indifference and humility also come from a sense of self-sufficiency and self-focus. And from the constant feeling of the disappearance of the world - especially at night, when the existence of everything around is confirmed only by the ticking of a clock and the chirping of a cricket. Etsuko comes up with tasks for herself in order to justify tomorrow, to at least somehow tie herself to life. Observes, returning to nature what people have made. The lights of the village seem to her like a flock of leaf beetles clinging to a rotten tree at night. The whistles of the train are as if “dozens of emaciated birds were released into the wild at once in the middle of the night, returning to their nests with hungry cries.” But observation also draws you into a funnel. Above Etsuko's Go board “fascinated by the very appearance of the board, its correct geometry. Contemplating the intersections of the black lines, she lost the ability to think.”

So Etsuko was captivated by her love for her husband - and remembers the time of his illness as a honeymoon, because then he completely belonged to her. She cares for a man dying of typhus, kisses him, even rejoices when he winks at one of his mistresses who came to visit him - and wishes him death, because “if he had survived, he would have left me anyway - he would have floated away like a free fragment, carried away by the tide." And when her husband is transferred to an infectious diseases hospital, Etsuko’s happiness increases - “no one will be able to penetrate her Island of Loneliness,” where only she and her husband. At the funeral of her husband, Etsuko is captured by a detail - the light gushing from the open doors. “Until the crematorium, she no longer thought about death or jealousy. Her thoughts were completely captured by the unbearably bright sunlight.” Liberation is the detachment of everything except oneself.

"Yakiti mumbles. Kensuke mumbles. Chieko mumbles... What powerlessness of words! This monolithic wall of water, dull as death, can only be destroyed by the cry of a poor-spirited man who does not know a single word - only his cry can withstand the pressure of the sounds of rain! " Such a person for Etsuko is the gardener Saburo.

He works tirelessly, reads stories about samurai, runs in the crowd at a festival, and fathers a child with a maid on the same estate. "So you love Mie?" - asks Etsuko. Saburo does not understand these words. He “was either going to weed the grass in the field; he was figuring out how to get into the navy if the war started again; he was carried through the mountains and valleys when he remembered the fun years of studying in elementary school; he was waiting for dinner time to come. ; the thought of Mia occupied no more than a hundredth of his thoughts." The owner ordered - he is ready to get married; the mother is against the marriage, the owner (at Etsuko’s request) fired Mie - so be it.

Etsuko remains silent and waits. By turning your powers of observation to catching the atoms of happiness. Here is Saburo’s blanket drying in the sun: “Her attention was attracted by a subtle aroma flowing in the rays of the setting sun - it was the smell of a puppy stretched out in the sun. For several moments she examined the worn and greasy places that exuded the smell of his skin.” Accumulating tension within oneself, continuing to balance between apathy and overexcitation. The desire to change the world - and months of thinking about how to give a trifling gift to a loved one. “How many difficulties she endured before she decided to give Saburo two pairs of socks, and then she so easily gave a pen to this beggar postman! That’s how it should be! If it weren’t for love, then people would get along with each other.” For Etsuko - and Mishima - love is not about getting along. Mishima is annoyed by a couple who childishly amuse themselves with love squabbles or guessing from which temple the sound of a drum comes. “For this married couple, love was given without any tension - this is what struck them as laziness and helplessness.” Because “the ability to find difficulties saves us from a primitive existence.” They are “like heavy winter clothes” that protect from the cold. The coldness of non-existence, inauthenticity?

Etsuko strives to “endure pain, learn to enjoy it... Drinking the entire river that flows into the ocean is what can lead to happiness!” She falls into a daze - and seems calm and happy to others. And he can’t stand it, making an appointment with Saburo in the field at night. But conversation is impossible, “Saburo’s words only got in the way. They put a collar of excess meanings on his free and simple life... If she had extended her hand to him or gently laid it on his shoulder, then perhaps something would have happened between them.. However, between them, like intractable ghosts, words stood." Etsuko is unable to continue. When Saburo, who, in essence, does not mind taking advantage of the opportunity, throws her to the ground, she feels his face above hers, thinks that there is nothing more beautiful, feels overwhelmed with tenderness - and at the same time screams, calling for help. The body resists regardless of consciousness. And also without words, screaming.

Maybe she kills Saburo with a hoe that turns up - precisely as a witness to her failure. Maybe it was her self-sufficiency that straightened out: “He tortured me, so he got what he deserved. No one dares to torture me. No one is allowed to hurt me.”

Or is this a catastrophe of a collision between someone who has forgotten the words and who did not know them? Or the catastrophe to which “all or nothing” condemns itself? A catastrophe of love that cannot exist without breaking down? Or - words cannot be abandoned halfway, is Etsuko inconsistent? Or is it still impossible to do without words, despite the inevitable share of falsehood? Or did Etsuko not so much love as she wanted to love? After all, besides socks, she didn’t do anything good for Saburo, she just pestered him with incomprehensible questions.

It all depends on the look. “You just have to look at things differently, and life will flow in a different direction. No change will lead to renewal until a person looks at things with the eyes of a wild boar.”